#66: To Fight with Honor

[lordchen]

Prompt: #66
Title: To Fight with Honor
Pairing: Chen/Suho
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 17,857
Summary: Jongdae is a dashing jousting champion set on winning his next tournament in the Kingdom of Kims. There, he meets Prince Junmyeon, and makes a bet with him that threatens to make Jongdae’s life a bit more exciting than he’d expected.

Birds are chirping brightly as they wheel overhead—dark dots framed by blue sky and warm yellow sun. A perfect day for a journey, Jongdae thinks to himself. The weather is beautiful, he’s wearing his most comfortable, forest green tunic, and everything is going smoothly.

“Why is the sun so bright?” Jongin grumbles from beside him, gripping his reins too tightly as he squints angrily at the horizon. Jongdae rolls his eyes. This is what he gets for offering to bring his cousin with him to the tournament. Jongin’s just come of age for competing, and the combination of nerves and sleep deprivation from excessive practicing has made him a little grumpy. Just a little.   

“Oh, come on, whining isn’t very noble,” a loud voice says, and Jongdae snickers when Jongin gives Chanyeol a very dark look as he rides up next to them.

“Not that you’d know anything about being noble,” Jongin shoots back, eyes narrowing even more when Chanyeol just laughs, shaking off the insult like a dog shaking off water.

“Now, now, Jongin, play nice,” Jongdae admonishes in a mock-serious tone. Jongin pouts at him before curling forward as much as his current position will allow and letting himself be propelled forward at whatever speed the horse wants to go. Sloppy horsemanship, Jongdae thinks to himself. If there’s one thing he’s learned from several years of competing, it’s that you always want to be confident that your horse will do exactly what you want. Not that Jongdae’s ever really had that kind of confidence in his horse. Baekhyun has always been a bit of a handful. But there’s nothing Jongdae enjoys more than a good challenge, so when the trainer had told him that Baekhyun was absolutely impossible, Jongdae had purchased him on the spot.

As if sensing that he’s being mentally abused, Baekhyun snorts and shifts unexpectedly beneath him, swaying so far sideways he almost runs into Chanyeol.

“Whoa, there!” Chanyeol laughs, yanking his horse sideways just in time to avoid a collision. “I thought you said you had finally gotten that horse under control?”

“It’s a work in progress,” Jongdae grumbles, feeling vaguely Jongin-like wisps of frustration rise to the surface as he glares down at Baekhyun’s dark mane. Of course his horse would act perfectly obedient until there are other people around. He straightens the collar of his shirt, hoping that all the dust Baekhyun’s hooves are raising doesn’t ruin it. There are a few things in the world that annoy Jongdae more than a soiled outfit—Chanyeol’s attempts at dancing come to mind—but not many.

“How much longer until we get there?” Jongin asks suddenly, unfolding his body enough to cast a pitiful glance in Jongdae’s direction. “I never realized the Kingdom was so big! If we don’t reach this castle soon, I might actually die.”

“Of what, excessive complaining? I’m fairly sure that’s not terminal,” Jongdae replies sweetly. Jongin jerks his horse threateningly to the right but Baekhyun shies neatly out of the way before Jongdae even has the chance to lift a finger. So maybe Baekhyun isn’t a totally useless animal.

“We should get there today,” Chanyeol says consolingly, gesturing towards the slowly growing black dot on the horizon. “But be patient, we’ve only been traveling for a few days! You should have been with us when Jongdae had to compete in the Kingdom of Chois, that was a trip!”

“Not to mention the fact that once we finally got there I made it all the way to the final round only to lose to that tall freak with the condescending nickname and the oddly deep voice,” Jongdae sighs, grimacing at the memory.

“He wasn’t that tall,” Chanyeol sniffs, and Jongdae glares at him as Jongin chuckles appreciatively. “Shorter than me. But at least you didn’t have to go up against his cousin who was even taller—that Minho guy. And his sister was pretty cute.”

“People like Choi Jinri do not fall for loud, clumsy knights like you, Park Chanyeol,” Jongdae reminds him, but Chanyeol just smiles.

“So you say, but one day…I’ll get my chance with some royal lady,” Chanyeol says. Jongin pretends to gag in disgust and everyone ignores him.  

“Yeah, and someday I’ll get a competition name at least as annoying as ‘TOP,’” Jongdae snorts. “But that doesn’t mean either of those days will end particularly well for anyone.”

“Is it lunchtime yet?” Jongin asks tentatively, as a cloud slips across the sky and throws the woods they’re preparing to enter into moody darkness. Jongdae sighs long-sufferingly.

“I suppose this is what I get for traveling with children,” he says to Chanyeol, who snickers. Jongin yells “Hey!” but they both ignore him in favor of spurring their horses forward, forcing Jongin to move as well to keep up.

“I’m just one year younger than you!” Jongin protests over the steady drumbeat of hooves against hard earth. “I’m not a child.”

“If you’re good, when we stop for lunch in an hour I’ll give you an apple,” Jongdae grins, leaving Jongin’s disgruntled griping behind him as he urges Baekhyun even faster. This command—the one to leap forward, spring headlong into action—is one Baekhyun has never had trouble following. Jongdae sometimes wonders if that’s a problem. But horses are unfathomable creatures—almost as unfathomable as humans, Jongdae sometimes thinks—so he doesn’t worry about it too much.

What he should really be worrying about is this upcoming competition. The winner advances to the inter-Kingdom competition, and Jongdae really thinks he has a shot at it this year. Sure, in the year since the last big competition, he’s gained a reputation for being a terror in the ring—a dashingly handsome force to be reckoned with, Jongdae likes to think. But winning this tournament would prove once and for all that he’s worth something. This year he’ll show up everyone who said he was too small to compete, who said he should leave the jousting to bigger, stronger knights. He can’t wait.





“Our fourth match tomorrow will feature a newcomer versus one of our oldest competitors!” the squire standing in the middle of the ring shouts, bright red-and-yellow outfit somehow seeming to augment his already loud voice. At Jongdae’s side, Jongin turns to him with a terrified look on his face.

“Sir Kai…versus Sir Xiumin!” the squire continues, grinning broadly as the crowd below them roars appreciatively. It’s been a while since Jongdae’s competed in this particular stadium but it’s definitely one of the most well-kept. The spectating benches are made of some light, smoothly sanded wood, and there’s plenty of standing room down by the fence lining the ring. Jongdae supposes it makes sense that this stadium is so fancy and clean—it belongs to the crown prince, after all, and no doubt he’ll accept nothing but the best.

“Don’t worry, Minseok knows what he’s doing, he won’t hurt you if he can help it,” Jongdae whispers encouragingly, a bit worried by how quickly the blood is draining from Jongin’s face. Honestly, of all the potential competitors, Minseok is probably one of the least threatening for Jongin to have to face in his first-ever match. At least he wasn’t paired with Heechul, that absolute menace, or Ryeowook, who Jongdae knows looks sweet but can be frighteningly focused and has unhorsed some of the kingdom’s fiercest knights.  

“And now our final competitors—two of the Kingdom’s noblest and most loyal knights,” the squire is saying when Jongdae finally turns his attention back to the announcements.

“Wait, did I miss my name?” Jongdae asks in confusion, but Jongin just shrugs, fingers still twisted tightly in his lap.

“Sir Chen…and Sir Key!” the squire finishes, rolling up his scroll and slapping imaginary dust off his hands. Jongdae knows the dust must be imaginary because only a fool would allow silk that brightly colored and obviously well-made to get dirty.

The screams from the crowd begin to quiet as people start filing out of the stadium. Jongdae can see coins already being slipped surreptitiously from hand to hand as the first wave of betting begins. There will be many more, with people placing bets right up until the horses start to charge, and Jongdae just hopes the money’s on him. He’s beaten Kibum several times before—he looks more threatening in the ring than he actually is, and Jongdae actually quite likes spending time with him—but that just means he has to look ahead and try to guess who his next competitor will be.

“Wow, didn’t know you were one of the Kingdom’s most noble knights,” Chanyeol yells when he finally fights his way through the crowd to latch onto Jongdae’s shoulder. “You keep this up and the marriage proposals are going to be pouring in the second this tournament is over.”

“Ha ha ha,” Jongdae laughs sarcastically, though the words make his stomach twist uncomfortably. His parents have been bothering him about getting married with increasing regularity, and he’s getting tired of repeating over and over again that he doesn’t have any intention of settling down yet. The last thing he wants is to walk out of this tournament with a blushing, and incredibly boring, bride.   

“Did we have any plans for the rest of the afternoon?” Jongin asks, materializing at Jongdae’s elbow. “Because if not I might have to go lie down. Permanently.”

“Man up, you big baby,” Jongdae laughs, though he slings an arm around Jongin’s shoulders comfortingly. Jongin may be taller than him now, but that doesn’t mean Jongdae feels any less of a desire to protect his little cousin from the big, bad world. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll talk to Minseok and ask him not to break any bones.”

“No!” Jongin shrieks, before clearing his throat and eyeing the people milling around them to make sure no one heard. “No, if I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right. I don’t want…I can’t…I don’t want people to think I can’t handle it.”

“Well, it’s up to you,” Jongdae says slowly, wondering if Baekhyun’s already been brushed down or if the grooms will let him do it. Sometimes they refuse, saying it isn’t right for a knight to have to care for his horse himself, but most of the time they indulge Jongdae’s little eccentricities. “Just be back in time for the banquet later tonight. You’re a big deal, you know. Everyone loves young competitors, especially ones who are handsome and mysterious.”

“Shut up,” Jongin pouts, but as he ducks out from under Jongdae’s arm and disappears into the crowd Jongdae can see that he’s blushing slightly, a pleased smile spreading across his face. Jongdae grins in satisfaction, letting the crowd carry him away from the arena and towards the castle gates.

“You’re going to talk to Minseok anyway,” Chanyeol says knowingly, tossing his own arm over Jongdae’s shoulders. Jongdae would normally shove him away but today he decides to be generous. Chanyeol did have to deal with Jongin’s oh-so-pleasant manners for several days, after all. That deserves some kind of award.

“Of course I am,” Jongdae sniffs. “Who do you think I am? Not to mention that if I return the kid with anything more than a few bruises his parents will have my head.”

“They are a little overprotective, huh?” Chanyeol says musingly, lips turning upwards at the memory. “Like that time when you managed to steal the key to your parent’s wine cellar from the steward and—”

“I thought,” Jongdae says loudly, cutting across Chanyeol’s excited chatter, “that we agreed never to speak of that again. Now help me find out where they’ve taken Baekhyun, this place is so enormous I’d probably get lost trying to find the stable by myself.”

“Right, right, of course Your Highness,” Chanyeol jokes, spinning Jongdae around and steering them both towards a set of low buildings clinging to the edges of the castle walls.

The instant they step inside Jongdae breathes in deeply, reveling in the smell of dust and hay and horse—musty, but pleasant all the same. A groom scurries up to them, an empty bucket clutched in his fist, and starts bowing so frequently he can barely get words out.

“Is there anything you require, sire?” he asks with another deep bow, shooting Chanyeol a look before focusing his eyes back on Jongdae. “Would you like us to prepare your steed for you? Or perhaps you wish to make sure he’s being stabled to your satisfaction?”

“Oh, I’m sure you have everything under control,” Jongdae replies hurriedly, suppressing the urge to reach out and drag the boy upright so he’ll stop bowing. Such physical expressions of annoyance are generally frowned upon, as Jongdae has unfortunately found out in past years. “I was just wondering if I could see my horse, to make sure he’s recovering well from the journey.”

“Of course, of course, sir!” the boy huffs, before turning and leading the way towards the back of the stable. Jongdae spares a moment to be impressed that he knows exactly which horse belongs to Jongdae, before the boy is opening the stall door and rushing away. Chanyeol stares after him with a bemused smile.

“He certainly was eager to please, wasn’t he?” Chanyeol says thoughtfully, shooting Jongdae a sly grin that Jongdae easily returns.

“Well, that’s what happens when you’re known throughout the kingdom for your nobility and bravery, I suppose,” Jongdae sighs, looking down to examine his fingernails. This is probably why he misses Chanyeol reaching up an arm to slap him good-naturedly on the back, and also why he jerks forward at the unexpected motion and ends up falling hard against Baekhyun’s left flank. Baekhyun snorts roughly and takes a few steps backwards—as far as he can in the confined space—giving Jongdae a look almost as amused as Chanyeol’s when Jongdae falls face-first into the straw covering the floor.

“I hate everything. Especially you,” Jongdae moans, voice muffled by the straw and Chanyeol’s loud laughter as he steps forward and rubs Baekhyun’s nose affectionately.

“A horse after my own heart,” Chanyeol hums appreciatively, continuing to stroke Baekhyun’s warm neck as Jongdae picks himself up and grumpily brushes hay off of his crisp blue shirt. It’s one of his favorites—he saves it especially for events like tournaments and balls—so those mud spots better come off or he’ll kill Chanyeol. With fire. Preferably.

“Well, I’m going to go ride Baekhyun for a while. Be back later,” Jongdae says, suddenly deciding that he’d rather spend the hours before the banquet exploring the bluffs they’d ridden through this morning than talking to stuffy people in stuffy castle rooms.

“You know,” Chanyeol observes, “most people don’t give their horses human names. They call them things like ‘Moonlight’ or ‘Black Pearl’ or ‘Thunder.’”

“But those names are so boring!” Jongdae whines, reaching up and grabbing Baekhyun’s saddle off the wall.

“Perhaps, but then you can refer to them without making everyone think they’re someone you’re taking to bed,” Chanyeol smirks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. He looks like an idiot, but Jongdae has to admit he has a point. If he’s honest with himself, that’s one of the reasons he was so partial to the name. The looks on strangers’ faces when he announces he’s going for a ride can be priceless.

“Touché.”

“Thank you.”

“So I’ll see you later?” Jongdae asks as he slips on Baekhyun’s bridle.

“I’ll find ways to amuse myself,” Chanyeol chuckles, giving Baekhyun one last pat. “The ladies here look even lovelier than last year!”

“Good luck finding anyone willing to look twice at you after you open your mouth,” Jongdae says with a solemn stare that Chanyeol dismisses with a wave of his large hand.

“And you have a good time dying old and alone with only your horse for company,” he replies as he opens the stall door and holds it to allow Jongdae to walk through, towing Baekhyun behind him.

“I will, thank you,” Jongdae sniffs as they step back out into the bright sunshine. He slips a foot into the stirrup and hauls himself into the saddle, raising a hand to wave to Chanyeol as he directs Baekhyun out of the castle gates. The sun is hot on his skin but it feels good to be moving, to be free after spending hours cramped in that stadium waiting for the tournament schedule.

“You’re good enough company for me, right Baekhyun?” Jongdae says pensively after several minutes of hard riding, letting Baekhyun slow to nibble at some dune grass growing nearby.

They’re standing at the edge of a sheer cliff leading down to crashing blue-green waves. Jongdae’s a bit jealous that the Prince gets to see this view every day—he’d kill to have a summer home by the sea, but his parents have never been wealthy enough to afford such things. Figures his family would be one of those with a title but nothing to back it up.
Baekhyun turns his head to glare balefully at Jongdae and Jongdae frowns.

“What?” he asks. “I don’t need some dumb wife tying me down. You and I, we’ll just keep winning tournaments until my name is known throughout all the Kingdoms. That’s it. Got to keep the goals achievable, right?”

Baekhyun snorts, nostrils fluttering in the sea breeze, and Jongdae could swear he just rolled his eyes, but he’s suddenly distracted by the sound of another rider approaching. Jongdae twists around to see a man heading towards him astride a formidable-looking stallion. But Jongdae barely has time to focus on the man’s face before his eyes are drawn kicking and screaming to the man’s utterly ridiculous outfit.

Unlike Jongdae, who prefers to be comfortable while riding, this man seems to have taken great pains to choose the most uncomfortable and strange combination of clothing possible. Jongdae wouldn’t call himself the most stylish knight around—he knows others who agonize over their outfits and spend hours deciding what to wear to state events. But he does have a special fondness for a well-put-together ensemble, and staring at this man’s choice of attire is almost torturous.

He’s wearing a dark shirt tucked into a pair of boldly patterned pants that almost remind Jongdae of those the squire had worn earlier. But the worst part, Jongdae thinks faintly, is that the shirt pulls up into a thick, white, ruffled collar encircling the man’s neck, and that he’s wearing a jacket patterned in blue, red, and even expensive purple—all of which clash magnificently with his pants.

“It’s lovely out here in the afternoon, isn’t it?” the man says politely as he draws within speaking distance. Jongdae nods vaguely to prevent himself from saying something embarrassing like were you dressed by a blind infant or are you just trying to make a statement I’m obviously too stupid to understand?

“You must be here for the tournament,” the man prompts again, and Jongdae finally manages to tear his eyes away from that horrible ruffled collar.

“Oh! Oh, yes, I am,” Jongdae replies quickly, eyeing the man’s dark hair—still perfectly in place despite the wind blowing in over the water—and his even darker eyes. “I’m from the south, Sir Chen if that means anything to you.”

“Of course it does!” the other man replies with a brilliant smile. Jongdae feels vaguely overwhelmed. “You’re one of the top competitors! We’re all very excited to see you in the ring.”

“Oh, so you’re not a competitor yourself?” Jongdae ventures, trying to work out why the man looks oddly familiar. He’s sure he would have remembered someone this sartorially challenged if they had met before.

“No, no,” the man says, and to Jongdae’s surprise a faint blush spreads across his cheeks. “I’m…well, my family is hosting the tournament so I’m not allowed to compete, you know the rules—”

“What!” Jongdae barks before he can stop himself because suddenly it hits him exactly who he’s talking to. “I mean, Your Highness! I apologize for not recognizing you earlier!”

Jongdae practically leaps off of Baekhyun, hoping against hope that the Prince is the forgiving type and won’t have him thrown in the dungeon for disrespect. Based on what he’s said so far, and that blush, he seems fairly nonthreatening, but one can never be too sure. Chanyeol looks fairly nonthreatening as well, and Jongdae will never forget the time Chanyeol’s clumsiness (admittedly, combined with Baekhyun’s skittishness) had resulted in Jongdae’s first broken arm.

Once on the ground, Jongdae bows low only to jerk backwards in surprise when he feels strong hands on his shoulders, pushing him upright.

“You don’t…have to do that,” the Prince says awkwardly, dropping his hands from Jongdae’s shirt so fast they can both almost pretend they were never there. “As far as competition goes, I’m just like one of you knights, there’s no reason to get into the Your Highness stuff. I’ve been going around all day telling everyone to call me Junmyeon.”

“Has anyone listened to you?” Jongdae asks interestedly.

“No,” the prince—Jongdae supposes he can call him Junmyeon in his head, no one will know if he just does it in his head, right?—says with a sigh and a strange half-smile. “The best I’ve come to hope for is them laughing and bidding me goodbye quickly. At worst, they go tell my father that I need to be taught a few things about being a royal, how my brother would never behave like this, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Ah, of course,” Jongdae replies, grinning at Junmyeon’s obvious disappointment. “Well, you may call me Jongdae, if it pleases Your Highness.”

He’s heard rumors that though Junmyeon is a bit strange, he’s still bright—definitely more earnest, and kinder, than his older brother. Jongdae’s beginning to regret not listening harder to those rumors. There had been so many opportunities recently—especially when Junmyeon’s older brother had declared his intention to renounce the throne in favor of becoming a knight and succeeding their uncle as the head of the royal guard. Everyone said he had really done it so he would be free to court some dark-haired beauty from a neighboring kingdom—a typical fairy-tale story of the kind that always made Jongdae roll his eyes. Jongdae wonders vaguely if Junmyeon has a dark-haired beauty of his own already. He looks old enough to be married.

“Thank you, Jongdae,” Junmyeon says with a small smile, shading his eyes against the glare of the sun reflecting off the water. “But I suppose we should probably start heading back. The banquet will be starting soon, and I’m supposed to give a speech. Against my will, I might add.”

“In that case, I might actually look forward to it,” Jongdae laughs before he remembers exactly who he’s talking to. “I’ve found the shortest speeches come from people who don’t want to give them.”

It’s only when Junmyeon smiles broadly, drawing Jongdae’s eyes unwillingly back to that damn ruff, that Jongdae realizes that he could have gotten in Big Trouble for saying something so rude to a member of the royal family. Thankfully, Junmyeon—for whatever reason—seems to be the easy-going type. Jongdae almost regrets that the Prince isn’t taking part in the tournament. He’d love to see what Junmyeon looks like in the arena. Hopefully someone would dress him in a decent outfit.

“Have you come with anyone?” Junmyeon asks, as they mount their horses and turn to head back towards the castle. “Or did you travel alone?”

“I came with my most trusted friend, Park Chanyeol, as well as my younger cousin Kim Jongin,” Jongdae says, smiling as he remembers the first day of the journey—the disgusted looks Chanyeol and Jongin had both given him when each found out the other would be coming along.

“Park Chanyeol,” Junmyeon says thoughtfully, and Jongdae feels a slight warmth in his chest that Junmyeon knows who Chanyeol is. “He has been your squire for several years, since you first became a knight.”

“Yes,” Jongdae says defiantly, the warmth fading as he realizes where Junmyeon’s questions are heading. Many people have asked, wondered, gossiped about Chanyeol over the years, and Jongdae has never tolerated it in his presence.

“Why has he not sought to become a knight himself?” Junmyeon asks, and to Jongdae’s surprise he actually sounds legitimately confused. Not mocking or disgusted or self-satisfied like the many others who have asked over the years. And so Jongdae feels a strange urge to tell Junmyeon the truth—to bite back the insults he’s thrown at other knights and noblemen, the harshest barbs saved for those who question Jongdae while Chanyeol is present, as if he can’t hear them discussing him, calling him a disgrace to his family’s honor.

“Chanyeol is my closest and oldest friend,” Jongdae sighs, eyes on his hands as he guides Baekhyun through a rocky outcropping. “And I have tried time and again to tell him that my family would use their connections—what few we have—to allow him to train properly. But he insists that, if he is meant to become a knight, he will become one through his own merit. Without relying on someone else’s help or sponsorship.”

“A noble goal indeed,” Junmyeon says thoughtfully, and this time when Jongdae shoots him a look he suddenly notices how very pretty Junmyeon is. How delicate and pale and gentle-seeming.

“Just don’t tell him that I told you,” Jongdae jokes as they ride through the castle gates, the guards on either side snapping to attention the instant they see the prince approaching. “Or he’ll never forgive me. Chanyeol likes to pretend he hasn’t a care in the world.”

“I think I understand that better than anybody,” Junmyeon sighs with a smile that takes Jongdae aback. He thinks he can see a flash of sadness in it before it’s quickly whisked away. “So I’ll see you at the banquet?”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Jongdae replies, suddenly remembering his manners, and who exactly he’s talking to, now that they’re back within the castle walls. Now that Junmyeon is a prince again instead of simply a friendly stranger with a terrible choice of outfit.

“What is the point of being the prince,” Junmyeon grumbles, as Jongdae turns his horse to head towards the knights’ stable, “if no one is going to do what you tell them?”

Jongdae doesn’t respond, instead simply bowing his head respectfully in Junmyeon’s direction and spurring Baekhyun onwards. But as he dismounts and leads Baekhyun into the dark stable, Jongdae wonders at the little exchange they’ve just had.

Everyone had told him the younger prince was a little strange. But no one had thought to remind Jongdae how much he likes strange.





“Jongdae!” Chanyeol bellows the instant Jongdae steps into the enormous banquet hall. He’s a little late—Baekhyun always requires longer than Jongdae expects to feed and groom, honestly, he thinks the horse is more picky than a human sometimes—but the banquet is already in full swing, noise crashing around Jongdae’s ears as Chanyeol sweeps him up into a bear hug.

“How much have you had to drink already?” Jongdae gasps, massaging his ribs when Chanyeol finally releases him. When Chanyeol gets excited or drunk he tends to squeeze much too hard.

“Oh, not much,” Chanyeol shouts cheerily, pausing to glare into the depths of the mug he’s swinging in his fist. “Besides, what fun is a party if you don’t remember half of it the next morning!”

Jongdae laughs, shaking his head, but lets Chanyeol grab his sleeve and lead him over to one of the long tables lining the hall. Jongdae takes the seat Chanyeol offers him, then quickly jumps back up again to avoid the bowl of sticky, sugared figs that Chanyeol accidentally knocks over as he attempts to sit down.

“Be careful!” Jongdae admonishes him, brushing at his sleeves to check for any sign of stickiness. He’d decided against changing again between the tournament announcements and the banquet, so he’s still in his blue silk shirt and he’d like to keep it blue and silky, thank you very much.

“Oh, don’t worry so much!” Chanyeol laughs, swiping a damp thumb across Jongdae’s forehead before Jongdae can duck. Jongdae grabs the edge of the cream-colored tablecloth and attempts to wipe away whatever Chanyeol’s smeared on his face, resurfacing with every intention of giving Chanyeol a firm swat on the side of the head. However, instead he’s met with Chanyeol pressing a finger to his lips, gesturing towards the front of the hall—the High Table—and Jongdae suddenly notices that the ruckus in the hall has begun to die down.

“I have always been of the mind that a good meal need not be preceded by a long speech,” a booming voice says from the High Table, and when Jongdae glances around Chanyeol he can finally see the King standing up from his seat, addressing the crowd. A loud cheer rises up at his jovial words, which the King acknowledges with twinkling eyes, but then he’s raising his hands for silence. “However, in honor of my younger son’s impending coronation, I have decided to give him the honor of speaking to you all tonight, bringing the fire of competition to your noble hearts!”

Another cheer sweeps through the room, and Jongdae finds his eyes roaming the rest of the people seated at the High Table, looking for the prince. For Junmyeon.

He sees the Queen, smiling gently out at the seated guests, her older son—Junmyeon’s brother—dressed in a dashing blood-red outfit to signify his status as head of the royal guard, and several other noblemen and women that he doesn’t recognize. But he doesn’t see Junmyeon’s dark head seated among them, and Jongdae frowns in confusion.

“My son, the prince!” the King shouts, motioning towards his right, and that’s when Jongdae finally sees him. Junmyeon had been seated on the King’s right-hand side, just far enough over to be hidden from Jongdae’s sight by some knights at a nearby table. But as Junmyeon rises and steps forward, Jongdae fights the urge to slap a hand to his forehead in disgust.

Not for the first time, Jongdae wonders if Junmyeon is allowed to choose his own clothing—and, if not, why his manservant has yet to be executed. At least the ruff has been disposed of, and he’s wearing simple black pants—tighter than Jongdae would have expected but he supposes that is the new fashion nowadays. But the horrific shirt from earlier has merely been replaced by one lacking a ruff and clashing patterns but colored with the same random splotches of purple, blue, and yellow. And over top of the whole travesty he’s wearing a vest. Jongdae hates vests. They are the least functional and worst-looking piece of clothing ever created, in his opinion. Why anyone would want to wear a piece of clothing resembling a breastplate when they weren’t in the arena is beyond him.

“You all right?” Chanyeol whispers suddenly, only slightly slurring his words. Junmyeon’s started to talk, saying something generic about honor and pride and chivalry, but Jongdae isn’t listening, that shirt screaming pleas for help that drown out Junmyeon’s words.

“Of course,” Jongdae half-moans, finally managing to break eye contact with that vest. “Why?”

“Because you look kind of like you’ve seen a ghost,” Chanyeol snorts, bumping Jongdae’s arm with his mug and almost sloshing whatever he’s drinking over the rim onto Jongdae’s sleeve. “Or a dead person. Wait. Are those the same thing?”

“No, a dead person has corporeal form and can’t do anything to you while a ghost can move around and scare people but isn’t solid,” Jongdae explains irritatedly as Junmyeon bows low and sits down to an appreciative roar from the crowd. “Ah, I missed the whole speech, did he say anything interesting?”

“You’re asking me?” Chanyeol snickers, taking another long dreg from his mug and eyeing it shiftily when he turns it upside down and nothing comes out.

“Control yourself,” Jongdae sighs, as people begin to rise and mingle with their fellow knights, squires, and noblemen. He can see Junmyeon and his brother descending from the High Table, though the King and Queen stay where they are. “I’m not going to carry you out if you fall asleep in some dank corner of the hall.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about me,” Chanyeol laughs, swaying dangerously as he stands up and starts heading over towards a group of squires standing around a nearby table. “I’ll be fine!”

“Just like you always are,” Jongdae snorts, staring after Chanyeol and remembering a specific tournament where Jongdae had left his tent in the morning only to find Chanyeol sprawled on the ground right outside, wearing some poor maid’s uniform. But Jongdae doesn’t get much time to dwell on pleasant memories before he feels a warm hand on his shoulder, and he spins around to see Junmyeon standing right behind him, accompanied by his very imposing-looking brother.

“Sir Chen!” Junmyeon says excitedly, and Jongdae suddenly feels his heart start beating very fast. It’s one thing to speak to the prince in the middle of an empty field overlooking the sea, and quite another to make conversation during a banquet, where there are other people around and Junmyeon has a thin band of gold encircling his head, just in case anyone (not Jongdae) had forgotten exactly who he is.

“So good to see you again, your highness,” Jongdae replies cordially, bowing low before both Junmyeon and his brother. Junmyeon gives a shallow bow in return, but his brother simply lifts an eyebrow as in takes in Jongdae’s blue silk shirt, his hair still slightly messy from riding though he’d tried his best to tame it, and his pale skin, which Jongdae works very hard to maintain despite spending much of his time outdoors. Jongdae suddenly feels like he’s being sized up and begins to feel more than a little afraid of coming up short.

But the older prince says nothing beyond a general greeting—placing a hand on Junmyeon’s shoulder as he does so—before he’s sliding past them, already being accosted by several knights that Jongdae knows have aspirations of being generals some day.

“Did you appreciate my brevity?” Junmyeon asks teasingly, eyes flicking away from Jongdae’s face as if nervous despite the confident amusement in his voice.

“I did indeed,” Jongdae smiles, half-heartedly feeling bad about not actually having listened to any of what Junmyeon had said. “I hope you plan on continuing such a tradition at future tournaments. You’ll make many friends that way.”

“I should hope so,” Junmyeon sighs, glancing around Jongdae at the many tables filled with people—all shouting and pushing and generally having a good time. “A king should have as many friends as possible, I suppose.”

“Well, you don’t need friends so much as loyal subjects,” Jongdae reasons, but he stops short when he sees that same strange hint of sadness shifting in Junmyeon’s eyes. “Although, as a mere knight, I doubt my opinion has much value to you.”

“Of course your opinion has value!” Junmyeon protests, lips turning downwards into a small frown that creases his forehead. “I think everyone’s opinion should matter, no matter what their station.”

“A very unusual perspective for a future king,” Jongdae smiles, slightly taken aback by Junmyeon’s words. Jongdae doesn’t think he’s ever met a stranger prince—and he’s visited the Kingdom of Kwons. “But not an unwelcome one. I think you’ll make a great king someday.”

“You’ve hardly known me for half a day,” Junmyeon laughs, Jongdae feeling better now that he’s made him smile. “But I’ll take any compliments I can get, it’s tiring being told day after day by my father and my brother that I’m ‘too kind’ or ‘too unrealistic’ to be king.”

Jongdae smiles, trying to imagine a ruthless, down-to-earth Junmyeon and failing miserably, but when Junmyeon reaches up a hand to fix his collar Jongdae’s brought back to earth with a sudden frustrating jolt.

“I have to ask,” Jongdae says slowly, eyeing Junmyeon’s shirt which, now that’s he really looking at it, is even more offensive up close than it had been from far away. “Does your manservant choose your clothing for you?”

“Most of the time,” Junmyeon sighs, looking down at his shirt with what looks to Jongdae terrifyingly like a smile. “But when it comes to these special events he sometimes lets me choose. Like tonight!”

“Dear god,” Jongdae gasps before he can bite back the words. Raising his eyes tentatively to Junmyeon’s face, he sees Junmyeon staring strangely at him.

“Why?” Junmyeon asks defensively, thumb running across one of the buttons of his awful vest. “Don’t you like it?”

“To tell you the truth, your highness—Junmyeon,” Jongdae says quickly, lowering his voice on the last word so that no one hears and decides to throw him into a cold, dark cell. “Not at all. It’s...it’s. Terrible.”

“What!” Junmyeon cries, but Jongdae’s pleased to see that he looks more amused than angry. “What is there not to like? The colors are beautiful, and the vest—”

“The vest,” Jongdae sighs in an affronted tone. “Vests are never a good idea. And the colors of that shirt are...pretty...but I really don’t think anyone but a blind tailor would choose a fabric that includes splotches of all of them mixed together.”

“Well, I like it,” Junmyeon replies firmly, Jongdae rolling his eyes when he knows Junmyeon isn’t looking. “Though I will admit, you’re not the first one to tell me that I might have some...problems. When it comes to picking nice clothing.”

“Of course, as the crown prince,” Jongdae murmurs, shooting Junmyeon a sly smile. “Who are we to correct you? You may have half the court wearing clothing with so many mismatching colors before long.”

“You really dislike it that much?” Junmyeon laughs, eyes dancing. In response, Jongdae merely lifts his hands, palms up, in a gesture of helplessness.

“Then I’ll make you a deal,” Junmyeon says, eyes glimmering, and Jongdae’s eyes widen. A deal with the prince? What could that possibly entail? “If you win this tournament, if Sir Chen is proclaimed the most brave and noble knight in all of the Kingdom. Then you may build an enormous bonfire and throw all of the clothes that so displease you upon it.”

“I—what—Your Highness!” Jongdae squeaks, suddenly feeling quite dizzy as a shower of gold coins rains down behind his eyes—the enormous amounts he knows the royal family must spend on their clothing. “I would never be able to make such a deal, destroy the possessions of the prince that must have cost a great deal of money!”

“There are good things about being the crown prince,” Junmyeon grins, as if daring Jongdae to accept his offer. “One of which is, there will always be more money. Though I must say, I had been planning to wear this delightful blue and orange tunic on the first day of the tournament—my brother brought it back from a diplomatic voyage and said he’d had it made especially for me though the women who spun the cloth protested greatly those colors being used together.”

“I—blue and orange—” Jongdae breathes, trying desperately not to picture it. Junmyeon is so lovely, Jongdae can’t understand why he would want to be known as the prince who dresses like the court jester. “Your Highness, surely you understand why I cannot take this wager of yours. It would be...inappropriate.”

“Ah, but it is never inappropriate to wear bright colors,” Junmyeon sighs happily, already turning away. “Have it your way, Sir Chen. I think I see my father calling to me.”

Jongdae almost lets him go. Almost lets Junmyeon just walk away from up towards the high table where his father is indeed motioning towards him, some stuffy-looking court official at his side. But then Jongdae’s eyes are drawn once again to that vest and before he knows it, he’s leaping forwards, hand outstretched.

“I accept your deal, Your Highness,” Jongdae says loudly, biting back a laugh when Junmyeon turns around with a broad smile stretching across his face. “I will win this tournament, if only to save you from a lifetime of wardrobe-related disgrace. And might I recommend you wear a blue shirt tomorrow? I think it would complement you quite nicely.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard sweeter words,” Junmyeon jokes, shaking Jongdae’s proffered hand before bowing slightly—acknowledging Jongdae’s much deeper bow in return—and turning around again to head back towards his father.

Jongdae watches him go, feeling slightly stunned at what he’s just done.

“Having a good time, old friend?” Chanyeol laughs boisterously, appearing out of nowhere and draping himself across Jongdae’s shoulders. He smells of liquor and Jongdae can see that his pants have somehow disappeared. Thank god Chanyeol is wearing a long tunic rather than the shorter shirts he favors for riding.

“I just made a deal with the prince,” Jongdae says simply, shaking off Chanyeol’s heavy arm. “If I win the tournament, I get to burn all of his terrible clothes.”

“Well, I was going to offer you a drink,” Chanyeol says, narrowing his eyes at Jongdae in what could be a suspicious look or just an attempt to see him better. “But I think you’ve already had one too many.”

Before Jongdae can protest, saying he hasn’t even had one, Chanyeol hears someone calling his name and is blundering off, yelling happily all the while. Jongdae, after glancing out at the chaos gradually overtaking the hall, decides that he’ll be better off retiring for the night—maybe spending some time with Baekhyun. After all, now he’s got a tournament to win. He has to stay focused.





The first day of the tournament dawns bright and cheery, though Jongdae feels nothing of the sort as he drags himself out of the bed he’s been given in one of the nicer guest rooms of the castle. He’s pleased to see that there’s fresh water in the basin beside the bed, though the maids appear to have come and gone several hours ago, since it’s no longer warm. Wandering over to the window and glancing out over the grounds, Jongdae sighs when he sees that various squires and knights are already milling about, preparing for the day.

Stretching and yawning heavily—despite his best efforts, the revelry in the banquet hall had kept him up far later than he would have liked—Jongdae heads over to the tall oak wardrobe where he’s hung his clothes and wonders what he should wear today. It’s only the first day of the tournament, so nothing too showy. But he does want to give a good first impression, remind people that he is on his way to becoming one of the most renowned knights in the kingdom. Jongdae gives himself a mental pat once again for dismissing the manservant who had been assigned to help him with dressing and bathing. Chanyeol always teases that he can’t stand someone dressing him because he grew up like a peasant, but Jongdae doesn’t mind the taunts. He likes knowing that he can take as much time as he needs to get ready, without anyone standing by watching or—even worse—trying to help.

Eventually, Jongdae decides on a billowy, white shirt and dark pants. Functional for riding, but he also knows that white compliments him quite nicely. Maybe not quite as well as it does Jongin, with his darker skin and twinkling eyes, but well enough. And then Jongdae’s out the door, wondering where the maids could have gotten to with his breakfast.

Surprisingly, he meets Chanyeol on his way down the stairs—looking none the worse for wear besides his slightly glazed eyes and a dark stain spattered across his tunic. He’s even somehow found his pants, a fact for which Jongdae is very grateful. He does have a reputation to uphold, after all, and having a perpetually embarrassing squire wouldn’t do much good at all.

“Good morning,” Jongdae says brightly, laughing when Chanyeol winces, eyes blinking shut against the sunshine and Jongdae’s cheerful words. “I’m surprised to see you already up.”

“Oh, believe me, I wish I weren’t,” Chanyeol groans, passing a hand over his face as he falls in step beside Jongdae. “But, surprisingly, the floor of the library doesn’t make for a very restful night and all the light shining through those enormous windows woke me the second the sun came up.”

“How did you manage to make it to the library?” Jongdae chuckles, grabbing Chanyeol’s elbow to keep him from crashing into a servant heading past them in the other direction. “That’s almost on the opposite side of the castle from the banquet hall.”

“These things happen when you live a life as exciting as mine,” Chanyeol says with a wise nod, yelping when Jongdae punches him in the arm.

“I think these are the kitchens,” Jongdae huffs, stopping in front of a large wooden door. He can hear shuffling and clattering behind it, along with the sound of yelling. “One minute.”

Jongdae ducks into the room quickly, determined not to bother the cook and her helpers too much, but it’s mere seconds before a small boy standing elbow-deep in a tub of dough looks up and gasps, almost sending the tub crashing to the floor as he whips his hands out and bows low.

“Sir, what are you doing here?” he stutters, dashing forward and waving his hands as if to shoo Jongdae away. “Was the meal not to your satisfaction? We would be pleased to provide something else for you but you should really just have sent a servant to get us, not come yourself—”

“I’m just here because my breakfast seems to have been misplaced somewhere along the way,” Jongdae says kindly, talking over the boy’s protests. “Don’t worry, I know my way around a kitchen, if you just have some buns or eggs that would be perfectly fine.”

“But sir!” the boy breathes, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting the head cook to appear from the wall of steam and take his head off for having the nerve to talk to a knight. “We sent your breakfast out with your squire, he insisted he bring it to you himself!”

“Did he now?” Jongdae pauses, holding back a long-suffering sigh. “Well, I must have just missed him, I’m so sorry for bothering you at your work.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, sir, none at all,” the boy insists, sounding almost dazed as he whips around and grabs a basket sitting on a side counter. “But, here, sir, if you would like these, you’re welcome to have them.”

“Thank you,” Jongdae replies happily, clutching the basket of scones to his chest and inclining his head slightly to the servant. “You’re a fine man.”

“Thank you, sir,” the boy squeaks, before dashing back to his dough. Jongdae lets himself out, the hubbub dying away as the door swings shut.

“So.” Jongdae says shortly, glaring at Chanyeol, who’s currently leaning against the opposite wall examining the stain on his shirt. “You’re the one who ate my breakfast.”

“I was hungry!” Chanyeol whines, face brightening when he looks up and sees the basket in Jongdae’s arms. “So when I saw that maid heading up to your room, I did what had to be done! Now give me a scone.”

“No!” Jongdae laughs, hauling the basket back out of reach. “You don’t deserve one today. Some squire you are, stealing your knight’s breakfast and then not even offering to help him prepare for his first match today.”

“You never want me to help you—” Chanyeol starts to protest, but Jongdae’s already dashing off, down the corridor and several flights of stairs as he heads towards the stables. He and Baekhyun will have a very fine breakfast indeed.





When he reaches the stables, Jongdae ducks hesitantly inside, pausing to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Once they do, it’s a simple matter to make his way over to Baekhyun’s stall, unlatch the gate, and let himself inside where he collapses on some hay. Baekhyun glares balefully at him, no doubt upset that Jongdae had disturbed his nice nap, but when Jongdae offers him a scone Baekhyun looks much more cheerful. As they both munch away, Jongdae wonders if he has the time to take Baekhyun out for a ride. Most of the morning’s competitors—of which Jongdae is one—are already out warming up their horses. But Jongdae’s always disliked riding around and around in a ring, and he’d much rather take another trip out to those sea cliffs.

Brushing crumbs off of his hands and shoving the basket out of Baekhyun’s reach after the dumb horse tries to eat that, too, Jongdae stands and leads Baekhyun slowly out of his stall. The fresh air is welcome after the stale warmth of the stable, and as he directs Baekhyun out of the castle gates, Jongdae takes deep breaths, letting it fill his lungs. Baekhyun seems to be just as pleased to be outside as Jongdae is, trotting happily over the rolling, grassy knolls as they draw closer and closer to the deep blue ocean.

Jongdae can’t stop himself from sighing when he hears the slow thud of hoofbeats wandering closer, and by the way Baekhyun turns to looks at him, huffing out a deep, warm breath when Jongdae pulls him to a halt, he’s not exactly pleased either at having to greet some random knight in the middle of their morning ride. However, what Jongdae is not prepared for is the voice that suddenly comes from his right-hand side, causing him to whip around in the saddle and nearly topple over onto the ground.

“Are you all right?” Junmyeon asks worriedly, as Jongdae regains his balance and tries to halt the embarrassed blush spreading across his face. So much for making a good impression.

“Of course,” Jongdae snaps, before he remembers who he’s talking to and clears his throat apologetically. “Your Highness.”

“Apparently Junmyeon is just too much to ask for,” Junmyeon sighs, gazing pensively out at the sea, but Jongdae can see a small smile creasing the corners of his mouth so he knows Junmyeon isn’t really upset. Junmyeon is wearing a simpler outfit today, Jongdae notices. The deep blue of his shirt actually accents his eyes quite nicely.     

“It just...wouldn’t be right. Your Highness,” Jongdae explains, turning his gaze out over the water as well. It really is quite lovely.

“Ah, well,” Junmyeon murmurs, before repeating his original question. “But shouldn’t you be in the ring warming up? I know your match is one of the earlier ones today.”

“Does Your Highness keep such good track of all the knight’s events?” Jongdae teases, satisfied when he makes Junmyeon flush a slight pink. But then he’s recovered himself, putting on what Jongdae supposes is his most princely face.

“It’s a duty of the host of any tournament to know the schedule of every knight,” Junmyeon states proudly, before letting his chest deflate and grinning lopsidedly at Jongdae. “But the question still stands.”

“I generally prefer to exercise Baekhyun outdoors,” Jongdae replies quickly, not quite daring to evade the question again. Junmyeon may be a strange prince but he’s still a prince. “Riding around that arena for too long can make me feel ill.”

“Well, of course you must do whatever you think is best,” Junmyeon says, but then he’s dropping his gaze to the ground, eyes twinkling. “Though I have to say, I’m not sure how much exercise your horse is getting like this.”

Jongdae looks down as well, to where Baekhyun is chomping happily at the short-cropped bluff grass, and bites back a groan. Why couldn’t he have a well-behaved horse like Junmyeon’s? One that remained upright and regal-looking all the time instead of taking every opportunity to be embarrassing?

“Stop it,” Jongdae hisses, yanking at the reins to pull Baekhyun’s head away from the ground. Baekhyun turns to glare at him, half-chewed tufts of grass falling morosely from his mouth. Pathetic. What a horse.

“I should probably return to the castle,” Junmyeon says suddenly, and Jongdae feels a slight pang of discontent right before he wonders why he cares. “Good luck with your match today.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Jongdae smiles, bowing as well as he can while still astride Baekhyun. “With your good wishes, and our bargain, there’s no way I could fail.”

“We’ll see about that,” Junmyeon smirks, before spurring his horse back towards the castle, leaving a slightly stunned Jongdae staring after him, wondering if it’s really all right for a prince to speak so informally with one of his subjects.

“Come on, you lazy lummox!” Jongdae grunts, getting a very moody Baekhyun moving again. They ride for several more miles—long enough to have both of them sweating under the mounting heat of the autumn sun—but even the whirling sea breeze isn’t enough to sweep thoughts of Junmyeon from Jongdae’s head.






The first match is between Sir Sunggyu and a challenger Jongdae doesn’t recognize. The squire in charge of announcing the contestants calls him Sir Lay, but that doesn’t help since Jongdae’s never heard the name before. As he’s sitting in the stands, puzzling, he suddenly notices a slight disturbance to his right. All the people sitting along that side of the bench are shifting and muttering, clothes rustling and feet scraping back against the seat, and it doesn’t take long before Jongdae sees the source of their discomfort.

“Finally decided to make an appearance?” he asks wryly, as Chanyeol plunks himself down beside him on the bench, effectively shoving another squire out of the way. The man starts to protest, but a single glare from Chanyeol is enough to silence him. Jongdae supposes Chanyeol can look quite intimidating if you’ve never met him before.

“Well now, if you’re going to be rude about it then I won’t tell you what I know about Sir Lay,” Chanyeol sighs, leaning back on his hands and smiling sweetly when Jongdae glares at him.

“How do you know I care about Sir Lay at all?” Jongdae asks, swinging his legs back and forth, enjoying the gentle thud they make as they hit the back of the bench.

“Because you’re a busybody,” Chanyeol replies evenly, ducking out of the way of Jongdae’s fist. “You want to know everything about everybody and you want to have your say in everything, from what people are wearing to who they’re marrying.”

“No, I don’t,” Jongdae spits back quickly, the teasing words hitting a little closer to the mark than Chanyeol perhaps intended. It’s just that Junmyeon dressed so very badly…

“Yes, you do,” Chanyeol laughs, turning his gaze out to the ring, where Sir Sunggyu and Sir Lay are preparing to charge.

“Okay, fine,” Jongdae finally growls, as the crowd erupts in a babble of cheers and groans. Sir Lay had almost unhorsed his opponent, but the other knight had managed to haul himself upright just in time.  “Just tell me what you know. Please?”

“You remember Luhan, that foreign nobleman from across the sea who married the Prince’s cousin?” Chanyeol whispers smugly, thoroughly enjoying the way Jongdae is forced to lean in to hear him.

“How could I not remember Luhan?” Jongdae shudders, memories welling to the surface from the wedding several years ago.

Luhan had married one of the kingdom’s favorite noblewomen, Lady Taeyeon, and so of course everyone had been prepared to hate him. A foreigner, waltzing into the kingdom and stealing away one of their ladies? But Luhan had endeared himself to everyone by being very amusing and by, instead of taking Taeyeon back across the sea with him, having an enormous manner built just outside of the city so that they could remain near her family. But Luhan had also become good-naturedly known for having certain preferences that Taeyeon embraced wholeheartedly—never having been one to question an arrangement that involved bringing more than one handsome man into her quarters. And Jongdae had been forced to sit through an excruciatingly awkward dinner one afternoon when Luhan took a fancy to him, finally escaping only by pretending Baekhyun was terribly ill and running out to the stables before anyone could stop him.

“Well, anyway, Sir Lay is a friend of his, an old friend from when he was a child,” Chanyeol continues, wincing as Sir Sunggyu lands a glancing blow on Sir Lay during their second pass. “And so he invited him and another knight—Sir Tao, I think it was?—to take part in our tournament, since they have none of their own back in his home.”

“As long as they don’t win, I have no problem with that,” Jongdae sniffs, turning back to the arena and applauding politely as Sir Lay finally sends his opponent crashing to the ground. As Sir Lay circles his horse triumphantly around the ring, Jongdae notices that Chanyeol’s still staring at him thoughtfully.

“What?” Jongdae asks, turning his gaze back to the ring. “This is the Kingdom of Kims. It only makes sense that a Kim should be crowned the victor and sent to face the competitors from other kingdoms.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Chanyeol says, following Jongdae when he stands and starts to make his way down through the stands. It’s time for him to start preparing for his own competition. “I just have this strange memory from last night of you telling me that you made a deal with the Prince? Something about clothing and you making very bad decisions?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jongdae replies innocently, ducking into the brightly colored tent that’s been assigned to him, and examining the armor a page had laid out and polished earlier this morning. It gleams even in the dim light filtering through the thick canvas, and Jongdae nods appreciatively. He’s going to look fantastic out in the morning sun.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure you do,” Chanyeol snorts, though he’s already moving to help Jongdae fit his body into the metal pieces. He may not act like it sometimes, but Chanyeol really is a wonderful squire. Jongdae once tried to put on his armor by himself, and it had taken almost three times as long as it does with Chanyeol’s help. “I may have been drunk, but I wasn’t that drunk.”

“You weren’t even wearing pants,” Jongdae points out helpfully, but Chanyeol just jams Jongdae’s helmet down onto his head, laughing when Jongdae’s protest echoes dully inside the thick metal.

“Well, anyway, good luck out there,” Chanyeol says seriously, slapping Jongdae on the back and wincing at the pain in his hand when he pulls it back.

“You always do that, and you always get hurt,” Jongdae laughs, flipping up his visor to give Chanyeol a look. “When will you learn?”

“Your noble steed awaits,” Chanyeol says, studiously ignoring Jongdae’s grin as he opens the tent flap and motions Jongdae out.

“Noble steed, ha!” Jongdae scoffs to himself as he walks out into the bright sunlight and heads over to the smaller ring where they’ve tied the horses. But he can’t deny that Baekhyun looks magnificent—his coat’s been brushed until it shines and his dark eyes are alert and eager. He’s always the most excited before a match, much like Jongdae himself, but unlike Jongdae Baekhyun doesn’t have to try to contain his enthusiasm in order to present an impassive front to his opponent. Baekhyun can snort and shift from foot to foot and shake his dark mane anxiously as Jongdae swings himself into the stirrups and kicks Baekhyun forwards towards the arena. And he does.

Jongdae vaguely hears his name being called over the roar of the crowd, but everything is muffled by his heavy helmet. He also can’t see particularly well out of the visor, and it’s stifling in the suit of armor now that the sun is nearly directly overhead. But all of those little inconveniences fly out of Jongdae’s head as he hears a blast from a trumpet and sees Sir Key charging towards him, his horse’s red and yellow caparison flying.

Jongdae urges Baekhyun forward, readying his lance as he sees Sir Key approach. From the way he’s sitting, a bit too far to the left, Jongdae can see that he’s already off-balance and trying to compensate. Even though Jongdae’s used to this by now—knows how to brace himself against the blow—he still grunts in pain when the collision comes, focusing all his energy on keeping his lance steady.

It works, and Jongdae dashes past still firmly seated in the saddle. As he wheels Baekhyun around, the horse snorting and stomping excitedly beneath him, he sees that Sir Key has managed to stay balanced as well, but just barely. Another pass should finish him.

Taking aim, Jongdae charges once again, keeping close to the tilt running down the center of the arena. Gripping his lance as tightly as he is, he feels it the second Sir Key completely loses his balance. The pressure of a human body on the other side of the lance releases and suddenly Baekhyun is cantering forwards much too fast. Jongdae drags roughly back on the reins, barking out a sharp reprimand when Baekhyun almost tries to throw him, the crazy animal. When Baekhyun’s front hooves finally land solidly back on the ground, he throws Jongdae a dirty look before turning forwards again and starting his customary trot around the stadium, head held high as he soaks up the cheers.

Jongdae sits up straighter as well, though inside he’s grumbling annoyedly at Baekhyun’s little temper tantrum. He waves to the yelling crowd in the stands and can’t stop himself from grinning when he sees Chanyeol jumping up and down, accidentally knocking over the people standing on either side of him. It seems like mere seconds before Jongdae’s made it all the way around and is following Sir Key out, back towards the knights’ tents.

“Excellent match,” Kibum says a bit breathlessly, pulling off his helmet and offering Jongdae a hand as he dismounts. “You just keep improving.”

“Or maybe you’re getting slow in your old age,” Jongdae jokes, yanking off his own helmet and dragging his fingers through his sweaty hair.

“Just wait until next year,” Kibum grins, patting his horse on the rump and grabbing its reins to lead it back towards the stables. “When you’re as old as I am, you’ll see.”

Jongdae laughs as he waves Kibum off, before ducking back into his tent to take off the rest of his armor. The gauntlets go first, quickly followed by the many segments covering his arms and torso. He’s just removed his breastplate and is starting on the curved sections covering his feet when he hears the soft sound from behind him.

Whirling, Jongdae nearly laughs with relief when he sees Junmyeon standing in front of him, obviously just come from the stadium. He’d heard of certain unscrupulous knights trying to disable their opponents before a match and pass it off as an accident, and he’s always been a little worried that those were more than just rumors.

“Well, you certainly made that look easy,” Junmyeon comments, leaning against one of the tent poles and watching idly as Jongdae removes the rest of his armor. “Only two passes.”

“Kibum—Sir Key—” Jongdae corrects himself, hoping against hope that he hasn’t sweated through his shirt, “is a worthy opponent. But he has several obvious weaknesses and I’ve been matched with him enough times to know how to exploit them.”

“Still,” Junmyeon smiles, “as a fellow knight, I know a soon-to-be champion when I see one.”

“You’re hardly just a fellow knight, Your Highness,” Jongdae mumbles before he can stop himself, trying his best to ignore the slightly crestfallen expression on Junmyeon’s face. “But thank you for the compliments. You keep this up, and I might be too overconfident to win this tournament.”

“Perhaps that was my intention,” Junmyeon replies, quickly recovering himself. “I am rather attached to that ruff.”

Jongdae shudders exaggeratedly, before turning and holding open the tent flap behind him, ushering Junmyeon out into the warm air.

“Is this your horse?” Junmyeon asks excitedly the second he sees Baekhyun tied to a nearby tree, and Jongdae nods in reply while shooting Baekhyun a warning glance. Luckily, however, Baekhyun seems to be on his best behavior, merely peering curiously at Junmyeon before allowing the prince to run soothing hands across his forehead and through his mane.

“I’m surprised he’s being so cooperative,” Jongdae remarks as he moves closer, stopping a little ways away to admire the sight of his horse acting so calm and well-behaved.

“He’s a beautiful animal,” Junmyeon practically coos, and Jongdae tries not to throw up when Baekhyun steps forward a little, nudging Junmyeon’s hand with his large head, practically begging to be stroked. “What’s his name?”

“Baekhyun,” Jongdae says shortly, and he’s not surprised to see that Baekhyun ignores him in favor of delightedly slurping up the lump of sugar Junmyeon’s produced out of nowhere.

“A pretty name for a pretty horse,” Junmyeon simpers, and Jongdae swears he sees Baekhyun nod his head in satisfaction. “I must say, what’s the point of being a prince if you can’t even get a horse half so magnificent as this one?”

“Well, I’m certain that even if Your Highness’s horse is less attractive than Baekhyun, it is much better behaved,” Jongdae snorts, finally walking forward and slapping Baekhyun’s broad flank appreciatively. Baekhyun is not very amused and tries to step on Jongdae’s toes. Good thing Jongdae’s always had quick reflexes.

“If you say so,” Junmyeon laughs, giving Baekhyun one last pat before turning towards Jongdae with a sigh. “Unfortunately, I should probably be off now. I’m supposed to be meeting with Luhan, discussing how his two knights are going to fit into our little tournament.”

“Good luck,” Jongdae says with a shiver, untying Baekhyun from the tree and turning to watch Junmyeon walk back towards the stadium. From the back, wearing decent clothing, Junmyeon actually looks quite princely—resolute, shining in the midday sun.

Shaking his head to clear the thought from his mind, Jongdae takes a few steps forward only to be jerked to a halt by the reins clutched in his right hand.

“Baekhyun,” Jongdae says slowly, turning around to face his horse. “Let’s go.”

The horse completely ignores him, standing perfectly still and gazing in the direction Junmyeon had gone.

“Come on,” Jongdae tries again, yanking a bit harder on the reins this time, hoping the bit in Baekhyun’s mouth will bother him enough to get him moving. It doesn’t, apparently, because the horse is still as a statue. Although a statue would probably be better behaved, Jongdae thinks to himself with a groan.

“Baek-hyun-let’s-go!” Jongdae gasps, punctuating each syllable with a yank on the reins. This is starting to get very annoying. Baekhyun stays resolutely still.

“All right,” Jongdae growls, stomping up and grabbing the horse’s large head so Baekhyun’s large dark eyes are staring right into Jongdae’s. “We’re leaving, okay? Junmyeon is gone, because he’s busy, and he has a well-behaved horse. Don’t you want to go back to the stable where you can eat and get brushed down?”

Baekhyun stares impassively at Jongdae until finally Jongdae sighs, slumping against Baekhyun’s warm side.

“Fine!” he yells in defeat. “I’ll bring Junmyeon to see you later. Happy now?”

The only response Jongdae gets is Baekhyun suddenly stepping forwards and starting to trot obligingly towards the stables, sending Jongdae crashing unexpectedly to the ground. As Jongdae picks himself up, swearing as he chases after Baekhyun, he wonders if Junmyeon has ever had this much trouble with his horse. Then he wonders when Junmyeon started training to be a knight. Then he wonders why he’s wondering about Junmyeon at all. It’s all very confusing.

“Jongdae!” Jongdae hears as he reaches the stables, just as a tall bundle of limbs smelling of horse and sunshine and metal crashes into him, sending him to the ground for the second time in the past five minutes.

“What’s happened? Are you all right?” Jongdae tries to say as he looks up into Jongin’s excited eyes, Jongin quickly picking himself up and then extending a hand to help Jongdae.

“My match just finished!” Jongin exclaims as soon as Jongdae appears to be listening. “My match! Against Minseok!”

“Oh, was that just now, I’m so sorry I missed it!” Jongdae sighs, leading Baekhyun into his stall as Jongin follows behind babbling on about matches and statistics and too-heavy lances. “Wait, did you win?”

“No!” Jongin squeals, like it’s the best thing in the world, and Jongdae pauses, confused.

“Isn’t that bad?” he asks, slamming Baekhyun’s stall door closed and pushing Jongin back out into the fresh air.

“Well, I suppose losing is bad from the viewpoint of someone who’s promised a certain prince that they’ll win the tournament,” Jongin says slyly, just barely managing to duck Jongdae’s hand as he reaches out to slap Jongin’s arm.

“Chanyeol told you?” Jongdae groans, turning their steps back towards the castle. He has another match this afternoon, and before that he thinks he might like to take a nap.

“Can you blame him?” Jongin laughs, poking Jongdae in the side. “It’s a great story. My cousin, making bets with royalty. Who knows what you’ll do next!”

“Hush, before I go get Baekhyun and trample you,” Jongdae warns, but Jongin seems singularly unphased, just linking their hands together and swinging his arm back and forth.

“I did it,” Jongin says after several quiet moments, and Jongdae gives him a small smile, leaning his head onto Jongin’s shoulder as they walk. “I did it, and it took Minseok three tries to unhorse me.”

“Just wait,” Jongdae tells him firmly. “Next year, you’ll be the most fearsome competitor out there. And now you can just relax for the rest of the tournament!”

Jongin grins before dropping Jongdae’s hand and starting off in a slightly different direction.

“Aren’t you going into the castle?” Jongdae asks in confusion, watching Jongin walk away.

“I’m hungry,” Jongin pouts, and Jongdae snorts in amusement as he watches Jongin duck into the back door leading to the kitchens. Maybe the kitchen servants will be more comfortable around Jongin than they are around Jongdae, seeing as how Jongin is still a five year old at heart.

Jongdae continues on up the enormous steps, through the grand entrance hall, and is halfway up the staircase leading to his rooms when he’s suddenly caught off-guard by a voice to his left.

“You have got to stop sneaking up on me!” Jongdae mutters, trying to fight off a blush at way he’d flinched when Junmyeon had called his name. “And aren’t you supposed to be down by the arena anyway?”

“They’ve called for a brief pause, to allow for the judges to come back up and have a nice lunch,” Junmyeon shrugs, falling into step beside Jongdae. Jongdae nearly flinches again when Junmyeon inexplicably decides to thread his arm through Jongdae’s, but he manages to contain himself. He just hopes no one walks by and sees him touching the crown prince. Jongdae is rather attached to his arm, he’d hate to have anything happen to it. “Where were you going?”

“I was going to go sleep for an hour or two until my next match,” Jongdae says wearily, because he can already tell by the sparkle in Junmyeon’s eyes that he’s not going to get his nap after all.

“What I want to show you is more important than a nap,” Junmyeon says seriously, patting Jongdae on the head. Jongdae struggles not to find this condescending.

“And what exactly did you want to show me?” Jongdae asks, letting Junmyeon drag him farther and farther away from his room. “If it’s not a pile of your horrible outfits ready for the bonfire than I’m not sure I want to see it.”

“Now, now,” Junmyeon says with a smug smile. “You have to win the tournament before that happens. I actually have a lovely outfit planned for tonight—the shirt is from the kingdom to the East, they have all sorts of beautiful dyes there, purple and yellow and—”

“Purple and yellow? In one piece of clothing?” Jongdae gulps, just as Junmyeon pulls them through a side door and suddenly they’re standing out in the open air.

“What, you have a better suggestion?” Junmyeon asks sweetly, as they draw closer to an enormous set of hedges. They’re so enormous that Jongdae can’t see over them, and as Junmyeon pulls him in between two of them, Jongdae has the distinct impression that he’s entering a maze.

“I think you would look lovely in white,” Jongdae replies honestly, grimacing as he looks down at his own white shirt—still damp with sweat and smelling of Baekhyun.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Junmyeon nods firmly, finally pausing in what appears to be a little clearing, enclosed on every side by those enormous hedges. Off to the side of the clearing is a broad stone bench, shaded by the spreading branches of a tree with smooth, dark wood, and tiny pink flowers. In the center of the clearing is a fountain.

“It’s beautiful,” Jongdae gasps, unable to help himself as he moves closer to the fountain, trying to examine it from every angle.

“You like it?” Junmyeon asks, obviously pleased by Jongdae’s astonishment. “When I was younger, we used to travel every summer to the mountains, and one year while we were there I met the man who carved this. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.”

“What’s it made of?” Jongdae asks, reaching out to touch the smooth stone before jerking his hand back. He wouldn’t want to soil it.

“Quartz,” Junmyeon responds, gently grasping Jongdae’s hand and placing it onto the surface of the fountain. Jongdae can’t tell whether the chill that runs up his spine is from the cold water now spilling over his fingers or the fact that Junmyeon is suddenly so very close. “The base is marble but the rest is quartz.”

“Is that—a person?” Jongdae asks before he can stop himself, but he suddenly wishes he hadn’t spoken when he sees Junmyeon’s mouth tighten. The fountain has been carved in the shape of an enormous waterfall, slipping off sheer cliffs cut from glittering stone to shatter into glittering, crystalline spires as it hits the marble rocks at the base. And just at the top, where the river throws itself off into air, Jongdae can see a tiny figure placed on the riverbank, almost seeming to rise out of the water itself.

“She would have made a wonderful queen,” Junmyeon says wistfully, and suddenly Jongdae realizes where this is going. Of course. He knows that one of the most important jobs of the prince is to get married, secure an alliance with some other kingdom. But, talking to Junmyeon these past few days, he’d almost forgotten.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Jongdae whispers, strangely unable to meet Junmyeon’s eyes. Junmyeon just sighs, running a hand over the cool surface of the statue.

“Well, it’s not like I ever really knew her,” Junmyeon says, and just as quickly as everything had come clear Jongdae watches everything become murky again. “So I don’t feel the loss as deeply as my parents or my brother. But sometimes I wish...because if she were still alive then she could rule the kingdom and I would be free to—”

Junmyeon abruptly cuts off, taking a step away from the statue and giving Jongdae an apologetic glance.

“I didn’t mean to burden you with all that,” he says quietly, and Jongdae never realized that someone’s eyes could look so soft. “I meant to just show you this place because I think it’s beautiful.”

“It is!” Jongdae says quickly, and even though he tries not to say anything else, the words slip out before he can help himself. “What kingdom was she from?”

“What do you mean?” Junmyeon asks curiously, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes. “She was my sister, of course she was from this kingdom.”

“Oh,” Jongdae breathes, not quite sure why he feels so incredibly relieved. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, I…misunderstood.”

“What—you thought—oh,” Junmyeon stammers, and Jongdae’s surprised to see that Junmyeon is blushing, pale skin fading into pink. “My marriage prospects have not yet been settled. They probably won’t be for a while.”

“At your own request, or just because your parents need the time to find you a suitable kingdom to wed,” Jongdae jokes, but for some reason the words sting more than they should. For the first time he feels a bit sorry for Junmyeon—the life he’ll have to lead, a life more his kingdom’s than his own.

“I have no need for a consort, though I would have many to choose from if I so desired,” Junmyeon says loftily, and all the pity Jongdae had been feeling abruptly disappears. But then Junmyeon smiles and Jongdae just barely manages to maintain enough annoyance at his self-righteous attitude to roll his eyes.

“I should have known,” he says sweetly. “Who wouldn’t want such a lovely prince for a husband?”

Junmyeon bursts out laughing, and Jongdae feels very pleased with himself. Perhaps he didn’t really need that nap after all.

“You know, you’re one of the few people who actually isn’t afraid to show emotion around me,” Junmyeon sighs, linking arms with Jongdae again as they start their slow retreat back to the castle.

“I’m—oh, I’m sorry, Your Highness, I never meant any disrespect—” Jongdae starts to say, not sure whether he’s being admonished or praised. He tries to drag his arm out of Junmyeon’s grasp but the prince just holds on tighter, refusing to let him go.

“No, it’s refreshing,” Junmyeon replies, grinning smugly when Jongdae gives up on trying to extract his arm. “You wouldn’t believe how boring it gets when everyone you talk to has all the emotion of a pile of stones.”

“I can imagine,” Jongdae grimaces, remembering that time he had gone to visit Luhan’s estate, and all the servants had been too in awe of him—their master’s special guest—to even speak when he asked them questions. “Though surely you have your parents, and your brother, to talk to?”

“I suppose,” Junmyeon grumbles, kicking at a pebble on the ground and watching it roll away under a hedge. “But these days my brother talks of nothing but his future bride and battle tactics, and my parents are trying to cram a lifetime’s worth of lessons on how to be a good king into the few months I have before I come of age.”

“Your brother must have found himself quite a woman, to be willing to give up an entire kingdom for her,” Jongdae ventures, because he knows Chanyeol will never forgive him if he spent all this time talking to the prince and didn’t get a description of his older brother’s mysterious lover. Chanyeol’s always enjoyed good gossip, especially when it’s gossip he’s the first to spread.

“Kwon Yuri is intelligent, and kind, and very beautiful, I suppose,” Junmyeon says disinterestedly. “And if it weren’t for her unfortunate relations, I’m sure they’d be very happy together.”

“I assume you’re talking about her brother,” Jongdae says with a wry grin, because he remembers well the last time he attended a tournament in the Kingdom of Kwons and watched some of the toughest, largest knights he’d ever seen be tossed about like rag dolls at the hands of the slim, fiery prince.

“Jiyong is an absolute menace,” Junmyeon replies flatly, though Jongdae can see that his eyes are bright with amusement. “But I think my brother has finally managed to conspire with his parents to send him off to the kingdom far to the west, where he can study under the tutelage of the some of the greatest musicians in the world. At least then my brother can finally be married.”

“I would love to be there when they suggest it to him,” Jongdae snorts, imagining that pretty face twisting up in frustration. “To see him struggle with losing a chance at pursuing his passion or losing his sister to some other prince.”

Junmyeon laughs at that, but when Jongdae looks over he sees that the prince’s expression has turned more pensive.

“I am glad that my brother has found someone who makes him so happy,” Junmyeon says, eyes fixed on the castle walls looming steadily closer. “But I just wish he could have married her and still maintained his rightful place as crown prince—as king. I hate the way the alliances between the kingdoms trap you in a web that there’s no way out of.”

“The more I learn about royal life, the less enviable it seems,” Jongdae says with a small smile, and he’s happy to see Junmyeon smiling back. “But, if Your Highness will see fit to release me, I must go prepare for my second match of the day.”

“Oh, of course!” Junmyeon gasps, immediately dropping Jongdae’s arm. “I’m so sorry, I completely forgot there was still a tournament going on! I suppose I should be out there supporting all the champions.”

“As long as you wear something nice,” Jongdae grins, sweeping his eyes down Junmyeon’s body. “You can cheer loudest for me.”

“Tempting,” Junmyeon responds thoughtfully, before turning and hurrying away towards the royal stables. Stretching and yawning widely, Jongdae starts walking the other way, to the knights’ stables where Baekhyun is waiting for him. For some reason, he hopes Junmyeon does watch his match. He hopes Junmyeon cheers. And he hopes Junmyeon doesn’t wear something embarrassing, because Jongdae could never live that down.





His opponent this time is one of Luhan’s friends from the East—a man (who Jongdae thinks seems like more of a boy) who introduces himself as Huang Zitao. But even though Zitao looks so young, he carries himself with the air of a seasoned champion—dark eyes glimmering as he bows to Jongdae in a way that seems to say he thinks he shouldn’t be the one bowing at all.

“I hear that you’re a worthy adversary in the arena,” Jongdae says, to break the thick silence that stretches between them.

“I hope so,” Zitao replies, and Jongdae notes the lack of any sort of honorifics but decides not to press the matter. “I’ve been training since I was a child, and participated in many tournaments in my home country before such entertainment fell out of favor with the King.”

“How unfortunate,” Jongdae smiles, even though Zitao doesn’t smile back. With his long, lean body, jet-black hair, and catlike grace, Jongdae wonders how anyone could have denied him a chance to show off his skill. A knight like that is meant to be admired. “Well, we welcome you to our kingdom, I’m sure our knights will provide you with plenty of worthy competition.”

“They haven’t so far,” Zitao sneers, before turning on his heel and stalking off, leaving Jongdae standing outside his tent with his mouth hanging open.

“Friendly fellow,” he murmurs to himself, slightly awestruck by the other knight’s audacity, just as Chanyeol ducks his head through the flaps of the tent.

“Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, did you know?” Chanyeol says cheerfully, quickly followed by a yelp when Jongdae shoves his head back into the tent before stepping inside himself.

“What an arrogant—self-centered—unfriendly—” Jongdae grumbles as Chanyeol dutifully helps him into his suit of armor.

“Bastard?” Chanyeol offers helpfully, and Jongdae would nod his head vigorously in agreement if it weren’t so hard to do with his gorget blocking his neck movement. “Well, I think he seems all right.”

“All right? All right!” Jongdae fumes, snatching up his helmet from where it’s sitting on the side table and tucking it under one arm.

“Sure,” Chanyeol says, slapping Jongdae on the back and wincing in pain. “He was out there earlier cooing over his horse—I don’t know, it was quite endearing.”

“Cooing?” Jongdae laughs, because he can’t reconcile that image with the Zitao he just met. “Well, I don’t care what you think about him. He’s going to lose.”

“That’s the spirit!” Chanyeol says cheerfully, following Jongdae outside and giving him a hand up onto Baekhyun’s broad back. Baekhyun snorts and shivers, obviously more than ready to start moving. “Good luck!”

Jongdae simply raises a hand in response, already wheeling and starting towards the arena. The stands look even more full than they had this morning—probably because the late-rising spectators have finally arrived. Just as Jongdae hauls Baekhyun into his starting position, he hears a loud whoop and glances into the stands to see Junmyeon standing up in the royal’s family’s box, right beside a very surprised-looking King and Queen. As Jongdae watches, the King stands up and whispers something in Junmyeon’s ear, making a very disapproving face, and after that Junmyeon sits down. But that doesn’t stop him from smiling in Jongdae’s direction, and Jongdae almost wishes he weren’t wearing his helmet so he could smile back.

But then the judges are announcing the start of the match, and Jongdae sees Zitao starting to move towards him at top speed. He must be confident then—only knights who were incredibly confident in their ability to remain in the saddle rode that fast during a match. Better to go slower than risk losing your balance from a harder hit from your opponent. Jongdae kicks Baekhyun up to a similar speed, and the first collision rings like a thunderclap in his ears.

Zitao had angled his lance so it hit Jongdae directly in the side, and Jongdae can’t stop himself from gasping in pain as he rides to the end of the ring, heaving Baekhyun around. There’s no way to tell if Zitao’s just as badly off—Jongdae thought he had landed a solid hit but then again Zitao’s armor had been very sturdy—so Jongdae just grits his teeth and charges again, the screams of the crowd hammering dully in his ears.

The second time, Jongdae almost falls. He knows a split second before they collide, can feel himself slip slightly to the right, can see Zitao’s hand shift slightly to re-angle his lance. And this time Jongdae knows something has broken. There’s just the harsh clang of metal-on-metal, a burning splatter of pain, and then Baekhyun’s barreling past Zitao, continuing his forwards trajectory, as Jongdae feels a wet warmth start to seep through his shirt. Hunched over, fighting to hold in the scream he can feel building in his throat, it takes Jongdae several seconds to realize that Zitao has paused as well, hanging halfway off his horse.

Zitao’s foot appears to be tangled in the stirrups, and as Jongdae watches through eyes blurred by tears of pain, he starts to struggle, fighting to keep his horse in check as it starts to buck upwards in fear and confusion. There’s a single moment when Zitao’s foot suddenly comes free, when his horse jerks slightly forwards, and Jongdae thinks he’s going to fall, that Jongdae is going to win. But then Zitao reaches an arm around, grabs his horse’s shoulder, and with what appears to be a gargantuan effort hauls himself back into the saddle to the background roar of the crowd. So it’s not over.

Jongdae fights the urge to press a hand to his side, knowing he’d only touch hard metal and not the source of the agony he can feel flaming through his entire body. He could throw the match—it would be a win for Zitao but then at least he’d be taken to the field medic, who would be able to patch him up. But than, blinking hard to wash away the tears, Jongdae glances up at the stands and sees Junmyeon still sitting there, still smiling, actually wearing a half-way decent outfit. And Jongdae’s wanted this for so long—wanted to prove himself, to show that despite everything people have said about his family, his squire, him, he can win.

Jongdae knows he has to try. With a groan he knows no one can hear, Jongdae heaves himself upright, ignoring the way his legs are trembling with the effort of keeping him in the saddle, and readies himself for the final pass.

As he hears the trumpet blast, sees Zitao start forwards for the third time, Jongdae tries to calculate, tries to plan. Zitao is obviously incredibly strong, but he’s also cocky. He trusts in his body to protect him against any upfront attack and so he doesn’t bother with strategy. Jongdae has mere moments to decide, but it’s enough. He shifts his lance a bit to the left, and grins viciously when he sees Zitao slide right as well, fully prepared to take the hit straight on. But at the last moment, just before it’s too late, Jongdae dips his lance, driving it hard into Zitao’s left side, and perhaps Jongdae would be better able to enjoy the sight of Zitao toppling hard into the dirt if Zitao’s lance hadn’t hit directly over his wounded ribs.

Jongdae can hear the joyous shouts of the crowd, can see Zitao dragging himself upright and wearily remounting his horse, but Jongdae doesn’t stop when he reaches the edge of the arena. Instead of taking the traditional victory lap, Jongdae spurs Baekhyun onwards, out of the stands and into the open air. Dropping the reins completely, trusting Baekhyun to take him where he needs to go, Jongdae rips off his helmet and takes huge gulps of air, trying to keep himself from blacking out. He can see his tent growing larger, can feel his eyes getting heavier as he slings a useless arm around his stomach and tries to stop the pain from spreading. His body feels so terribly heavy and the motion of Baekhyun beneath him is making him feel decidedly sick. He can see Chanyeol running towards him, reaching up a hand to grab Baekhyun’s bridle. And than he doesn’t see anything at all.





“So,” Jongdae hears the minute he opens his eyes. “Everyone’s favorite knight has survived.”

“How long was I unconscious?” Jongdae gasps, trying to sit up before he feels a sudden rush of dizziness and settles back into the pillows he’s been propped against.

“Three days,” Chanyeol replies seriously, and Jongdae chokes.

“Three days?” He practically yells, suddenly wondering who won the tournament, who’s been crowned the most honorable knight in all the kingdom, what Junmyeon wore to the final ceremony— “So I’ve missed everything? What happened?”

That’s, of course, when Chanyeol bursts out laughing, and Jongdae has to suppress the urge to leap out of bed and strangle him because he’s pretty that would hurt himself more than it would hurt Chanyeol.

“You—your face—I—” Chanyeol snickers, as Jongdae huffs out an irritated sigh and crosses his arms over his chest. That results in a sharp stab of pain shooting through his side, so Jongdae settles for dropping his hands to his sides and balling them into fists.

“Chanyeol,” he says evenly, cocking his head to one side and grinning widely. “How long has it really been?”

“Only about an hour,” Chanyeol chuckles, wiping tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes as he pats Jongdae’s leg. “The instant you left the stadium, the prince sent people after you. I got there first, of course, but the royal doctor showed up only a few minutes later and he took care of you.”

“The royal doctor?” Jongdae breathes, and Chanyeol nods, smiling a strange, lopsided smile as he plays with the edge of the sheets covering Jongdae’s bed.

“Apparently someone is very important to our prince,” Chanyeol says, giving Jongdae a searching look, but Jongdae avoids his eyes. “Even though you weren’t exactly dying, you just had a broken rib or two.”

“I’d like to break a few of your ribs,” Jongdae sighs, settling back against the cushions, and closing his eyes. But to surprise, Chanyeol doesn’t respond. Cracking one eye open, Jongdae sees that Chanyeol just staring thoughtfully at him. “What?”

“You and the prince…” Chanyeol says hesitantly, and Jongdae narrows his eyes.

“What about him?” Jongdae spits, and he’s not surprised when Chanyeol presses on undeterred. Chanyeol has never been one to take a hint.

“I’ve seen plenty of people trying to help their injured friends,” Chanyeol says carefully, and Jongdae’s not sure where he’s going with this until he continues. “And none of them looked at their friends the way the prince looked at you when he carried you into the castle.”

“Junmyeon carried—” Jongdae starts to say, before he realizes what he’s just done and backtracks as fast as possible. “The prince carried me into the castle?”

“You two—” Chanyeol huffs, pointing accusatorily at Jongdae. “You two have something. Don’t try to deny it! Your face lights up every time you talk about him. About Junmyeon.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jongdae hisses, turning away because he can’t stop the blush rising to his cheeks when Chanyeol says Junmyeon’s name. When Chanyeol makes him think about the way Junmyeon says Jongdae’s name. “We don’t have anything besides a contract. I am going to win this competition because I refuse to be ruled by someone who doesn’t know not to wear clothes containing five different mismatching colors.”

“You’re lying,” Chanyeol sing-songs, and now Jongdae really wants to hit him. “But, luckily for you, I need to go help Minseok’s squire steal all of his right riding boots, so that when he tries to go out tonight he’ll have to wear two left shoes.”

“If anything of mine goes missing, I’m blaming you,” Jongdae calls warningly, as Chanyeol grins and leaves the room, pulling the heavy door gently closed behind him.

It’s oddly quiet with Chanyeol gone. Quiet enough that Jongdae starts to think about everything Chanyeol said while he was present, and the more Jongdae thinks the more confused he gets.

“Junmyeon,” Jongdae whispers to himself in the quiet of the room, admiring the way it sounds. “Junmyeon.”





Even though he’s only known him for a few days, this does nothing to lessen the strange disappointment Jongdae feels when he doesn’t see Junmyeon for the rest of the week. It’s not like Jongdae’s been actively trying to see Junmyeon. It’s just that he never had to try before—Junmyeon was just always there—and now he’s not and it’s strange. Even Chanyeol notices, which just makes Jongdae even more frustrated.

“Did you two fight? Was it something I said? Did he finally realize that you’re just a lowly knight and not a prince like he is?” Chanyeol asks, squealing in pain as Jongdae stomps hard on his foot.

“Come on, Baekhyun,” Jongdae sniffs, grabbing Baekhyun’s bridle and leading him haughtily away. “We shouldn’t associate with trash like this squire.”

But it’s really not until the final day of the tournament, when Jongdae’s preparing for his final match—the match that will prove once and for all that he’s worth something, that he’s brave and strong and cunning and worthy of being shown off by a prince (not that he really cares about that last part)—that he realizes how much he misses talking to Junmyeon.

It’s not until Jongdae is bathed in sweat, screaming in triumph, his helmet lying on the ground where he dropped it, Baekhyun carrying him in broad circles around and around the ring as his rival picks himself up and slinks out of the stadium, that Jongdae realizes just how much he misses Junmyeon.

A group of squires run up to help Jongdae off of Baekhyun, hand him the small gold pendant traditionally awarded to the winner of the kingdom tournament, and Baekhyun tries to trample a few of them in his excitement but Jongdae’s too excited to stop him. When he finally vaults off Baekhyun’s back, slapping the horse cheerfully on his flank and laughing when Baekhyun bends down and nips at his hair, Jongdae finds himself accosted first by a teary-eyed Jongin (I’m not crying, I’m not, I’m just so happy for you, so happy—) and then by an extremely loud and boisterous Chanyeol (I knew you could do it, you pretentious bastard! I knew it, now how about you come with your favorite squire and get a drink?). It’s not until Jongdae’s waved off the rest of the crowd, releasing Jongin from a bone-crushing hug and sending him off with Chanyeol to celebrate, that he sees Junmyeon standing several meters away, out of the way of the crowd, staring at his shoes.

“You look well,” Jongdae says, walking over and poking at Junmyeon’s shirt. It’s white—clean and fresh-smelling—and Jongdae gives it an approving glance. “How did you enjoy the rest of the tournament, I haven’t seen you in a while, I—”

“I’m sorry,” Junmyeon cuts in, and Jongdae pauses, confused.

“What do you mean?” he asks, watching as Junmyeon twists his hands in the hem of his shirt, still not meeting Jongdae’s eyes. “What could you possibly be sorry for?”

“I didn’t realize how serious you were about...winning this tournament,” Junmyeon says quietly. “I feel responsible for you getting hurt, if you hadn’t wanted to win so badly then you wouldn’t have let Zitao make that last pass at you, you would have forfeited—”

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” Jongdae asks with a sharp bark of laughter, and Junmyeon jumps, seemingly startled by the sound. “You think I wouldn’t have wanted to continue, that I wouldn’t have wanted to win, even if I had never met you?”

“I mean, I didn’t—” Junmyeon tries and then pauses, frowning. “When you say it like that, it sounds much worse than I had intended.”

“I suppose it’s an occupational hazard of being a prince,” Jongdae smirks, petting Baekhyun’s nose gently as the horse huffs hot breath into Junmyeon’s face. “You get so used to being important to everyone that you forget people might have their own motivations before you get involved.”

“Okay, now I really am sorry,” Junmyeon groans, burying his face in his hands. Through his fingers, Jongdae can see the blush staining his cheeks. “You must think I’m incredibly stupid. And selfish.”

“Hey, you are the prince,” Jongdae replies, lifting a cautious hand and pulling Junmyeon’s hands away from his face. “I suppose I can forgive you just this once.”

“I hope you can,” Junmyeon says, suddenly catching Jongdae’s hand as he tries to pull it away and linking their fingers together. “Because I still have to hold up my part of the bargain.”

“You don’t—you can’t be serious,” Jongdae laughs in disbelief, watching a broad smile spread across Junmyeon’s face. “I didn’t think you were serious!”

“A good prince always keeps his word,” Junmyeon recites, gazing pompously into the distance, before relaxing and smiling at Jongdae. “Come with me. I’ll make sure Baekhyun is taken care of.”

“Oh, no, I always brush him down and stable him myself after a match,” Jongdae protests, clutching Baekhyun’s reins tightly in his hand even as Junmyeon calls over a nearby squire.

“Please?” Junmyeon asks, and Jongdae’s about to protest again when suddenly he feels a warm weight pressing into his back, shoving him forward. Jongdae nearly topples over before strong hands curl around his biceps, pulling him upright again.

“So that’s how it is?” he yells at Baekhyun, shaking off Junmyeon’s hands and turning to frown at the horse. Baekhyun just gives him a disdainful look and flicks his tail to ward off a few flies. The very picture of an unrepentant nag. “Fine then! I don’t need you anyway.”

Baekhyun just snorts lightly, before docilely allowing the squire to lead him back towards the stables. Jongdae stares after him in amazement, wondering what he did to deserve this.

“Now will you come with me?” Junmyeon asks, and Jongdae just nods, still a bit dazed by the thought of Junmyeon actually allowing him to destroy that godforsaken ruff once and for all.

“So how does it feel to be declared the kingdom’s bravest knight?” Junmyeon asks teasingly as they climb the castle steps and stride through the currently-empty banquet hall. Jongdae knows it won’t be empty for much longer, not when the end-of-tournament feast is almost ready.

“I won’t let it change me,” Jongdae replies, grinning when Junmyeon snorts in amusement. “But it is something I’ve been waiting for my whole life. And now it’s on to the inter-kingdom tournament!”

“I’m sure you’ll win that as well,” Junmyeon says, opening a door and ushering Jongdae into what appears to be the royal family’s wing of the castle. Jongdae gulps as they begin to pass more and more lavish-looking rooms—sitting rooms, music rooms, even a few empty bedrooms. “Though I’ve heard that some of the knights from other kingdoms can be quite formidable.”

“I look forward to it,” Jongdae grins, rubbing his hands together excitedly, but he doesn’t get to say much more because suddenly Junmyeon is pushing open a door and they’re stepping into what can only be Junmyeon’s room. As Jongdae stands awkwardly by the door, not quite daring to move further inside, Junmyeon strides over to an enormous wardrobe and throws open the doors, instantly assaulting Jongdae’s eyes with a riotous mix of colors and patterns.

“My new wardrobe will be all yours to design,” Junmyeon says happily, as he starts gathering up handfuls of clothes and tossing them into a pile in the center of the room. “Much as I love some of these, I can see what you mean about having to be presentable if I am to be king.”

“I’m glad you’ve finally seen the light, Your Highness,” Jongdae smiles, though the instant he sees that hint of sadness seeping into Junmyeon’s expression at the title, he can’t think about the clothes anymore. He can’t think about anything but quiet, careful, funny Junmyeon, with his dark eyes and his soft hair and his plump lips and oh no this is not where Jongdae wanted his mind to be going. Junmyeon is a prince. Jongdae is not a prince.

“Jongdae,” Junmyeon suddenly says with a worried look on his face, turning away from his closet and stepping over to where Jongdae is standing. “Are you all right?”

“I just—Your Highness—Junmyeon. You just—I’m sorry—you looked so lovely standing there in the light and I—” Jongdae mumbles, but he doesn’t get the chance to embarrass himself much more before Junmyeon is moving forward and kissing him.

Junmyeon is kissing him and against everything he knows, every piece of etiquette he’s been taught, Jongdae is kissing him back. Jongdae is twisting his fingers into Junmyeon’s hair, Jongdae is letting Junmyeon step slowly backwards until the backs of his knees hit the large bed in the center of the room, Jongdae is pressing Junmyeon back against the sheets and kissing him until neither of them have any breath left.         

“I’m not a prince,” Jongdae manages to gasp when he pulls back, entranced by the way Junmyeon looks so soft and so pretty spread out across the pale blankets.

“I don’t want a prince,” Junmyeon breathes, reaching up to try to pull Jongdae down again. But Jongdae resists, still not quite sure whether Junmyeon knows what he’s doing, what he’s giving up. Whether Junmyeon realizes just how much trouble he could get in for doing this. “I want you.”

“Well, at least you’re a Kim,” Jongdae huffs out a small laugh when it seems like Junmyeon’s not going to yield and admit that this is probably a terrible mistake. “My parents would kill me if I was the one to ruin the family name.”

“Oh, so you would ignore your heart and leave me if I was a Park?” Junmyeon asks slyly, and Jongdae shivers, thinking of Chanyeol’s too-wide grin.

“If you were a Park, my heart wouldn’t have come into the picture in the first place,” Jongdae replies, arms starting to ache from holding himself over Junmyeon. But he can’t bring himself to lie down, can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from Junmyeon’s face. “Also, my heart might suddenly become very hard to reach if you don’t listen to my sage sartorial advice.”

“I don’t even know what that word means,” Junmyeon snorts, and this time Jongdae lets Junmyeon pull him down, lets Junmyeon roll them until they’re both lying sideways on the bed, kissing-close.

“And people are trusting you to run a country!” Jongdae gasps in a mock-appalled tone, as Junmyeon just smiles. Lying like this, wearing white like Jongdae had suggested that day in the garden, he looks terribly angelic.

“Good fashion sense isn’t necessary to be a good ruler, Jongdae,” Junmyeon replies, breath ghosting across Jongdae’s face. He smells sweet.

“Spoken like a peasant,” Jongdae retorts, pretending he’s not entranced by Junmyeon’s darkly glittering eyes. “Luckily, I’m here for you.”

“My knight in shining armor,” Junmyeon murmurs, and Jongdae feels himself blushing much too hard for such an offhand phrase.

“Emphasis on the ‘shining,’” Jongdae laughs, sound cut off abruptly when Junmyeon leans in and captures his lips in a soft kiss. “Junmyeon.”

Jongdae’s surprised when Junmyeon suddenly gives a full-bodied shiver, pulls his head back a ways.

“Are you all ri—” Jongdae starts to say, but he stops when he sees a broad grin stretching across Junmyeon’s face.

“Say my name again,” Junmyeon demands, and Jongdae rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “What? I’m just excited to finally hear someone say it.”

“Junmyeon,” Jongdae obliges, drawing out the word until it’s as syrupy as he can make it, melting stickily across his tongue. “Junmyeon. Junmyeon, Junmyeon, Junmyeon—”

This time, Jongdae’s expecting the kiss and he takes the initiative, pulling Junmyeon closer until they’re pressed flush against each other. Junmyeon’s body is warm and soft and Jongdae just wants to hold him forever.

“Shouldn’t we be going?” Jongdae asks against Junmyeon’s lips, not quite ready to break away but knowing he probably should. “The banquet’s probably already started.”

“I’m the prince,” Junmyeon laughs, pulling Jongdae even closer. “And you’re the kingdom’s bravest knight. They can wait for us.”

“If you say so,” Jongdae replies, but when Junmyeon slides his tongue smoothly into Jongdae’s mouth Jongdae can’t say that he really minds. “Just promise me you’ll come watch me at the inter-kingdom tournament.”

“I’ll escort you and Baekhyun there myself,” Junmyeon grins, pulling back with flushed cheeks and tangled hair. “I think I owe that horse.”

Well, Jongdae can’t argue with that.

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Author's note: You do not understand the excitement I felt at seeing this prompt in the list—I practically broke my computer with how fast I claimed it because I needed to have it. This is just to say, your prompt was awesome and I know I probably didn’t do it justice but I hope I came close! Enjoy!

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