Fresa

Gilded Charms, Ashen Robes on ao3

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Summary~

Jeno stood just inside the doorway, eyes dark and unreadable as ever. He wasn’t here for duty. At least not the kind anyone else would assign him.

“The council’s still fighting?” Renjun asked, voice low.

“They’ve moved on to bloodlines,” Jeno said, stepping closer. “Your name came up.”

It always does, Renjun thought, closing his eyes.

“You should be careful,” Jeno said eventually. Not a warning really, more like a plea. “If they think you’re hiding anything—”

“They already do.”

His body ached. The magic beneath the palace walls was pulsing again in ways that never meant well.

“Jeno…” Renjun hesitated. The words stuck, then fell. “If I asked you to get me out of here, really out, would you?”

OR

I'm so glad he was able to still do things he wanted to and how his acting career has taken off so well.

Truly will miss him as a wayv/nct member and all the memories he made as a neo 🥹

NoRen Royal AU

Chapter 12

The garden was silver with frost under the half moon.

Renjun glided along the stony path with his cloak drawn tight and boots soundless against the rock. The Palace was mostly asleep. It was still too early for any of the staff to rise and the watch rotation had shifted fifteen minutes prior. He timed them perfectly, slipping out of the east wing and making his way toward the greenhouse in the clearing behind the Palace courtyard.

From the outside, the structure was made of rounded glass and aged metal, crowned with a domed roof that catches light even on overcast days. The frame was painted a deep, weathered green, chipping in places where time and creeping vines have claimed it. A crawling trail of star jasmine twisted along the arches and windows, threading through the ironwork as it had always belonged there. 

The air was slightly warm and damp around the greenhouse. It carried layers of scents from lavender and crushed herbs to damp soil and something faintly sweet like magic that’s been brewing for too long. Moonlight pours through tall, arched windows and glass ceilings, diffused by the leaves and hanging vines so that everything glows in soft greens and silver from the outside. 

Warm golden light leaked through a couple glass panels as he approached, pushing the door open with a soft creak.

Dust specs drift lazily in the beams of light but they glitter faintly, like traces of a firefly’s magic suspended in the air.

The greenhouse was divided without walls, each section flowing into the next. Closest to the centre is where Doyoung did most of his work for the Palace.

A long wooden table sat beneath a window worn down in certain spots by years of use. Mortars and pestles rest beside scattered bundles of dried herbs and petals, glass vials filled with liquids in shades of violet, amber, and deep green catching the light of the floating lanterns around the space. There are open books everywhere. Some are neatly stacked while others are left mid-page with scribbled notes and sketches from Renjun in the margins. Pressed flowers are tucked between pages, some so old they’ve faded to ghosts of their original colour. A handful of small charms and sigils hang from shelves, softly humming with residual spells.

This is where the magic feels most concentrated. Everything in here felt alive.

Renjun loved it. 

He walked further past the raised beds and sprawling planters holding everything from delicate medicinal flowers to dense, curling vines that climb toward the ceiling. He wound around plants that shifted on their own and ones that could poison the strongest of men. Others glowed faintly at the edges of their leaves or pulsed with a quiet energy beneath the soil. There were narrow paths between them, just wide enough to walk through, and Renjun knew well enough how to navigate without disturbing them.

It was never silent here. Leaves rustle without wind and somewhere water is always dripping, feeding roots just out of sight.

Almost hidden like a secret is the living space.

Tucked into a quieter corner behind a curtain of trailing vines and shelves, Doyoung’s personal area feels cosier. A narrow bed sits beneath a window where light filters through, hitting a wooden wardrobe that takes up most of the room. There’s a chair pulled close to a low table cluttered with half-finished notes and a forgotten cup of tea. Blankets are layered thickly, all mismatched but warm, and there’s always the faint lingering scent of whatever Doyoung last brewed.

It’s not grand at all. It’s just something that’s well used, well loved and undeniably Doyoung.

For Renjun, this place is different from anywhere else in the Kingdom. The tension in his shoulders eases without him realising it within the greenhouse. 

Drawing closer to another corner of the area stood Doyoung. His coat sleeves were rolled up as he ground moon-blossom petals into a ceramic bowl. The man didn’t look up at him as he flitted through.

“Little prince,” he greeted with a calm voice, “you’re late.”

Renjun didn’t bother hiding his smile now.

The warmth of this section of the greenhouse met his skin like a familiar friend. His shelter of plants, potions and soft-spoken safety. Renjun felt his body completely relax for the first time in weeks.

“I’m not late,” Renjun replied. “You’re just early.”

“And you’re just reckless,” Doyoung hummed. 

Renjun shrugged. “Not the worst thing I’ve been called lately. Beats ‘stray’ anyway.”

When Doyoung finally glanced up, his face, as always, was perfectly posed, but his eyes always told the truth when he looked at Renjun.

A silent promise of ‘I won’t let them get you too.’

Hopping up onto a nearby table, Renjun let his feet dangle aimlessly. He hadn’t forgotten the first time Doyoung had looked at him like that. Back when he was too weak to move and too dazed to fight. When he thought he’d already lost everything, this strange apothecary had crouched beside him and whispered—

“...your brother, we were friends once…I’m so sorry.”

That was the moment something in Renjun’s heart cracked open. The ever-present lonely weight he had been carrying till he was found ceased for a while back then. The grief he’d grown accustomed to finally gave way to relief.

At that moment, for the first time in a very long while, Renjun felt like he wasn’t truly alone. He never pressed Doyoung about the specifics of his relationship with his brother and why he never knew about Doyoung before but asking too many questions never got him anywhere good. 

He figured if the details were really that important, Doyoung would say something.

For Doyoung was an ally, someone on his side in a land that wanted nothing to do with him.

The man, for all his sharp observations and unforgiving patience, had never betrayed him. Not once. Not even as he watched Renjun fumble through fractured magic too dangerous for anyone to see or twist his way around the Palace and a prince too trusting for his own good. 

The apothecary may not have been born of Eastern blood himself but he protected it in any hidden way he could. 

For Renjun, that was more than enough

Today, Renjun’s visit was more casual, simply wanting the company of the other. Doyoung walked over to the end of the counter he was at and grabbed a small glass bottle filled with a swirling milky liquid. 

“I’ve been preparing this for you,” he said, passing it to Renjun. “Should help keep your magic in check for a while. Can’t have you tripping off anymore wards.”

Renjun rolls his eyes at that. “It was hardly my fault, it wouldn’t have even happened if someone hadn’t followed me in the first place,” he pouted. “Stupid prince didn’t even know they had a tracker on him at all times.”

Doyoung chuckled softly, looking at the younger before him. He had watched Renjun go from a barely alive teenager to being able to stand and breathe on his own at the shy age of twenty. Doyoung took pride in watching him grow. But underneath his pride, he too couldn't shake the loss he felt when he looked at Renjun fully. Sure, his health had improved greatly, but the remnants of his magic and relaxed features gave way to another face in Doyoung’s mind.

“That someone is the best defence you have right now.”

Renjun looked down at the bottle in his hands. Popping off the cork, he brought it up to his lips only to get hit with a strong scent of pomegranates and bark. He eyed Doyoung suspiciously who equally returned his glare with something more akin to mockery. 

“Think fast–”

A burst of vines wrap around Renjun’s free hand and tug him sharply forward. 

“Hey are you crazy!?” The boy startles, sending out a flurry of sparks lighting up the greenery in seconds. A fresh set of vines shoot out towards Renjun’s face not even a second later making him scramble off the table to dodge. 

Renjun let out another burst of flames taking care of the remaining green ropes crawling his way. The spells weren’t particularly challenging but they still left his blood buzzing and his hand stinging.

Doyoung calmly flicks his wrist from the shelf he’s been leaning on to make another coil around Renjun’s ankle almost tripping him. 

“Will you quit it!” Renjun grits out, his right hand glowing with a faint orange colour as he grabs onto the plants burning them to nothing. He can feel his heartbeat pick up at Doyoung’s surprise attack. 

Well…no, attack is a strong word even for Renjun to describe this. But it is still a surprise nonetheless. 

“What the hell was that for?” he almost yells at the man, huffing from the rush of the situation. “I would’ve spilt this too, you know,” Renjun said, shaking the little bottle in his hand before setting it far on the side. 

Doyoung walks over to him in a lazy manner. 

“Just testing your reflexes,” he shrugged. “If someone tries to sneak up on you and you get hurt, guess whose problem it’s going to be?” gesturing to himself. 

Renjun says nothing. His right hand now being cradled to his chest. 

The apothecary takes a seat on the table next to Renjun and lets out a long sigh. 

“I’m sorry if I startled you.” 

He takes Renjun’s hand in his, rubbing over the heat in his palm that he’s certain stings his little prince. Given the way Renjun’s jaw tenses, Doyoung knows his magic still hurts. 

The air around them is a bit more tense, though not in an unkind way, the longer Renjun remains silent. 

Admittedly, Renjun isn’t mad that Doyoung wanted to test him. They have been working on his fractured magic for some time now outside of watchful eyes. He’s helped Renjun regain so much more of his stamina and strength to hold his magic consistently, but the situation resurfaces a very present weight he’s resigned himself to. 

This is not his home. These aren't his people. They won’t hesitate to kill him.

Does it even matter if he tries to get better? If he puts up a fight?

Sensing that he’s losing the other to his thoughts, Doyoung nudges him slightly with his shoulder. When Renjun turns his way, he’s met with a small and warm smile. 

“Do you remember the healing spells I taught you?” Doyoung asks hopefully. His eyes darted to Renjun’s palm which looked red as if he’d been physically lashed. 

Nodding, Renjun closed his eyes to focus. He pressed his other hand to his palm and muttered out a few words before a cooling sensation rested in his and Doyoung’s hands. It felt like he was holding a block of ice.

A satisfied sigh slipped from his lips at the relief from the stinging and after a few more seconds he felt okay again. 

Opening his eyes, he noted that his palm was back to its usual pale tone. He couldn’t help the slight grin in Doyoung’s direction at his successful cool down. 

The older man gave him a nod of approval moving his free hand to ruffle Renjun’s slightly messy hair, causing the two of them to laugh a bit. They stay in their quiet comfort for a while, surrounded by the rustling of leaves and the smell of dew. A slice of peace they both need before the rest of the day catches up to them. 

After some time, Doyoung slides off the table to grab his outer robes from a wooden chair at a desk full of dried petals. The dark fabric clung to his body perfectly as he adjusted the ties around his waist. The Palace crest embroidered in glittering golden strands drew all attention when Doyoung stepped out in uniform. Although it never took away from his looks.

Doyoung was handsome.

Any fool with eyes could see that, and Renjun by no means was a fool. Part of him always wondered how Doyoung even ended up working for the Palace. Why did he not choose more freedom, meet new people?  Anything other than just staying here for most of his years.

They never shared much personal information about who they were outside of this Kingdom anyway. Still, as far as Renjun knew, Doyoung never even turned a eye to anyone in or out of the Palace walls. 

It was a pity, really.

Nevertheless, Renjun was grateful for him being here regardless of his own feelings towards the Kingdom. 

Looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows in front of him, the sun was well on the horizon now.

He knew it was time to leave this haven again. 

Doyoung was already nearing the exit of the greenhouse before he stopped short and called out to Renjun.

“You still have to drink that, by the way,” he said, pointing to the murky potion Renjun set aside before returning to his stride out of the structure, leaving a loud, exaggerated groan in his wake.

~

The Palace’s preparations were in full swing with the nearing of the Winter Ball.

What had once been open plain stone columns and trimmed hedges slowly transformed into something far more snowy-themed and ornate. Lantern posts wrapped in pale navy silk dangled with a few lights floating aimlessly around. A couple of mages chased straying lanterns while another worked on spelling them to produce a softened, warm amber light that would glow against the snow when night fell. Garlands of pink hellebore and frost-laced ivy were draped along the railings, filling the air with a faint sweet scent. 

Servants moved in careful patterns, carrying trays of glass ornaments, polished silver stands and lengths of fabric that shimmered like crystals.

By midday, the fountain at the centre had been dressed up too. Petals were being scattered across the surface of the water, drifting slowly in the chilled water and carefully crafted icicles that never would melt hung around the edges, shimmering in the light.

Everything was being prepared to be admired and seen.

Which was exactly what made it harder for Renjun to remain unseen.

He kept to the perimeters as he crossed the courtyard, head lowered and the hood of his thicker dress robes pulled up just enough to obscure his features. Moving quietly had worked for the most part, and becoming one with the background was not hard, but now the palace was filling. 

Noble guests arrived in larger clusters each day.

These kinds of people noticed everything.

Renjun slipped behind a pillar as another group passed through the main gate. Their clothing alone marked them as high-ranking. Heavy cloaks lined with fur and embroidery in gold thread, much like the Palace uniforms,  caught the light with every step. A woman at the centre wore a circlet set with pale stones, her chin lifted as she surveyed the courtyard as if it already belonged to her.

“Is this where the Central Court hosts its celebrations?” she asked, not bothering to lower her voice. “Smaller than I expected.”

A man beside her chuckled. “You’ve never seen their winter gatherings. They compensate.”

Renjun looked away before they could glance his direction.

More arrived behind them. Delegations from bordering territories, minor royals eager to be seen, officials dressed in colours that marked their alliances. Some carried themselves with ease, accustomed to court life. Others moved with that careful stiffness that came from knowing they were being watched. At one point, he swore he saw luggage chests with the Northern house crests being carried past him. 

He should not be so surprised. King Sehun was always good at making allies. There’s no doubt he’d already planted seeds across the territories as best he could. 

Renjun simply watched them all.

He couldn’t stop measuring the distance between himself and them. Between what he had been and what he was now.

A ripple of movement in his periphery pulled his attention.

Jeno.

Sensing him was like second nature to Renjun now. He stood near one of the garden entrances where guests were being received, posture straight and expression composed in a regal way. Not truly himself at all, Renjun noted. He was speaking with a newly arrived party, two men in military uniforms and what looked like a foreign messenger. Jeno inclined his head as they spoke, calm, attentive, every inch the prince he was raised to be.

Renjun’s eyes lingered on him longer than he meant to.

There was something different in the way Jeno held himself lately. Stiffer, perhaps, like he was holding something beneath the surface and refusing to let it show.

For a fleeting second, Jeno’s gaze lifted, sweeping the courtyard.

Renjun stepped back immediately, slipping behind the stone again, breath held tightly until the moment passed.

When he moved again, it was toward the deeper expanse of the gardens.

The path there was quieter, though not by much. Staff hurried past him carrying folded linens and crates of wine sealed with corks and wax. Somewhere closer to the ballroom, music drifted faintly through the air. 

Renjun followed it without meaning to.

The ballroom stood just beyond the hedges, its tall glass windows shining in the pale winter light. Inside, figures moved across the polished floor, marking positions, adjusting spacing.

Though at the very centre stood a polished silhouette. Lee Taemin.

Even from this distance, he was unmistakable.

Taemin moved like the air itself bent around him. Fluid, precise and with every step deliberate. He paused mid-sequence, correcting one of the attendants with a quiet gesture before demonstrating the motion again. A turn, a step, a shift of weight that looked effortless and yet wasn’t.

Renjun’s chest tightened at the grace of the man’s movement. 

The anxiety he once felt the last time they truly encountered each other began to rise in him again.

Taemin was so much like him.

The face of someone Renjun seldom liked to remember to avoid his grief flashed in his mind.

He should leave, but he couldn’t look away.

The memory came uninvited and spotty, the echo of a different dance.

A performance not done for a grand audience. Just Renjun and those he held dear. Just a series of movements shared in a quiet, hidden space. Laughter muffled behind their sleeves. A hand catching his when he misstepped. Nothing painful. Nothing to worry about. 

He swallowed hard.

Renjun felt the pools in his eyes filling up as he tried to blink them away. 

This was what Taemin was preparing, dances that were meant to be here. All structured, all perfect. The Winter Ball was a show with all eyes trained on those who participated.

What Renjun had held onto…had never meant to exist in a place like this.

Renjun stepped back.

The sound dulled as he retreated into the garden path, swallowed by distance and leaves and cold air. The palace buzzed around him, alive with preparation, expectation, grandeur.

But for Renjun, the space felt too small.

Too bright.

Too full of things he could never be part of again.

He pulled at his hood slightly and turned away further from the windows.

The ball hadn’t even begun.

And already, everything felt like it was slipping closer to the surface.

Trying to rid himself of his own mind, Renjun missed the way the music stopped. He missed the sound of boots on gravel and the murmur from the staff. 

NoRen Royal AU

Chapter 11

At first, Jeno thought it was just the season.

The Palace always shifted in the weeks leading to the height of winter. Expectations, curfews, deliveries, ceremonial drills, security protocols, every code of conduct and preparation made to account for events to come. He barely had time to sleep between the new nobles and advisors arriving and the increasingly rigorous combat training and patrol sessions.

While he usually wouldn’t let his responsibilities get the better of him, Jeno felt a lot more tired than he’d ever been. 

He took pride in being a prince who made the protection of his people his utmost concern and extended as much effort as he could to be present and true. Keep a good rapport with the court; never let minor things break his stride. Though he quickly realised that being present did not give way to navigating one’s own personal interests. A single person can only take so much after all.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, he’d stopped seeing Renjun. Again.

He noticed it in fragments at first. Renjun would appear at the edge of a corridor, then vanish behind a column as if he’d only been passing through; or Jeno would catch a glimpse of him through the window, head ducked, eyes trained low, deliberately not looking up. Sometimes he’d wave; sometimes Renjun would wave back.

The shift in their dynamic was strange to Jeno if he were being completely honest with himself, and one that was not exactly welcomed. More often than not, he’d stop to remind himself that he now has vital information on Renjun and it was only natural that the other break away a bit out of fear. 

It never really eased his mind. 

He couldn’t understand the texts in the archives, and by now he was convinced that Renjun had scattered more of the important ones in places he couldn't even think to look in. Outright asking the boy to tell him everything would only work against him. Renjun, in his eyes, had never been one to be foolish and take risks. However, something about him felt increasingly more unstable every time Jeno looked too long. 

But looking was becoming trickier by the passing weeks.

It was inevitable, the way the surrounding court noticed the shift too. However, they saw things slightly differently from the way Jeno did.

No, in their eyes, this was a game of sorts. Something funny even.

“He’s got you twisted around his finger,” one of the younger knights laughed while they were out on the field one morning.

“Poor prince and his stray,” another added.

“Maybe he’ll spare His Highness a dance at the Winter Ball for once?” 

That had raised a hearty laugh from the team he led. 

Usually, he could tune out the chatter between patrols, but Jeno felt irritated that day. He felt uncomfortable in his attire and his skin, and he knew a headache was creeping up to him.

“ENOUGH!”

His command was loud and clear. It silenced the rest of his team, though he knew they would begin again soon, as they always do. 

“...and don’t call him that,” he bit. His tone bled with the annoyance he felt. He saw no point in trying to mask his dissatisfaction. 

Glancing to Sir Johnny, the older man made no comment but a lopsided smile dawned on his features. Taeyong to his right, kept his gaze forward and face trained blankly. He knew no aid would come from either of the men in this situation.

Jeno never laughed with the others. Not lately, since things had taken a turn. He never liked the new agenda they pushed. On top of that, he hated that word ‘stray.’

It felt demeaning. Like Renjun had no past, no home, no weight to carry, just a pretty face with little luck on his side. Every time he tried to shut it down, they just laughed harder, like there was a joke they knew he did not understand. Not like Jeno needed more things to add to that growing list of the unknown in his mind.

And the worst part?

Jeno was almost certain Renjun knew.

Or if he didn’t, he was damn good at pretending.

The more time passed, the more the grounds had to say. 

Jeno tried, gods, he tried to catch Renjun between lessons or after sparring, even the times between his usual rounds with the knights or meetings with officials. During meals, he looked for the brown-haired boy in vain. Renjun always slipped away with perfect timing. Like he knew the prince’s schedule like clockwork.

He orbited Jeno but was always out of reach. 

Each failed attempt left him feeling like they were back at square one, in a box he wanted so desperately out of. 

~

On a particularly chilly day, his father had insisted that he attend dance lessons as a refresher for the Ball. Jeno almost rolled his eyes in protest in front of him. The last time he’d been forced into dance lessons, he and Renjun had been lazily spinning each other around in fits of laughter just beyond the garden, much to his instructor's dismay. 

Renjun was the more graceful of the two. He had a knack for picking up on what he saw quickly or what Jeno taught him after the classes finished and the rooms were clear. Even the staff liked watching him glide across the ballroom after rehearsals. Unfortunately, Renjun never did attend the Balls or major events of the Kingdom. If he did manage to get roped in against his will, usually by Jeno’s doing, he would excuse himself earlier than everyone else. 

When Jeno approached the ballroom, everything was too bright.

Afternoon light streamed in through the high arched windows, catching on polished marble and gold trim. Banners and metal decor floated around waiting to be arranged and a few mages were in a corner testing colour schemes and dazzling snow-like effects that flittered from the high ceiling. 

The all too-perfect shine of noble heirs lined up in rows bowed upon his entrance. The musicians in the corner tuned their strings softly.

At the front of them stood Lee Taemin, though here he was simply Master Taemin.  A highly sought-after professional choreographer and royal dance instructor to the Palace. He was dressed in black with his hair pulled back. A few strands of black and grey still fell to frame his face almost perfectly. He donned a silver pendant of the Kingdom’s crest that marked his authority within the Palace.

He clapped once.

“Again. From the second turn.”

A collective sigh rippled through the room. He turned to Jeno and gestured for him to fall into place in lieu of a greeting.

Crown Prince Jeno of the Central Kingdom stood perfectly straight, jaw set, and almost rigid among the other nobles. His coat was deep midnight blue with gold threading at the cuffs. He looked composed and immaculate, exactly as a future king should.

He felt none of it.

A young woman stepped in front of him, giving a deep curtsey. Jeno recognised her as the heiress to the largest silk company in the lands. Her family owned and managed a large export business out of the main city district. The name Kim Yerim finally popped into his mind as he stepped forward to lead their dance. 

“Left foot,” Taemin said, gliding past him like a shadow. “Your Highness, your shoulders.”

Jeno adjusted immediately and the waltz resumed. Three counts, a turn, several steps and a bow later had him wishing he were anywhere else. 

He did not even hate dancing; he just wasn't in the best headspace. 

The upcoming Winter Ball would host ambassadors and high officials from the Central, North and Southern territories. Alliances would be hinted at through dance partners and seating arrangements and with that in mind, any movement Jeno made would be read as a strategy or a judgment.

Which was precisely why he held some animosity towards this whole Ball.

“My Duke, you are not wrestling your partner,” Taemin snapped at a red-faced noble to Jeno’s right. “This is diplomacy, not war.”

A few soft laughs spilled out only to die down quickly when Taemin’s eyes drifted back to Jeno.

“Your Highness,” Taemin said, tone turning deceptively mild, “I had expected to see Injun with you today.”

To Jeno who had only been half paying attention, the name landed like a dropped goblet.

A few heads turned instantly.

Jeno’s step faltered just slightly.

Taemin noticed immediately but made no comment about it.

“The boy you brought from the outer provinces,” Taemin continued lightly. “You used to insist he observe lessons. I assumed he would  be present or require instruction as well.”

A snicker rose from somewhere behind Jeno. Another followed, quickly stifled.

“Perhaps,” one noble girl murmured, not quite quietly enough, “His Highness prefers private instruction.”

The hand he wasn’t using to lead Yerim curled at his side.

Truthfully, Renjun had attended a few lessons in the past. He’d stand silently near the windows with his arms folded looking on at Taemin’s lessons. He had watched everything with those sharp, focused eyes. Claimed it was for “cultural understanding,” once as a means to cover the true reason why he was there in the first place, aside from Jeno simply wanting company and complaining long enough to Renjun that he gave in to the prince’s wishes.

At the end of one of those rehearsal lessons, after Taemin dismissed the room, he remembered how the strict instructor pulled Renjun to the middle. It had happened a few years prior and to this day Jeno still held the instructor at arm's length for it.

“If you’re going to stand and watch, the least you can do is show me what you’ve learned as a fly on the wall,” the instructor said coolly. There was no music, just the light chatter of staff and birds from the garden to be heard. Taemin eyed Renjun almost like it was a challenge. 

He was daring Renjun to move.

And so Renjun did. 

An equally challenging expression fitted his face, with narrowed eyes and a relaxed posture, as he turned to Master Taemin fully. 

Jeno had been prepping himself to tell off Taemin for trying to embarrass his friend but the way Renjun began to glide stopped his words from tumbling out. That day, he learned just how gracefully the other can be.

Renjun was light-footed and elegant. The fairy-like way he moved across the room to a routine Jeno had never seen before was everything. 

Taemin stared on with a face Jeno couldn’t decipher for the life of him. He watched like a man who was being faced with his biggest regrets staring back at him. He watched for maybe a minute more, then moved forward quickly to Renjun. Taemin had joined his improv dance, matching pace beside the younger; jumping, spinning and landing in tandem to a melody only they seemed to know. 

Renjun did not falter once. In fact, he seemed to ignore Taemin entirely while still complimenting his footwork.

Jeno had been enamoured. Even the few passing servants paused their work to watch them.

He wondered how Taemin knew what move Renjun would pull next. He wondered how Renjun even came up with something like this. It reminded him of the street dancers and performers at the market square. But even then, the way Renjun and Taemin moved carried a different type of air than what he was used to seeing. 

There was a beauty wrapped in how they floated around eachother. Nothing like the powerful kicks and fast turns of his people. No, this was something much softer. 

At the end, they mirrored each other in a peculiar bow that wasn't like one to end a dance he knew. 

Jeno stayed rooted in his spot. Taemin walked the short distance to Renjun a little out of breath. He asked him where he had learned to dance like that and who taught him. Taemin’s voice trembled as he spoke. A fraction of desperation neither boy knew what to make of. 

The questions made Renjun retreat a fraction. Taemin asked again reaching for Renjun, causing him to step back hastily. The boy only ended up giving a sheepish smile, saying he learned it from a street performer when he was little. 

Jeno remembered the puzzled look Taemin shot Renjun. Though he didn’t remember Taemin questioning Renjun further after that. His gaze did, however, linger after Renjun’s retreating figure when he excused himself not even a second later. 

Renjun never danced in front of others again after that.

Maybe Jeno could’ve asked more questions back then. He should have.

“Focus,” Taemin said sharply, pulling Jeno out of his thoughts. Cutting through the murmurs, he sounded again, “Continue, from the top everyone.”

Jeno shook his head slightly to rid himself of the memory.

The music resumed, but the whispers around him did not stop. 

“They say the Prince personally requested his chambers be moved a few years ago.”

“No, he’s still in the East Wing, right?”

“The stray yes, but not the Prince anymore.”

“I heard he refused a duchess’s daughter because he—”

Jeno's mind had zeroed in on their comments so much so that a short inhale caused him to halt. He realised too late that he had misstepped and accidentally pressed on Yerim’s foot. 

The music halted at their pause.

A light silence covered the room.

Taemin’s brow lifted. “That,” he said frankly, “was not the music’s fault.”

Heat climbed to Jeno’s neck, “I apologise for that, Lady Yerim,” he whispered, bowing to his partner politely. Yerim didn’t seem daunted by his slip-up. She gestured for him to quickly raise his head, giving him a warm smile. 

“Were you searching for him here, Your Highness?” she spoke, leaning in. A tinge of mischief and teasing in her voice, though not in a way that seemed unkind. 

He didn’t have to guess who she meant. The whole court might have had an inkling at this point. 

The sound of someone clearing their throat forced the two away from each other. Taemin settled them both with an unimpressed quirk of his brow.

“My apologies, Master.”

From the back of the room, someone muttered, “Always distracted.”

“Perhaps worrying where his shadow’s gone.”

A low ripple of laughter followed.

“Don’t mind them, Your Highness. They will never understand what you two have,” Yerim whispered, trying to guide him to follow their routine instead.

But Jeno couldn’t take it anymore. He turned abruptly causing the room to go still beneath the weight of his icy gaze.

“Is there something amusing?” he asked coldly. “Tell what it is you have to say.”

“In fact,” his volume lifting as he approached the small circle, “speak it loudly enough for the whole room to hear.”

No one answered. All eyes avoided his. 

Taemin watched all of this with careful interest. Not a soul moved.

He let the tension settle for a moment, then clapped. “Break. Five minutes.”

The nobles scattered quickly from the prince, forming clusters by the windows and near the doors, pretending not to continue their comments.

Jeno remained where he was as Taemin approached slowly.

“You’re tighter than usual,” Taemin said quietly. “Are you alright, Your Highness?”

“Peachy,” Jeno gritted out.

Taemin studied him. How tense his shoulders were, how he locked his jaw. “Where is Injun? I missed his hovering today”

Something in Jeno’s composure cracked. 

“I have not seen him in several days,” Jeno admitted, voice low enough that only Taemin could hear. “He shows up here and there but never long enough to talk to.”

Taemin hummed. “And he is fine by himself then? I heard there has been a faulty ward within the grounds.” 

Jeno’s breath hitched. 

Taemin kept his tone low, “The guards outside my room are not very soft spoken, My Prince.”

Jeno shut his eyes, breathing in slowly. “If anyone has redirected him without my knowledge or makes baseless accusations about–”

Taemin held up a hand. “Careful, Your Highness. Accusations are arrows. Once loosed—”

“I do not loose arrows without aim,” Jeno countered evenly.

Across the room, a pair of nobles were very obviously watching them.

Taemin followed Jeno’s line of sight, then leaned closer.

“The Palace breathes rumours,” he murmured. “You bring an unknown boy into the court and give him proximity to the throne for years. What did you expect? He’s a blaring anomaly here. Many will not be so used to him.”

Jeno didn’t answer. It wasn’t always like this. No one cared about Renjun being here or not before. How could everything turn toward him so quickly? Jeno knew he must have missed so many indicators if this was where things led. But what was he even supposed to do now?

Taemin straightened. “If you are worried, look for him yourself.”

“I have,” Jeno said quietly.

That was the part that unsettled him most.

Injun had never avoided him before the recent months. Even when angry or distant, he always came back.

Even more so, why was Taemin even looking for Renjun? 

“Why are you asking for Injun, Master Taemin?”

The man blinked at him, processing the sudden question. Jeno felt a sneaking suspicion that there was more to this than the dance instructor was letting on. 

Taemin sighed under the prince’s watch. “I happened to hear he no longer dances. I wanted to know if it was true, that’s all.”

Jeno didn’t buy it. “You are part of the reason he doesn’t anymore,” he said flatly. 

That made Taemin’s eyebrows shoot up in shock. “No, that’s not right, Your Highness. He’s excellent, you saw him that day. It’s just he dances like–”

“I also saw how you pushed him to do it in the first place when he was perfectly fine with watching. Not to mention the way you questioned him after,” he spoke, pointing a finger at the other, accusingly, before catching himself in his actions.

Jeno’s eyes widened at his sudden defense for the other.

“I’m sorry…I…I have a lot on my mind right now. I should not have lashed out.” 

Taemin nodded at the apology. His mouth opened like he had more to say but closed again, shaking his head. 

“Are you sure that’s all you wanted to know, Master Taemin?” Jeno asked facing the man. “Please do not mess with him.”

Jeno rolled his shoulders back, trying to shake his woes away. He threw an eye around the room. The other nobles had relaxed back into their usual discussions in hushed voices with their bodies turned away from him. 

The prince rubbed a hand down his face. Perhaps he needed a proper rest after all this.

“Your Highness?” Taemin called, drawing his attention back. He leaned closer, dropping his voice so lowly that Jeno struggled to hear. “Injun isn’t from these lands, is he?”

Jeno drew back slowly. He levelled his eyes with the man before him. 

He schooled a poker face, refusing to let even an inkling of emotion bleed through. 

Taemin returned it with a melancholic look. 

Taemin knew something.

Before Jeno could even muster up a follow-up question, the musicians began tuning again. Their break was over; the tension enveloping the two was beginning to drown out. Without missing another beat, Taemin morphed back into instructor mode and moved past Jeno to the centre of the ballroom.

His voice lifted to address the room. “Positions.”

As the nobles returned, whispers trailed behind them like sickly sweet perfume.

“Maybe the Prince grew bored.”

“Or maybe the stray realised his place.”

Jeno stepped back into formation, mind clouded. Yerim shot him a worried glance as they repositioned themselves. Jeno ignored it. His blank slate persona taking front place. A horrid trait he learned as a prince. 

The music swelled and his movements were flawless now. He was precise, controlled, and untouchable.

But his mind was not in the room.

It was in the empty chair at dinner, quick eyes and faster limbs running down the garden paths and in the corridors connecting to the respective chambers. And now it was replaying Master Taemin’s words and the last time he’d seen Renjun dance in these halls.

Three counts, a simple turn, then a bow.

Taemin’s voice cut through the final note. “Better.”

Jeno straightened, eyes fixed ahead. If the Palace thought Injun was a point of gossip, if the court saw him as something to be discussed, if outsiders began picking things apart in their own minds, then Jeno would have other matters on his hands to quell.

If someone had decided to move Renjun like a pawn on a chessboard without telling the Crown Prince…

NoRen Royal AU

Chapter 10

Renjun had a plan.

A plan of diversion that was so idiotic in the grand scheme of his situation, though not above him in trying. 

He made his way toward the training grounds where Jeno was likely still finishing drills. In the distance over the Palace walls, Renjun looked towards the west. There was a bell tower within the heart of the kingdom that chimed on the hour and was heard throughout the land. If his timing was correct, it should ring out any moment now. And so it did as he weaved through the pathways. Renjun counted the echoes of its deep ringing as he approached. Six chimes exactly. The Palace guards would rotate, meaning the outer field would be nearly empty, with only the serious sword students and knights straggling behind.

Coming to a stop, Renjun stood just at the stone archway that led to the training grounds.

His eyes swept the few bodies milling around till they landed on one black-haired figure with a regal stance and sharp face. 

Jeno was in his element.

His tunic was tied at the waist, arms bare and sweat-slicked, with his sleeves rolled and blade cutting through the air with sharp precision. His swordsmanship was never showy, just precise and efficient. 

Renjun will hand it to Jeno for being an expert knight and fighter of his kingdom. It was his duty after all, but even he, though he would never admit to it, liked seeing the prince train, knowing how hard Jeno worked to become stronger. He never made a habit of sitting in on training sessions, but when he did pass by, he would, maybe, spare a minute or two to observe Jeno from the window or shadows.

But Renjun could feel eyes already starting to track him from the obvious spot he was rooted in.

From the watch guards to a couple of squires passing by, even the other men on the ground seem to acknowledge him there. 

He crossed his arms loosely and tilted his head, like he hadn’t stopped on purpose; like he wasn’t really watching, just caught out in the open.

Amidst the clank of practise swords, he made eye contact.

Only for a second.

Jeno faltered. A stumble in his footwork when his eyes registered Renjun. Jeno’s expression flashed from surprise to confusion to something entirely different. And Renjun wouldn’t dwell on it. He smiled faintly at the prince making no move to go towards him.

But he refused to linger.

Not letting another second pass, he turned and walked off, as if nothing happened, letting the shrinking echo of a yelp from Jeno getting whacked over the head and chatter from rowdy knights fade behind him.

~

Later on, before the Palace shut itself away for the night, he passed Jeno in the corridors connecting to the eastern wing. It was one of their usual crosspoints. Two maids turned the corner behind them, just in time to see Renjun glance up from his book and bump shoulders with the prince.

“Oh—sorry,” Renjun murmured, gaze flicking up, dragging half a second too long.

 Jeno blinked, clearly thrown. Renjun by no means was clumsy. 

“No, no, you’re fine,” the prince said hurriedly.

Another glance. Another beat too long.

Then Renjun ducked his head down, cheeks just a little warm. It was not from real embarrassment, but from the effort of playing shy.

He did not notice Jeno's attempt to grab at him in his haste, but it worked in his favour as the maids stifled their laughter behind their sleeves. They moved along only stopping to give the two a brief ‘goodnight,’ surely going to tell the other staff what they witnessed.

Renjun couldn’t help the small smirk that crossed his face as he hurried to his chambers.

Stepping into the room, his foot nudged a small set of folded parchment neatly tied with twine lying in front of the doorway. Curiously, he picked up the bundle and walked over to the windowsill. Renjun pulled at the ends of the strings and unfolded what looked to be a crumpled route map from a Palace scout. The flickering dotted lines and sigils scrawled in the margins were simple things. Protection and detection magic that could easily be shattered made it look like child’s play to Renjun. Whoever this scout was clearly did not have a knack for sorcery. 

On a good day, Renjun was sure he could take him down with a flick of his wrist. 

Focusing back on the route, he observed a river that ran through a fairly populated village on the outskirts of the border. Merchants' stalls and shops were circled in red ink. Each has a small symbol drawn to tell their trade, cattle, fabrics, and produce. But one symbol stuck out to him the most. Above the route itself had a thick black ‘X’ inked in.  

None of the scout’s notes had any information on it, what it could mean or indicate in relation to anything else. It was odd. Renjun had never come across an ‘X’ed out route before within the Kingdom. 

Perhaps it’s no longer a route used by the scouts? Or did something else happen to it? He truly wasn’t sure.

Sighing, he tucked the map away into his pocket. Renjun then turned his attention to the other piece of folded paper. This one had a firmer feel to it, something of a higher quality. Flipping it over drew a scoff from the boy. 

Written in practised calligraphy, the words–

“His Majesty, King Sehun of the Central Kingdom, invites you to attend the annual Winter Ball held within the Palace gardens…”

Of course! Renjun thought. 

He was so caught up in his own findings and routines that the early preparations for the upcoming Ball had completely slipped his mind. Glancing back at the plain invitation, he knew that it had to be a draft too, one that should’ve been sent to the King. It was too plain of an invitation to match the extravagance of that event. 

And so Renjun hated it. Hated the way they celebrated their successes and discussed the year’s successes, as if no repercussions had occurred. 

Ever so often, he would wonder about those who faced similar fates to his people within their own Kingdom. Would their people still think it was the best option if they knew? 

Thinking of it always set his nerves off and made his blood boil.

He had spent the better years of his stay in the Palace avoiding the damned Ball at all costs. A part of him held the hatred from the place and what it stood for, but a bigger part was terrified of being recognised. Though it was highly unlikely, given the distance of the Central Kingdom from his former home, nobles got around just fine and many remembered faces and names. 

Still, he was grateful to know that there was something else to keep the Palace heads buzzing. 

Once the height of winter came, he’d let the Ball run its course.

But for now? He will let the court whisper about boys being foolish.

~

Withered and cracked leaves began to dust the Kingdom more regularly now and with it came a surge of energy amidst the dropping temperatures. 

Every hallway, every courtyard, every idle servant and snooty noble had something to say. 

Something to say about them.

“Has the stray always been watching the prince?”

“You’d think they’d be more subtle.”

“Honestly, it’s sweet. The prince and his stray, like a fairytale, no?”

“He doesn’t stand a chance.”

Renjun heard it all. 

Heard it follow him through the days that passed.

In whispers trailing behind him as he crossed stone paths; in laughter masked as politeness when he stepped into a room; in the knowing looks of knights as Jeno passed during drills and meetings. 

Everyone thought they were watching a slow, awkward courtship play out between two boys who didn’t know better.

Renjun leaned into the role with relentless control.

A glance here, a brush of fingertips there. Always in the open; always enough to spark conversation. 

But never enough to be real.

He did not stick around for Jeno to question him. He became a master of presence, appearing just long enough to be noticed, never long enough to be questioned.

And in the spaces between? He worked.

Slipping through forgotten passages, memorising patrol rotations, map transitions, and archive access schedules. He learned the new locking sequence on the restricted vaults by watching a young scribe fumble the pattern twice in one week.

He practised magic beneath Doyoung’s watchful eye, deep in the garden, when the bells masked the hum of his runes and spells. Every zap of power and sting of his fractured magic kept him trying harder with fingers burning from the cold. He practised drawing maps from memory and reconstructed sigils from the burned fragments of his old life.

He spent hours under dim light collecting as much information as he could in the in-betweens of loyalists. Anything to make sense of what was to come and who was next. 

Eventually, it got to a point where Renjun hadn’t seen Jeno properly in days.

Not beyond passing glances or the crafted glimpses designed for Palace gossip.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t outright avoiding him.

It was just easier to keep control that way. To maintain the line between performance and something far too fragile to name. Though when in the quiet sections of his routines, he began to miss his friend more and more. 

There was an underlying guilt that started forming within him but Renjun couldn’t afford to dwell on it. He knew he was being unfair to Jeno but he had no time to think of another plan. And besides, it’s not like Jeno would really take it to heart, right?

The weeks continued passing as the brunt of winter approached.

Snow hadn’t fallen yet, but the chill crept in through the walls. The hearths burned longer and servants whispered of fabric orders and guest arrivals. The Winter Ball, a spectacle of diplomacy and performance, loomed close.

Another year, Renjun thought, watching the frost slowly crystallise across his window. Another year gone, another year of not figuring out why the East was taken from him.

He knew he couldn’t stay at the Palace much longer

Still, some part of him lingered.

Some part of him hesitated when he caught the edge of Jeno’s voice in a hallway.

Some part of him leaned closer when he passed the prince. 

Stupid, Renjun told himself. Sentimental and stupid.

But maybe… just for a little longer.

NoRen Royal AU

Chapter 9

The morning came a little too quickly for Jeno’s liking.

Palace bells rang over the courtyard, and with them came the murmur of shifting attention. The servants moved around more quietly, lingering a little longer in rooms and corners, as if listening for something, or rather, anything. Watchful eyes lingered longer near the garden paths, where the palace rumour mill spun the loudest. Jeno felt it in every glance that followed him. 

They’re watching both of us now, he thought as he made his way around from his chambers.

He passed a pair of guards whispering near the training yard, their voices hushed the moment they saw him.

He kept walking.

He stopped when he spotted Doyoung near the entrance to one of the studies, reviewing new dispatch logs.

Approaching quietly, he voiced lightly, “I didn’t know apothecaries had any business with route logs?” 

Doyoung didn’t look up, but he let out a sigh as if he didn't want to entertain Jeno baiting him.

“You heard what the King said, we must pay more attention to our surroundings. And just for the record, Your Highness,” he levelled Jeno with an unimpressed look, “ailing knights and where they are is my business.”

The prince felt a little silly at the way Doyoung closed the conversation on his end. He tried to think of something to say but the other spoke first. 

“You disappeared last night after the meeting.”

That made Jeno pause for a second too long. A second that Doyoung’s watchful eyes caught. 

It wasn’t a question. No, Doyoung was a person who put himself in situations he knew he could win. Ones where he already had the upper hand in some form. Jeno knew not to tread too closely. 

“I needed air,” he said, carefully. “You know how the north corridors can be a bit…suffocating.”

Doyoung hummed.

“And Injun?”

“What about him?”

“Nothing. It’s just you’re always with him,” Doyoung replied.

“I’m not– We hardly even see each other now. I just…whatever.” Jeno flusteredly grumbled. He side-stepped past the man to relieve himself of the conversation he started. 

Doyoung stared at Jeno’s retreating figure with a mix of confusion and amusement, a little taken aback by his answer, or lack thereof. He couldn’t help the small smile that threatened to tug on the corner of his lips. But it quickly faded when he looked down at the logs in his hands. 

He called to the prince, “My Prince, it will do you well to know where your focus should be.”

That stopped Jeno in his tracks. 

He felt irritated now.

“I think this whole court is focusing on the wrong things!” he half-yelled, not wanting to alert anyone around them. “They’re starting to think Injun is a threat now.”

“Why can’t they just mind their business?!” his hands waving exasperatedly. 

Doyoung turned to look at him fully then. There was something in his gaze, something less sharp and more tired. Jeno was used to having a back-and-forth with him, but even Doyoung seemed a little more worn out today.

“Be careful what you wrap your loyalty around, Your Highness,” he sighed, “the tighter the grip, the easier it cuts both ways.”

With that he walked off, as cryptic as ever.

Jeno wouldn’t let it get to him. He needed to figure out how he could get so many eyes off him and Renjun. 

He rounded a few corners and weaved his way through the connecting garden passes till the familiar ivory walls of a room he’d become quite familiar with came into view.

That is where he found him. Renjun was seated in the library wing at his usual corner, slotted towards the back where records were stored and forgotten over time. No scrolls laid out, nor maps unfurled on the desk he typically worked at. Just a single closed book and eyes that didn’t linger on when Jeno approached.

Renjun looked just as he did the night before on the windowsill. Simply beautiful, but with that underlying presence of calm before a storm.

Jeno passed by without speaking, letting his fingers brush the edge of the table, just for a second as a silent signal to Renjun.

I’m still here.

Neither paused for the other. Renjun continued staring down at the closed book as Jeno strolled by. They didn’t acknowledge each other or trade words, just a passing moment that no one around could read into. 

~

Renjun didn’t move until the afternoon graced the Palace walls.

He waited until the archives emptied and the walls were bathed in amber light. He moved lightly from the desk he occupied over to a dusty ceiling-to-floor bookcase that stretched along the farthest end of the room. Renjun ran a hand along the engravings of the worn wood before crouching down to a cabinet tucked below the rows of scrolls and leather-bound papers.

This section was another one that no one dared to monitor anymore, sealed under quiet scripts from reigns long past. Given the recent meeting Jeno had with the King, he knew that anything out of place in this area, especially, would draw attention. Powerful eyes were turning in on what could have caused the wards to shatter and Renjun knew now more than ever that it was a matter of time until someone put the scattered pieces together. 

He had always relied on the ignorance of the Central Kingdom to cover him, but he made too many mistakes and now Jeno knew. The propaganda of the kingdom sickened him. He realised early in his stay that many knew bits of history but had stronger biases against the outer regions and their leaders. Like talking to a wall, Renjun always thought. It’s also why he kept closer to Doyoung. The man seemed to be the only rational and well-rounded thinker. He also appeared to take a liking to Renjun and taught him magic in the in-between of palace life. If Doyoung wanted Renjun dead, he figured he would’ve been six feet under by now. 

Though with the higher alert and raising suspicions, he’d spent the night before pacing, frustrating himself into thinking about how to move forward. Pulling at his hair and sparking magic that left him more in pain than anything else.

It's not like he could help it. In the back of his mind he knew the odds would catch up to him. He figured the gods didn’t think he deserved to live peacefully anymore. 

Renjun, above all other things, felt exhausted. Exhausted from taming a power that didn’t listen; exhausted from playing a role born out of pure survival, from trying to piece his own sanity back together. His stay in the Palace had been a state of limbo. One he could almost drop his guard in and act like just another boy his age. But good things, Renjun believed, don’t last very long. 

There were gaps in the history he lived and uprisings at the foot of the Kingdom. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed with the way King Sehun managed to keep reality under wraps from his people, including his son. Once they keep their tainted hands away from the East, then Renjun could afford to breathe easier. There was no need to disturb what was already buried. 

His fingers reached for a small knob, slipping slightly with the thin layer of dust coating it. 

Within the snug cabinet lay a mess of papers held together by fraying threads. Most of the pages had yellowed with age, but some were newer, recently added. The ink on them was bold and legible. Renjun picked up the stack carefully and laid it on the floor before him. Flipping through the older memos he’d read about a hundred times, he landed on the latest addition. 

It was a crumpled page of the recent movements from small rebel camps. He noted a few had been found and dismantled, much to his disappointment. A sentence on the predicted drought from a Seer was underlined, but gave nothing worth noting. There was a drabble on the order of routes taken by the last group of knights to leave, which was west, while the most recent came from the south. No movement from or towards the east. 

He nodded to himself; no news is good news after all.

He flipped back to the first few pages from the stack where there was a list of small towns, main routes and villages. Several had been scratched out over time. Renjun tried guessing what it could mean over the years; no longer a trading route, the villages ceasing to exist completely or were they simply being taken over by the Central Kingdom and added to their expanse of land. 

Two newer lines were added through a transportation route and a farming village. 

The pages never held too much information, just enough to keep him somewhat looped in without having to ask questions. 

Sighing in defeat at gaining little intel, Renjun tucked the papers back into the cabinet and headed towards the exit. 

~

As the evening was setting in, the whispers floated to him like smoke from the far end of the corridor. Two maids were folding sheets and speaking in hushed voices when Renjun neared them just out of sight. It’s probably for the best to avoid them, given that the maids and kitchen staff were among the nosiest. Except the topic of conversation halts him.

“It’s so obvious, isn’t it?” one murmured.

“His Highness can’t help it,” the other said with a giggle. “Always hanging around that little one. What’s his name again?”

“Injun. Oh, he has such sad eyes, doesn’t he?” 

Renjun made a face at that. He did not have ‘sad eyes’?! 

“I heard two guards went to his room to interrogate him when the wards snapped.” 

Renjun stilled behind the corner. This wasn’t good. His slip-up had even the everyday staff buzzing. 

“Must’ve scared him half to death, those thugs,” turning her nose up at the thought. “Honestly, he is a little tragic. Our prince tries so hard, everyone sees it but him.”

Renjun rolled his eyes so hard it hurt.

How ridiculous. Jeno having a crush on him? These people don’t know their prince at all!

He turned to walk the other way, fed up with their gossip, but then paused.

The idea took root fast.

Everyone sees it but him...

And what if that was true?

What if they made it look true?

He stayed there for a moment, pressed into shadow, lips pursed in thought.

What if he played into it? Gave them something simple to focus on. If they think they’re just two boys circling each other, they won’t think he’s planning anything. He can hover if he needs to. They won’t look at his frequented spots that much if he keeps appearing near Jeno more often. 

He’ll give them something to talk about if it means buying more time. Especially, since he has a suspicion that the King and his court won’t be so inclined to anything that pushes the ‘friendship’ boundary. 

Renjun let out a slow breath to gather himself, pulled his sleeves straight and then, just like that, slipped his Injun mask back on.

He’ll let them see what they wanted.

NoRen Royal AU

Chapter 8

King Sehun’s private study sat dimly lit, draped in the velvet quiet of night. He sat hunched over at the head of a regally carved table with his eyes fixed on a piece of parchment. Two figures on either side of him: Commander Taeyong, who gave Jeno a tired smile and the Palace’s trusted apothecary, Doyoung, who seemed more annoyed to be a part of the meeting than anything else.

“Jeno, sit,” the King said without looking up.

“This tower seal,” he continued, tapping the parchment, “was tripped about an hour ago. Reports say the wards shattered from the inside. Do you know anything about this?”

Feigning ignorance, Jeno quirked an eyebrow at his father before shaking his head. 

Taking the opportunity to intervene at the prince’s lack of a verbal response, Doyuong chimed in.

“Your Majesty, it’s late. The knights have already checked the surrounding areas. Let's face the facts here, the magic of the Palace is old and built on generations.” He spoke seriously but with a disinterested undertone. “A ward snapped with no traces to follow. So what. If something were really a threat, we would know, wouldn’t we?”

Jeno’s eyes narrowed at that. He wasn’t sure what trap the apothecary was laying, but if it were a diversion, then Jeno would readily comply.

King Sehun regarded Doyoung’s words, humming lowly, but turned again to his son.

“How is Injun, Jeno?”

There it is. 

The prince leaned back in his seat, looking to the apothecary who stared blankly at him, then to Taeyong, who gave him a wary glance. He chose his next words carefully.

“As he's always been, reading, drawing, I have not seen him much lately, with my duties piling up. Did you not speak to him recently?”

His father nodded. “A passing conversation, yes, nothing important.”

Silence settled for a few moments before he levelled Jeno with an unreadable expression.

“The mages found traces of unfamiliar magic within our walls a few years ago. We have kept it under wraps so as not to alarm anyone but it seems that it has been brought to light again.” The King pointed at him then, “I want you to be more observant. Movements have been happening in the outer borders. The uprisings are becoming more frequent.”

“But none have reached the main city? I haven't received any reports of recent activity outside of our men collecting goods.” 

Jeno felt a little lost. Uprising? That last one to happen was so long ago. 

A memory of someone from back then crosses his mind. A friend who’d left for reasons he did not understand during that time. It was the last he’d heard of any activity like that within their Kingdom. 

In fact, Jeno had been certain that the matter had been handled before more harm could be brought to the people of the Central Kingdom.

He didn’t like thinking about rebels or wars. Always a shaky topic. Though he was proud of his land’s victories, he knew it had been a bloody road to get there. Even the people themselves kept bad memories tightly locked and hushed. It would do no good to dwell on the past, as many counsellors would say.

He’d almost lost himself in thought before Taeyong’s voice pulled him back.

“We’ve been sending scouts to gather intel but most either find very little. Hardly anything useful lately.” He shook his head in frustration, “Whoever is protecting the rebel bases is doing an annoyingly good job at it.”

Jeno’s eyes moved to the apothecary who sat quietly taking in the information. 

“Jeno,” King Suho called slightly startling the prince. “Magic is a tricky thing, you know. You and Injun were never great at it. These unknown spells are hard to knock. You can defend yourself but that boy cannot. I do not think of him as a fool with how well read he is, however, I do believe knowledge brings much…curiosity.”

Jeno was growing to hate that word.

If he told them anything now, he may just be telling them everything. He’d be handing Renjun over if he misspoke. He wasn’t ready to do that.

“Are you worried about him, father?” the prince asked steadily. 

Stay calm. Don’t raise suspicion.

The King let out an airy laugh, “I am worried about everyone in this court.”

You’ll do well to keep an eye on him and the other scribes; Commander, you keep watch of our knights and Doyoung, well, you know what to do,” the King said waving a hand. “If something happens again, you bring it straight to me.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the two said in union. 

Jeno paused a few more seconds before answering, a sickly feeling crawling up his skin, “Yes, father.”

They dismissed him without fanfare.

But Doyoung’s gaze lingered sharp and searching as he stood to leave. He didn’t spare the man a glance. Jeno knew Doyoung was a bit too smart for his own good and would see right through any defence he could muster.

When he rounded the end of a corridor, Jeno finally let himself breathe freely.

Why bring him up at all? Are they suspicious of him? 

Are they waiting for proof?

He turned down a darkened hall, away from his chambers. He won't let anyone in the Palace use him to get anything on Renjun.

Jeno had his own grievances to fire at the other.

He’ll just have to find him first.

~

Jeno turned the corner at a jog, heart already pounding, only to halt mid-step. Two guards stood outside Renjun’s door. Lips moving with words he couldn’t hear. Worry began to build in him.   

The guards' faces were serious, no nonsense. When one stepped closer, Jeno had half the mind to charge at them. He continued watching till they eventually started walking away. There was no aggression on either end from what he could tell, but the door slamming shut did not calm his nerves in the slightest.

Please, gods, just let him be okay.

Leaning back on the wall, Jeno closed his eyes and counted to ten. It would give enough time for the guards to round the corner, but also steel himself before facing Renjun again. He ducked behind a stone pillar until their footsteps faded to nothing. The moment he was sure they were out of sight and earshot, he dashed down the corridor.

His palm hit the door quietly; knocking would only draw attention. Fidgeting with the handle, he realised it was unlocked and with a familiar ease, he slipped into the room. 

Scanning the dimly lit area haphazardly, he halted at the sight of the boy before him.

Renjun.

Seated on the windowsill with the moonlight framing him in silver, tracing his cheekbones and the sunken curves under his eyes. His cloak was half unfastened with his sleeves rolled up. A small travelling bag by the foot of the bed was open, half-packed with loose pages spilling out.  A worn circular charm faintly glowed red near his boot. His closet doors were left wide open, with garments scattered across the floor in the corner.

But it wasn’t the scene that stopped Jeno cold.

It was Renjun’s expression.

He no longer wore that innocent look with wide eyes and a bowed posture Jeno had come to know Injun by. There was no longer that soft-edged presence. 

This version of the boy he grew with, the real version, kept his back straight, his eyes narrowed, and his entire body on alert like a weapon half-drawn.

“You took your time,” Renjun said, voice eerily calm.

Jeno didn’t speak at first; he didn’t know what to say. He just looked at him. 

He saw the exhaustion. The tightness in Renjun’s jaw, the silent, stormy panic hidden behind that cool expression. There was an underlying fear present. Jeno could feel it.

Fear of exposure…or something entirely unknown.

“They didn’t hurt you?” Jeno finally asked, voice hushed. His hands were raised like he was surrendering, like he was afraid one wrong move would set Renjun off. 

Renjun shook his head once. “Not yet. They just questioned me. Asked about my whereabouts. My readings, my behaviour,” a pause, “You.”

“Me?”

“I told them I’ve been avoiding you.” Renjun’s gaze sharpened. “That you’re a distraction to my studies.”

Jeno blinked, puzzled and a little hurt. “A distraction?”

“It’s what they wanted to hear.” He shrugged. “You play the prince who chases strays. I play the stray who got tired of being cornered. I just made it up, it’s not that deep.”

Jeno frowned at that. “What if they had dragged you out anyway, then what?”

Renjun’s eyes didn’t waver.

“I would’ve made sure they regretted it.”

His hand drifted toward the small orb beside him, faintly glowing with layered runes.

Jeno stepped closer, looking around at the mess of Renjun’s room.

“You were going to leave.”

“I still might.”

The air between them pulsed.

Renjun tilted his head, eyes narrowing.

“Did you give them anything?” he asked softly. “When the King called for you?”

Jeno’s jaw tightened. 

“No.” But another question popped into his head, “How did you know my father called for me?”

“I asked. ” 

A flat answer. Jeno was sure that if he asked any follow-up questions, Renjun would ignore them.

Jeno walked to the desk beside the window and pulled out the chair to sit beside him.

“They know something’s off,” he said softly. “They’re not sure what yet. But they’ve started watching you. They asked me to keep an eye on you now.”

Renjun didn’t react really, just a sideways glance and a blank expression.

Jeno leaned forward now, “I hid your satchel.”

That made Renjun turn to face him fully, his eyebrows creasing and a frown pulling at his lips

“You were supposed to burn it.”

“I said I’d protect it first. I meant that.”

Renjun blinked, a bit dazed by Jeno’s sheer determination to do exactly what he did not want, then looked away toward the dark sprawl of the garden beyond the window.

“They’ll come again. With real questions next time.”

“Then we’ll be ready.”

Renjun turned back to him shocked.

We.

The word sat between them. The silence between them stretched, thicker now, not with a sense of danger but with something heavier.

Renjun forced his gaze back out the window but Jeno could see his shoulders had eased by a fraction. Just enough to show the edge of his mask slipping from the tension. His magic no longer buzzed in the corners of the room. The faint runes on the charm below them dimmed.

Jeno stayed seated. Not pushing further in his words, just remaining present beside the other.

Then, Renjun spoke quietly. No sharpness, no challenge.

“Why are you still here?”

When Jeno looked up, Renjun still didn’t face him. His profile was still pale and worn, half-lit in the moonlight. He looked like someone who had spent too long fighting in silence and didn’t know what to do now that someone had willingly planted themselves next to him.

“You know who I am,” Renjun said. “You saw what I’m hiding. Maybe what I could do, what I’ve done. You could’ve turned me in and walked away.”

His voice dropped, low and raw, “So why didn’t you?”

Jeno didn’t look away from the boy before him. How could he?

“Because the first time I found you, you were half-dead and still trying to hold onto life. Because even then, you didn’t beg or cry for anything. You didn’t ask anything of me. You just kept moving and learning and everything.”

He stood slowly and leaned closer to Renjun.

“Because when everyone else ignored you or whispered, you never asked them to see you or like you. When it’s just the two of us, it’s okay…isn’t it?”

Jeno was in front of him now.

“You never hurt anyone, even when they’re terrible. When the history is stained, and you know better, you still didn’t hurt anyone. You could have.” The prince shakes his head, “hell, I would have.” 

Renjun swallowed, a weight sitting heavy on his chest and tears threatening to spill over.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he replied, watery.

“No," Jeno said slowly, "but I can learn.”

The silence that followed was different; a fragile feeling buzzing around them.

Renjun leaned back slightly against the window frame. His eyes shimmered with the restraint it took to hold his tears back.

“You’ll be king one day,” he mumbled, “You can’t be reckless.”

“Then I’ll have to be careful,” Jeno agreed. “With you.”

And then, quietly, just for the one in front of him,

“If you’ll let me.”

The two don’t speak for a while after that. Renjun stares out the window while Jeno keeps looking at him.

“I’ll protect you, Renjun,” Jeno said, voice soft but steady. Then, almost pleading, “Just don’t run away from me.”

His words hung in the air, unadorned. Renjun didn’t answer right away.

He looked at Jeno like he was seeing him again for the first time, not as the golden crown prince, not as the boy who dragged him into the palace bleeding and half-conscious, but as someone… choosing him.

Why? He couldn’t help but wonder. 

What could Jeno possibly do for him? The next step, or any step for that matter, would reek of treason. Even this moment, this conversation, was enough to have Jeno stripped of his title and thrown from the capital. Maybe worse.

He’s not thinking clearly, Renjun thought bitterly. He’s just chasing a feeling.

But that part of his mind, the sharp, weary part that had lived years inside this Palace’s walls, wasn’t the only voice anymore.

The part of him that remembered Jeno sitting beside him for hours in the archives and library, or sneaking him fresh goodies from the kitchens, or noticing when his hands shook too hard to cast spells properly, that part already trusted him more than he’d like to admit.

Renjun hated it.

He hated this war. Hated everything that came with it. 

Hated the way the Central Kingdom kept pretending it didn’t exist. How they managed to convince everyone it was the right thing to do by rewriting the tragic history. That the East’s fall had been righteous, not orchestrated. That there hadn’t been treaties shattered in silence. Villages vanishing, family names being erased. That whole dynasties could be burned down for the sake of ‘unity.’

And still, he could not hate Jeno. Never him, not really, anyway.

Even knowing how it would end.

“I’m not running,” he said finally, voice low.

Jeno’s eyes flickered to him.

Renjun stood and moved carefully until they were nearly eye to eye. Then, lightly, “but you can’t stop what’s coming. Not alone at least.”

“Then we won’t face it alone.” Jeno offered, serious and sure of himself.  

Renjun looked away, jaw tightening. 

There it was again, that simple word ‘we,’ that meant everything to someone like Renjun. He let out a deep sigh.

“I need more time. I’ve missed some things along the way and I have to track some routes. The traces are all wrong, and the West is slipping through the cracks. If I ever want to leave this place, I can’t go blind.”

Jeno nodded once. “I’ll buy you time then. We can work to set things straight.”

Renjun met his gaze again, and for a moment, there was something softer in it. Like a pact sealed without magic, without oaths. Just two boys in a war they didn’t start, choosing each other in the quiet.

“You shouldn’t believe in me,” Renjun said sadly, voice nearly a whisper.

The prince reached out taking Renjun’s hand in his own. He could feel the other stiffen at the touch, but Jeno offered a small smile that reached all the way to his eyes and a reassuring squeeze to his fingers.

NoRen Royal AU

Chapter 7

The silence stretched.

Renjun paced to the middle of the tower room, heart racing, every instinct in his body screaming for flight over fight. His magic curled along his fingertips like smoke, raw and restless. 

He had a few seconds.

His mind swiped through his options, none of them very good; ward the door, burn the scrolls, fight the Prince…jumping out the window would only get him killed faster. His eyes darted from the sealed chest in the corner to the dusty statues and cracked mirrors. There was no time to hide.

He’d been so careful. Every step, every lie, every breath in this palace was measured, but it still wasn’t good enough. 

The doorknob rattled.

No.

The aged wood opened slowly, just a few inches of a crack. It was almost as if whoever was on the other side wasn’t sure if they were welcome. 

But Renjun knew. 

It can only be him. He was the only one who would be damned enough to follow him. The door creaked as it gently moved to reveal the figure.

Jeno.

Framed in the doorway; hair tossed with night air, cloak flared slightly from the climb, sword at his side, unsummoned. His eyes swept the room till they landed on Renjun.

Renjun’s stance faltered. His magic cracked, blue light flaring at his palms reflexively.

“Don’t,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Don’t come closer.”

Jeno didn’t move, but Renjun took a step back. The spell on his lips was one he hadn’t used in years.

One word and I’m gone, he thought as he got ready to move. 

Three beats, a light breeze through the window and then– 

“Huang Renjun.”

Renjun froze. Something in a deep part of his psyche had cracked. 

His name, his real name, hung in the air like a brand and burned through him.

Every instinct to flee, to defend, to fight instantly shattered. He stared at Jeno, eyes wide, breath caught like a knife in his throat.

His magic flickered, stuttered, then dimmed. He was frightened. Not by Jeno, but by what it meant to be known.

“How?” The word barely escaped.

Jeno stepped into the room, slow as a tide.

“I knew something was wrong.” His voice was quiet and careful. “You started acting differently. Then you started avoiding me. I went back to those rooms so many times trying to find you.”

“You—”

“I thought I did something wrong,” Jeno huffed in frustration. “But then I got ‘curious’ too…”

Jeno took another step, watching Renjun’s eyes and head dart around for an escape.

“Most texts say that everything in the Eastern Rise perished, that no heir made it out. There were plans to carry out a campaign and ongoing attacks. They never taught us about that in the academy. I did not, I still don’t.”

“Everything feels scattered,” Jeno’s eyes met the boy’s again. “What the Central Kingdom knows is wrong, isn’t it?

His shoulders sagged. The prince looked tired as he stood.

“You knew from the start Inj–”

“Stop.” 

Renjun felt tightly coiled. He turned away needing to breathe, pressing a shaking hand to his ribs like he could hold himself together if he tried hard enough.

He knows. He really knows. There’s no pretending now. No more hiding. I’m not safe. 

One after the next, Renjun’s mind flooded with panicked thoughts. He glanced back at the prince’s woeful eyes.

He hasn’t drawn his sword or alerted the knights.

As if sensing the other’s panic, Jeno straightened, putting his hands up in surrender. 

“I wouldn’t hurt you Injun, he pleaded, “gods, never you.”

Renjun wanted to cry. 

“Why did you not say anything to me? Do you not trust me, Injun? Renjun?”

Renjun’s heartbeat thundered, but the air between them remained unbearably still; no spell flung, no sword drawn, just truth laid bare in the form of his name.

And then—

A ripple surged through the stone. 

Buzzing magic, like a thread being pulled too hard, then snapping clean.

Jeno straightened immediately.

“Did you feel that?”

Renjun nodded, breath caught.

Then, from somewhere below,

“Prince Jeno!”

A voice sharp and trained. Sir Johnny was too close.

Another voice followed it. Then footsteps. Multiple.

They were coming.

They shouldn’t be this close, Renjun thought, his panic reigniting. This tower is sealed. No one patrols here anymore.

Unless someone had noticed the disturbance in the wards. Or worse, had tracked Jeno’s movements...or his own.

They know we’re here.

Renjun's breathing quickened as the seconds ticked away.

“Go,” Renjun spoke, turning to the desk with frantic hands. He started gathering scrolls—no time for neatness now, just the most damning things.

“Renjun—”

“Go!” he snapped, more force than he meant. The name still felt too raw on Jeno’s tongue. Renjun didn’t want to hear it.

He shook his head in desperation, “They can’t find me here. Not like this.”

Jeno moved forward, “Then come with me.”

Renjun’s eyes snapped up, startled.

“We’ll slip back through the archive hall,” Jeno said quickly, already calculating. “The east wing corridors are still unguarded this time of night. We can get to your room, stash the papers, no one will know—”

“No.” 

The footsteps were climbing now, a few flights down.

He pushed a satchel of documents and odd things poking out into Jeno’s chest.

“Take it. If I’m caught—burn it.”

“Renjun—”

“Promise me!”

Their eyes locked again. This time, there was no mask left. 

“Okay. I promise.”

The handle of the door rattled.

Renjun turned, magic crackling along his arm again, stronger this time, pulsing wild from fear and instinct. Darting to the end of the room, he placed his hand on the far wall, muttered the old words, ones Jeno was not familiar with. The stone before him shimmered, then parted.

An exit. One Renjun had discovered years ago and used frequently as a means of escapism. It was a single narrow passage leading downward to a forgotten wine cellar. The routes below the Palace were intricate, but Renjun, much like many of the servants, knew the system well enough to bob and weave seamlessly. 

He hesitated at the threshold, sparing the prince a look over his shoulder and a curt nod.

Then he was gone.

The wall sealed shut behind him just as the upper door burst open.

Jeno turned, the satchel now hidden under his cloak.

Sir Johnny stepped inside, eyes locking on him.

“Your Highness?” he said, confused. “We thought you were—”

“I’m here,” Jeno interrupted smoothly. “The magic flared in the area. I came to check it, but found nothing. This tower is old after all, and could be dangerous. See to it that no one wanders here or tampers with this place again.”

The knight hesitated, looking around at the sealed room. At Jeno’s calm face and steady hands.

“Understood, Your Highness.”

But Jeno could still feel the warmth in the room; still see the imprint of where Renjun had stood.

He could still hear the name ringing softly like a silver bell.

The knights left without further question, but the room felt heavier for it.

The moment the door shut, Jeno finally exhaled.

He was alone again, and yet, he wasn’t. Renjun’s presence still clung to the room. The sharp scent of lightning-singed air, the whisper of old magic still coiling where he’d vanished. The stones hummed faintly beneath Jeno’s boots, like they resented being disturbed.

Jeno looked down at the satchel in his arms. Plain leather, a little frayed at the seams but heavy with history, a life Renjun had buried; pressed flat between pages and ink and silence. He sank to one knee and opened it carefully.

Inside were three things. A folded Eastern map, ringed with marked paths and circled ruins—most he did not recognise from official charts. Flipping it over revealed a network of loops and winding lines that made little sense. A journal also lay there, battered and thin, written in Renjun’s hand, but its contents were mostly protected by a spell that made sections of paragraphs invisible. Memos in a foreign script, fragmented memories and entire names were blacked out in charcoal from what Jeno could make out. Lastly, at the bottom, a gold crest: a half-broken phoenix medallion. 

The contents still held power; old, grieving power.

Jeno reached out and touched the medallion. It sparked faintly beneath his fingers, then pulsed warmly, recognising him not as its heir, but as someone close enough to one.

His throat tightened.

He wasn’t meant to survive, Jeno thought. And he did. He made it all the way here. Right under their noses. Under mine.

He should report it.

He was the Crown Prince. The heir of the Central throne.

The Eastern Rise had been extinguished for a reason, the records claimed them to be users of dangerous magic, blood-born dark witchcraft and a people of treason.

It is what he was taught, though Jeno never could find it in himself to truly hate another region.

Yet, how can the boy he knew be as dark as they say? Jeno believed Renjun was not a threat, not a weapon to be used or destroyed.

He looked terrified when Jeno said his name.

But he would’ve fought me, Jeno realised. His magic is stronger. He would’ve run through me if I’d made one wrong move.

The satchel rested in his hands, waiting for a decision.

Burn it.

Bury it. 

Hide it. 

Or return it.

If I protect him…what does that make me?

He stood slowly and closed the bag, tucking it back beneath his cloak.

Outside, the moon had begun to rise past the spires. The wind howled higher now, rattling the thin windowpanes.

His mind felt heavy. He did not want to think too much right now, so he settled with lingering feelings of wanting to know more. Jeno couldn't find it in himself to tell a soul in the Palace.

No, he'll deal with this on his own.

I’ll protect him, even if I shouldn’t. Even if it’s just for now.

~

Jeno moved through the palace like a ghost.

The satchel was still warm against his back when he slipped through a servants' corridor and into the private eastern archive chamber. Not even the scribes visited this deep past nightfall; he’d made sure of that long ago.

He pried up a floorboard behind the third shelving wall, the one with faded ledgers no one touched. Inside: a dry cavity lined with old spell-dampening fabric. A space he’d once used to stash contraband sweets as a child.

Now, it would keep Renjun’s past out of reach.

He wrapped the satchel tight and laid it in the hollow.

“You’ll come back for it,” Jeno muttered, more to himself than anyone. “You’ll want it whole when you run.”

Or when I run with you. 

The prince shook his head, wanting to rid himself of that thought. 

He sealed the floorboards, wiped the dust from his fingers, and left without looking back. The guards were waiting for him by the time he reached the northern corridor that led to his quarters.

“Your Highness,” one of them said, stepping into his path. “The King requests your presence.”

Jeno blinked, masking his reaction.

“At this hour?”

“It’s regarding one of the palace wards.” The guard hesitated. “And the boy, Injun.”

For a moment, time stopped. 

There it is, Jeno thought. 

NoRen Royal AU

Chapter 6

The morning light slanted through the Palace’s stained-glass windows, fractured in gold and shades of blues and greens. Jeno did not get much sleep the night before, mind too full of thoughts, theories, and ways to somehow keep it all under wraps. He walked sluggishly through the Palace, making his way to wherever he decided to stop. He was halfway down the eastern corridor when a flicker of motion drew his gaze through the colored panes, making him pause.

Beyond the glass, in the garden, a boy moved quickly like someone trying not to be seen yet unable to stop himself from running. His cloak, catching in the light, leaves a soft blue-grey contrast against the green of the hedges. He passed under an arch of ivy and disappeared briefly behind a marble pillar before emerging again, stopping at the fountain at the garden’s heart.

Jeno’s eyes darted to Doyoung, who was already there, sitting idly, hands carefully plucking up red flowers growing at the base. Thin, scattered petals fell away as they were removed from the soil. Jeno never found the appeal in these flowers; he didn’t remember the name, although he was certain that Injun would know. 

His eyes narrowed at the man. Doyoung was usually kept to himself, cooped up in the greenhouses or library if he was not attending to injured knights or staff. On the rare occasion, Jeno would see him in discussions with his father or a counsellor. 

Doyoung seemed unsuspecting, but Jeno knew he wasn’t the only one carrying the secret of who Injun- no, Renjun, truly was now. How much Doyoung knew was an entirely different problem in the prince’s mind. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to truly distrust the man yet. For now, he would just keep a watchful eye. 

He couldn’t hear what they were saying from his distance, but the difference in their postures spoke volumes. The boy stood too straight, shoulders tense, his gestures sharp and too fast. Doyoung, by contrast, leaned slightly on the fountain’s rim, composed, the faintest tilt to his head as he watched Injun speak. Calm, attentive, but not passive. His eyes flickered now and then, not with fear, but with steady calculation.

The scene felt too practised to be chanced.

How long had this been happening? Do they meet more often than everyone realises?

Most in the palace believed Injun’s visits to the apothecary had turned into a quiet friendship; the wounded boy finding trust where he could. Jeno’s hand found the edge of the window frame, fingers brushing the cool stone. He wanted to move closer, to see Injun’s face, to hear the words, but he stayed rooted, caught between instinct and caution. His heart kicked up when Doyoung suddenly reached out, resting a hand lightly on the other’s arm. The younger froze, his mouth stilling mid-sentence, head bowed.

The light through the lower stained glass windows spills across them in fractured reds and blues, and Jeno thought, absurdly, that it looked like they were standing inside a flame. Doyoung’s eyes shot up to the window catching Jeno off guard.

He pushed himself away from the edge, ready to run.

“Your Highness?”

The voice snapped through the still air, sharp enough to make him flinch and spin on his heel.

Calming himself quickly, he looked at one of the younger knights-in-training standing a few feet behind, a folded report in his hand. “Commander Taeyong is asking for you,” the boy said, unaware of the way Jeno’s pulse was beating hard in his throat.

He hesitated, looking back through the window. The two were gone. Only red petals were left resting in the fountain in their wake.

“Right,” Jeno said finally, voice low. “Tell him I’m on my way.”

As he strode down the corridor, he glanced once more over his shoulder toward the gardens and the space where they had stood. 

~

The corridors of the upper quarters were filled with hushed murmurs when Jeno entered, the kind og qiuet that always preceded council hours. His boots echoed lightly against the marble, the sound bouncing between the gilded pillars and faded wall tapestries, each one depicting the long, unbroken reign of the Central line.

Unbroken, except for what they’d erased, Jeno thought bitterly as he passed.

Shaking the thought away, the guards to Taeyong’s study allowed him to enter in silence.

The Commander stood where he often did, shoulders bent over a vast table of inked maps and pinned notes. The air smelled faintly of wax and dust. A handful of aides spoke quietly in corners, too nervous to make eye contact with either of them. Taeyong dismissed them with a curt gesture when Jeno stepped inside.

“Took you long enough,” Taeyong said without looking up. No honorifics nor pleasantries. No wasting time.

“I was in the eastern wing,” Jeno replied, carefully neutral.

“Watching the gardens again?” Taeyong’s tone was mild, but the weight behind it wasn’t. When Jeno didn’t answer, the older man looked up. 

“I’ve heard you’ve been sneaking out of your chambers in the middle of the night. I’m sure Sir Johnny would love to know what’s been going on in your head that you let simple drills trip you up.” Taeyong paced the room towards his desk. 

“Poking around the archives now? You’re becoming like Injun,” he let out a short huff, “I mean, since when do you even go there if not for him? That boy hasn’t been seen there in well over a week.” He sank into a wooden chair beside his desk and let out a deep sigh. The man looked as tired as he sounded. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he gave the prince a pointed look, “What are you looking for, Jeno?”

“Nothing,” he replied flatly, ignoring the gnawing feeling in his stomach.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Taeyong’s tone wasn’t harsh, but it sliced through the air all the same. “You and I both know how little you care about the paperwork of our wars. So I’ll ask this instead, why the archives?”

Jeno’s mouth opened, but the words wouldn’t form. In his mind, he could still see the parchment spread across his chamber floor, the phoenix, the list of names, who was crossed out and who was not. His heart was still reeling from the weight of that discovery.

“I want to understand what we’re fighting for,” he said finally. It was the safest half-truth he could muster.

Taeyong didn’t buy it. “That’s not understanding. That’s searching. And when a prince starts searching for things in peculiar places, people notice.”

Jeno exhaled slowly, measuring his tone. “You think I’m being watched?”

“I know you are,” Taeyong said. “Need I remind you that the library and archives are two separate buildings, Jeno. One has a rich history and mountains of knowledge so easily at your fingertips, but the other… is a darker place, really. Records that are kept for the sake of tracking and covering footsteps. There is a reason the archives are so out of the way from the liveliness of this court. Your father has ears in every corridor, and lately, your behaviour has been…” he gestured vaguely, “Distracted.”

“I’m not distracted.”

“You are.” 

The commander circled the table, stopping close enough for Jeno to see the faint exhaustion under his eyes. “The guards see you pacing the east wing. The scribes whisper that you’re flipping through sections even they don’t bother with anymore. You’ve been seen in the archives at odd hours, alone. Do you honestly think no one will report that?”

“I’m allowed to walk my own halls,” Jeno said, his voice quieter now.

Taeyong leaned closer. “If word reaches the King that you’re wandering where you shouldn’t be, the next question will be why. You clearly cannot answer that, so then they’ll turn to somewhere else,” he hesitated, studying Jeno’s face, “they’ll look at the people around you. They’ll call that boy in for questioning.”

Jeno’s chest went tight. Taeyong didn’t confirm the name, but his silence was enough. It was obvious. 

“They’ll say he’s the reason your mind’s elsewhere,” Taeyong went on. “That you’ve lost focus because of him, that he’s putting dangerous thoughts into your head.” 

The man let out a sigh, then, “If that sticks, if anyone convinces your father of that, he’ll be gone before you can say a word in his defence.”

Jeno’s hands curled into fists. “They can’t just question him baselessly. He hasn’t done anything!”

“That doesn’t matter,” Taeyong shook his head. “If the King thinks someone is influencing you, he won’t wait for proof. You know how easily he cleans his court.”

For a long moment, Jeno just stood there. His mind raced with the images, Injun in the gardens, his soft smile when he thought no one was watching, the faint tremor in his hand when he held a pen. Gone before I can say a word…

He forced himself to meet Taeyong’s gaze. “You think I’m weak enough to let that happen?”

“I think you care enough to risk it,” Taeyong said. “And that’s worse.”

Jeno looked away. His eyes roamed toward the flickering lamps, their light catching the map of the neighbouring borders. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’ve seen princes lose their crowns for less,” Taeyong replied, his tone unexpectedly gentle. “And because you’re not the first to get caught between what you owe and what you feel.”

Jeno swallowed hard, the tension in his throat sharp enough to hurt. He wanted to defend himself. To insist that Injun wasn’t what Taeyong thought, that his curiosity wasn’t dangerous, but the words felt brittle on his tongue.

He couldn’t admit that he knew. That he’d found the name Renjun carved in faded ink. That he’d seen the truth written across omitted lines in history.

“I understand.”

“Do you?” Taeyong asked quietly. “Because if you don’t stop chasing shadows, my prince, the shadows will start chasing you.”

~

When Jeno finally left the room, his heart was pounding so loud it drowned out his footsteps. He tuned out the rest of the day, ignoring any lingering thoughts on the matter. He’d have to plan his next moves more carefully. Time moved slowly enough to feel like a drag but fast enough that when he finally stepped out of a briefing with a couple of counsellors, the moon was already raised high above the Palace. Most of the staff have already retired for the night, leaving a still silence and fading lavender scent throughout the halls.

Jeno wanted to understand as much as he could. He couldn’t trust anyone to ask directly, not when he knew he was being watched now. 

The halls were empty when he slipped back into the archives. The enchanted torches burned low, their flames whispering against the stone walls. Rows of bound ledgers loomed like quiet sentinels. Jeno’s boots made no sound as he crossed the marble floor, his cloak brushing the edges of old maps stacked near the reading desks.

He shouldn’t have come. He knew that.

After Taeyong’s warning earlier, any sign of lingering curiosity about the East could bring questions he couldn’t afford. Questions that could point directly to Renjun.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself.

Jeno paused at the table where Renjun used to sit, the grain of the wood faintly indented where years of quills had pressed too hard. There were no scrolls left lingering on the table, no traces of him except for the faint, herbal scent that hung from oils and candles to ward away insects.

He ran a hand through his hair, a quiet frustration rising in his chest. “How am I supposed to hide all of this?” he muttered under his breath, looking at the shelves before him.

The scrolls he’d already taken weren’t enough. There were still dozens of references scattered across the archives that could lead someone else to the truth if they looked closely enough. He sat heavily at Renjun’s old spot, fingers tapping restlessly against the desk. Jeno let out a breath, leaning back in the chair. 

Would pretending he hadn’t found anything be better? Pretending he didn’t know the truth about the boy who smiled so quietly at him across candlelight. He stayed there for a long time, letting the soft hiss of the torches fill the silence. 

Feeling a little restless after a while, he walked over to the window pane nearby, left slightly ajar. He peered out, taking in the cool breeze and stillness that settled over the court. The knights were about to change rotation, some already yawning and fighting off sleep. Jeno was on the verge of exhaustion; it would be best if he retired to his chambers for the night.

He walked the outer path near the northern wall, the long route to his wing; a habit from childhood, when he couldn’t sleep and needed the wind in his lungs. The old spiral watchtower loomed at the edge of the palace grounds, long since repurposed to house scrollwork, torn paintings and broken statuary.

No one used it anymore.

Which is why the flicker of movement near its archway took Jeno by surprise.

He stopped in the shadow of a column and waited, heart stilling.

A figure slipped through the cracked stone door, cloak pulled tight. Small-framed. Careful-footed.

Injun. 

No. Renjun.

Jeno’s jaw tightened. He moved before he could think, following silently, boots almost soundless against the stony pathway. The knights weren’t stationed yet. He was on his own if something went amiss. Reaching a hand to touch the grip of his sword, he quickened his pace toward the tower door. He squeezed himself through the small gap in the door, not wanting to risk it creaking or closing on him, and paused inside. The interior smelled of damp parchment and dust. Above him the wind whispered through broken slats in the roof.

In the spotty moonlight, he could just about make out his figure climbing up, taking the spiral stairs two at a time. No lantern, just memory.

Jeno followed.

He didn’t stop until he neared a small wooden door at the uppermost landing. It was a good distance away from the other, but close enough to keep him in sight from below. The door, however, had always been locked. But when Renjun knelt and pressed his palm to the handle, a shimmering light erupted for a moment, then snuffed itself out.

Magic, Jeno realised. 

The lock gave a soft click and the door creaked open. Injun slipped inside and closed it behind him.

Jeno knew that Injun had the abilities but they were always too weak to be of any help to anyone. Not that Jeno was any better, though in his case, not being born from magic-wielding parents automatically ruled him out as someone who could learn passed simple spells and sigils. In fact, hardly anyone in his family knew the craft at all. In their lessons, the other Palace mages deemed Renjun hopeless. Jeno wasn't too sure about that right now. Especially if he could snap a Palace locking spell so easily.

Jeno waited until he heard nothing. No footsteps, no rustle of parchment, just silence before he started approaching. He laid a hand on the wood.

Warm.

Inside was something more than storage. Something secret. Something Renjun hadn’t trusted the archives with. Hadn’t trusted him with. 

~

.Renjun.

The stairwell curved behind him like a coiled question. Each step up the tower echoed just a little too sharply.

Renjun paused midway, head tilted.

Nothing. No voice. No breath.

But he felt it.

The way the air changed. The weight of eyes just out of reach. The way shadows hesitated when they should fall into place.

He pressed a hand to the wall. Old stone. Dry. But humming.

Not with power. With presence.

Someone’s here.

Jeno.

He paused, halted his breathing and listened. The prince was the only person Renjun knew who was actively searching for him; the only person who was willing to follow him. Renjun’s thoughts scrambled in a dozen directions; what had he left in the room? What did he forget to move, to hide, to take?

He wanted to turn back. Wanted to confront the prince. Right off any doubts and downplay the situation. Convince the crown that he just needed a change of scenery, a place away from the knights and Palace staff. Somewhere the King did not look to. 

But instead, he climbed faster. 

Reaching the tucked-away door, he whispered a silencing charm beneath his breath. Fingers trembling only slightly as they touched the warped brass handle. Another wordless spell had the door opening only a fraction with a pulse of familiar warmth. Renjun slipped inside and closed it behind him.

He hadn't seen inside, he told himself. He doesn’t know.

Within the room, everything was exactly as he left it: scrolls organised by province, a thin journal inked with timelines and crossed-out names and another thick book he knew well but seldom opened. Half-empty ink pots and a ragged sketch book with loose pages spilling across the floor lay next to a low wooden desk. The singed robe that he wore the day Jeno found him lay folded on a jagged marble podium as dust particles floated around in the moonlight from the cracked glass window. 

He leaned his forehead against the wooden door.

If Jeno followed me here, it’s over. If he saw anything…

He squeezed his eyes shut. 

One, two, three…he breathed slowly, fingers coming up to fiddle with the silver chain around his neck.

I’ve survived worse, he told himself. I’ll survive this. I have to.

But the silence pressing on the other side of the door wasn’t comforting.

NoRen Royal AU

Chapter 5

Jeno sat in the dim heart of the archives, a dozen old scrolls spread open before him. His hands trembled faintly, ink and dust smudging the edge of his palms. The names, the crests, the wax seals he had traced again and again, refusing to believe what his eyes showed him until there was no denying it.

Huang Renjun.

Second heir to the East.

Unconfirmed deceased.

Three truths that hit like a blade between his ribs. The parchment felt heavier than it should, like the weight of a kingdom had settled on top of it.

Injun. The name he thought he knew. The quiet boy who always smiled too softly, who carried too much silence on his shoulders. The one he had found bleeding on the borderlands, wrapped in smoke and secrets. A lie, but not one born of deceit. It was survival. It was a name rebuilt from the ashes of another.

Jeno’s heart was a storm.

Moments replayed in shards. The way Injun–no, Renjun, had flinched at the fire and chased stories of the East, the way he lingered over maps of ruined territories and kept his eyes cast low. Every word, every hesitation, every guarded smile. It all made sense now.

And something about it hurt.

Because all this time, while Jeno thought he was protecting someone fragile, he had been standing beside the remnant of an empire his own crown destroyed.

He pressed a hand to his chest, breath shallow.

Renjun wasn’t just another survivor. He was the face of everything the Palace had burned. And Jeno…he is the prince of the fire that swallowed him whole.

He felt sick.

Too many emotions crossed through him; grief, disbelief, guilt, the sharp sting of betrayal that wasn’t betrayal at all. Underneath it all, there was a helpless, stubborn something that had driven him to the borders and made him want to protect a battered and bruised boy for as long as he could.

Doyoung’s words echoed in his skull, once you see the truth, you won’t be able to unsee it.

Jeno finally understood. He had crossed a line he could never step back from.

His pulse pounded in his ears. He wanted to run to his Injun, to say I know now, I can help, but how could he? What would he even do?

What right did he have to say anything when his crest and his crown had reduced the others to ash?

He sank to his knees beside the scattered scrolls. The royal phoenix, stamped into wax, stared back at him. A symbol of rebirth.

“Renjun…” His voice broke on the name.

He pressed his hands to his head; he did not know how to truly feel. Regret, maybe, anger at the decisions his father and advisors had made long ago. But something else settled in as he sank into a building sorrow. If the Palace ever found out what he now knew, they would hunt him just to prove the East was as ill-fated and dangerous as the Kingdom made their people believe. 

They will kill him just to finish the job. 

And Jeno did not want to choose. Loyalty to the crown or loyalty to a boy he tried to keep close… 

Jeno lingered in the archives long after the lanterns should’ve been dimmed. The last candle burned low beside him, the flame shrinking, flickering over the edges of the parchment. The phoenix seemed alive in the shifting light, mocking him with its impossible endurance.

The room felt smaller now, like the walls themselves knew what he’d uncovered. The silence was no longer peace; it was pressure. Watching. Waiting.

He looked again at the list of names; crossed out, rewritten, and finally abandoned. The seal, the wards, the handwriting, all Eastern. All forbidden.

If the wrong eyes ever found these records, if someone decided to truly question why a nameless boy appeared in the company of knights and royal scribes, more than just a knowledge seeker, more than just a quiet boy, Injun would be finished. There would be no trial, no hearing  just fire.

Jeno knew what he had to do. The decision came to him with a quiet, urgent finality.

He gathered the scrolls. The parchment crinkled softly under his fingers, old and fragile, but he handled them as if they were living things. The volumes, three of them, the slimmer ones, he stacked with care, their covers plain but their contents damning. He doused the candle, plunging the room into half-darkness, then slipped through the corridors like a shadow.

Outside, the grounds were empty. The torches hissed low, the night guard’s boots echoing faintly somewhere far off. He pressed the volumes against his chest beneath his cloak, walking with purpose but not haste. Don’t draw attention. Don’t be seen.

In his chambers, he lit no lamps. The moonlight spilling through the arched window was enough. He cleared the bottom shelf of his desk and pried up the wooden base beneath it. It was one of the few things in his quarters not touched by servants. There, in the hollow space, lay a silver ring from a friend who left the Palace behind, old letters from his mother, and a torn page with a faded sketch of a dog swiped during a late-night study session. Jeno placed the scrolls and records one by one at the bottom of the small pile. When he replaced the panel, his hands were shaking. 

He sat back, chest tight, and stared into the dark. He thought of who he saw as Injun, inked in Renjun's history; how the boy’s eyes always seemed to hold more past than present. 

Now he knew why.

Jeno leaned forward, pressing a palm to his face. He could still smell the dust of the archives on his hands. “How did you even get here?” he whispered in awe.

He let out a slow breath. He couldn’t tell anyone. Although Doyoung's presence gave the prince a sickening feeling that the man knew much more than he ever let on. He couldn't let it slip to his personal guard, Taeyong, or any of the knights he trained with. No, Jeno wasn't sure where people stood on the topic of the East. 

Was there any sympathy left? Or was it simply a lesson of putting a thought to rest before it becomes a threat?

If someone were to search the archives again, they would find the gaps. Missing texts, the misplaced scrolls, the scribes would know, even though they could hardly read the contents; how could they know what to really look for? The trail would be broken. The records of the Eastern line, of the phoenix crest, of Renjun, would lie silent, entombed beneath his floor, at least for now.

He would make sure of it.

When he finally lay down, his eyes stayed open to the ceiling, sleep distant and thin. Because the truth didn’t end with hiding the records. The truth lived in the opposite tower of the Palace, in a boy who still didn’t trust him enough to tell it himself.

Jeno wondered where Injun was hiding away now that he had been avoiding him. Was he scared? Probably. Did he not trust Jeno to stand by his side…Definitely. 

NoRen Royal AU

Chapter 4

The palace gardens carried the scent of jasmine. Jeno walked the winding path slowly, boots crunching against scattered leaves, his eyes flicking over the shadows that clung to the stone walls. The weight of the booklet he grabbed before heading this way into the night sat heavier in his pocket with questions unanswered. The wind picked up as he moved deeper into the area, bringing a seasonal chill that did nothing to calm his frayed nerves. It had been a while since he came this way; he half-expected to see him, head bent over a book or sketch, fingertips brushing petals as if the flowers would speak back.

The gardens went deeper than most knew. It stretched past the back of the Palace and its greenhouses into the woods formerly used for hunting practice. Not many treaded so far, but in the shadows, only certain plants thrived better than others.

Only one other figure stood here now. Kim Doyoung, a high-ranking apothecary working for the Palace, crouched at the edge of a fountain with his sleeves rolled up, a bundle of fresh herbs laid neatly on the rim. His hands moved with that same practiced patience Jeno remembered from childhood; never hurried, never wasteful.

“You don’t usually come here, Your Highness,” Doyoung said without looking up. He reached for a mortar and pestle near his feet, not breaking his task despite the Prince standing before him. 

“I used to sometimes,” Jeno answered, his voice softer than intended. “When he did.”

That earned him a glance. A quiet, assessing one. Jeno knew he did not have to say Injun’s name for Doyoung to know who he was referring to. In fact, there could be no other person in the whole kingdom who'd spend his time around the gardens and the sharp-tongued man so willingly.

“Apothecaries are well-travelled, so I’ve heard,” Jeno started. “I know you go back and forth here all the time, gained a lot of insights…” his words trailing at the end when the man fixed Jeno with a pointed look that seemed to say ‘get on with it.’ 

The prince sucked a breath in before speaking. “I have questions. About the East.”

That earned him a pause. Doyoung set the pestle down carefully, as though giving himself time to think. He spoke slowly, calculating how to word his response. “The East is ash, Your Highness, we all know this. What possible business do you have with its ghosts?” 

Jeno reached into his cloak pocket and pulled the small book Injun had hidden on the top shelf. Hastily, he flipped to the page where the inked replica of the phoenix seal and smudged words lay. He stared at Doyoung now, unblinking, the pages facing on display for the man. 

Doyoung’s eyes flicked to it for the barest second before he leaned back, folding his arms.

“I’ve seen this before,” Jeno pressed. “Years ago, in records outside of the Central Kingdom. And…from him.”

“Him?” Doyoung asked, voice smooth as oil.

“Injun.” Jeno’s voice softened at the name. “He sketched it on an old parchment. The texts he reads are mostly foreign too. I can barely pronounce anything, but there were words next to this,” He points at the small scribbles almost off the page. “He wrote them, too. I know his handwriting.”

“Bìxià. Diànxià…I don’t know what it means, but it must be important,” Jeno sighed desperately. “I think he knows something.”

At that, Doyoung laughed once, humourlessly. “You think you’re the first to notice his…particularities?”

“Just tell me what it means,” Jeno demanded, losing a bit of his patience. 

Doyoung’s face hardened, the easy deflections falling away. “Why are you asking me this, Your Highness? Why now? What’s your sudden fascination with the East?”

“Because he is!” Jeno snapped, then steadied his voice. “He’s chasing something dangerous in those archives and I need to know what it is. If he doesn’t even understand what he’s looking for, then someone has to—”

“You think he doesn’t understand?” Doyoung cut in sharply. “You think a boy like him stumbles into foreign seals and royal titles by accident?”

Jeno blinked. “Royal?” He glanced back at the words written on the page, “...are you’re saying—” 

“I’m saying you should stop poking holes in ashes and soot.” Doyoung’s eyes bore into him; fierce, almost protective. He spoke quickly to bypass his slip of tongue. “You want translations? You won’t get them from me. You want answers? Go back to where he spends his time. Look where he’s already been. But be careful what you read, Prince.”

Something in the tone made Jeno’s stomach twist. “Why warn me?”

“Because once you see the truth,” Doyoung said softly, “you won’t be able to unsee it. And that boy will never forgive you if you strip away what little shelter he has left.”

Silence stretched between the two. Another cool breeze slipped through their clothes, reflecting the nature of their conversation. Jeno swallowed, clutching the booklet until he snapped it closed. He had come hoping for certainty, for a translation, for something solid. Instead, he had been handed riddles. But also, a direction.

The archives. 

Jeno needed to go back to the spot where Injun always lingered. Seeing that the apothecary left no more room for discussion, he left without another word. However, Doyoung’s final murmur followed him out like a curse:

“Diànxià… forgive me.”

~

The archives smelled of dust and smoke, a musty scent that never truly left old parchment. Jeno descended the spiral staircase and pushed through the heavy oak doors, his torch flickering against shelves stacked in various heights. He half expected to find Injun there, hunched over a stack of books, lips moving as he mouthed foreign syllables.

But the corner where he always sat was empty yet again.

Jeno lingered anyway, lowering himself into the chair Injun always claimed. The table was clean, save for the faint scratch marks of quills long since abandoned. He pressed his palms to the wood, trying to imagine the boy’s fingers curled there, restless as he read. His eyes darted across the rows of scrolls and books lined from shelf to shelf. Closing his eyes for a moment, he tried to recall anything he could to make sense of Douyoung’s words. But another voice slipped into his mind as it did from time to time, soft and light.

They filed it wrong.

His eyes opened at the memory. Injun had said so only a few days prior. Jeno remembered the table being in total disarray at that time, the furthest shelf behind it emptied of its contents.

Jeno rose slowly, torch in hand, moving to the section where he had found Injun some time ago. At first glance, nothing looked unusual: rows of thick volumes and bound parchment, their spines stamped with dates in neat progression. But when he leaned closer, brow furrowing, he saw it. A gap in its flow.

The first stamped E127, but the next few read E121, E129, then E126 and E124 in that order.

Not chronological. Shuffled. 

Someone had tampered here and Jeno already knew who.

He pulled the middle one free, coughing as dust floated up. He carried it back to Renjun’s table and set it down, heart quickening as he opened the cover. The first pages were dull, a little more than border maps and supply counts. He skimmed past topographies, endless tables of grain routes and militia tallies.

Then he froze.

A page marked with a hastily inked heading: Eastern Rise Campaign.

His breath caught. The script beneath was blurred and rushed, but legible:

“…losses at the Northern Ridge. Palace forces sustained heavy casualties before pressing south. Eastern banners seen still flying at dawn…”

The margin bore a small note, in tighter script: “Report delayed. Submit only through private channels.”

Jeno’s throat tightened. He had not seen these records before; what he knew of the East was simply what he was told. His torch crackled against the stale air. Why hide this here, among maps and supply ledgers, he thought to himself, unless it was meant to be buried? He flipped further, mentionings of the East retreating, not falling, until weeks after the official record claimed they had. A new line was underlined twice:

“Royal line unaccounted for at the time of the first breach. House Zhong – not found.”

Jeno sat back hard in the chair, heart hammering.

Injun had known. He’d known these volumes didn’t belong in some way. That something about this story was wrong. Doyoung mentioned royal titles before. It’s all connected somehow.

And here it was, staring him in the face.

Jeno turned a few more pages. A cracked and broken wax seal was clipped to the top of the page. The crest bore a serpent melted in a rich blue wax. Under it read, “House Zhong – no survivors found. [Redacted] estates burnt. Magic [redacted].”

He traced the faded crest in the corner of one report, its outline nearly chipped away. It held to the same elegance as the phoenix, but he was not familiar with any crests bearing a serpent. Flipping through the last of the pages, he found documents in Eastern scripts and a folded page of lines running in all directions he couldn't decipher. Behind it in smudged writing “[Redacted system. Closed.]”

Jeno felt like he was now finding the right pieces to a puzzle he had yet to see the picture of. He shut the volume and went back to the shelf. The next in the order E126. Opening it, he skipped to the pages that he could read, accumulating lines of information as he went. What is the bigger story here? What really happened to the Eastern Rise?

“House Qian – no survivors. Infiltrations on the rural borders. Palace to fall back.

Southern pass unstable. [Western [redacted] halted]. Wards in […] ineffective. Do not retaliate–magical backlash.

Proceed with Campaign. 2303 STRIKE.”

As he read, the messages grew darker, bloodier.

“House Xiao - no survivors, House Lee - no survivors, House Wang - unaccounted.

Interceptions from [redacted]. Central to regroup. Blood magic, do not engage.”

Jeno felt sick. Each line hammered a reality he did not want to believe. If these are Palace records…did we start this? How many lives…

The pages trembled under Jeno’s fingers as he dove further into the volume. The script grew stranger the deeper he went, tighter handwriting, cramped margins, whole passages smudged in haste with no time for the ink to dry. He landed on a page full of crests and stamps. Colours faded, pieces missing or ink blotted to oblivion, none he recognised except for one in a blood red dye, slightly larger than the rest.

The phoenix.

The entry below chilled him more than the rest:

“Royal family account: four secured. Two confirmed deceased. Others…unverified.”

The words bled together, ink running as though doused with water. Beneath it, someone had scrawled a jagged correction:

“Wángzǐ confirmed dead.”

But the line above had not been crossed out. Jeno’s eyes narrowed. Four secured, yet only three “confirmed”?

Then it struck him, Wángzǐ…the prince. 

The realisation hit Jeno almost as hard as the wooden staffs for training. He knew that with the fall of the East, its prince would be among the casualties. He shoved the volume aside and reached for the book shelved beside it, the other out-of-sequence ledger. This one was thinner, its binding fragile, almost meant to be overlooked. When he opened it, the contents were stranger: diagrams of wards, not in Central script but flowing, foreign curves of a language that made Jeno’s head ache to look at. Beside them, annotations attempted to translate into the crude magic of the Central Kingdom.

He whispered under his breath: “This isn’t ours.”

The wards spoke of barriers drawn not from lines and sigils, but from blood. That kind of magic was known to be dangerous. It was unforgiving and did not protect fortresses and lands, but rather people and power how it saw fit. The next page carried a different kind of record—a list of names and occupations, curt and clipped: household retainers, attending staff, advisors. Similar to the positions of the Palace. 

This must be their list of royal staff.

Most were crossed through with a sharp hand. Deceased, he figured. Jeno turned another page and froze, analysing. This one was shorter. A mere handful of names. Titles attached, this time translated.

“House Huang of the Eastern Rise.”

One by one, the names were crossed out in the same brutal stroke. At the bottom of the page, nearly peeling away with age, clung a wax seal pressed into parchment. The familiar seal coming forth again. The one Injun seemed to be so ready to hide.

Feeling his heartbeat kick up a bit, his fingers shook as he brushed the flaking wax. The seal of the fallen royal family…the crest of House Haung. 

The names were faded with time, but he could make some out: Emperor Hua [redacted] (Bìxià).” A heavy line crossed through it. Then, “Prince Huang Si Cheng (Diànxià). Prince Huang Renjun (Diànxià).”  Both struck through— the first with more pressure than the other, as if the scribe had pressed too hard, desperate to hide it.

Two heirs, Jeno thought, the weight of it settling like a stone in his chest. Only one was found.

The margin bore one last note next to the last name on the list: [Pending confirmation. Do not circulate.]

The words clawed at him, leaving him reeling.

Renjun…Injun…

Too close.

He could not breathe. It felt too difficult. He shoved the volume closed and dragged another scroll from the shelf, his hands desperate now. This one bore no seal, just ragged twine keeping it together. Inside was more of the same lists of names, snippets of foreign verse, and reports too contradictory to align. He caught the words again, Bìxià…Diànxià — titles he now understood, titles Doyoung had refused to explain.

Now the pieces locked. Injun’s muttered words in the archives, his slip when he saw the phoenix crest, the way he lingered over foreign texts he shouldn’t have been able to read. Jeno sat back in the chair, texts scattered around him, torch sputtering low. The palace records had tried to bury the East. But here, in the misfiled cracks, the truth had survived. Jeno feared his theory was now worse than he could have imagined. 

Injun wasn’t just some curious boy or stray from nowhere. Not even a lost noble with no memory. 

He was a survivor. The survivor. One coming from a region of dangerous magic the Central tried to rid the lands of.

The heir to the East the Palace had never found.

NoRen Royal Au

Chapter 3

Jeno couldn’t sleep.

The rain had stopped but his thoughts hadn't.

He stood by the narrow window of his chambers, arms crossed, watching the clouds move across the moon. Below, the gardens were dark and still, no light in the library wing. No silhouette slipping past the hedge paths where a boy used to disappear like smoke.

Jeno had been the one to bring him here initially. His fault, in a way, that Injun lived under so many watchful eyes now. Maybe that was why he protected him, why he always let things slide.

He’d told himself long ago that it didn’t matter. That if Injun wanted to keep his secrets, he had every right to. The boy had barely survived whatever brought him to the outer woods of the central kingdom. Even after he had healed and spent years in the Palace walls, he moved like someone who was still expecting to be chased.

But their last interaction had been different. 

It bothered Jeno the way Injun seemed to always be tucked away. The way he hid things away so discreetly. Except for now… His sketches. That phoenix seal. It was not something a stray boy would copy by accident. Not something that typically showed up in the safe, curated histories the scribes were hardly allowed to share. It was deliberate.

The way he froze, like a trap had been sprung.

Jeno didn’t believe Injun was dangerous. Not like that. But something about him made Jeno stop in his tracks. And that felt worse.

~

At breakfast, Injun didn’t show. He had not for a while now.  He was not at the table nor in the gardens. Jeno wanted to ask the other servants if they had seen him, but he feared it might bring attention to Injun that he knew the other would not want. Jeno settled for walking the perimeter of the east wing where Injun’s chambers were, only to find not a single trace of the boy.

When the afternoon came, the training yard blurred around him and he couldn't remember half the drills he performed. Johnny, catching onto his scattered mind, clapped a gauntlet on his shoulder and grinned.

“Distracted Your Highness? Has your little shadow ditched you?”

Jeno didn’t laugh.

“Haven’t seen him,” he answered shortly.

“Ah, I see. Not like him to disappear really, I wouldn’t worry,” Johnny said, tone just light enough to mask a thread of wariness. “He usually reads enough to shame the highborn.”

Something about that bothered Jeno more than it should’ve. He knew that Injun was well read and spent hours in the archives when he was not in the gardens or with other palace staff, but the way he hounded anything about the kingdom’s history and its territories always stood out to those who paid him enough mind.

Injun had a way of brushing off his interests, but perked up at any information travelling through the Palace walls. Jeno had called him a gossip at one point, which earned him a slap on the wrist and a scolding from the boy when they were younger. 

Nothing seemed important at that time, but now Jeno started thinking maybe it always was.

By nightfall, he was circling the library. No candlelight at the usual table. The scrolls had been cleared and re-shelved too neatly. Stopping his pace around the usual corners, a thought he’d kept at the back of his mind for the last three days resurfaced. 

He’s hiding something from me. Something to do with the East.

And for a moment, Jeno felt like maybe he should be the one worried. 

~

The absence had started to eat away at Jeno. During court sessions, as ministers droned on about water routes and the Westreach border tensions, his mind wandered back to that phoenix in flames, half-burned, sketched by a delicate hand.

He wasn’t supposed to recognise it. Not really. Ordinary people shouldn’t, but being the prince, he unfortunately was more familiar with the crests and symbols from other lands. Alas, the Central Kingdom had gone out of its way to bury all traces of the Eastern Rise after its collapse.

But Jeno had heard stories.

Stories of the blackened villages that no one inside Palace walls dared to call beautiful. He had stood beside his father’s officers as they read off casualty lists, none of them long enough to account for the number of bodies burned too far to name.

“No survivors worth naming,” someone had said once. He remembered how cold that had sounded even back then. But he’d seen a tapestry, long ago, now torn and removed from the gallery that housed precious gifts given to the royal family. That same phoenix crest was woven in threads so fine they shimmered. Back then, he’d found Injun just months later after the Kingdom received the last bit of news from the East. Half-dead. Fingers bloodied, clutching a tattered, slightly burned satchel sealed by a locking charm. He remembered one of the Palace sorcerers snapping the charm easily but getting burned badly from the magic that flared from it in wild whips. It was odd the way the magic could not be traced but it radiated a heat that warded off anyone trying to interfere. Jeno had asked to hold onto it for the injured boy. Much to the sorcerer’s discomfort, it was reluctantly returned to the boy’s side as he lay unconscious in the medical wing. 

Back then, he thought nothing of it. Just another victim. Another lost soul.

Jeno remembered vouching for him. Saying he should stay if he had nowhere to go. He’d take full responsibility for the new boy. The King, however, was not as keen on the idea. It took many months of convincing. Almost the same amount of time it took for the boy he had found to heal. 

Thoughts from the past flooded Jeno’s mind again as he ascended to his chambers for the night after no signs of Injun. He knew something was wrong. Injun never hid from him in this way. The feeling did not sit right in his chest. Frustration seeped into his demeanour as he continued. Something about the other night when Jeno found him buried in the archives again was different. Injun was on edge. Even before Jeno stepped into the room, he could feel that something was off. He recounted the sequence of events; what he said and what Injun did.  He did not understand, but as the days passed, he could no longer ignore certain things he had seen. He wanted to confirm a thought he hoped was false. He had to because:

A child of nowhere does not seek names and lands outside their own. 

A Palace stray does not flinch at fire like it’s personal.

And a common boy would never obsess with a fallen empire only few dare to remember…

~

On the fourth day of Injun’s absence he decided to head back to the archives after his duties. His mood was already sour from when his father had recounted having a brief conversation with Injun amidst the morning dew while he helped a group of scribes carry records delivered from the Capital. 

It seemed that Injun popped up just enough to be seen by others, but not Jeno. 

The archived section of the royal library was almost always deserted. It was the perfect hiding spot. Hours ticked away as Jeno waited for a sign of Injun, but none came. Losing himself in his mind again, an idea came to him.

Perhaps he could find that book Injun had out that night. He vaguely remembered the colour of the leather binding but he knew the shelf where he had placed it.. One by one, he opened books and skimmed the contents for any clues. Something he could recognise or something that stood out, whether it was a different sigil or language. Most books were from foreign lands and Jeno did not have the patience to decode them all. 

If it was one thing Injun had picked up faster than anyone in their lessons, it was foreign languages of other kingdoms. In fact, he always seemed to be a step ahead of Jeno. Their tutors always commended him on his efforts of being well-read. That’s what it was always chalked up to be, with Injun being the bookworm of the two. 

But no. 

He already knew. The information was never new to him.

How could Jeno not catch on faster?

With a theory then forming in his mind. He reached for a canvas-lined book on the top shelf at the end of the lined row. In his attempt to pull it from its space, another one rested horizontally on top of it shifted and fell to the floor. 

He looked at the fallen book. Much smaller than the others, wrapped in a faded red dyed leather. Jeno stared for a moment.

He snatched the book from the floor and flipped through it. He sighed at the foreign text before him. Towards the last few pages, a spot of colour caught his eye. When he found the page, he felt the world still.  

In the centre of the spread pages was a faded red inked seal. A phoenix in a ring of flames.  

Jeno’s fingers traced the detail of it. At the very edge of the page was an almost illegible string of words. The language differed from the rest. Strokes of writing he recognised, but was unfamiliar with the words. He tried to sound it on his tongue. 

“Bìxià…Diànxià…”

It sounded wrong in his mouth. He did not know what it meant. He noted the last word was written twice, and one other word was completely scratched out in harsh, inky strokes.

Injun was definitely invested in the East, or at least something from it. Perhaps it wasn’t the first time he had leaned in closer for related information. Maybe Jeno should have paid more attention.  

Closing the book and slotting it back in its hiding place, he recounted all he could of the Eastern territories; the outer villages, what they were known for, even down to their aristocracy. The Eastern Rise was a magical empire. Its people did not shame the gift of sorcery but rather celebrated it and intertwined it in their everyday lives. 

He knew it was once a prosperous land rich in precious stones and minerals. A perfect hub for all trading activities.

He remembered that when he first found Injun, he never stated where he was from. Always saying it was too far away. Jeno wondered if maybe Injun was Eastern born. It would explain why he did not speak of it, as it was now hailed as a taboo. It would explain why Injun sought after information outside the Palace and its borders. He knew it was considered treason against the Central Kingdom to speak of other lands too eagerly. 

Was Injun a noble? 

He came knowing how to read and write properly. His speech was also measured, his tone light and he never used slang. He already knew what to avoid and what the Palace fed its people as truths. Only high-borns knew how the Palace felt about certain topics and not once did Jeno remember anyone telling Injun all of that. 

That must be it, Jeno decided, heading back to his chambers. Though the nagging feeling at the back of his mind still lingered. Like, there was something more to this than he thought.