i will call your name (until you come home)
sungyeolâs eyes find him the moment he is led into the inner throne room. his gaze does not search for the king or the consort general or any of the councillors even though they are the ones standing right before him, surrounding him and at the center of the platform. after all, they arenât who heâll be forced to spend the rest of his life with - he isnât being sacrifice directly to them even though they are without a doubt the ones responsible for his situation.
the prince stands slightly behind the king, enough so that he is faintly hidden in the shadows but sungyeol can still see his features clearly - can see how tall he must be when he stands beside the councilmen, and his brother-in-law. sungyeol lowers himself to his knees without being told - before one of the guards near him can shove him to the floor to do so - bowing his head until he hears the king command him to rise.
âcome forward,â the king says, and sungyeol obeys - this omega king, and he never understood the customs of this kingdom, but perhaps if there were omegas like this everywhere, ones with a scent of power rather than soft temptation, then there would be more omega kings.
the prince also steps forward at a look from his brotherâs eyes, and when he stands steps away from sungyeol, at the top of the few stairs between the floor of the room and the platform the throne is on, sungyeolâs initial thoughts are surer than ever.
the prince is beautiful with dark eyes set deep by his high, aristocratic nose - thin, pink lips with curling corners even when his expression is anything but smiling. his hair is blacker than ink and his skin is as pale, and creamy as parchment.
sungyeol bows his head again, meeting those endless eyes straight on.
the prince does not bow back.
inside of his long, billowing sleeves, sungyeolâs nails dig into his palms.
beautiful and empty - beautiful and mannerless - beautiful and arrogant.
throughout the entire ceremony, he does not look at sungyeol once.
he does not meet sungyeolâs gaze nor does he accept any of sungyeolâs attempts to make conversation between the two of them during the lulls of the dinner or ritual rites. the prince does nothing but sit there stoically, icily, handsome and frigid, and it drives sungyeol nothing short of insane.
the prince will soon be married and mated off to a more powerful alpha - most probably an alpha he wishes to marry, that he is fond of, an alpha with more land and power than sungyeol. the prince is still here, in his own kingdom and home, surrounded by his disgustingly powerful brother and brother-in-law, surrounded by his friends and family and councilmen who donât wish to plot against him at every breath he takes.
yet he acts as if simply sitting beside sungyeol is the end of the world as he knows it.
the loneliness is crippling inside of sungyeol and it hasnât even been two days yet.
that night, after the doors close to the chambers where they will consummate their union, the prince lies down on the bedroll still without looking at sungyeol. both of them had been bathed in the damiwon so their bodies would be spiritually cleansed and ready for the consummation - both of them are already clothed in simple, white robes.
sungyeolâs anger is near its boiling point.
once he hears that the prince has settled himself on the bedroll, sungyeol sheds his robes in one movement, tossing it onto the floor and crosses to stand at the foot of the bed. thereâs a sharp intake of breath that is stifled almost immediately - hastily - and something in sungyeol is darkly amused at that, that the prince isnât as unaffected as heâd like to be, and that - maybe - this is his first time facing an alpha in this manner.
the princeâs only fault is being less than welcoming to sungyeol in a situation that welcomes neither of them, but at this moment, sungyeol is leagues away from his home, from his little brother, from his friends - he has no one by his side, he is so utterly alone, and the old men at this court took all of that away from him.
sungyeol suspects, and now with a press of his fingers at the ties of the princeâs robes (the way the omegaâs gaze shakes even as it stares at some point past sungyeolâs head) he knows that the prince is untouched.
it is nothing compared to what sungyeol has lost, and this will not gain sungyeol anything back at all, but if this kingdom has taken away sungyeolâs life, then sungyeol will take away what most royal-born omegas have been taught to fantasize and romanticize about since they were young.
sungyeol flips the prince over by the hips, suddenly and roughly enough that the prince hardly has time to catch himself from smashing his face against the floor with his palms - so abruptly that the prince actually cries out, the sound only cut off by the omegaâs face buried against his arm.
thereâll be no preparation - the prince wonât feel sungyeolâs lips pressed to his throat or mouth or shoulders. sungyeol doesnât even bother taking off the princeâs robes - he simply shoves the fabric up past the princeâs thighs and ass, digging his fingers into the bones of the omegaâs hips and pulling upward to meet the height sungyeol needs for himself to be comfortable while heâs kneeling, looking down at the princeâs bowed back.
even if the bedroll is right beside them, even if there are candles lit all around them, bowls filled with water and petals around the room, sungyeol will take the prince like this. sungyeol will be the first alpha to touch the prince, and he will take him like an animal, face down, so that all the prince sees when he loses his innocence is the darkness of the insides of his eyelids - the floor - the fists that he has curled his hands into from the pain.
sungyeol thrusts into the prince without warning, seating himself in deep and feeling the tearing - the dryness - and (hearing the princeâs pained gasps) he knows that heâs lost a part of himself as well.
sungyeol ignores the red, rawness of the princeâs eyes as he stares at the wall of the bedroom they are both imprisoned in together until the bond settles. sungyeol ignores the sounds of the prince attempting to swallow down sobs and tears. he ignores, most of all, the emotions that are not his leaking into his entire body, permeating his instincts and the alpha within him begging him to cross the distance and comfort his mate.
he wants to vomit at the thought.
he would never touch the prince with affection - and even if he wished to at this moment, he physically cannot. the chains from his wrist and ankle to the wall prevent him from doing so, but they also prevent him from fetching himself water and food.
his throat is burning, the thirst so intense that he feels almost dizzy. âplease,â he decides to try again, forgoing dignity because even if he wants to die, he supposes his will isnât truly as strong as he thought because his mouth is so dry and he needs to drink. âi just need one cup - â
the entire jug of water from the princeâs nightstand is suddenly launched towards sungyeol, shattering into pieces directly in front of him - the water splashes him, and a few of the shards cut at his bare knees.
âif a man fucks like a beast,â the prince spits, voice shaking with fury - and the rage that comes through the bond only feeds into sungyeolâs own, âthen he should be treated like one.â
âto deny a man a right so vital and basic as quenching his thirst,â sungyeol says back smoothly despite his parched mouth and throat, despite how dizzy and feverish he feels, âi would say makes a man a greater monster.â
the prince is infuriating.
sungyeol would rather the prince revert to whatever cold, standoffish character heâd assumed initially in sungyeolâs presence because sungyeol far prefers that to this meddling, irritating one that seems to believe doing any of this will change anything. whether sungyeol is shackled in the princeâs room, locked up under the palace in a cell, or allowed to roam free with his own bedroom as a mockery of a guest, it doesnât change the fact that sungyeol is a prisoner in this kingdom - less than a slave.
the salves, the ointments, washing sungyeolâs wounds twice or thrice a day - wrapping them with clean or dirty gauze, letting him rest or making him work - none of this makes a difference either. sungyeol is already marked for life. the scars will never leave him, just as he will never leave this kingdom - just as only death can free him and the prince from each other.
he sees pity and empathy in the princeâs eyes and he hates it.
he hates it enough that he doesnât care that the physician the prince had brought in to see sungyeolâs whipping wounds had said that strenuous activity would re-open them. when the prince passes where sungyeol is sitting on his bedroll after the prince had finished wrapping up his wounds, sungyeol curls his fingers around the princeâs wrist and yanks him down, sending the tray of gauze rolls and the small bowl of water sungyeolâs wounds had been washed with flying.
sungyeol feels the small jolt of surprise from the prince through the bond, but other than that, for some reason, there is no fear even when sungyeol pins him down and frames his body with sungyeolâs arms. the way the prince looks up at sungyeol, the omegaâs dark hair fanning out around his head on the pillow. his gaze is steady and only mildly apprehensive - as if he knows what sungyeol will do and is afraid of nothing but the pain to come.
it drives sungyeol absolutely mad.
at the same time that he hikes the princeâs robes over his hips once again, and flips him onto his stomach, sungyeol builds a dam in front of his end of the bond - he closes off his emotions, shuts away any chance the prince would have at knowing with certainty all the shameful vulnerabilities sungyeol has because he has had enough of the enemy manipulating and using him.
when the prince starts to breathe raggedly, mouth open and fists clenched, at how sungyeol is pounding into him, sungyeol is even gladder that the prince now cannot know how sungyeol feels.
it wouldnât do for the prince to know that sungyeol is still able to feel guilt, apology, and regret.
sungyeol feels it through the bond profusely, coming first in small waves and then stronger the longer the prince stares up at sungyeol, lips still parted and wet from sungyeolâs mouth pressed against his moments ago.
while sungyeol doesnât think that the kiss had been completely unprecedented, he supposes he can see how it would warrant some confusion on the princeâs part as it had happened fairly suddenly. sungyeol himself wasnât planning on kissing the prince, out here, in the open - as sungyeol usually is still afraid, a fear he doesnât know how to get rid of, that the council will see and attempt to use the fact that sungyeol has grown fond of the prince against him.
the prince had come out here, into the gardens where sungyeol was reading, with a basket of flowers that sungyeol hasnât seen in quite literally one year exactly. they are flowers sungyeol didnât know one could grow or procure outside of his own kingdom - and even within his own kingdom, they only bloomed during the mid-autumn festival. they were celebrations that coincided always with sungyeolâs birth celebrations as his kingdom grew colder swifter, longer autumns and winters, shorter springs and summers.
they are his favorite flowers, and for as long as he can remember, the people of his kingdom would form them into wreaths and crowns for him - stringing them along the outer gates of the palace to celebrate him.
had these flowers simply been sent to him or given to him by any servant, sungyeol would already have been beside himself with joy. perhaps even if someone had told sungyeol beforehand that the prince was about to approach sungyeol with these flowers in his arms, sungyeol still would simply have been overjoyed - but nothing more.
seeing with his own eyes, the reality itself, of the prince in the informal robes he wears day to day - when he doesnât have to accompany the king in any meetings or events - with his hair loose on his shoulders, tied back only simply but still falling into his eyes, and cradled in his arms the large basket filled with the deep red and brown flowers sungyeol was so certain he would never be able to see again, sungyeolâs heart stuttered in his chest.
he is fairly sure at some point in his boyhood he had had a fantasy like this - a dream, perhaps - that whoever he fell in love with would bring him these flowers on his birthday after he began courting them. it was a mindless, boyish thought that heâd forgotten after he finished adolescence, and that even if he had remembered, he would have deemed impossible and pointless considering his current circumstances anyway.
it was perhaps a culmination of all these things that had sungyeol surging forward, placing both hands one either sides of the princeâs face and kissing him for the first time - kissing him fiercely, a first kiss that is unlike how a first kiss should be at all - with enough force that the prince falls back a step and drops the basket at their feet.
sungyeol knows he owes the prince some explanation - theyâve spent time and heats together, and sungyeol thinks that theyâve most reconciled, miraculously, but a kiss is something else entirely, so the confusion is more than fair and expected.
he leans down and picks the basket up, placing it to the side so he can step closer and line their bodies up against each other. he twines his arms around the princeâs waist, threading his fingers against the base of the princeâs back. the prince responds by placing his hands hesitantly on sungyeolâs shoulders, the confusion thicker than ever - it now shows visibly through his expression as well.
âwhen i was a boy,â sungyeol begins, wondering if he is enjoying too much how the prince has to tilt head back in order to look up enough to meet the alphaâs eyes at this proximity, âi thought that there would be no sight more beautiful than these flowers.â
the princeâs eyes move all over sungyeolâs face, searching the alphaâs gaze with furrowed brows.
sungyeol feels the spike of realization and something between embarrassment and flattery at the same time that he sees the princeâs ears begin to pink. as soon as those emotions come through the bond, however, they are suddenly replaced with crippling sadness that is so intense sungyeol knows it shows on his face that he feels it. the prince swallows, and blinks, and says quietly - rushed for some reason, âmy only regret for you is that i could not bring more - nor for as many days as i know they had brought them to you in your home kingdom.â
when he kisses the prince this time, itâs open-mouthed and full and the prince is kissing back within seconds. sungyeol smiles against the princeâs lips, one hand threading through the omegaâs soft hair and angling his face so that he can kiss him even more deeply. when the prince starts to pant into sungyeolâs mouth, he pulls away to let him catch his breath - pleased to see the princeâs eyes dazed and his cheeks flushed.
âwhy would you regret?â sungyeol murmurs, thumb brushing over the princeâs cheekbone. âi now have a sight far more beautiful than those flowers here.â
the princeâs hands are like flames against sungyeolâs skin.
sungyeol had always thought that heats are named as such for how the omega feels during them, but recently, heâs begun to wonder if that feverish, spiraling feeling is for everyone involved. when the prince runs his hands over sungyeolâs chest and the muscles on his arms and stomach, it feels like heâs leaving behind a trail of fire all over sungyeol - lighting his body on fire.
the princeâs lips and tongue on sungyeolâs skin are even worse, but the princeâs eyes are what move sungyeol truly to the edge of insanity. sungyeol knows that the prince is unfocused, almost in a trance, during his heats - so how, then, sungyeol demands desperately to know, do the princeâs eyes gaze into sungyeolâs always in such a way that sungyeol feels like he is the one falling into maddening desire.
sometimes, sungyeol wishes the prince would always be as straightforward as he is during his heats. while they are mated, while there is a connection there to convey everything the prince is feeling as sungyeolâs own emotions, the bond offers no interpretation and before experiencing the way the bond works for himself, sungyeol had thought that it would be black and white - happiness, sadness, anger - emotions easily placed with names.
he had forgotten that as complex as his own emotions were - other humans felt them in similar layers and spectrums, and only then did he realize how difficult it was to interpret that complexity when it was not coming from himself.
there is such depth and intensity and disparity and variety throughout all of the emotions that run through the prince on a daily basis - on an hourly basis, honestly - that sungyeol almost feels foolish when he recalls back to how he had categorized the omega originally as beautiful and empty.
while that difficulty makes the prince even more incredible to sungyeol, it also makes him frustrating at times - much unlike how he is during his heat. the prince never hesitates to let sungyeol know what he needs during those three days. he tells sungyeol what he wants done to him, and sungyeol is always more than eager to oblige.
he had wondered, in those early months, every time the princeâs heat still came without fail - whether the prince was barren or if there was something wrong with sungyeolâs body. he had since realized that the way sungyeol had been taking the prince, the omegaâs body would hardly be receptive to that sort of treatment - would hardly want to encourage the conception of a child by a mate of that kind.
he wonders now, as he spreads the prince out for what will most likely be the last wave of the day - the first day - both of them absolutely coated in sweat and come by this point, if the prince would even be happy if he were to conceive presently. sungyeol knows they need to have children, and he knows the prince loves children - how can he not know, with how he has watched with his own eyes the prince cradling and smiling at his nephews - but sungyeol doesnât know if the prince would want to be with sungyeolâs child at this very moment.
the prince loves to spend time in the gardens, near the water, painting and writing, and sungyeol knows that if he became a father, he wouldnât be able to allow them to be brought up by a nurse nor does he have the option of entrusting some of their caretaking to his brother as - well - his brother was the king. sungyeol doesnât know if the prince would trust the alpha to care for a child - the crown princes are a different matter than if the prince had a child of his own.
moreover, sungyeol can never tell - with how indecipherable some of the darker, deeper parts of the princeâs emotions are - whether the prince has truly forgiven sungyeol for how he treated the prince in the beginning. neither of them were kind to each other, but sungyeol knows that what he did and how he behaved was worse than any vitriol spat in retaliation from the princeâs mouth.
by the last wave on the first day, the most intense day and the most taxing for both of them, the prince is always pliant - so much so that he is almost limp in sungyeolâs arms - and the sounds he makes as sungyeol coaxes the final climaxes out of him are those of pain more than pleasure.
âwould you like to eat now - should i call a servant?â sungyeol says softly once the prince is falling from the high, chest heaving and eyes still closed. his mouth is open, panting hard and harshly. âor would you like to bathe first?â he rests on his side so he can look down and watch the princeâs face. sungyeol brushes his fingers through the damp hair plastered with perspiration against the princeâs cheeks.
the prince shakes his head, eyes opening slowly, searching until he finds sungyeolâs own eyes and settles on them.
sungyeol leans in, pressing his lips carefully to each of the princeâs eyelids when he blinks down. âwhat would you like then?â he asks gently.
the bond thrums with an intense emotion that sungyeol would be hard-pressed to describe in words. all he knows is that it fills him with the kind of heat that vastly differs from the one that overtook both of them just a short time ago. this is the sort of heat that pools in sungyeolâs chest and has him smiling quietly into the kiss he places on the princeâs lips.
he fits perfectly into sungyeolâs arms, slender and soft and warm, and having him held against sungyeolâs body distracts him from the pain still throbbing in his thigh and back. the doctor had done his best, pressing in herbs that would deal with some of the pain, and leaving plenty more of the numbing paste for the next time sungyeolâs wounds were re-dressed. the pain is still prevalent though, and somehow, only holding the prince helps sungyeol even have a chance at drifting off to sleep for the first time in days.
the princeâs heat had come and gone while sungyeol was in the worst of his injury - burning off his own fever while his body tried to adjust from the blood loss. the prince had returned from spending the heat in one of the old summer palaces just as the court physician had deemed sungyeol well enough to at least limp back out of the room that he was being kept in - isolated in a far wing of the palace so he was least likely to be disturbed.
tonight is his first night after at least a week of sleeping in that bed alone - his first night that he has a chance at sleep uninterrupted by being awoken by pain and the betas from the damiwon flitting in and out to apply more herbs and clean wraps to sungyeolâs wounds (it had taken at least a day to completely stop bleeding out so horribly).
when he tells the prince that, for certain, he will be there for his next heat, and the prince smiles back at him like that - warm in sungyeolâs arms, dimples in his cheeks, eyes curved into dark crescents, sungyeol canât stop himself from dreaming with his eyes wide open. his body is exhausted, screaming for continuous sleep, but even as he feels the princeâs breaths even out and his eyes close, sungyeol stares through the darkness and dreams.
there is a feeling that he doesnât know how to explain, but he thinks perhaps this next heat would really be the one and that by now the prince would truly be happy if he conceived a child. sungyeol gazes down at the princeâs sleeping face, cheek against sungyeolâs chest. he wonders if they would have a son or daughter - if he or she will have the princeâs eyes or sungyeolâs, if the child would have the princeâs dimples, if they will have twins like the king and his consort.
sungyeol dreams until he falls asleep, arms tight and close around the prince.
his eyes cold with fury, with despair, with rage and disappointment, with hurt and resignation - all of these emotions roaring through the bond so incredibly that sungyeolâs entire body is frozen with the intensity of it. he stands there, in the middle of the room they shared, alone, looking at sungyeol as he stands in the doorway, prepared to drop to his knees and beg for the prince to ask him to stay -
as he shatters sungyeolâs heart into pieces, sungyeol has never seen anyone more beautiful and he doesnât think he ever will.
âi choose when to break this bond,â the prince says, voice low and icy. âyou owe me this much. until you receive the notice, you will not touch it.â
the most likely explanation for this sungyeol knows is that the prince wishes to punish sungyeol - to make him suffer by forcing him to be unable to move on, and it has sungyeol nearly laughing out loud with the absurdity because even if they bond is dissolved right here right now, sungyeol would never move on. he will never fall in love with anyone in the same way that he has come to love the prince, and he wants to say so - wants to tell the prince that he neednât burden himself by keeping the bond any longer just to punish sungyeol because sungyeolâs heart has already been broken.
âmyungsoo,â sungyeol whispers.
âyour horse - your brother and attendants - are waiting for you, your highness,â the prince says, turning around, facing the window and giving sungyeol his back. âyouâd do well not to keep them.â
even though the prince cannot see him, sungyeol bows low, closing his eyes and inhaling and exhaling deeply - taking in the princeâs scent for the last time. he casts one look at the princeâs back before turning away, closing the door softly behind him.
