The corridor stretched like a death march.
Yohan's legs trembled with each step. The clean clothes Seorin had dressed him in felt like a costume—too fine for someone like him.
Father walked these halls once. He never walked out.
The guard stopped before massive doors carved with twisting dragons. Their wooden eyes seemed to follow him as the doors groaned open.
"His Majesty waits."
A shove between his shoulder blades sent him stumbling inside. The doors slammed shut.
Silence pressed against his ears.
This wasn't the cold throne room. Candles flickered everywhere, casting warm light over hanging screens and polished wood. The air smelled of sandalwood and something sweet—cherry blossoms floating in ceramic bowls.
It looked like the stories his father used to tell. Before everything went wrong.
"Come in."
The voice drifted from deeper in the chamber. Soft. Almost gentle.
Yohan crept forward, bare feet silent on the floor. Past a low table set with tea. Past painted screens showing mountains and rivers. Past a bed that could fit his entire abandoned house.
Don't look at the bed. Don't think about why you're here.
King Suho stood beside tall windows overlooking moonlit gardens. He'd changed from his heavy court robes into simple white silk that made him look younger. Almost approachable.
Without the crown and ceremony, he could have been anyone. A scholar's son. Someone Yohan might have glimpsed in the marketplace and thought handsome before remembering his place.
"Sit."
Not a command. A request. Suho gestured to cushions beside the low table.
Yohan approached like the king was a wild animal. Every muscle screamed at him to run. But the palace was a maze. The walls too high. And beyond them waited a kingdom that wanted him dead.
He knelt on the cushion, hands clenched tight enough to leave marks.
Suho moved to the table with fluid grace. He poured tea from a ceramic pot, the liquid golden in the candlelight.
"Drink."
Yohan stared at the cup. "Is it poisoned?"
Something flickered across Suho's perfect features. "If I wanted you dead, there are simpler ways."
True enough. But nothing about this made sense. Kings didn't pour tea for outcasts. Kings didn't have soft voices or look lonely in moonlight.
Yohan lifted the cup with shaking hands. The tea was warm and sweet, tasting of honey and flowers. Expensive. Like everything here.
"Better?"
A slight nod. The warmth helped, even if his hands still trembled.
"You're terrified of me."
Not a question. A fact.
"Shouldn't I be?"
The words slipped out before he could stop them. Suho went very still.
"I was the one in the marketplace," he said quietly. "The one who stopped them from killing you."
The world tilted sideways.
What?
"You..." Yohan's cup rattled against its saucer. "But your face was hidden, I couldn't—"
"I know." Suho's dark eyes never left his. "I had to see for myself. The boy from my dreams."
Dreams? About me?
"I don't understand."
"The prophecy doesn't choose who carries the heir of heaven," Suho said, leaning forward. "It only promises that this child will shake our dynasty to its foundations. The choice of who bears this child... that was mine to make."
Each word made less sense than the last.
"And I chose you because I've been dreaming of your face since I was seven years old."
Yohan's breath caught. "That's impossible."
"We met once. You don't remember—you were too young. The day before your father's execution." Suho's voice went soft. "I was just a prince then. My father brought me to see the traitor's family before... before the sentence was carried out."
The day before Father died.
"You were so small. So frightened. But when you looked at me..." Suho's eyes grew distant. "That night, I dreamed of you carrying a child with eyes like starlight. I've had the same dream every night since."
The tea cup slipped from Yohan's numb fingers. It shattered against the floor, golden liquid spreading across dark wood.
"You chose me because of a dream?" His voice came out broken.
"Because of a thousand dreams. Because when the astrologers spoke their prophecy, I knew exactly who they meant." Suho rose and moved to a wooden chest. From it, he drew a small jar and white cloth strips.
"Your lip is bleeding again."
When did that happen?
Suho returned and knelt beside Yohan's cushion. Close enough that sandalwood filled his senses. Close enough to see the long lashes framing those impossible dark eyes.
"May I?"
Such a simple question. No one ever asked Yohan's permission for anything.
He nodded.
Suho's fingers were careful as they tilted his chin up. The salve was cool against his split lip. This close, Yohan could see that Suho was older than him—maybe twenty-three to his nineteen. Young to wear a crown. Young to make choices that would reshape a kingdom.
"I know you've suffered," Suho said quietly, focused on tending the cut. "The beatings. The hunger. Sleeping in ruins while my father's justice played out."
His jaw tightened slightly. "I couldn't interfere. Not until the prophecy gave me reason."
He watched it all happen. And did nothing.
The thought should have made him angry. Instead, it just made him tired.
Suho's thumb brushed over a fading bruise on his cheek with impossible gentleness.
"You won't be hurt again. Not while you carry what's precious to me."
The words shattered whatever spell had been building between them.
Right. The child. That's all this is.
Yohan's breath caught as Suho moved closer, until their knees nearly touched. Until warmth radiated from the king's skin.
"I know this isn't what you wanted," Suho murmured, his free hand moving to the ties of Yohan's outer robe. "But it's necessary."
This is it. This is really happening.
The silk whispered as it fell away. Yohan sat frozen in his thin under-robe, feeling exposed and fragile.
But then Suho saw his face—saw the pure terror there, the way he'd gone rigid with fear—and his hands stilled.
"Aish." The king sat back on his heels, running fingers through his dark hair. "Look at you. You can barely breathe."
Yohan couldn't. His chest felt tight as a fist.
"I won't force this tonight," Suho said quietly. "But the court expects evidence."
Evidence?
Suho moved to his writing desk and drew out a small silver knife. Without hesitation, he sliced across his palm. Blood welled dark red in the candlelight.
He let it drip onto the white silk bedsheets, creating stains that would satisfy any examining physician.
"There." He wrapped his bleeding hand in cloth. "Tonight you sleep. Tomorrow, we begin preparing you properly."
Yohan stared at him. This man—this king—had just cut himself to protect him.
Suho's eyes went hard. "Don't mistake this for kindness. You're here for one purpose."
He moved to the far side of the bed and lay down without another word.
"Sleep."
Yohan sat frozen on the cushions. The silence stretched between them like ice.
Finally, he crept to the bed's far corner and curled up small. The mattress was softer than anything he'd ever felt, but his mind wouldn't quiet.
One purpose.
He stared at the king's still form in the darkness. Suho had saved him in the marketplace. Protected him from the court physicians tonight.
All for the prophecy. For the child he was supposed to carry.
He's saved me twice now, Yohan thought, pulling the covers closer.
But it was never about me.
The heir of heaven. That's all he'd ever be to anyone.
The thought followed him into restless sleep.