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Chapter Text

The convoy from Sedaora Selene I arrived just after the second monsoon season of the year had ended, when the sky was the same jewelled blue as the spotchkan krill that lived in Lake Eir, wide as a sea. Jeongin stood on the balcony of his palace home, overlooking the gardens that rolled on and on before giving way to the lakeshore, and watched as the SHL-class ship lowered down onto the royal docks. Its mirror-like chromium surface reflected the lakewater and sky so perfectly it appeared less like a solid shape and more like some indistinct illusion, a mirage in a desert of water. Jeongin had never seen so much chromium before in his life, expensive and prized as it was.

Against his side, his younger brother leaned on him, probably creasing Jeongin’s carefully curated clothing. Jeongin didn’t scold him for it, or move away from the touch, although their mother would scold him for it later.

“That’s a big ship,” Yoon said, his head resting on Jeongin’s shoulder. He had been remarkably clingy the past couple of months, since negotiations had fully wrapped up and Jeongin’s engagement had been all but set in durasteel. They had never been a touchy family, none of them, but Yoon had been particularly prickly for a while there: the youngest, the only one not fully presented, tired of being fussed over and babied. Jeongin’s engagement had seemed to knock some of it out of him. Maybe he really would miss Jeongin when he was gone.

“Not that big,” Seungmin said from behind them. “It’s a low tier SHL-class ship, meant to take you up to the actual starferry. Probably a tier 3 or 4 CRS-class transport.”

Jeongin and Yoon ignored him, Jeongin because he knew that and Yoon probably because he tended to view Seungmin as an annoyance he had to endure. He grumbled under his breath but the words were quiet and harmless enough that Jeongin could pretend he hadn’t heard.

Even if it was a mere shuttle, Jeongin agreed with Yoon: it was a big ship, round and bulbous, at rest now out on the platform that had been erected on the lake. The palace docks were rarely used, built at great expense after Jeongin’s mother took the throne. Nobody ever came to visit them, and nobody but the occasional politician ever really left. Even Jeongin had only ever been off planet twice, both times making the long journey to the inner rim to visit Kaysar Prime. Now there were lots of people running around in the distance, getting ready for the arrival of the convoy.

Something cold brushed his fingers, the damp familiar touch of Dog’s nose. He put out a hand instinctively and petted her head, and felt a moment later the weight of her pressing against the side of him not currently occupied by Yoon. The feeling of her fur under his fingers made the sickening rush of his heart in his chest slow some. He could feel her rib cage expanding against his thigh as she inhaled and exhaled, and it reminded him, too, that he should breathe, carefully and slowly, and keep his wits about him.

Nobody spoke for a while. They watched in silence as the foreign ship opened up and then everything on the docks was that of mildly organised chaos. It had been the same yesterday, when the delegation from the Grandemperor had arrived to oversee today’s treaty signing, but Jeongin had only caught a small amount of that before he had been called off to dinner with his family. Now, though, he could look his fill. Nobody would call for him until the last possible moment, for fear that he would just get under their feet.

Eventually Yoon snorted. “I thought they’d be more colourful,” he said. “They’re dressed like they’re going to a funeral.”

They were. Even from this distance, it was obvious that everyone stepping off the ship was dressed in black, or else a kind of grey so dark that it might as well have been black. Seungmin said, his voice filled with mild rebuke, “The royal colour of Selene I is black, you should know that, Yoon.”

This time Yoon’s grumble of know-it-all was audible enough that Jeongin really should have scolded him for it. He couldn’t open his mouth, though, for fear that he’d regurgitate his morning meal all over the balcony. He had to stop himself from clenching his fingers in Dog’s fur, not wanting to hurt her. She pressed closer to him, as if sensing his distress. It made him feel worse because if she could sense it, then Seungmin would know about it too.

The door to the balcony opened behind them with a pressurised hiss, and a voice, the low murmuring tone of a servant, said, “Your Highness, Her Excellency calls for you.”

Jeongin didn’t move, did not turn. Yoon straightened up, guilty, like their mother was potentially right there and would be able to see the way he had been slouching. It was Seungmin who said, “Thank you, we will be right down.”

The door slid shut again. Jeongin stood looking out at the flat water, stretching further than the eye could see in one direction and then, on the other, curving around to meet the outskirts of their capital city, separated from the palace by an ample jungle of lush greenery. Far enough away that on days like this, it sometimes felt like a whole other planet in itself. Once, on a trip as a child, Jeongin had stayed in a palatial manor that was right in the middle of the city proper, and been baffled by all the noise.

There was a light touch to his back, Seungmin’s thin fingers between his shoulder blades. “Jeongin,” he said, gently. Jeongin took one shuddering breath, as deep as he could make it, and then let it out again. When he turned to face Seungmin, he found Seungmin looking back at him steadily, his eyes dark but not at all difficult for Jeongin to read after all these years: concern and sadness and steadiness. “You can do this,” he said to Jeongin, like he really believed it to be true.

“I can do this,” Jeongin repeated. He did not quite believe it himself, but he didn’t need to believe it. It would happen regardless. This was happening.

His mother, The Empress, Divine Protector and Matriarch, Incandescent Sovereign of Lapsa, and so on, waited for him in the grand entrance hall, with its high glass ceilings and tall date palms in their giant pots. Her hands were neatly folded together in front of her stomach, held away from her body just enough so as not to wrinkle her dress. His father hovered behind her and Jungwon, Jeongin’s older brother, stood behind him. The folding glass doors along the front wall had been thrown open today to let in the breeze, a mild relief after the humidity of the rains this past month. It didn’t make that much of a difference to the temperature as Jeongin came to stand in front of her; he wished that they’d kept them closed and run the cooling systems instead. But Jeongin’s father liked to do things the old fashioned way, and his mother indulged that sometimes, and not other times. Today, she was allowing it.

“Greetings to my mother, Her Excellency, Empress of Lapsa,” Jeongin said, bowing to her respectfully, his hands clasped and arms held out in a circle in front of him as he lowered his head.

She made a little noise under her breath. “Your clothes are creased,” she said.

Her clothes were not creased. In a floor-length sheath dress, she cut an intimidating and austere figure. Light aquamarine shimmersilk, with nary a wrinkle in sight. A bold choice, Jeongin thought, considering the heat, but he did not think his mother would ever do something as crass as sweat in public. The neckline was conservative but the sleeves were cut off her shoulders, and her hair, still perfect black without a hint of grey that Jeongin could see, was pinned up under the polished chromium crown that rested heavy on her head. He stood just a bit taller than her, but when she looked at him, it was with all the authority that years of rule had given her.

“Sorry, Mother,” he said, instead of trying to explain about Yoon.

She sighed, but before she could say anything further or criticise or start to fuss, Jeongin turned to his father standing by her side and bowed to him, too. “Greetings to my father, the Prince Consort,” he said.

His father smiled at him. He was a mild man in every possible way — a beta, like his wife, with dark hair and a face that was handsome while still being nondescript. Standing taller than Jeongin, but still not tall, and endowed with the personality of a scholar who mostly wanted to be left in peace. He had not, at least not where Jeongin had ever seen it, disagreed with his wife in any capacity. His clothes were a rich, unobtrusive brown with aquamarine accents and trim, like his entire presence today was as a large accessory to the Empress.

“You look very nice, Jeongin,” his father said. Jeongin smiled back at him, pleased by the compliment and trying to not show it, because Yoon could at least be guaranteed to pick up on it and tease him about it if he did.

“Yes, well,” said his mother, a little sourly, “let’s just hope that Prince Chan agrees.”

Jeongin’s stomach churned at the reminder of who exactly he was waiting for. He did hope Prince Chan agreed. The second prince of Sedaora Selene I had seen his holopicture, at least, and so must have some sense of what Jeongin looked like, but Jeongin didn’t know how it would translate to seeing Jeongin in person. He himself had only seen Chan’s picture once, and his impression of it was vague now.

He stood still, trying to not let his nausea show on his face. She looked him over once more, sighed again, and then turned to go fuss over the flower arrangements set out in the entryway, all of them drooping slightly in the heat. That was, Jeongin supposed, what happened when one ordered imported flowers from the indoor nurseries rather than using their native flora. Jeongin’s father trailed after her, followed by the head of staff and a few servants, leaving Jeongin with Seungmin behind him. He wished he had Dog’s fur again.

Yoon sidled up to him on his other side. “She didn’t notice me,” he whispered, sounding triumphant.

No, Jeongin thought, she hadn’t paid any attention to Yoon, or to Seungmin, who could usually expect to get a couple of warm words. It was a clear sign of how stressed out she was about this venture, how preoccupied her mind was with making sure everything went perfectly. The preparations for this particular day had been in the works for months; the preparation for Jeongin marrying was the work of his entire lifetime, ever since they had tested him at birth and then presented him to his mother, swaddled in a blanket, still damp from having the blood carefully washed from his delicate skin: the second Royal child, an omega.

He had been the first omega born to Lapsa’s royal family in generations. A miracle child, the press had called him, right up until Yoon was born and was also declared omega. Jeongin was less interesting after that. And all through it, all through the years of growing up, his mother had worked ceaselessly to find someone willing to marry him. Anyone at all willing to take the middling omega of a planet not even important enough to have a personal presence in the Imperium Grand Senate.

And so now here they were: the Grandemperor’s delegation waiting in the council room, Jeongin’s intended racing towards them in a speeder as they dithered, and Jeongin wishing he could turn into a beetle and scurry away under one of the date palms.

Jungwon came towards them, already frowning at Yoon. His outfit, like Yoon’s, was nearly identical to the cut of their father’s, but theirs were a darker shade of blue-green in colour. He had his crown prince insignia pinned to the left side of his chest, a vulpine head surrounded in a laurel wreath, chromium silver like their mother’s crown. His cavalier wore the same expression he always did when he was looking at the younger royal children, like he smelled something bad and was fairly certain it was them. Only Jungwon’s spouse, a female-presenting beta, smiled at them, her pregnant stomach gently rounding the front of her dress.

“You need to behave yourself,” Jungwon said to Yoon as a greeting, completely bypassing Jeongin. “We can’t have any of your shenanigans ruining this.”

“I haven’t even done anything!” Yoon protested.

“I know what you’re like,” Jungwon said scoldingly. “I remember what happened at my engagement ball.” He paused, as if waiting for Yoon to protest that, too, but Yoon remained silent. There was no real counter argument for what Yoon, ten and annoyed about having the attention taken away from him, had done at Jungwon’s engagement ball. Seungmin had commented afterwards that, At least we know the fire suppression system definitely works. Jungwon seemed satisfied by the silence. “So no trouble. Keep your mouth shut and stay where I can see you.”

“I wouldn’t do anything to ruin Jeongin’s day,” said Yoon moodily.

Jeongin, despite himself, was touched by that. Jungwon looked less impressed but a little bit like he was mollified. He nodded, and then turned his attention, finally, to Jeongin, his eyes moving over him, and then to Seungmin, and then, finally, to Dog standing patiently and silently at Seungmin’s side. He pulled a face. “Does she have to be here, too?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Jeongin and Seungmin in exact unison. Then Jeongin clamped his mouth back shut.

Jungwon glowered, but before he could say anything, the head of staff looked down at her datapad and announced, loud enough to be heard throughout the entrance hall, “The Prince of Sedaora Selene I approaches, Your Excellency.”

This set off a flurry of movement, in which Jeongin allowed himself to simply be moved into the correct place, his body like that of a puppet being controlled by someone high above him. They were directed and artfully arranged just outside the thrown open doors of the grand front entrance, onto the wide terrace which was perched atop a grand stairway, leading down to the circular drive. The sun was still high overhead, a relentless presence while they took their positions as there was no canopy above the terrace. Her Excellency the Empress waited just at the top of the stairs, the Prince Consort by her side. Jeongin stood behind her, slightly to the left, so he could be seen easily. There was sweat on the palms of his hands, but his fingers felt somehow cold. He held them carefully at his sides and did not clench them.

“No,” he heard Seungmin say, in that exact mild way he had where he would not be swayed by anything. Jeongin glanced over his shoulder and found that one of the staff members was trying to herd Seungmin to stand with the other cavaliers, lined up against the wall on either side of the opened doors, side by side. Instead, Seungmin was standing exactly where he always stood, behind Jeongin’s left shoulder, one hand resting on the hilt of his rapier, the other resting on Dog’s back.

You must join— the staff member was saying, her voice less of a murmur now and more of a hiss, and Seungmin said, again, “No.”

“Leave him,” Jeongin ordered.

The staff member looked like she was going to continue insisting but it was too late, now: the gates at the end of the drive had opened and the convoy of speeders bringing the party from Sedaora Selene I were pulling in, one after another. More than Jeongin had realised, all landspeeders, black and gleaming in the sunlight. In an instant, all of the staff melted into the background to take their own positions for this welcome greeting, and Jeongin was left with Seungmin as support. He had no doubt that in reality, when he had been briefed on this entire thing, Seungmin had been told to stand with the other cavaliers.

Jeongin turned his face to where the speeders were pulling to a stop, a long line of vehicles, but he reached a hand back, searching, and Seungmin’s fingers found his in a moment, like he had already been reaching forward. Their fingers tangled together, and Seungmin squeezed, comfortingly, and then they let go.

The largest speeder had come to a stop directly at the bottom of the wide stairs. The side door slid open with a hiss Jeongin couldn’t hear at this distance, and after a moment, an alpha stepped out, female-presenting with a sword hanging by her side. A cavalier, who straightened up and stood looking around for the briefest, slightly awkward pause, before she nodded her head and stepped to the side.

The second person to exit the vehicle was, undoubtedly, the prince. It was hard for Jeongin to see him properly at this angle, other than to note that he was dressed in black, and so instead of giving into the childish urge to crane around and gawp, he looked out into the middle distance, over the curated gardens that stretched out down to the palace walls, the closed gates, the guardhouse that was manned day and night. The gardens were lush and green after all the recent rain, but Jeongin had never been allowed to walk on the grass out here at the front.

The prince and his cavalier were led up to them. Jeongin felt the anxious squirming in his stomach grow in intensity with each clack of footsteps on the marble stairs. Only when the prince stopped in front of his mother did Jeongin let himself look, just in time to see the prince execute a remarkably well done bow in the style of Jeongin’s planet, form utterly perfect.

“Greetings to Her Excellency, Empress of Lapsa,” said Prince Chan, voice clear and loud, without hesitating or stumbling over any of the words.

Jeongin’s mother did not bow back to him. She inclined her head, regal and stiff. “Greetings to Prince Chan of Sedaora Selene I, Second Rank Kiirodos, and Emissary of the Exalted Grandemperor,” she said, voice polite almost to a fault. The glare of the sunshine on her crown was painful to look at as she moved her head. She flicked her fingers, a short movement, that Jeongin knew well enough by now; he stepped forward, to her proclamation of, “I present my second son, Prince Jeongin, Heir of the Second Rank.”

Jeongin managed to not react at all to this new title, suddenly bestowed upon him, though he did want to give his mother a sardonic glance. An attempt to make him sound more impressive than he was. A difficult task, when he didn’t have any accomplishments to boast about.

Chan turned slightly to face Jeongin. He smiled, showing that he, too, had a dimple in one cheek, and he bowed, as perfectly as he had done earlier. His hands were encased in black leather gloves, a detail Jeongin snagged on. “Greetings to Prince Jeongin,” Chan said, head bent low over his circled arms.

Jeongin bowed back to him, his own filmbook perfect, the result of years of etiquette training. “Greetings to Prince Chan,” he said, and then he lifted his head to look, properly, at the man who would be his husband.

He was not that tall, was Jeongin’s first thought, something he noticed only because although he, himself, was not tall, he had been informed a few times that he was taller than expected for an omega. A quick glance at Chan’s feet showed that he was wearing boots with a slight heel, but despite Jeongin’s flat shoes, he still had a definite height advantage. How mortifying, to be taller than your alpha husband, but there was nothing he could do about that, other than to have been born how he should have been, small and dainty.

Chan was— handsome. There was no getting around that, he was handsome, in a way that appealed to Jeongin. It had been enough to know that Chan was not that much older than him, the fact that Chan was good looking sent a kind of thrill through Jeongin’s body. His hair was long and curly, at least the parts of it that framed his face in gentle waves. Most of it was pulled back away from his face, although Jeongin could not yet see how it was held in place. Jeongin had known that the alphas of Sedaora Selene I wore their hair long, but it was still interesting to see in person. There were no societal expectations on Jeongin’s planet for any designation to keep their hair long; it was simply too hot for that.

The clothes Chan was wearing were beautiful, but not entirely suited to the weather. A long-sleeved jacket fit tight against his body, straight collar buttoned high on his throat, and either it had been tailored in a way to give the impression of broad shoulders, or he genuinely was just that broad. It was cut quite cropped, stopping just above a wide black sash that fit tight around a trim waist. On his lower half he wore a pair of straight-legged trousers tucked neatly into the boots Jeongin had noticed, which went up nearly to his knees. A scimitar hung from his waist, long and curved, sheathed in black with a golden engraved handle. In fact, the only thing that was not pure black on his outfit were the gold embellishments. Celestial patterns on the upturned cuffs and high collar of his jacket done in gold threads with tiny, golden seed beads as accents, and four gold buttons keeping the jacket closed, embossed with the royal coat of arms of Sedaora Selene I: a skull adorned with a sunburst halo.

He must be so hot, Jeongin thought, and sure enough, there was already sweat beading at Chan’s hairline.

“Thank you for coming all the way out here to get me,” Jeongin said, a little shyly. His mother might like to pretend their standing in the Imperium was different, better, but the reality was Lapsa was on the outer edges of the mid-rim. The prince had been travelling through hyperspace for days to come collect him.

“It wasn’t as bad as all that,” said Chan after a moment, dropping some of his formality. He was still smiling, and Jeongin wondered what he was thinking looking at Jeongin. If he was as pleased with Jeongin as Jeongin thought he might be with Chan. Jeongin could not help but smile back, feeling his cheeks bunch with it, and Chan blinked. Then his smile widened, showing flashes of perfect white teeth. His eyes sparkled in the sunlight. “I really am glad to finally meet you.”

——

Chan was sweating.

This was not an unforeseen circumstance. Quite the opposite, in fact; he’d commissioned the wardrobe for this trip specifically with Lapsa’s warmer climate in mind. His tailor had assured him that though his jacket was to be a somewhat thicker silk to hold its shape, it would still be breathable, and the cropped cut was meant to encourage airflow. The opaque chiffon shirt beneath it could barely be called a shirt at all. Chan wasn’t sure he’d ever been so scantily dressed in public, he felt terribly bare, and yet, it was hot. He could perhaps feel some semblance of a breeze on his thighs through the material of his pants, but there was no magic in the galaxy that could make the Sullust leather of his high boots breathable.

Getting out of the direct sun was a keen relief, the rays had almost felt like they were scorching him. Once the pleasure of walking into shade wore off though Chan realised they had no cooling systems running. The windows of the high halls were thrown open, and there was no wind, the air unmoving. Chan’s intended did not seem to be sweating, nor was any of Lapsa’s royal family as far as Chan could tell. The Empress spoke evenly, but with a projection that carried, as she led the procession through the halls. Pleasantries, that he was expected to merely nod his head to, which included mention of the fine, mild weather they’d been having lately. As Chan understood it, Lapsa was heading into autumn, so this weather was likely truly a relief for them.

After Chan’s vessel had made planetfall and the door of their ship had first slid open and the cool, recycled air of space travel had gotten blasted away in a wash of warm, humid air, Sana had turned covertly toward Chan and made a face, baring her bottom teeth in horror she quickly schooled away before turning back around and leaving the ship. Now, Chan wanted to look to her, walking somewhere behind him, and make that face in turn. Even within the depths of the palace, it still kind of felt like he was wading through the air, thick and soupy. He was, abruptly, very glad the negotiations had taken a few months, otherwise he’d have had to come collect Jeongin at the height of summer, and he was fairly certain he’d have simply melted. How mortifying that would have been, if Jeongin’s first impression of him had been Chan collapsing of heat stroke.

As the Intergalactic Ambassador for Selene I, Chan had travelled a good deal, but he’d never been out to this particular system before, and certainly not to this planet. Even on his diplomatic missions, he’d never felt such pressure to appear appealing and put together as he did today. The nerves of nuptials, his cousin Minho would say gleefully.

So he tried not to sweat, nor cringe every time they passed an open window, of which there were many. He worked, also, to not squint around like an idiot. It was not his first time being on such a glaringly sunny planet; he’d been to Halcyon, and discovered upon arrival they had two suns, which just seemed absurd to him. But it never got any easier, and in this case, it wasn’t just about the beaming yellow sunlight raining in through the windows. The palace itself was light, made up of warm beige sandstone, likely quarried from one of Lapsa’s many freshwater lakebeds. It had been smoothed down to only vague roughness on the walls, and the floor beneath them was cream marble, largely uninterrupted with rugs. Plants lined the halls as they walked, some trees with pots large enough for Chan to curl up inside them placed at intervals, odd looking with large spiky leaves clustered at the top. Lapsa was very green, Chan had seen more trees on their descent through the atmosphere than existed on his entire planet.

He cast a glance at his intended, who’d been covertly looking at him and then looked quickly away when Chan caught him. Their age gap wasn’t extreme, but Jeongin seemed very young. Pretty and maybe a little shy. Though who wouldn’t be shy in this scenario, Chan supposed. He wondered, not for the first time, how Jeongin would cope moving to Selene I. It was not an easy planet to live on, even for those who’d been born there.

Too late to worry about it now, too late for concern or regrets. The Maker, with his mighty hand, would guide. And Chan had been guided here. It was his fate, as it was Jeongin’s.

They approached a pair of thrown open double doors, traditional, hinged. The pair of servants on either side of the opening bowed low as they approached. This was the council room, no doubt, with a long sturdy table within, all stained golden wood. The ceiling here was even higher than in the halls, and much of it was glass, letting in even more of that uninterrupted sunlight. On Sedaora Selene I, a skylight like that would just fill the room with gloomy greyness, with the odd flash of watery light as the sun broke through. This room, beautiful as it undoubtedly was, almost hurt Chan’s eyes.

The doors closed behind them, and as they did, Chan heard the very faint whirr of a cooling system kicking on. Someone, somewhere, had deigned to show them mercy. There was the softest sigh somewhere behind Chan, as one of the six guards with him exhaled in relief. They would be even warmer than he, in their uniforms, reinforced with leather.

There were no chairs around the table. The Empress took her place standing at the head of it, and along its side, a group of three people had already gathered, waiting for them. Chan recognized the Herald of the Grandemperor — Serene Insuk, a dour older beta woman, who took her serious job even more seriously than it already was. She wore a long robe of deep yellow shimmersilk, that refracted the light and caused pinks and purples to run over the material, like she was garbed in a sunset. Embroidered on the shoulders was the spiked sun crest of the Grandemperor. The cheery colour was a sharp juxtaposition to the scowl on her face. Perhaps she was overwarm in her long-sleeved clothing just as Chan was. Hard to say, when he didn’t think he’d ever seen her smile.

“Prince Chan,” she warbled in her crackling old voice.

Chan inclined his head. There was no point in correcting outworlders on his title. He’d been a little surprised the Empress had known the word Kiirodos, and had pronounced it correctly. “Serene Insuk.”

She looked like his appearance displeased her. But everything seemed to displease her, so he tried not to take it to heart, though there was an edge of self-consciousness in him right now that wondered if she hadn’t noticed the sweat along his temples and found him vulgar for it.

A large disk-shaped holoprojector was set atop the table, and it was the Prince Consort, Jeongin’s father, who actually reached forward and turned it on. The holoprojector flickered to life, displaying before them in blue lines a copy of the treaty, the text lined up in columns. “As submitted to the Imperium,” the Prince Consort said formally.

Serene Insuk’s eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward, examining the pixellated text. “Hmm,” was all she said, nodding.

“Prince Chan?” the Empress said, as a servant, dressed in beige, skittered forward and held out to Chan a sleek metal stylus. “Are there any issues you wish to vocalise before the signing?”

Chan took the stylus. It was already warm, whether from the servant’s touch or simply from the air. He looked at the Empress, this imposing dragon of a woman, who had dragged negotiations out for weeks turned to months, haggling a strict deal for her son with an iron will. It had not plucked at Chan’s pride, but not all in Selene I’s Malkomyt had been so easy-going about it. Who does she think she is, the Chestvo of House Abdounia had cried. All this for an omega from a planet at the edges of the Imperium, a planet that doesn’t even have a seat on the Grand Senate? Her family has barely ruled their planet for a millenia, does she have no shame, does she not know who we are?

“I have no issue, Your Excellency,” Chan said softly. She gestured with an elegant hand, and Chan stepped forward, eyes skimming the text.

Terms for the Imperium marriage between an omega of the Primary Royal Line of Lapsa to an alpha of the Primary Royal Line of Sedaora Selene I, and then thousands of words detailing the exact circumstances of their alliance. The Empress of Lapsa had negotiated quite a deal for herself, Jeongin’s hand in marriage was costing Chan three tier 5 warships, packed to capacity with fifty tier 2 starfighters apiece, each of them with shields powered by ballinae crystals that should last them at least one hundred years. It was a formidable fleet, especially for a small planet like this. And that was not counting the newly charted trade route between them, and the value of the alliance itself, priceless considering Lapsa’s standing in the Imperium versus that of Selene I.

Other things in the treaty, such as the stipulations for Jeongin’s quality of care, did not signify to Chan. He’d always planned that his omega should never want for anything; this was not asking anything of him he was not going to give regardless.

So Chan bent and placed the stylus tip on the fuzzy blue line where his signature belonged, and signed his name away. It glowed back at him, something in his chest squeezing tight as he looked at it. The servant gently took the stylus from his suddenly-numb fingertips. Chan blinked, stepping back to make way for Jeongin, who had come forward.

“You do not need to sign,” the Empress said, coming between Jeongin and the treaty with the swift grace of a bird, making Jeongin step back hastily. She plucked up the stylus when the servant held it to her, and she signed her name, long and in swooping letters, beneath Chan’s.

Jeongin had skittered back some, his already rosy cheeks flushing further with a blush at his misstep. The colour was lovely offset by the jewelled blue of his tunic, which Chan was very decidedly not looking at. He had actively looked at Jeongin’s outfit once, when he’d been climbing the steps of the palace, before he had consciously averted his eyes and made sure to keep his gaze firmly on Jeongin’s face. By now he was mostly used to the ways that other planets dressed their omegas, but it never made it easier, and it had been with a decided frisson of shock that he had realised that Jeongin’s arms were bare, and that his collarbones and much of his sternum were showing in the sleeveless tunic he was wearing. It was an amount of skin that not even a beta would show in public on Chan’s home planet.

Blue brocade against golden tanned skin, Jeongin was clearly a creature that spent time in the sunlight. Chan’s new intended was very beautiful, which made this worse in some ways. Even looking only at Jeongin’s face, from this distance it was impossible to not see— what was below it, vaguely indistinct in Chan’s peripheral but the gaps were filled in by the memory of the glimpse he’d already gotten. Jeongin was wearing a sash around his waist, some kind of silver-grey silk that shimmered like water in the light, and it was tied tightly, holding his overlapping tunic in place. Chan’s eyes had skittered over that waist earlier, his brain noting only that it was small and then striving to forget he had ever seen it.

At least Jeongin was wearing pants under the tunic, and long ones too, that were loose on his legs and gathered into fitted cuffs around his ankles, made out of the same material as the sash. It was not as modest as a long skirt, but— Chan had seen some servants in the halls, wearing tunics that fell to their knees and nothing underneath, their legs bare. Chan was not sure how he’d have— well, he’d have handled it with the same pleasant mask he always wore in public, but it would have short circuited him in some capacity, like a droid shot with a lasgun. Especially because Jeongin’s tunic, which fell to just above the knees, had slits up the sides that went all the way to his hips. For a brief flicker of a moment, Chan imagined what it would look like if Jeongin hadn’t been wearing those pants, the smooth skin of his thighs visible, and then immediately was scandalised and shamed by his own thoughts.

He’s to be your spouse and will bear your children, give him the respect that accords, Chan thought viciously at himself. He worked to do as he always did when confronted with an offworld omega: noting the outfit in an abstract way as its own concept, and pretending there was no body beneath it at all.

Suddenly, Chan’s vision was blocked by a head of grey hair as Serene Insuk shuffled to sign the treaty herself. “The representatives of both planet Lapsa and Sedaora Selene I have signed under no duress, we have given witness,” she droned. Her signature was spiky and done in quick flicks. Then she pulled from within her robes a magnetic seal, which she pressed upon the projection and left a stamp of the Imperium’s insignia. “The Imperium recognises this binding treaty.” She turned, looking at Chan, the side of her craggy face lit up in blue from the light of the holo. “Congratulations on your loving engagement, Prince Chan.”

She did not smile, and in her flat voice, the words sounded sarcastic. Chan inclined his head anyway, saying, “Thank you, Serene Insuk. And thank you for coming all the way out here, to bear witness and give legitimacy to the treaty.”

Her reply of harrumph was the only one he was given as she looked at Jeongin with her beady little stare. Jeongin blinked back, his hands folded in front of his stomach, clenched nervously. The set of chromium bands wrapped decoratively around his upper arms glinted strongly in the sunlight raining down the ceiling above, and Chan reminded himself he was looking at Jeongin’s face and only Jeongin’s face.

“Good luck on Sedaora Selene I,” Serene Insuk said to him. “I hope you do not find it as dreadfully odious as everyone else I have met.”

Jeongin opened his mouth, but it was the Empress who spoke. “Thank you, Serene Insuk,” she said with a pleasant, closed-lips smile, putting her hand on Jeongin’s shoulder lightly. Chan noted this, adding it to the way she had cut Jeongin off earlier, and how even now, Jeongin was stiff and still under her surveyance. Something to tuck away for later.

Serene Insuk hummed. Then she swept out of the room, and Chan could only assume she would immediately make for the docks, and board her ship back to Kaysar Prime. Not staying for the engagement party, then. Chan couldn’t say he was sorry for her absence.

“Well,” the Empress said, her demure smile breaking into something wide and real. She clapped, just once, and Jeongin looked askance at her. An out of character show of emotion, Chan gathered, confirming in his own mind exactly how much the Empress of Lapsa had been white-knuckling things. Good to know he hadn’t been the only one desperate for this match to happen. “Wonderful that went so smoothly.” She looked over her family, their gathered servants, and then at Chan’s party, his retinue of guards, before settling her smile upon him. “I imagine you’re weary and will want to rest and acclimate some before tonight’s festivities, no?” she asked.

“That would be most welcome, Your Excellency,” Chan said.

“Jeongin,” she said, turning to her middle child. “Show your fiance to his rooms, won’t you?”

Fiance.

Jeongin looked at Chan, eyes a little wide. It seemed like the word had rung in his mind, too. “Of course,” he said slowly. “Prince Chan, follow me?” He gestured toward the doors, currently being pulled open by a pair of servants, his arm outstretched toward them.

His bare arm, Chan thought, and then strode out the room after one last bow at the Empress before his face could do something foolish, like twitch. Sana and the guards were quiet as they fell into step with him, Jeongin’s footsteps fast and a little louder, as he scurried to catch up.

“This way, your Highness,” Jeongin said, leading them around a corner. The way he moved, the very way he formed words, spoke of shyness.

Chan worked up what he hoped was a charmingly soothing smile. Coming back out into the warmly sunlit halls felt like he’d stepped into a physical wall of heat and dampness. All that tacky, drying sweat under his layers of clothing was suddenly turning— decidedly swampy again. “Please call me by my given name,” he said, hoping he was managing to pull off an unruffled air. Jeongin’s midnight blue eyes were shining and attentive on him, the nature of his gaze— saying that Chan was pulling off something. He leaned a little closer, dropping his voice as he added, “Especially when we’re alone.”

Jeongin’s chin dipped, lips curving into a helpless little smile. “Is this alone?” he asked, something knowing and playful in his tone.

Chan made a show of glancing behind them, even though he already knew what he would see. His own security retinue, and then Jeongin’s beta cavalier, trailing behind them by about five steps. He let his grin widen as he looked back at Jeongin and said, “Yes.”

Jeongin’s own smile split, showing his teeth, his slightly sharp canines. As they walked by the windows bright beams of sunlight came in, falling across them. It turned his eyes from midnight to a striking, vibrant blue, the sort of colour that brought to mind the calving of a glacier, when thousands of years of compacted ice came rolling to the surface through tonnes and tonnes of water. Dangling from his ears were a pair of sapphire gems, carved into jewelled teardrops, and as the sunlight caught them they cast glittering blue shadows over Jeongin’s neck, his jaw. Those intricate chromium bands on his tanned arms had resumed their glaring shine, and with the beautiful blues of his eyes and dress the whole effect was reminiscent of the vast sea Chan had seen as they’d made planetfall. His hair, like Chan’s, was black as ink, but where Chan’s was grown long, Jeongin’s was short — another strange thing he’d had to get used to when he had first left Sedaora Selene I — but not as short as his brothers’ hair. Perhaps he had been growing it out.

He was so very pretty. It was a kick to the teeth every time Chan looked at him. With his twin dimples in both cheeks, his narrow fox eyes, his beautiful smile. Before Chan had left, Minho had jokingly said, If you get there and his holopicture was faked, I think you’re allowed to leave again. But the holophoto had not been faked and in fact, did not do Jeongin justice. He had been serious and stoic in that image, and Chan thought that maybe it was in smiling that he truly came alive.

And he was smiling now, eyes turning to crescents. Chan was glad that Jeongin got the joke, that he could and was willing to— play. Sometimes the members of the elite on his own planet could be so very fussy, so grim and full of their own self-importance. But Jeongin was young, and he seemed sweet, and he was already looking at Chan with a level of expectant trust that was not unusual of an omega in his position, but striking to Chan’s alpha senses all the same.

“You’re very lovely,” Chan said, lower than he’d intended.

“Oh!” Jeongin blushed, petal pink all over the bridge of his nose. He shook his head, but murmured, “Thank you.” Back to being adorably shy.

They turned down a new hallway, this one more shaded, less sunlight, and Chan breathed out an imperceptible sigh of relief. The sharp sun felt like it was burning him even through his clothes, like he’d look down and see it had bleached out his jacket, turned it brittle and crumbling. He could feel the ticklish sensation of sweat trickling down his sides, over his waist.

Jeongin was shooting Chan covert little glances. “You’re very handsome,” he said, barely more than a whisper. The blush was sitting hotter and more vibrant on his face now.

That made Chan laugh, a little. He was slowly melting, as surely as ice in a firepit. He was worried about what he’d see when he finally got in front of a mirror. “Ah, a reciprocal compliment,” he said, still chuckling. “I’ll take it, even if it is given out of pleasant duty.”

Surprisingly, Jeongin didn’t look away, though his shoulders did raise a bit, body swaying as he clenched his hands together. “Even words spoken out of duty are true sometimes,” he said, clearly trying to keep his face blank. His eyes sparked.

Chan laughed again, and Jeongin cracked, smiling as well, though it was still with that heavy edge of shyness. “Sometimes?” Chan teased.

“Mmn,” Jeongin said, nodding. “Sometimes.” He looked down at his own hands, fidgeting with a ring on his finger. Turning it round and round. A pleased little smile lingered on his mouth. “You can call me Jeongin, too. Whenever you want. I don’t mind.”

“Jeongin,” Chan said, trying the name out in his mouth, and didn’t miss the way Jeongin shivered a bit. “Will you tell me a little about your planet, Jeongin? It was very beautiful as we were coming down. Especially that sea.”

“It’s a lake, technically,” Jeongin corrected without any snark — in fact his voice held enthusiasm. “Fresh water. We don’t have any salt water, on our planet. You like the water?”

“I think it’s beautiful, one of the prettiest things in nature,” Chan said honestly. He thought of home, of their choppy black oceans, churning waves with white foam caps. “Though it’s strange to see waters so placid. Our oceans are never still.”

“Do you swim?” Jeongin asked, a question that was very odd to Chan, though he did not show it.

“No, it—” Chan cut himself off, thinking better of what he’d been about to say. The first meeting was not the best time to discuss dark things, and staring into Jeongin’s open, curious face and telling him that drowning damned the soul, that on Selene I, it was considered a cursed way to die— no. A conversation for another time, perhaps. He simply skirted the subject by saying, “Our oceans are too violent, for swimming.”

Jeongin nodded thoughtfully. “I meant indoor swimming, because as I understand it, Selene I is very cold?”

Indoor swimming. What a strange concept. Chan opted to simply answer his question. “It is very cold,” he agreed. Somewhere along the lines, their steps had begun to slow. A meandering pace, without any urgency. “You might struggle with the weather, truth be told.” And the yearly cycles, the bright summer nights, the endless eclipse of winter. And the rigid superstitions, and the intense public scrutiny, and, and, and—

“I’ll adjust,” Jeongin said. A veneer of cheerful pleasantness unable to fully mask the resignation underneath.

Chan opted not to comment on it. He looked back, at Jeongin’s cavalier, who, even now, was closer to them than Sana, who was at least trying to play at giving them privacy. But not Seungmin. He had stuck close to Jeongin this entire time, refusing to leave his side, and Chan did not know if it was a sign of Seungmin not trusting the security protocols or if he was this protective as a rule. “And you?” Chan asked him, speaking to the other man for the first time. Seungmin’s brown eyes turned to him, flat and giving nothing away except an obvious expectation that Chan would elaborate. He did, clarifying, “Will you adjust?”

“I’m sure,” Seungmin said, voice as cold as his gaze. At his side, his dog trotted, her dainty paws making little clicking noises on the stonework flooring.

Jeongin turned a little. “Seungmin,” he muttered.

“I’m sure, your illustrious Highness,” Seungmin corrected, dipping into a caustic, nasal tone. His dislike was strikingly obvious, and Sana slid him a curious, slightly suspicious glance.

Now Jeongin turned to Chan, apology clear on his features. “I’m sorry, he’s—”

“I know,” Chan said wryly. Maker, did he know. “Don’t worry. You’re cousins, yes?”

“Yes,” Jeongin said, a little shaky, a little breathless, like Seungmin’s rudeness had actually flustered him. “On my father’s side.”

The non-royal side. So Seungmin was nobility, but not a prince. “I’m glad you’ve got a familiar face coming with you. A friend,” Chan said. He looked at the dog, padding nearer now. She was a whippy thing, fairly tall but weirdly shaped, thin and alien. “Two friends?”

Jeongin smiled a little, holding his hand out. The dog came forward, quickening her pace, to lick at his fingertips. Chan was not quite so brave as to mimic the motion and invite such attentions. “Two friends,” Jeongin agreed, patting her head. She fell back afterwards, and when Jeongin met Chan’s eyes, there was still something unsure in them. “I know it caused some issues in the negotiations.”

That was certainly a diplomatic way to put it. Seungmin had been something of a sticking point when it came to the marriage arrangements. Omegas did not have cavaliers on Sedaora Selene I; it was completely unheard of, and when Lapsa had insisted that Seungmin was to go with Jeongin when he married out, it had almost caused a full on breakdown of said negotiations. But Chan had not had any other options, the last couple of years of trying to find a suitable omega partner had proven that, and in the end the many Chestvos of the Malkomyt had caved, and now Seungmin would come with them.

“Our planet can be a little— unyielding,” Chan said, privately amused at his own diplomacy. “But you’re an offworlder, and for your comfort, should be given some grace.” It hadn’t bothered Chan, the way it had bothered some of the other Chestvos. Or the tabloids. Little whispered jabs that Lapsa was calling into question Chan’s ability to protect his new spouse. Questions as to the propriety of it all — on Selene I, only alphas could be cavaliers, so when news had hit that the Lapsan prince would be bringing his own cavalier, some unpleasant speculations had been made. But it had died down well enough, once it had been published that Seungmin was both a beta and closely related to Jeongin.

Chan found himself reflecting darkly that even if Seungmin was an alpha, and he hadn’t been Jeongin’s cousin, Chan still wouldn’t have cared. He admitted in the privacy of his own mind that the reason for his— intergalactic mindset on the matter wasn’t due to any progressiveness of opinion, and rather due to— a level of apathy that shamed him.

He’s your fiance, he thought, again, again. You must give him all you can of yourself.

Now, Jeongin was smiling at him, warm and soft and— appreciative. “Thank you,” he said quietly, and Chan swallowed back his shame as best he could, even as he looked into Jeongin’s blue eyes and, for a moment, vividly recalled a different pair of eyes, the colour of a stormy sky, grey and swirling.

Chan blinked, ripping his gaze away. He looked back at Seungmin instead, this dour thing, young but irresistibly reminding Chan of Serene Insuk, in aura if not appearance. His appearance was, Chan could admit, quite pleasant. He was taller than Jeongin and very slim, without the musculature of an alpha. It was possible that it was hidden under his clothing, like it was with Sana, but Chan suspected maybe not. Where Jeongin wore silk, Seungmin was garbed in ecru, very obviously good quality, and perfect for how ridiculously hot it was. He, too, wore a tunic that folded over his chest, two layers that overlapped and were cinched at the waist with a brown sash that in turn was layered over with a belt. The sleeves went down only to his elbows, and the collar lay open on his neck, exposing the hollow of his throat. His tunic fell to mid-thigh, and his legs were clad in pants of the same linen but in a brown that matched his sash and belt. He wore boots, unlike Jeongin, solid things that seemed made for combat. There were no earrings dangling from his ears, no jewellery at all. The single accessory, if it could be called that, was a rapier, affixed to his belt, and he kept a hand on the hilt at all times. A secondary dagger sat tucked into his belt as well.

The one thing about Seungmin that seemed to speak of any kind of frivolity was that his hair had been dyed a golden, honey brown. It fell in soft, floating waves over his forehead. The faintest hint of vanity from someone who had otherwise dressed plainly for even an event such as this. Cousins or not, looking at Seungmin and Jeongin, they could not be more different: Jeongin pretty and obviously naive, and Seungmin, angular-handsome and suspicious of everyone around them.

As Chan perused him, Seungmin’s eyes narrowed. Chan smiled at him, which just made Seungmin glare harder. His free hand was extended slightly, an unconscious movement it seemed, touching fingertips to the dog’s head. Her tongue was lolling, and she did look friendly, Chan supposed. Especially compared to her owner.

“What’s her name?” he asked.

“Dog,” both Jeongin and Seungmin answered in unison.

“That’s— efficient,” Chan said, thrown off a bit. The dog had perked up, ears quirking as her name had been spoken aloud. Her eyes, unusually intelligent, met Chan’s, expectant. He felt oddly obliged to hold his own hand out in invitation. The worst she could do was bite him, he reminded himself as she excitedly darted forward. He gave her head an awkward pat. Downy soft fur provided little padding over a very bony skull. “Soulbound, yes?” he asked, as she licked over his hand. Slimy. Chan pulled it out of reach. “That’s not a practice done on our planet.” It wasn’t really done at all within the Imperium, except among the Taiva’an Federation planets. Chan had only seen it a couple of times before, and both times that had been with birds.

“Truthfully it’s not really something done much here, either,” Jeongin said, because Seungmin was too busy squinting. “Not anymore.”

Chan nodded, and they fell into companionable silence. He was reaching— the end of his tether for small talk, with how physically uncomfortable he was becoming. This palace was never ending, sprawling — their own palace was built up more than out. He was beginning to worry they wouldn’t make it to their rooms before the urge to claw his clothing off would overwhelm him. At the very least he was going to need to pop open the high collar of his jacket soon.

Thankfully, they turned and came into a wider hallway, with large bushels of bright, sweet smelling flowers lined up in huge vases. “This is the guest wing,” Jeongin said, leading Chan to a door with carved wooden veneer. The interior would be metal, for security. “This is your room, and the one next door, your cavalier’s. They’re attached with an internal door. Your guards are welcome to pick any rooms for themselves within this hall. My mother wasn’t sure how many people would come with you, so the entire wing has been prepared.”

Chan glanced along the hall. There were more than enough rooms to accommodate his retinue. “Very kind of her,” he said, though he wondered if it wasn’t more about— showing off, somehow, “thank you.”

Jeongin smiled at him, a polite expression. He seemed a bit awkward now that he was back to playing host. “Enjoy your rest, your things should already be inside waiting for you, if you wish to change.” He glanced, a little curiously, at Chan’s clothes. Which meant he had noticed the way Chan was sweating. Would that he had something less warm to change into, but everything he’d brought was some variation of exactly what he was already wearing. “A servant will come fetch you when it is time for the banquet,” Jeongin said. He hesitated, and then added, “Or do you— want me to stay?”

Chan blinked, momentarily thrown. He wasn’t sure what was being offered. An earnest opening from Jeongin to keep Chan company, to talk? Or something— else. Something he’d been ordered to do, to give. Chan might be from a more— conservative planet, but he knew the ways of the galaxy. It was one of the many reasons he’d been hesitant to broker an arrangement for an offworld omega. The nonchalant ways so many other planets, other royal families, readily and willingly offered their omegas’ bodies as enticement. As if they were nothing more than an amenity. Try our wines, take in the sights, the apples are sweet at this time of year— oh, and here’s one of our prettier omegas, feel free to indulge. No, don’t worry, of course they’re amendable, aren’t you, darling? And timid eyes would meet Chan’s, a short nod of the head. Expected, that Chan would have what was so often considered an alpha’s— appetite. Expected, to accommodate that. Always. Alphas wanted omegas, and omegas existed to give alphas what they wanted. Even if they wanted too much.

Chan had spent years as his planet’s diplomatic ambassador, neatly sidestepping these— gifts. He was smooth and clean at it by now.

There was no guarantee that was what Jeongin had meant. And it didn’t matter the nature of his offer, innocent or not, as Chan wasn’t going to take him up on it. But he would’ve liked to know. He’d hoped, all this time, that Jeongin had been given a choice in this, that when Chan had offered his hand, it had been given to Jeongin as just that: an offer. Had Jeongin been ordered, had he been coerced. Had he been told by his Empress mother, that after the treaty signing he should tend to his new alpha, in whatever means Chan demanded. Chan felt queasy at the idea.

But he couldn’t ask. He couldn’t ask. It was too early. So he just had to hope.

“Thank you,” he said, a little slow, “but we’re going to have a lot of time together in the future.” He felt his face soften. “You should go spend some time with your family.”

Jeongin was smiling a little, shy and pleased. Perhaps his offer had been innocent after all. He didn’t seem unduly relieved by Chan’s refusal, and Chan’s gentleness seemed to have gone a ways with him. His feet shuffled a little, and he lowered his eyes, biting his bottom lip. “As you say,” he said, and then bowed, straight backed, bending at the hips. After that, he scurried off, feet quick and light, and Seungmin followed him at a lope. The dog paused at the end of the hall, looked back at them, and gave a single bark, the sound echoing around the hallway. Then she too vanished around the corner.

Sana regrouped quickest. “Two of you stay stationed outside the Kiirodos' doors, the remaining four of you go and scope out the rooms,” she ordered with authority, and the others quickly moved to obey. She then went to Chan’s door herself, prodding at the keypad beside it so it slid smoothly open. Her intention was likely to sweep it for threats before Chan could go inside, but when the door slid open a wave of cold air came rolling out, and Chan followed her into the room before she could give him the all-clear.

The room was pleasantly bright, with white gauzy curtains in front of tall veranda doors, light and sumptuous bedding, a bowl of fruit on a little circular table, but Chan barely took any of it in. His entire attention had zeroed in on the long, slim vent along one wall, covered in a grill made of russet, intricately carved wood. It could have been rusted iron with slimy algae leaking out for all Chan cared. He made a beeline for it, the door sliding shut behind him as he yanked open his jacket. “Oh, Maker, mercy,” he moaned, letting the frigid air blast him across the face, the sweaty lines of his neck.

“We’re clear in here,” she said, voice a little trembly. When Chan opened his eyes to glance at her, she was also rushing over, nearly popping her buttons off in her haste to undo her own jacket. “Kriff,” she said, stopping next to him. Her arms flailed as she fully shed her jacket, flinging it onto the floor without checking where it landed. Underneath she was wearing a loose, scooped-neck shirt. Linen, Chan thought, and glared at the shirt in envy. “Take that off,” she said, jabbing at his shoulder as she craned her head, letting the cold air wash over the damp hairs at the base of her skull. “I can’t stand looking at you in it.”

She had seen him shirtless before, and was as good as a sister to him and an alpha besides, so he took his jacket off. He even popped open the top two buttons of the black chiffon shirt underneath, opening up the standing collar so the hollow of his throat was exposed. There was sweat pooling even there.

“I accounted for the heat, but not this humidity,” he said, feeling lightheaded now that he was rapidly cooling off. He was thirsty. He hadn’t realised until now just how thirsty he was. He wanted to pick up one of those apples and suck it dry like some kind of insect with a proboscis, but he also didn’t want to move away from the vent yet.

Sana kicked absently at her jacket, crumpled on the floor by her feet. “I’m not putting that back on,” she said, stubborn, and when Chan gawped at her, repeated, “I’m not.”

“Sana,” he said, vaguely scandalised. “That shirt shows your collarbones.”

“And no one on this planet cares,” she shot back. “Your intended was practically naked. I thought Chanwoo’s face was going to catch fire, he was so mortified at seeing your future consort in such a state of dress.”

It would have been an impossible request, for those among his party to not have noticed the way Jeongin was dressed. But the spoken acknowledgement of it, and Sana’s further point of it being the way of things on this planet, made Chan feel a sort of mortification. He rubbed a hand over his tacky-dry face, reminding himself that he’d known the costs of marrying an offworld omega. It was pointless and also not his place to get possessive, or embarrassed, because other alphas had seen his omega’s body. There was no shame in it.

When he said nothing, Sana said, with an unusual kind of tentativeness, “He is very pretty. Your new fiance.” Chan dropped his hand and looked at her. She wasn’t smiling. Her face was set into serious lines, gaze level and unwavering but— alert. Maybe wary. “He seems sweet too.”

Chan smiled, but there was no joy. Lips pressed together, the edges curled up. It was a grim thing. “He is, he does,” he agreed. “Well bred and lovely.”

Lucky, his uncle, the Dityodos of Selene I, had said. And Chan’s Yma too, sighing in relief when he’d told her he’d finally struck a match. A better end result than they’d been able to hope for, after so much time desperately searching. Chan had waited too long to begin looking, had put it off as if the rest of his planet would put everything on pause too. What had he been thinking, his family had wondered, and the tabloids too. Chan had not been able to give a real answer. I’m just not ready yet, he’d said over and over, until he could say it no longer.

“A good match,” Chan said, echoing his uncle’s words with wry self-deprecation. Again, dark grey eyes flashed through his mind, the ghost of a fizzy citrus smell lingering at the back of his throat. “As good a match as I could ever hope for.”

——

The celebration for the signing of the treaty was a lavish affair, held in the large east wing courtyard, around the back of the palace. There was a grand ballroom back here, with glass doors all down the length of it, and these had been thrown open so that the crowd could spill out onto the rear courtyard, a beautiful wide-open space paved with stonework that eventually stopped in favour of the manicured lawns that Seungmin hated beyond words. At the edge of where stone met grass, two giant kapok trees sat, their bark smooth and papery, trunks thicker than the palace’s columns, buttress roots wide and sprawling. Moss and vines draped from the branches, and tonight they were joined by strings of tiny glow bulbs, giving off a yellowish flickering light, as if the canopies were full of thousands of candles.

There had been a meal, earlier, in a different ballroom, smaller but still with the doors open to let in the breeze, cooled by the setting of the sun. Only the most illustrious guests had been invited to that portion of the evening. As was usual at these events, the head table had been the royal family, with their guest of honour seated with them, Jeongin and Chan side by side; and then the guests, split up onto circular tables according to a very carefully curated seating plan. Jeongin’s royal mother enjoyed feeling every cubit of her own self-importance, the prideful distinction of setting herself apart from all those below her.

Seungmin, for his part, had stood against the wall with the other cavaliers, as he always did at these things, and watched as everyone worked their way through courses of the very best food this planet had to offer. Lapsa had ample fertile farmland, and more than enough fresh water to accommodate it. They did not export much, being so far out in the mid-rim and with few Empire established trade routes, but that did not mean there was no lushness to be had here. They raised beasts large and small, in addition to any crop capable of tolerating the humidity, and then a great many that could not were raised in greenhouses the size of small cities. Food on their planet was a commodity no one lacked, and the portions and extravagance at the banquet reflected that.

Seungmin knew that Sedaora Selene I was a planet largely covered by water, with very little by way of land. They imported much of their food, and meat that was not fish was slightly harder to come by, he’d read. If he needed to pay for it to be imported for Dog, then so be it.

She stood by his side now, Dog, the two of them staring out over the crowd from their vantage point at the periphery of the courtyard. There was a live band playing inside the ballroom behind them, musicians playing a large variety of instruments, the notes carrying outside. People danced, smooth steps and swishing skirts, bedazzled fabrics catching the lights from the twinkling trees. Servants moved smoothly among the masses, darting to and fro like fish, carrying fizzy champagne and small, bite sized morsels. Seungmin hadn’t caught a proper glimpse of any of the snacks, but he was keenly aware of the food. Dog could smell it, and she was hungry. He was hungry. They’d only be able to eat later tonight, in the privacy of his room. Usual, for these events, but harder for her to swallow than him. Her attention was drifting a little, and their hunger looped between them, layering upon itself until he began to feel uncharitably irritable.

A servant swooped close, offering a tray to Jeongin and Chan, standing nearby. Seungmin watched the interaction carefully, kept sharp attention on the servant’s hands; they’d brought in extra help for the party, outsiders. But Jeongin merely shook his head, and the servant left them be, and Seungmin relaxed again, as best he could. Later, the press would likely call this the spectacle of the year. People on the HoloNet had been gossiping about the upcoming event for days, gleeful envy seeping through the pixels on his screen. And then here was Seungmin, obligated to attend and only begrudgingly tolerating every single minute of it.

He’d always hated things like this. As he’d grown older, his parents had started to despair of him a little bit, especially after he’d become Jeongin’s cavalier — they had come under the impression that he was anti-social, unfriendly, bad with people. Your sister has so many friends, she’s so popular with the other noble families, you only ever talk to Jeongin. He’d never bothered explaining to them that it was not that he was bad with people. It was simply that he hated the kind of people they wanted him to interact with.

Even just looking at them now, dancing in their pairs, donned in silks and lace, feathers and jewels, filled him with a sense of— disdain. It was not exactly a feeling that he was proud of. He knew Yoon, especially, would not believe this of him, but he didn’t really enjoy feeling superior to the people around him. It wasn’t even as though he truly believed himself to be so. He knew there were people at this gathering who were— as smart as he was, as capable and competent as he was.

But the frivolity— he could not wrap his head around it. He had never understood it, not even as a child. The colours, the jewellery, the elaborate and ostentatious shows of wealth. The raucous edge of something nearing debauchery, as every empty glass was immediately whisked away and replaced with a full one, accepted without care or thought to the person that had bestowed it. As if servility was their due, as if a world in which their reaching, empty hands were not immediately plied with rewards was utterly unthinkable.

Seungmin had rejected this lifestyle years ago. He would be leaving Lapsa with very little in that regard.

Jeongin probably could not say the same. He was more suited for this planet, the warm air, the people, the culture. A boy made to be dressed in silks and beautiful colours. He was still wearing his outfit from earlier in the day, the bright blue silk, and in the floating lights around them, his chromium arm bands shone with little flashes of silver in Seungmin’s vision. He looked stunning — the Prince of Selene I certainly seemed to think so, with the close attention he had been paying whenever Jeongin spoke.

Chan had stripped out of his jacket as the night progressed, clearly done in by the temperature. This late at night, with the sun finally set, the air was pleasantly cool to Seungmin’s skin, but to Chan this was obviously not the case. Considering how he had sweated earlier outside the council room, Seungmin was mostly just surprised that it had taken him this long to snap and remove the ridiculous outer layer.

His cavalier was currently dressed in a lovely linen shirt with a scoop neck. When she’d first arrived, she’d been wearing a high-collared jacket as well, but where Chan’s had been cropped, hers had gone all the way down to her hips. She’d clearly shed it and left it in her room before coming out tonight, not bothering with whatever propriety Chan had been trying to cling to. Sensible of her, Seungmin thought. She stood silently a short distance away, at attention the same way he was, her shortsword belted at her side. A close combat weapon. The bun on top of her head was tight and tidy, severe. If this damned marriage went ahead, then Seungmin would have to spend a lot of time with her, and usually he wasn’t impressed by alpha strength, not in that way, at least, but the lack of obvious muscle on her unnerved him. She intimidated him, just a bit.

Chan however was built more along traditional alpha lines. Under his jacket he was wearing a black shirt, a chiffon material that was still somehow thicker than the chiffon Seungmin usually saw. It was thin enough, though, to see the play of muscle in his back as he moved, shifting to lean closer to hear something that Jeongin was saying over the music. His shoulders were very broad indeed, not just a trick of the cut of his jacket, and earlier, when he’d stood and turned to motion for Sana, the outline of the swell of his chest had been obvious. So, too, had been the generous curve of his ass. His pants were not cut tight, but that didn’t seem to matter, not when he had the ass of a man well used to training and fighting with swords. Seungmin was not sure any pants could disguise that.

Jeongin was clearly not immune to the sight of him, either, to the physical appeal of the man. The two of them had spent so much time at this point discussing his future husband — first as children, slightly naive as to what it meant for Jeongin to be married, spinning tales of handsome alpha princes; then as teenagers, once that reality had set in, and Jeongin’s daydreaming had turned more to fervent hopes that his future spouse be at least relatively young. Chan, then, who was both young and handsome was like a dream come true.

Seungmin didn’t care. Even as a child, five years old and hearing for the first time that Jeongin would, one day, marry an offworld alpha and be sent to live with them, he had been struck by the sheer injustice of it. That had never changed, and he had become Jeongin’s cavalier in part so that they would never be parted. The fact that Chan’s planet had tried to deny him his right to follow Jeongin wherever he went rankled, and he had no doubt that the alpha in front of him had played a part in that. They did not want him there, and he did not want to be going there. He did not want Jeongin to be going there, more than anything.

Chan pointed across the courtyard, and said something to Jeongin, still leaned in close. Jeongin looked at him with bright eyes, smiling with both dimples showing lovely in his cheeks. Chan’s biceps were roughly the size of Jeongin’s head. Seungmin noted this, along with the way Chan’s ass stood out at this particular angle, and thought, his face set into an impassive blank mask, it is such a shame that this prince is exactly my fucking type.

There was someone coming up on his right hand side. He glanced in that direction, most of his attention on Jeongin, and saw that it was Dongchul, sidling up to him. Speaking of his own unfortunate tastes. The entire palace guard had been made to come out for this, all of them dressed not in their usual casual uniforms but instead the heavier, fancier outfits that usually only came out at official ceremonies. They looked uncomfortable, Seungmin had always thought.

Dongchul came to a stop next to him, almost side-by-side, but turned more in Seungmin’s direction, as if he had something to tell him. Seungmin would have thought there was some kind of security issue, or something strange going on, but if there was, they weren’t going to send Dongchul, who was not important enough for that kind of thing.

Sure enough, when Dongchul actually spoke, it wasn’t to say anything of importance. It was to say, “Seungmin, it’s been a while.”

“Yes,” said Seungmin shortly.

It had been a while; almost on purpose it had been a while. Seungmin had been plenty busy over the last few weeks, trying to arrange everything for Jeongin’s, and his, departure off planet, but that was just part of his excuse for why he had been dodging Dongchul’s comms. Mostly he’d been hoping that the low-level ghosting would do the job for him, but that was the problem with the kind of alphas Seungmin tended to like — they could be persistent.

They were also, unfortunately, usually not all that intelligent, as Dongchul proved by following up with, “It’s been weeks since we were last able to talk, and you’re leaving tomorrow morning. I’ll come to your rooms after this wraps up, shall I? So I can say goodbye properly?”

The euphemism was clear. And this— pissed Seungmin off, honestly. Bad enough that Dongchul apparently couldn’t take a very clear hint, but to do this here, when Seungmin was on duty, when they were both on duty, and Jeongin was standing a few feet away talking to his stupidly handsome husband-to-be? He was extremely aware of Sana, too, standing next to them, not close enough to hear the conversation but close enough to know that something was going on. She was shooting them sideways, concerned looks.

Dongchul was just looking at him hopefully. The audacity of this man. You let an alpha come in your ass three or four times, Seungmin thought viciously, and they think you’re boyfriends suddenly.

“No,” he said, shortly and sharply. “I don’t think that’s necessary, do you?”

Even that didn’t seem to quite filter through to Dongchul who said, “What? Seungmin, I meant—”

“I am aware,” Seungmin said, still in that clipped tone. “I know perfectly well what you meant. My answer is no.” Dongchul’s face fell, his expression one of dismay and growing upset. Seungmin had done this enough times, although usually nicer than this, to know that the growing upset was likely to turn into bitter anger before long, and he was not interested in causing a scene here. So he said, pointedly, “Aren’t you supposed to be on duty, as I am?”

Dongchul spluttered for a long moment, staring at him, before he got the message, finally. The final nail in the coffin of his professionalism was that he turned after it all sunk and practically stamped off, back to wherever he was presumably supposed to be on duty. Seungmin didn’t bother to watch him go, other than to make sure he did go. He turned his attention back fully to Jeongin instead, who was pointing out someone in the crowd of dancers to Chan.

He breathed in through his nose and then out, carefully and slowly, through his mouth. Sana leaned over, doing the same thing he was doing — speaking without taking her eyes off Chan. “Is everything okay?” she asked, very serious. “Is there anything to worry about?”

How embarrassing. How deeply humiliating, to have had this happen in front of Sana, an alpha cavalier from a planet of alpha cavaliers. He was going with Jeongin to a place where he would be constantly looked down upon, and Dongchul wasn’t helping him get off to a good start.

“Nothing,” he said, working to keep his voice calm and polite. Nothing clipped there, nothing that could offend her. The kind of voice he used when he talked to the kitchen staff about Jeongin’s meals, or to the staff arranging for Jeongin’s care. Jeongin said that when Seungmin spoke like this, he sounded like the noble gentleman he actually was.

How do I normally sound? Seungmin had asked, amused at the idea that he might sound like one of the common people in the city curved around the far side of the lake.

Bossy, Jeongin had said.

“It didn’t seem like nothing,” Sana said, still in an undertone. She didn’t sound like she disbelieved him, but perhaps like she thought he was under-exaggerating. Seungmin recognised the tone because he used it often. People liked to overlook Jeongin’s safety a little bit.

“It is nothing,” Seungmin said. “He is— an acquaintance. He wished to say goodbye, that is all. Too stupid to understand time and place.”

For the first time, she took her eyes off Chan, very briefly, to look at him, her eyebrows raised. Whatever she saw on his face in the moment that she was looking at him made her snort. It was, somehow, an elegant sound on her. “For even just an acquaintance, you don’t sound like you like him very much,” she said.

Seungmin hadn’t liked him very much. He had never liked any of his lovers all that much, not in the way he knew people would usually like a person that they took to bed. Their personalities had never suited him, although he didn’t really know what kind of personality would suit him. It had been only about the physical for him, a physical type that he wanted: muscular, almost always male-presenting, and, if he could swing it, taller than he was. But like had never come into the equation, and he sometimes thought he was lucky if he could merely tolerate the other person. He’d gone to bed with a couple of people he’d almost actively disdained.

He couldn’t explain any of that to Sana. Instead he said, “I don’t appreciate people interrupting my work, that's all.”

The words again came out polite, not as blunt as he could have delivered them, and Sana nodded, seemingly satisfied. She turned her full attention back to Chan, who had accepted a couple of drinks off a passing tray, long-stemmed flutes of bubbling champagne. He handed one of these to Jeongin, who took it with that shy, ducking-head smile that he had been giving Chan ever since the throne room.

As much as Jeongin liked to pretend otherwise, he was simply too sweet for this world he was born into. Too sweet, certainly, for the world he was probably about to step into. Seungmin had done enough research on Selene I to already get an uneasy sense of that. He was too naive, too eager to please; his kriffing mother had seen to that with all of her withheld affection and ridiculous teachings.

This was why Seungmin had insisted on going with him, why Seungmin had decided all those years ago to become Jeongin’s protector. He looked at Jeongin’s pink, pleased face now and thought, viciously and certain of himself, I will not let any harm come to you so long as I live. An old, never weakened promise to himself.

——

It was not particularly early the next morning when Jeongin made his way downstairs for breakfast, but earlier than anyone would have liked after a celebration that had gone on late into the night. His eyes watered with the effort of not yawning in front of the servants, walking past the maids cleaning the shiny marble flooring of the hallways and murmuring a greeting to them. They did not do much more than bob their heads in a quick bow, all of them too busy to take that much notice of him this morning.

It was a warm day, warmer than it had been this time yesterday. If it weren’t for the nerves pulsing around his body, Jeongin might have been properly drooping, done in by the heat and his tiredness. But he was not tired, not really; not when his body felt so unbearably alert.

Breakfast had been planned in the small breakfast room, which was in the lakeside wing of the palace, away from where their guests were being hosted. The small breakfast room contrasted with what was referred to as just the breakfast room, a larger space a couple of hallways away that held enough space for the family, guests, and cavaliers alike. This room, however, was used far less often than the small one.

It had, a little embarrassingly, taken Jeongin until he was about ten to realise that most people did not have different dining rooms in their house for each meal that could be partaken of. Up until that point, he had only ever dined at home, or at Seungmin’s house, where they also had something called the breakfast room and the formal dining room. This, Jeongin assumed, was the case for all families.

Not so, in the slightest. He’d asked his tutor, eventually, why none of his filmbooks ever depicted such things, and been ridiculed for it quite roundly. He did not see how he could have known, but he’d learned to do his own research into things to do with the world outside the palace before he opened his mouth.

The small breakfast room was, as the room suggested, small. A square room with walls the same sandstone as the rest of the palace, with the same folding screen doors along one wall, which, when opened, went straight out onto the grass that Seungmin disdained. There was room enough here for a round dining table with chairs for each family member, and a servant unobtrusively in the corner waiting to be summoned, and not much else. There was not even room for the cavaliers, either against the wall or at the table itself; they were obliged to eat elsewhere on mornings the family dined in the small breakfast room.

The round table meant, ostensibly, that they could all look at each other and take part in the conversation. In reality it had always seemed to create a panopticon effect, where Jeongin was always aware, every moment, that his mother could see him. His behaviour had never been so impeccable as when they were dining in this room. Jeongin envied Seungmin his escape every time.

He wished Seungmin was with him right now.

The current conversation was on the ships that were set to arrive from Selene I the week after Jeongin left, and it had been the talk of the table for most of breakfast. His eldest brother had reported the news, his mother had expressed mild outrage that they would only be receiving two initially, with the remaining to be delivered next month. That had always been the deal, as far as Jeongin knew, and it had always caused this same outrage in her.

“They have had months to prepare in advance,” she was saying, as Jeongin pushed his food around his plate, every so often taking a bite of his scrambled gull’s eggs and trying to not gag over them. “It is simply ridiculous that they cannot deliver on their end of the bargain immediately. How long could it possibly take to build these ships?”

Jeongin knew, because Seungmin had researched it the first time she had asked that question, all those months ago. He had never told his mother the answer, because she didn’t want to actually know, and probably wouldn’t believe it anyway — the scale of the operation would mean nothing to her, when all she wanted was what she had been promised.

Because this was a well-worn conversation, nobody answered her. His father said, very mildly, “The food today is quite delicious.”

Jeongin wished that he could agree, wished that he could make himself eat. He was not quite sure why he was so nervous suddenly, when last night he had felt nothing more than a kind of odd excitement. The night had not felt real, perhaps, with the party of glittering outfits, flowing alcohol, his new fiance — fiance! — by his side the entire night. This felt more real. A breakfast with his family, the last one he would probably ever have. Terrifying, and thrilling, but mostly just— nerve wracking.

Yoon yawned as he speared a spiced sausage, not even bothering to cover it up with a hand, loud and obnoxious. “You know,” he said, turning his fork back and forth like he was admiring the sausage as a piece of art, “I heard on Selene I, they don’t even have meat. This might be the last time you even have sausages, Jeongin.”

“They have some meat,” Jeongin said quietly. Him and Seungmin had seen that, during their research of the planet Jeongin was set to be married off to. Not much grazing ground on Selene I, not when most of the available land was dedicated to actually housing people or to other, more pressing endeavours. It had caused a mild flurry of panic in the two of them, about what to do about Dog, until they had discovered that meat could and would be imported.

Yoon, however, pretended like he hadn’t heard Jeongin at all. “No more meat,” he said, still slumped over the table and looking at the sausage. “They only have stuff like octopus and clams there. You’re going to be eating seaweed for the rest of your life, Jeongin.” He shuddered. It was not the delicate shudder their mother would have preferred from her omega children. This was very much meant.

That shudder held Jeongin’s tongue, as did the— note of fascinated horror in Yoon’s voice. He’d spoken with that tone a lot these last few months, whenever the reality of Jeongin’s engagement seemed to really be sinking into him.

Jeongin and Yoon had always gotten along in a manner of speaking, muddling along as best as they could, united in their future omega-ness and shared amusement at their eldest brother’s pompous nature. But Yoon had never quite come around to Seungmin, and Jeongin had often found Yoon a little too headstrong, a little too prone to doing things without contemplating consequences just because he wanted his way.

Now, though, sitting at this breakfast table, listening to Yoon talk like this, it all just washed off Jeongin. It was not the work of just this morning but instead the work of weeks and weeks of seeing the reality of his own situation come down heavy on Yoon’s head; this deep well of empathy in Jeongin, almost bottomless it seemed, had come about only because he knew, now, that Yoon knew the same fate awaited him.

When Yoon bemoaned the lack of meat in Jeongin’s future, the endless plates of seaweed salad that awaited him, it was almost a form of self-soothing. A boy wanting desperately to think that the same would not happen to him. However bad things may be, he could tell himself, at least he would have sausages that weren’t made of fish paste.

“Stop slumping, Yoon,” their mother snapped.

Yoon straightened up like she’d hit him with a stungun. That, too, had been happening more often recently — their mother actually paying attention to him, in whatever absent way. Her focus for so, so many years had been to get Jeongin married off, and now that was done, her work complete. Yoon remained.

As awful as this whole situation was, Jeongin was somewhat glad that he was not going to be around to see the fallout of what happened once his mother dedicated her time to the project that was Yoon. Nobody had ever been able to tell Yoon what he could or could not do, and Jeongin was not sure their mother would manage it either. It was sure to be an explosive attempt, at the very least.

There was silence around the table for a few moments, only the sound of their father’s fork scraping against his plate. Then Jungwon said, “Father, I agree, the food is delicious today.”

Yoon said, sulky and sullen, “That’s because you’re hungover.”

Their brother glared at Yoon but otherwise did not give him a reaction. His wife, sitting next to him at the table, ate silently, the way she always did at family meals, as if she was avoiding bringing her mother-in-law’s attention onto her. The daughter of a particularly high-ranking noble family, she had been hand-selected by their mother to be the spouse of the Crown Prince, and had spent the four years of the marriage thus far being unobtrusive and out of the way. She seemed to avoid her husband mostly too, which probably explained why it had taken so long for her to fall pregnant.

It was not what Jeongin wanted for himself, two people bound by law, barely liking each other, who existed like starships silently drifting past one another in the cold, twinkling vacuum of space. He thought, hopefully and with more optimism than the situation perhaps deserved, that he was going to get more than that from Chan, who had seemed friendly, and interested in Jeongin in turn.

Throughout the party last night, Chan had paid him close attention. Closer attention than Jeongin had really expected, or known how to handle — all that warm focus on every word from Jeongin’s mouth, leaning in closer to hear him over the sound of the music. Chan had not left his side the entire night, and the conversation had been easy, flowing with very few awkward places. Perhaps it had helped that Chan had been full of questions about Jeongin’s planet, the culture and traditions.

And all your dances are like this, he had said, looking at the whirling couples out on the floor, all combination of designations and genders. He had sounded genuinely curious, but also like someone resigned to a reality that he was decidedly not comfortable with. Jeongin hadn’t been sure what to make of that, because it was just normal dancing, a very basic waltz, but Chan had watched it all with a slight frown on his face.

“Basically, yes,” Jeongin had said, not sure what to make of Chan’s mood. “This is quite formal dancing, though.”

“Formal,” Chan had repeated. He had looked at Jeongin then, and smiled, the frown breaking into something sheepish; he was so handsome when he smiled that Jeongin almost couldn’t believe that this was to be his husband. “The dances on my homeplanet are very different to the rest of the Imperium,” he had said. “It always takes— some getting used to.”

Jeongin hadn’t asked what the dances were like on Chan’s planet, because he was slightly ashamed to not only not know them, but to have not realised they were different at all. The few parties he had attended offworld had been much like this, although this was— a spectacle in a way that he sometimes thought only his mother knew how. It hurt his eyes, sometimes, and certainly hurt his ears, and he had been glad when the party wrapped up and Seungmin had returned him to his rooms.

There was none of that sound now, as the quiet breakfast wrapped up, only his father speaking every so often about the plans for the day after they saw Jeongin off. He made it sound as though he was merely going on a trip, like he was visiting a friend on another continent — not that Jeongin had other friends. The only person he had was Seungmin, who never let him step out of his bedroom unaccompanied. But every time his father said it, after we see Jeongin off, Jeongin’s stomach dropped to somewhere in the vicinity of the basement guard barracks, and by the time his mother said, “It is time now,” Jeongin had not managed more than a few mouthfuls of food.

It was Yoon who left first, bolting up from his seat almost before their mother had fully finished her sentence. He moved so fast his chair almost toppled back after him, and only the reflexes of their older brother stopped it from hitting the ground. “Yoon!” he shouted, at the door that was slowly sliding back shut after Yoon’s disappearing act. He got to his feet as if he wanted to run after Yoon to scold him — it’s his favourite pastime, Yoon had complained once — and then seemed to remember his pregnant wife.

He came back to the table to help her up without really touching her, neither of them exchanging a single word in the process. Jeongin’s father finished off his caf and set it down on the table before he too rose to his feet. The air around him was that of a man who planned to spend his day working on his crossword in the library. Jeongin had never felt so keenly that ongoing sensation that his father forgot about his children most of the time.

His mother, on the other hand, said, “Jeongin. I would like a word with you, before we leave.”

Jeongin had not moved. He had not yet been able to get his feet to push himself upright. So he remained seated, waiting as everyone left the room, and the door slid shut behind them, and it was just him and his mother sitting at this round table where she had always been able to see his every move.

He wondered what she was seeing on his face now, as she observed him in silence. She never slumped, like Yoon did — her posture was perfectly straight, and Jeongin worked to mimic her, to match her energy however much he could, although he knew it was impossible. He could work for his entire life to be as composed and self-assured as his mother was, and never even come close. It was an impossibility for him.

Eventually she said, “You’ve taken quite well to your new handsome fiance, I can see.” Jeongin held very still; there was embarrassment there, to know that it was obvious. “But don’t forget what I’ve told you. Keep your legs closed until after the wedding. Don’t be coaxed into obscenity by his charm or looks. He won’t respect you if you comport yourself like a whore.”

An old lesson, one she had first imparted on him right around when he was Yoon’s age, just starting to go through his primary puberty, before he had fully presented. At the time he had barely understood what she was telling him, and even now, sometimes, the nuances of it all left him fearful of tripping up somehow. But there was at least something concrete here — keep your legs closed. He was very capable of that, no matter how handsome an alpha was.

He nodded and said, quietly, “Of course, mother.”

She scrutinised him for a few moments longer, expression totally unreadable. He was an ongoing source of disappointment for her, he knew; she had made no secret of the matter, and had told him more than once that if he had been prettier, more like an omega should be, she may have been able to get a better husband for him. But he was just himself, sharp and angular, tall and clumsy, and so she’d had to settle for the second prince of Sedaora Selene I.

She sighed, and said, “I did my best. At least I can say that I did my best.”

She stood, somehow without her chair scraping on the tiled floor beneath her, and then left the room without another glance at him. In her aftermath, Jeongin sat still and nauseous, before he, finally, managed to get his feet to work enough that he stood, shaky and jittery, and he was able to leave the room for the final time.

There were many thoughts like that as he made his way to the front entrance of the palace — the last time he would walk past the door to his father’s library, the last time he would pass that vase, the last time he would nod his head to the maids cleaning the marble flooring in the hallway. All of it— detached, not quite real, until eventually he was in the entrance and Seungmin was there, waiting for him, Dog by his side. There was a sense of mild chaos around everything, much more than even yesterday, but Seungmin stood in the middle of it all without moving, looking at Jeongin with that same expression he always had — steady and reliable, a rock for Jeongin to rest against that would not be budged. Even just seeing Seungmin there made some of the sickness ease.

Whatever was showing on his face, Seungmin didn’t comment. Instead, he said, “Prince Chan left early for the docks to oversee the preparation for our departure.” Jeongin swallowed and nodded. “Come. Our speeder is ready.”

The journey to the dock was short and silent, Seungmin not feeling the need to interrupt Jeongin’s thoughts apparently. Dog sat with her head against Jeongin’s knee, and every so often she would make the quietest woof noise, a rumble in her throat, as if to remind him that she was there. Jeongin watched the scenery through the window, the sunlight shining bright and blinding off the lake, and let his fingers scratch between Dog’s ears.

Whatever preparations Chan had come to oversee were finishing up by the time the Royal party arrived on the docks. Jeongin’s belongings had been packed up and sent over early in the morning, before anyone who had been at the party last night had even woken up, and now, as he climbed out of the speeder after Seungmin and Dog, it was to the sight of Chan and Sana standing at the gangway up to the ship, two guards behind them in turn.

Chan bowed to them all, Jeongin’s planet’s custom again, and once again was painfully perfect with it. “Greetings to Her Excellency,” he said, voice loud and strong, and Jeongin’s mother inclined her head again. If Chan had left early, he must not have had much sleep, but it didn’t seem to be showing on his face. He was sweating again, dressed this morning in another outfit that seemed like maybe it had been made for warm weather and was not doing any kind of good job against the weather they actually had, which was hot. It was not even close to the hottest point of the day, either, but then they would be long away before then.

Jeongin swallowed down the renewed nausea.

Chan turned to Jeongin then. He smiled, the same way he had been doing every time he looked at Jeongin; if Jeongin wasn’t careful, like his mother had warned him to be, that smile would trip him up. “Greetings to Prince Jeongin,” Chan said, and bowed again.

Jeongin bowed too, his own greeting far less loud, perhaps a little tremulous, even, although nobody commented on it. When he straightened, it was to the sight of Chan holding out a hand, covered in a mesh glove today. Through the thin fabric, the intricate lines of a tattoo were visible on his palm. Jeongin stepped forward, and took that hand, Chan’s fingers closing strong around his. And then it was just another step before he was standing at Chan’s side and looking, now, at his family gathered in front of him.

Perhaps it would have been worse if there had been any sense of loss about it, for them, if he had been standing here with his eldest brother wishing him the best, his father bravely holding back tears. If his mother showed any sign that she might miss him. Maybe that would have been worse, but maybe not, because then Jeongin might have felt better about his own sense of loss, of displacement, if he had seen any of it reflected back in their faces. Perhaps it was not better to be the only fool among a crowd.

As it was, what looked back at him was— blankness. Jungwon and his wife looking into the distance as if afraid they might look at each other, his father looking up at the ship. His mother looking back at Jeongin with a stern expression on her face as if to say remember. The only one who looked affected was Yoon. Jeongin met his eyes, bright blue in his pale-white face, the only one who was looking at Jeongin like something was being lost today.

Even then Jeongin wasn’t sure if what Yoon was losing was Jeongin or just his own carefree innocence.

Was there anything Jeongin could say, in this moment? He spoke to Yoon, only to Yoon. “Goodbye,” he said. Yoon’s mouth murmured something back, too quiet for Jeongin to hear. There seemed to be nothing more than that, and when Chan gently tugged, Jeongin let himself be led up to the ship, without looking back once, hearing the long familiar footsteps of Seungmin and Dog behind him.

And then they were on the ship, and the doors slid shut behind them. It was colder on the ship, much colder, the cooling systems working maybe a little too well. Jeongin shivered immediately, goosebumps breaking out up and down his bare arms. The clothes he had packed might not be enough if this was how cold they kept the ship; perhaps he would need to ask to borrow clothing.

Here, too, was mild chaos, but much more contained than back at the palace — chaos was perhaps the wrong word, as it seemed like everyone here knew what their job was, and was executing it perfectly. Chan squeezed Jeongin’s fingers and then said, “Come. There’s a viewing window.”

He led Jeongin through all the people bustling around and to a room where there was, indeed, a viewing window, one that Jeongin had not noticed from any angle outside; perhaps mirrored on the outside, so that one could look out but not see inside. It had a view of the lake, stretching out further than the eye could see, clear and beautiful. Jeongin thought, I wish I had gone swimming in the lake just one more time.

Too late, now, too late for all of it. The ship engines had whirred to proper life and they were lifting up from the ground, so smoothly that if Jeongin was not looking out like this, he might not have even known that they were moving. But they were moving, slow to start, and then faster, the water getting further and further away. Until his former palace home was as big as his thumbnail, the vibrant blue of the lake diminishing around lush green jungles, and then smaller, and smaller still. Disappearing in front of Jeongin’s very eyes.

He reached his hand back, the one that Chan was not still holding. Seungmin’s fingers were there, as always, tangling in his own. Was Seungmin feeling the same sense of loss that Jeongin was? Probably not, Jeongin thought. Seungmin had never seemed to care much for this planet, and had never seemed to have anything tying him here; even his relationship with his family had seemed surface level. So maybe it really was only Jeongin who felt— grief.

The only fool among a crowd indeed.

They all watched in silence as the distance grew, until soon they were no longer looking at the surface of a landscape but were breaching the atmosphere into space itself and were looking, instead, at the vast curve of the planet. The lake, now, was merely a blue dot to Jeongin’s eyes. He was so focused on it that he almost missed that they were already docking onto the hyperdrive ship until the transport ship juddered into the hold and the bay doors started to close off the sight of the planet in front of him.

Sana, standing by Chan’s side, said, much, much too loudly, “Oh thank the Maker we got through all that!” Her voice made Jeongin jump, and when he looked across at her, she was stretching, her arms lifted high above her head, back arched a little bit.

“Sana!” Chan hissed at her.

“Don’t give me that,” she said to him. There was not a hint of that deference that Jeongin had seen in her this entire time, the cavalier silent and careful around her prince. She had dropped her arms and was rolling her shoulders now, easing whatever tension she felt. “I know you’re just as relieved as I am.”

Chan chose not to answer that. Instead he turned to look at Jeongin, who stood feeling lost, and so off-balanced by everything that he was surprised he was still standing upright. Chan was still holding his hand. He squeezed again, a comforting thing, and he said, warm and kind, “Let me show you to your rooms.”

Jeongin, with nothing else to do, could only nod.