Passion: Beyond Ranks

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at [Link]

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Passion - 유우지 | Yuuji (Webcomic)
Relationship: Jeong Taeui/Ilay Riegrow
Characters: Jeong Taeui, Ilay Riegrow, Jeong Jaeui, T&R Squad, Original
Characters, Other Character Tags to Be Added, Jeong Family - Character
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Confident Jeong Taeui,
Nobility, Noble Jeong Taeui, Mercenary/Butler Ilay Riegrow, Taeui fell
first but Ilay fell harder, Bottom Jeong Taeui/Top Ilay Riegrow
Language: English
Series: Part 5 of ILTAE More Stories
Stats: Published: 2026-01-04 Updated: 2026-03-01 Words: 15,124 Chapters:
6/?
 Passion: Beyond Ranks
by Chirisa_Ace

Summary

In a world where social rank decides your worth, your future, and occasionally whether
you’re allowed to breathe, fate wisely stays out of it.

Enter Taeui, who survives purely through stubbornness and an unshakable optimism.
And Ilay, whose curiosity is more hands-on demolition, and an impressive disregard for
consequences.

This is a short story in an alternate universe where our favorite characters' roles are reversed.

Notes
See the end of the work for notes
 Chapter 1: Proposition
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Our story begins in an era when the world was ruled by ranks.

You might be familiar with kingdoms, social status, and roles. Crowns ruled the land, but it
was not always the crown that decided the fate of men. Beneath royalty stood the nobility, an
intricate ladder of dukes, marquesses, counts, and viscounts, each holding land, soldiers, and
influence like coins in a private treasury. Blood determined birth, but wealth decided
survival. A poor noble was a joke whispered behind closed doors, while a rich commoner
was a threat discussed behind fans.

Money? It's also a big thing. The biggest.

Money bought silence.

Money bought loyalty.

Money bought forgiveness when the law failed.

It was an age where titles opened doors, and gold ensured they never closed again.

At the center of this delicate balance stood the Jeong family.

Their estate lay just outside the capital, vast enough to be mistaken for a small town. Stone
walls rose high, not only to defend but to impress. Inside were gardens carefully shaped by
human hands, libraries that smelled of ink and old paper, and halls where nobles gathered,
knowing full well that the marquessate of Jeong carried a weight that rivaled even the
dukedoms.

The Marquess Jeong was a woman born into a lineage, groomed since childhood to command
land and people alike. She was respected not only for her blood but for her sharp mind and
refusal to be ornamental. When she reached marriageable age, the court expected a union that
would strengthen noble alliances.

Instead, she chose a man from the east.

He arrived with no title, no ancestral crest, and no noble upbringing. What he did possess was
wealth that dwarfed half the treasury and trade routes that stretched across seas and deserts.
He dealt in silk, spices, precious metals, and information long before information became
fashionable currency.

Their marriage was a scandal at first.

Then it became an inevitability.

The marquessate gained access to global trade. The merchant gained legitimacy that no
amount of gold could buy. Together, they formed a house so powerful that dukes spoke
carefully in their presence and even royalty listened.

When twins were born into the Jeong household, bells rang across the estate.

Two sons, fraternal twins, but different in fate.

Jeong Jaeui was born first, the heir, and the golden son. From the moment he could walk, it
was clear that fortune favored him. He learned quickly, spoke eloquently, and absorbed
lessons as though knowledge itself sought him out. Tutors praised him openly. Ministers
nodded approvingly. Servants whispered that the gods had been generous.

Jeong Taeui followed only a few minutes later. He grew with an active and optimistic
disposition, warm smiles, and an easy laugh that made people comfortable around him.
Where Jaeui shone under scrutiny, Taeui thrived in the absence of attention.
Their parents tried.

They truly did.

Lessons were shared. Praise was measured. Gifts were given equally. Yet the world was not
blind, and neither were the people who served it. Invitations addressed Jaeui by name and
Taeui by association. Compliments lingered longer on the elder twin. Expectations settled
heavily on one pair of shoulders.

Jaeui carried them without complaint.

And Taeui noticed everything.

He noticed how conversations shifted when Jaeui entered the room. How his brother was
asked about the future, while he was asked about hobbies. How court officials smiled kindly
at him, as though kindness itself were a consolation prize.

There was no hatred between them. No jealousy sharp enough to rot the heart.

Jaeui loved his brother fiercely and openly. He defended him when whispers grew careless
and made space for him when gatherings became overwhelming. Taeui loved Jaeui just as
deeply and never once wished for his brilliance to dim.

But love did not erase reality.

The Jeong family was too large, too powerful, too visible. Danger followed influence like a
shadow that never shortened. Assassins did not always strike kings. Sometimes they struck
sons.
Jaeui was prepared for that life.

Taeui was not sure he wanted it, but he also wanted to ensure his older twin was safe.

At sixteen, Taeui made his decision quietly.

He requested permission to commission a manor in the countryside, far from the Capital’s
noise and politics. Not as a branch estate. Not as a future inheritance. But as his own
residence, built according to his design and funded by his allowance.

His parents were alarmed.

Questions followed. Concerns piled high. What danger would he face alone? What message
would it send? What if people misunderstood?

Taeui answered calmly.

He spoke of space. Of learning who he was without comparison. Of safety found not in
guards, but in distance. He blamed no one. He did not beg. He simply asked.

It took time, but eventually they agreed.

Resources flowed generously. Architects were summoned. Land was purchased. Security
arrangements were made discreetly. If their son insisted on stepping away, then he would not
lack comfort or protection.
It was how they knew how to love.

Jaeui said nothing until the night before Taeui left.

They sat together under lantern light, the air heavy with unspoken things. Finally, Jaeui
reached out and pressed his forehead to his brother’s.

“Live well,” he said softly.

Taeui smiled.

The countryside manor rose stone by stone, shaped by Taeui’s own hand and vision. It stood
apart from legacy and expectation, quiet and deliberate. A place that belonged to him alone.

At sixteen, Jeong Taeui left the Capital not in exile, but by choice.

And the world, busy measuring power in gold and titles, barely noticed.

A year had passed quietly.

Seasons turned over the countryside with little regard for noble affairs. Crops grew, were
harvested, and replanted. Roads became muddied, then dry again. Taeui’s manor settled into
the land as though it had always been there, its presence known but unobtrusive, like a
thoughtful neighbor who never raised his voice.

On a clear morning touched by the scent of baked bread and damp earth, Taeui walked
among the people.
The market sprawled across the village square, its uneven stones worn smooth by generations
of feet. Wooden stalls leaned into one another like old friends, their awnings patched and sun-
faded. Baskets overflowed with root vegetables, apples mottled with red and gold, wheels of
cheese wrapped in cloth. Butchers called out prices while flies hovered lazily in the air.
Somewhere, a bell rang to announce fresh loaves pulled from the oven.

Women bartered with sharp tongues. Children darted between carts, laughing. A man played
a fiddle near the well, his tune cheerful and slightly off-key.

It was life in motion, unpolished and real.

Taeui blended into it easily.

He wore plain clothes dyed in muted colors, the fabric well-made but unremarkable. A loose
robe hid his posture and softened his outline. Nothing about him demanded attention, and that
was the point.

At his side walked a man of similar dress, taller, broader in the shoulders. His movements
were measured, his gaze steady. He spoke little and listened much. Those who passed them
might think him a hired hand or a distant relative.

The sound of voices carried easily in the open square.

“Have you heard?” a fishmonger said, lowering her voice only slightly as she wrapped a
catch in parchment.

“That guild everyone’s been whispering about recently.”

The man beside her snorted.

“Which one. There are too many whispers these days.”

"The top-ranked information guild, called T&R."

That caught Taeui’s attention.

He did not stop walking, but his pace slowed just enough to listen.

“They say something went wrong,” the fishmonger continued.

“A job overseas. In a distant land so hot and dry. Where oils are more abundant than water.”

“A kingdom beyond the southern sea,” another voice chimed in, an older man weighing
grain.

“Middle Eastern lands. Heard their King was ruthless.”

“Rumors say they were betrayed,” a woman said, eyes bright with the thrill of rumor.

“Set up by their own client.”

“That’s what happens when you deal in shadows,” someone muttered.

“Sooner or later, the dark bites back.”

Others disagreed.

“No,” said a young man carrying crates.

“I reckon they would quickly recover and might return the favor. They rose too fast to fall so
easily.”

“Some said they were getting arrogant,” a butcher added.

“Too successful. People like that forget they bleed.”

A laugh rippled through the group.

“Still,” the fishmonger said, shaking her head, “it’s strange. No news was heard from them
again.”

Silence was rarely empty.

Taeui passed the stall, the sounds folding into the larger hum of the market. He kept his
expression neutral, his curiosity carefully contained. Information guilds were not the sort of
topic discussed openly unless something truly unusual had occurred.

A betrayal in a foreign land was no small matter.

His bodyguard glanced at him briefly, a silent question. Taeui shook his head almost
imperceptibly.

They stopped near a stall selling herbs and dried flowers. Taeui examined a bundle of
lavender, inhaling its clean scent. The merchant smiled, unaware of the listener standing
before her.

“Hard times,” she said conversationally.

“Everyone’s nervous. When people who sell secrets stumble, it makes the rest of us wonder
what else is about to fall.”

Taeui offered a polite nod and paid without haggling.

As they moved on, his thoughts lingered on the rumors. A guild that had risen swiftly. A
failure sharp enough to ripple through common conversation. Betrayal abroad meant tangled
politics, and tangled politics had a way of reaching even the quietest corners of the land.

This village was his refuge. His manor stood within its bounds, overlooking fields and
winding roads. He had chosen this place for its distance from intrigue.

Yet intrigue, it seemed, traveled well.

Taeui said nothing as they left the market, the noise fading behind them. His curiosity
remained unspoken, tucked neatly away where it belonged.

Two hours later, the manor gates opened with a quiet authority, the stone steps worn smooth
by careful use rather than age. Ivy clung to the walls, neat and deliberate, as though it had
been invited. Inside, the halls smelled faintly of wood polish, herbs, and the simmering dishes
of a kitchen already busy with preparation. The manor had grown into a small world of its
own, orderly but lived in, shaped by those who dwelt within it.

Evan waited at the entrance, standing with his hands folded and posture exact. His blonde
hair was tied neatly at the nape of his neck, his face calm and composed, the very image of a
proper butler.

“How was your walk, young master?” he asked, voice measured, a slight bow accompanying
the words.

Taeui laughed softly, shaking off his travel robe.

“You pretending to be polite is truly amusing, Evan. Do drop the act and call me by my name
when it's only us.”

Evan allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch.

“As you wish, Taeui,” he replied, though a spark of something like exasperation lingered
behind his calm tone.

“Though I suspect you may yet regret encouraging such familiarity.”

“Regret nothing,” Taeui said, smiling, stepping further into the hall.

The warmth of the manor welcomed him, along with the quiet hum of its household.
Somewhere in the kitchen, Vera and Althea fussed over the day’s meals, their voices rising
and falling in a playful argument about seasoning and timing. In the courtyard, Seong-Gil
moved among the horses with quiet precision, tending to them as though every movement
mattered.

This was the family Taeui had chosen for himself.

Evan, Ryo, Vera, Althea, Vincent, and Seong-Gil were not mere servants. They had all come
from lives that might have been overlooked or discarded. Taeui had met Evan and Ryo at an
orphanage during one of his walks through the nearby village. Despite the age difference,
they had become fast friends. The men had taught him about the streets, the markets, the
ways of ordinary people; the lives that wealth and privilege often ignored. When a fire
threatened the orphanage, Taeui offered them comfort, resources, and shelter. They had
refused gifts, choosing instead to work alongside him, and over time, others had joined the
household.

Vera and Althea had arrived a few months later, taking positions in the kitchen. Vera was
lively and sharp-tongued, Althea calm and methodical. Both had been streetwise children,
their hands skilled at more than just cooking, though no one would guess it from their
cheerful smiles. Seong-Gil, the coachman and stableman, had the quiet endurance of a man
who had lived through hardship, capable of lifting twice his weight and speaking little.
Vincent, the Seneschal, had been trained in proper protocol at the Jeong estate, chosen by
Taeui himself for his loyalty and steady mind.

Ryo followed close behind Taeui, tall and broad-shouldered, silent but attentive. His presence
alone commanded attention without words, and his eyes missed nothing. He had also come
from the orphanage, a quiet giant who had learned strength and patience in equal measure.
Together, he and Evan had taught Taeui the ways of the world that were not taught in drawing
rooms or lecture halls.

Taeui removed the last layer of his travel robe and sank into the sofa, a faint smile playing
across his lips.

“T&R is the talk in town. Any information?”

Vincent, who had come with him from the Jeong estate, stepped closer. He straightened his
coat and inclined his head respectfully.
“I have heard the same rumors, young master. The guild, known for its swift rise and
remarkable efficiency, accepted a contract in a southern kingdom. It appears the client
betrayed them at the final hour. Some say it was a trap from the start.”

“And now?” Taeui asked, fingers tapping lightly against the armrest.

“They are silent,” Vincent replied.

“Likely in hiding. Their names have become known in certain circles, and those who remain
are being sought by those with reason enough to punish them.”

Taeui hummed thoughtfully.

“Very well... Come with me, Ryo.”

Ryo’s brow lifted.

“Where, my lord?”

Taeui’s smile widened.

“I am about to make a questionable decision.”

Evan and Vincent exchanged a glance. Both knew this tone well, the stubborn streak that
refused caution when curiosity demanded action.

Vincent spoke, his voice calm but firm.

“If you are determined, take Evan as well, and let Gil remain close by. Just in case.”

“Very well,” Taeui said, standing.

“Evan, come along then.”

Evan inclined his head, a small smile hidden beneath his composed expression.

The streets of the city had begun to darken, but the pub Taeui sought remained quietly lit,
tucked between two taller buildings. Its sign swayed slightly in the evening breeze, and from
the outside, it appeared no different from any other establishment.

Taeui pushed the door open, the muted warmth of the interior greeting him. A few patrons sat
scattered across the room, their conversations low and mundane, unaware of the figure who
moved among them. Clad in a plain robe that softened his broad shoulders, his dark gray eyes
scanned the room. His skin, a shade darker than most around him, marked him subtly, though
the loose robe and hood kept him unremarkable to casual onlookers.

He approached the counter, where a stout man with a close-cropped beard polished a row of
glasses. Taeui smiled faintly.

“Two measures of the amber fox with a twist of midnight,” he said, his voice calm, almost
musical.

The man froze for a heartbeat, then subtly inclined his head. Without a word, he moved
toward a section of the floorboards that appeared slightly uneven. With a practiced push, a
hidden panel opened, revealing a narrow staircase leading downward.

Taeui followed, Ryo remaining discreetly near the entrance upstairs with Evan. The stairs led
to a hidden room, the air carrying the scent of old wood and candle wax. The room unfolded
like a library caught between eras. Tall shelves lined the walls, overflowing with leather-
bound books. Ornate frames containing maps and sketches hung alongside delicate trinkets.
Expensive candelabras held dozens of lit candles, their flames flickering against the antique
walls and casting dancing shadows across the room.

“Please, make yourself comfortable, my lord,” said a man appearing from a corner, bowing
slightly while gesturing toward a deep red sofa that sat prominently near the center.
Taeui merely smiled and inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“Thank you,” he said lightly, but instead of taking the offered seat, he wandered toward the
shelves. His fingers trailed over the spines, particularly lingering on literature volumes,
flipping through pages as if searching for a familiar scent in the words.

“How may we be of assistance?” the man asked carefully, keeping his distance.

“I wish to speak with a person called Rick,” Taeui said calmly, still skimming through a
thick, worn tome.

The man hesitated. Rick, known in hushed whispers as Crazy Rick, was the leader of the
guild. Young, unpredictable, and dangerous. Few dared approach him, and fewer survived
contact unscathed.

“I am afraid, my lord,” the man said cautiously, “there is no person of such name here.
Perhaps you have come to the wrong guild?”

Taeui hummed softly, his eyes scanning a page with deliberate disinterest.

“I do not suppose he has become a coward after the chaos overseas?” he said lightly, almost
teasing, yet the words carried an unmistakable edge.

The man stiffened. A bead of sweat formed at his temple. He had heard the stories of those
who offended Rick, and the room seemed to chill as if in response. Taeui shivered faintly but
concealed it with a calm tilt of his head.

“Aha… what is this? A young master playing in areas he ought not to tread?”

Rick emerged from the shadows, his silver hair catching the candlelight, contrasting sharply
with his pale skin. Dark silver eyes glinted with amusement and danger. He seated himself on
the opposite sofa, legs crossed with casual authority, while the assistant moved to place a
teapot and delicate cups on the table between them.

Taeui closed the book with a soft thud, then stood, walking slowly toward Rick, his posture
firm, his dark gray eyes steady and unflinching. He did not sit.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Taeui,” he said, extending his hand.

Rick’s gaze flicked to the offered hand. Few dared such familiarity, and most who did were
met with silence or refusal. Yet Rick rose, a foot taller than Taeui, and took the hand in his
own.

“Call me Rick,” he said, letting the handshake settle, though his grip was measured and
cautious.

Taeui’s grip did not falter. He held Rick’s hand firmly, steady, confident. The subtle pressure
made Rick blink in mild surprise.

“I introduced myself by my real name,” Taeui said smoothly, a faint smile playing on his lips,
“and I believe it is polite to respond in kind.”

Rick stared for a moment, then laughed. His voice was rich, slightly amused, carrying both
warning and acknowledgment. Most who sought the guild trembled at the mere mention of
his name, yet here was a man, young and composed, smiling with warmth that did not mask
intent.

Rick held Taeui’s hand a little firmer now, enough to test, but not enough to hurt.

“Then it is Ilay,” Rick said finally.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Ilay,” Taeui replied evenly, maintaining eye contact, still
smiling.

“Likewise,” Rick said, leaning back slightly, the candlelight tracing the lines of his face, a
dangerous amusement flickering in his dark silver eyes.

“It seems, young lord,” Ilay began, his voice smooth, deliberate, “that you have heard
whispers of our deeds. Yet I cannot help but wonder… what emboldens you to seek us, who,
by your own admission, are cowards?”

Taeui’s smile deepened, a faint tilt of his head accompanying it.

“I trust no offense is taken by words so lightly spoken. I am merely inquisitive. Please

understand that I come with naught but pure intentions.”

Ilay’s dark silver eyes glimmered with faint amusement.

“Then, what precisely is it that you seek?”

Taeui stepped closer, letting his gaze meet Ilay’s fully, unwavering, still gentle.

“I would venture an observation,” he said, voice smooth, almost conversational, “that the
recent...incident... has left your guild in a difficult situation. I wonder, is it your wish to linger
in the shadows, hiding?”

Ilay said nothing. A small glint of light in his eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity, yet his
posture remained steady, unyielding.

Taeui’s smile widened just enough to convey intention without pressure.

“I am in need of men, you see. Skilled men. My estate, though serene, requires hands capable
of more than ordinary labor.”

He let his words linger, meaning carefully implied.

Ilay raised an eyebrow, faintly amused but still silent. Taeui’s tone shifted slightly, sharpened
by subtle challenge.

“I presume, given your caliber, you are well aware of who I am, are you not?”

Ilay’s lips curved in the faintest of smiles.

“Indeed. You are the son of one of the wealthiest men in the kingdom. A noble known to
have departed the capital for seclusion in a countryside estate. Rumors abound, though truth
is far less charitable than imagination. Thus, imagine my surprise seeing such a prominent
individual sharing the same air as I.”

Taeui inclined his head, acknowledging the observation, but didn't comment on the last
remark.

“Then you know, by extension, what I am able to do. And thus, my proposition: you and your
men shall fill the empty stations in my estate. You can have resources and protection under
my name, should you choose to accept. What say you?”

Ilay leaned back slightly, the faintest crease of thought crossing his brow. The room fell silent
save for the occasional flicker of candlelight and the soft clink of the tea cups between them.
He measured, considered, and weighed words yet unspoken.

Taeui stepped back slowly, still smiling, the warmth of his expression steady, unhurried.

“I shall leave you time to ponder,” he said, voice soft but carrying authority.
“You have precisely a week to decide. Should you choose, you know which door to knock
upon, but I am quite certain, we'll see each other again, Ilay.”

He inclined his head politely, giving Ilay a warm smile, and turned, his robes brushing softly
against the stone floor.

Ilay remained seated, silent, silver eyes tracking him, a quiet calculation under the pleasant
curve of his smile. Something about the way the young lord spoke his name gave him a
feeling he couldn't quite identify.

***

“How was your outing, Taeui?”

Taeui did not look away from the window.

“Mm,” he hummed thoughtfully.

“The man I met had very pretty hands.”

Vincent blinked once.

Then twice.

“I see,” he said, after a brief pause in which he clearly saw something in his young master’s
future and decided it was none of his concern. He bowed slightly, turned on his heel, and left
without another word.
 Taeui continued to stare at the moon, smiling faintly, head resting in his palm, as though the
night itself had just shared a particularly amusing secret with him.

***

"Evan, please burn all the invitations from the young ladies," Vincent casually said.

"Oh?" Evan commented, his curiosity piqued. He then wondered, and his eyes widened
slightly.

"Oh."

Chapter End Notes

Hello dears!

This will be another very short story. OG characters were used for familiarity.

I can't believe it's quite difficult to use old English, so there might be inaccuracies since
it's a mix of old and modern ways of speech.

Either way, Master Taeui X Servant Ilay, eh? hahaha

I hope y'all like it.

With lots of love,

C.A
 Chapter 2: Lady Eve
Chapter Summary

Whispers bloomed immediately.

“So that is Lord Jeong.”

“I thought he would be older.”

“And his companion. A relative, perhaps?”

“No, no. I have heard he keeps his private life well guarded.”

“Such a beauty, though. How intriguing.”

The western duke spared no expense.

His seaside palace blazed with light, every window glowing like a constellation brought to
earth. Crystal chandeliers hung from ceilings painted with myth and conquest, their
reflections multiplied endlessly across polished marble floors. Music swelled from a full
orchestra, violins and cellos weaving elegance into the air while the scent of perfume, wax,
and fresh flowers lingered in every breath.

It was a Victorian-style affair in spirit and excess. Ladies glided beneath layers of silk and
lace, skirts rustling like waves against the shore. Gentlemen stood resplendent in tailored
coats, jeweled cufflinks catching the light as they bowed and murmured pleasantries. Titles
passed from mouth to mouth like currency. Alliances were hinted at through smiles. Futures
were decided with a glance across the ballroom.
Attendance was not optional.

Royalty arrived first, followed by dukes and marquesses, then the rest of the high nobility, all
bound by custom and expectation. To be absent was to be noticed. To be present was to be
judged.

When the herald’s voice rang out once more, conversation dipped instinctively.

“Lord Taeui Jeong of the Marquessate Jeong,” the herald announced, then paused, letting
the weight of the name settle.

“And Lady Eve.”

Eyes turned.

A young nobleman stepped into the ballroom, tall and poised, dressed in a dark, impeccably
tailored suit befitting his station. His hair was a rich brown, neatly styled, and his complexion
held a warm, sun-kissed tone that suggested leisure rather than labor. Dark gray eyes
surveyed the room calmly, measured and observant. He carried himself with the ease of one
accustomed to attention, yet never demanding it.

Beside him walked a woman who drew breath from the room itself.

Lady Eve moved with practiced grace, her gown flowing like liquid warmth, its color chosen
to complement her skin perfectly. The fabric clung and draped in all the right places, adorned
with delicate embroidery that caught the candlelight with every step. Long, wavy hair framed
her face, glossy and natural in appearance, cascading over bare shoulders adorned with
carefully chosen jewels. Her makeup was exquisite, subtle yet luminous, accentuating eyes
that shone with quiet confidence.
The heels she wore lifted her posture, lending her an elegance that bordered on breathtaking.

Whispers bloomed immediately.

“So that is Lord Jeong.”

“I thought he would be older.”

“And his companion. A relative, perhaps?”

“No, no. I have heard he keeps his private life well guarded.”

“Such a beauty, though. How intriguing.”

The crowd studied them with avid curiosity. Lord Taeui Jeong was known by name, by
reputation, by wealth, but few had truly seen him. His seclusion in the countryside had
rendered him more rumor than presence. Now, seeing him here, composed and dignified,
many found their expectations neatly fulfilled.

Lady Eve, however, unsettled them.

She did not bow too deeply nor avert her gaze. Her smile was soft, almost playful, and her
eyes flicked across the room with an awareness that suggested she understood precisely what
effect she had. More than one nobleman found himself straightening unconsciously. More
than one lady assessed her with narrowed eyes.

Together, they moved into the ballroom, the music swelling to greet them.
And somewhere beneath the glittering chandeliers and polite applause, two men wearing
borrowed faces stepped fully into the lion’s den, the night poised delicately between spectacle
and danger.

Silent heels clicked softly against marble as Lady Eve moved through the crowd.

She drew attention without effort. Conversations thinned, then halted altogether as she
passed, silk whispering with each step. Jaeui Jeong stood near the center of the hall,
surrounded by nobles eager for his favor, their laughter a shade too loud, their smiles
carefully practiced.

He noticed her at once.

Jaeui paused mid-sentence, blinked, and fell silent. For a brief moment, his expression stilled
as though the world had slipped out of alignment. Then, very slowly, the corner of his lips
twitched.

He would know that face anywhere.

The nobles around him noticed his distraction and turned, only to fall quiet themselves. A
few stepped aside without realizing it, creating a clear path as their gazes lingered on Lady
Eve with open fascination.

She stopped before Jaeui and dipped into a flawless curtsy, skirts gathered with elegant
precision.

“Greetings, young master,” she said, her voice soft and carefully tempered, practiced to
perfection.

“I am Lady Eve, of the South.”

Jaeui recovered smoothly, inclining into a gentleman’s bow, his composure settling like a
well-worn coat.

“The pleasure is mine, Lady Eve,” he replied warmly.

“I am Jaeui Jeong. Might I have the honor of this dance?”

Lady Eve lifted her gaze and smiled.

“I would be delighted.”

They took their places upon the dance floor as the music swelled. Jaeui’s hand rested
properly at her waist, guiding her with practiced ease, while Lady Eve followed with a grace
that drew more than a few admiring glances.

As they turned beneath the chandeliers, Jaeui leaned in slightly, his smile unchanged for the
watching crowd.

“Do I truly wish to know what mischief you are about, Taeui?” he murmured.

Lady Eve let out a quiet snicker, carefully disguised as a breathless laugh.

“I merely lost a wager, dear brother.”

Jaeui sighed softly, though his eyes shone with fond amusement.

“You never did know when to retreat.”

They turned again, skirts flaring, shoes gliding in perfect rhythm.

Jaeui’s gaze drifted briefly beyond the dance floor, settling on the tall man standing near the
edge of the room. The man wore a noble’s suit cut sharply to his broad frame, dark brown
hair styled impeccably, his complexion warmly sun-kissed. He looked every inch the
reclusive Lord Taeui Jeong that the rumors described. He was also, unmistakably, far taller
than Taeui had ever been.

The man lifted a glass of wine, his dark gray eyes watching the dancers with subtle intensity.

“And who,” Jaeui asked quietly, “is the gentleman wearing your name so convincingly?”

Lady Eve followed his gaze, lips curling with mischief.

“Ah. That would be my personal butler and assistant. The same fellow who claimed victory
in our little wager.”

Jaeui’s brow lifted slightly.

“Your taste in servants has grown bold.”

Lady Eve laughed softly.

“Bold suits him. And me, I think.” She tilted her head, letting candlelight catch along her
jewels.

“Do I not look rather lovely this evening, brother?”

Jaeui smiled at her, genuine and unguarded.

“Without question. You are the prettiest soul in this hall. I have seen at least three ladies on
the verge of fainting from envy alone.”

“That gladdens my heart,” Lady Eve said lightly.

“I trust you are enjoying yourself,” Jaeui added, guiding her through another turn.

“Immensely.”

As they danced, the crowd watched Lord Taeui Jeong with growing interest, unaware that the
true lord glided across the floor in silk and heels, smiling beneath borrowed beauty. And the
tall man observing them, glass in hand, stood perfectly at ease in a role that was not his own,
his sharp gaze never leaving Lady Eve for long.

The music shifted, slower now, richer in tone, and the dancers did not leave the floor.
Another song began, and Jaeui guided Lady Eve smoothly back into motion, their steps
perfectly aligned as though they had rehearsed together for years.

As they turned, Taeui leaned in again, lowering his voice just enough to be lost beneath the
violins.

“I heard an interesting rumor on my way here,” he said lightly. “That Uncle Chang-in has
been hovering rather close to you of late. Something about the Special Royal Knights Order
and a position within the palace.”

Jaeui did not miss a step. Only his brow twitched faintly.

“So it has reached you as well,” he murmured.

“Yes. He has asked. More than once, I am afraid.”

Taeui hummed, dark eyes thoughtful beneath long lashes. Jaeui was well aware of how his
brother gathered information. The countryside had never dulled Taeui’s reach. Through the
network their father had entrusted to him, news flowed freely into his hands, filtered and
refined. Taeui did not chase knowledge. It came to him.
It was, in its own way, unsettling.

“And?” Taeui asked gently.

“Our parents leave the choice to me,” Jaeui replied.

“Uncle Chang-in is persistent, but I find no great desire to serve the crown. Knowledge is
best kept flexible, not bound by oath.”

A smile curved Lady Eve’s lips.

“Then you need not concern yourself any longer.”

Jaeui glanced down at him.

“That sounds suspicious.”

Taeui met his gaze and smiled, eyes dancing with quiet amusement. He said nothing more.

Jaeui exhaled softly and shook his head.

“I'm just glad you're enjoying and seem comfortable in a dress, dear brother.”

“Am I so obvious?” Taeui replied, laughter barely contained.

The song came to an end, applause rippling across the floor as dancers dispersed toward the
refreshment tables. Jaeui offered his arm, escorting Lady Eve toward a table lined with
crystal glasses and silver trays.

Before they could speak again, a tall figure approached.

“Brother,” the man said warmly, inclining his head toward Jaeui.

He looked every inch Lord Taeui Jeong. His dark brown hair was perfectly styled, his
complexion warmly sun-kissed, his tailored suit immaculate. Standing at least a foot taller
than Lady Eve, he commanded attention simply by his presence alone. A glass of wine rested
in his hand, and his dark gray eyes held a polite, measured interest.

Jaeui turned to him with an easy smile.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself this evening.”

“I would be remiss not to,” Ilay replied smoothly. His gaze flicked briefly toward Lady Eve,
lingering a fraction longer than etiquette required before returning to Jaeui.

“You dance well.”

Lady Eve smiled sweetly, dipping her head in acknowledgment.

Jaeui chuckled.

“I see my brother keeps intriguing company.”

Ilay raised his glass slightly.

“He has always had a talent for that.”

Lady Eve said nothing, merely lifting her own glass, eyes glittering with barely restrained
amusement.

The orchestra shifted again, the melody lower, slower, weighted with intent.
Ilay set his glass aside and turned toward Lady Eve, offering his hand with a smile that was
perfectly polite and unmistakably dangerous.

“May I claim this dance, my lady?”

For the briefest moment, Taeui hesitated. Then he placed his gloved hand in Ilay’s.

“I would be most pleased,” Lady Eve replied.

The change was immediate.

When Ilay drew him closer, the ballroom seemed to tilt. He placed his hand at Taeui’s waist
with practiced precision, yet when the music carried them into motion, his hold tightened just
a fraction too much. The pressure was deliberate. Possessive. Unnecessary.

Lady Eve gasped softly, breath catching before she could stop it, and looked up.

Ilay was already watching him.

Dark gray eyes met dark silver, and neither looked away. Taeui wondered, fleetingly, if Ilay
had noticed how Jaeui held him earlier. If that was what sparked this sudden heat beneath a
gentleman’s touch. If so, Ilay made no effort to disguise his response.

They moved together, steps flawless, bodies aligned far closer than courtesy required. Ilay
guided, but Taeui followed with ease, his movements fluid, hips rolling just enough to draw a
sharp intake of breath from more than one observer.

The room noticed, and so fans fluttered. Ladies leaned together, whispering behind gloved
hands, cheeks flushed. Several gentlemen watched with narrowed eyes, jaws tight, envy
thinly veiled behind polite expressions. It was no longer merely a dance.
It was a spectacle.

Ilay’s hand slid higher along Taeui’s back, steady and warm, pulling him in until the space
between them vanished entirely. Taeui felt it then, the unmistakable tension coiled beneath
Ilay’s calm exterior.

“You are staring, stop that,” Lady Eve murmured softly, voice low enough to be lost to the
music.

“You are really pretty in my arms....” Ilay replied just as quietly.

Taeui blushed, but their eyes did not part.

They turned, skirts and coats brushing, breath mingling, moving as though the ballroom had
ceased to exist. Candlelight traced the line of Taeui’s throat, the curve of his shoulders, the
elegant fall of his gown. Ilay’s presence loomed tall and unyielding, his focus narrowed
entirely to the figure in his arms.

To those watching, it was as though the two were undressing one another with nothing but
their gaze.

The moment the music ended, Taeui exhaled slowly, schooling his expression back into
something composed and gentle.

“We should depart soon,” Lady Eve said softly, voice light but firm.

“There is little reason to linger. I have said all that needed saying tonight.”
Ilay’s mouth curved, subtle and knowing. He inclined his head as though conceding a point in
polite debate.

“A pity,” he replied just as quietly. “Though I suppose it is only proper. Other men have
already seen more than they deserve.”

Taeui glanced up at him, eyes narrowing in mock reproach. Ilay only smiled wider.

From that moment on, no one dared approach Lady Eve.

Ilay remained at her side with quiet vigilance, his presence tall and unmistakable. Those who
might have summoned courage found it swiftly evaporated under his gaze. Whispers
followed them wherever they moved, admiration laced with unease.

As loudly as their arrival had been announced, their departure was the opposite.

They slipped from the ballroom between songs, unnoticed by most. At the entrance, Taeui
paused just long enough to glance back. From across the hall, Jaeui met his eyes and inclined
his head, the faintest smile touching his lips.

The carriage door closed with a soft thud, sealing them inside a cocoon of velvet and
lamplight as the wheels began to roll.

The moment they were alone, Taeui sagged back against the seat and dropped the soft, lilting
tone he had maintained all evening.

“Ow,” he muttered.

“That hurt my feet.”

Ilay chuckled quietly. He reached up and removed his gloves, then shed the last of his
disguise with practiced ease. Kneeling before Taeui, he lifted one delicate foot with
surprising care.
“You did exceptionally well earlier, my lord,” he said, his voice slipping naturally into that of
a dutiful attendant.

He eased off the heels and replaced them with a pair of spare shoes, movements gentle,
unhurried.

Taeui laughed, warm and genuine, watching him.

“I am never betting against you again.”

***

Back in Taeui’s manor, the world narrowed to the hush of candlelight and the muted rustle of
fabric.

His chamber was warm, familiar, scented faintly with parchment and lavender. Ilay stood
behind him, fingers deft as he began unfastening the gown. The weight of the night still clung
to them, silk and secrets lingering in the air.

Taeui’s breath came a little faster. He told himself it was relief. He told himself it was the
corset. Yet Ilay’s closeness pressed in on him, every brush of knuckles against bare skin
sending an unwelcome spark straight through his spine.

He kept his face calm. He had learned long ago how to hide things.

Ilay, unfortunately, had learned him just as well.

A hand slid from Taeui’s nape downward, slow and deliberate, tracing heat along his back
before dipping lower with shameless intent. Taeui stiffened, a sharp breath breaking loose
before he could stop it.

A sound escaped him.

He clapped a hand over his mouth, shoulders trembling.

“W-What are you doing, you b-bastard?” Taeui hissed, voice tight.

Ilay laughed quietly behind him, low and pleased.

“Forgive me, young master. I am merely removing your dress.”

His fingers returned to their task, loosening the laces of the corset inch by inch. With each
pull, Taeui felt himself unravel. The pressure eased, allowing a fuller breath, but the relief
only made him more aware of Ilay’s gaze. He could feel it.

Cool air kissed his flushed skin as the corset slackened.

“A-Anyway,” Taeui said quickly, grasping for something solid, anything.

“I confirmed it. Uncle Chang-in truly has been pressing my brother.”

“Hm.” Ilay’s voice was calm, certain.

“Do not trouble yourself. I will handle it as usual.”

The corset finally gave way. Taeui exhaled deeply, shoulders sagging.

“Ah… that feels better. Truly, how do women endure this daily? It is an affront to breathing.”

Ilay hummed in agreement, though his attention was clearly elsewhere.

The gown slipped down and pooled at Taeui’s feet, leaving him bare save for the shorts
beneath. Candlelight traced the lines of his back, the curve of his waist. He felt Ilay step
closer. Too close.

A breath brushed his skin. Warm. Intimate. Taeui’s hair stood on end, his pulse thundering in
his ears.

Then it was gone.

Ilay moved away as though nothing had happened, lifting Taeui’s bedwear and guiding his
arms into it with careful restraint. His touch was professional again. Which somehow made it
worse.

“All done,” Ilay said softly.

“You should rest.”

He stepped back and inclined his head, the picture of a dutiful attendant.

“Good night, my lord.”

The door closed behind him with a quiet click.

Taeui remained where he was, one hand pressed to his chest, willing his heartbeat to slow. He
stared at the candle flame until it steadied, until the heat in his skin faded to something
manageable.

Outside, the manor slept.

Inside, Taeui lay awake far longer than he should have, wondering when Ilay’s presence had
begun to feel so dangerously close to something he could not afford to name.
Flashback

A week before the ball.

The training yard behind Taeui’s manor rang with the sound of steel meeting steel, crisp and
sharp beneath a clear afternoon sky. Taeui stepped back, grip tight around the practice sword,
jaw clenched.

“You are hesitating again,” Ilay said mildly, circling him.

“If that were a real blade, you would already be dead.”

Taeui scowled.

“You say that every time.”

“And you keep proving me correct,” Ilay replied, tapping Taeui’s blade aside with infuriating
ease.

“Your stance is sloppy, your wrist too stiff. You swing like a noble who has never feared an
ambush.”

That did it.

Taeui snapped his sword up and pointed it at Ilay.

“I can hit you.”

Ilay raised a brow.

“Once,” Taeui added sharply, “at least once.”

For a moment, the yard fell quiet. Then Ilay smiled, slow and dangerous.

“Very well,” he said. “A wager, then.”

The rules were simple. One clean hit. The winner decides the consequence. The manor staff
pretended not to watch. They always pretended. Some whispered that the two fought like
unruly siblings. Others whispered different things entirely and sighed dreamily. All of them
knew better than to interfere.

The duel did not last long.

Ilay disarmed Taeui with brute force and precision. He didn't want to admit it, but he really
used all his strength to ensure victory.

A week later, Taeui stood before a mirror, corseted, dressed, hair pinned beneath a fine wig,
Vera circling him with sparkling eyes.

Ilay leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, utterly satisfied.

“A bet is a bet,” he had said cheerfully.

And Taeui just huffed but agreed. At least, he doesn't look half bad, he thought to himself as
he looked at the mirror.
Swords aren't the only things that can disarm a man, after all.
 Chapter 3: Unwanted Guest
Chapter Summary

“Hmmm?” Taeui murmured, the sound low and unguarded.

“We have unwanted pests... I mean, visitors,” Ilay said plainly.

“You should begin dressing.”

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Late morning light bathed the countryside in a gentle gold when the peace of Taeui’s manor
was broken a week after the ball.

From the watchpoint near the outer fields, the first sign appeared as a shimmer of metal.
Horses crested the road in disciplined formation, armor catching the sun with practiced
brilliance. Banners soon followed, deep crimson edged with gold thread, bearing the
unmistakable insignia of the Royal Order. The fabric stirred in the breeze with quiet
authority.

Behind them rolled a carriage of dark lacquered wood, reinforced at the corners with steel
and etched with the same crest. It moved with deliberate slowness, as though the land itself
was expected to make way.

Within moments, the manor was alerted.

Seong Gil halted his work at the stables and straightened, eyes sharp. Vera paused mid-
instruction in the kitchens, already wiping her hands on her apron. Vincent closed the ledger
he had been reviewing and handed it calmly to a waiting clerk. Evan, posted near the
entrance hall, adjusted his cuffs and nodded once to Ryo.
The gates were opened before any formal announcement could be made.

The iron hinges swung wide, allowing the Royal knights to enter the grounds without
obstruction. Hooves struck the stone path in measured rhythm, the sound carrying across the
lawns and up toward the manor itself. Servants lined the way with composed faces, heads
lowered just enough to be proper, not enough to be submissive.

At the heart of the procession, the carriage slowed and came to a stop before the steps of the
manor. The royal crest gleamed, proud and unyielding, a symbol of authority that rarely
traveled without purpose.

Inside the manor, everything was ready.

Ilay moved through the manor with unhurried steps, the faint echo of polished boots
swallowed by thick carpets and stone walls warmed by late morning light. Word had already
reached him, Royal banners from an unannounced entourage. There were only so many
reasons for such a visit, and he suspected he knew which one had finally grown impatient.

For now, there was a more immediate matter.

He stopped before the master’s bedroom and knocked three times, firm and precise. Without
waiting for an answer, he opened the door and stepped inside.

Taeui’s room was nothing like the grand chambers one might expect of a noble of his
standing. It was warm, lived in. Sunlight filtered through half-drawn curtains, dust motes
drifting lazily in the air. Books lay stacked near a low table, some open, some forgotten. A
woolen rug softened the floor near the bed. The furniture was solid rather than ornate, chosen
for comfort over display.

At the center of it all lay Taeui.

He was buried beneath a thick blanket, a shapeless mound save for the faint rise and fall of
breath. Ilay approached quietly and lifted the blanket just enough to peek beneath.
The sight made him pause.

Taeui slept face down, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, his head turned slightly to the
right. Dark lashes rested against warm skin, lips parted just a little. There was no tension in
him, no guarded expression, only softness and peace.

Ilay allowed himself to stare a moment longer than necessary. It was as though a feast was
laid in front of him. What a shame he couldn't take a bite... (For now.)

Then, reluctantly, he reached out and brushed his fingers through Taeui’s hair.

“Hmmm?” Taeui murmured, the sound low and unguarded.

“We have unwanted pests... I mean, visitors,” Ilay said plainly.

“You should begin dressing.”

Taeui shifted, protesting in the way of the half awake. He rolled onto his back and pushed
himself upright, stretching without thought. His loose sleeping shirt rode up with the motion,
baring skin still warm from sleep.

Ilay’s gaze darkened. His eyes traced all the contours of Taeui's exposed skin.

Before Taeui could register the change in the air, Ilay stepped closer. His hand settled on
Taeui’s shoulder, firm and grounding. Then it slid downward, slow enough to be felt, tracing
a deliberate path across bare skin.
Taeui gasped from the sensation, breath catching sharply as his eyes snapped fully open.

Ilay met his gaze and smiled faintly.

“I am helping you dress.”

He fisted the fabric just below Taeui’s navel, made sure there was skin contact, and pulled
upward in one smooth motion, stripping the shirt away. Taeui flushed instantly, shock
stealing his words.

Without giving him time to recover, Ilay guided him to his feet. He took a damp cloth and
wiped away the remnants of sleep, ignoring Taeui’s halfhearted protests. Taeui stopped
resisting soon enough, standing there dazed, following instructions without quite realizing it.

Ilay’s hands were efficient but unavoidably intimate, smoothing fabric, adjusting seams,
ensuring every detail was correct. When he was finished, he stepped back and fixed Taeui’s
hair with a final, practiced motion.

Perfect.

Taeui suddenly realized why he was captivated by Ilay's hands; it was because he wasn't
wearing gloves, leaving his beautiful hands and slender fingers exposed to Taeui's gaze.

A knock sounded at the door, breaking his hypnotized state.

“My lord,” a voice called from the hall, “the guest has arrived.”

Taeui blinked, gained his composure back, and headed towards the door. Time to confront a
guest.
“Oh my,” Taeui said pleasantly as he entered the receiving room, hands folded at his back,
posture relaxed.

“What a delightful surprise this is, Uncle Chang-in. To what pleasure do I owe such
unannounced notice?”

Chang-in rose slightly from his seat, the polished lines of his Royal Order Adviser uniform
catching the light. His smile was warm, practiced, befitting a man who advised kings.

“It gladdens my heart to see you well, my beloved nephew,” he replied.

“It has been far too long.”

They seated themselves across from one another just as maids entered with quiet efficiency,
setting down porcelain cups, steaming tea, and neatly arranged sweets. The door closed
softly, leaving them alone in the room.

Chang-in lifted his cup.

“Your manor grows more impressive with each passing year. The countryside seems to agree
with you. I passed through a neighboring estate this morning and thought it only proper to
visit, seeing as I was so near.”

Taeui inclined his head.

“You honor me with the thought.”

“How fares your health?” Chang-in continued.

“And your studies? I hear you have taken quite an interest in matters most… varied.”

“I remain in good health,” Taeui answered smoothly.

“And curiosity has always been my failing.”

They exchanged polite smiles, and tea was sipped at measured intervals.

Time passed in gentle, meaningless pleasantries, each word a step around the thing neither
had yet named.

At last, Taeui set his cup upon its saucer.

“Let us not pretend further, Uncle,” he said lightly.

“You did not come all this way merely to drink tea with me. What is it that you seek?”

Chang-in laughed softly.

“How direct you have become. Must a man always have an agenda when he visits family?”

Taeui only looked at him, smile unchanged, eyes clear and unwavering.

Family, huh? How pretentious.

Chang-in sighed.

“Very well. I shall speak plainly. I wish for your brother to serve the crown. Jaeui’s talents
would be most valuable, whether as an adviser or a researcher. The palace offers protection,
influence, and a future worthy of his gifts. I had hoped you might persuade him.”

Taeui lowered his gaze for a moment, thoughtful.

“Uncle,” he said gently, “you know I do not interfere in my brother’s affairs. He has ever
been free to choose his own path.”
“Yes, but surely you could encourage him,” Chang-in pressed.

“The crown is not an unkind master.”

“Perhaps,” Taeui replied. Then he looked up again, smile sharpening just slightly.

“But tell me, Uncle. Are you not rather busy these days with other concerns?”

Chang-in paused.

“Other concerns?”

“I would imagine so,” Taeui continued pleasantly.

“One must find sudden disturbances to one’s peace quite distracting.”

Chang-in studied him more carefully now.

“I'm fully aware it was you,” he said calmly.

“I had wondered. The threats. The attempts. I confess, I was genuinely surprised.”

Taeui laughed, light and untroubled, as though amused by a fond memory.

“And yet you sit before me, alive and well,” he said.

“I assure you, Uncle, I harbor no desire to attend a relative’s funeral in such a lovely autumn
season. Do take care of your health.”

For the first time, Chang-in’s smile faltered.

He looked at Taeui anew, at the nephew who had chosen distance over prominence, warmth
over display. He had mistaken that choice for weakness. The warnings he had received were
no idle intimidation. They were boundaries, clearly drawn.

Chang-in saw how people revered Taeui as a charming person, warm like the sun. He had
forgotten that the sun, so pleasant at a distance, could burn when one stood too close.

“I see,” Chang-in said quietly.

Chang-in’s visit ended as politely as it had begun.

Taeui escorted him beyond the manor doors and down the stone steps, autumn sunlight
catching on polished armor and lacquered carriage wood. The horses stood ready, reins held
firm, the Royal Order banners fluttering faintly in the breeze.

Ever the gracious host, Taeui stopped just before the carriage and inclined his head slightly,
hands folded, smile warm and unassuming.

“Please be well on your journey, Uncle,” he said gently.

“And do consider directing your attention elsewhere, far from my brother. The disturbances
you experienced before were but harmless jests when compared to what one may do when
truly angered. I wish you safe travels.”

Chang-in’s smile remained in place, though his lips did not part. For a brief moment, he said
nothing at all.

As he turned toward the carriage, something made him pause.

He noticed them then.

The staff lined the path in quiet order. The servants near the windows had ceased their work.
The figures stood in the garden, near the hedges, by the stables, at the edge of the courtyard.
All wore the same composed expressions. All held themselves with impeccable courtesy.

And all were watching him.

For the first time in many years, Chang-in felt as though he stood in the center of a lion’s den,
surrounded by creatures who had no need to bare their teeth.

The carriage door closed. The entourage moved on, wheels turning, hooves striking stone.
Distance grew between him and the manor, yet the sensation lingered, persistent as a shadow.

Chang-in let out a quiet chuckle.

“So that is how it is,” he murmured to himself.

Two truths settled firmly in his mind.

The bond between the twins was unbreakable. And either of them would kill without
hesitation if the other were harmed.

He remembered it clearly now. Years ago, when he had first suggested keeping Taeui close,
binding him to the capital instead of allowing him to vanish into the countryside. Jaeui,
usually calm and agreeable, had looked at him then with frightening clarity and told him,
without ornament or courtesy, to do nothing unnecessary.

Now Taeui had done the same, only with a smile.

Chang-in leaned back against the carriage seat, eyes closing briefly.

“Well,” he sighed, “it seems I shall need to choose my words with great care.”

The royals would not be pleased. But for once, Chang-in found that displeasing the crown
felt far less dangerous than displeasing the Jeong twins.

Back within the manor’s quiet halls, Ilay stood at a desk by the window, eyes scanning a
document with practiced focus. The room smelled faintly of ink and polished wood. He did
not look up when footsteps approached. He did not need to.

The sound was unmistakable.

A sharp smack landed on the back of his head.

Ilay’s eyes widened in genuine surprise as he turned, blinking at the sight of Taeui standing
there, arms crossed, cheeks faintly puffed in indignation. Vincent, passing nearby with a stack
of papers, witnessed the entire exchange. He paused for half a second, blinked once, then
continued on his way as though nothing of note had occurred.

It was, after all, quite normal.

“Hah!” Taeui huffed.

“That is for earlier, you lunatic.”

He looked more offended than furious, more like a cub attempting to bare its claws. Ilay
stared at him for a moment, then laughed outright, the sound warm and unrestrained.
“So the reaction comes now,” Ilay said, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I was beginning to think you had let me off.”

Taeui opened his mouth to retort, then stopped. Ilay noticed it then. The faint redness at the
tips of his ears betrayed far more than Taeui wished.

“Aha,” Ilay went on lightly, placing a hand to his chest in mock remorse. “Whatever shall I
do? I hope Your Grace may find it in his heart to forgive me. I confess, I could not help
myself. At times, I feel an overwhelming urge to simply eat you up.”

He bowed slightly, entirely insincere.

Taeui’s face flushed fully now.

“D-Do not speak such nonsense,” he snapped, turning away too quickly.

“You are impossible.”

Ilay’s smile only deepened.

Clearing his throat, Taeui shifted the subject with visible effort.

“My uncle knows,” he said.

“He is aware that the threats came from us. Keep an eye on him. I do not trust him to remain
idle.”

Ilay straightened at once, teasing ease giving way to calm assurance.

“As you wish. There is no cause for concern. I will see to it.”

Taeui nodded, satisfied, though he did not quite meet Ilay’s gaze.
 As Ilay returned to his documents, Vincent glanced back once, just long enough to see the
way Taeui lingered, and the way Ilay’s eyes followed him.

Everyone could see it.

Everyone, it seemed, except the two of them.

Chapter End Notes

Hello dears!

I'm sorry for the late update. I'm quite busy these days irl. I hope everyone is doing fine.
I can't guarantee I can update regularly, but I'll try my best... maybe. Hehehe

Stressed but never down,

C.A
 Chapter 4: Impregnable fortress
Chapter Summary

None of them wondered why such an apparently undefended estate had remained
untouched for so long.

Evening settled thick and slow over the countryside, the sky bruised purple as lamps
flickered to life in a low tavern several miles from Taeui’s manor.

The place stank of cheap ale and wet wool. A group of men crowded around a scarred
wooden table, voices kept low more from habit than discipline. Their cloaks were worn, their
boots muddied, and their weapons leaned carelessly within reach.

A third-rate band, by any measure.

“I’m tellin’ you,” one of them said, a broad man with a broken nose, jabbing a finger at the
rough sketch spread across the table.

“That manor’s ripe for the takin’. T's too quiet and too few folk.”

Another snorted.

“It’s a noble’s place. They all look quiet until your guts are spillin’ on the stones.”

“Aye, but I watched it,” the first insisted.

“Weeks now. Staff’s thin. Two cooks. A gardener. The stable boy is barely old enough to
shave. A few butlers and errand lads. Guards are there, sure, but not many. I tell ya, it's too
weak.”
A thin man with sharp eyes leaned in, tapping the paper.

“And the young lord?”

“Barely leaves,” came the answer.

“When he does, it’s with one or two men at most. No banners. No grand escort. Not even a
crest on the carriages.”

A low chuckle went around the table.

“So he’s soft,” someone said.

“Soft enough to ransom,” another replied.

“The Jeong name alone’ll fetch a king’s purse. Rich merchant blood, noble title. The
marquisate won’t dare let harm come to him.”

The thin man frowned.

“You’re certain there ain’t more guards than we see?”

“What, ghosts?” the broken-nose man scoffed.

“I counted shifts. Watched the gates. Watched the lights. It’s all there plain as day.”

A scarred mercenary lifted his mug.

“We get in at night. Quiet-like. Snatch the young master. Be gone before dawn. Simple
work.”

“Too simple,” someone muttered.

“Simple’s good,” the leader said at last, voice rough but decisive.

“We ain’t here to fuss o'er details. We grab him, we get paid, we vanish.”

“And if the family resists?”

The leader grinned, showing missing teeth.

“They won’t. Nobles love their heirs too much.”

"Well, if they won't pay, he still has a good price at the market."

They all laughed then, clinking mugs, confidence swelling with every careless word.

None of them wondered why such an apparently undefended estate had remained untouched
for so long.

The day they chose dawned unremarkable, which only fed their confidence. From the cover
of hedgerows and distant treelines, the mercenaries watched the manor from first light. Mist
clung to the fields in the early hours, lifting slowly as the sun rose, revealing the familiar
rhythm they had come to expect.

Servants moved about their duties without haste. A gardener trimmed hedges near the eastern
wing. The stable boy carried feed with sleepy steps. Smoke curled from the kitchen chimneys
at the proper hours.

Nothing unusual.

“See?” one of the men muttered.

“Just like I said.”

By midday, the manor settled into its quiet routine. A carriage did not leave. No visitors
arrived. The gates remained open but unguarded enough to look inviting rather than vigilant.

In the afternoon, their prize finally appeared.

Jeong Taeui stepped into the garden, book in hand, sunlight catching on his dark hair and
warm skin. He made his way to the gazebo and seated himself with practiced ease. Beside
him sat a butler with silver hair, also reading a book. The two spoke little.

They didn't even wonder why a butler would sit next to their master.

“Only one with him,” a mercenary whispered.

“Told you.”

They watched as shadows lengthened, as the breeze stirred the trees. Eventually, the book
was closed. Taeui rose, nodded once to the butler, and returned indoors.

He did not come out again.

As evening fell, lamps were lit one by one. Supper was served. Curtains were drawn. By full
night, most of the lights within the manor were extinguished, leaving only a few windows
glowing faintly like distant stars.

The mercenaries shifted into position, weapons checked, breaths steady.

To them, it was the perfect night. To the manor, it was merely another evening.
The mercenaries slipped over the outer wall with practised ease, boots finding stone where
they expected gravel, hands steady with the confidence of men who believed they had already
won. The grounds lay still without any alarms.

They split as planned.

“Round up the servants,” the leader whispered.

“Three of you, find the young lord’s chamber.”

They moved fast.

In the servants’ wing, a door creaked open. A mercenary lunged inside, blade raised.

He never got the chance to swing.

Vera turned from the stove, expression calm, a kitchen knife already in her hand. She stepped
in close, precise, and efficient. The man went down without a sound. Althea followed just as
swiftly, catching another attacker from behind, striking pressure points with practiced
accuracy before lowering him gently to the floor, as though laying a child to rest.

Elsewhere, in the employee lounge, five mercenaries burst in together.

Ryo rose from his seat slowly, sword already drawn. The clash was brief. One fell with a
sharp gasp, the other disarmed and unconscious before he could shout. Alexie, Mark, and
Ivan emerged from the shadows moments later, movements synchronized, expressions bored
after knocking off the rest. This was familiar work to them. Almost nostalgic.

In the garden, a figure melted out of the darkness. Angel, the gardener, moved soundlessly
between hedges, wire flashing once, twice. Alain, still in his footman’s coat, struck from
behind a tree, elbow snapping into a throat, then catching the falling body with care to keep it
quiet.
At the stables, Seong Gil straightened from brushing a horse, eyes sharp. When two men
rushed him, he stepped forward instead of back. Hands moved faster than sight, strikes clean
and controlled. Both attackers collapsed into the hay, breath stolen, bones aching.

Near the manor’s heart, Evan and Vincent intercepted the last group before they reached the
other rooms. Evan’s movements were fluid, close combat honed by years of discipline.
Vincent, calm as ever, disarmed one man and struck another with ruthless efficiency, leaving
both unconscious at his feet.

It was over almost as soon as it began. Bodies were restrained, and weapons were
confiscated. Not a single scream disturbed the night.

By the time the three mercenaries reached the corridor leading to the young master’s
chambers, they remained blissfully unaware that their companions had already been subdued.

The hallway lay quiet, lamps turned low, shadows pooling along the walls. One of them
tested the door and found it unlocked.

Too easy.

They slipped inside.

The bed stood neatly made, untouched.

From beyond the half-open door of the adjoining room came the faint sound of water.

“Bath,” he mouthed silently.

They exchanged grins and crept forward.

Then a voice spoke behind them, light and almost amused.

“Aha. It seems we have unwanted pests wandering about.”

All three spun around, weapons raised.

Standing near the doorway was the silver-haired butler, posture relaxed, hands loosely at his
sides. He wore the same composed expression he always did, polite and unhurried, as though
he had merely stumbled upon mice in a pantry.

Ilay’s eyes flicked briefly toward the bathroom door.

Sound of water. Taeui.

The faint smile vanished. His gaze darkened, sharp and cold, and the air in the room shifted
perceptibly.
The mercenaries rushed him all at once. They did not land a single proper blow. Ilay moved
like a shadow given intent. He stepped into their attacks rather than away, redirecting force,
striking joints, throats, nerves. One man hit the floor before he understood he had been
struck. Another was disarmed and sent crashing into the wall, breath knocked clean from his
lungs. The third barely managed to raise his weapon before Ilay closed the distance and
ended the fight with brutal efficiency.

The entire exchange lasted moments. The men lay scattered across the chamber floor,
groaning or unconscious, weapons useless at their sides.

Ilay straightened, adjusted his cuffs, and glanced once more toward the bathroom door to
ensure it remained closed.

Only then did the chamber door open again.

Vincent stepped inside, took in the scene with a single glance, and nodded once. Without
comment, he seized two of the mercenaries by their collars, dragging them toward the hall.
He returned for the third, hauling him away just as unceremoniously, as though removing
refuse from a corridor.

No words were exchanged.

When the door shut again, the room returned to silence.

Ilay remained standing there, eyes lingering on the bathroom door, jaw tight, the faintest edge
of fury still burning beneath his calm.

How dare they attempt to catch even a glimpse of Taeui?

 Chapter 5: Caught up in the moment
Chapter Summary

Their eyes met again. Taeui struggled to draw in breath, chest rising sharply, while Ilay
stared at him with an expression that made his pulse race even faster. His gaze revealed
a hunger that was both intense and strikingly honest.

Ilay removed his black gloves with deliberate calm.

Leather slid from skin, one finger at a time. He let them fall where they may, dark against
pale stone, and stepped forward.

The bathroom welcomed him with warmth.

It was vast, built in the old style favored by nobles who valued ritual as much as comfort.
Marble pillars rose along the walls, carved with worn motifs of vines and waves. Candles
burned in niches, their flames softened by steam. At the center lay a great stone bathtub, wide
and deep, water faintly perfumed with herbs. Steam curled upward, clinging to the ceiling
like a living thing.

And there, within it, was Taeui.

He rested against the edge, water reaching his chest, dark hair damp and pushed back. His
eyes were closed, lashes shadowing warm skin as he breathed slowly, deliberately. Steam
kissed what the water did not claim. Droplets traced idle paths down his collarbone,
vanishing beneath the surface.

Ilay stood still.

He watched the rise and fall of Taeui’s chest. The faint tension eased from his shoulders. The
way peace settled into him so completely, as though the world beyond the bath did not exist.

Something tightened in Ilay’s chest.

He couldn't name it. He simply noted it, as he did all things unfamiliar.

For Ilay, it was definitely an unknown feeling, but not unwelcome.

Then Taeui spoke, voice soft, unhurried.

“Am I to presume you intend to linger there in silence, or shall you cease your observation
and speak, like a civilized man?”

Ilay’s gaze lifted.

Taeui was looking at him now, dark, sultry eyes open, curious rather than alarmed.

...sultry?

"..."

Ilay paused only a fraction before his usual composure slid back into place. A smirk curved
his lips as he approached the tub.
“You appeared quite at ease,” he said lightly.

“I am surprised you did not trouble yourself to leave, even with such disturbances occurring
just outside the door.”

Taeui hummed and let his eyes close again.

“I had no cause for concern. With you and the others present, matters tend to resolve
themselves.”

Ilay chuckled softly and moved behind him.

He placed his hands upon Taeui’s shoulders, thumbs pressing into tight muscle, working slow
circles. He expected the usual reaction. A startled flinch. A sharp intake of breath. A blush
hastily concealed.

Instead, Taeui relaxed even more.

His shoulders lowered. His head tipped back slightly, closer to Ilay without quite touching.

“Hm,” Taeui murmured.

“That is rather pleasant.”

The words struck Ilay like a blade of lightning. Heat flared low in his body, sudden and
unwelcome. His heartbeat quickened, a sharp contrast to the measured calm he prided himself
on. He stilled at once, hands freezing mid-motion.

Why...

He withdrew his touch.

“Hm?” Taeui opened his eyes and looked up at him.

“Why have you stopped?”

Ilay looked down at him.

So unguarded and so trusting.

Steam softening his features, water cradling him as though the world itself conspired to leave
him untouched. And that face, tilted upward, waiting.

Ilay’s breath slowed, careful and controlled.

They stared at one another, eyes locked, the air between them thick and charged, neither
willing to be the first to move.

Taeui could not tell when it happened.

One moment, they were only looking at one another. Ilay’s eyes fixed on his with an intensity
that made his breath hitch.

The next moment—

“Mmh.”

The sound startled him even as it left his own throat. There was water shifting, a faint splash
against stone, and the unmistakable, soft press of lips against his.

The quiet of the bath was broken by the gentle sound of contact, skin meeting skin where it
had never been before.

For a heartbeat, his mind went utterly blank.

His entire body tingled as if awakened all at once, sensation blooming everywhere at the
same time. It was overwhelming...pleasant...and frightening. He forgot how to breathe, and
the world is spinning.

Air grew scarce.

They parted just enough for him to gasp, a thin line of saliva still connecting them as their
lips separated.

Only then did the truth strike him with full force.

He was kissing Ilay.

Ilay and he, Jeong Taeui, are kissing.

Ilay. A mercenary. His butler. His constant.

Did he develop any mental illnesses?

Their eyes met again. Taeui struggled to draw in breath, chest rising sharply, while Ilay stared
at him with an expression that made his pulse race even faster. His gaze revealed a hunger
that was both intense and strikingly honest.

Taeui then became aware of their position all at once.

He was still in the bath, half submerged, water lapping quietly against his skin. Ilay was
crouched behind him, close enough that Taeui could feel his heat. One bare hand was firm at
the back of his neck, holding him in place, not rough but undeniably possessive.

Taeui looked up at him.

And as though it were the most natural thing in the world, their lips met again.

This time, there was no hesitation. Ilay kissed him as if intent on consuming him whole,
unrelenting, and deep. Taeui’s breath caught as Ilay’s tongue traced the inside of his mouth,
mapping him with shameless familiarity. A soft sound slipped from Taeui before he could
stop it, a breathless moan that only seemed to spur Ilay on.

It was too much.

The heat. The steam. The closeness. His thoughts spun, dizziness creeping in at the edges as
his lungs begged for air.

Then—

A knock at the door.

Reality crashed back in.

Taeui pulled away with effort, chest heaving as he turned his face aside. Ilay stilled at once,
hand loosening, though his gaze remained dark and unreadable.

“My lord,” a voice called from beyond the door.

“There is an urgent matter.”

Taeui swallowed and forced his voice steady, though it came out faintly breathless.

“I… understood. I shall be out shortly.”

Silence followed.

Ilay stepped back at last. No words were exchanged. Moments later,

he helped Taeui from the bath, wrapped him in linen, and dressed him with the same careful
efficiency he always had. Fingers brushed skin. Fabric settled into place.

Neither spoke of what had transpired.

Yet the air between them remained charged.

Taeui walked through the corridors at a leisurely pace with steps softly echoing against the
stone.

The urgent matter had been addressed, but it was not completely resolved. It was the kind of
issue that could wait. He had made that decision and allowed it to fade from his thoughts,
only for another concern to emerge that demanded his attention much more insistently.

He sighed.

Unbidden, his mind returned to the warmth of the bath, to steam and candlelight, to the way
Ilay’s lips had felt against his own. His cheeks warmed at the memory.

A first kiss, perhaps. He winced internally at the thought, then flushed all the more. It might
be a first, but it was unfairly memorable.

He pressed his fingers lightly to his temple and released another quiet breath. Complications
followed that path. Too many of them: status, social norms, family legacy, danger, and the
simple fact that Ilay was… Ilay.

He sighed again.

“Is there something troubling you, young master?”

The voice came from just behind him.

Taeui halted, startled.

“Ah… Evan,” he said, turning slightly. He had quite forgotten that the man had been walking
with him. The realization that he might have been openly daydreaming caused heat to rush
back to his face.
“It is nothing of consequence,” Taeui replied, far too quickly.

Evan hummed, unconvinced.

“You know,” he said casually, “titles aside, you can talk to us. Always could.”

Taeui smiled as he felt a warmth that eased some of the tension in his chest. They had been
together for far too long for their walls to remain completely intact. While they were
employer and servant in title, in reality, they shared a bond that was much closer to family.

“I find myself… merely troubled by a matter,” Taeui said at last as they resumed walking,
steps slowing.

“Hm.” Evan glanced at him sideways.

“Is that the same matter that had you red as a rose when you came back earlier?”

Taeui stopped dead.

“Evan!” he exclaimed, mortified.

“You might choose kinder phrasing!”

Evan laughed openly.

“Could not resist.”

Taeui turned away, fanning his face with one hand, dignity in tatters.

“You are insufferable.”

“So,” Evan continued, undeterred, “if our guess ain’t wrong, looks like you were enjoying
yourself. And if so, well… maybe you’re into him too.”
“That is a most outrageous assumption,” Taeui said stiffly.

“Whoever claimed I was… interested in Ilay?”

Evan’s grin widened.

“I didn’t say Rick.”

The words struck clean and true.

Taeui froze, eyes widening before he turned an even deeper shade of red. He opened his
mouth, then closed it again, entirely bereft of argument.

He looked away once more, fanning his face with renewed vigor.

…Was he? to Ilay?

No way, right?

The question settled quietly in his mind, heavier than he expected.

Behind him, Evan’s voice softened.

“Doesn’t matter much to me. Just hope you make the choice that feels right. Whatever it is,
we’ve got your back.”

Taeui turned just in time to see Evan bow slightly, casual yet sincere all at once, looking far
off into the distance before taking his leave.

Left alone in the corridor, Taeui stood still for a long moment.
Then, slowly, he resumed his walk, thoughts tangled, heart unsettled, and a single name
echoing far too clearly in his mind. As he nearly reached his door, a voice cut cleanly through
the quiet.

“Jeong Taeui.”

He stopped at once. The sound of his name, spoken in that voice, struck far more deeply than
it had any right to. Taeui’s breath caught before he could help it.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze.

Ilay stood before his chamber.

Silver hair caught the moonlight spilling in from the opposite window, casting pale highlights
along sharp features and broad shoulders. Shadows carved his form into something almost
unreal, the light tracing the strong lines of his physique in a way that felt deliberate,
theatrical. His dark eyes were fixed on Taeui with an intensity that made his pulse stumble, as
though Ilay were not merely looking at him but weighing him, consuming him.

For a fleeting, absurd moment, Taeui thought he looked like a villain from some forbidden
tale, beautiful and dangerous in equal measure.

Good heavens, he thought faintly.

His heart thudded loud in his ears, traitorous and swift. He could still feel the ghost of Ilay’s
hands, the heat of his breath, the press of lips that had left him unmoored.

Taeui swallowed.

It seemed there was no more room for denial.

Standing there beneath the moon, staring at the very source of his unrest, Taeui came to an
unsettling realization.

It appeared he truly was into Ilay.

 Chapter 6: Bold Declaration
Chapter Summary

“Claiming me so boldly before the world,” Ilay murmured against his ear, voice low and
intimate.

“I find I rather like it, Taeui.”

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The plaza was loud long before Taeui saw what had drawn the crowd.

He stood at its edge, hood drawn low, robe plain enough to pass as any traveler’s. Stalls lined
the square, wooden carts heavy with produce, bolts of cloth, jars of honey. Bells chimed as
vendors called their wares, yet at the plaza’s center, those sounds faltered, swallowed by
murmurs and sharp voices.

A ring of people had formed.

“What is all this about?” a woman whispered, craning her neck.

“You have not heard?” another replied.

“It is that florist. The one by the well.”

“The quiet one?”

“Aye. Him.”

Taeui shifted closer, careful not to draw attention. Between shoulders and raised elbows, he
caught sight of a young man kneeling on the stone. His hands trembled in his lap. Petals
clung to his sleeves, crushed and bruised, pink and white stained darker by tears.

A girl stood before him, chin lifted high. Her dress was modest but fine, her posture
sharpened by pride.

“I offered you my favor,” she said loudly, voice ringing clear.

“I did you honor. And this is how you repay me?!”

The young man bowed his head.

“My lady, I meant no disrespect.”

“Do not call me that,” she snapped.

“You dare refuse me, then whisper your filth to others?”

A man in the crowd scoffed.

“Filth is right.”

Another murmured, quieter, “He did not harm anyone, tho?”

The girl’s face flushed.

“You turned me away because you prefer men,” she said, each word deliberate.

“Is that not so?”

A hush followed, heavy and suffocating.

The florist’s shoulders shook.

“I… I could not lie to you,” he said, voice breaking.

“It would have been cruel.”

“Cruel?!” she laughed, sharp and bitter.

“You humiliated me.”

A woman near Taeui sighed.

“Poor boy.”

“Poor?” an older man scoffed.

“He brought this on himself.”

“He sells flowers,” another whispered.

“He's a kind soul who always brings extra to the orphan house.”

“Does that excuse sin?”

The girl gestured downward.

“Kneel,” she ordered. “Let all see what you are.”

He was already on his knees, yet she pressed a hand to his shoulder, forcing him lower. He
did not resist. Tears fell freely now, dotting the stone.

“I only wished to live honestly,” he sobbed.

“I never sought to shame anyone.”

“Honesty,” the girl said coldly, “does not excuse depravity.”

The crowd shifted uneasily.

“It is wrong,” someone said.

“It is not our business,” another countered.

A man spat on the ground.

“Disgusting.”

Taeui listened in silence.

He heard the words and felt their weight. He watched as the florist shrank in on himself,
feeling small and powerless under so many watchful eyes. No guards intervened, and no
authority stepped forward. The young man was a commoner, while the girl, despite her low
rank, still carried a notable name. Taeui’s fingers curled beneath his sleeves.

He remained still, hood shadowing his face, eyes fixed on the scene as the plaza breathed
judgment and pity in equal measure.

A sudden stir rippled through the ring of onlookers.

“Wait, someone’s running. Isn't that...”

A man broke through the crowd, breathless, apron still tied at his waist, flour smudged on his
sleeves as if he had come straight from the kitchen. He dropped to his knees beside the florist
without hesitation, the stone biting into him as if it mattered not at all.

“Please,” he said, bowing low, palms pressed to the ground.

“Forgive him. Forgive us.”

A collective gasp rose.

“That’s him,” someone whispered.

“The cook from the Blue Crane.”

“Their head cook, no less.”

“So it’s true, then?”

The florist looked up in shock.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he choked.

“You’ll only make it worse.”

The cook shook his head fiercely.

“I will not leave you to suffer alone.”

He turned to the woman, eyes burning yet wet with fear.

“My lady, there is no crime in loving another. We have harmed no one. If blame must be
placed, then place it upon me.”
The crowd murmured louder now.

“He came willingly…”

“That takes courage.”

“Or foolishness.”

The woman’s face twisted, fury flushing her cheeks.

“How touching,” she sneered.

“So this is the creature you chose over me?”

She circled them slowly, skirts brushing the stone.

“A cook. A man who sweats over fires and grease, who smells of onions and oil.”

The cook bowed his head.

“I am unworthy in birth, perhaps,” he said quietly, “but I love him with all that I am.”

That did it.

The woman laughed, high, sharp, and cruel.

“Love?” she spat.

“You debase yourself for this? A flower-seller who cries at the first harsh word?”

The florist flinched, shoulders curling inward.

“I pity you,” she went on, voice rising.

“Both of you. You would rather wallow in filth together than know your proper place.”

A man in the crowd muttered, “That was uncalled for.”

“Still,” another whispered, “she has guards, we can't intervene…”

The woman snapped her fingers.

“Enough of this farce. Teach them what comes of shamelessness.”

Her guards stepped forward, hands already tightening on their swords.

The cook instinctively moved, placing himself in front of the florist.

“If you must strike someone,” he said hoarsely, “then strike me.”

The florist grabbed his sleeve.

“No!! please...”

A guard raised his arm.

Before it could fall, a voice cut cleanly through the square.

“Stop.”
It was not loud. It did not need to be.

The crowd parted as if compelled, bodies shifting aside, whispers dying mid-breath. Two
hooded figures stood where there had been none a moment before: one tall and imposing,
casting a long shadow, the other slighter, with a calm and unhurried posture.

They stepped forward together, measured and deliberate. And the plaza, moments ago boiling
with noise, held its breath.

“Who dares—”

The woman's sharp retort faltered midway, as if something primal tugged at her throat,
warning her to hold her tongue. Her eyes flicked between the two hooded figures, with
unease settling where outrage had once been.

The shorter of the two inclined his head politely. His voice, when he spoke, was calm, almost
gentle.

“Pray tell, my lady. What offense have these two committed?”

The woman hesitated.

Before she could answer, one of her guards stepped forward, bristling.

“Is it not plain? They are both men and yet claim to be lovers. Such depravity is intolerable.
Do not meddle, peasant.”
A low murmur rippled through the crowd.

The shorter man tilted his head.

“Depravity?” he echoed mildly.

“Curious. I do not recall any statute of this kingdom that forbids two men from loving one
another.”

The murmurs grew louder, agreeing this time.

“He speaks true…”

“There’s no such law…”

Another guard barked, desperate to regain control.

“He dared to refuse a noble lady! That alone is an insult worthy of punishment!”

“Insulting a noble,” the hooded man mused, tapping his chin.

“Two men loving one another…” He sighed softly, as if wearied by the simplicity of it all.

Then, without warning, he leaned back casually until his back rested against the chest of the
taller man behind him.

Gasps broke out.

He reached up, fingers threading briefly into dark fabric and silver hair alike, cupping the
back of the taller man’s head. With an unhurried gentleness, he drew him down.
Their lips met.

From the perspective of the crowd, it was obscured; merely a vague shape or silhouette.
However, from where the woman stood, along with her guards and the kneeling lovers, there
was no mistake about it.

It was a kiss, deliberate and unashamed.

When it ended, it did so with a soft, unmistakable sound.

“You—!” a guard exclaimed, scandalized.

But the woman did not speak.

She trembled.

The taller man's arm was draped possessively and comfortably around the shorter man's
waist. Only part of his face was visible to her; she could see the line of his nose and the curve
of his mouth. The smirk on his lips was unmistakable, both amused and dangerous.

Then the shorter man turned his head just enough.

Their gazes met.

Her blood ran cold.

She knew that face.

Her knees hit the ground.

“I-I beg your pardon, m-my lord,” she stammered, bowing so low her forehead nearly struck
stone.

Her guards froze, then followed suit, weapons clattering as they dropped them in haste. The
shorter man regarded her quietly.

“I presume,” he said at last, “that these two gentlemen are now free to depart?”

“Yes, yes, of course!” she answered quickly.

“Hmm.”

The single sound was soft. It was also terrifying.

“I-I shall compensate them,” she blurted out.

“For the humiliation. For everything.”

A pause.

Then, lightly, “Ah. That would be most agreeable.”

The tension broke like a snapped wire.

As the two hooded figures turned and walked away, the crowd erupted, whispers chasing
their retreating backs, speculation blooming like wildfire.

“Who were they?”

“Did you see her bow?”

“He defended them… openly.”

Amidst the rumors, one undeniable truth lingered in the air: Someone more powerful than a
noble lady had stood before them and declared, without any proclamation, that love itself was
not a crime.

They were already far from the plaza, engulfed by the softer sounds of the market street,
vendors calling out, baskets shifting, and the hum of ordinary life resuming as if nothing
momentous had just occurred.

“Tay… Taeui… Jeong Taeui~”

Ilay’s voice is lilting, almost musical.

“Cease that at once,” Taeui muttered, tugging his hood lower.

Ilay only chuckled, clearly delighted.

“Whatever do you mean, Tay?”

Taeui huffed, face burning. He had truly lost his senses back there. The crowd might never
know who he was, but still. He could practically feel the man’s amusement radiating beside
him, warm and smug and entirely too pleased.

“And what became of keeping matters discreet, hmm?” Ilay continued lightly. “Tay?”

“I could not simply stand idle,” Taeui shot back, flustered.

“They were about to be beaten merely for loving one another!”

“And kissing me before half the countryside,” Ilay replied, tone infuriatingly amused, “was
the remedy you settled upon?”

“Tch. S-shut up,” Taeui grumbled, heat climbing all the way to his ears.

Then—

“Hey!”

He yelped when he was suddenly pulled aside, his back hitting the cool stone with a soft
thud. In an instant, they were swallowed by a narrow alley, the sounds of the market fading
into a distant murmur.

“Wha-”

Ilay’s lips were on his in an instant.

It was not gentle this time. It was hungry, unrestrained, as though Ilay had decided subtlety
was no longer worth the effort. Taeui gasped, the sound melting into a soft moan before he
could stop himself. Ilay’s tongue brushed against his lips, an unspoken question. Taeui
answered without thinking.
When they finally parted, Taeui was breathless and dizzy, his fingers curling into Ilay’s coat
as he struggled to steady himself. He looked up to see Ilay’s silver hair falling loosely around
his face, and his dark eyes were heavy with something raw and unguarded. A faint flush
colored both his pale cheeks and ears.

That look...

Ah.

So that was it.

Before Ilay could speak, Taeui buried his face against the man’s neck, arms wrapping around
him tightly as if to hide from the realization pounding in his chest.

Ilay let out a low chuckle and returned the embrace, firm and certain, holding him as though
there were nowhere else either of them needed to be.

“Claiming me so boldly before the world,” Ilay murmured against his ear, voice low and
intimate.

“I find I rather like it, Taeui.”

Taeui squeezed him tighter, heart racing, the alley suddenly far too small, and yet, somehow,
perfectly enough.

Flashback
"Jeong Taeui."

Ilay stood by the door as if he had been waiting there for a long time, watching him silently.
The manor was eerily quiet, with only the whisper of the night wind brushing against the
windows. Moonlight spilled across the floor, pale and cool, casting long, tangled shadows.

“…Let's talk inside,” Taeui said at last, voice carefully composed.

They entered the chamber together. The door closed with a soft click that sounded far too
loud in the stillness.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Ilay stood near the window, arms loosely crossed, posture relaxed yet unmistakably attentive,
like a predator at rest. Taeui remained near the door, fingers curling into the fabric of his
sleeve as he gathered his resolve.

This was foolish, he told himself. Cowardly to delay any longer.

“…Ilay, I know why you're here,” Taeui began, then stopped, breath hitching. He exhaled
slowly and tried again.

"Let me begin. I will speak honestly, so I don't lose my courage."

Ilay turned to face him fully.

“I am listening.”

Taeui met his gaze, dark gray eyes steady despite the racing of his heart. “I find that I… I like
you. More than I ought to.” He gave a small, self-deprecating smile.

“It appears you have unsettled me quite thoroughly.”

Silence fell.

Ilay did not react at once. He merely watched Taeui, eyes narrowing slightly, not in suspicion,
but in focus, as though processing a complex problem.

“…Like,” Ilay repeated, testing the word.

“Yes,” Taeui said softly, but the blush was obvious on his warm skin.

“That sort of like.”

Ilay took a step closer.

Then another.

“I do not understand emotions as others do,” he said candidly.

“Affection, longing, love...people assign many names to sensations that seem… inefficient.”
He stopped before Taeui, close enough that Taeui could feel the warmth of him.

“However.”

Taeui’s breath stilled.

“I know this,” Ilay continued.

“The notion of you belonging to another is unacceptable. The thought alone irritates me.
Deeply.” His gaze darkened, intent sharpening.

“I do not wish to share you. Nor do I intend to.”

A pause.

“Therefore,” Ilay concluded, utterly serious, “the only logical answer is that you are mine.”

Taeui blinked.

Surprisingly, he laughed, a quiet, breathless sound filled with both disbelief and fondness.

“You truly are impossible,” he murmured.

“You speak of possession as though it were the most natural thing in the world.”

“It is,” Ilay replied without hesitation.

Taeui’s smile softened.

“You cannot own a person, Ilay."

"Even so… I ask this of you. Let us keep whatever this is between us, for the time being. The
world need not know. There are complications enough already.”

Ilay studied him for a long moment.

“…Very well,” he said at last.

“A secret, then.” He smirked.

“Though secrets have a habit of revealing themselves.”

 Taeui did not realize how prophetic those words were.

Because two weeks later, at a sunlit plaza, before a stunned crowd, he would be the one to
break that secrecy himself. And Ilay, ever amused, found it very endearing.

Chapter End Notes

Hello dearests!

It's been a long while, hasn't it? ₍₍⚞(˶˃ ꒳ ˂˶)⚟⁾⁾ I hope everyone is doing well.
I've heard that the AO3 curse is real, and to counter it is not to finish a fic. Oh well, true
ദ്ദി
or not, I'll do my best to finish what I started haha. (｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊

Anyway, sending love to everyone! ♡⸜(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⸝♡

Love,
C.A.
End Notes

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the characters. All rights belong to the original author.
No copyright infringement is intended.

**Passion written by Yuuji**

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