Seventeen Preferences & Scenarios

Imagine 18 (part 1)

The boy sprawled on the golden throne taps his sceptre idly against his thigh, black eyes lazily scanning his throne room. His crown lies discarded some ten feet away, possibly tossed aside in a fit of petulance.

The boy knows better than anyone what a mockery this crown, this sceptre, this kingdom is. Who could know better than him? It was he who was granted the "gift" of the kingdom, after all, as his father's eyes sparkled in amusement and the court laughed at the shame burning on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. It was he who was displayed in front of the court, that golden crown forced onto his head, an ermine and red velvet cloak tossed carelessly over his shoulders and that sceptre thrust into his hand.

His features contort in rage at the recollection, an expression entirely too fierce for his sweet face, and he flings the sceptre across the room. It rings against the stone wall, a long, clear note, and clatters against the floor, rolling away with a faint ring.

The boy curses his father, his voice rougher and deeper than one would expect from his small stature and gentle face. His words make a different sort of music in the still air of his decadent throne room, a cacophony of rage and bitterness.

He slumps forward on his throne, burying his face in long-fingered hands.

Quietly, the door swings open. The hinges don't creak, of course — the mock kingdom is kept in perfect order by the few people who didn't laugh at its king, those who are loyal to the boy who sits on its golden throne.

Soonyoung's footsteps are a soft, muffled beat on the carpet that leads to the throne and the boy who sits slumped on it.

"Jihoon," he says softly, a careful hand ghosting over his back. His long, elegantly pointed ears droop as if in sympathy with the misery of the king, and he kneels, ducking his head to be eye level with him. "There's an issue that requires your attention."

"Send someone else to deal with it," the king says, muffled by his hands. "I won't see my father today."

Soonyoung hesitates. "It's... it's not your father. There are two humans at the gates."

Jihoon's head snaps up, concealed curiosity glimmering in his dark eyes. "Humans?" he asks, one eyebrow lifting. "How did they get here?"

Soonyoung spreads his hands helplessly as he shrugs. "That's what we're all wondering, Jihoon." His eyes sparkle, purple flecks of mischief glittering in their dark brown depths. "Shall I ask Hansol to bring them to you?"

Jihoon nods, and Soonyoung flutters off, coming back in a matter of a minute. He scoops the crown from the ground, giving it a perfunctory dusting-off before settling it on Jihoon's head, and flits off to retrieve the sceptre from the opposite side of the room.

Jihoon accepts it grudgingly. Soonyoung's loyalty is awe-inspiring sometimes — for all his playful ways, it was the taller boy who convinced ten more of the court to follow a disgraced Prince to his mockery of a kingdom in the middle of nowhere.

The door swings open once again, and four figures make their way in.

The clinking of Hansol and Seungkwan's armour is like bells, ringing sharply in the vast hall. Their tabards are emblazoned with the crest of the kingdom — a spire of poisonous blue nightshade flowers, wrapped in a gold ribbon and encircled with the very crown that now rests on Jihoon's head.

Between them, heavy footsteps beating out an uncertain rhythm, are the two humans. A male and a female, Jihoon notes, a gold shimmer of interest passing through his eyes. The male's arm is wrapped protectively around the female's shoulders, and his hand flits around his belt as though searching for a weapon.