The Crown Prince [COMPLETED]

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Warning: this chapter contains offensive  and possibly triggering names. Do not read the first part if you are sensitive to that material. The part after the divisor will be good though.

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Jeno was trying really hard not to cry. He knew at one point his parents would have figured it out, but he was hoping he'd make it until the three of them were married so he didn't have to go back to their castle.

"Lee Jeno."

"Yes sir?" King Hyukjae gave his son a disappointed look, and Jeno stiffened, trying not to show any weakness.

"This marriage is only for political purposes. I fully expect you to quickly overrule and assassinate the other princes once you gain the thrones. So why does it seem like you're enjoying your time with them Jeno?"

"I'm just gaining their trust sir, the best way to do that is to be friendly sir." Jeno said monotonously, trying really hard to not let emotion show.

"I understand that, but you can't get emotionally attached."

"Sir yes sir," Jeno responded.

"Don't lie to me about this next one."

"Sir yes sir."

"You're already attached aren't you? And to both of them?" Jeno faltered and continued to stare straight ahead.

"Yes sir," he managed, fear staining his tone.
"I thought we cured you! You're not supposed to be gay anymore. You're not supposed to love two boys nonetheless," Hyukjae shouted, but Jeno hardly flinched. His eyes however betrayed how terrified he was of his father. "Your hands."

"S-sir?"

"Your hands now, faggot." Jeno gulped at the word and held out his hands. His father left the room for a minute, but Jeno knew what was coming.

He closed his eyes for a second, trying not to cry. That was part of the punishment; he couldn't show emotion now, otherwise he'd get more. When the door opened, Jeno shuddered and opened his eyes.

"Good job." His father was holding a riding crop and a belt, and Jeno held his breath. "Count to fifteen with the crop, then you'll turn around and count to fifteen. Mess up, show emotion, and we restart. One day this will get the gay out of you."

Jeno could remember when he was little and he had counted up by threes instead of by ones. He'd been concussed that time, and his mother had acted concerned for a while. Sometime when he was ten though, she stopped caring.

She thought it had gotten out of him.

He'd hidden it very well. He'd thought that he could hide it.

The snap of the riding crop made him flinch, and his father tisked. "Restart, whore."

The next time, Jeno had detached himself. He'd learned how to do that with hours of brutal training, going four days without sleep and training for military service.

The fact that his hands and back were bleeding completely escaped him until his father left and he sank to the ground, finally crying.