Chapter Text
If he could have, Jaebum would have chosen any other way to present as an omega.
He’d had his eye on Jieun for weeks, dropping hints that were about as subtle as a brick to the face, and she’d laughed at him more than once; but it paid off beautifully. If he thought Jieun was gorgeous walking around the castle, it was nothing compared to how she looked spread out beneath him, a pretty pink flush staining her cheeks the same color as her lips. He couldn’t keep quiet once he was inside her, groaning and cursing and whispering to her how good she felt, how tight, how wet —
“That’s — ” she starts and then pauses, sounding confused. “Jaebum?”
“Yeah?” he pants, distracted.
“Something is...off.”
Jaebum’s brow furrows. “Did I — did I put it in the wrong — ”
“No, just — ” She purses her lips. “Pull out for a second.”
He wrinkles his nose but does as he’s told, impatient to deal with whatever’s off according to Jieun so they can hopefully get back to business. “All right, I’m out. What’s the — ”
His voice dies in his throat as the haze from the pleasure of being inside her dissipates and he becomes more aware of the rest of his body. Specifically, he becomes aware that the wetness he’d felt hadn’t been from her. If it had been, it wouldn’t be dripping down the insides of his thighs, trailing down from his —
“Oh, fuck.”
“Your life sucks,” Hongbin observes.
Jaebum had hidden himself away in the small orchard in the corner of the gardens, clambering up the branches of one of the older trees until he could see and smell nothing but sharp citrus.
Of course, Hongbin was the one to find him. At least their decade and a half of running around the castle together had given Jaebum something more than a particularly prickly squre for company.
“Thanks, Hongbin,” Jaebum says, plucking an orange off the branch next to him and chucking it down at Hongbin’s head. “I hadn’t fucking realized.”
“Anytime, Your Highness,” Hongbin replies, catching the orange and starting to peel it. Asshole. “You know me, always here to give you an objective opinion on the latest royal bullshit.”
“That’s a nice way to call yourself a gossipmonger,” Jaebum snipes. A thought crosses his mind and he swallows hard, biting his lip before he asks as nonchalantly as he can, “So...what’s the status of gossip in the castle, then, Keeper of the Castle Bullshit?”
“Oh, you know.” Hongbin says through a mouthful of orange, the juice dribbling down his chin. How he still manages to look effortlessly handsome despite eating like a toddler will never cease to amaze Jaebum. “Highly confidential, need-to-know basis, very hush-hush, all that shit.”
“So?”
“So, obviously, the whole castle knows.”
Jaebum groans and lets his head fall back against the trunk of the tree, staring morosely at the ground. He’s not far enough up to do any serious damage from jumping; he’ll just have to deal with the consequences of the gossip, then.
“Hey, Jaebum?” Hongbin asks, sounding surprisingly tentative. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah, shoot.”
“Did you really drip so much out of your ass it got on her? Because that’s — ”
The next orange Jaebum throws at Hongbin’s head flies too fast for him to catch it.
Hongbin seems to find getting pelted with fruit a reasonable price to pay for humiliating Jaebum, if the way he almost falls out of the tree howling with laughter is any indication.
“It’s the worst day of my fucking life and you’re still treating me like this,” Jaebum complains. “Why am I even friends with you?”
“Hate to break it to you, Prince,” Hongbin says, laughter still lingering around the edges of his voice, “but I’m always gonna treat you like this. There’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Fuck you,” Jaebum says, but he can’t deny there’s a part of him that’s grateful for Hongbin’s words. He isn’t entirely sure of all the repercussions he's going to face for this. He has no idea how his parents will look at him, how his future subjects will look at him, but the reassurance that Hongbin, at least, won’t be any different gives him hope that things might not change as much as he’d feared.
Maybe, Jaebum thinks, this won’t be as terrible as he’d thought.
It turns out worse than Jaebum had thought.
He'd expected the other nobles — his parents, his little brother, the various names and faces that have surrounded him since before he can remember — to look down on him with his newly-found status. He'd expected sneers, maybe slurs.
He hadn't expected to suddenly be treated like glass.
It's not that Jaebum wants to be seen as an asshole, but he's always liked to think he cuts a figure that has to be taken seriously — sharp features, broad shoulders, decent height. He's never had to deal with looks of pity or simpering smiles like he's some kind of toddler who doesn't understand the world around him. Like he's somehow different from the person he was days ago.
Then again, maybe he is different.
Surely, something had to change to take Jaebum from crown prince to royal fuck-up, a secret to be taken care of with discretion. His role has been thrust upon him all his life, and he's borne it as best he could until the weight of it on his shoulders felt like a part of his being. There had been times he'd chafed at the idea of becoming king, but he'd made his peace with it, built his whole life around the fact that his future was set.
And here he is, having that ripped out of his hands to be replaced with something he never expected or wanted. He may have learned to accept his role as future king, but accepting this new role — the thought makes him sick to his stomach.
Of course, once the role is taken from him, it has to go to someone else, and that's just another punch to the gut for Jaebum. It isn't that he's jealous. It's that he can't stand to see the way his baby brother's eyes widen and his hands clench into fists to try to hide their trembling; but Jaebum's always been a doting older brother, and he knows Youngjae's tics better than he knows his own. He can recognize when the boy is terrified.
In the middle of the night, he slips into Jaebum's room.
"Hyung?" Youngjae's voice is quieter in the dark than it ever is during the day. "Can I sleep with you?"
"Yeah," Jaebum grunts, yanking back the covers haphazardly. "C'mere, kid."
Youngjae scurries under the covers, curling up on the mattress beside Jaebum. It reminds him of the way Youngjae always used to come to him for any number of reasons when they were growing up — thunderstorms, monsters under the bed, Hongbin teasing him with stories of demons and witches. It's always been Jaebum that Youngjae runs to. The fact that this, at least, hasn't changed is a balm to the stinging resentment Jaebum feels toward the universe.
Jaebum waits for Youngjae to break the silence, listening to their soft breathing in the otherwise quiet room. He can hear Youngjae's breath catch a few times, like he's about to start a sentence and then thinks better of it. It makes anxiety twist in Jaebum's stomach. Youngjae has never had a problem talking to him. Is even the security of his relationship with his brother going to be taken from him?
"Hyung," Youngjae finally says. "What's going to happen?"
Jaebum debates playing dumb and asking what Youngjae means, but he doesn't want to disrespect him like that. Not when he's the one who reached out to Jaebum. "You know what's going to happen, Youngjae."
"But you — your crown — "
Jaebum chuckles, but the sound goes sharp and wrong in his throat. "It's not mine anymore, is it?"
He can barely make out the way Youngjae's face falls in the dark — just the harsh line of his frown, the downturn of his eyes. "But it's always been yours."
"Things change," Jaebum says bluntly.
"But you're still...you," Youngjae says plaintively. "You're still the only person in this kingdom I could see actually taking over Father's place as king."
"Funny, then," Jaebum says, "how I'm the only one of royal blood who can't, isn't it?" He can feel an ugly parody of a smile twisting his features. He hopes it's dark enough that Youngjae can't see it.
"But if not you, then...." Youngjae trails off. They both know who.
"I'm sorry, Youngjae," Jaebum whispers, and the guilt claws its way up his throat until he realizes it's going to come out in tears and he swallows hard against it, feeling it like glass shards rending him from the inside out. Not in front of Youngjae, he tells himself. The boy has enough to deal with as it is.
"It's not your fault, hyung," Youngjae says. "It's not like you asked for this."
Jaebum barks out a mirthless laugh. "You can say that again."
"It's not fair," Youngjae says, his voice bordering on a whine.
He's still so young, Jaebum thinks. Not just in age, but in maturity. Jaebum's always been there to shield Youngjae from harsh realities and life's unfairness, but now — well, alphas are the ones known for their protectiveness, aren't they? Jaebum has been rendered useless in the blink of an eye. No matter how much he feels the same, no matter how much he rages and fights and screams at the sky, his voice is swallowed up without ever being heard.
Well, he thinks, they might hear it. They're just not listening.
"Just because I'm a beta and you're an omega doesn't mean you can't be king," Youngjae insists, as if he can speak it into existence. Jaebum can tell him firsthand that's impossible. "I mean, what's even the reasoning? It doesn't make sense — "
"Heats make omegas illogical," Jaebum says dully, reciting what he's been told by the advisors that hang around the royal family. Vultures, the lot of them, if you ask him.
"Alphas have ruts," Youngjae says stubbornly. "And betas — betas — "
"Are the only ones fit to rule?" Jaebum asks, feeling the ghost of a genuine smile tug at the corners of his mouth for the first time in days. "Well, then, you could've just told me you wanted my crown, no need to take down the whole system — "
"You know that's not what I'm saying, hyung!" Youngjae says exasperatedly, kicking Jaebum's shins with his icy toes.
"I know, kid, I know." Jaebum sighs. "But omega heats are — what, every month or so? And ruts are only once a year."
"It still isn't fair," Youngjae says with a pout.
"You can't just say it's unfair because it's inconvenient to you personally," Jaebum points out.
"It's not just that, though," Youngjae says. "It's not fair to you either. When I'm king, I'll change it, I promise, and then — "
"You know that's not how ruling should work," Jaebum chides. "You can't just make laws based on your feelings and whims."
"Well, if the laws are stupid, then they should be changed," Youngjae says, and Jaebum can tell he's not going to change his mind tonight. He'll have to work with him on that.
He feels a pang in his chest when he realizes just how much Youngjae has to learn. All the years Jaebum had spent in lessons, at his father's side, are now good for one thing only — teaching Youngjae.
This, he supposes, isn't the worst lot he could've drawn as a male omega. He can't even have children, he obviously can't rule, he can't really do anything except this. It's the only thing he's really equipped for. Isn't that a cheerful thought?
Jaebum punches his pillow in the guise of pounding it into a more comfortable shape, even though they both know it's just because he wants to hit something. "Go to sleep," he says gruffly. "You know how grumpy you get in the mornings when you don't sleep enough."
Youngjae whines a little bit more, but eventually his own body stops him, his eyes drooping and the line of his body relaxing into the mattress.
Jaebum watches him. He doesn't envy Youngjae the crown, exactly. If he could've been a second son without the pressure ever placed on his shoulders, he thinks he would've been happy like that. Like Youngjae had been before this whole fiasco.
He does envy Youngjae the fact that he can sleep at night. He envies the fact that Youngjae, for all his sweetness, still holds the weight of the law behind his words. He envies that Youngjae can wake up in the morning and know that the path he walks, no matter how intimidating, is still his own.
Jaebum envies Youngjae his future only for the fact that he doesn't have one anymore.
As it turns out, there is something worse than feeling useless, and that’s feeling like someone’s pity project.
“I beg your pardon,” Jaebum says through gritted teeth with all the politesse he can muster. “Please repeat that.”
“Our allies to the north have agreed to take you,” his father says, impatience tinging his voice. No one can deny that Jaebum comes by his angry streak honestly. “King Park of Cerisale has a son, a nice alpha who’s agreed to marry you even if you — even if the circumstances aren’t what we’d expected.” Even if you can’t bear heirs, is what goes unsaid but clearly heard.
Jaebum swallows down the frustration rising in his chest and turns to look at his mother. She’s looking down at her cup, mechanically stirring her tea like she has been for the past ten minutes. “This is...fast,” he says. It’s fucking bullshit, he doesn’t say.
“It’s very fortuitous for us,” his father says. “You know that potential mates usually like their omegas before they get too old, so it’s best to do it as quickly as possible.”
“Of course,” Jaebum says, his voice brittle. He knows it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with how alphas prefer their omegas (like they’re saying how they’ll take their tea, and the thought makes Jaebum clench his teeth so hard his jaw aches). It has to do with how quickly his parents want him gone, and nothing more. Out of sight, out of mind, so everyone can forget about Jaebum and stop asking troublesome questions. “Is there a catch?”
His father laughs, booming and hollow at the same time. “Why would there be — ”
“You’ll have to go to Cerisale,” his mother interrupts, her voice high and thin with anxiety. It’s the first time she’s spoken during this conversation. When their eyes finally meet, all Jaebum can think is how much Youngjae takes after her. “The wedding will be there, and you’ll stay in their palace.”
Jaebum nods stiffly. He’d figured as much, but it still stings to know that his parents will happily ship him off so far north that he may as well never see the sun again. “And the son? Is he defective or what?”
“Jaebum,” his father says, tone threatening, but when his mother shakes her head, he can feel the honesty in the gesture.
“He’s a good boy, from what I’ve heard,” she says quietly. “He likes his books better than weapons, and he has a gentle disposition.”
“Yes, yes,” his father agrees immediately. “And a pretty face, too, if I’m not mistaken. They thought he was going to present as an omega. You’re lucky, Jaebum.”
Jaebum holds back from laughing in his father’s face, but only just. Lucky isn’t the word he’d pick. Then again, he thinks, it’s not like what he’d pick really matters.
His mother seems to notice his simmering anger and throws out, “And you’ll have new brothers-in-law to keep you company. Three, isn’t it?”
“And all alphas,” his father adds, not seeming to realize the weight of his words. Jaebum can see his mother’s face fall and her eyes drop to stare into her teacup again.
“How fortuitous for their family,” Jaebum says, borrowing his father’s word from earlier and forcing it through teeth bared in what can hardly be called a smile. “Sounds like they’re the lucky ones.”
“You and them together, maybe you’ll make some luck happen for both of our kingdoms,” his father says with a grin. “After all your training, you’d be excellent at diplomacy. Well, a certain kind of it. You know how the omegas work behind the scenes in the courts and all that. You’re a sharp boy, Jaebum. You could really make a difference.”
Not as much as a king could, Jaebum thinks, but he manages to limit himself to nodding deferentially to his father. “Yes, sir.” He keeps his eyes on the floor, not trusting himself to look back up without snapping and saying something he shouldn’t. “If the king has finished with me, I’d like to be excused.”
His father waves his hand easily, leaning back in his chair. Jaebum doesn’t linger long enough to hear anything more.
He goes to the orchard, like always.
He finds the biggest tree with the sturdiest branches and hauls himself up without a single thought to how it tears at the fabric of his trousers and the skin of his hands. He nestles himself among the leaves and the fruits.
Here, the smell of citrus is strong, but Jaebum swears that he can still smell himself — the cloying, sweet scent of unbonded omega, like a siren’s call to anyone who isn’t like him. Ever since that first day, he swears it’s been growing stronger and stronger, a cloud that follows him wherever he goes. It stifles him and steals the breath out of his lungs.
His hands shoot out and grab an orange, clawing at the skin imprecisely, sending rivulets of juice running down his wrists and arms, setting into his clothing in sticky patches. He holds the pulverized fruit to his face, inhaling the familiar scent deeply. Sharp, tangy, just a touch too sweet because of the season coming to an end. Jaebum could cry from relief at how the orange’s scent cuts through his own, letting him breathe for the first time in weeks.
Before Jaebum even realizes what’s happening, he’s crying. It’s something he hasn’t experienced before, not like this. Angry sobs that feel like they’re being ripped from his chest tear through the orchard, mingling with the peaceful sounds of birds chirping and the breeze rustling the leaves. Hot tears drip down his chin and onto his hands to mix with the fruit juice. He feels like a mess, a sloppy, uncontrollable, disgusting mess, sitting there in the royal orchard with a broken fruit in his hands and crying like it’s his heart he’s holding instead.
He’s never felt so alone in his life. Growing up, even if Youngjae was too small to listen, even if Jaebum wanted to shield him from the world, he could always count on Hongbin to be there. Even if it was with pointed barbs and a laugh in Jaebum’s face, he would be there.
Now, Jaebum isn’t allowed to even be alone with Hongbin. The thought is laughable, that all of a sudden this late puberty hits and Jaebum is going to feel something for his childhood friend, of all people; but an unbonded omega with an unbonded alpha is unheard of.
As if they would want each other, Jaebum thinks bitterly. As if he couldn’t defend himself if he didn’t want it. He was trained in combat like all princes are, and he’d taken it far more seriously than Youngjae. He’s beaten Hongbin in sparring plenty of times. Just because of some slick between his legs and a scent on his neck, the years of work he’s put in fall away and leave…
What do they leave?
Jaebum lets the orange fall out of his hand, landing with an anticlimactic thump against the earth. He follows it down; a guard will be out looking for him soon. God forbid an omega be alone for too long.
He drags himself back up to the castle and asks one of the servants to bring him hot water for a bath. Once it’s ready, he submerges himself in the tub, even though the water’s hardly cooled at all and it makes his skin feel raw and pained. He scrubs and scrubs and scrubs until every trace of fruit juice is gone, and then he scrubs some more, but he swears he can still smell what’s really bothering him — the thickly saccharine omega stench underneath it all, coming from somewhere he can’t wash away.
It doesn’t mean he can’t try.
By the time he gives up, he’s rubbed raw the scabs he has from all the climbing, and blood trickles lazily from cuts on his knuckles and knees. He still doesn’t feel clean enough, but there’s a hopelessness to the movements of his hands now — the desperate frenzy of strokes with the washcloth has died down to tired, muted drags against his burning skin.
The water is cold, he realizes. He doesn’t know how long he’s been here. Apparently, it doesn’t matter. That’s a thought that’s been running through Jaebum’s mind more and more lately.
He forces himself out of the bath and dries and clothes himself carelessly, not paying attention to the wet patches he’s left on himself. By the time he falls into his bed, the exhaustion of the day hits him. He might not be allowed to do many physical things anymore, but the emotional toll that everything has taken on him lately is making him fray around the edges. He wonders if he would’ve felt the same way if he weren’t an omega or if he’s more susceptible to emotions now.
He groans and buries his face in his pillow. There’s no use wondering, he reminds himself. It can’t be undone.
So he lets the weariness overtake him, lets sleep pull him away from his bed where he lies curled up, stifled by his own scent.
Jaebum manages to see Hongbin alone one more time before he leaves for Cerisale.
He hasn’t seen him in weeks. Jaebum scans him up and down, wondering if Hongbin has changed like everything else in his life has seemed to, but he seems the same. Cherubic curls falling around his dimpled face, a knifelike smile carved into his features the only hint that he isn’t nearly as angelic as he appears. The only difference is how aware Jaebum is of Hongbin’s scent; unbonded alpha, clean and sharp. It suits Hongbin, if Jaebum is honest with himself.
He’s handsome, Jaebum acknowledges. He wonders if, given time and space, he really would’ve fallen for Hongbin like everyone seems to think.
Then, of course, Hongbin opens his mouth and Jaebum remembers how stupid that line of thought is.
“You know, I bet your flexibility from combat training will come in handy,” Hongbin says cheerfully. “I mean, as long as he gags you or something so he doesn’t have to listen to you, but that seems like a pretty good tradeoff, don’t you think?”
It’s like Hongbin’s words cut through the haze of anxiety that’s been plaguing Jaebum since this whole business started. They pull a laugh out of him, genuine and probably too loud for the alcove they’re hiding in, but it feels full and good in a way that Jaebum has ached to feel for weeks. He grabs Hongbin around the neck, yanking him into a chokehold.
“Maybe this combat training will come in handy instead,” Jaebum grunts as Hongbin wheezes and curses at him, twisting against his grip.
“If you — do that,” Hongbin manages, “you’re going to get — hanged for attempted — assassination — Jesus, let go — ”
“My dearest husband-to-be is the fourth son,” Jaebum says, voice straining with the effort of keeping Hongbin held in place. “I doubt they’ll care if he gets a little banged up if they were willing to marry him off to a barren omega, anyway.”
“Yeah, well stop — using me as a practice round,” Hongbin chokes out. “You’re not even — going to get to Cerisale — if you’re already a murderer.”
“They’ll never find the body,” Jaebum hisses, but he lets go of Hongbin anyway, who stumbles away while choking and laughing.
It feels good, better than Jaebum remembered even. He hasn’t had casual physical contact in so long, even if it’s just roughhousing with his absolute asswipe of a best friend.
“Maybe it’s good that you’re going so far away,” Hongbin grumbles, his voice cracking slightly. “I won’t have to worry about any more attempts on my life — ”
“Don’t be dramatic,” Jaebum scoffs. “We’ve gone harder than that in training.”
“But now you have your omega wiles to seduce my innocent alpha — ow!” Hongbin rubs at where Jaebum just punched him in the arm and scowls at him. “It’s true!”
“I don’t have any damn wiles,” Jaebum insists. “I’ve never had wiles. You’ve known me for over a decade and you want to act like I have wiles?”
“It comes with your omega juice or whatever,” Hongbin snipes at him. “You could make an alpha do anything, right? Isn’t that what everyone says?”
“Oh, yeah,” Jaebum says drily. “Because I’ve really gotten my way ever since I started leaking omega juice, right?”
Hongbin snorts in laughter, cuffing Jaebum’s shoulder. “Maybe you should get in touch with your omega side,” he suggests with a smirk. “See if you can get your big strong alpha husband to bend over backward for you.”
Jaebum cringes. “I think I’d rather run away and live as a hermit in the woods than try to do whatever you’re suggesting.”
“Boo, you’re boring.” Hongbin leans back against the wall, hands in his pockets as he regards Jaebum. “You know, if you’re going to be like this, things might actually suck as badly as you think they will.”
Beneath the light tone of their conversation, Jaebum can feel an undercurrent of tense truth running through their words.
Jaebum shrugs, trying to keep his demeanor casual. “I mean, if worst comes to worst, I can always just jump out a window.”
Hongbin makes a sound in the back of his throat. "Why do you always have to be so dramatic?”
“Dramatic?” Jaebum splutters. “First of all, it was a joke. Second of all, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my whole life has gotten dramatic lately — ”
“Then don’t make it even more dramatic,” Hongbin interrupts. He purses his lips for a few seconds as if in thought, and then says, carefully not meeting Jaebum’s eyes, “I mean, if you get there and realize everything is shit, you can always just — I don’t know, call me in to kidnap you or whatever.”
Jaebum’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. This level of open concern from Hongbin is about as unprecedented as if he’d planted a kiss on Jaebum’s lips. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah.” Hongbin clears his throat awkwardly. “I've got to keep myself sharp. Nothing like a little kidnapping to keep you on your toes.”
Jaebum tries not to stare at Hongbin in utter amazement. He considers giving him a slow clap for being outwardly considerate of other humans, but he thinks that might make Hongbin crawl under a table and disappear for the rest of his life. Instead, Jaebum huffs out a laugh and says, “It'd have to be pretty bad if I relied on calling your sorry ass in to save me.”
Hongbin squawks in indignation. “I offer my life for you, and this is what I get?”
“Maybe you should’ve worked harder in training, then,” Jaebum teases.
“You should be grateful for me,” Hongbin grumbles. “You treat me like this and I’d still beat Cerisale’s asses for you. Why are we friends, again?”
“No one else wants to put up with you once they realize your pretty face is a lie,” Jaebum says bluntly.
“Well, ditto to you, Your Highness,” Hongbin says sarcastically.
Jaebum shrugs. “I never claimed otherwise.”
They keep bickering for as long as they dare, hidden in an alcove that shutters them from the rest of the world. It feels like old times. Even though it’s inconsequential banter, it’s the best thing that’s happened to Jaebum in weeks, and gratitude swells inside him. It makes him want to do something stupid like talk to Hongbin seriously or maybe place a brotherly hand on his shoulder, but he shakes it off.
He doesn’t want to do anything too different. He just wants to savor this moment as it is, try to pin it down in his mind so he can hold it close later, when everything changes.
At least he got this one last time.
Jaebum had expected that the day of his departure would’ve been greeted with the usual pomp and circumstance favored by royalty. After all, this whole affair is going to result in the marriage of their eldest, and it might be the last time they see him in — well, Jaebum doesn’t really want to think about it.
Instead, it’s just like everything else that’s happened since Jaebum presented. Hushed, secretive, tinged with shame.
At least he gets one of the nicer carriages, Jaebum thinks glumly. Although, that might have less to do with his own comfort and more to do with the image his parents want to project to Cerisale. He’s not sure what makes him more sick with anger; the fact that this might be true, or the fact that he’s disillusioned enough with his own parents to think of it in the first place.
The only ones there to see him off are his parents, Youngjae, and the highest echelon of advisors. The hall feels unnaturally empty as they make their way through the main doors, feeling more like a procession for a funeral than one in preparation for a wedding. It doesn’t feel real, his body distant from his mind even as he hugs Youngjae a final time, kisses his mother on the cheek, bows to his father.
As he boards the carriage, he feels like he’s floating, not hearing anything from the beta guards trusted with his safety as they close the door behind him and ready the horses.
No, he thinks as the carriage begins to pull away. He watches the only home, the only family he’s ever known, slip away from him, unable to muster up any reaction. He’s not floating.
He’s in freefall.