#masadonia | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kimthwariru · 2 years

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☾ Smoke and Dust {Yoonmin au}

masterpost here

Genre: smut, angst, old kingdom au

Note: I know the term ‘Maiden’ is usually used for girls, but unfortunately due to societal double standards, there is not a specific term needed for a male virgin, so in this au the word will be used neutrally.

ao3 link here

Chapter 1

"They found Finley this eve, just outside the Blood Forest, dead."

Jimin looked up from his cards and across the crimson-painted surface to the three men sitting at the table. He had chosen this spot for a reason.

He...felt....nothing from these men as he drifted alongside them between the crowded tables earlier.

No pain, physical or emotional.

Normally, Jimin didn't prod to see if someone was in pain. Doing so without reason felt incredibly invasive, but in crowds, it was difficult to control just how much he allowed himself to feel. There was always someone whose pain cut so deeply, was so raw, that their anguish became a palpable entity that Jimin didn't even have to open his senses to feel—and he couldn't ignore and walk away from. They projected their agony onto the world around them.

Jimin was taught from an early age to ignore. To never speak of the gift bestowed upon him by the gods and to never, ever go beyond sensing to actually doing something about it.

Not that Jimin always did what he was supposed to do.

Obviously.

But these men were completely fine earlier when Jimin reached out with his senses. He specifically sat here because he couldn't feel a great pain coming from them, which was surprising, given what they did for a living.

They were guards from the Rise—the mountainous wall constructed from the limestone and iron mined from the Elysium Peaks. Ever since the War of Two Kings ended four centuries ago, the Rise had enclosed all of Masadonia, and every city in the Kingdom of Solis was protected by a Rise. Smaller versions surrounded villages and training posts, the farming communities, and other sparsely populated towns.

What the guards saw on a regular basis, what they had to do, often left them in anguish, rather it be from injuries or from what went deeper than torn skin and bruised bones.

Tonight, they weren't just absent of anguish, but also their armor and uniforms. Instead, they donned loose shirts and buckskin breeches. Still, Jimin knew, even off duty, they were watchful for signs of the dreaded mist and the horror that came with it, and for those who worked against the future of the kingdom. They were still armed to the teeth.

As was Jimin.

Hidden beneath the folds of the cloak and the thin gown he wore underneath, the cool hilt of a dagger was sheathed against his thigh. Gifted to him on his sixteenth birthday, it wasn't the only weapon he'd acquired or the deadliest, but it was his favorite. The handle was fashioned from the bones of a long-extinct wolven—a creature that had been neither man nor beast but both—and the blade made of bloodstone honed to fatal sharpness.

Jimin may yet again be in the process of doing something incredibly reckless, inappropriate, and wholly forbidden, but he wasn't foolish enough to enter a place like the Red Pearl without protection.

"Dead?" the other guard said, a younger one with brown hair and a soft face. Jimin thought his name might be Airrick, and he couldn't be much older than Jimin. "He wasn't just dead. Finley was drained of blood, his flesh chewed up like wild dogs had a go at him, and then torn to pieces."

Tiny balls of ice formed in the pit of Jimin's stomach. Wild dogs didn't do that. Not to mention, there weren't any wild dogs near the Blood Forest, the only place in the world where the trees bled, staining the bark and the leaves a deep crimson. There were rumors of other animals, overly large rodents and scavengers that preyed upon the corpses of those who lingered too long in the forest.

"And you know what that means," Airrick went on. "They must be near. An attack will—"

"Not sure this is the right conversation to be having," an older guard cut in. Jimin knew of him. Phillips Rathi. He'd been on the Rise for years, which was nearly unheard of. Guards didn't have long lifespans. The man nodded in Jimin's direction. "You're in the presence of a Lord."

A Lord?

Only the Ascended were called Lords, but also Jimin wasn't just anyone, especially not someone that people would expect to be inside the Red Pearl. If he was discovered, he would be in...well, more trouble than he's ever been in before and would face severe reprimand.

The kind of punishment that Dorian Teerman, the Duke of Masadonia, would just love to deliver. And which, of course, his close confidante, Lord Brandole Mazeen, would love to be in attendance for.

Anxiety surfaced as Jimin looked at the dark-skinned guard. There was no way Phillips could know who Jimin was. The top half of Jimin's face was covered by the white domino mask he'd found discarded in the Queen's Gardens ages ago, and he wore a plain robin's egg blue cloak he'd, uh.... "borrowed" from Britta, one of the many castle servants who Jimin had overheard speaking about the Red Pearl.

Hopefully, Britta wouldn't discover her missing overcoat before Jimin returned it in the morning

Even without the mask, though, Jimin could count on one hand how many people in Masadonia had seen his face, and none of them would be here tonight.

As the Maiden, the Chosen, a veil usually covered Jimin's face and hair at all times, all except for his lips and jaw.

Jimin doubted Phillips could recognize him solely on those features, and if he had, none of them would still be sitting here. Jimin would be in the process of being dragged back, albeit gently, to his guardians, the Duke and Duchess of Masadonia.

There was no reason to panic.

Forcing the muscles along his shoulders and neck to ease, Jimin smiled. "I'm no Lord. You're more than welcome to talk about whatever you wish."

"Be that as it may, a little less morbid topic would be welcomed," Phillips replied, sending a pointed look in the direction of the other two guards.

Airrick lifted his gaze to Jimin's. "My apologies."

"Apologies not needed but accepted."

The third guard ducked his chin, studiously staring at his cards as he repeated the same. His cheeks had pinkened, something Jimin found rather adorable. The guards who worked the Rise went through vicious training, becoming skilled in all manner of weaponry and hand-to-hand combat. None who survived their first venture outside the Rise came back without shedding blood and seeing death.

And yet, this man blushed.

Jimin cleared his throat, wanting to ask more about who Finley was, whether he was a guard from the Rise or a Huntsman;a division of the army that ferried communication between the cities and escorted travelers and goods. They spent half the year outside the protection of the Rise. It was by far one of the most dangerous of all occupations, so they never traveled alone. Some never returned.

Unfortunately, a few who did, didn't come back the same. They returned with rampantly spreading death snapping at their heels.

Cursed.

Sensing that Phillips would silence any further conversation, Jimin didn't voice any of the questions dancing on the tip of his tongue.

If others had been with Phillips and had been wounded by what most likely had killed Finley, Jimin would find out one way or another.

He just hoped it wasn't through screams of terror. The people of Masadonia had no real idea exactly how many returned from outside the Rise cursed. They only saw a handful here and there, and not the reality. If they did, panic and fear were sure to ignite a populace who truly had no concept of the horror outside the Rise.

Not like Jimin's brother Ian and him did.

Which was why when the topic at the table switched to more mundane things, Jimin struggled to will the ice coating his insides to thaw. Countless lives were given and taken by the endeavor to keep those inside the Rise safe, but it was failing—had been failing—not just here, but throughout the Kingdom of Solis.

Death....

Death always found a way in.

Stop, Jimin ordered himself as the general sense of unease threatened to swell. Tonight wasn't about the tragedy outside the walls. Tonight was about living, about...not being up all night, unable to sleep, alone and feeling like...like he had no control, no...no idea of who he was other than what he was.

Another poor hand was dealt, and Jimin had played enough cards with Ian to know there was no recovering from the ones he held. When Jimin announced that he was out, the guards nodded as he rose, each bidding him a good evening.

Moving between the tables, Jimin took the flute of champagne offered by a server with a gloved hand and tried to recapture the feelings of excitement that had buzzed through his veins as he'd hurried through the streets earlier that evening.

Jimin minded his business as he scanned the room, keeping his senses to himself. Even outside of those who managed to project their anguish into the air around them, Jimin didn't need to touch someone to know if they were hurting. He just needed to see someone and focus. Physical pain was almost always hot, but the kind that couldn't be seen?

It was almost always cold.

Bawdy shouts and whistles snapped him out of my his own mind. A woman in red sat on the edge of the table next to the one he had just left. She wore a gown made of scraps of red satin and gauze that barely covered her thighs. One of the men grabbed a fistful of the diaphanous little skirt. Smacking his hand away with a saucy grin, she lay back, her body forming a sensual curve. Her thick, blonde curls spilled across forgotten coins and chips. "Who wants to win me tonight?" Her voice was deep and smoky as she slid her hands along the waist of the frilly corset. "I can assure you boys, I will last longer than any pot of gold will."

"And what if it's a tie?" one of the men asked, the fine cut of his coat suggesting that he was a well-to-do merchant or businessman of some sort.

"Then it will be a far more entertaining night for me," she said, drawing one hand down her stomach, slipping even lower to between her—

Cheeks heating, Jimin quickly looked away as he took a sip of the bubbly champagne. His gaze found its way to the dazzling glow of a rose-gold chandelier. The Red Pearl must be doing well, and the owners well connected. Electricity was expensive and heavily controlled by the Royal Court. It made Jimin wonder how this much luxury was available so far from the Castle.

Under the chandelier, another card game was in progress. There were women there too, their hair twisted in elaborate updos adorned with crystals, and their clothing far less daring than the women who worked here. Their gowns were vibrant shades of purple and yellow and pastel hues of blue and lilac.

Jimin was only allowed to wear white, whether he was in his room or in public, which wasn't often. So, he was fascinated with how the different colors complemented the wearer's skin or hair. Jimin imagined he looked like a ghost most days, roaming the halls of Castle Teerman in white.

Here, some people also wore domino masks that covered half their faces, protecting their identities. Jimin wondered who some of them were. Daring wives left alone one too many times?Young princes who had grown tired of their duties? Servants or women who worked in the city, out for the evening? Did they come here for the same reasons Jimin did?

Boredom? Curiosity?

Loneliness?

If so, then they were more alike than Jimin realized, even though they were probably normal, ordinary second daughters and sons, who just wanted a night of fun.

And Jimin....he was Park Jimin of Castle Teerman, Kin of the Balfours, and the Queen's favorite.

He was the Maiden.

Chosen.

And in a little under a year, upon his nineteenth birthday, he would Ascend, as some others did .

But Jimin's Ascensions would be much different, it's meant to be the largest one since the first gods' Blessing that occurred after the end of the War of Two Kings.

Ordinary people were allowed to go out, have fun with friends and play games, yet if Jimin were to be discovered here, he would face severe punishment from The Duke.

Jimin's lips thinned as a kernel of anger took root, mingling with a sticky residue of disgust and shame. The Duke was a pestilence of overly familiar hands and had an unnatural thirst for punishment.

Whatever, people like The Duke didn't scare him, or was he worried about being disciplined. He had learnt to take it

Dragging his gaze from the table, Jimin noted that there were smiling and laughing women and men in the Pearl who wore no masks, hid no identities. They sat at tables with guards and businessmen, stood in shadowy alcoves and spoke with masked women, men, and also those who worked for the Red Pearl. They weren't ashamed or afraid to be seen.

Whoever they were, they had freedom Jimin deeply envied.

Jimin searched for independence tonight, because masked and unknown, no one but the gods would know he was here. And as far as the gods were concerned, Jimin had long ago decided that they had far better things to do than spend their time watching him. After all, if they had been paying attention, they would've cleared the monsters that lived in the shadows, and brought peace to the Kingdom.

So, Jimin could be anyone tonight.

The freedom in that was a far headier sensation than he imagined. Even more so than the unripe poppy seeds provided by those who smoked them.

Tonight, he wasn't the Maiden. He wasn't the Royal secret. He was simply Chimmie, a nickname he remembered his mother using, something only his brother Ian and very few others ever called him.

As Chimmie, there were no strict rules to follow or expectations to fulfill, no future Ascension that was coming quicker than he was prepared for. There was no fear, no past or future. Tonight, Jimin could live a little, even for a few hours, and rack up as much experience as he could before he was returned to the capital, to the Queen.

Before he was given to the gods.

A shiver tiptoed down his spine—uncertainty, along with a bite of desolation. He tamped it down, refusing to give life to it. Dwelling on what was to come and could not be changed served no purpose.

Besides, Ian had Ascended two years ago, and based on the monthly letters Jimin received from him, he was the same. The only difference was that instead of spinning tales with his voice, he did so with words in each letter. Just last month, he wrote about two children, a brother and sister, who swam to the bottom of the Stroud Sea, befriending the water folk.

Jimin smiled as he lifted the champagne flute, having no idea where Ian came up with those things. As far as Jimin knew, it was impossible to swim to the bottom of the Stroud Sea, and there was no such thing as water folk.

Shortly after his Ascension, on the orders of the Queen and King, Ian had married Lady Claudeya. Ian never spoke of his wife.

Was he happy at all in his marriage? The curve of his lips faded as his gaze dropped to the fizzing, pinkish drink.

Jimin wasn't sure, but they'd barely known each other before marrying. How was that long enough when you'd presumably spend the rest of your life with a person?

And the Ascended lived for a very, very long time.

It was still odd for Jimin to think of Ian as an Ascended. He wasn't a second son, but because Jimin was the Maiden, the Queen had petitioned the gods for a rare exception to the natural order, and they had allowed Ian to Ascend.

Jimin wouldn't face what Ian had, marriage to a stranger, to another Ascended, one who was sure to covet beauty above all else, because attractiveness was seen as godlike.

And even though Jimin was the Maiden, the Chosen, he would never be viewed as godlike. According to the Duke, Jimin wasn't beautiful.

He was a tragedy.

Without realizing it, Jimin's fingers brushed the scratchy lace of the left side of the mask. he jerked his hand right away.

A man that Jimin recognized as a guard rose from a table, turning to a woman wearing a white mask like he was. He extended a hand to her, speaking words too low for Jimin to hear, but she answered with a nod and a smile before placing her hand in his. She rose, the skirt of her lilac-hued gown falling like liquid around her legs as he led her from the room toward the only two doors accessible by guests, one at either end of interconnecting chambers. The right went outside. The left door led upstairs, to more private rooms where Britta had said all manner of things occurred.

The guard took the masked woman to the left.

He'd asked. She'd said yes. Whatever it was they did upstairs, it would be welcomed and chosen by both, regardless of whether it lasted a few hours or a lifetime.

Jimin's attention lingered on the door long after it had closed. Was that another reason he had come here tonight? To...to experience pleasure with someone of his choosing?

He could if he wanted to. He'd overheard conversations between the Lords and Ladies in the Wait, who weren't expected to remain untouched. According to them, there were...many things a woman and a man could do that brought pleasure while retaining their purity.

Purity?

Jimin hated that word, the meaning behind it. As if his virginity determined his goodness, his innocence, and its presence or lack thereof was somehow more important than the hundred choices he made every day.

There was even a part of him that wondered what the gods would do if Jimin went to them no longer an actual maiden, no longer a virgin. Would they overlook everything else Jimin did or didn't do simply because Jimin was no longer a virgin?

He wasn't sure, but Jimin hoped that wasn't the case. Not because he planned to have sex now or next week or...ever, but because jimin wanted to be able to make that choice.

Though, he wasn't quite sure how he'd find myself in a situation where that option would even arise. But Jimin imagines there'd be willing participants who'd want to do the things he'd heard the Ladies and the Lords in Wait speaking about here at the Red Pearl.

A nervous flutter beat in his chest as Jimin forced himself to take another sip of the champagne. The sweet bubbles tickled the back of his throat, easing some of the sudden dryness in his mouth.

Truth be told, tonight had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Most nights, Jimin couldn't fall asleep until it was nearly dawn. And when he finally did, He almost wished He hadn't. Three times this week alone, Jimin woke from a nightmare, with his screams ringing in his ears. And when they came like this, in clusters, they felt like a harbinger. An instinct much like the ability to sense pain, screaming out a warning.

Drawing in a shallow breath, Jimin glanced back to where he'd been looking before. The woman in red was no longer on the table. Instead, she was in the lap of the merchant who'd asked what would happen if two men won. He was inspecting his cards, but his hand was where hers had been heading earlier, delved deep between her thighs.

Oh, fuck.

Biting down on his lip, Jimin pulled away from where he stood before his entire face caught on fire. Jimin drifted into the next space that was separated by a partial wall, where another round of games was being played.

There were more guards here, some he even recognized as belonging to the Royal Guard, soldiers just like those who worked the Rise but who protected the Ascended instead. This was why the Ascended also had personal guards. People had tried to kidnap members of the Court before for ransom. No one was usually hurt too seriously in those situations, but there had been other attempts that stemmed from far different, more violent reasons.

Standing near a leafy potted plant that sported tiny, red buds, Jimin was unsure of what to do from there. He could join another card game or strike up a conversation with any of the numerous people who lingered around the tables, but he wasn't all that good at making small talk with strangers. There was no doubt in his mind that he'd blurt out something bizarre or ask a random question that would make little sense to the conversation. So that was off the table. Maybe he should head back to his chambers. The hour had to be growing late and—!

A strange awareness swept over him, starting as a tingling sensation along the back of his neck and intensifying with every passing second.

It felt like...like he was being watched.

Scanning the room, Jimin didn't see anyone paying much attention to him, but he expected to find someone standing near. That was how potent the feeling was. Unease blossomed in the pit of his stomach. Jimin started to turn toward the entrance when the soft, drawn-out notes of some sort of guitar string drew his attention to the left, his gaze landing on the gauzy, blood-red curtains that swayed gently from the movement of others in the establishment.

Jimin stilled, listening to the rise and fall of the tempo that was soon joined by the heavy thump of a drum. Jimin forgot about the feeling of being watched. He forgot about a lot of things. The music was...it was like nothing he'd heard before. It was deeper, thicker. Slowing, and then speeding up. It was...sensual. What had Britta, the servant, said about the kind of dancing that took place at the Red Pearl? She'd lowered her voice when she spoke of it, and the other maid Britta had been speaking to had looked scandalized.

Making his way along the outskirts of the room, Jimin neared the curtains, reaching out to part them—

"I don't think you want to go in there."

Startled, Jimin turned at the sound of the voice. A woman stood behind him —one of the ladies who worked for the Red Pearl. Jimin recognized her. Not because she'd been on the arm of a merchant or businessman but because she was utterly beautiful.

Her hair was a deep black, thickly curled, and her skin was a deep, rich brown. The red gown she wore was sleeveless, cut low across her chest, and the fabric clung to her body like liquid.

"I'm sorry?" Jimin said, unsure what else to say as he lowered his hand from the curtain. "Why wouldn't I? They're just dancing."

"Just dancing?" Her gaze drifted over his shoulder to the curtain. "Some say that to dance is to make love."

"I...I hadn't heard that." Slowly, Jimin looked behind him. Through the curtains, he could make out the shapes of bodies churning in time with the music, their movements full of mesmerizing and fluid grace. Some danced alone, their curves and forms clearly outlined, while others...

Jimin sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes swinging back to the woman before him.

Her red-painted lips curved into a smile. "This is your first time here, isn't it?"

Jimin opened his mouth to deny that statement but could feel the heat spreading across every visible part of his face. That alone was telling. "Is it that obvious?"

She laughed, and the sound was throaty. "Not to most. But to me, yes. I've never seen you here before."

"How would you know if you had?" Jimin touched his mask just to make sure it hadn't slipped.

"Your mask is fine." There was a strange, knowing glint to her eyes, which were a mix of gold and brown. Not exactly hazel. The gold was far too bright and warm for that. They reminded him of another who had eyes the color of deep citrine. "I know a face, whether it's half-hidden or not, and yours is one I haven't seen here before. This is your first time."

Truly, Jimin had no idea how to respond to that.

"And it's the Red Pearl's first time also." She leaned in, her voice lowering. "As we've never had the Maiden walk through the doors."

A wave of shock rolled through Jimin as his grip tightened on the slippery champagne glass. "I don't know what you mean. I'm a second son—"

"You are like a second son, but not in the way you intend," she cut in, lightly touching Jimin's cloaked arm. "It's okay. There is nothing to fear. Your secret is safe with me."

Jimin stared at her for what felt like an entire minute before he recovered the use of his tongue. "If that were true, why would that kind of secret be safe?"

"Why would it not be?" she returned. "What would I have to gain by telling anyone?"

"You'd earn the favor of the Duke and Duchess." Jimin's heart thumped.

Her smile faded as her stare hardened. "I have no need of a favor from an Ascended."

The way she said that, it was as if he'd suggested that she was courting favor with a pile of mud. Jimin almost believed her, but no one who lived within the kingdom would waste the chance to earn an Ascended's esteem unless they...

Unless they didn't recognize Queen Ileana and King Jalara as the true, rightful rulers. Unless they supported he who called himself Prince Casteel, the true heir to the kingdom.

Except he was no prince or heir. He was nothing more than a remnant of Atlantia, the corrupt and twisted kingdom that had fallen at the end of the War of Two Kings. A monster who had wreaked havoc and caused bloodshed, the embodiment of pure evil.

He was the Dark One.

And yet there were those who supported him and his claim. Descenters who had been a part of riots and the disappearances of many Ascended. In the past, the Descenters only caused discord through small rallies and protests, and even then, that had been few and far between due to the punishment that was meted out to those who were suspected to be Descenters. The trials couldn't even be called that. No second chances. No long-term imprisonment. Death was swift and final.

But things had changed of late.

Many believed the Descenters had been responsible for the mysterious deaths of high-ranking Royal Guards. Several in Carsodonia, the capital, had inexplicably fallen from the Rise. Two had been killed with arrows through the back of their heads in Pensdurth, a smaller city on the coast of the Stroud Sea, near the capital. Others had simply vanished while in the smaller villages, never to be seen or heard from again.

Only a few months ago, a violent uprising had ended in bloodshed in Three Rivers, a teeming trade city beyond the Blood Forest. Goldcrest Manor, the Royal Seat in Three Rivers, had been burned, razed to the ground, along with the Temples. Duke Everton had died in the fire, along with many servants and guards. It was only by some miracle that the Duchess of Three Rivers had escaped.

The Descenters weren't just Atlantians who were hidden among the people of Solis. Some of the Dark One's followers didn't even have a drop of Atlantian blood in them.

Jimin's gaze sharpened and zeroed in on the beautiful woman. Could she be a Descenter?Jimin couldn't fathom how anyone could support the fallen kingdom, no matter how hard their lives were or how unhappy they may be. Not when the Atlantians and the Dark One were responsible for the mist, for what festered inside of it. For what most likely had ended Finley's life— had taken countless more lives, including his mother's and father's, and had left Jimin's body riddled with the reminder of the horror that thrived inside the mist.

Pushing aside his suspicions for the moment, Jimin opened himself up to sense if there was some great pain inside her, something that went beyond the physical and stemmed from either grief or bitterness. The kind of pain that made people do horrible things to try and alleviate the anguish.

There was no hint of that radiating from her.

But that didn't mean she wasn't a Descenter.

The woman's head tilted. "As I said, you have nothing to worry about when it comes to me. Him? That's another story."

"Him?" Jimin repeated.

She moved to the side as the main door opened, and a sudden gust of cool air announced the arrival of more patrons. A man walked in, and behind him was an older gentleman with sandy blond hair and a weathered face, colored by the sun—

Jimin's eyes widened as disbelief thundered through him.

It was Kim Seokjin. What was he doing at the Red Pearl?

Oh, gods.

Jimin didn't want to think about the purpose for Seokjin's visit any longer. Seokjin

was a seasoned member of the Royal Guard, a man well into his fourth decade of life, but he was more than that to Jimin. The dagger strapped to his thigh had been a gift from him, and it was Seokjin who broke with custom and made sure Jimin not only knew how to use it, but also how to wield a sword, strike a target unseen with an arrow, and even when weaponless, how to take down a man twice his size.

Seokjin was like a father to Jimin.

He was also Jimin's personal guard and had been since Jimin had first arrived in Masadonia. He wasn't Jimin's only guard, though. He shared duties with Rylan Keal, who'd replaced Hannes after he'd passed in his sleep a little less than a year ago. It had been an unexpected loss as Hannes had been in his early thirties and in prime health. The Healers believed it to have been some unknown ailment of the heart. Still, it was hard to imagine how one could go to sleep healthy and whole and never wake up again.

Rylan didn't know that Jimin was as well trained as he was, but he knew Jimin could at least handle a dagger. He wasn't aware of where Seokjin and Jimin all too often disappeared to outside the castle. He was kind and often relaxed, but Jimin wasn't nearly as close to him as he was with Seokjin. If it had been Rylan here, Jimin could've easily slipped away.

"Dammit," Jimin swore, turning sideways as he reached back and pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head. His hair was a rather noticeable shade of blonde, but even with it hidden now and his entire face obscured, Seokjin would recognize him.

He had a sixth sense that only belonged to parents and made itself known when their child was up to no good.

Glancing back toward the entrance, Jimin's stomach dropped as he saw Seokjin sit at one of the tables facing the door—the only exit.

The gods hated Jimin.

Truly, they did, because there was no doubt in his mind that Seokjin would see him. He wouldn't report him, but Jimin would rather crawl into a hole full of roaches and spiders than attempt to explain to him, of all people, why he was at the Red Pearl.

And there would be lectures. Not the speeches and punishments the Duke loved to deliver, but the kind that crawled under Jimin's skin and made him feel terrible for days. Mainly because he had been caught doing something he deserved reprimand for.

Jimin stole another peek and—

Oh, gods, a woman knelt beside Seokjin, a hand on his leg!

Jimin needed to scrub his eyes.

"That's Sariah," the woman explained. "As soon as he arrives, she's at his side. I do believe she carries a torch for him."

Slowly, Jimin looked at the woman beside him. "He comes here often?"

One side of her lips curved up. "Often enough to know what happens beyond the red curtain and—"

"That's enough," Jimin cut her off. He now needed to scrub his brain. "I don't need to hear any more." Seeing the only father figure he had in a brothel was enough for one night.

Her laugh was soft. "You have the look of one who is in need of a hiding place. And, yes, in the Red Pearl, that is an easily recognizable

look." She deftly took Jimin's champagne glass. "Upstairs, there are currently unoccupied rooms. Try the sixth door on the left. You will find sanctuary there. I'll come for you when it's safe."

Suspicion rose as Jimin met her gaze, but He let her take his arm and lead him toward the left. "Why would you help me?"

She opened the door. "Because everyone should be able to live a little, even for a few hours."

Jimin's mouth dropped open as she gave him a wink, and closed the door.

Her figuring out who Jimin was couldn't be a coincidence. Repeating back to Jimin what he's been thinking earlier? There was no way. A rough laugh escaped his lips. The woman may be a Descenter, or at the very least, she wasn't a fan of the Ascended. But she might also be a Seer.(a which, a fortune teller)

Jimin didn't think there were any of them left.

And He still couldn't believe that Seokjin was here—that he came here often enough that one of the ladies in red liked him. Jimin wasn't sure why he was so surprised. It wasn't like Royal Guards were forbidden from seeking pleasure or even marrying. Many were quite...promiscuous since their lives were rife with danger and often far too short. It was just that Seokjin had a wife who'd passed long before Jimin even met him, dying in childbirth along with the baby. He still loved his Camilia as much as he had when she lived and breathed.

But what could be found here had nothing to do with love, did it? And everyone got lonely, no matter if their heart belonged to someone they could no longer have or not.

A little saddened by that, Jimin turned around in the narrow stairwell lit by oil wall sconces. Jimin exhaled heavily. "What have I gotten myself into?"

Only the gods knew, and there was no turning back now.

Jimin slipped his hand inside the cloak, keeping it close to the hilt of the dagger as he climbed the steps to the second floor. The hallway was wider and surprisingly quiet. He didn't know what he expected, but he had thought he would hear...sounds.

Shaking his head, Jimin counted until he reached the sixth door on the left. He tried the handle and found it unlocked. Jimin started to open the door but stopped. What was he doing? Anyone or anything could be waiting beyond this door. That woman downstairs—

The sound of a male chuckle filled the hallway as the door beside him opened. Panicked, Jimin quickly backed into the room in front of him, closing the door behind him.

Heart pounding, Jimin looked around. There were no lamps, just a tree of candles on a mantel. A settee sat in front of an empty fireplace.

Without even looking behind him, Jimin knew the only other piece of furniture had to be a bed. Jimin drew in a deep breath, catching the scent of the candles. Cinnamon? But there was something else, something that reminded him of dark spices and pine. He started to turn—

An arm curled around his waist, pulling him back against a very hard, very male body.

"This," a deep voice whispered, "is unexpected."

Caught off guard, Jimin looked up. A mistake that Seokjin had taught him never to make. He should've gone for the dagger, but instead, Jimin stood there as the arm around his waist tightened, and the man's hand settled at his hip.

"But it's a welcome surprise," he continued, sliding his arm away.

Snapping out of his stupor, Jimin whirled to face him, the hood of the cloak remaining in place as Jimin's hand went for the dagger. He looked up...and then up some more.

Oh, gods.

Jimin froze, utter shock rippling through him, shorting out all common sense when he saw the man's face in the soft glow of the candlelight.

Jimin knew who he was, even though he'd never spoken with him.

Min Yoongi.

Everyone in Castle Teerman knew when the Rise Guard arrived fromCarsodonia, the capital, a few months ago. Jimin had been no different. Jimin wanted to lie to himself and say that it was due to his striking height, placing him nearly a foot taller than Jimin. Or it was because he moved with the same inherent, predatory grace and fluidity that belonged to the large, gray cave cats that normally roamed the Wastelands but that Jimin had seen once in the Queen's palace as a child. The fearsome, wild animal had been caged, and the way it continuously prowled back and forth in the too-small enclosure had equally fascinated and horrified him. Jimin had seen Yoongi pacing in the same manner on more than one occasion, as if he too were caged. It could've been the sense of authority that seemed to bleed from his pores even though he couldn't be much older than Jimin was—maybe the same age as his brother or a year or two older. Or perhaps it was his skill with the sword. One morning while Jimin stood beside the Duchess on one of the many balconies at Castle Teerman, overlooking the training yard below, she'd told Jimin that Yoongi had come from the capital with glowing recommendations and was well on his way to becoming one of the youngest Royal Guards. Her gaze had been fixed on Yoongi's sweat-slick arms.

So had Jimin's.

Since Yoongi's arrival, Jimin found himself hidden in the shadowy alcoves more than a few times, watching him train with the other guards. Other than the weekly City Council sessions held in the Great Hall, it was the only time Jimin saw him.

The younger's interest could simply be because Yoongi was...well, he was handsome.

It wasn't often that could be said about a male, but Jimin could think of no better word to describe him. He had dark, thick hair that curled at the nape of his neck and often fell forward, brushing equally dark brows. The planes and angles of his face made Jimin yearn for some talent with a brush or a pen. His cheekbones were high and wide, nose surprisingly straight for a guard. Many of them had suffered at least one broken nose. His square jaw was firm, and his mouth well formed. The few times Jimin had seen him smile, gums would show, and a deep dimple appeared. But his eyes were by far his most captivating feature.

They reminded Jimin of cool honey, a striking color he'd never seen before, and he had this way of looking at someone that left them feeling stripped bare. Jimin knew this because he felt Yoongi's stare during the Councils held in the Great Hall, even though he'd never seen Jimin's face or even his eyes before. Jimin was sure the man's regard was due to the fact that Jimin was the first Maiden in centuries.

People always stared when Jimin was in public, whether they were guards, Lords and Ladies in Wait, or commoners.

Yoongi's stare could also just be a product of Jimin's imagination, driven by the younger's small, hidden desire and hope that Yoongi was as curious about him as Jimin was of him.

Perhaps it was all those reasons why he caught Jimin's interest, but there was another one that Jimin was a little embarrassed to even acknowledge.

Jimin had purposely reached out with his powers when he saw Yoongi.

Jimin knew it was wrong to do when there was no good reason. Nothing to justify the invasion. And Jimin had no excuse other than wondering what often made Yoongi pace like a caged cave cat.

Yoongi was always in pain.

Not the physical kind. It was deeper than that, feeling like chips of sharp ice against Jimin's skin. It was raw and it felt never-ending. But the anguish that seemed to follow him like a shadow never overwhelmed him. If Jimin hadn't used his senses, He would have never guessed it. Somehow, Yoongi kept that kind of agony under control, and Jimin knew of no one else who could do that.

Not even the Ascended.

Only because Jimin never felt anything from them, although Jimin knew they felt physical pain. The fact that he never had to worry about picking up emotional pain from them should make him seek out their presence, but instead, it gave Jimin the creeps. Why didn't they feel anything?

"I wasn't expecting you tonight," spoke. He was giving Jimin that half-smile of his now, the one that showed no teeth, made the dimple in his right cheek appear, but never quite reached his eyes. "It's only been a few days, sweetling."

Sweetling?

Jimin opened his mouth and then clamped it shut as realization rose. Jimin blinked. He thought he was someone else! Someone he'd obviously met here before.

Jimin glanced down at his cloak—the borrowed garment. It was rather distinctive, a pale blue with an edging of white fur.

Britta.

Did he think he was Britta?

To be fair, Jimin wasn't the manliest looking man. He had luscious shiny blonde hair and big plump red lips. His skin was smooth as silk and once covered entirely in cloak with his mask on, people had mistook him for a woman once or twice. It happens.

Jimin's gaze swept over Yoongi. He wore the black tunic and breeches that all guards wore under their armor. Had he come straight here after his shift? Jimin gave the room a quick once-over. There was a small table beside the settee, where two glasses sat. Yoongi hadn't been alone in here before Jimin arrived. Could he have been with another? Behind Yoongi, the bed was made and didn't appear as if anyone had...slept in it.

What should he do? Turn and run? That would be odd. Yoongi would be sure to ask Britta about it, but as long as Jimin returned the cloak and mask without her knowing, Jimin would be in the clear.

Except Seokjin was most likely still downstairs, and the woman was, too—

Dear gods, she had to be a Seer. Instinct told him she had known this room was occupied. She'd sent Jimin here on purpose. Had she known that Yoongi was here and likely to mistake Jimin for Britta?

It seemed too unreal to believe.

"Did Namjoon tell you I was here?" he asked.

Jimin's breath caught as his heart started pounding like a hammer against

my ribs. Jimin thinks Namjoon is a guard on the Rise, one around Yoongi's age. A dark haired fella, if heremembered correctly, but he hadn't seen him downstairs, so he shook his head without making a sound

"Have you been watching for me, then? Following me?" he asked, sighting softly under his breath. "We'll have to talk about that, won't we?" There was an odd threat to his voice, one that gave Jimin the impression that he was not all that pleased by the idea of Britta following him.

"But not tonight, it seems. You're strangely quiet," he observed. From what Jimin knew of Britta, she was rarely ever demure.

But the moment Jimin would speak, Yoongi would know he wasn't Britta, and Jimin...wasn't ready for him to discover that.

He wasn't sure what he was ready for. His hand was no longer on the dagger, and Jimin didn't know what that meant. All he knew was that his heart was still racing.

"We don't have to talk." Yoongi reached for the hem of his tunic, and before Jimin could take another breath, he pulled it over his head, tossing it aside.

Jimin's lips parted and his eyes widened. He had seen a man's chest before, but he had never seen his. The muscles that flexed and bunched under the thinner shirts the guards trained in were now on display. He was broad of shoulder and chest, all lean muscles and pale skin. Probably soft to the touch.

Jimin's gaze dipped even lower, and heat returned, a different kind that didn't just flush his skin but also invaded his blood.

Even in the candlelight, Jimin could see how tight his breeches were, how they gloved his body, leaving very little to the imagination.

And Jimin had a vast imagination thanks to the Ladies' frequent tendency to overshare, and his frequent tendency to listen in on conversations.

A strange curling sensation hit his lower stomach. It wasn't unpleasant. Not at all. It was warm and tingling, reminding his of his first sip of bubbly champagne.

Yoongi stepped toward him, and Jimin's muscles tensed to run, but he held himself still by sheer will. Jimin knew he should've stepped away. He should've spoken and revealed that he wasn't Britta. He should've left immediately. The way that man prowled towards him, his long legs eating up the distance between them, told Jimin his intent, even if he hadn't removed his tunic. And while Jimin had little—all right, absolutely no experience—He inherently knew that if that man reached him, he would touch him. He may do even more. He might kiss him.

And that was forbidden.

Jimin was the Maiden, the Chosen. Not to mention, he thought Jimin was a woman, and he'd obviously been in this room with someone else before Jimin got here. That didn't mean he'd been with someone, but he could've.

Jimin still didn't move or speak.

He waited, his heart beating so fast he felt faint. Tiny tremors racked his hands and legs.

And Jimin never trembled.

What are you doing? whispered the reasonable, sane voice in his head. Living, Jimin whispered back.

And being incredibly stupid, the voice countered.

Jimin stood there.

Senses hyperaware, he watched as Yoongi stopped in front of him and

lifted his hands, gripping the back of Jimin's cloak. For a moment, Jimin thought he might pull it back, and the charade would be over, but that wasn't what he did. The hood only slipped back a couple of inches.

"I don't know what kind of game you're about tonight." His deep voice was husky. "But I'm willing to find out."

Yoongi's other arm came around the younger's waist. A gasp left Jimin as the man hauled him to his chest. This was nothing like the friendly embraces he had received from Seokjin. Jimin had never been held by a man like this. There wasn't an inch between Yoongi's chest and his. The contact was a spark to Jimin senses.

He lifted me up onto the tips of my toes, then clear off my feet. His strength was staggering since Jimin wasn't exactly light, at least not as light as Britta was. Stunned, hands landed on his shoulders. The heat of his hard skin seemed to burn through Jimin's gloves and the cloak and thin white gown Jimin usually slept in.

Yoongi head slanted, and Jimin felt the warmth of his breath on his lips. A tight tremor of anticipation coiled its way down his spine at the same moment his stomach dipped with uncertainty. There was no time for the two warring emotions to battle.

In a matter of a few stuttering heartbeats, Yoongi was guiding them down to the bed, his grip strong but careful, as if he were aware of his strength. He came down over Jimin, his hand still behind Jimin's head, his weight a shock as he pressed Jimin into the bed, and then his mouth was on the younger's.

Yoongi kissed him.

There was nothing sweet or soft, like Jimin imagined a kiss to be. It was hard and overwhelming, claiming, and when Jimin sucked in a sharp breath, Yoongi took advantage, deepening the kiss. His tongue touched Jimin's, startling him. Panic flared in the pit of his stomach, but so did something else, something far more powerful, a pleasure Jimin hadn't experienced before. He tasted of the golden liquor he'd once snuck, and Jimin felt that stroke of the guard's tongue in every part of him. It was in the shivers that erupted all over his skin, in the inexplicable heaviness in his chest, in that curling, tightening sensation below his navel and even lower still where there was a sudden, throbbing pulse between his legs.

Jimin shuddered, his fingers digging into the man's flesh, and He suddenly wished He hadn't worn gloves because He wanted to feel his skin.

The man's head tilted, and Jimin felt the brush of his oddly sharp—

Without warning, he broke the kiss and lifted his head. "Who are you?"

Thoughts oddly slow and skin humming, Jimin blinked open his eyes. Dark hair fell forward onto Yoongi's forehead. His features were shadowed in the soft, flickering light, but Jimin thought Yoongi's lips looked as swollen as his own felt.

Yoongi acted too fast for Jimin to track the movement, tugging Jimin's hood back, exposing Jimin's masked face.

Yoongi's brows lifted as the haze cleared from Jimin's thoughts. Jimin's heart jumped around in his chest for a whole different reason, even though his lips still tingled from the kiss.

His first kiss.

Yoongi's golden-eyed gaze rose to Jimin's head, and he shifted his hand out from behind the younger's neck. "You are most definitely not who I thought you were," he murmured.

The man seemed to be unfazed over the fact that Jimin was a male.

"How did you know?" Jimin blurted out.

"Because the last time I kissed the owner of this cloak, she damn near sucked my tongue down her throat."

"Oh," Jimin whispered. Was he supposed to have done that? It didn't sound like it would be something enjoyable.

The man stared down at him, gaze assessing as he remained with half his body atop of Jimin's. One of his legs was thrust between the younger's, and Jimin had no idea exactly when that had happened. "Have you been kissed before?"

Jimin's face caught fire. Oh, gods, was it that obvious? "I have!"

One side of his lips kicked up. "Do you always lie?"

"No!" Jimin immediately lied.

"Liar," he murmured, his tone almost teasing.

Embarrassment flooded Jimin's system "You should get off."

"I was planning to."

The way he said it made Jimin's eyes narrow.

Yoongi laughed, and it was...it was the first time Jimin had heard him do so. When Jimin saw him in the Hall, he was quiet and stoic like most guards, and he'd only seen that half-grin of his while he trained. But never a laugh. And with the anguish Jimin had sensed lingered below the surface, he wasn't quite sure that this man ever laughed.

But he had now, and it sounded real, deep, and nice, and it rumbled through Jimin, all the way to the tips of his toes. Jimin was slow to realize that this was the most He'd heard that man speak. He had a slight accent, an almost musical lilt to his tone. Jimin couldn't quite place it, but Jimin had only ever been to the capital and here, and it was not often that many spoke to Jimin or around him if they knew he was present. The accent could be quite common for all Jimin knew.

"You really should move," Jimin told him, even though he liked the weight of him.

"I'm quite comfortable where I am," he added, still unfazed by the fact that Jimin was a man

"Well, I'm not."

"Will you tell me who you are, Prince?"

"Prince?" Jimin repeated. There were no Princesses or Princes in the entire kingdom beyond the Dark One, who called himself such. Not since Atlantia had ruled.

"You are quite demanding." He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "I imagine a Prince to be demanding."

"I am not demanding," Jimin stated. "Get off me."

He arched a brow. "Really?"

"Telling you to move is not being demanding."

"We'll have to disagree on that." He paused. "Prince."

Jimin's lips twitched in wry humor, but he managed to hide the smile. It felt annoying being amused by him "You shouldn't call me that."

"Then what should I call you? A name, perhaps?"

"I'm...I'm no one,"

"No One? What a strange name. Do young boys with a name like that often make a habit of wearing other people's clothing?"

"I'm not a young boy," Jimin snapped.

"I would sure hope not." He paused, lips curling down at the corners. "How old are you?"

"Old enough to be in here, if that's what you're worried about."

"In other words, old enough to be masquerading as someone else, allowing others to believe you're another person and then allowing them to kiss—"

"I get what you're saying," Jimin cut him off. "Yes, I'm old enough for all those things."

One eyebrow rose. "I'll tell you who I am, although I have a feeling you already know. I'm Min Yoongi."

"Well Min Yoongi, Hi" Jimin said, feeling foolish for doing so. He couldn't have thought of something witty and clever on the spot.

The dimple in the man's right cheek deepened. "This is the part where you tell me your name."

Jimin's lips nor his tongue moved.

"Then I'll have to keep calling you Prince" His eyes were much warmer now, and Jimin wanted to see if the pain had eased but managed to resist. Jimin just thought that perhaps his pain had gone away. If so...

"The least you can do is tell me why you didn't stop me earlier" the man said before Jimin could give in to the curiosity and reach out with his senses.

Jimin had no idea how he could answer that when he didn't fully understand it himself.

One side of the man's lips quirked up. "I'm sure it's more than my disarming good looks."

Jimin wrinkled his nose. "Of course." He said in an obvious ironic tone.

Another short, surprised-sounding laugh left Yoongi. "I think you just insulted me." He looked at Jimin from top to bottom, almost as if he was admiring him "You've wounded me, Prince."

"I highly doubt that. You have to be more than well aware of your fine appearance."

"I am. It has led to quite a few people making questionable life choices."

"Then why did you say you were insulted—?" Realizing the man was simply teasing Jimin and feeling foolish for not seeing that right away, Jimin pushed at his chest once more. "You're still lying on me."

"I know."

The younger took a breath. "It's quite rude of you to continue doing so when I've made it clear that I would like for you to move."

"It's quite rude of you to barge into my room dressed as—"

"Your lover?"

He raised a brow. "I wouldn't call her that."

"What would you call her?"

Yoongi appeared to mull that over while still sprawled halfway across Jimin. "A...good friend."

Part of him was relieved that Yoongi hadn't referred to her as something derogatory like he had overheard other men do before when speaking of women they'd been intimate with, but a good friend? "I didn't know friends behaved this way."

"I'm willing to bet you don't know much about these sorts of things."

The truth in his statement was hard to ignore. "And you bet all of this on just one kiss?"

"Just one kiss? Prince, you can learn a wealth of things from just one kiss."

Staring at him, Jimin couldn't help but feel...very inexperienced. The only thing he could tell from his kiss was what it had made Jimin feel. Like he was seeking to possess me.

"Why didn't you stop me?" he repeated his previous question, gaze swept over the mask and then lower, his eyes brushed over Jimin's lips as if they were touching them. Honestly, Jimin was too overwhelmed to move or say anything, he just sat there squished under Yoongi's body like a lost puppy.

Yoongi's gaze found Jimin's. "I think I'm beginning to understand."

"Does that mean you're going to get up so I can move?"

Why haven't you made him get up? whispered that stupid, very reasonable, and very logical voice. That was a great question. Jimin knew how to use another man's weight against them. More importantly, he had his dagger and access to it. But Jimin hadn't gone for it, nor had he truly made an attempt to put space between them. What did that mean?

Jimin... supposed he felt safe. At least, at the moment. He may know very little about Yoongi, but he wasn't a stranger, at least he didn't feel that way to Jimin, and he wasn't afraid of him.

Yoongi shook his head. "I have a theory."

"I'm waiting."

That dimple in his right cheek appeared once more. "I think you came to this very room with a purpose in mind."

He was right about that, but Jimin doubted he would be right about the actual reason.

"It's why you didn't speak or attempt to correct my assumption of who you were. Perhaps the cloak you borrowed was also a very calculated decision," he continued. "You came here because you want something from me."

Jimin started to deny what the man suggested, but no words rose to the tip of his tongue. Silence wasn't a denial or agreement, but his stomach dipped again.

Yoongi shifted ever so slightly, his hand coming to rest against Jimin's right cheek, his fingers splayed out. "I'm right, aren't I, Prince?"

Heart skipping all over the place, Jimin tried to swallow, but his throat had

dried. "Maybe...maybe I came here for...for conversation."

"To talk?" His brows rose. "About what?"

"Lots of things,".

His expression smoothed out. "Like?"

Jimin's mind was uselessly empty for several seconds, and then he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Why did you choose to work on the Rise?"

"You came here tonight to ask that?"

Not a single thing about his tone or his look said he believed Jimin, but the younger nodded while mentally adding that this was yet another example of how terribly bad he was at making conversations with people.

Yoongi was quiet and then said, "I joined the Rise for the same reason most do."

"And what is that?" Jimin asked, even though he already knew most of the reasons.

"My father was a farmer, and that was not the life for me. There aren't many other opportunities offered than joining the Royal Army and protecting the Rise, Prince."

"You're right."

His eyes narrowed as surprise flickered across his features. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, there aren't many chances for children to become something other than what their parents were."

"You mean there aren't many chances for children to improve their stations in life, to do better than those who came before them?"

Jimin nodded as best he could. "The...the natural order of things doesn't exactly allow that. A farmer's son is a farmer or they—"

"They choose to become a guard, where they risk their lives for stable pay that they most likely won't live long enough to enjoy?" he finished. Scorn lacing his tone "Doesn't sound much like an option, does it?"

"No," Jimin admitted, but he had already thought that himself. There were jobs Yoongi could've strived for. Trader and hunter, but they too were hazardous, as they required going outside the Rise frequently. It just wasn't as dangerous as joining the Royal Army and going to the Rise. Was the source of his anguish due to what he'd seen as a guard?

"There may not be many choices, but I still think—no, I know—that joining the guard requires a certain level of innate strength and courage."

"You think that of all the guards? That they are courageous?"

"I do."

"Not all guards are good men, Prince"

Jimin's eyes narrowed. "I know that. Bravery and strength do not equal goodness."

"We can agree on that." His gaze dropped to Jimin's mouth, and then his chest felt inexplicably tight.

"You said your father was a farmer. Is he...has he gone to the gods?"

Something crept across his face, gone too quickly for Jimin to decipher. "No. He is alive and well. Yours?"

Jimin gave a small shake of his head. "My father—both of my parents are gone."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, and it sounded genuine. "The loss of a

parent or a family member lingers long after they're gone, the pain lessening but never fading. Years later, you'll still find yourself thinking that you'd do anything to get them back."

He was right, and Jimin thought that this was perhaps the source of the pain he felt. "You sound like you know firsthand."

"I do."

Jimin thought of Finley. Had Yoongi known him well? Most of the guards were close, developing a bond thicker than blood, but even if he hadn't known Finley, there were surely others he knew that had been lost. "I'm sorry,"

Jimin said. "I'm sorry for whoever it is that you've lost. Death is..."

Death was constant.

And Jimin sure saw a lot of it. He wasn't supposed to, as sheltered as he was, but he saw death all too frequently.

Yoongi's head tilted, sending a tumble of dark locks over his forehead. "Death is like an old friend who pays a visit, sometimes when it's least expected and other times when you're waiting for her. It's neither the first nor the last time she'll pay a visit, but that doesn't make any death less harsh or unforgiving."

Sadness threatened to take up residence in Jimin's chest, crowding out the warmth. "That, it is."

Yoongi dipped his head suddenly, his lips nearing Jimin's. "I doubt the need for conversation led you to this room. You didn't come here to talk about sad things that cannot be changed, Prince."

Yoongi was right, yet again. It wasn't to talk. Jimin came here to live. To experience. To choose. To be anyone other than who he was. None of those things included talking.

But he had his first kiss tonight. He could stop there or tonight could be a night of many firsts, all of his choosing.

Was he...? Was he really considering this, whatever this was? Gods, he truly was. Tiny tremors rocked him. Could Yoongi feel them? They piled in Jimin's stomach, forming little knots of anticipation and fear.

Jimin was the Maiden. The Chosen. His earlier convictions about what the gods concerned themselves with weakened. Would they find him unworthy? Panic didn't seize Jimin like it should. Instead, a spark of hope did, and that unsettled him more than anything. The tiny glimmer of hope felt traitorous and wholly concerning, given that being deemed unworthy resulted in one of the most serious consequences.

If Jimin was to be found unworthy, he'd face certain death.

He'd be exiled from the kingdom.

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