Seungho wiped his boot, jaw tight, eyes never leaving the boy below—who was probably already plotting his next crime against the food supply. Haneul caught his eye, winked—winked—like he’d just won the world.
Gods help him, Seungho smiled.
It was over then. The war was lost.
Haneul, beaming, shouted up, “HEY! Fire King!”
Seungho’s eyes narrowed, but Haneul didn’t flinch.
“You gonna stand up there glaring from your royal altar forever, or are you gonna come down here like a real man?” Haneul called, voice pitched for the world. “Oh wait—” He leaned back, hands behind him in the snow, picture of smug, “—you’re too OLD to jump from that height! Wouldn’t want to dislodge your hip, grandpa!”
Captain Hae Ryong almost fainted.
Seungho glared, his core flaring so hot the railing steamed under his hands.
“C’mon, Fire King! Or do you need a ramp?” Haneul jeered.
That was the end. Without a word, Seungho stepped back—three strides, hair uncoiling from his shoulder, his magic gathering, boiling, ancient. Guards scattered. Servants ducked. Even the pond seemed to cower
Seungho leapt.
The world slowed, air bending, magic shrieking in his wake as he soared—no, descended—like a meteor called to earth by a single, impossible boy.
He landed hard, in a plume of steam and slush, just two feet from Haneul. Fist down, knee bent, sandals intact. A king answering a dare.
Herose. Stared down. Voice flat, thunderous, entirely his: “…hip’s fine.”
And then, before Haneul could react, Seungho grabbed his wrist—yanked him up, over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, like a sack of peaches and trouble. Haneul’s legs kicked, braid slapped his back, and he howled:
“HEY—!”
Seungho grinned, molten and wild. “Old, huh?”
“PUT ME DOWN, YOU OVERSIZED BASTARD!”
“You picked this fight, Sky.”
“I WAS JOKING—!”
“Training ground. Now.”
“YOU’RE KIDNAPPING ME—AGAIN!!”
“I’m ruining you.”
“THEN DO IT BETTER—!!”
And with Haneul slung over his shoulder, half-laughing, half-cursing, wholly radiant, Seungho strode across the courtyard—each step a promise, each heartbeat a vow, the palace alive with the thunder of war drums and laughter and a love that could break kingdoms.
??????
Haneul dangled over Seungho’s shoulder like a sack of stolen gods, kicking, cursing, a swirl of tangled silk and bare, muscle-cut limbs. He was a riot of feral energy—snarling one second, laughing the next, the braid whipping behind him with every stride. They’d barely cleared ten paces across the snowy palace yard when Haneul, unable to let chaos sleep, twisted—too fast, too sharp for a man hissize—and clawed his nails into Seungho’s ass like he meant to peel it off.
Seungho stiffened, one foot stamping down harder into the snow than intended.
Haneul gasped—then giggled. Not just a laugh, but a grin blooming wild and wicked across his face, eyes lit with pure hellfire delight. “Wowwwww…” he crooned, voice rising in song, like a priest blessing the morning’s first sacrifice. “This is good meat…”
Seungho shot a glance back, just in time to see Haneul try to shimmy lower—almost slipping off completely. Then—CHOMP.
