이무기의 복 (Mourning Bride)

21. Conceding

Wooyoung had brought his own comb to brush San's hair before they sent him to meet the king. While the stable boy's gentle fingers ran through San's mane that curled around his digits as if wanting to kiss them, San fretted to himself without ever making a sound. He didn't want to fight Hongjoong to make his requirements clear. Demanding obedience was something elder dragons were better at than he, and San stood to his word that making anyone but those responsible suffer was an unjust punishment.

"I can go with you if you want. I can hold your hand while you talk to them." Like the touch of wind to San's hair, Wooyoung's calloused fingers treaded through the strands. San played with his hairpin Hongjoong had gifted him, nervous about the stakes it would claim on him if he wore it again.

"I don't want them to bother you. If Seonghwa is still angry, he will just attack you instead."

San was still amazed at how a man as beautiful as the shaman could become so enraged. Hate was an ugly emotion, but it had given Seonghwa a scary attractiveness. If Hongjoong got angry, was he just as beautiful? Whenever he expressed his emotions, San swooned for him.

"I don't mind. I find their treatment unjustified as well. If my presence helps you sort your thoughts, I would rather get yelled at by Seonghwa than see you hurt again."

When one of the horses downstairs scoffed at the sweetness of Wooyoung's confession, San hissed warningly under his breath. Amused, the animal fell silent again.

"Thank you. I will face them by myself first, but I won't be shy to show that despite their interferences, I found someone who understands and appreciates me like they claimed no one would. Please wait for me," San whispered. His claws uncurled when Wooyoung reached for the pin and tied up the upper half of San's mane. Nimble fingers untucked two long strands to hang into his face prettily.

Wooyoung's hands smoothed over San's hair once more before his touch faded. Instead, he leaned over San's shoulder to press a kiss on his cheek.

"I will wait patiently. If you need me, I am right here," Wooyoung promised.

Their hands found each other to convey resolve. Only when San stood, the lingering support got swept away into a distance.

San's claws flattened over his clothes, brushing over the expensive silk that hadn't been touched by the forest. It hadn't ripped, nor had it stained. Beautiful as the day it had been woven for him to wear, it underlined the dragon's beauty.

Wooyoung accompanied San to the entrance to the stables. As San wandered off, Wooyoung stood there cast in the morning's light and watched him go.

The entrance doors to the throne hall opened for San with the same celebrative motivation as before. San strode in, his head raised and antlers on display proudly.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa were together, conveniently meeting San at the same time. Hongjoong perked up on his throne first when he spotted San. His hands retracted where they had been lingering on Seonghwa's leg that had been intertwined with his as they rested together as if Seonghwa were the queen of the palace.

A stab of pain bore into San's heart, but he flicked off any reaction.

When the king stood, Seonghwa sent a lethal glare at the intruder, but surprise lifted his brows when he saw who graced them. His legs swung over the side of the throne, too.

"San. You returned." Relief gave Hongjoong's tension away as he hurried to descend from the platform to greet San. He didn't dare touch the dragon, but his eyes darted over San's figure in worry to make sure no harm had come upon him. As San remained frostily stuck in place, the king's excitement died down.