THE SWORD'S DANCE | HYUNBIN

❀jeweled jasmine❀

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ HYUNJIN CAN'T SLEEP. It's nothing new to him— the windowsill near his window is littered with pillows, cushions, and books so that he can wait the sleeplessness away while staring at the moon. Today is one of those days, the moon a dazzling crescent in the star-speckled sky. He wants to sit on the curved surface, above the world and all the stress it contains. Wishes his hope, his determination didn't rise and fall with the setting sun.

The surface of his balcony, polished wood and delicately carved metal rails, calls to him. Hyunjin doesn't normally leave the comfort of his room, but the night breeze is calling to him.

Loose white garments flowing around him, Hyunjin steps out on the balcony with bare feets. He opts to stand instead of reclining on one of the two chairs situated outside, preferring to lean over the rail and let the wind tousle with his loose hair. He hates having his hair bound up constantly, but it's professional. Princely. It keeps his mom and his hair out of his face.

The jasmine vines trailing out of their pot glow in the moonlight, star-shaped blossoms seeming to shine. He has the urge to put them in his hair, so he does. No one is out at this hour to stop him. The perfume of the blossoms smells heavenly, a suiting smell for such a pretty flower.

Rustling sounds from the dirt path below, and Hyunjin freezes. He leans over, looking down at the man standing below. He stares back up at the prince.

Hyunjin's fingers remove the dagger strapped to his thigh. He always keeps it there, never knowing when an attempt might be made on his life. The coolness of the metal against the sensitive skin on his leg is calming; it always has been.

No one wanders the grounds at this hour. Hyunjin's come to the conclusion that the man across from him is an assassin— but clearly not a capable one, because he's standing there and not making any forthright move to attack the prince. Pitiful, Hyunjin would make a better assassin.

He dawdles with the idea of throwing the knife down to hit the petulant assassin— his aim with throwing is good, great even, having trained for hours because he refused archery— but the minuscule chance that it's not an assassin hiding behind the cloak stops him. Also, laziness— it's sometime in the middle of the night, and Hyunjin really wants to sleep and not have to murder someone.

Still, he raises the weapon, letting the moonlight glint off of the blade. Just to be safe. He crosses the two top fingers of his hand, praying that stories of a insane, violent prince wielding knives at innocent people doesn't turn up in the maids' morning gossip.

The cloaked figure cocks his head to the side. Hyunjin fiddles with the blade.

He dawdles with the idea of yelling out, because he's tired to the point where sleep is no longer there and instead he's filled with a short burst of energy. But that's stupid, and not princely in the least. Hyunjin stays quiet.

Then the cloaked figure darts forwards, to the castle wall, and leaps upwards. His hands, shining with callouses, grip the ivy as he scrambles up the wall. The assassin is impressively limber and light on his feet, in a way that the prince has only seen in one other person.

Hyunjin situates himself at the middle of the balcony, so he can't be pinned against the castle wall or thrown off the railing. The dagger hovers in front of him, held our defensively.

The assassin leaps over the railing, and Hyunjin charges at him, knocking him over and pressing the knife to his throat. The assassin bites his hand, distracting Hyunjin for a quick second while he whips down the hood of his cloak.

Black hair, small plump lips, a rounded nose. Defiant eyes stare back at him, ones that Hyunjin will always know.

"Changbin," Hyunjin breathes, sitting back. "What are you doing?"

"Thought I'd say hi to the prince, your majesty." He pants under Hyunjin, the prince not letting his hold go.

"You executed that by looming outside my window?"

"That wasn't the plan— I didn't even expect to see you. I walk the path almost every night, and I've never seen you out here before."

"That still doesn't make sense. You saw me holding a dagger, and decided to climb up the wall?"

"It's like a welcome to me." Changbin smiles dashingly. "You know I jump at the chance to fight you, your majesty."

"Is that a good or bad thing?" Hyunjin moves up, off of Changbin, leaning against the railing.

The knight gets up as well, draping himself elegantly against a chair with a grace that Hyunjin didn't know he had. His cloak sprawls out like an oil stain on the balcony, Changbin in white nightclothes just like Hyunjin.

"It's a good thing, your majesty," Changbin fiddles with his hands, cracking the joints on his fingers. Hyunjin's mom always tells him it's an ugly nervous habit. But he doesn't think it looks ugly when Changbin does it, the rhythm of his long fingers weaving together hypnotizing. "Fighting is boring when it's not you."

"You, thinking fighting is boring? I thought I'd never see the day."

Changbin walks to stand nest to Hyunjin, looking towards the moon. His side profile is illuminated by the subtle silver glow of the moonlight. "You've raised my standards too much, Prince."

"I'm honored." Hyunjin lets the syllables fall into the night sky, quietness overtaking them like a thick blanket.

Changbin turns to the prince then, outstretching a hand. The limb pauses in midair, in the middle of the gap between them.

He curls a strand of hair behind Hyunjin's air, smiling the softest goddamn smile the prince has ever seen. "You look pretty with flowers in your hair," he whispers.

A feeling overtakes Hyunjin, one he's never felt before in his entire life. It makes his stomach swoop, makes his head spin like he's inhaling the overly sweet perfume of roses. Yet it isn't an unpleasant feeling. It's comfortable like the soft warmth of a fire, and raises the same heat to his cheeks.

He doesn't know what it means, but he likes it.

🪷

A gleam is back in Hyunjin's eyes when they face off in the tournament next morning. It's softer than normal, less angry, but Changbin treasures it all the same.

He twirls his blade, "Are you ready?"

"You bet," Hyunjin answers, eyes narrowed and steely again. It's stupidly handsome.

The announcer calls off the countdown, and then they're off.

They exchange blows, swords clanging and boots scuffing against the churned up dirt. Changbin loves it, the dance of fighting with Hyunjin and Hyunjin only. He catches a smile on the prince's face that seems wildly unfitting for the occasion— and yet, the knight finds himself suppressing his own smile.

It's weird, he thinks, that neither of them have tried to end the fight yet and deliver the would be killing blow. They're stuck together in tangent, spinning in and out of each other's reach as if they're preforming a viennese waltz.

But Changbin can see the crowd growing restless. As much as he'd love to fight until they sink to their knees in exhaustion, it can't last forever. So he launches himself at Hyunjin, spinning to the side to dodge a sword strike. But the prince anticipates his attack and swings his sword to protect himself, the blade narrowly missing Changbin's clothed chest. Back arching to duck under the blade, Hyunjin takes advantage of the knight's vulnerability to strike again.

Changbin finds himself in the dirt on his back, breath escaping him. Hyunjin hovers over him, a strand of his hair escaping the tight knot. There's a blade against his neck and knees bracing his waist, but Changbin doesn't hesitate in reaching out and tucking the fallen strand behind the prince's ear. Hyunjin exhales one shaky breath, eyes widened, and then the announcer calls off the fight and the prince scrambles off of Changbin.

For the first time ever during their hundreds of spars, Hyunjin extends a hand to pull Changbin off of the dirt. The prince's hand is calloused from years of swordplay, but impossibly smooth and warm at the same time. It almost saddens the knight when the hand in his leaves.