Glitterburn
Pairing: MiMin
summary: Sungmin saves the Prince of Wu's life during an assassination attempt. His reward—becoming a member of the Prince's personal bodyguard. Zhou Mi is beautiful and proud and aware of his responsibilities, but soon both men are caught between duty and desire.
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Sungmin knows his place. He's part of a machine; he's a link in the chain of security that runs around the royal family of the Kingdom of Chu. In himself, he ranks higher than a chambermaid but lower than an aide-de-camp, but such comparisons are useless because, in an emergency, his words, his actions, could decide the fate of a nation.
He tries not to think of it in those terms. For him, this is a job. He's always taken pride in his work, always excelled at it. Until recently he served the Marquis of Jingzhou, but now he's standing in the Ministry of War, waiting to be summoned to his new position as personal bodyguard to the Prince of Wu.
He's here because he saved the Prince's life. An assassination attempt in Milan, beneath the marble arcades. Shadows and sunlight, the click of high heels on tiles, the scent of warm chocolate and pastry in the air. The sudden, startled eruption of a flock of pigeons in the square, and instinct had made him turn. A man, Eastern European, maybe Russian, dressed in a tailored suit and carrying a box of cakes, the box falling, pastries spattering onto the ground, and a gun in the man's hands, a Makarov in an upward swing.
A split-second in which Sungmin realised the assailant wasn't aiming for the Marquis of Jingzhou but at his cousin, the Prince of Wu—and then Sungmin reacted. No time to draw his firearm. He leapt into a flying kick, knowing he couldn't stop the shot, but he could misdirect it. His foot connected with the gun-barrel. A shot, the sound of glass breaking. Before he landed, Sungmin kicked out with his other foot. The assassin blocked him, sent them both tumbling to the tiled floor. By then the other bodyguards had closed around the Marquis, and people were screaming and running, and the Prince—the Prince had ducked away from his minders and was helping a woman to her feet.
Sungmin rose just before the assassin. He reached the gun first, kicked it across the ground. No time for that. He needed to get His Highness to safety. Sungmin sprinted to him, danger prickling his neck, and seized the Prince—run, sir, run—shoved him through the doors of Louis Vuitton, shouts scattering in their wake, one hand on the Prince's nape, pushing him forwards and down—be careful, stay low—and then along an access corridor and out onto Via San Raffaele, the Duomo looming ahead, and into a taxi, the driver voluble with excitement and only too happy to break a dozen traffic laws to get them to the consulate.
A clerk ushered them into a private room deep within the building and went in search of the consul. They stood there and looked at one another. It was the first time Sungmin had seen the Prince up close, and he was beautiful, kohl-smudged eyes and pale skin and hair dyed the colour of flame, his body all long lines and sharp angles. Though dimmed by circumstance, his charisma still caught at Sungmin.
"You saved my life," the Prince said, his voice husky, as if he was holding in a flood of emotion.
Sungmin met his gaze. "I was just following protocol."
The Prince breathed out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He'd kept himself together for what must have felt like the longest fifteen minutes of his life, and now he broke.
Sungmin hesitated only a moment before closing the space between them. He held the Prince, feeling awkward because the Prince was taller than him, but His Highness leaned forward and tucked his head against Sungmin's neck, his hair brushing Sungmin's face, and he trembled in Sungmin's arms. He didn't make another noise. He just shook, a leaf in an autumn breeze, and by the time the door opened to admit the consul and his staff, the Prince was himself again—paler, jaw set with tension and his eyes too quick and sharp, but with his control firmly back in place.
Despite opposition from the consul, the royal visit continued according to schedule. The Marquis feigned illness brought about by shock and kept to his hotel suite. Sungmin waited in the sitting room in case the Marquis needed him, and spent most of his time following the coverage of the Prince's public engagements. His Highness was a consummate professional, fielding questions about the assassination attempt and giving careful, considered replies when Milanese police revealed that the assassin had been in the pay of the Kingdom of Qi, the nation that bordered Chu to the north. Most of all, the Prince smiled and smiled, not just for the cameras but for the people he met; he smiled and the warmth shone from his eyes, natural and unforced, as if he wanted to share everything he had.
The visit lasted three more days. The Prince didn't exchange another word with Sungmin, didn't even glance in his direction whenever he called upon his cousin the Marquis, but by the time they disembarked the private jet in the capital of Chu, Sungmin was a de facto member of the Prince's personal bodyguard.
Now here he stands in Wuhan, half the country away from Nanjing and his old life, waiting for his appointment to be made official. This is his reward. Promotion, of sorts. There's a scroll of commendation tucked away in the luggage standing unpacked in his new quarters. His Most Excellent Majesty the King of Chu appreciates the loyalty of Li Cheng Min in the matter of his son, Zhou Mi, Prince of Wu...
The Prince of Wu is beautiful, haughty and fragile, autocratic and kind. Sungmin can't forget the way Zhou Mi felt in his arms, the way he trembled, the way he locked up his fear and put aside his human emotions and became something more, a diplomat, a prince, something perfect and flawless that reflected back tenfold whatever shone at it.
But reflection is all it is, and no matter how bright Zhou Mi shines, there's something kept small and closed inside him.
Sungmin wants to find it, wants to open it up. And that's not just stupid, it's dangerous.
This promotion. It's not a reward. It's going to feel more like punishment.
