The sun is over the kingdom of Busan. It's at the peak of summer so the heat is becoming an annoyance as the brown-tiled roofs sizzle.
Standing in front of the mahogany mirror, the Crown Prince Park Jimin frowns. He sighs heavily as his personal servant strolls in, a flowing navy black cape in hand, to hang from the decorative clasps at his shoulders.
"Oh don't you look so handsome!" she chirps as she attaches the cape with ease. She dusts off his shoulders, fiddles with the chain that connects the clasps and continues to brush and dust and fidget with his pants and black leather boots.
His silver hair is combed and swoops nicely, his eyes lined in kohl. At a passing glance, one would think his eyes are just as grey depending on what shirt he wears. Even he believes his eyes shift their color all on their own. His jacket is a bluish grey, lined in periwinkle embroidery across his chest.
Jimin spares his maid a thankful nod, but immediately walks over towards his balcony once she's done fiddling. He leans out as far as he dares to catch a breath of wind on his face. Beyond the city, the foothills ripple towards the storm clouds on the horizon.
Rain would be such a relief. Two weeks were fine with a steady wind, but then the humidity rose and now the air feels as thick as soup, the smell of the city reaching even the highest spires of the castle. Still despite the baking filth, much of his father's court still stayed. Meaning he still has to endure such boring meetings and babbling of the men.
This heat makes the endless string and state dinners unbearable, even with servants fanning them with palm fronds imported from Gyeonggi-do. At this point, it would take some serious magic to relieve them of this heat.
Stepping back, Jimin hauls his balcony doors closed, stirring the gossamer curtains. Some of the servants who were folding his discarded clothes flinch, and as he retrieves his bejeweled dagger from the divan at the end of his bed, his chamber doors thrust open.
Scaring the servants yet again, in walks his best friend and Captain of the Royal Guard.
Bearing the armor of the Busan, Min Yoongi's cape ripples in red as he storms over to Jimin. The prince only smirks at the anger and annoyance etched on his friend's sculpted features.
With hair of ebony black and midnight eyes to match, Yoongi has been his best friend for years and his personal guard even longer. Even as children, he protected Jimin from bullies in the park.
"You're late." He snaps. His sword clinking against his belt of daggers, ready for any attack as always. He bears a quick bow.
Jimin nods in return, only shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly as he attaches the dagger around his waist. Looking back to Yoongi, he has his arms crossed, which only makes Jimin smile wider. If it weren't for the servants being here, Yoongi would've grabbed him by the back of the neck and hauled him out the doors.
"Sometimes I think you live to piss me off." Yoongi says, approaching closer.
Jimin chuckles. "You can't rush perfection."
"I'm not rushing perfection, I'm rushing you."
Jimin holds up his hands, though still with an impish grin. "Alright, alright. I'm ready."
Yoongi steps aside, gesturing with his arm for the prince to go first. Jimin thanks his servants for their work as they leave, Yoongi following and shutting the door behind them. Now in the hallway, gleaming with sunlight from the tall windows, their curtains billow from the breeze invading through their crevice.
Today the castle shines as every window and balcony door is thrown open to allow some form of chill to bless the scalding heat. While Jimin is already wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, Yoongi doesn't seem at all bothered. Together their capes ripple behind them, their steps muffled by the plush red carpet.
Yoongi walks a couple steps ahead, leading Jimin to the council room. "I don't understand why I even have to go." The prince grumbles.
"Because you're the prince. The heir to the throne of Busan."
Jimin widens his gait to level with Yoongi. "Oh yes," he chuckles grimly. "I'm the prince. I've got duties, responsibilities, expectations, but when I decide to give my opinion or suggestion, it doesn't even matter. I'm always overruled or even humiliated by the other members of the court."
The topics of the discussion always makes his temper fray.
"I know what you're thinking, and no, you're not missing this meeting." Jimin's shoulders shrug and he groans like a child. "If you refuse to participate, it will make a statement" A flash of midnight eyes. "And I don't think it's the kind of statement you want to make right now."
Yoongi knew — has always known — about Jimin's tumultuous relationship with his father. Jimin has never been outright rebellious, perhaps because Yoongi is usually there to subtly interfere, to keep Jimin from saying or doing something he'd later regret. But each year, each month, each gods-damned day, it's getting harder and harder to submit.
"I'm just as much a slave to the crown as the rest of the continent." Jimin mumbles, and immediately is met with a hard flick against his temple. Rubbing and wining, he finds Yoongi with a serious expression.
"Don't use such talk, especially out here. Keep that inside your private chambers."
"But it's true."
Yoongi only shakes his head, but surprises Jimin when he sets his arm on the prince's shoulder. "At least we can suffer together. I have to read half of the reports, and already I've bored myself to death."
"Nothing interesting?"
Yoongi rolls his eyes. "Nothing that's come in as of yet. Just drunken brawls and petty thievery."
"I would say I wish for something to happen, but that could potentially turn dangerous."
"I wish the same. Sometimes just strolling around this castle is maddening. I wish I could see just a small fight."
Jimin laughs. "Then forgive me my hyung, if I am grateful you will never be awarded that chance."
They reach the double oak doors, flanked by four more guards; with important council members and the king and his heir present, every precaution is taken. Just as Yoongi had trained them. They bow as Jimin approaches and two of them haul open the doors.
Everyone stared as they entered.
With Yoongi at his side, Jimin takes his place to the left of his father at the glass table.
"Welcome, my son." His father acknowledges with a dip of his chin. Jimin bows low and takes his seat without a word. "Now that we are all present, let us begin this meeting.
His father with golden crown gleaming and a long red cape draping from his chair, packs a stack of papers together, Jimin's only indication of how long this meeting will drag on. The papers weren't that thick, and Yoongi said that he'll have to read it all, so Jimin chuckles to himself as he takes makes himself a glass of water.
The discussion starts with activity around town, just as Yoongi had predicted. Jimin tuning almost everything out. One topic at least peeked his interest – a report on a prisoner trying to escape the slave mine camps – but simply written off as another one gone insane.
Jimin's lip curled slightly. To simply write someone off as another one; these prisoners had families. They were real people. This report had come from the prison camp located by the border between their land and that of the Angels.
They say Angels because it's the only term that fits the flying humans, but they are far from the heavenly beings often portrayed in books and tales and songs.
They were dark creatures. Their overlords at one point.
Almost everyone knew the story of the once unnaturally beautiful and holy beings that could fly across the fields and the sky – the original inhabitants and settlers of the continent, and the oldest beings in history.
The Angels ruled over humankind for centuries prior; saw themselves as superiors seeing how the gods granted them the gift of flight and immortality. Each kingdom of the continent was guarded by the most trusted and powerful Archangels. They were cruel and unforgiving, and treated their humans poorly beyond words.
A rebellion soon rose up into war, and the humans gathered and fought against their overlords, spilling so much blood that it tainted the grass for a century. They united with other races such as the elves, and the legendary Dragon Riders to overthrow the Angels. His great-great grandfather was the man in charge of such battles.
After the humans won their freedom, they elected him as the king of their newly claimed land, and then, his great-great grandfather forbade the angels from ever setting foot on human territory.
They drove them out – hunted them down and executed those who weren't fast enough to flee. They removed any trace of them so thoroughly that even those who had witnessed the war believed they were all extinct. Jimin himself being one of them. Then with the help of the elves, a magical border was put up around their lands, an ongoing alphabet of wards and incantations to make sure the angels could never come back. Many angels who didn't burn wound up as prisoners in the slave camps – and didn't survive long there.
And then, hunting angels became a sport, collecting their wings as a prize. Their assailants ripping off their wings and selling them on the black markets for prices, or to give to nobles who would hang them in their chambers to bask. Jimin can't count on his fingers and toes how many of those beautiful wings he had seen in the rooms of those sitting at this very table.
His father alone had well over a hundred wings secured in his armory, much belonging to his great, and great-great grandfathers. Their feathers were so perfectly smooth, gleaming in even the most limited of light. Curved perfectly in heart shapes when folded, to being twice the size of a man's arm when extended.
Magic however was free and allowed. There are plenty of gifted seers and healers and elementals who live in the city and in the other forests of Busan; even elves live among the humans, a fair trade for their aid in the war. A college was even built for those who wish to study magic.
However, that didn't stop the angels from trapping and enslaving any humans who dare cross into their land. Many unfortunate travelers are ambushed along certain roads close to the border, and thrown in the slave camps to rot. His father as tried so many times to free them without means of war, but none can forget history.
He wondered what that prisoner was like. If he had a lover, if he had a family whom he would never return to. Dying – rather than serving the Angels – was the only choice left for him.
Jimin looks at the sunlight filtering through the curtains and panes of the window, how the trees swayed in the wind with their long bony arms and emerald leaves. He suppresses a shiver.
Yoongi is now reading other reports, that file on the prisoner nothing more than an everyday prisoner break attempt. While he tunes out his friend yet again, Jimin continues to watch the dancing rays of light, saying a silent prayer for the prisoner, wishing him well.