"In the nights I can't sleep, which are most of them, I wonder what will be said about me when I'm gone. I think about all the kings before me — some remembered as great men, some as tyrants, some as failures. The ones that the books sing praises of, what makes them great? They let this city decay around them, they deepened the oppression of many of their own citizens, they raped and murdered and executed countless people. Were they great because they were powerful? Because they lived long lives? Because people feared them?

I have had enough terror and pain forced into me to last more than my lifetime, I don't want other people to fear me. My only hope, when the historians take up their pens, is that they write that I was kind. That I was just. That for all my inevitable failings, I tried the best that I could. And I hope, when future populations talk about the kings of Seoul, I am the last."

- Entry from the private journals of Min Yoongi, the twelfth king of the city-state of Seoul

_ _

It is, unsurprisingly, Jungkook who finds him first. It is the morning after Seokjin and the garden and I want you to be king and he's wandering aimlessly, trying to remind his still-healing body that it can be whole again, that it can carry him, that its aches and pains will eventually subside. And trying to calm the storm in his mind that is building in response to the looming specter of a throne. He thinks about Suga, a mere two years ago, trying to hold fast in a dying sector and scraping a living for himself and others out of the dirt with bloody hands. If someone told Suga he would be a king two springs from then, he would have laughed and called them mad. If someone told Yoongi the same thing eight months ago, when he was curled up hurting and broken in a stranger's bed, he would have thought them cruel, would have taken it for mocking degradation.

Yet here he is, about to climb higher than he ever dared dream or contemplate. It's terrifying, exhilarating—like standing on the edge of a skyscraper with ground so far below you, about to jump and hope you land safe on the next roof.

He stops on a small bridge across one of the palace's many garden ponds and rubs his chest, trying to loosen the band that's been wrapped around his lungs since yesterday. And it is here that Jungkook finds him, settling his arms on the railing next to Yoongi and leaning over to press his forehead against the side of Yoongi's head in silent, familiar comfort.

Yoongi doesn't ask if Jungkook knows, if Seokjin told him. He doesn't have to, it's clear in Jungkook's eyes—the mixture of awe and tenderness that radiates from them. He blows out a timorous breath as Jungkook pulls away and wraps an arm over his shoulders, brushing careful knuckles across his jaw.

"I'm afraid," he whispers into the quiet of the garden. "I'm so afraid."

It's easier to admit that to Jungkook than anyone else, no one in his life has seen him lower and this bond between them, born of pain and loss and terror, means that no one knows how to comfort him in the same way that Jungkook does. It's not something he anticipated, when Jungkook was a kid he pulled off the street and swore to protect, but he's grateful. For the anchoring weight of Jungkook's arm over his shoulders. For the press of Jungkook's cheek to his head. For the silence as Jungkook chooses his words, wanting to be careful with them.

"It's a scary thing," he whispers at last. "I think you're allowed to be afraid, hyung." He brushes Yoongi's cheek again. "What are you scared of, exactly?"

It's a simple question with such complicated answers. What is he afraid of? He hasn't stopped to untangle all of it but he tries now, pulling on threads until they become clear.

"Losing you." That's the first thing. That the throne will elevate him too high, distance him from his family. From Hoseok and the kids and even Namjoon. He doesn't want to stop being Yoongi to them, stop being their hyung.

He tightens his grip on the railing of the bridge. "Losing myself."

He knows, intimately, what power does. No one can sit on a throne and not be at least a little corrupted by it, that's what history has proven to him. Some of Seoul's ten previous kings were more tyrannical than others but all worked to hold on to their position and their authority above anything else. He doubts they cared about the people below them, only that those people bowed in submission and deference like they were supposed to. He doesn't want to become like them: cold, unfeeling, paranoid. He doesn't want to be Yi Seojun and yet...

"I'm so angry, Jungkook-ah," he says, staring out at the pristine garden and wishing it could calm him. "I hate them. I want to take every single person that touched us, that hurt us, and hang their fucking heads from the courtyard walls. And soon I'm going to have the power to do that."

Jungkook sighs, sharp and bitter-tinged. "I don't know that I'd want to stop you. I know, logically, that blood for blood is wrong but..." He shrugs. Drops his arm from Yoongi's shoulders so he can rub anxious fingers over the seals on his wrists. "The thought of having to bargain with them, so that there can be peace ... it makes me sick, hyung."

"Me too," Yoongi murmurs. And maybe this is what he's afraid of, as well. The compromises that are waiting in his future. The difficult choices he will have to make, with no right outcomes. Ones that might disappoint the people of the sectors he loves. Or get him killed before he can enact any kind of lasting change.

Jungkook's fingers touch the back of his neck. "But, hyung, I don't think any of this is meant to be easy. I don't think being a king should be easy. Yi Seojun didn't understand that. He was handed the throne on a silver platter, right? And his father knew it would be his from when he was old enough to know anything. You're different."

You bled for it, Yoongi hears in the undercurrent of Jungkook's words. You broke for it, sacrificed for it, killed for it.

You understand its weight.

"I think it's good," Jungkook continues softly. "That you're afraid. And I think that it's going to be the hardest thing you've ever done, but that you'll be a good king. And I can't promise anything, Yoongi-hyung, not really but ... I'm with you. I love you and you're not going to lose me, not of my own volition anyway. I promised Seokjin I would protect him and I'm making that same oath to you."

"Just don't die for me," Yoongi murmurs, unable to bear the thought of that.

Jungkook laughs, a breathy, tired thing. Presses his lips to Yoongi's cheek, warm and lingering. "I'll do my best."

And perhaps that's all any of them can offer: their best. And, in time, history will judge if it was good enough or not.

_ _

Taehyung is waiting in his quarters when Yoongi gets back and wraps him up in a hug as soon as the door closes behind him. Yoongi hooks his chin on Taehyung's shoulder and lets himself be held.

"You're going to be amazing," Taehyung whispers in his ear with none of the certainty that Yoongi feels. "And I'll help in any way I can."

"Keep digging it up," Yoongi says, pulling Taehyung closer. "Dig it all up, Taehyung-ah. Don't let them keep any of their secrets."

"I will," Taehyung says, his voice dark with promise.

_ _

"I'm going to keep you alive," Jimin tells him later that evening, after slipping into his room like a ghost. "I told Seokjin I would be his spymaster, guess that includes you, too, now, hyung."

Yoongi hands Jimin a cup of tea that Sooah prescribed to help him sleep. He's been drinking religiously, even if he doubts it's curing his insomnia. The taste of it is comforting, in a strange way.

"Good," he says. He was already planning on asking Jimin to fulfill such a role, but maybe he should have anticipated that Jimin would offer himself up first. "So you and Seokjin are definitely a thing, then? Taehyung wasn't just messing with me?"

Delightfully, Jimin blushes and curls up in a defensive ball, clutching his tea like it's suddenly become armor. "That traitor."

Yoongi hides his smile behind his own cup. "Congratulations."

"You're okay with it?" Jimin asks him, sounding young now. More like he did when he first started softening around Yoongi, calling him hyung and looking up to him in a way that made Yoongi both pleased and uncomfortable, before they finally settled into their current dynamic.

"Of course I am," he says. "You're an adult, Jimin-ah. You don't need my blessing."

"Maybe I want it," Jimin mutters, not looking at him.

Yoongi swallows, chest tight again. He leans forward in his chair so that he can curl a hand over Jimin's knee, squeezing gently. "You have it, then. Seokjin's a good man. And honestly, I never expected you to settle for less than a king," he teases just for the outraged squawk Jimin lets out and the light punch he throws at Yoongi's shoulder.

He laughs and feels blessedly lighter than he did before. Just a little. Just enough.

_ _

Hoseok and Namjoon keep their distance and Yoongi recognizes that they're waiting for him to come on his own terms, to join them when he feels ready. So after Jimin slips away as quietly as he came, Yoongi glances at the clock and determines that it's still early enough. None of them have been sleeping well, anyway—too restless, too much to do. And if Namjoon and Hoseok have managed to rest, he likes the idea of simply joining them in bed.

He shrugs a robe over his loose clothes and heads out the door in his slippers, figuring he might as well get comfortable moving around the palace now. It's going to be his home for the rest of his life.

Fuck, he can't think about that.

He shuffles along the winding paths towards the rooms that Hoseok and Namjoon are still sharing, aware of the guards trailing at a respectful distance. Seokjin insisted that Yoongi have his own quarters until coronation, just to keep palace gossip as limited as possible. Which Yoongi can understand, just not enough to stay away completely. If the guards and other staff want to whisper about who the new king might be fucking, let them. It's not what people will want to kill any of them for.

They all painted targets on their backs with Yi Seojun's blood so Yoongi isn't going to sit and brood in his too-big rooms by himself.

Hoseok is the one who answers the door, finally out of bed and looking on his way to healing in spite of the haggardness still clinging to the sharp lines of his face. A few more weeks of rest and decent food and Yoongi expects he'll be in a better condition than he ever has before. It's a hope to cling to—a bright future thing.

"Jagiya," Hoseok says and cups his face.

"I'm going to be a king," Yoongi whispers and watches a tender, sad smile break across Hoseok's face.

"I know."

One of the kids must have told him. Taehyung, probably.

"You're okay with that?"

Hoseok's brow furrows briefly before he smoothes out his expression and shrugs. "I've followed you this far, Yoongi-yah. And I always figured you'd be a legend someday."

"Shut up," Yoongi grumbles, cheeks heating.

"Destined for greatness," Hoseok continues, only half-teasing.

Yoongi shakes his head and tangles his fingers in Hoseok's shirt. "Be honest with me, Seok-ah."

Hoseok's lips part but the door handle turns before he can speak. Yoongi steps aside, allowing Namjoon to enter. He pauses just inside, blinking back and forth between them. Yoongi wonders, suddenly, if him and Hoseok have talked separately about all of this. Have they confided in each other regarding Yoongi being king? The loaded glance they share now definitely seems to suggest so.

He's not sure how he feels about that.

"Hyung," Namjoon says and bends to kiss his cheek. After only a moment of hesitation, he does the same to Hoseok.

"I was just asking Seok to tell me his opinion. I'd like yours too, Namjoon-ah."

Namjoon nods and gestures toward the furniture arranged in the corner of the room: a settee and two chairs. All of them look as uncomfortable as fuck and when Yoongi sits down, he's proven immediately right. It feels like resting on concrete.

More and more, he's starting to think that this palace isn't actually meant to be lived in. Or, only tiny portions of it are. Neither him nor Seokjin have ventured into Yi Seojun's old quarters yet, some unexplainable hesitance keeping them away. Jimin did find an adjacent room that was obviously meant to be some kind of ... playroom similar to one that Minseok had in his apartment, full of tools and restraints and collars that made Yoongi want to be sick. Maybe it's the fear of discovering something worse in Seojun's actual rooms that has him putting off exploring them.

He just hopes the whole palace isn't full of similar minefields.

"So," Namjoon says, drawing his scattering mind back to the present. "You're going to be king."

"Yes," he rasps.

"I wondered if Seokjin was going to ask you."

"Did ... did he talk to you about..."

"No," Namjoon says. "But it makes logical sense. Having a Marked and an elite rule together would unite the city better than just one king. It would also make it harder to take the throne from you. And ... well, you'll be good at it, hyung."

"You think so?" Yoongi hates that he keeps needing reassurance, but right now he feels barely held together. Still covered in healing wounds, both inside and out. What if this city takes one look at him and sees right through to all those hurting and stained places? What then?

"Of course I do," Namjoon says, confident. "You're an incredible leader. I knew that already."

"But how do you feel about it?" Yoongi presses, glancing nervously at Hoseok, who has so far remained silent. "Forget logic. And be honest."

"I hate the idea of you in such a vulnerable position," Hoseok says after a pregnant, almost excruciating pause. "I hate the idea that you'll be in danger. That people will try to discredit you. The terrible things they might say. And I hate that I might lose you to a throne but..." He touches his stomach, where bandages are still wrapped around damaged skin. "This has always been bigger than us, jagiya, hasn't it? Even before, when we were in the outer sectors. I'm not going to hold you back because I'm afraid. Or selfish. I always knew I'd never be able to keep you all to myself and I've never wanted to try." He shrugs, in a purposefully casual way that he always uses when he's trying to downplay his own emotions or the sentiment behind his words.

"I love you," he says, matter-of-fact. "I'm going to keep loving you. And like Namjoon said, you'll make a good king. That's what matters."

"Seok-ah." He has to pause and swallow, anchoring himself so the rest of the words don't come out tear-soaked. "I don't deserve you."

"Love isn't about deserving," Hoseok reminds him. "And you don't get a say in it, sorry. You're stuck with me."

Yoongi manages a small laugh at that, relieved. "And you?" he asks Namjoon.

Namjoon smiles. "What he said. And ... it's been several tomorrows now. Are you ready to hear what I wanted to say?"

Yoongi nods, heart in his throat. "Yes."

He already knows what's coming, but it still takes the air out of his lungs when Namjoon says "I love you" just as candidly as Hoseok did. "I'm in love with you. And I understand if it's not a sentiment you can return, considering everything and that my initials are still on your arm, but I felt like I needed to tell you. That you should know."

"I don't care about the tattoos," Yoongi says. Soon, he's determined that they'll be gone.

He pushes himself off the settee and crosses over to Namjoon's chair, pulling aside the collar of his shirt to reveal the jagged scar from the knife Yoongi sunk into his shoulder. "I never expected to love anyone but Hoseok," he says as he traces his fingers over it. "But you took me by surprise, Namjoon-ah. In so many ways."

Namjoon stares up at him, face open and vulnerable, full of dawning hope. "Then?"

"I love you too," Yoongi says, leaning down to press his forehead briefly to Namjoon's. "Very much."

"I don't, yet," Hoseok says and when Yoongi looks over, he's smiling. "But I think I will, just give me some time."

"And you're okay with this?" Yoongi asks.

"I wouldn't have invited him into bed with us if I wasn't," Hoseok says. "I ... had my doubts. But Namjoon proved me wrong."

Namjoon flushes. "I like you a lot too," he says to Hoseok. "And I also just need a little time."

"Well I'm honored to have you both," Yoongi says, chest full.

Namjoon's hands slide over his waist. "Can I kiss you?"

Yoongi nods and shifts down further, sealing his mouth over Namjoon's.

"You know," Hoseok says from his spot in the other chair, "if you'd like to do more than kissing, I'd be happy to watch."

Yoongi frowns, "you're sure?"

"I'll live vicariously through you. And we should celebrate. And you're both hot." He shrugs. Smirks a little. "Just watching isn't a burden. If you're okay with it."

Is he? He's not sure how he feels about being watched, even if it is just Hoseok, even if it technically happened with the three of them before. And then there is the brand that he's still barely been able to bring himself to acknowledge. Would he be okay with Namjoon touching it? Looking at it? He knows they've both seen it, but not while he was conscious and...

"Hyung," Namjoon murmurs. "You can say no."

"You can always say no," Hoseok adds.

Yoongi hooks his fingers in the waistband of his pants and eases them down his hips. "Will you just..." He's not sure how to ask for what he wants, or what he even wants. "Touch me?"

"Touch where?" Namjoon asks, running his thumbs over Yoongi's bare hips as Yoongi pushes down his underwear too. "Your cock?"

"No." Yoongi can hear the click of his throat as he swallows. His fingers twitch towards his thigh, then jerk away, but understanding dawns in Namjoon's eyes.

"Oh," he breathes softly. "Okay, hyung."

He takes over, pushing Yoongi's pants and underwear down further until he's completely exposed. Yoongi shivers, squeezing his eyes shut. His teeth ache from how hard he's clenching them and he jumps at the first brush of Namjoon's fingers running down his thigh, tracing carefully around the edge of the brand.

More fingers thread through his own and lips press to his clothed shoulder. Hoseok.

Don't be a coward, he tells himself. Don't let this beat you.

He forces his eyes open and looks down. The brand stands out ugly and red against the pale of his skin, still slowly fading into white scar tissue. It encompasses nearly his whole thigh and his throat aches with phantom pain—the echo of his own scream ringing in his ears. Minseok wiped the tears off his face in the aftermath and laughed as he wept and shook, leaned down to whisper now you'll always remember me, pet in his ear.

Minseok is dead, Yoongi slit his fucking throat, but it still feels like the bastard won something. A victory that Yoongi can never undo.

"Yoongi," Namjoon says softly, as though he can hear the fury of Yoongi's thoughts, "It's still your body. And you're beautiful."

"So beautiful," Hoseok agrees.

Namjoon pushes against him gently, so that Yoongi shuffles backward enough for Namjoon to drop to his knees.

"Namjoon," Yoongi rasps as he feels Namjoon's mouth on his stomach, the base of his still-soft cock, and then trailing down his thigh to press right at the center of the brand. It burns, inside and out, and he gasps.

"You won," Namjoon whispers against his scarred skin. "These are battle scars. And you don't have to be proud of them, but I am. I'm so proud of you."

He kisses the brand again and again and again, until Yoongi is trembling, tears spilling down his cheeks. He wonders, frustrated, when he'll finally run out of them. He's so sick of crying.

"You won," Hoseok echoes Namjoon again, murmuring right in his ear. "He's dead and you're going to be king. He doesn't own a single fucking piece of you. Not this." His fingers touch the top edge of the brand. "Or this." The scar bisecting Yoongi's eye. "I'm sorry you have to carry them, jagiya, I know they're heavy. But you've always been so strong."

Yoongi balls up their words and presses them like a balm to the seething mess of pain and rage and heartbreak coiled in his ribcage. Namjoon kisses him again, back up his thigh to lick a hot trail along his cock. He gasps again, sinks his fingers into Namjoon's hair.

"Okay?" Namjoon asks him.

"Okay," he whispers and Namjoon's mouth engulfs him. He shivers, moans. Sags back in Hoseok's arms as Hoseok sucks a mark into his neck and gives himself up to them.

Lets them love him.

_ _

Seokjin finds him the next morning, as the sun is painting dawn colors across the sky. They stand side by side in the empty throne hall, staring up at the dragon stretching across the ceiling and the ornate dias—the throne made of real, ancient wood and overlaid with gold. Yoongi has the absurd worry that he'll burn to ash if he touches it. It feels like a terrible, cursed thing.

"You think we could just ... put in a corner?" Seokjin asks. "We need two thrones anyway."

"I'm sure someone will protest, but who's going to stop us?" Yoongi replies, turning away from the throne to look out at the expansive courtyard beyond the open doors. The view makes him feel ant-like and giant all at once.

"Well there's another change I want to make," Seokjin announces.

He reaches into the pocket of his coat and takes out a small silver object, placing it in Yoongi's hand. It's a metal pin, cool to the touch, of a magpie in flight.

"Oh," Yoongi whispers, watching the sunlight catch on the magpie's wings and bounce around the room.

Seokjin clears his throat, shifts his weight from one foot to the other and back again. "I don't know how you feel about this symbol being associated with a throne, but I figured the royal insignia could use updating."

Yoongi thinks of the flower burned into his skin and nods. "It's perfect." He steps forward, unclasping the pin. "Good fortune," he says as he fastens it to the front of Seokjin's coat.

"And freedom," Seokjin says, sliding his hand over Yoongi's.

Yoongi smiles at him. "And freedom."

_ _

The bubble breaks. The storm is upon them and it sweeps Yoongi up in the gale. His days stretch long, filled to the brim with meetings and consultations and appointments.

Baekhyun and the other members of the new council all pledge their allegiance to him—their allies from the coup readily and the few holdovers from Yi Seojun with much more reluctance, looking like they've swallowed something sour as they bow. The petty part of Yoongi revels in their discomfort.

But only Yoo Kihyun seeks him out separately, coming to him after the conclusion of a meeting and asking, hesitantly, if they can speak outside. Yoongi guides him to one of the palace's endless private courtyards, already guessing what this might be about.

"I won't apologize," he says once they're alone, turning to face Kihyun, who's cast in shadow by scattered lamplight.

"I would never ask you to," Kihyun says. "I know he had to die for what he did."

"Then," Yoongi prompts, "is there something else you wanted to-"

"I'm sorry," Kihyun blurts out and bows deep at the waist. "I'm so sorry, Yoongi-nim. I rarely visited him, I found the presence of companions too much to bear, so I ... I wasn't aware of the connection between the two of you. If I had known..." He shakes his head and bows again. "There is no excuse. I'm sorry for the pain he caused you. If there is anything I can do, as a member of his family, to pay you back I will gladly offer it."

"He's dead," Yoongi says. "I won't hold you accountable for his sins."

He's still touched by Kihyun's offer. He doubts many other elite will want to make these kinds of amends. Payment from them will have to be taken by force.

"I would not blame you for doing so," Kihyun insists. "And I have my own sins."

"Then pay back the city. Not me. Keep serving on our council, keep reorganizing the city police. That's the best way forward."

After a moment, Kihyun nods and bows again. "You're right, your majesty. Thank you."

"Kihyun-ssi," Yoongi says as Kihyun straightens and turns to leave. "He was a monster. But he was also your brother. You're allowed to mourn him."

Kihyun doesn't face him, but his shoulders stiffen. "No," he says. "I would be mourning a mirage, Yoongi-nim. I think that the brother I knew never truly existed. It was a face he showed only to me, and I need to let it go. But thank you, for your understanding. Goodnight."

Yoongi watches the shadows swallow him and sinks down on one of the nearby benches, digging the heel of his hand into the brand hidden beneath his clothes, until he can almost feel the ridges of scar tissue through the fabric.

"You're dead," he says into the stillness, to the specters he can feel hovering. "You're fucking dead and I'm not going to allow you to haunt me."

A breeze rustles the leaves overhead—an answer of some kind. Or just the wind.

_ _

"I don't want heirs," Seokjin tells him over drinks in the dying hours of the night—both of them exhausted but unable to turn their minds off. He's dyed his hair back to black and Yoongi thinks it makes him look a little older, more elegant. "I want the monarchy to end with us."

"I can't have heirs," Yoongi says and takes a deep, burning gulp of whiskey. "Companions are sterilized."

"Ah," Seokjin murmurs. "I'd forgotten about that."

It's not something he dwells on. He doesn't even remember the procedure—was mercifully unconscious for it—just an auctioneer informing him of it coldly the next day, talking like he was a neutered dog who wouldn't be able to get into trouble anymore. At the time, it hadn't mattered in the face of greater horrors. Now? He's sad that the choice was taken from him, but it's not a terrible loss. He never planned on bringing children into a world like this.

"It's for the best," he tells Seokjin. "We're not here to build another dynasty."

"No," Seokjin agrees and takes a long drink of his own. "We're not."

_ _

Several afternoons in a row, what seems like a whole swarm of ajummas descend upon him to take measurements and remark on his too-short hair and how thin he is and what kind of jewelry would be best for the coronation robes they're making him. It feels so much like being dressed as a companion that he nearly panics each time, clutching at his own throat after they're gone to assure himself that there isn't a collar present.

But after the ajummas comes a tattoo artist to cover the initials on his arm.

"What would you like, your majesty?" she asks as she sets up her equipment and Yoongi fights off yet another flashback, as well as the lurch in his stomach at the title he still isn't used to.

He's thought about this, even asked Jungkook to sketch him a few potential designs, and he hands one over to her now. "A magpie," he says.

"That will look lovely," she says, though he's not sure if she believes that or is just agreeing because he's her king.

Either way, he finds himself in a chair with his arm resting on a small table. The gun whirs and he breathes through his nose, keeping his eyes fixed on his arm as she works. Little by little, the initials disappear and a bird takes shape, its wings spread across his skin. Yoongi marvels at the sight of it, at the fact that something so intricate and beautiful can cover such horrible ugliness. He'll never have to look at those initials again. He'll never be owned again.

"Thank you," he says when the artist is done, wrapping his arm in some kind of plastic and handing him a paper with care instructions for the next few weeks. "Thank you so much."

She nods and bows to him. "Are there others here? I have time and plenty of ink. I'd like to offer them the same."

"Yes," Yoongi. "Yes, that would be wonderful."

_ _

(Later that day, Jungkook shyly shows off the butterfly on his own arm and Yoongi kisses his cheek.

I feel cleansed, Jungkook tells him and Yoongi nods in understanding.

Thinks that night, as Namjoon stares at the new tattoo with tears in his eyes and says I'm so glad they're gone, that he's not the only one.)

_ _

"I can see about removing the seals and the mark," Seokjin tells him. "We could get a former auctioneer in here. They might be able to do something about the staining."

"No," Yoongi decides, staring down at the black bands around his wrists. "I want to keep them. I want everyone to know what I was. Where I've come from." He looks up at Seokjin, chin raised in stubborn defiance. "And I want them to bow to me anyway."

Seokjin smiles, sharp with understanding.

_ _

No one is quite sure what to make of him, Yoongi can tell. Even the servants tiptoe around him - hesitant with their words and stiff in their mannerisms. They're used to looking down on companions. To sneering at the seals and the mark and being grateful that someone is lower than them in the societal pecking order. Now, their eyes drift to the black stains on his wrists, and skitter away quickly, as though unable to acknowledge their existence. Yoongi defies all logic: a king wrapped in the trappings of a sanctioned.

He doesn't punish or call them out for their behavior, or the gossip he knows must be spreading through the palace like a wildfire. Either they will learn and adjust, or they won't and he will fire them. It is the elite he is more concerned with.

Many have come to curry favor ahead of the coronation, hoping to get in the new kings' good graces. But it is Seokjin they address, barely sparing him a second glance after an initial, perfunctory bow. Whenever he does speak, they seem surprised that he's able to form an intelligent thought, which is expected but still infuriating.

Some of them he recognizes from parties and other events. He remembers their hands on him, remembers how they fucked him, but he knows they do not. He was nothing, then, just another companion to use in a long, endless line. They didn't know his name and his face wasn't unique enough to stand out amongst so many other pretty ones. It's them he makes sure to address now. Seokjin, bless him, is content to fade to the background when Yoongi wants to speak, forcing the elite to converse with him and no one else.

Yoongi listens to them stutter through empty promises to help the city and sees the underlying hate and disgust they can't quite keep out of their eyes. He already has plans to strip them of most of their wealth and all of their power, but those have to come after he's secure on the throne. So for now, he thanks them and plays along. He's so grateful for their desire to rebuild. He's sure they can do great things together. He's happy to see how loyal they are to him, in spite of his background.

(And oh that one always gets their blood boiling.)

They're locked in a dangerous dance, him and them. It will only be a matter of time before one of them decides to try to kill him. He can see the wheels turning, knows several must already be plotting together. But he will be ready and while he doesn't want more blood spilt, he will execute them for treason if they refuse to bend. It is their turn to submit and he will hold them to it.

Some don't dance as well as others, though. One, Shin Guho, still refuses to speak to him even after Seokjin has stepped back, shooting a confused glance over Yoongi's shoulder to where Seokjin sits silently in one of the chairs that are serving as makeshift thrones until their coronation.

"I'm the one talking to you," Yoongi says, though he notices a tension in Seokjin that's abnormal. "Not him."

Shin Guho's gaze reluctantly slides back to him. It lingers on his facial scar and on the fine clothing that he still feels out of place in—black and royal red draped artfully across his body, covering most of his skin.

(The first time a servant arrived to help him dress, he threw them out and weathered a short but violent panic attack on the floor of his quarters. No one came the next day and he learned that Namjoon instructed he be left alone. It was Hoseok who helped him, then, fastening everything with surprising confidence.

I studied, he said when Yoongi arched a questioning eyebrow at him. I've got you, jagiya. )

The silence condenses into a knife point, sharp enough to cut. Yoongi holds his tongue and waits for Shin Guho to cave. Behind him, Seokjin remains deathly still.

"I'm sorry, your majesty," Shin Guho says at last, lowering his gaze. "I meant no disrespect."

He's a bad liar, his voice far too flat to be convicning. Yoongi sneers internally at him. "Of course," he says, just as emotionless. "But it would be in your best interest not to waste any more of our time."

Shin Guho flinches slightly at that, a satisfying sight. He gestures one of his servants forward with a pointed jerk of his hand. She hurries to his side, carrying a large, ornate box.

"Please accept this gift," Shin Guho says, "from my family, as a token of our loyalty. And a blessing of good fortune on your future reign"

It's strange, watching the servant bow and knowing that mere weeks ago, it would have most likely been a companion in her place. And the companion would have been the gift, as well. Now, in this new world, Yoongi signals one of his guards to accept the box. The man does so swiftly, checking the contents with a quick, professional eye.

"Jewels, my lord," he says.

Yoongi nods. "Thank you for your gift," he says to Shin Guho and doesn't bother to make his tone sincere. "We look forward to your support in the days to come. You are dismissed."

Guho's upper lips curls in the beginning of a grimace before he's able to smooth his features out and bow. "Thank you for providing me with an audience, your majesty."

He leaves with one more bow and not a single backward glance, scurrying from the room like the rat Yoongi has no doubt he is. Once the doors have closed behind him, Seokjin stands and takes the box from the guard. It's intricately carved with blossoms and twisting vines and seems to be made of real wood— potentially some kind of family heirloom. Like the guard, Seokjin examines the contents, but laughs at the sight of them, short and sharp.

"What is it?" Yoongi asks.

Seokjin lifts an object from the box. An earring, delicate and gold spun, glittering with inlaid diamonds. It's similar to jewelry he wore as a companion, something that might traditionally decorate the ears of a royal consort.

"Ah," Yoongi says. "So that's the game he's playing."

It's a pathetic, petty game. Yoongi has been branded, scarred, raped, and tortured. There is nothing any of these elite can do to break him further, drag him lower, shame him more. They're welcome to throw their little stones all they want. He is a mountain and he isn't going to be moved.

"I'll pick one of them out to wear for the coronation," he adds with a shrug.

Seokjin frowns. "Yoongi-yah, you don't have to..."

"I do," Yoongi reminds him. "I have to show them they're not affecting me." He mimics Seokjin's frown. "But he seemed to be getting to you. Why?"

Seokjin's jaw ticks, expression sharpening into something angry and almost dangerous. "He was the man who sold me Jungkook," he says with quiet venom. "The one who was beating him at a party for defending himself."

Fury ignites in Yoongi's blood. Roars like a dragon in his chest. He turns to stare at the closed doors, wishing suddenly he could reach out and snatch Shin Guho back into this room. Make him grovel longer, make him get on his fucking knees and beg for his pointless, disgusting little life.

"I honestly hope he crosses us," Seokjin continues grimly. "I want an excuse to execute him."

"You and me both," Yoongi agrees and drops the jewelry back in the box. He'll still wear a pair of the earrings, as a blatant fuck you to Shin Guho and all the rest, but after he's already planning to have the pieces melted down and turned into currency. They'll fund rebuilding projects in the outer sectors, one more way the elite can give back to the city.

And the family heirloom box? Maybe Jungkook would like to burn it.

_ _

He still can't sleep at night. The coronation is only two days away and restlessness gnaws at his bones in the dark like the starving dogs he used to see lurking on the streets of the outer sectors. The palace, for all its vastness, suffocates him. It feels like a tomb. Here, Suga and Min Yoongi will be buried. Here, a king will rise from the fresh grave dirt.

Who will that king be? It's impossible to predict, only the years ahead can tell him.

He slips carefully from his bed and Namjoon and Hoseok's embrace. The guards aren't used to watching over someone like him, who knows how to melt into shadows, and he loses them easily as he leaves his quarters. He doesn't know where he's going, just lets his feet carry him toward the edges of the palace. It's surrounded on all sides by a towering wall, cut off from the rest of the city. Even the skyscrapers seem small and distant, looming on the horizon. He can't see the outer sectors from here and they feel an entire world away, locked in a past he can never return to.

"Yoongi-yah," Hoseok says from behind him and he whirls, startled.

"Seok-ah, what are you doing up?"

Hoseok shrugs. He's dressed in similar black garments to the ones Yoongi slipped on, wanting a break from royal finery. "I couldn't sleep, either. This place is too quiet."

"Yeah," Yoongi agrees, letting Hoseok close the distance between them and take his hand.

"Actually," Hoseok says. "I think there's something you need to see. Before the coronation. But we're gonna have to sneak out of the palace to get to it. I was going to try to take you tomorrow night, but we might as well go now."

"Yes," Yoongi agrees immediately. He wants one more adventure with Hoseok, one more chance for them to be as they were Before: two kids in love, in spite of their circumstances, and fearless in the face of the ravages of the outer sectors. Invincible, in their own minds. Willing to take by force the opportunities Seoul refused to hand them.

Hoseok grins at him. Kisses his cheek. "Then let's go. I already told Namjoon we'll be back later."

"Lead the way," Yoongi says and Hoseok tugs him towards the wall by his hand.

"Give me a boost?"

Yoongi balks. "What? Are you sure? Your injuries..."

"Will be fine," Hoseok insists. "The wounds won't reopen."

"That doesn't mean you should go jumping over walls. Plus, isn't there a perimeter alarm...?"

"Not in this section of the palace."

Yoongi frowns. "How do you know that?"

"Jimin and Jungkook have been scoping the place out for the last week. We're definitely going to need to up security soon. But for now..." he gestures impatiently to the wall and Yoongi caves.

"Fine, but don't blame me when Sooah yells at you for this."

He presses his back against the wall and crouches down, cupping his hands. Hoseok places a foot in them—hand on Yoongi's shoulder— and for a second Yoongi's back in Sector 10, scrawny and young and running from the city police or the store owner they stole from in hungry desperation. The moment passes, the memories fading away into the fog, and he pushes up, giving Hoseok leverage to grasp onto the top of the wall and pull himself up, as light and nimble as he's always been.

He turns and extends a hand for Yoongi to grab on to. Yoongi jumps to catch it, bracing his feet against the wall, and they both grit their teeth at the now-familiar sting of their injuries as Hoseok helps haul him up.

Once Yoongi has made it to the top, they lay on the ridged surface for a moment, catching their breath.

"Do you ... think ... I'm going to cause a political incident ... for sneaking out of my own palace?"

Hoseok wheezes out a laugh. "You're the king. I think they can only boss you around ... so much now."

"My own palace," Yoongi mumbles. "I can't believe that's a sentence I just said."

Hoseok sits up with a low groan. "I think you'll get used to it."

"I hope not." Yoongi shifts back into a crouch, too, and together they slide down the angled top of the wall and drop carefully to the ground below, grasping onto each other for balance as the impact staggers them.

"We're getting old," Hoseok declares, massaging his knees.

"Ancient," Yoongi agrees, deciding not to dwell on the fact that they are. Life expectancy in the outer sectors has always been low, most never live far past forty. And sanctioned rarely lasted more than a few years once in the grasp of the crown and the elite. At twenty-six, Yoongi's a miraculous exception.

"Come on," Hoseok says, extending his hand again. "I need to have you back by sun up or we definitely will cause problems."

"Where are we going?" Yoongi asks, threading his fingers through Hoseok's.

"The train station," Hoseok answers cryptically.

He pauses, fishing around in his pocket for a face mask. "Put this on."

Yoongi obliges and pulls the hood of his coat up for good measure. And suddenly, he's Suga again. Or a fading remnant of him. Hoseok smiles at him, tinged with sadness and recognition. Some parts of their past, for all the blood and horror, will be hard to let go of.

"Lead the way," Yoongi says again as Hoseok secures his own mask.

Hoseok nods and Yoongi follows him away from the palace into the bustling streets of Sector 1. Soon, the crowd swallows them up and they're just two more late-night travelers, heading home from work or out to meet friends. Yoongi double checks that his seals are covered as they approach the train station, then remembers with a sudden jolt that they don't matter anymore. He won't be arrested if anyone sees them. Soon, ID checks won't be required at all to pass between sectors—it's one of the measures him and Seokjin have drafted. So he tugs his sleeves up instead, leaving the seals exposed.

He wants to see what people make of them.

The officers at the train station stare at them for a moment as Hoseok explains they're still in the process of getting their new IDs. Companions typically aren't issued one— the seals and their trackers serve as the only records they need—and Markeds' were severely limited. The Department of Records has started the long process of reissuing new, unrestricted IDs to every former Marked and sanctioned but it will take weeks, perhaps even months. Until then, Kihyun has instructed the police to be lax. No harassment, no arrests. If someone doesn't have an ID, remind them to apply for one and carry on.

Which is fortunately what the officers do tonight. Their gazes linger slightly on Yoongi's seals but him and Hoseok are waved through with a gruff reminder to apply for new IDs if they haven't done so already and to travel safely.

"Are we going back to Sector 10?" Yoongi asks as they take their seats in the nearly-empty car.

Hoseok hums noncommittally, which really means yes.

"What's in Sector 10?" Yoongi presses. Hoseok told him that the apartment was raided, and is long gone. Yoongi can't think of anything else that might be left, except maybe a handful of friends and old Network contacts.

"You'll see," Hoseok says, stubborn and cryptic.

The train glides away from the station, hurtling forward into the night. Yoongi watches the blur of lights outside the windows. It takes nearly an hour to get from the center all the way out to Sector 10 and by the time they pull into the final stop, it's mostly dark outside—the streets out here not nearly as well lit as those in the inner sectors.

Another thing for him and Seokjin to change.

He follows Hoseok out of the station but pauses on the street to stare up at the familiar, crumbling buildings, a growing knot in his stomach.

"I never thought I'd come back here," he confesses. "I thought I'd gone to Sector 1 to die."

"Yeah," Hoseok murmurs. "I thought I'd come back here to die, when I gave myself up. It's strange, seeing it now."

"I almost miss it," Yoongi says, walking again. "As horrible as it was."

"It was home," Hoseok points out. "The only home we ever had."

The orphanage and then the streets and then their tiny, drafty apartment with the kids—all living on top of each other but refusing to separate. He can see it so clearly: the table that was always wobbly; the windows that never closed properly and the snow that would pile up on the sill in the winter, dripping water onto the floor as it melted; the shower that creaked and groaned and wailed whenever you turned it on; the tiny, dying plant Jungkook found somewhere and tried to keep alive; the electronic parts Hoseok and Taehyung always had spread over the floor, tripping everyone up; the coats Jimin constantly mended for them, hung on pegs on one wall.

He doesn't know how to exist in that place anymore. The man he was then is gone, just like the apartment itself, but the echo lingers. He hopes that it always will, even after years in a palace.

"It's this way," Hoseok says, turning down a side street. They're heading for the heart of the sector and the towering, decaying apartment buildings where most Marked lived, including them.

" What's this way?"

"You'll see. "

He huffs and follows Hoseok. They turn down another street, then another, and then they're back on a main thoroughfare and Hoseok is stopping in front of a cluster of apartment buildings where the street dead ends.

"Look up," he says softly.

Yoongi does and feels his breath catch sharp in his throat.

A huge mural covers nearly the whole front wall of the closest building, painted carefully around the windows. It's a man with his back to them, looking over his shoulder. Only his eyes are visible—the rest of his features obscured by his hood and face mask. Across the back of his jacket is a magpie in flight, similar to the one now tattooed on Yoongi's arm. And written above the man in large, black letters are the words: our king. At the base of the building, dozens of candles have been placed and lit, glimmering in the dark. Scattered amongst them are ration cards, pretty stones, and other trinkets that could be spared as an offering.

"How long has this been here?" Yoongi croaks around his rapidly gathering tears.

"Since just after you were sanctioned," Hoseok answers, squeezing his hand. "It's been repainted several times. No one knows by who. But the city police were never able to take it down."

"Fuck," Yoongi hiccups, not knowing what else to say.

He's ... this is too much. He isn't worth this.

"Jagiya," Hoseok says, voice raw with emotion. "Jagiya, don't you see? You were already their leader. They believe in you. And it isn't blind faith. You taught them how to stand up. They've seen the lengths you'll go to for them. They know the sacrifices you've made. That's why they'll follow you."

Yoongi wipes at his eyes with a trembling hand.

"I just didn't want you to forget," Hoseok continues. "Everything you've already done."

"Thank you," Yoongi hiccups. "It's hard to remember that in spite of everything, I'm still me. There are parts of myself I can still trust."

"There are," Hoseok agrees, kissing his cheek over the fabric of the mask. "I've followed you my whole life, Yoongi. I'm sure you're going to lead us all to greatness." He waves a hand up at the mural. "You're already a legend."

"Shut up," Yoongi grumbles, but he feels something settle inside of him. He thinks of Suga on the rooftop in his dreams, a hand around his throat. He pictures reaching out and that furious ghost sinking back into his skin, two broken pieces becoming one again.

You're still a part of me and I of you. Let's lead this city together.

Suga sighs on the wind that tugs at Yoongi's clothes—another specter laid to rest.

_ _

"I want representatives from all the sectors to attend the coronation," Yoongi announces at one of the hundreds of meetings he's attended in the last few weeks.

Several of the official planners flinch, giving each other disbelieving glances.

"Your majesty," one says hesitantly, a small man with graying hair and a long beard. "That ... that usually is not done..."

"Do I look like I care about tradition?" Yoongi asks dryly and the man ducks his head.

"No..."

"Then please see that it's done. And make sure the number of representatives from all ten sectors are equal."

Another stunned pause. But the officials all bow in agreement.

"Of course, your majesty," says the one who protested. "We'll take care of it."

Once they leave the room, Taehyung rises from the chair he'd been occupying in the back. "I'll make sure they actually do it," he says with grim amusement and Yoongi nods his thanks.

_ _

The night before the coronation, someone finally tries to kill him. It's sloppy and frankly a little cowardly, shooting at him from a far-off building as he's crossing the courtyard. The first bullet slams into a wooden pillar in front of him, causing him to jump back. Jungkook grabs his arm, yanking him behind the pillar and out of sight just as the second bullet thuds into it, sending splinters of wood flying.

"A fucking sniper?" Jungkook snaps, covering Yoongi with his body. "Really?"

"They're definitely not being subtle," Yoongi agrees as an alarm starts to blare through the palace, blending with the shouts of nearby guards.

Another bullet cracks into the beam above Yoongi's head. "Persistent fucker," Yoongi grumbles.

"Stay down, hyung."

"I am down. This isn't my first time being shot at."

Jungkook glares at him and presses two fingers to his earpiece. "Jimin's found his location."

"Tell him to keep the bastard alive. We need info."

Jungkook gives him a long-suffering look. "He knows that, hyung."

Another crack, like a peal of thunder. At this rate the idiot is going to have the entire city police descending on his head.

"This is ridiculous," Yoongi says as Jungkook peers around the pillar, checking for openings. "They should have tried to poison me. Or stabbed me in my sleep."

"I'm sure they'll try that next," Jungkook says, gripping his hand. "They've never assassinated a king before, this is trial and error. Okay, on three we're running to that building."

He points to their left, at what Yoongi thinks is a library. It's diagonally across the courtyard from them and they'll be out in the open for a few precious seconds, but Yoongi doesn't want to stay curled up behind a pillar. And the shooter couldn't even hit him when he was walking.

"Okay."

"One," Jungkook says. "Two ... three!"

They sprint out from behind the pillars and towards the library. Predictably, the would-be assassin fires again but the shot goes wide, hitting the ground half a meter to Yoongi's right. Yoongi laughs instinctively, a release of adrenaline, and then Jungkook is hauling him into the library and barricading the door.

"We really need to up security," he says as Yoongi catches his breath. "I can't believe we didn't factor a sniper in."

"I thought they'd be smarter than that," Yoongi says. "Didn't they learn anything from us? Or the other five kings who were killed by members of their own family? I mean even Yi Seojun managed to off his own brother without this much fuss."

"You're really taking this in stride," Jungkook comments wryly.

"I have to," Yoongi says. If he starts being afraid now, he'll never stop. Besides, death from a bullet or a knife or a poisoned chalice is still better than the one Minseok probably had planned for him, than the one he'd thought he'd have to suffer during his time as a companion.

The fucking alarm continues to blare, shrill and grating, but there are no more shots. After a moment, Jungkook tilts his head, listening to his radio.

"Jimin has him." A pause. "Shit."

Yoongi straightens. "What?"

"Jimin tried to grab him. He ... he jumped."

Yoongi's lips part in shock. "Off a fucking skyscraper?"

Jungkook nods.

Well. Fuck.

"He jumped," Yoongi repeats, disbelieving. Whoever hired him must have either secured incredible loyalty ... or instilled incredible terror.

"Jimin is going to see if he can find anything," Jungkook relays. "The shots came from an office building. It looks like the shooter disabled the security system to get inside."

So not entirely unskilled.

"Increase patrols for the time being," he tells Jungkook. "No one is to go anywhere unaccompanied. Tell the city police to post officers in all the surrounding buildings overnight. And then we're getting a drink."

There will be other attempts, other leads, but he's frustrated this one might have slipped away from them. He allows Jungkook to take him back to his quarters, where what seems like an entire contingent of guards has been stationed. He finds Seokjin already seated inside, looking haggard but otherwise unharmed.

"Did anyone try to shoot at you?" he asks and Seokjin shakes his head.

"You were the lucky one tonight."

"Great," Yoongi says sarcastically.

"I'm sure I'll get my turn," Seokjin smiles grimly.

Yoongi hums and takes a seat next to him. "It's only fair."

Seokjin laughs a little at that, but his face slips quickly into concern. "You're sure you're okay, Yoongi-yah?"

"I'm fine," Yoongi promises, curling a hand over his shoulder. "It's going to take a lot more than this to kill me."

"Yes," Seokjin muses. "There's never been a king like you."

"Or you," Yoongi points out. "Neither of us was born in the royal line. That's the first time since the founding of the Yi Dynasty that's happened." He pauses, lets his tone turn teasing. "And you're tougher than the average elite."

It earns him another laugh from Seokjin. "Thank you for that, I suppose."

"It was a compliment. And I'm going to ask someone to bring alcohol. Do you want any?"

"Gods yes."

_ _

One by one, the others arrive as the night drags on. First are Namjoon and Hoseok, radiating worry.

"We're fine," Seokjin promises as Namjoon hugs him and Hoseok grips Yoongi's shoulders, inspecting him for any injuries. "Yoongi-yah was the only one they were after and they were sloppy."

"Couldn't aim for shit," Yoongi says and Hoseok snorts.

"Well it still scared me to death."

"Me too," Namjoon gripes, switching from Seokjin to Yoongi, who grunts as he's wrapped up in Namjoon's long arms. "I'm glad you're okay, hyung."

"I'm fine, I promise." Yoongi says into Namjoon's shoulder. "I'm fine."

Taehyung is next, much calmer than Hoseok and Namjoon but still a little wild around the eyes. "I'll help Jimin look into it," he says as he brushes Yoongi's hair off his forehead and gives a nod to Seokjin. "They won't get away with this."

"It's okay if they do," Yoongi says. "They'll try again."

Taehyung frowns, but doesn't argue, and once again Yoongi allows himself to be hugged, hooking his chin on Taehyung's shoulder in silent reassurance that he's still here. Taehyung won't lose him so quickly again.

Jungkook and Jimin come last, faces grim.

"You didn't fail," is the first thing out of Yoongi's mouth, before either of them can speak. "I don't want to hear any apologies."

"Me neither," Seokjin echoes, pulling Jimin towards him so he can plant a warm, lingering kiss on his cheek. Jimin flushes, but doesn't pull away, actually leaning into the touch.

"I had him," he says when Seokjin steps back. "But he managed to get free and..." he trails off with a shake of his head.

"It doesn't matter," Yoongi says, sinking back into one of the chairs with a tired sigh. "Like I said, it won't be the last time. For now," he gestures to where a member of the palace staff left several bottles of wine and a handful of glasses. "Let's drink. The coronation is tomorrow."

Seokjin insists on being the one to serve everyone, distributing full glasses. Yoongi accepts his with a grateful smile and surveys the room. The seven of them haven't been in the same place since before the coup and it's good to have them here, to remind himself that he's not alone.

Taehyung has an arm slung over Jungkook's shoulders, their heads bent together as they talk. Jungkook is relaxed, leaning into Taehyung's side, and it gives Yoongi hope for their future. In the chair next to him, Jimin has clearly decided that he's no longer going to be embarrassed by publicly displays of affection and perched himself on Seokjin's leg, casually sipping his wine while Seokjin looks up at him with a mixture of amusement and tenderness. Namjoon runs a hand down Hoseok's back, murmuring something to him that has Hoseok smiling, a bright, growing thing.

Yoongi basks in their presence. His loved ones, his family. Here and alive and healing, after all the blood and sacrifice and storms. He has never been one for prayer, or belief in any sort of higher power, but he throws one out now, just in case any of the old gods are real and listening.

Let me have them for a long time, let them outlive me, let them go on to do great things.

"A toast," Taehyung declares, raising his glass. "to our kings."

"To our kings," Jimin echoes, elbowing Seokjin gently in the ribs.

"To all of us," Yoongi corrects, lifting his own glass and smiling at each of them in turn. "And a new era."

"A new era," Hoseok agrees with a dip of his head.

"A better one," Jungkook says, the butterfly on his arm beautiful in the evening light.

"May we all live to see the forests grow," Namjoon finishes.

The clink of glasses is loud in the room and the wine breaks tart in Yoongi's mouth as he drinks.

_ _

The gujangbok for his coronation is the color of a sea he's never seen outside of picture books and the layers of the whole ensemble press heavy against his skin, weighing him down. On each sleeve of the gujangbok is a dragon, symbolizing mystical transformation, facing each other, and embroidered in delicate stitching on the back is a mountain to represent the world as the king's dominion (Yoongi rolled his eyes at that). Running vertically along the back of the wide sleeves are three flames (splendor), three pheasants (the beauty of writing, whatever that means), and three jongi (filial piety, what a joke). The jongi on the left bear a tiger design (for courage) and on the right a monkey (for wisdom).

It's all incredibly beautiful and intricate, but Yoongi still feels like a companion playing dress up as he examines himself in the mirror. The gold earrings he chose from Shin Guho's offering glint brightly as they dangle and sway from his ears. The court ajummas tutted at his short hair and his insistence that he doesn't plan on growing it out and no they cannot make him a wig for the coronation. It took a little inventiveness, but they still managed to affix the myeonghwan to his head. The purple strings tied under his chin dig unpleasantly into his skin and every time he turns, the nine strands of colorful beads at the front and back of the motorboard dance in his vision, forcing him to resist the urge to reach up and bat them away.

"You look ridiculous," Seokjin says from behind him.

"So do you," Yoongi fires back without turning around. Seokjin is dressed in the same get up as him, though he might be pulling it off better.

Seokjin comes to stand beside him and in the mirror Yoongi confirms that no, he really isn't.

"I like the scar, though," Seokjin says, still teasing. "It adds a badass touch to the whole ensemble."

"Want me to give you one?" Yoongi asks with an arched eyebrow and Seokjin laughs at him, squeaky and bordering on hysterical.

"I'm terrified," he admits when the last of his giggles have faded. "Are you terrified, Yoongi-yah?"

"Yes."

The event is going to be broadcast to the whole city. Millions of people are about to watch them assume the throne and Yoongi can't think about it or he'll be sick all over his fine clothing.

"At least we're terrified together," Seokjin says, squeezing his shoulder—a warm pressure even through so many layers of fabric.

An attendant appears in the doorway, bowing deep. "My lords, we're ready for you."

Yoongi takes a deep breath and starts forward first, robes swishing across the ground as he moves. He pauses just before he leaves the room and says over his shoulder. "I think we're going to be amazing, though, hyung."

"Hyung?" Seokjin gasps.

Yoongi ducks his head to hide his smile and hurries through the door—Seokjin's "Yoongi-yah!" echoing after him through the vaunted hallway.

He waits for Seokjin to catch up to him at the final set of doors before the courtyard and weathers the expected smack on the arm. "You shit," Seokjin says, but he's grinning—some of the terror leached from his face just like Yoongi was hoping it would be.

"What?" he asks, feigning wide-eyed innocence. "Isn't that what you wanted me to call you?"

"Yah," Seokjin starts but the doors swing open before he can finish, pouring sunlight into the room and nearly blinding them both. Yoongi can hear it now: the percussive beat of the drums to herald their arrival and the excited murmur of the gathered crowd—hundreds packed into the courtyard before the throne hall.

Seokjin squares his shoulders, features slipping into a regal mask that Yoongi envies. "Here we go," he murmurs.

Together, they step out into the light. And together, they walk side by side through the courtyard—people parted on either side like land interrupted by a stone river—and up the steps to the throne hall. He can see Hoseok and the others standing in the wings of the open doors, out of sight. There are tears in Hoseok's eyes and a smile on Namjoon's face. Together, Yoongi and Seokjin stop at the very top of the stairs and turn back to the crowd. Cameras blink on all sides, capturing their faces for the rest of the city.

They agreed that Seokjin would give the first speech and he steps forward to do so, beads swaying. Yoongi remembers a living room a lifetime ago and Seokjin bowing to him when no one else would stoop to.

He'll make a great king, he thinks again, as certain now as he was then.

"Citizens of Seoul," Seokjin begins—voice picked up by the microphone pinned to the collar of his gujangbok and projected out to the crowd. "I know I took this throne by force and by blood. I know that I come to you with a lot to prove. Many of you, by the time my reign is over, will hate me. I have already accepted this, because I have no plans to be like the kings who have come before me. Like the tyrant I killed to stand before you now. Our city is rotting and it has been for centuries. Those in its gleaming center may not see the decay, but I do. It is more than the crumbling infrastructure and poverty of the outer sectors. It lurks in your apartments, it has seeped into your lives and many of you have embraced it. But no longer. I am going to dig it up. Every last poisonous piece of it.

"Today marks the dawn of a new era. Of peace. Of equality. Of rebuilding. I hope that the Seoul that exists at the end of my reign is near unrecognizable from the one today. But I cannot do this alone. It will take all of us, stepping forward into this future together. I urge you for your cooperation, but I also warn you that those who try to uphold the old ways will be met with swift judgment.

"But I will not waste any more of your time with empty words. Let me, in the months and years to come, prove them to you. May you, my people, judge me by my actions and not my promises. May I be a good king to you and may we all prosper during my reign."

He bows and moves backward as the crowd erupts into applause, allowing Yoongi to take his place at the edge of the steps.

Yoongi closes his eyes for a moment, breathing deep and steady. "I make this speech for everyone," he begins in a clear voice, "but mostly for my fellow Marked. Here we are." He pauses, fighting back a sudden rush of tears. "We've made it. I know it has been hard and long and painful. I know the wounds carved on us are centuries deep and that we have another long walk ahead of us. That the future is still uncertain. But I see you. I have always seen you. I have always loved you. And I swear to you, that even as I stand here as your king, that will not change."

He blinks. Swallows again.

"It is going to be hard. Rebuilding. Our hands will bleed, our grief will take time to temper, our abilities must be studied and tested before we can use them safely. But there is a forest in each of us and I believe that it will bloom. Together, we will seed this barren earth for a brighter, greener future.

"And to those who will certainly plot against me, I am not afraid of you. You have shown me your worst, most monstrous parts of yourselves and I have not broken. Like my fellow king said, if you attempt to cling to the old ways, in all their horror, I will come for you and I will not be merciful. The choice is yours.

"Thank you, to the people of the outer sectors who have believed in me. Who continue to do so. May the years ahead of us be prosperous. I promise to serve you well, to the best of my ability. It is a pact I have written in my own blood, taken from my own flesh. Hold me to it, as my people, and may we all spend years basking in the light."

He bows and the crowd in front of him erupts—applause and nearly deafening cheers. In the outer sectors, the people yell louder, hugging each other and dancing. Many can already feel the first rays of the sun on their faces.

From the wings, Hoseok watches Yoongi through the blur of his own tears and presses his hand to his chest where it's aching, his heart too big for his ribs to contain. He wishes Yoongi could see how brilliantly he shines right now. How he glows like a phoenix risen from ash, awash in flame and light. How he has always burned so incandescently and Hoseok knows, without a doubt, that when the history books are written they will say that Min Yoongi was a legend.

Yoongi the revolutionary. Yoongi the hero.

Yoongi the king.