"You???"
"You???" Sen Ruyon echoed, equally surprised.
Dik frowned. "What are you doing here? This isn't a place for people like you!"
Ruyon's lips curved into a teasing smirk. "And what do you mean by someone like you? You shouldn't even be here. This is the punishment hall, not a playground for spoiled noble brats."
Dik temper flared. "Excuse me? You've been rude to me from the start! I let it go once, but I'm warning you—don't think you can mess with me just because I look weak."
Ruyon let out a low chuckle, stepping closer, his tall frame casting a shadow over Dik smaller figure. "Whoa, nowadays people are fearless," he said mockingly. "Look at you—tiny as a rabbit, soft as a marshmallow. I could crush you with one hand." He leaned closer, his tone sharpening. "People like you… always trying to get attention. Pitiful. I bet your parents never treated you right, so you became a brat who hides behind words."
The words hit harder than a sword. Dik froze. No one had ever disrespected him so openly.
His throat tightened; the world blurred. Every memory being locked away, being pitied, being called fragile rose and clawed at his heart. Without replying, he turned away, his eyes shimmering with tears he refused to let fall.
Ruyon stood still, watching Dik's back as he walked away. For some reason, his chest felt heavy. He tried to scoff it off, but the silence that followed was louder than any insult.
That night, Ruyon lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep. "Why do I care?" he muttered. "He's just some spoiled noble. So why does his face keep appearing in my mind?" He remembered the hurt in Dik's eyes the same kind of hurt he'd buried long ago.
Finally, giving up on sleep, he got up and went to Dik's room. The door creaked open, and cold air rushed out like smoke.
"Dik?" he called softly. No answer.
His eyes widened—Dik was lying on the floor, pale as snow, his body trembling.
"Hey! Wake up!" Ruyon knelt beside him and felt his forehead—burning hot. Panic surged through him. He shouted for help, but his voice only echoed back. The cold palace was deep underground; no one could hear him.
He banged on the door—nothing. "Damn it!"
Ruyon ran to the fireplace, threw in dry wood, and sparked a flame. He lifted Dik in his arms and placed him near the warmth. His skin was ice-cold, his lips almost blue.
He fumbled for his pouch—there was a medicine pill he carried for emergencies. He tried to feed it to Dik, but the boy was unconscious, lips tightly closed.
Ruyon hesitated for a second, then took a deep breath. "Sorry, little prince… this is the only way."
He bit the pill in half, then pressed his lips against Dik's—soft, cold, trembling. He fed him the medicine gently, feeling the faint breath of life beneath that touch. For a moment, time stopped. He could feel Dik's sweetness, the fragility of someone who had never known the world's cruelty.
When the medicine was gone, Ruyon stroked his hair. "You really are soft," he whispered. "If you were a woman, I'd probably have fallen already."
He wrapped Dik in his cloak, pulling him close to share his body heat. All night he stayed like that—protecting, warming, listening to the weak heartbeat that slowly grew steady again.
By dawn, Dik's fever had broken. His eyelids fluttered open to golden sunlight peeking through cracks in the wall. His head rested on something warm—someone's arm.
He blinked. "W-what…?"
Ruyon was gone from the bed but stood outside, training with his sword. His strikes were sharp, graceful, powerful—the movements of someone born for battle.
Dik sat up, feeling unexpectedly safe. For a moment, he simply watched Ruyon, admiration flickering in his eyes.
When Ruyon noticed him, he sheathed his sword and walked over. His gaze, unintentionally, lingered on Dik's lips. His heart skipped a beat. So soft, he thought, and quickly looked away.
"You're awake," he said, forcing a calm tone. "Feeling better?"
Dik nodded shyly. "Yes… thank you. I guess you aren't such a bad fighter after all."
Ruyon smirked. "Not bad? I'm the best in the capital."
Dik rolled his eyes but smiled faintly. "By the way, I'm Dik—the second prince."
Ruyon blinked, surprised. "Prince?" He bowed slightly, half-mocking. "I didn't expect that. I heard the second prince always wears a veil because he's too ugly to be seen."
Dik frowned, cheeks puffing. "How rude—"
Ruyon interrupted softly, his eyes sincere. "But I don't think that rumor's true. Your birthmark…" He paused, looking into Dik's eyes. "It doesn't hide your beauty. It defines you. Makes you real."
Something strange stirred in Dik's chest. He quickly looked away.
Ruyon added quietly, "I don't know if I should say this, but… I feel like we've met before. Maybe not in this lifetime—but somewhere, somehow."
Dik chuckled nervously. "That's impossible. And since you're the general's son, it's better if we don't get close. You know how messy palace politics are."
Those words landed like a blade across Ruyon's heart. He didn't understand why, but hearing them hurt.
He smiled faintly, hiding the ache. "Maybe you're right, Your Highness."
Yet as he turned away, he knew it was already too late—because for the first time in his life, Sen Ruyon's heart had found something it didn't want to let go of.
A Bond in the Cold Palace
Day after day what had begun as awkward encounters soon became quiet companionship. Early morning, Sen Ruyon appeared at the Cold Palace—sometimes with food, sometimes with stories, sometimes with nothing but that crooked grin that made Dik roll his eyes and smile anyway.
Dik had lived his whole life behind heavy walls, surrounded by servants who obeyed but never listened. Ruyon was different. He teased him, argued with him, and never treated him like fragile glass. For the first time, Dik felt seen—not as the weak prince with a cursed mark, but as a person.
They began sharing everything: tea in the pale morning light, long walks around the frozen courtyard, late-night talks by the dim lantern. Ruyon would lean back and talk about the world outside—the smell of the sea, the noise of the city streets, the thrill of battle. Dik listened wide-eyed, clutching his cloak, living each word as if it were a tale from another realm.
In return, Dik told him about the palace, its politics, and his dreams of freedom. "I just want to see the world once without guards behind me," he said softly one evening. "I want to walk without titles, without people whispering that I don't deserve to live."
Ruyon watched him in silence for a while before answering, "Then I'll take you one day. To the city, the hills, wherever you want. I'll show you what the sky looks like when you're not trapped under duty."
Dik laughed at the promise, but his heart warmed like the fire beside them.
Some nights, when Dik's health faltered, Ruyon stayed beside his bed, pretending he was only guarding him. He brewed bitter medicine, scolded him for not eating, and covered him with his own cloak when the wind howled through the cracks. "You're hopeless," he'd say, and Dik would reply, "And you're too noisy." Yet neither wanted the other to leave.
Ruyon began to notice small things—the way Dik's eyes turned gold under sunlight, how his laughter could make the coldest night feel alive. And though he never said it aloud, something inside him softened, frightened by how much this fragile prince mattered.
For Dik, Ruyon was both chaos and calm—a man who broke every rule yet made him feel safe. When they sat together, the world outside seemed to fade. The rumors, the court, even the cruel words that once haunted him felt distant.
One afternoon, Ruyon brought him a wooden sword. "You should learn to fight," he said. "Even a prince should know how to defend himself."
"I'll just trip and fall," Dik protested.
"Then I'll catch you," Ruyon said simply.
Dik looked at him, startled. "Why are you always helping me?"
Ruyon paused, glancing away. "Because someone once told me…
saving a person once can change your fate. Maybe you're that person for me."