Trope: Arranged Betrothal | Forbidden Love | Love triangle-but-not-really
Pairing: Prince Fuma × Prince K
Twist: Fuma was supposed to marry K's brother. He fell in love with the wrong prince. But maybe—so did K.

⚔️ ACT I: The Deal

Two kingdoms. One treaty. Zero trust.

To end a brewing war, a political marriage is arranged between Prince Fuma—heir of the House of the West Wind—and Prince Rian, second son of the Storm Throne.

Only—when Fuma arrives, it's not Rian who greets him at the gates.

It's Prince K.

Older. Colder. Uncrowned—but undeniably powerful.

"My brother isn't available," K says.
"You'll be under my watch until the ceremony."

The silence that follows says: you're not safe here.
But the way K's eyes linger says: I see you.

👁️ ACT II: Misdirection

Rian is charming. Beautiful. Polite.

But Fuma starts noticing... it's K who knows what tea he prefers.
It's K who fixes his blade stance in training.
It's K who walks beside him during stormlit patrols when no one else dares.

And Fuma hates how much he starts waiting for the sound of K's footsteps in the corridor.

"You're impossible," Fuma snaps one night.

"I'm inevitable," K answers, brushing past.

The Gala – First Dance, First Defiance

Setting: The Grand Hall of the Unified Court.
Backdrop: Gold chandeliers. Murmurs like daggers. A string quartet struggling to keep tempo with the tension.

Fuma stands near the edge of the ballroom, shoulders straight, crown heavy.

Every noble eye is on him—watching for weakness. For scandal. For proof that marrying the wrong prince would crumble the throne.

Then K enters.

No fanfare. Just shadow and silence.
But all eyes shift.

He walks through the crowd like it doesn't matter what they say—like no one in the room exists but Fuma.

He holds out a hand.

"They're going to talk," K says.

"Then let them say we danced well," Fuma replies.

The music begins again—halting, uncertain.

And then—

They move.

Perfect steps. Slow. Precise. Intimate in a way that makes it clear:

This is not a performance.
This is a promise.

Fuma spins into K's hold. K dips just enough to make someone gasp.

"Still sure?" K murmurs.
"Only about you," Fuma answers.

By the end of the song, the court is silent.

And no one dares interrupt them again.

🔥 ACT III: The Offer

Two nights before the wedding.

Fuma finds K waiting in the library, sleeves rolled, crown half-forgotten on the table between them.

"Do you love him?" K asks.

"I don't even know him."

"But you know me?" K asks, stepping closer.

Fuma doesn't answer.

K smiles. The kind that never reaches his eyes.

"Then I'll give you a choice. Marry my brother... and keep the peace."
"Or..."
"Be mine—and start a war."

Fuma's breath catches.

"You'd risk everything?"

"I've already risked myself," K says. "Now I'm asking if you will."

💔 ACT IV: The Wedding Day

Fuma stands before the altar. Crown heavy. Hands still.

The room is quiet.

Until he speaks—not to the priest.

But to the crowd.

"I can't marry a name I don't know."

He looks directly at K.

"And I won't spend my life pretending I wanted anyone else."

Gasps. Chaos.

But K doesn't move.

Not yet.

Not until later—when he finds Fuma in the garden, stripped of ceremonial robes and everything but honesty.

"It was always going to be you," Fuma says.

K leans in, presses their foreheads together.

"Then we rewrite the treaty. With fire."

The kingdoms nearly burned—
But in the end, they didn't marry for peace.

They ruled for it.

Side by side.
Not by command—

But by choice.

The Morning After – No More Crowns

Setting: A quiet royal chamber. Sunlight spilling in, war finally behind them.
The bed: messy. Unmade. Lived in.

Fuma stirs first.

K is asleep beside him—face relaxed, mouth barely parted, one hand resting where Fuma's heartbeat is strongest.

The war is over.

No treaties to draft. No knives to dodge. No audience left to please.

Just them.

Fuma watches the light paint golden lines across K's shoulder, and for the first time in years, doesn't brace for consequence.

"You're staring," K mumbles, eyes still closed.

"You're peaceful," Fuma replies softly. "It's new."

K cracks one eye open. Smirks.

"So are mornings where no one's asking us to betray each other."

They lie there for a while—limbs tangled, hearts unguarded.

Eventually, K leans in.

"Do we have to get up?"

"Not if we make today about us."

Fuma closes his eyes again, fingers threading with K's under the blankets.

No sword nearby. No mask in reach.

Just skin. Breath. Choice.

💬 Final Line:

For once, the world does not demand anything from them.

And that silence?

Feels like freedom.