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Out of the three sons of the royal household, Mingi could hardly have been said to be the smartest, handsomest, or bravest—in fact, the most that could be said about him was that he was the youngest, the simplest, and certainly the tallest. And for most of his and his brothers’ lives, his lack of other remarkable skills had not needed much questioning, and so the entire Song kingdom had assumed that that was how it would remain. Minho would become king, Minhyuk would become a diplomat traveling to nearby regions to maintain the peace, and Mingi would walk through the grounds surrounding the fortress they called home and maybe pick the occasional flower, if he was feeling particularly adventurous. It was nearly comforting, to have two brothers who were so much better at everything than he was. Took off so much of the pressure of being a prince. Had Mingi been firstborn, he would probably have died by now—but, he supposed, then he would not have had to be king, either. So it would likely have worked out either way.

It was a peaceful existence, if an uninteresting one. The fortress was comfortable and the garden was renowned through the realm for its beauty. Mingi took lessons, practiced his archery (and never improved), and comfortably let his father and his brothers take charge of all administrative tasks. That was one of the many reasons it came as such a surprise when suddenly, Minho and Minhyuk failed spectacularly at a request their father had made of them, and it fell to Mingi to resolve the situation.

“What do you mean, they couldn’t do it?” Mingi said anxiously. “What makes you think I will be able to do it?”

“You stay up all night reading anyway,” the king, his father, dismissed. Mingi did not bother to correct him that it was not reading Mingi was doing, but gossiping with the servants and trying to find exciting new ways to sneak into the kitchen. “They only couldn’t do it because they are unaccustomed to spending so much time idle. It’s the perfect job for you.”

That, Mingi could not deny, was a fair point, and so the very same night, instead of making his way to his comfortable chambers to chat with his favorite maid about rumors of townfolk going missing along the edges of the woods, he bundled up in his warmest wool coat and an even warmer hat and went down to his father’s prized garden in order to find out who—or what—had been stealing the golden apples that grew on the tree in the heart of the garden. Minho and Minhyuk had both fallen asleep before the sun had scarcely had time to set, and had therefore not seen the thief. Why Mingi was being trusted with something so important, he did not particularly understand, but his father had been right, staying up through the night was something Mingi was good at—if he had entertainment. He hardly just sat in one place and stared at just one thing. This was likely to be a challenge. But for once Mingi had the chance to be better than his brothers, and so he took a place under a tree opposite the one bearing golden apples, glistening even now in the dim light of the late evening, leaned his hat-warmed head against the trunk, and waited.

It was cold and damp in the garden. Mingi did not particularly like doing this. He was starting to consider going back inside—his father was certainly expecting him to fail as well, as were his brothers, and Mingi was quite comfortable with living up to those kinds of expectations. But—what was one night, in the grand scheme of things? Mingi felt sleep pulling at the back of his coat and stood up, arms crossed about himself, to stay awake, and the next time he felt drowsy, he washed his face with the cold, clear dew gathering on the grass of the garden, and was reanimated once more.

Half the night passed, and when a glow began to fill the garden, Mingi attributed it to the rise of morning; but how could that be possible when he could still see the stars in the sky? The garden grew lighter and lighter, gold and gleaming, and Mingi raised his head and saw atop the branches of the apple tree a firebird, so bright he could barely look at it. It perched near to the golden apples and began to peck them from the branches, and Mingi had no weapon, he had no trap, the most he had was himself, and that was going to have to do. He crept up to the tree so quietly, steps muffled by the dew-damp grass, and before the bird could see him and flee, Mingi raised his hand and plunged it into the fire, grasping hold of its flaming feathers and trying to pull it to the ground. The firebird, startled, broke away from his grip and in another instant was yet another star, but Mingi’s hand was still warm, and he uncurled his fingers to find one feather there, radiating light just as brightly as if the whole bird itself were still in the garden.

He had expected it to burn him, and yet had touched it anyway. It did not burn. In the morning, he brought the feather to the king, and Minho and Minhyuk stood there looking rather impressed and rather chastened. “It’s not a thief,” Mingi was explaining, “it’s a firebird.”

“Well, a firebird that’s stealing things, which makes it a thief,” Minhyuk pointed out, and Mingi made a face at him while the king was busy examining the feather.

“Describe it again,” said the king, and Mingi obliged, telling him about the way it had lit up the garden with its glow, its fiery red plumage, the speed with which it had flown from him. He had never seen his father look so interested in something before, and so it did not come as much of a surprise when, two days later, his father gathered the sons in the throne room again to tell them he had a task for all three.

“Even Mingi,” Minho said, disbelieving, and Mingi would have resented him for it had he not known this was simply his eldest brother’s way of protecting Mingi from the evils of the world. Probably. Hopefully. Either way, resentment was not a feeling Mingi liked to cultivate, and so he passed it by.

“Did you succeed in finding the thief in the garden, or did Mingi?” the king replied. “Yes, even Mingi. Come in, we don’t have all day.”

“We literally do, you run the country,” Minhyuk said and was ignored.

When the princes were all gathered in a row, the king presented them with the firebird’s feather. “My dear children,” said the king. “You have horses, you have ambitious spirits, you have fealty to me, your father. Take your horses and ride to the ends of the earth until you find this firebird for me. See the world while you’re at it, tell me what the Lees are up to these days.”

There was nothing to be done. Their father had presented it as a task, but Mingi and his brothers saw it for what it was: an order. Mingi assembled a knapsack and had the servants prepare his horse, trying not to cry all the while, as he had never left home before, and though his brothers were far braver than he, it was clear that they had no particular desire to carry out this task, either.

“If you can’t find it,” said Minhyuk, “just come home, it doesn’t matter. Give yourself a week. Alright?”

“How long are you giving yourself?” Mingi asked, but Minhyuk did not answer.

“Don’t be a hero,” said Minho, putting his arms around Mingi for a tight farewell embrace.

“That’s your job,” Mingi agreed, and Minho just smiled at him. The brothers mounted their horses, and with one last look, rode off in three different directions: Minho to the north, Minhyuk to the west, and Mingi could not decide between south and east so he rode kind of in between the two, squinting at his compass and hoping for the best.

He rode for a long while or a short while, he could not be quite sure. Past the fields surrounding the fortress there were plains, and past the plains there were steppes, and it was a summer day, bright and endless. He stopped to drink from a stream, then rode on, but the firebird was nowhere to be seen, and he knew the nearest settlement would take at least three days to reach. What a bad and stupid idea. Mingi should have just stayed home. The sun stubbornly refused to set, and Mingi’s horse stubbornly refused to tire, but Mingi, in contrast, was very much tired, so the next time they came across a small grove with enough shade to sleep under, he dismounted, tied the horse to a birch tree, and curled up on the ground, his head pillowed only on his hands. It was hardly comfortable, worlds away from the soft bed he had grown so used to, from his chambers in the fortress, safe and warm, but his father had given him this task, and there was nothing, nothing to be done. Mingi slept.

He slept for a long while or a short while, he could not be quite sure, but at any rate, when he woke up, his horse was fucking gone.

“Oh no,” said Mingi. “That’s not good at all.”

The rope he had used to tie the horse to the tree was still there, but the horse itself was not. Had it gotten lost? The grove was very small, and Mingi walked through it three times before determining that to be impossible. Nor could it have been taken by a robber, as Mingi himself was all in one piece and his bag untouched. On his way back into the grove to pick up his bag, Mingi’s foot caught on something sharp, and before he fell, he saw the glint of something white, and only when he was on the ground and face-to-face with it did he recognize it for what it was: a bone. Then another, and another still, so many that he could not believe he had not seen them sooner, a whole skeleton’s worth. A horse skeleton, to be precise. Something had eaten his horse, and he was willing to wager it was more than just a firebird this time.

Not wanting to be next, Mingi grabbed his knapsack and made his rapid way to the south-east, leaving the grove and the bones of his horse behind. How was he meant to do this without a horse? How was he even meant to get home? There was hardly even any sense in turning back. His bag was heavier than he had thought, and his legs were beginning to ache, and it was all he could to do keep from weeping as he walked. The melancholy was unbearable. Away from home, no brothers, no father, no horse, and most of all, no hope. Mingi was going to die out here without even the faintest chance of ever being a hero. He walked until he could no longer stand, then fell to the soft grass, half-dozing, to mourn his tragic fate.

“Mingi,” said a voice.

Mingi did not react. He was too sad. Everything was too terrible. He curled his fingers in the grass and did not look up, because that was likely his imagination talking to him, anyway—no one out here cared about him, and when he was nothing but bone, there would be no one even to trip over him.

“Mingi,” said the voice, more insistently this time. “What’s wrong?”

Mingi begrudgingly lifted his head, and was met with a most unusual sight. A grey wolf the size of a man stood looking at him almost with compassion, and Mingi, curiously, was not afraid, just resigned. After the day that Mingi had had, a talking wolf that knew his name was the least of his problems. This was still most likely a hallucination, and so he sighed and replied, “Everything is wrong, wolf. I’m all the way out here on this stupid journey that’s not going to lead anywhere, and my horse got eaten or something so I can’t go home. I can’t even give up, that’s how bad things are.”

“Ah,” said the wolf. He looked oddly contrite, which Mingi had not known was possible for a wolf to look. “Very shiny horse? Chestnuty, but with a bronze sheen?”

“Yes,” Mingi said, perking up. Perhaps the wolf had seen it running off somewhere, and the bones he had found had not belonged to the horse after all. “Do you know where it might be?”

“Um,” said the wolf. “Yes, I do, unfortunately. Sorry, I didn’t know it was yours.”

Mingi’s heart sank. “…What happened to it?”

“Well, I ate it,” said the wolf, “but I feel really, really bad about it, I promise.”

Mingi closed his eyes and rubbed his face with his weary palms. It was just as he had predicted—he was going to be eaten next. “It’s alright. You’re a wolf, you were hungry. I understand.”

“I do feel really bad,” said the wolf, approaching. Mingi shrank back slightly and the wolf stopped, which made Mingi feel a little better, but not much. “I really am sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Mingi said. “Forget it.”

The wolf regarded him for a moment, and Mingi managed a princely smile, since he had doubtless not yet left his father’s lands, and so this wolf was, in some way, one of his very own subjects. Some decorum must be maintained. The wolf said, “Why are you so far from home on your own, prince? What journey are you on?”

Mingi explained the situation with the firebird and his father, and the wolf’s grey head tilted to the side in amusement. “You’d never get there on your horse,” he said, as though that was supposed to make Mingi feel better. “Besides, I’m the only one who knows where the firebird is kept.”

“That’s nice,” Mingi said. “You go get it for my father, then.”

“No—look, I’m trying to help you,” said the wolf. Mingi was learning so much about wolves today; it turned out they were capable of exasperation. “I ate your horse, it’s my fault you’re stuck out here. So I’m in your debt, Mingi. Let me make it up to you. I’ll take you to the firebird and be your ever-faithful companion until you no longer have need of me.”

He bowed his head, his grey fur dappled with black and white and hardly moved by the breeze. Mingi stared at him, uncomprehending, but gradually stood, his bag with him. He was worried he was too big and clumsy to be able to ride comfortably atop the wolf, but the wolf had just eaten a horse, he would probably be fine. The wolf waited patiently, and Mingi ran a hand along the back of his head, testing the limits of his touch, confirming he was real, and the wolf’s fur prickled but he did not move away. He was coarse and warm, and Mingi sank his fingers into his fur, cast a leg over him just like a horse, and leaned down to get a grasp on him, his arms about his neck. “Okay,” Mingi said, trying not to tremble in fear, “let’s go.”

“Hold on tight,” said the wolf quietly, and Mingi clung to him with arms and legs and pressed his face into his fur to keep from seeing where they were going. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know,” Mingi said, and the wolf began to run, faster than Mingi’s horse, faster than any horse Mingi had ever seen. When Mingi dared to lift his head from the wolf’s fur, he saw the landscape blurring past them, unfamiliar terrain, blue forests, distant lakes, all gone in a flash as the wolf ran, tireless and true. He spared a thought for how his brothers were doing—if it was true that the wolf was the only one who knew where to find the firebird, then where were Minho and Minhyuk looking? Perhaps they had already returned home. Perhaps this was a trap. Perhaps this wolf was the reason for the missing townfolk, and perhaps he was taking Mingi back to his den to subject him to a bloody end. The wolf ran and ran until Mingi could no longer see the world around them and the sun had set completely; then, the wolf stopped, and Mingi somewhat gracelessly dismounted, sliding off to the side and standing on unsteady legs.

“We’ll rest here,” said the wolf. “You’re tired, aren’t you?” Mingi nodded morosely. “Make up a fire and I’ll keep you safe. Once the sun rises, we’ll run again, and I’ll tell you how to get the bird.”

“If you think I have the skills necessary to build a fire,” Mingi said tearfully, but he really was terribly grateful to the wolf for all his help—even though it was the wolf’s fault he needed help in the first place—so he set about searching for dry branches and leaves for kindling, stones to build a base, and all the while the wolf walked by his side, listening for danger. Luckily, whoever had packed Mingi’s knapsack for him had included a striker, and Mingi piled the stones together and the kindling atop the stones, then sat cross-legged on the ground and attempted to start the fire. The wolf lay down by his side, his head on Mingi’s knee, and Mingi said, “Careful, I don’t want to get a spark in your eye.”

“I’ll be alright,” said the wolf. “Go ahead.”

Mingi had never done this before, but he tried to remember how the servants did it; usually, they just took some fire from an already-burning candle. Hardly applicable here. He tried to scrape the flint against the steel, but his hand slipped off and nothing happened. Mingi reflexively braced to smile, embarrassed, at the sound of criticism or friendly mockery, the kind he was used to getting from his brothers, but the wolf said nothing at all, and so Mingi tried again, and failed again, and tried again, and this time he succeeded, and he was so startled at the sight of sparks pouring forth from the cold metal in his hand that he dropped the flint and the steel both and had to start over yet another time. And all the while the wolf was silent and patient, until Mingi struck the flint against the steel and managed to achieve contact between the sparks and the kindling. A merry flame sprang to life, growing more and more each second, and Mingi crowed in triumph, then quieted down quickly, not wanting to draw any attention to their little camp, in the event of spirits more evil than the wolf waiting for them in these woods.

“Are you hungry, prince?” asked the wolf, watching as Mingi warmed his hands in front of the fire. “I can catch you something to eat. A rabbit, or a quail. Whatever you like.”

“I have some bread,” Mingi said doubtfully, reaching for his bag. He did not particularly wish for the wolf to catch him something—he did not think he would like to see the wolf coming back with a limp, dead body in his maw, blood smeared over his fangs and face. “Would you like any?”

“No,” said the wolf. “I don’t really eat a lot of bread. But thanks.”

Mingi supposed that made sense, and that meant there was all the more bread for him. Staring into the fire was making him sleepy once more, and although he was not fully sure that he could trust the wolf not to eat him in his sleep, he did not have much of a choice. Mingi thought perhaps he had read somewhere that wild animals feared fire, but the wolf seemed completely unconcerned, curled up next to Mingi with his head resting on his paws. Mingi had never seen a wolf before; were they all this large? He had very intelligent eyes, almost like a human, save for their amber color. The wolf turned his head and saw that Mingi was looking at him, and one of his ears flicked invitingly, so Mingi rested a hand behind the edge of the wolf’s skull and pressed his fingers gently into his thick, coarse fur.

“How do you know who I am?” Mingi whispered. “Are you really a wolf?”

“Everyone knows who you are,” said the wolf, which answered neither of Mingi’s questions. Mingi ate the bread from his left hand and carefully, gently stroked the wolf with his right, because he was lonely and the wolf was being very kind to him, all things considered, and Mingi really was frightfully far from home.

Mingi finished his bread—probably a mistake, he had no idea where his next meal would come from—and concealed his yawn in his hand, and the wolf nudged his long nose against Mingi’s knee. “You need rest,” he said. “Tomorrow will be harder, but I will be with you.”

Mingi was not entirely sure how much more adventure he could take, but the wolf was right, he needed to sleep. He adjusted his bag to make a better pillow and curled up on his side by the fire, but even though the fire was hot, the chill of the woods at night was still tearing through him, and he could not help but shiver. The wolf had gone off somewhere, probably exploring the forest to make sure there were no dangers lurking, and Mingi wanted to move closer to the fire but was afraid of being burnt. He had completely lost track of time. Had he been away for three days, or two? Maybe even longer. Once again, he felt the overwhelming urge to weep, but scarcely before one hot tear could break free from his eye, the wolf returned. Mingi felt the bump of his muzzle against his back, and the wolf said, “Don’t cry. Are you cold?”

Mingi, miserable, nodded, and the wolf lay down, soft and welcoming and not like a wild animal in the slightest. Wolves were a kind of dog, Mingi thought, but this wolf had very little in common with the yappy little creature Minhyuk had brought home several years ago and trained to nip at Mingi’s heels at the breakfast table. Mingi moved closer to the wolf and rested his head on the wolf’s ribs, nestled in his fur, and that was so much warmer, so much better, that he fell asleep right away.

He awoke with wolf fur in his mouth and all the wolf did was laugh at him very softly, then help put out the fire and wait for Mingi to climb on his back again. And then they were off, running through the forest seemingly faster even than yesterday, and it was so much more frightening due to all the trees, but the wolf was swift-footed and precise, dodging fallen trunks and leaping over boulders, and all Mingi could do was hold onto him and try not to yank on his fur in his terror. They ran all through the day until twilight began once again to steal over the sky, and finally, once the world was fully dark, Mingi could see something in the distance, a mountain, a town, a castle on the very top.

“Listen to me,” said the wolf. “Mingi, listen. The firebird is in a gilded cage in the tower room. Climb over the wall, don’t be afraid, the guards are all asleep by now. You’ll see a window, and the cage will be just within. Take the bird, but don’t touch the cage, just take the bird and come right back. I’ll wait for you here.”

Mingi was tall enough to reach the top of the wall, and he managed to clamber up and over fairly easily. Knowing that the wolf was confident in his return made it simpler still, and he crept along past the edges of the tower, eyes on the lit-up room near the base. Were the firebird to really be there, he could simply take it, just like that, and the wolf would bring him home with his prize, and his father would be so happy, so proud. The nearer he got, the brighter the room seemed, and once Mingi was directly underneath it, he discovered why—the cage holding the firebird was right on the windowsill, filling the surrounding darkness with its radiant light.

It was good to see the bird again; it was practically a familiar face. Mingi moved closer to see it better, and thought: just the bird. Not the cage. But as Mingi elevated himself on a few stone steps by the window’s side, those words seemed more and more distant. Why not take the cage as well? It was made of pure gold and precious stones, the perfect complement to a creature as fine as the firebird. His father would be pleased to have such a wonderful cage in which to keep his new treasure, and Mingi could not resist its gleam. So he reached for it, curled his fingers around the golden bars, but he had scarce made contact with the metal as a terrible wail rose up through the castle, alarms sounding, guardsmen running, and Mingi knew he was fucking screwed.

Sure enough, the king was hardly pleased. Mingi, tossed to the stone floor even though he was visibly wearing his best red coat, winced from the fall and waited for notice of execution, but all the king had to say was, “Who are you, where did you come from, and what do you want?”

“I’m the youngest prince of the Songs,” Mingi explained, trying to dust off his elbows without being too obvious about it. “My father sent me for your firebird, it was stealing our golden apples.”

“See,” said the king, unearthly pale of hair and not much older than Minho, “maybe if you’d come here like a normal person and just asked me, I would have given it to you. Now I have to make you jump through all kinds of hoops.”

Mingi looked around nervously just in case there were literal hoops, but there were not. The king allowed him to stand, regarding him disdainfully, and Mingi figured he was waiting for an apology and said, “Please forgive me. I just wanted to do right by my kingdom and my family. Besides, your bird stole our apples first!”

“You’re very bad at apologizing,” the king sniffed. Since it was night, he was wearing a robe all in emerald-green velvet, and one of the knights by his side kept trying to fix the tie so it would not come undone, to which the king kept pushing his hand away. “But you’re cute, so I’ll let you off easy. If you do something for me, I’ll let you take the bird and the cage back to your father.”

Mingi brightened. “Really? What is it?”

“The neighboring kingdom treasures a golden-maned horse,” said the king. “Bring it to me, and I’ll give you what you came for.”

Mingi’s track record with horses over the course of this whole journey had not been particularly good, so he was no longer feeling optimistic about his ability to bring the firebird to his father. “I will,” he said, bowed deeply, and allowed the guards to escort him back out beyond the walls of the tower. Once they’d left him there in the cold, he hesitantly whistled, and out of the darkness the wolf came running, looking ragged and half-wild with worry.

“I told you not to touch the cage,” he said immediately, his teeth somehow sharper, bared in displeasure. “Why didn’t you listen to me? You scared me to death—I thought they were going to imprison you forever.”

“So did I,” Mingi admitted. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, wolf, I should have listened to you, forgive me, please. But now I need your help again.” And he explained what the white-haired king had tasked him with, and the wolf snapped his jaws in irritation.

“Great,” said the wolf. “This could have been so easy. And yet.”

“I know,” Mingi said. Surely crying every time something went wrong was a bad response, and yet he could hardly help it, his lower lip trembling already. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to help me—I’ll figure something else out.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” said the wolf, and he sounded like he was relenting. “Don’t cry, Mingi. I know how we can get the horse. It’s not far. Come here.”

So Mingi climbed onto the wolf again and dried his tears in his prickly coarse fur, and the wolf ran them back down the mountain and through the night and through the day. This time, not like when he had been alone, Mingi could tell that it had been a while, and he wondered at the indefatigable wolf’s drive to keep going. He supposed if he had eaten a horse, that would give him a fair amount of energy as well. The woods went on and on, the mountains in the distance, and finally the wolf came to a slow halt, letting Mingi clamber down and find his bearings.

“Okay, so maybe it’s farther than I thought,” said the wolf. “Sorry about that.”

“I’ll make the fire,” Mingi offered, and once again the wolf walked by his side as Mingi gathered firewood, then rested his head on Mingi’s knee as Mingi struck the flint to the steel and sparked the fire to life, succeeding after only two tries this time.

With the fire lit, the wolf left for a brief period of time, and returned with a bundle of leaves in his mouth; Mingi unwrapped it to find some berries and a couple of carefully protected eggs, and although he could hardly imagine how the wolf had procured any of this, he was very grateful. Mingi ate, then slept curled close to the wolf again, warmed by his thick fur. The wolf spoke in his dreams, too, that same high, handsome voice, and when Mingi looked at him, he was not a wolf but a man—Mingi could not see his face, but he grasped his shoulder to try and turn him. “Not yet,” said the wolf in the body of a man, facing away. “You’re dreaming, Mingi.”

“Who are you?” Mingi tried to say, but his tongue was sluggish, hardly moving in his mouth as he spoke. “Are you going to eat me?”

“Do you want me to?” said the wolf, and just as he began to turn to look at Mingi, to show him his face, Mingi awoke with a jolt. The fire had nearly burned down to embers and, sleep-clumsy, Mingi tossed another branch onto it to keep it going. He looked at the wolf. The wolf was still a wolf, and still asleep. Mingi lay back down on the soft, dry earth and pressed his face into the wolf’s side and slept on, this time dreamless.

They rode on in the morning. This kingdom did things a little differently, the wolf told Mingi, and the guards would all be asleep in the middle of the day. “Listen,” said the wolf. “Remember this time, Mingi. The horse is in the stables just over the wall. Lead it out through the gate, but don’t touch the bridle. Take the horse and come back. I’ll wait for you here.”

Once again, Mingi went over the wall easily, and though there were many fine horses in this kingdom’s stables, the one with the golden mane was the finest of all. He marveled at its beauty for a moment, but he knew there was not much time to waste, so he set about untying it so he could lead it away. Just the horse, not the bridle, and where was the bridle, anyway? There it was, hanging perfectly within reach, just as precious and jewel-encrusted as the firebird’s cage. Surely the white-haired king would want this bridle to match his new horse. If his golden-skinned knight had been anything to go off of, he clearly preferred the finer things in life, and the more Mingi could avoid punishment for attempting to steal his firebird, the better. So, the horse’s rope in one hand, Mingi reached for the bridle with the other, but he had scarce made contact with the leather as a terrible wail rose up through the castle, alarms sounding, guardsmen running, and Mingi could not believe what an idiot he was for the second time.

This king did not look like he would be as merciful as the first. He was far, far older than Minho and the previous one, older even than Mingi’s father. “Who are you, where did you come from, and what do you want?” he demanded.

Mingi, by now fairly bruised from getting thrown onto stone castle floors, sighed and answered, “I’m the youngest prince of the Songs. I came for your horse, the one with the golden mane.”

“Very princely, trying to steal someone else’s horse,” the king scoffed. “I bet Taemin put you up to this. Didn’t he?”

“It’s a very long story,” Mingi said. “Are you going to have me executed?”

“Maybe if you’d come to me honestly and made a request,” continued the king, who evidently preferred the sound of his own voice and did not care altogether too much about what Mingi had to say, “I’d have given it to you. I’m a generous guy, ask anyone. But all this means you’re a brave kid, you know. This is a complicated castle, and a very expensive horse. You’ve got guts, huh?”

“Um,” Mingi said, startled at the accusation of bravery. “I… I suppose I do.”

The king regarded him, arms crossed, then indicated to his guards that they could release Mingi from their clutches. “Tell you what, kiddo. My daughter ran away from home. No idea where she went, but if you can get her back for me, I’ll give you the horse and the bridle as a reward. See, I have eleven daughters, and they all keep trying to run away, even though I worked so hard to get them all in one place. Different mothers, blah blah, it’s a whole thing. This one probably wants to be queen someday, but that’ll never happen if she keeps escaping! So get her back and the horse is yours.”

Mingi felt as though perhaps he should have been writing that down, because now he was rather confused, but he had gotten the gist of what the king wanted him to do. “I will,” he said, bowed deeply, and allowed the guards to escort him back out beyond the walls of the castle.

Waiting for him already was the wolf, pacing from side to side, and the guards fled at the sight, leaving Mingi and the wolf alone. “I’m sorry,” Mingi said immediately, before the wolf could even speak, and the wolf’s hackles were raised, making him look more than halfway wild again.

“I told you not to touch the bridle,” he growled. “Why didn’t you listen to me? Mingi, it’s so easy to do this right.”

“I’m really, really sorry,” Mingi said, kneeling down to entreat the wolf’s forgiveness, reaching out for him though he was frightened of the way the wolf was looking at him. “Come with me next time. Please. I—I get confused and I just want to do the best for everyone, and I end up doing it all wrong. Please?”

“Next time?” the wolf repeated. “What else do you have to do?”

Mingi explained the situation with the missing princess, and the wolf was even less pleased than he had been about the horse. But the wolf forgave him quickly, nudging his head against Mingi’s outstretched hands, and soon Mingi was climbing onto his back and holding on tightly as the wolf ran them away from the castle and into the wilderness once more.

Another long day of running, another meal by the fire, and Mingi fell asleep just as quickly, cold though it was. A noise in the night woke him, a branch snapping nearby, and he jolted up, heart fluttering in his chest, eyes barely adjusting to the dim firelight. He turned to see the wolf, but the wolf was no longer there. In his place there was a small, slim young man wrapped up in thick grey furs, asleep and angelic, something savage about his pointed face though his skin was delicate as porcelain. Mingi blinked to clear the illusion, but the young man remained.

“Am I dreaming?” Mingi asked, soft and hoarse.

“Yes,” said the young man without opening his eyes, speaking in the wolf’s voice. “You’re dreaming, Mingi.”

Mingi, satisfied with his answer, lay back down and slept on. In the morning everything was in its place, and Mingi did not ask the wolf about his dream. The wolf brought him to another kingdom, this one very unfamiliar indeed, and said, “Stay here. I’ll get the princess myself. Go back along the road we came from, and I’ll come to you with the princess soon.”

“Thank you for helping me,” Mingi said, unexpectedly emotional about how much this wolf was doing for him out of sheer guilt for having eaten his horse, and the wolf gave him no response, just allowed one last touch to the top of his grey head before he leapt over the wall and into the palace garden.

How was Mingi meant to simply abandon the wolf to this task? What if he needed help? Not that Mingi would be able to provide much assistance, but on principle, he felt the need to stay. He crept closer to the wall the wolf had just jumped over so he could see inside the garden, and there he saw a group of women surrounding a boy, younger than Mingi, who had an elaborate crown and was bossing all of them around. The loveliest of all the women sat at a distance apart, wearing a white dress and an unhappy expression. That must have been the escaped princess, although it seemed she had run right back into some kind of captivity. The boy king snapped his fingers and made the lovely princess bring him a tray of fruits, and as she went to return the empty tray to the table it had come from, the wolf burst free out of the nearby bushes, knocked into the lovely princess’s back, and scattered all the other attendants and the boy king, leaving them astounded. The princess tossed over his back, the wolf began to run, and so did Mingi, back down along the road he and the wolf had come into the kingdom on.

A few minutes passed, and Mingi heard the wolf’s distinctive footfalls, as well as feminine laughter. He stopped his run and turned to see the princess, sitting comfortably astride the wolf, making conversation with him as though they were life-long friends. She smiled radiantly at Mingi, and Mingi, who had no idea how to interact with girls and even less interest in doing such a thing, attempted to smile back.

“Get on,” said the wolf. “We don’t have much time before the boy king sends his soldiers after us. Twenty legendary warriors, all cherishing him like a son and sworn to defend him.”

“Um, hello, sorry about this,” Mingi said to the princess, climbing onto the wolf behind her and very awkwardly putting his arms around her waist.

“Not at all! I couldn’t have asked for a better rescue team,” smiled the princess. She really was very pretty, and Mingi did not like at all the idea of returning her to her unsmiling, unfriendly father.

“Well,” Mingi said, glad she was happy regardless of their rescuing abilities, “I’m Mingi, the youngest prince of the Songs. And you’ve already met—”

“Yes, Hongjoong has been absolutely wonderful,” said the princess, and Mingi realized all at once that he had not even thought to ask if the wolf had his own name. He reddened with shame and let go of the princess’s waist with one hand to press his fingers against the nape of the wolf’s neck, and Hongjoong’s ears flicked back in amused acknowledgement, his pace not slowing down as he ran.

“And I’m Chungha,” said the princess. “I’m so glad to be out of there. Who sent you to come get me? Was it…” And as she spoke, her skin flushed a pale pink and she took on a knowing lover’s smile. “It wasn’t that one queen with hair as black as a raven’s wing and a smile as soft as a dove’s heart, was it?”

“It was your dad, but the queen sounds great,” Mingi said.

At the news that her father had ordered her rescue, Chungha’s demeanor visibly changed, and she went from bubbly and alight to reticent and drawn. Hongjoong ran them to safety in the woods, and there, once Mingi and Chungha had made up the fire together, she told them both the whole story of her life, how her father treated his daughters like pawns on a chessboard, moving them around precisely as he saw fit with no regard for their desires. Yes, Chungha hoped to be queen someday, but her father would likely never give her the chance.

Chungha slept before Mingi and Hongjoong did, on a bed made up of softer ferns and Mingi’s knapsack, sacrificed willingly. In the meantime, Mingi looked into the fire and worried, unsure of what to do, how to proceed. “We can’t just give her back to her father,” he reasoned. “She’s not an object, she doesn’t belong to him.”

“We can bring her to that queen,” Hongjoong suggested. It was different, now that Mingi knew his name. “I know which one she means. They’ll be really happy to see each other, I’m sure.”

But then how would Mingi get the horse that would get him the firebird? Were he one of his brothers, he would doubtless know how to fix this situation, but alas, problem-solving had never been his strong suit. He dreamt of the young man he had dreamt of before, the one who spoke with the voice of the wolf, and all they did was look at each other, Mingi hardly able to take his eyes off of him as he led him through the halls and passages of his kingdom’s fortress. Their hands were linked, the young man’s small and soft in Mingi’s own, and Mingi showed him the way to the throne room, where Mingi’s father waited. Mingi bent to kiss the young man on his sweet, upturned mouth, and in the wolf’s voice, the young man said, “Show me where your father sleeps,” but Mingi did not want to take him anywhere or show him anything else, he wanted to kiss him again, so he did. The young man permitted this, but once Mingi had pulled away, more insistently he asked, “Mingi, the royal chambers,” and Mingi blinked in confusion and tried to pull the young man closer to him, longing to see him, to touch him, to hold his delicate frame in his arms, but then the dream began to fade, vanishing away like smoke, and Mingi opened his eyes to find that it was morning and that Chungha and the wolf had already put out the fire and were preparing to continue their journey.

“Hongjoong says you guys can take me to my queen,” Chungha explained, radiant once more. “He told me all about you, too, what you’re trying to do. You can stay with us as long as you like, then continue on your quest.”

Was it a quest? Mingi had never thought of it that way, although he supposed it was not an inaccurate assessment. “Thanks,” he said. As to staying in another palace, with a different ruler than his father, he was not so sure, but he supposed he and Hongjoong would see how they felt once they got there. Time always passed quickly when they were on Hongjoong’s back, the landscape blurring past them, unfamiliar terrain, blue forests, distant lakes, all gone in a flash as the wolf ran, tireless and true, and finally they came upon a verdant mountain, and nestled in the hills was a castle, and waiting for them at the front gates was a tall, frowning man in a silken coat.

“You again,” he said to Chungha, who just tossed her dark tresses over her shoulder and smiled beatifically. “Come in. I’m not so sure about the wolf.”

“He doesn’t bite,” Mingi said, although he had no way of verifying that whatsoever, and Hongjoong himself neither confirmed nor denied this. “And I won’t go in if he can’t. He’s the only reason Chungha’s safe.”

The man directed his strong-eyebrowed gaze at Mingi, and Mingi did his bravest not to shrink back. “And who are you?”

“He saved me, too,” Chungha interjected. “I vouch for both of them. Come on, Sehun, you’re so boring.”

And after such a painful accusation, the man seemed incapable of insisting on them waiting any longer, and so Chungha and Mingi dismounted Hongjoong and all walked into the castle side by side by side. Mingi knew at once that this was the Lee kingdom, despite never having seen it before. At least now he would have an update for his father, if nothing else. The walls were rich with tapestries and the floors were soft with rugs, and Chungha’s walk was a joyous skip as she led them to meet the queen. Their reunion caused Mingi to look away, cheeks warm from heavy longing, though longing for what, exactly, he could not be sure. The raven-haired queen embraced Chungha so closely, so adoringly, as though the jewel had returned to her crown, and welcomed Mingi and Hongjoong with open arms to join them at the feast table as thanks for bringing her pearl back.

Mingi ate and drank his fill, his worries and woes forgotten as he watched the other nobles and even the servants whiling the night away with merry celebration. It seemed the Lees were a happy folk, and Queen Sunmi a loving ruler, and Mingi’s homesickness caught at the edges of his soul like a fishing hook, but he managed to wriggle free from its barbed clutches long enough to thank the queen for the meal and for the hospitality, princely manners recalled once more.

“It is I who must thank you once again,” disagreed the queen, Chungha seated on her lap with their arms entwined about each other, their heads leaned together. “Mingi, right? Youngest of the Songs, I remember. And who’s your wolf?”

“Hongjoong,” answered Hongjoong, and the queen leveled him with a gaze that could see through the strongest metal, nodding gravely after a moment.

“I was so sorry to hear about what happened to your people,” she said. “You are welcome here.”

Hongjoong inclined his grey head in silent gratitude, and Mingi was left embarrassed once again for never having thought to ask Hongjoong where he had come from. The queen offered to let them stay as long as they liked in her dominion, though she understood that Mingi wished to see his quest through to the end, and the servants showed Mingi and Hongjoong to a large stone-walled chamber in one of the many towers. The bed was huge and soft, and Mingi even bathed in the hot water provided by the queen. How wonderful it was here, how kind. So much better than home, so much better than any of the other kingdoms Mingi had seen on his journey. It would be so nice to stay. He told Hongjoong this once he had lain down on the cloud-soft bed, and Hongjoong jumped up to lie by his side, regarding him with his amber gaze.

“We should leave first thing in the morning,” said the wolf. “She’s got this place under a powerful spell that makes people never want to leave. Chungha really does love her, that’s obvious, but the rest of them… I don’t know. It’s not safe for you.”

“A spell?” Mingi repeated. “Like magic?”

The wolf nearly seemed to smile. “Yes, Mingi, like magic.”

For all the wolf’s caution, Mingi slept uninhibited, his tired bones sinking into the downy bed quite naturally, for he belonged on soft beds, not on the hard earth. In his dream, he was home once more, the quick, slight young man with him, and Mingi must have accidentally given too much thought to Chungha and Sunmi’s consummation of reunion, for they were kissing already, nearly as soon as the dream began. And it was a very different kiss than the last one, a kiss that pulled Mingi to the edge of the world and back, the young man pressing his small-fingered hands against Mingi’s broad shoulders and kissing his mouth as though he wanted to consume him, and all Mingi could do was accept his adorations, helpless and weak and making faint noises into his lips. Mingi wanted to ask who he was, ask why he had taken such a liking to Mingi, but he could not think with the young man’s clever tongue slipping along Mingi’s pliant lips. The young man was sighing, too, the heat of his body and his lips turning Mingi’s head, and Mingi wanted to give him what he wanted, he wanted the young man to love him, and through the fog clouding Mingi’s mind, he remembered the previous dream, what the young man had requested of him. It took some concentration, but it was a dream, after all, and Mingi concentrated on changing where he was until their surroundings were not a flowery courtyard within the fortress, but the royal chambers themselves. He also wished off his and the young man’s clothes for good measure.

“Very good, Mingi,” purred the young man, his hands pulling Mingi’s hair, his lips kissing Mingi’s throat, his soft hair falling down over his eyes and concealing them from view when Mingi tried to look at him. His naked body was angular and soft, small and strong, all in contradiction, and his sharp-toothed smile made Mingi feel afraid without fear. His mouth burned Mingi’s when they kissed again. Mingi attempted to pull him closer, and though his hands were clumsy, he sought to touch him, to push his honey-gold tresses out of his face so Mingi could see him. But the young man turned away, once again saying, “Not yet.”

“But when?” Mingi cried, despairing. “Please—I want to see you.”

The young man kissed Mingi once more, burning to the point it nearly hurt. After Mingi could no longer breathe, he pulled away, and the dream was beginning to go dark already. “Then look,” he said simply and breathed a magic exhalation right at Mingi, down the length of one of his delicate hands. The dream crumbled into smoke once more. The last Mingi could remember was reaching for him still, desperate, but all in vain. He awoke in the soft goose-down bed, a humiliating ache between his legs and all through his body. Mingi took deep, measured breaths until the ache passed, contenting himself with thoughts of what a wonderful castle he was staying in, how delicious breakfast was likely to be, what fun they would all have at tonight’s ball and festivities.

Then Mingi remembered Hongjoong’s words and opened his eyes to see the room for what it was. Now that he had awareness of the magic at work, he saw the aged stone of the wall, the threadbare fabric of the bedclothes, the stripped trees quivering in the cold mountain gale outside, and all Mingi wanted was to leave.

“Hongjoong,” Mingi whispered, and hesitantly reached to touch the wolf’s sleeping shoulder. “Hongjoong, we should go.”

The wolf stirred, but slowly, and Mingi’s heart was seized with cold terror. Had the spell weakened Hongjoong to a dangerous point, Mingi would never be able to forgive himself for unwittingly leading the wolf to such a fate. But after another plaintive press of Mingi’s hands, a gentle shake to jostle him out of sleep, the wolf lifted his head. “Mingi,” he said, sounding so like the young man from Mingi’s dreams that Mingi’s cheeks filled with heat. “We need to leave.”

“I know, I just said that,” Mingi agreed, and he had his bag sealed up again in minutes, best red coat and boots back on, watching and trying not to worry as Hongjoong left the bed, his walk visibly unsteady. “Is her spell that strong? I can’t believe she’d do something like this—she seems so nice!”

“She is,” Hongjoong said, shaking his shoulders and his head to wake himself up further. “You’d be surprised at what a king or queen will do to keep their subjects in line. Trust me, this is better than what a lot of rulers do.”

“Oh,” Mingi said. He was not one for politics and hardly paid attention to what went on in his very own court; that was always his brothers’ realm.

The wolf shook his head again, as though chasing away troublesome flies. “Now let’s get out of here before they notice us leaving and try to keep us from going.”

Mingi had wanted to bid farewell to Chungha, at the very least, but he understood the wolf’s haste. It was still morning, the guards were still asleep, and the longer Mingi crept through the marble halls with Hongjoong, the more he noticed a thick veil of sleep cast over everything, like a glimmering dust coating the statues, the topiaries, even the lovebirds roosting under the clocktower. Everything was waiting for the queen to awaken, he realized, and he and Hongjoong had only been able to rise earlier for lack of time spent under her powerful sorcery. Once out past the wrought-iron gates, Mingi climbed up on Hongjoong’s back, and Hongjoong ran them down the mountains, back out onto the steppes, ran and ran and ran until they had entered the territory of Chungha’s father.

And then Mingi began to worry. “Hongjoong,” he said, frowning. “What am I going to do? I can’t get the firebird if I don’t have the horse, and I can’t get the horse if I don’t have Chungha. And I don’t have Chungha. Am I going to have to go home empty-handed? After everything?”

“You can be such a pessimist sometimes,” said the wolf. “I’ve got it covered. Relax.”

Mingi would have pressed for more information had the wolf not done so much for him already and given Mingi every reason to put his faith in him. Dusk was creeping over the castle by the time they had reached it, but Mingi knew everyone within would still be awake, and when Hongjoong stopped them at the castle’s unguarded east gate, his worry had returned. The king was waiting for them and Mingi had nothing. “Now what?” Mingi said unhappily.

“I said I’ve got it covered!” said the wolf, irritated. “Will you give me a second?”

“Sure,” Mingi said. He knew what happened when he disobeyed the wolf; it was the reason he was in such troubled straits in the first place. So he waited patiently, the two of them concealed from watchful eyes in a small bower of pomegranate trees, and watched as the wolf muttered to himself, walking in a tight circle, head after tail.

And finally the wolf rose, reared up on his hind legs, and shrugged off his coat. His grey furs fell to the ground. In their midst stood a young man, amber-eyed and messy-haired, savage-faced, delicate-skinned, small of stature and slim of build, and when he smiled up at Mingi, his teeth were sharp.

“You!” Mingi gasped.

“Me?” said the young man.

“Is this another dream?” Mingi demanded, suspicious.

“What do you mean, another?” said the young man. “It’s me, Hongjoong. You know, the wolf? You don’t recognize me? I’m so hurt.”

“No, I—I recognize you,” Mingi said, the heat returning to his cheeks. “I knew you weren’t really a wolf.”

“I am really a wolf,” Hongjoong said, “but more importantly, I’m really a witch.” Mingi made an inadvertent, frightened noise, and Hongjoong laughed. He was so beautiful and so strange, not of this earth, the young man from Mingi’s dreams, but it seemed he did not know what dreams Mingi meant, so perhaps it was all coincidence, or perhaps Mingi had been mistaken. But he knew he was not mistaken—that was the mouth that had kissed him to incoherence just last night, and Mingi was blushing fiercely by now, unable to look him in his amber eyes. “Are you done freaking out? Can I do my thing?”

Mingi nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and risked another glance at Hongjoong. He was wearing so many odd layers of clothing, silks and scarves and leather, and as Mingi watched, Hongjoong grasped hold of the outermost layer, a long and tattered coat, and pulled it off, down his arms, over his shoulders, and finally past his face. When the coat fell, joining the wolf’s grey fur on the cold earth, Chungha stood in Hongjoong’s place.

“Hi!” she said, but it was still Hongjoong, Mingi could tell. His mouth gaped open in amazement, he bent down to see her better, and Hongjoong smiled with Chungha’s lips, radiating smug contentment. “See? Told you it’d be fine.”

“So what now?” Mingi asked. “Have you been able to do this all along?”

“I can do all sorts of things,” Hongjoong-Chungha said, picking up the pile of furs and keeping it tucked under her arm. “Now, you take me to the king, he gives you the horse, you ride away, and then I’ll come meet you. Go as far as you can, I’ll find you. Then we’ll go do the same thing in the next kingdom.”

Mingi did not much like the idea of leaving without Hongjoong, but he trusted that the wolf would be able to break free of the king’s clutches and escape. He put his arm around Hongjoong-Chungha’s narrow shoulders, and though Hongjoong’s human body was small, Chungha’s was even smaller, so Mingi had to reach down fairly far to hold it by his side. Once they had gone through the gate, a great alarm rose up through the castle grounds, and guardsmen came running to take them to the king.

“Thank you, Mingi, for returning my sweet daughter to me!” said the king, Hongjoong-Chungha’s wrist held tightly in his gnarled hand. Hongjoong’s eyes met Mingi’s and flashed amber for a moment, and Mingi felt reassured. “A deal’s a deal, the horse and bridle are yours. Hope this little filly didn’t give you too much trouble, but don’t worry, she’s grounded for the next decade, shouldn’t happen again.”

“Good luck,” Mingi said, bowed deeply, and allowed the guards to escort him back out beyond the walls of the castle. He mounted the horse with the golden mane, tugged on the precious bridle, and directed the horse to ride he knew not where. When would Hongjoong come for him? He could barely believe the young man from his dreams was real, that he had been Hongjoong all along. Hongjoong was a witch—Mingi shivered in fright and held tighter to the bridle to keep the horse on its path. But Hongjoong had not hurt him this far, and he had no reason to. Mingi held no power in his kingdom, he had nothing Hongjoong could want. Witches were a dangerous folk, Mingi knew, but still, Hongjoong had not hurt him.

The dreams still made very little sense. How could Mingi have dreamt of a young man identical to Hongjoong before he had even seen his face in waking? Thoughts and worries occupied Mingi completely as he rode far, far away from the castle, until the horse’s pace had slowed and the rubyfruit sun was tumbling lower in the sky. Mingi was growing cold, and though he trusted Hongjoong to come back for him, he knew he would not be able to find his way to the pale-haired king without Hongjoong’s help. Hongjoong had helped him so much already, but Queen Sunmi had spoken of a grief befalling Hongjoong’s people—maybe Hongjoong needed help, too. Mingi resolved that, when he and Hongjoong returned to Mingi’s father, he would do everything within his power to help Hongjoong the way Hongjoong had helped him, and contented himself with that notion—as well as how amusing it would doubtless be to introduce Hongjoong to Minhyuk—while the sun finally curved behind the farthest mountain and vanished from sight.

Then Mingi heard the wolf’s distinctive footfalls and nearly toppled off the golden-maned horse in his haste to see him. Hongjoong waited until Mingi had dismounted fully to cast off his furs once more, and he was himself underneath, sharp-toothed and grinning. “Miss me?”

“What happened?” Mingi asked, so overcome with emotion, so relieved that Hongjoong had come back. “Hongjoong, oh—I thought they were going to imprison you forever.”

“Now you know how I feel all the time,” Hongjoong said, but he was still smiling, always smiling. “Come on, get back on the horse, I’ll hitch a ride with you for a change, then I’ll tell you what happened.”

Mingi wanted to hold him, to thank him, but instead he got atop the horse once more, and Hongjoong tossed his furs over the back of the saddle and climbed up to sit afore him. “Wow, it’s been a while since I’ve done this,” Hongjoong said, taking hold of the bridle. “It’s a very different view from up here.”

“Yeah, it is,” Mingi said, staring at the unkempt back of Hongjoong’s head. He was so close, so alive, so impossible, and the horse went over a fallen tree, jostling Mingi on the return down, and he inhaled in fear and grasped tightly at Hongjoong’s waist to keep from falling. Hongjoong said nothing, so Mingi did not move his hands from where they were.

“What happened was… I mean, it’s about what you’d expect,” Hongjoong said. Now that they were seated so closely together, touching in so many places, it was as though his voice was inside Mingi, running through his chest, through his body, and keeping him from the cold. “They brought me in to see the rest of the daughters, then tried to punish me for running away, so I put my furs back on, scared them all pretty bad, helped the girls get free, went back to scare the king some more, then came to meet you. Easy.”

It sounded as though Hongjoong had done more than merely scare the king, but Mingi was not sure he wanted to know what Hongjoong had really done. The king deserved whatever fate Hongjoong had given him. Mingi swallowed to wet his parched throat, and started, “I almost thought—”

“That I was going to leave you?” Hongjoong said, precisely completing Mingi’s words, and he let go of the horse’s bridle with one hand, covering Mingi’s fingers on his waist instead. His touch was warm and steady. “Never. I told you, prince. I’m your ever-faithful companion until you no longer have need of me.”

He had said that, long ago, and Mingi dared to lean closer, resting his forehead against the sharp back of Hongjoong’s shoulder. A witch. He had never met a witch before; all he knew about them he had learned from his father. He thought that perhaps if his father met Hongjoong, his opinion on witches would change slightly. A forlorn sigh escaped him, and Hongjoong’s fingers tensed on his own. “Now what’s wrong? You don’t want to give the horse up, either?” the witch guessed.

“Um, now that you mention it,” Mingi said dubiously, although that was not what was wrong in the slightest. “I guess it would be pretty great to keep it.”

“All you have to do is ask,” Hongjoong said, “and I’ll give you anything you want.”

They rode until the horse needed rest and slept across the fire from each other. Mingi was anxious and excited to meet Hongjoong, or someone very like Hongjoong, in his dreams again, but his sleep was so heavy that he did not see a single dream. In the morning, Hongjoong was a wolf once more, explaining it would be easier to turn himself into an exact copy of the golden-maned horse if he were already on four legs, and the horse and Hongjoong ran at matching paces to the lands of the pale-haired king. The real horse tied up a safe distance away from the castle, Hongjoong tumbled his canine body head over tail and arose again indistinguishable from the animal they had just left behind, and though he could not talk in this form, Mingi still sensed his comfortable, familiar presence, and when Hongjoong flashed his amber eyes at him before Mingi led him through the gates, Mingi felt reassured.

“It’s so beautiful,” cooed the pale-haired king, brushing his hand through the horse’s golden mane. “Don’t you think so? Isn’t it perfect?” The knight who waited on him, long-suffering but fond, nodded. “Give the princelet his firebird, he’s earned it. Send my regards to your father, alright, cutie? I can’t wait to travel all around my lands on my shiny new horse!”

“Good luck,” Mingi said, bowed deeply, and allowed the guards to escort him back out beyond the walls of the castle, the firebird in its precious cage held tightly in his hand. He found the actual horse where they had left it, and realized all at once that this was likely where he and Hongjoong would have to part ways. Mingi no longer had need of him; Hongjoong had helped Mingi accomplish what he had set out from home to do. He had the firebird, he remembered the way back to his own fortress. Yes, Mingi did not want Hongjoong to leave. But if the only thing keeping the witch bound to him was Mingi’s need of assistance and that need was now sated, surely he was free to go.

Even the horse and the firebird seemed sympathetic as Mingi sat down on the cold, hard ground, buried his face in his arms, and could not help weeping. He was hardly even glad to be going home. His father would be proud, his brothers would be proud, but Mingi would be alone again, and they would really only be proud of something that he could never, ever have accomplished alone. He wept until he could weep no more, then pulled himself up, mounted the horse with the firebird in his hand, and set his sights homeward.

But he had scarcely left the white-haired king’s territory when he heard the wolf’s distinctive footfalls, and nearly toppled off the golden-maned horse in his haste to see him. Hongjoong pulled off his furs before Mingi could reach him, and this time Mingi did not force restraint, he wrapped his arms around Hongjoong’s slender body and held him tightly. “Don’t leave me,” he pleaded. “I—I’ll get lost, I don’t know the way back home, I still need you.”

“Of course you still need me,” Hongjoong soothed. His hands were just as soft in Mingi’s hair as they had been in Mingi’s dream. “Didn’t I tell you, prince? I’m your ever-faithful companion until you no longer—”

“What about after that?” Mingi interrupted. “What about after I bring the firebird back to my father and my quest is done? What then?”

Hongjoong shrugged, and Mingi let him go. “How would I know? I can’t see the future, I’m not that kind of witch.”

That was not at all the answer Mingi had hoped for, and yet it was better than nothing. He helped Hongjoong up onto the horse, the firebird’s cage attached to the bridle, and Hongjoong showed the horse where to go, how to return Mingi to his native lands. While they rode, Hongjoong told Mingi of what had happened, that they had brought him to the stables and prepared the saddle for the pale-haired king to ride him, but no sooner had the king directed his knight to help him up, Hongjoong had turned back into a wolf and fled. It did not sound as though Hongjoong had harmed anyone this time, and Mingi was relieved.

That night, they slept on the same side of the fire. Mingi could not fall asleep for a long, long time, watching the way the flames illuminated the sharp lines of Hongjoong’s angelic face, his fragile eyelashes, his candied lips. When Mingi did finally succumb to the warm embrace of unconsciousness, he dreamt that he was home, and that he was leading Hongjoong through the fortress at night. At first Mingi thought Hongjoong wanted to go to Mingi’s chambers, trembling all over at the thought of what would happen within, but Hongjoong did not halt in front of Mingi’s door, and so Mingi, confused, continued to lead him through. They only stopped once in front of the king’s rooms, and Mingi looked down to see a glint of metal in Hongjoong’s hand—a knife, he realized, and though Mingi tried to pull Hongjoong back, away from the door, Hongjoong was rooted to the ground and would not move, would not respond, and Mingi tried to call to him, to cry out, but his mouth would not open, would not speak, and with a great gust of air, the door to the king’s room blew open and Hongjoong went inside.

Mingi jolted awake, his heart pounding in his chest worse than the firebird in its cage, disoriented, terrified. Hongjoong was awake, too, pressed close to Mingi, and Mingi met his unexpectedly guilty gaze and saw sparks of light on Hongjoong’s fingertips—his fingertips, outstretched, nearly touching Mingi’s head. Hongjoong hastily moved to hide them, but it was too late, Mingi had seen.

“What are you doing?” Mingi said, eyes widened. “Who are you? Where did you come from, and what do you want? To hurt me?”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Hongjoong promised. “You know I wouldn’t hurt you. Mingi, don’t be silly, I’m not doing anything—”

“Don’t,” Mingi said. His lashes thickened with unshed tears, but he stubbornly ignored them, braving onwards. “How stupid do you think I am? I knew it was you in my dreams. What are you trying to do to me? What do you want from my father?”

Hongjoong regarded him for a long moment, then sighed, his already-savage face taking on a new level of fierceness. “I am a witch,” he said finally. “Do you know, Mingi, what your father does to witches?”

Mingi mutely shook his head, too frightened to speak out loud.

“He banishes them from their lands, takes everything from them, and renders them powerless. A witch without his origin is as good as dead,” Hongjoong said. “The people going missing, those aren’t normal people, those are my people. He's casting them out. I was once as powerful as your father, Mingi. Now look at me. I have nothing. It’s taken me so long to get even this much of my strength back, but it’s still not enough.”

“So what would be enough?” Mingi said, his voice trembling. Hongjoong did not answer, and Mingi tried again: “What would be enough, Hongjoong? Tell me.”

“His heart,” said the witch. “Few things have enough power to restore me to my former glory. Eating the heart of a king, that’s one.”

So that explained the dreams. That explained Queen Sunmi’s commiseration. Most painful of all, it explained why the wolf had known his name, why the wolf had found him, why the wolf had stayed so close. It had all been a trick. A ruse, to get Hongjoong into the fortress by Mingi’s side so he could kill Mingi’s father and eat his heart. Had Mingi known, had Hongjoong told him all at once what he wanted, Mingi could have done something, anything, he could have talked to his father, entreated him to give the witches their territories back, but now Hongjoong was hardened in his hatred, determined to see his revenge through. He could leave Mingi behind, disguise himself as Mingi and enter the fortress alone, celebrate Mingi’s triumphs with the rest of the court and his father’s subjects, then kill Mingi’s father and turn the kingdom upside down.

And the worst of it—the worst of it, the very worst part, was that Mingi could not even blame him. He could not resent him. He could not hate him, or even feel betrayed. He had seen that Hongjoong was kind and brave and strong, everything Mingi wished he himself could be. He did not want Hongjoong to be powerless, left with nothing. Hongjoong had brought Mingi berries and let him sleep nestled in his fur, and Mingi could not bring himself to wish Hongjoong’s plan to fail. “Is there nothing else,” Mingi said, tremulous, low. “Nothing else that would help you. Is there nothing I can do? I don’t want you to kill my father.”

“I’m sorry,” Hongjoong said. For once, he sounded as young as he looked, as small as he seemed. “I have to do this. I need my strength. If I am to be a wolf without a pack, sacrifices must be made. Mingi, please forgive me.”

And the worst of it was that there was nothing to forgive. Mingi asked again: “Is there nothing else that would help?”

“It would have to be something incredibly powerful, and incredibly rare,” Hongjoong replied. “I don’t think you have anything strong enough, prince. I know you want to save your father, but I have to do this, there’s nothing you can do.”

“The firebird,” Mingi offered, desperate. “The horse. Surely those are worth something, surely those can—” But the witch shook his head, and Mingi racked his mind, trying to think of what little else he had to offer. In normal situations of conflict between warring kingdoms, a strategic marriage was typically proposed, but that seemed hardly applicable, and it was not political power that Hongjoong sought, but something far less comprehensible to Mingi’s quotidian sensibilities, something magical, something arcane. What did witches like, then? Names, or firstborn children. Mingi doubted that his name held any power, as he was the youngest, not set to inherit anything at all. No children anywhere on the horizon. But something like that. Some kind of promise, some kind of debt, something rare, something powerful—

“Oh,” Mingi said and went bright pink.

“What?” Hongjoong said. “Thought of something? Save your breath, prince. It’ll be easier for everyone this way.”

“No, I—I have something,” Mingi said, pinkening further. “I know it’s rare and strong. But can we, can we send the horse and the firebird on ahead, first? I want my brothers to have them, to take them home to our father since I won’t be able to.”

The witch looked at Mingi with concern. “Mingi, I won’t eat your heart. Don’t even suggest such a thing.”

“It’s not that,” Mingi insisted, by now scarlet to match his coat. “I need until morning to decide. We can send the horse and firebird ahead then, too.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?” Hongjoong said. “I’m kind of on a tight schedule here.”

Mingi shook his head. He had reddened through to the tips of his ears, and Hongjoong’s look of concern had changed to one of confused entertainment. “I’ll tell you in the morning. Do you have, like… do you…” There was not a polite way to ask this, so he simply finished: “Do you live anywhere?”

“Yes, I live somewhere,” Hongjoong said, his entertainment only growing.

“Then we’ll go there,” Mingi decided. “After we send the horse and bird away.”

The witch narrowed his eyes at Mingi, and lay back down against his grey furs. “This had better not be a trick to stall me.”

“I swear it isn’t, I’m not clever enough to double-cross you,” Mingi mumbled, lying down as well. What he had in mind, he was not fully sure it would work, but it was worth an attempt, at the very least, if it meant his kingdom would be safe. Hongjoong had been so kind to him so far—with this, he would doubtless be kind as well.

He slept until the dawn, and Hongjoong granted him the mercy of leaving his further dreams untouched. They did not speak, as there was little left to say, and Mingi had made up his mind about the offer he would make Hongjoong once they reached wherever it was that Hongjoong called home. Hongjoong, his furs cast over his arm, led Mingi and his treasures to the edge of the forest, to the edge of the steppes. “Say your goodbyes, if you’re sure,” he said, gesturing to the horse and the firebird in its golden cage, tied to the bridle.

Mingi was sure. He bowed to the horse and to the firebird, then petted the horse’s golden mane, stroked the firebird’s flaming feathers. “May you find my brothers well,” he said. “Tell them I’m alive, and to bring you to my father. Tell Minhyuk that it did matter, and tell Minho that I tried not to be a hero, but at the very last second, I couldn’t help it. Oh—and tell them that if they need me, I’ll be with the wolf-witch, wherever he is.” With that, he sent the horse on its way, and he and Hongjoong stood at the edge of the woods and watched it gallop into the steppes until it was yet another flower in a distant meadow.

Hongjoong turned to him. “Are you ready, prince?” he asked softly. “Tell me what you have to trade.”

“Take me to your somewhere first,” Mingi said. “Then I’ll tell you.”

Hongjoong rolled his clever eyes, then wrapped himself in his furs, and in another moment, the grey wolf stood in his place. “Come,” he said, and Mingi climbed atop him for what would likely be one of the last times, as after this, they would have no need for travel. “Close your eyes. Or don’t. It’s not like you’ll remember the way.”

“Hey,” Mingi said, affronted, but then the wolf took off running, and if before he had been fast like an arrow, now he was fast like the wind. Mingi was forced to hide his face in the wolf’s fur to keep from being frightened, so he could not even see the landscape blurring past them, unfamiliar terrain, blue forests, distant lakes, all gone in a flash as the wolf ran, more tireless and truer than ever before. The first time Mingi had ridden with the wolf, he had feared that the wolf would bring him back to his den and make a meal of him, and now he was submitting himself to that fate willingly. Maybe he was making a mistake, but—no, Mingi was resolute. Hongjoong had been most unambiguous about the inevitability of taking power by any means necessary, and this was what Mingi had to do.

Finally, the wolf stopped. It was dusk again, and though Mingi’s body was tired, his heart had never been more awake. “We’re here,” said the wolf and let Mingi down from his back. As Mingi found his footing, he looked around at the place Hongjoong had brought them to, and was met with a most unusual sight. They had stopped in a clearing in the thick woods, and betwixt the clearing and the trees stood a hut elevated off the ground. It had one window lined with red, and one door, covered with a red-lined awning. The chimney was puffing dark smoke into the darkening sky, but what was truly most unusual was the elevation of the hut itself: instead of stone columns or wooden stairs, the hut stood on two massive legs like those of a chicken, and it was turning about itself, walking slowly and unevenly. Hongjoong whistled—he had cast off his furs and was standing youthful and angelic again by Mingi’s side—and the hut went still.

“Turn thy back to the forest, and thy front to me,” commanded Hongjoong, and with a low groan, the hut obeyed, its legs bending at the joints to present Mingi and Hongjoong with the opening red door. Hongjoong glanced at Mingi and lightly touched his elbow, and when Mingi looked to him, he saw that Hongjoong was amused. “Sorry. It gets offended if I don’t talk all pretty to it. Come on in, don’t touch anything.”

The closer they got, the more Mingi could see that the hut was breathing as though alive, the slanted shingles adorning the roof quite like feathers. Hongjoong went inside first, hanging his furs up by the door, and Mingi followed. How could he refrain from touching when there was so much to see? The hut contained an enormous stone oven, a silver harp, a shelf of glistening glass bottles of all different sizes, a strange flower in an equally strange pot, coins of every shape and color in a neat stack, the bones of what looked to be a squirrel scattered across a heavy wood-hewn table, crystal shards, beads, metal cups, leaves, a spinning wheel running all by itself to weave yarn out of wool, a pile of silks and fabrics making up a bed, and, strangest, dearest, and most enchanting of all, Hongjoong himself. Mingi reached curiously to touch the harp, and it made an odd noise in warning, but before he could pull away, it flexed its strings and bit him harshly on the finger. Mingi yelped in pain, but the harp did not let go, and Mingi did not want to break any of Hongjoong’s things, so he refrained from tugging harder, just looked helplessly to Hongjoong, who was lighting the lamps in the window.

“I told you not to touch anything!” Hongjoong said, frowning, coming over quickly to see what the fuss was all about. He pointed sternly at the harp, and it meekly slunk back into a corner, and Mingi clutched his throbbing hand and felt very stupid indeed. “Let me see, Mingi. I can heal it for you.”

Mingi held his hand out to him, and Hongjoong passed his palm over the bitten finger. In another instant, the blood was gone, and Mingi felt nothing more than a slight tingle. The action had brought Hongjoong to stand quite close to Mingi, his head tilting up to see him, and Mingi could no longer breathe, he could no longer think, he was too nervous about what he was about to tell Hongjoong. Hongjoong folded his small hands around Mingi’s and just looked at him, patient, waiting, and Mingi squeezed his eyes shut for fear of seeing Hongjoong’s patience turn to laughter and said—“My chastity.”

Hongjoong choked. “Your what?”

“The—the thing I have, that’s strong and rare,” Mingi explained, eyes unopened, face flaming red once more. “It has to be worth something, right? The chastity of a prince.”

“Your virginity,” Hongjoong clarified, sounding strangled. “Your—your maidenhood. That’s what you’re offering me.”

Mingi found it unbearable to speak and merely nodded, and Hongjoong had still not let go of his hand. Hongjoong was silent for a long while or a short while, Mingi could not be quite sure, and finally Mingi felt the brush of his lips against the back of Mingi’s hand, and Hongjoong murmured, “You’re right. It is very powerful, and exceedingly rare.”

“Is it enough?” Mingi asked. If before he could barely breathe, now he was breathing far too much, and he was sure by now that Hongjoong would not laugh at him, so he opened his eyes to see his face. And Hongjoong was looking at Mingi with amazement, ravenously, his amber eyes lupine and wild once more.

“It could be,” said Hongjoong. “It could be just as strong as the heart of a king. If—” But he went silent and did not finish.

“If what?” Mingi pleaded. “What would make it strong enough?”

“If it were willingly given,” Hongjoong said.

Mingi pulled his hand back from Hongjoong’s grasp as though scalded, hiding his face in his palms, quivering under Hongjoong’s untamed gaze. Was this a contract he was willing to sign? But his decision had already been made. He knew what he wanted. He had known it since he had seen Hongjoong sleeping by the fire. Admitting it was a different beast, but Mingi had Hongjoong to defend him, and he could face any beast without fear. “It is,” he whispered into his palms. “It is willingly given.”

“Mingi,” Hongjoong breathed, and Mingi felt him step closer, did not flinch away as Hongjoong circled his fingers round Mingi’s wrists and pulled his hands down from his face so they could look each other in the eye. “You would do this? I can’t force you. I can’t compel you. You have to truly want it for this to work. Not to save your father, not to help me regain my magic, just for you.”

“I already said it’s willingly given,” Mingi snapped, shy and flustered. “Do I need to spell it out for you? Okay, I want you to f—”

But blessedly, Hongjoong covered Mingi’s mouth in a kiss before he could desecrate his royal mouth with such a vulgar word, and kissing him in the living realm was so different than kissing him in dreams that Mingi’s knees gave way near-instantly. Were it not for Hongjoong’s strong hands on his shoulders, he likely would have fallen. Hongjoong’s lips were narrow and clever as the rest of him, his teeth as sharp as they looked, nipping Mingi’s sensitive mouth until Mingi could not hold back his increasingly pathetic, breathless noises. Hongjoong tumbled him down to the soft, soft bed, Mingi held safely in his arms, and there Hongjoong undressed him, undoing the buttons of his best red coat and kissing with that impossible mouth each new spread of skin revealed. Mingi had stiffened between his legs, it hardly took anything at all to get him going, and Hongjoong circled his slim, ethereal fingers round his cock and stroked until Mingi was begging him in all manner of ways for mercy, for release, so full of new sensations and desires he had never known existed that he felt about ready to burst.

Hongjoong kissed his feverish brow, kissed his slackened mouth, his maddeningly fast hand coaxing so much pleasure from poor Mingi’s body, and just like in Mingi’s dream, a simple breeze was enough to disrobe them both completely. Mingi reached blindly for Hongjoong and his touch met skin, perfectly smooth and unnaturally warm, and Hongjoong made an encouraging noise and pressed their bodies together from heart to heel. His touch sent Mingi’s blood racing, he ached more than he ever had before, he supplicated for he knew not what, and though he was frightened of the way his body reacted to Hongjoong’s touch, he felt that he was safe. Hongjoong stroked and toyed with Mingi’s cock to the point that Mingi could no longer stay still, he was whimpering and pressing closer to him, seeking solace, flushed and panting, and he felt something building, a most delicious pressure, something so raw and all-consuming, urgent, and Mingi was about to throw himself into the unknown depths when suddenly Hongjoong’s hand vanished, taking all that delicious pressure with it, and Mingi wailed.

“I know, my darling, my soul, I know,” Hongjoong comforted. “You have to wait. Don’t you want more?”

“There’s more?” Mingi gasped, and Hongjoong laughed, low and sweet, and leaned in to kiss him.

Already Hongjoong seemed stronger, though if there was still more yet to come, Mingi could hardly fathom why. Hongjoong’s deft hand slipped back between Mingi’s thighs, petting and coaxing, until Mingi spread his legs though they trembled to grant him access. And Hongjoong entered him first with his fingers, slicked with fine-spiced oils, wrenching so much sheer sensation with each movement, and he still regarded Mingi with famished reverence, not looking away for an instant as Mingi writhed in pleasure, his head thrown back in swanlike desperation, his legs spread obscenely wide for Hongjoong’s touches and explorations. Once again Mingi felt something building, a most delicious pressure, even rawer and more all-consuming and urgent than before, and once again, before Mingi could throw himself into the unknown depths, Hongjoong’s fingers drew away, leaving Mingi vacant and near tears of frustration.

“Witch,” he third-demanded, third-begged, third-accused, and Hongjoong’s laugh was still low, still sweet, as he kissed Mingi’s faltering mouth.

“I know, my treasure, my own, I know,” Hongjoong soothed. “Your wait is nearly over.”

All Mingi could do was trust him and give himself over to Hongjoong completely. And soon Hongjoong replaced his searching, stretching fingers with something far thicker, far more purposeful, and as he entered Mingi, all Mingi could see was him, all he could feel was him, all he could think was how much more he wanted, now and always and forever. Once Hongjoong was sheathed within him to the base, Mingi felt the room around them shifting, growing larger, as Hongjoong took the power Mingi was voluntarily surrendering. That delicious pressure was impossibly amplified, reverberating through to Mingi’s bones, his very core, changing him from the inside out. Mingi could no longer recognize his own voice with the way he moaned, but Hongjoong was joining him, soft blissful gasps and low words of praise, and finally Mingi grasped at Hongjoong’s arms with his unsteady fingers and held fast, entreating direct attention. He was done waiting, he could scarcely breathe or think, his eyes were brimming with tears from sheer overabundance of pleasure, and Hongjoong was still holding him so gently, though he were breakable, and Mingi needed more.

Hongjoong looked into Mingi’s thoughts—Mingi felt his careful search—and once he had found what Mingi desired, he gave it to him most exactly. Before, the thrusts of his hips had been measured and slow, but now his movements were rough, far less merciful, with far less regard for Mingi as a fragile object. All at once, it felt like there was not one Hongjoong with two hands touching him, but three of him with too many hands to count, surrounding him, tugging at his hair, smoothing down his chest, rubbing his cock, and Mingi cried out, pulling Hongjoong, the real one, his, close to his heart, clawing down his back as though he were the wild animal, and this time, when Mingi felt something building, a most delicious pressure, the strongest and most consuming yet, he did not turn away from the feeling, he reached directly into the fire and came out unscalded, curling into Hongjoong’s protective grasp as the flames licked over him and Mingi’s cup overflowed. He gave a great and helpless shout, and Hongjoong soothed him with kisses and honeyed words, only ceasing his exquisite torment when Mingi lay spent and trembling underneath him.

And Hongjoong was illuminated and glorious, Mingi had to shield his eyes to look at him, glowing fiercer than the firebird, as he met the same conclusion, filling Mingi with his release and gasping desperately for breath. His eyes were closed and his glow came from within, surging from Mingi’s own hands on his body and pouring back out, and Mingi knew the magic had worked. Hongjoong kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, tireless and true, and Mingi, Mingi claimed, Mingi possessed, Mingi surrendered, Mingi insatiable, Mingi said, “I want you to trick me again.”

“What do you mean?” Hongjoong laughed, dazed and brilliant, and Mingi looked into his light though it stung to see it from so close.

“I want you—I want you to say this was all it was, that I gave you what you needed and now it’s done, but I want that to be a lie,” Mingi explained. “Do you understand me?”

“No,” Hongjoong said, and the peal of his laughter was the sweetest chime—the harp echoed it, and the whole hut breathed with him, the whole forest breathed with him, Mingi could feel his strength, and he was so beautiful, so beautiful, Mingi could not have looked away had he wanted to, but he most certainly did not want to.

“I want to be yours,” Mingi breathed. “I want you to teach me your magic. I want you to teach me everything. I want you to keep me here and not let me go unless it’s with you or by your leave, no matter who comes knocking. But I can’t just ask you for that, can I? So you’ll have to trick me. The way you very nearly tricked me into taking you into my family fortress so you could eat my father’s heart. I’m not smart enough to come up with a way for you to do it, so that’s your business, just make it happen. Now do you understand?”

“I think so,” Hongjoong said. He was very, very warm, and Mingi knew he was not quite human and not quite anything else, but he felt very human, his smiling face pressed into the arch of Mingi’s neck. “I think now I can do anything. All thanks to you.”

And Mingi knew that to be true. He knew that he belonged here, with Hongjoong, nowhere else, and Hongjoong would never let harm befall him. And while yes, out of the three sons of the royal household, Mingi could hardly have called himself the smartest, handsomest, or bravest, he knew Hongjoong saw him all those ways and more, not just as the youngest, simplest, or tallest. For most of his and his brothers’ lives, his lack of other remarkable skills had not needed much questioning and the entire Song kingdom had assumed that was how it would remain. And very nearly so it was: Minho became king, Minhyuk became a diplomat traveling to nearby regions to maintain the peace, and Mingi lived under the adoration and protection of a witch, the most powerful in all the land, who taught Mingi how to bend the world into a shape that was to his liking, and they ran together in the night, Hongjoong in his furs, Mingi on his back, to all four ends of the earth and beyond, living together with no woes or worries.