Chapter Text
The news that his parents had found a match for him, their disgraced omega son, hit Jimin like a crack of a ruler over his knuckles - like his governess had been so fond of. It came on a dreary Thursday morning, over breakfast. It seemed the grey light trickling in through the window dulled. The buttered bread roll turned to ash in his mouth. Jimin nearly choked on it.
His omega dam’s severe gaze over his newspaper had him swallow the glob of tasteless dough and grease without making a scene.
He had already made such a scene.
“To who?” he asked, voice catching.
“A Lord Min, Yoongi, of one of the old family lines. Widower. No alpha heir. Land out in the south.” His sire’s reply came crisp, decisive, brooking no argument.
The name sounded half-familiar to Jimin, as though they’d perhaps been introduced in a stuffy ballroom full to bursting with people, or perhaps he’d heard the name mentioned in passing at the park, but perhaps it was all just the sudden but familiar swirl of nausea and regret that roiled in his stomach. He’d become so accustomed to that feeling over the past four weeks. It was his constant companion these days.
“When?” he asked. “When will we meet? When will the… the wedding be?”
His sire met his gaze squarely.
“He has accepted our invitation to dinner, Saturday evening. Barring any mishaps, we are planning for an expedited engagement, wedding within the fortnight,” she said. “By mishaps, you must understand that I mean yourself. I expect you to behave like the agreeable, well-mannered young omega we raised you to be.”
And not the disgrace he’d turned out to be, Jimin knew.
“May I… May I ask -”
“No, you may not,” his sire said. “You may thank your dam and me, and go dedicate yourself to acquiring some accomplishment beyond dancing while you still can.”
“Thank you, dam, sire.”
He set down the remaining half of the bread roll on his plate and excused himself with a murmured parting and a quick bow.
The issue was that he really did ought to be grateful. He had squandered all his opportunities. He had disgraced himself, humiliated his family and their good name, and he hadn’t been invited to a single fete in a fortnight. He had received no callers during that time. His friends had all but disappeared into their parties and balls and their barouches pulled about by their ridiculous ponies. All on the word of a silver-tongued alpha, the son of an earl, with a scent that had overwhelmed all Jimin’s common sense, who made him all the pretty promises in that maze under the moon and the stars that he never intended to keep. The alpha was already courting another, or so he’d heard.
Jimin’s affection for him had soured like his own scent did over the days that his callers and invitations dwindled into nothing, but he couldn’t help but still clutch at some vague hope. Hope that Junghyun would come calling again, apologise, ask Jimin to marry him - for real this time - and the capital’s crowd would eat their words.
It was stupid.
His parents, his steely-eyed alpha sire, had known what it meant. Unless they could arrange a match for their son, marry him off as well as they could, he would be alone and sink further and further from the comforts he was born to.
And now they had found a match; a reasonably well-to-do gentleman - a lord of the old family lines no less. Rumours and tales of the old families were popular card table topics. But then, rumours about Jimin ran rampant through the ton these days. This gentleman might tolerate Jimin enough for him to treat him well while Jimin bore him an alpha heir. The gentleman’s estate was in the countryside, where Jimin could start afresh, turn a new leaf. It was the best outcome they could’ve hoped for in these circumstances. Miraculous.
Nausea had far too secure a grip on his stomach for Jimin to be able to focus on the pianoforte and coax his trembling fingers into making their way across the ivory keys. He would have preferred to direct this new frenetic energy into something else, to go for a turn about the square, to the florist or pastry shop or the modiste. But his parents had been quite clear that he was to remain at home, out of sight, out of mind, out of trouble.
After a jumble of false notes, Jimin hit the keys under all ten his fingers so that the room resounded with a discordant clamour.
It wasn’t nearly as satisfying as he’d thought it might be.
He sighed, squeezing his hands into impotent fists. He would write a quick note to Sungwoon. Perhaps with pleasant news of his new match he could entice his friends back one by one.
Dear Sungwoon … he began his note.
I have been so very fortunate and cannot express the magnitude of my thankfulness for this union. I will have to work hard to learn how to run a household, but I will do my best. I will do whatever I can to ensure that this one is a good marriage, that I do not inconvenience the gentleman, that I am not an irritation. I will put the … a drop of ink blotted the page.
I wish to put the past behind me. I must.
I would be so grateful to see you if you could spare me but an hour of your time for tea this afternoon.
He could only hope to be tolerated.
It had been a year and a half, but Yoongi still wore sombre, dark-hued mourning clothes. He hadn’t been expected to wear mourning clothes at all, so the fact that he had done so for so long was quite strange in the alpha circles. He perhaps was on the receiving end of a few pitying glances or heard whispers of his ‘dead mate’ as he passed a group, but nobody would dare remark on his strangeness. Such was the life of an alpha widower. Particularly one with his ancestry. Free from societal censure. He was free to wear what he liked, do as he liked, and remarry who he liked as soon as he liked, and nobody would raise an eyebrow.
In fact, it was to be sooner rather than later.
It rankled at him.
The alpha gentlemen club that he and his friends frequented was popular in the upper echelons of the capital society. It was a spacious lounge where cigar smoke and music both hung heavy in the air. Rich, dark wood ran across the floors, heavy drapery bedecked the tall windows, and buttery leather armchairs were arranged about the space for conversing. He and his friends, Namjoon and Hoseok, had taken up the arrangement of chairs that were ensconced in a secluded corner of the lounge, as they were wont to do every Thursday evening.
“Well, I suppose congratulations are in order,” Namjoon said, clapping Yoongi on the shoulder. “You will be free from the Regent’s harassment at least.”
Yoongi nodded and offered the sincerest smile he could muster in acceptance. It wasn’t a very large smile.
“Perhaps for a half-year and then she will demand to know why the omega isn’t yet round with the alpha pup she expects.”
Hoseok chuckled. “I don’t envy you your dealings with the Crown.”
“It’s rather the Crown’s dealings with me that is the issue,” Yoongi said, swirling his golden whisky in its glass.
“She must enjoy having you in the capital,” Namjoon said, lifting his own glass in a mock toast.
“You know, I’ve heard that name - Park - mentioned in certain circles,” Hoseok said with a measured carefulness. “No title, not especially wealthy - financially or socially these days. The young omega son, barely out of leading strings and already attempted by that braggart knothead-”
“I’m aware of the rumours surrounding the boy, Hoseok,” Yoongi said, firm.
Nearly every alpha in the capital had heard the story iterated and reiterated around the boxing rings and across the card tables and over port and cigars - mostly by the braggart knothead alpha himself.
Yoongi did not care for it.
“All right, I meant no offence.” Hoseok held his hands up, smiling in apology. He exchanged a sideways glance with Namjoon. “I am very pleased for you and the pups.”
Neither one of them prodded any further on the subject of the young omega. They understood. Yoongi was under pressure from the Crown to remarry and produce an alpha heir to ensure the continuation of his family line. And while Yoongi might be tempted to tell the insufferable spoilt Princess Regent to fuck right off, the fact remained that his bloodline wouldn’t allow him to and his omega pups couldn’t inherit the estate on his passing.
But he also couldn’t face up to the prospect of a lengthy courtship of a strange, young omega. An offer of his son’s hand from the Park omega’s sire served as an offer of escape for Yoongi. The Park alpha had assured him that her son did not carry any inconvenient after-effects of his rumoured activities.
The way the alpha had spoken about her own son hadn’t sat well with Yoongi - in fact, an alpha so far below his own station such as her approaching him at the club at all without a proper introduction from a mutual friend was an offence - but he could see her desperation, smell the tang of anxiety in her scent. She had only wanted to mend the tatters of her son’s ruined future. Yoongi, insofar as the shrivelled little lump of coal in his chest - or the parts that weren't devoted to his pups - could still feel, felt pity for her and her omega son.
Yoongi didn’t care about the capital’s rumours. They could only follow you so far.
And so he had agreed to meet the omega and, if the initial meeting went well, marry him. Easy.
Jimin was surprised by the alpha’s delicate features, his pouting lips, his slanted eyes, the softness of his porcelain cheeks. His scent reminded Jimin of the untamed forests out in the countryside, green, like moss and cedar wood in the rain. He had a lean, strong figure, though he wasn’t particularly tall or broad. But his hands, Jimin noticed when he gave the footman his black coat and his hat, were large and veiny. He emanated a quiet, understated strength. His gaze landed on Jimin on the stairs and Jimin could feel himself shrinking underneath that blank look.
His parents played the gracious hosts, welcomed the alpha in and led him to the table where he was seated across from Jimin. Jimin could hardly focus on the conversation flowing across the table, his thoughts were racing too fast and too far. It wasn’t terrible. The alpha wasn’t ancient and balding with warts and a leer. He was genuinely polite to both Jimin’s parents, even if his dam made some daft comments at times that made Jimin cringe, the alpha only listened in interest and hummed in consideration of what he’d said, no matter how stupid it was.
“You may scent him and determine if his scent is to your liking. We have received many a compliment over the years about how mild and sweet our Jimin’s scent is,” his dam said. “Of course, recent events have… had an effect, one might say.”
Jimin bit his tongue to keep from begging his dam to stop.
The alpha looked at him dead-on over the table and must have seen something in his face, because he shook his head.
“That will not be necessary,” he said. “I can smell that his scent is inoffensive from here, of course.”
Inoffensive. That made Jimin shrink more.
The conversation flowed on regardless towards the territory of the alpha’s pups.
“Two pups at home with the governess, is that right? How old are they?”
“Well, governess of a sort,” Lord Min said, corners of his mouth curling up. “Seven and six.”
His sire nodded. “Lovely. A pity neither one is an alpha.”
A moment of silence.
“It’s a pity our inheritance laws are monstrously discriminatory."
Jimin blinked.
“Hm.”
He didn’t know quite what to make of the alpha’s retort. But the crux of the matter remained. No alpha heirs to inherit the estate. And Jimin was to bear him one.
“And have you narrowed down which boarding school you’ll send them to?” his sire asked. “There are quite a few good schools out your way in the countryside, of course, but the College remains the best of the best in my opinion. We chose private tutoring for our Jimin, but our circumstances were quite different to… yours.”
Meaning they could but barely keep up with the rest of the ton. His sire’s investments had yet to pay off and they had no titles or significant generational wealth that had not yet been squandered away to rest on.
“I will not send my pups away.”
“O-oh?” his sire blinked. “Oh, of course, you must have the means to accommodate everyone comfortably at home.”
“Indeed. There’s also the matter of their turning,” he said succinctly.
They had been tiptoeing around that.
It wasn’t something discussed in polite society.
It piqued Jimin’s curiosity, but it wasn’t as though he could ask his potential match a series of such deeply personal questions over the dinner table on their first meeting. He wouldn’t dare.
“Indeed,” his sire agreed and let the matter lie.
“Our Jimin can sleep through anything, not even a pack of wolves in the house on a full moon could wake him,” his dam added.
Jimin stared at his plate, waiting for the alpha to put his dam in his place. But the rebuke never came. The alpha remained as composed and polite as he had been all evening. In fact, when Jimin risked a glance up at him, a shadow of a smile played around his mouth.
The dinner drew to a close not long after the alpha and his sire withdrew to the study for port and cigars and, Jimin knew, to finalise the arrangements. When they emerged again, Jimin, who peeked around the corner of the drawing room’s door much to his dam’s annoyance, saw the exchange of a handshake and a bow. And with a sinking feeling in his stomach, he knew that he was to be married within the fortnight.
This was good, most fortunate, he told himself. The alpha was polite and quiet, seemed the type to keep to himself. He didn’t have warts and a leer. He was comfortably wealthy. This was the best outcome he could’ve hoped for, Jimin reminded himself. He had been given a miraculous second chance and if he couldn’t make this work, couldn’t make the alpha tolerate him, couldn’t produce an alpha heir, couldn’t run the household, he really would be destitute.
He and his dam made their way to the foyer to join his sire in seeing the alpha off. Jimin didn’t dare to meet the alpha’s eyes, lest the alpha see something defiant and offensive in his gaze and call the whole thing off before the handshake was cold. He offered a jerky bow and a murmured farewell. For a moment his gaze caught on those large, veiny hands again as the alpha took his hat from the footman.
And then he was gone and Jimin drew a shuddering breath. He didn’t pay attention to his parents’ gushing chatter about the man, about the match, the licence, the outfitting, the wedding, the flowers, the luncheon, the cake. On and on and on, they went. Their scents had both sweetened with joy and relief. It was cloying. Jimin could only place one foot in front of the other and trudge towards the staircase so he could retire to his room and have the space and silence to think.
As he took the first step, his dam placed his hand over Jimin’s on the bannister, his scent sweet and his eyes bright.
“Ah, Jimin, darling, you know, you may have a wonderful life ahead of you yet,” his dam said.
He wasn’t so sure, but he said, tired, “Thank you, dam.”
He glanced over his shoulder at his sire still standing near the foyer, hands clasped in front of her as she watched him with a satisfied smile.
“Thank you, sire.”
Dear Sungwoon,
The date is set, Friday week. It would mean the world to me if you could attend - formal invitation to follow shortly.
He folded the note, sealed it, and gave it to the footman, who took it with a smile smacking of pity that Jimin pretended not to see. Their lives were propped up with pretence, politeness, and artifice after all.
“Jimin, come, we’ll be late to our appointment with the modiste,” his dam said, ushering him towards the foyer.
It was something he had been dreading ever since his sire had informed them over dinner two nights past that Lord Min had procured the marriage licence and the date was set.
“I doubt my measurements have changed so much as to require us to pay her a visit,” Jimin said. “Could we not perhaps send her a description of what you would like and have her fashion something for me?”
Jimin’s dam appeared aghast at this suggestion.
“Nonsense! You’re to be married! As if I would let you wear something cobbled together from whatever scraps she picked up from her workroom floor.”
“Dam…” Jimin sighed as he fastened his coat, already resigned to his dam’s plans.
“This arrangement has redeemed you, restored you to your rightful place in society, darling. There’s no need to continue keeping your head down.”
Jimin bit his lip. His dam was too optimistic. He wasn’t so sure he agreed.
Outside, the carriage awaited, the horses pawed the ground in impatience to set off, and the driver hushed them. Jimin’s dam bundled him inside, greeting the driver as he slid in himself. Despite the scents of the jasmine that crept around the gate and the wisteria that stood proud in their small front garden, Jimin’s head swam at how zesty sweet with excitement his dam’s scent had gone in the enclosed space of the carriage. He was clearly looking forward to this little outing. Jimin cringed at the thought of him showing Jimin off, bragging about his impending nuptials to anybody who would listen, as though the past had been erased.
Jimin, picking at a loose thread on his glove, wished he could have the same optimism. He had promised himself to put it behind him, but it was all too early, he knew. He hadn’t yet said his vows, hadn’t yet taken over Lord Min’s household, hadn’t yet borne him an heir. It was premature. His dam would only expose him to further ridicule by parading him about like this.
“There’s also the matter of ceasing your suppressant tea.”
Jimin blanched.
“My darling, it is only natural,” his dam smiled. “Ceasing the tea now will cause your cycle to reset itself, within a moon or so you will have a heat and a pup is sure to follow.”
“I don’t wish to speak of this.”
“But you realise it will be something you must do, if your marriage is to keep, don’t you?” his dam asked.
“Yes, I do, it is just so sudden.”
Jimin stared out the carriage window at the pedestrians they passed by. He wasn’t so naive as to not know what these matters entailed. He had just considered it to be his own choice. One that he could make when the time was right, when he and Lord Min weren’t perfect strangers, not another thing to be managed for him.
“It is better to plan for these things,” his dam said, placing a hand on his forearm.
Jimin’s dam allowed him a reprieve and changed the subject to the type of fabric that would be best suited for the coat he was to wear on his wedding day.
The modiste was bustling when they arrived, crammed full of omegas and betas on the hunt for frocks and coats and trousers for the next event on the social calendar. Jimin felt his cheeks warm when he and his dam entered and the little bell above the door chimed to announce their arrival to the entire shop and all its clientele. He could smell the change in the air as they set their sights on the most lowly among the ton’s ranks.
“Could we not return home?” he whispered to his dam.
“Nonsense. We are here to procure wedding attire!”
Jimin prayed that the floor would open up below him and swallow him whole.
But he had no such luck. The modiste homed in on them like a shark that had smelled blood in the water and whisked them away past the staring, whispering, madding crowd to a more secluded room towards the back of the shop.
“Young Mr Park, I’m so pleased to outfit you for your wedding - many congratulations,” she said, guiding him to stand in front of the full-length mirror propped up on its elegant clawed feet.
Jimin didn’t look at himself in the mirror, didn’t want to see his own flustered, red face. He kept his gaze alternating between the modiste herself, his dam, and the ivory and cream and silver gowns and coats displayed along the entire wall. Special occasions. Wedding attire.
They really were quite beautiful, he thought.
“Thank you, Ms Seulgi, we’re so pleased with the match!” his dam said. “We must really ensure that our Jimin is dressed for the occasion and can’t think of a better choice.”
“Oh, you flatter me.” She waved his comment off. “Did you give thought to fabrics?”
Jimin let his mind wander and let the modiste move him about like a mannequin in order to take his measurements. He had been right. They hadn’t changed very much at all. She and his dam left him to peruse and inspect the fabric choices they had on offer.
“Jimin, pleased to see you out and about. It’s been a minute, hasn’t it?”
Jimin bit the inside of his cheek when Taemin sidled up next to him, his eyes sparkling above the placid smile curling the corners of his mouth. His scent was sharp and sweet, all apples and lime.
“Yes, it rather has,” Jimin hummed.
“I’m to congratulate you on your engagement, I hear?” Taemin’s smile grew. “Not to dear Junghyun I hear, but to Lord Min, was it? Of the old Min family?”
Jimin felt a pang in his stomach at the mention of that name.
“That’s right,” he said.
“Well, congratulations indeed,” Taemin said. “You’re already so experienced with alphas that I’m sure you won’t even feel his beastly knot.”
Jimin turned, stricken, to face him, to do something - to say something - anything - but nothing came out.
With a sharp little smile, Taemin left him standing there, slack-jawed like an idiot.
It - his situation, his standing in the ton - was far worse than he’d first thought.
“Oh, Jimin, goodness, rein in your scent, it stinks of curdled milk,” his dam admonished him. He guided him back with a hand firm on his elbow towards the rolls of fabric he and the modiste had been discussing at length.
Jimin didn’t argue. He agreed with their every choice and suggestion. Anything to get out of there quicker.
It was as his dam was bidding goodbye to the modiste and another pair of omega ladies that Jimin caught sight of a friendly face, which stilled for a moment the ringing in his ears.
“Baekhyun, it’s such a pleasure to see you.”
“And you! Congratulations on your engagement, word travels fast,” the sweet omega said, taking Jimin’s hand in his and giving it a quick squeeze. “I can’t stay long, but I would love to talk to you properly. Perhaps you would attend the ball my parents are hosting this coming weekend?”
It was as close to a welcome back into the fold as he might receive in his precarious position.
“I would love to,” he said.
Yoongi followed the beta footman who led him down the richly decorated halls with their high ceilings and plush carpets to the Princess Regent’s parlour. Despite the many vases stuffed full of fluffy peonies arranged around the room, the scent of her irritation hung sharp and bitter in the air. She sat, straight and stiff, on her chaise longue, with her beta ladies in waiting arranged around her in a similar fashion to how the peonies were. Her head whipped up from the correspondence she was reading when the footman announced Yoongi’s arrival.
“You’ve finally deigned to show your face here, then?” she asked.
“Highness.” Yoongi bowed. “I offer my sincerest apologies for my delay in paying you a visit.”
He straightened up, hands held loosely behind his back, scent tightly reined in, as he watched her reaction.
“And your apology for not seeking my permission prior to agreeing to marry?” she demanded.
“That too, Highness.”
She watched him with narrowed eyes. “I have half a mind to revoke your licence,” she said.
“That would be most unfortunate, Highness.”
Yoongi knew how it went, he’d dealt with her often over the course of the last four years since she stepped in as Princess Regent, declaring the King mad. She enjoyed the acknowledgement of her power, appreciated agreement, and relished in grovelling. Yoongi only had to grin and bear it.
"Oh, stop it,” she said, slamming her fist still clutching her crumpled up letter down on the sofa. “This omega, Park… Jimin, is hardly from an influential family. I know you’re hung up on Suran’s passing - going around dressed like you’re still sobbing next to the coffin - I understand the reason for avoiding a lengthy courtship, but I’m sure there were far better options. I would have happily assisted you in selecting one, if you’d only asked. I would have happily procured a special licence for you from the Archbishop for a proper wedding befitting your family name.”
Digging his nails into the palms of his hands, Yoongi forced a smile to his face.
“I thank you, Your Royal Highness, your kindness is boundless,” he said, voice steady and flat.
She huffed.
“I don’t trouble myself with rumours and silly omega matters, of course, but I have reasonable cause to doubt in the legitimacy of any pup that springs forth from that particular omega,” she said. “It’s common knowledge among the ton that he was barely out of leading strings before being attempted.”
Yoongi grit his teeth, tamping down on his scent, blank smile still fixed in place.
“I will ensure that any pup produced over the course of this marriage is legitimate and fit to bear the family name, you have my word, Highness,” he said.
She nodded in consideration.
“Yes, you'll sniff out something that doesn’t belong in the den,” she said.
“Indeed, Highness.”
“Very well,” she said. “I won’t say all is forgiven, Yoongi. I hope to see an alpha pup before the year is out, and I do hope you will give thought to the proposal regarding your omega brood.”
She rose. Around her, her ladies in waiting got to their feet as one, gazes lowered in respect. The Princess Regent really was a wolf. Yoongi caught the glint in her eyes as she approached him, predatory and keen, the slight spice of her anticipation escaping in her wake.
He knew what she was after, but he would be damned if he let her take them.
“I will, Highness,” he said simply.
Lowering his own gaze, he held out his arm and allowed her to scent the inside of his wrist, as was custom for the old nobility.
He waited until he left the palace and was guiding his horse towards the square to wipe his hand on his trousers to rid himself of that overpowering musky alpha scent.
Jimin’s first ball in more than a fortnight was received with much fanfare at home. On the evening of the ball, he was scrubbed and perfumed, ushered into his cream trousers, bundled into a pink silk waistcoat, throttled with another strip of silk in cream serving as a cravat, and then further wrapped up in a pink velvet tailcoat. His maid even rouged his cheeks. At the end of this treatment, Jimin presented the perfect picture of an omega of the ton.
And after two weeks of quiet solitude spent at home, despite his sire forbidding him from dancing, he could admit to himself that he quite enjoyed the anticipation, the excitement, the atmosphere as they came up to the grand Byun townhouse. Music and laughter tinkled from the windows. The aroma of the food servants carried around on sparkling silver platters and the sweet scent of the Byuns’s roses wafted out to greet them as the Parks were welcomed inside.
“You’d think they could afford to redecorate in a more modern style,” his dam remarked rather too loudly as he took a glass of champagne from one of the platter-bearing waiters.
Heads turned towards them at his dam’s rude comment and Jimin knew the moment they caught sight of him standing there. He saw them lift their fans with a flutter, heard the susurration of their whispers. Jimin’s jittery nervousness returned in increments.
"Jimin! There you are!” a familiar voice called out to him.
Sungwoon.
“It’s been so long,” Sungwoon said, taking Jimin’s hands in his.
“I must apologise for not replying to your notes or calling on you.” He leaned in to quickly scent Jimin, as the omegan gentry might do with close friends. “My brother has kept me on such a tight leash, you’d think I was still in leading strings with how he has loomed over me for the past couple of weeks. He didn’t forbid me from seeking you out but… you know.”
He hadn’t wanted Sungwoon to associate with Jimin either.
Jimin swallowed the sour taste that knowledge left in his mouth and with a squeeze to Sungwoon’s hands leaned in to return his scenting. His friend’s subtly sweet chamomile scent rubbed off on him.
“Well, I’m glad you gave him the slip,” he said, smiling.
Sungwoon grinned.
They made their way to a quieter corner to speak in privacy.
“I was overjoyed when I received the news of your engagement - congratulations, Jimin. Thank you as well for the invitation, I truly look forward to it,” Sungwoon said as they took a seat on the settee standing there in the corner for guests. “But tell me about him, the alpha. He’s from one of the old families, is he not?”
Jimin looked down at his hands, remembering vividly for a moment Taemin’s vicious remark at the modiste.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And have you been properly introduced?”
“Yes, we have, over dinner.”
Sungwoon leaned down in an attempt to catch his gaze, mischief lighting up his features.
“And? Does he smell like wet dog and musk, as they say?” he asked. “Did he eat with his hands and growl when the servants tried to remove his plate?”
Jimin shook his head. “No. He didn’t do anything like that. His scent was… inoffensive.”
“Hm, must be waiting until he’s sealed the deal and whisked you off to the countryside until he lapses back into his true brutish self,” Sungwoon said.
Jimin didn’t quite know what to say to that.
“We shall see, I suppose. Beggars can’t be choosers, as they say.” He shrugged.
“Speaking of begging, Jaehwan has been calling on me irritatingly frequently over the last week or so.” Sungwoon changed the subject.
It wasn’t that the conversation upset him, but Jimin felt somewhat uneasy. When Jaehwan, a gentle young alpha, whose family was in possession of a significant fortune, escorted Sungwoon to the dance floor, Jimin didn’t move from the settee to go watch. He remained there, in troubled thought, ruminating on what his friend had said, the derogatory way he’d spoken about Lord Min. It didn’t agree with how Jimin had perceived him that night. But what if Sungwoon was right?
“Mr Park, Jimin.”
Jimin’s head whipped up.
It was him.
“Lord Min!” Jimin jumped to his feet to offer the man a bow.
“I am pleased to see you again,” Jimin said. “Are you well? Pleasant evening for a ball, is it not? And beautiful ball, indeed, the Byuns have outdone themselves, have they not?”
He was rambling. His voice cracked on his last awkwardly posed question. He could feel his palms go clammy, his mouth dry as parchment.
Lord Min nodded, blank look fixed in place.
“Yes,” he said simply.
Jimin bit his lip, looked down at his shoes. All ideas for conversation were suddenly wiped from his mind at Lord Min’s short answer.
“Is there, um, something you wished to discuss with me, Lord Min?” he asked after a period of taut silence.
Lord Min’s hooded gaze met his own, but still Jimin could see no spark of interest there. He wilted under that stony look.
“Would you care to dance?”
Jimin blinked at him.
“Pardon?”
“The next dance?” Lord Min said. “Unless, of course, your dance card is full.”
Was he mocking him?
“Uh, no, of course, I -” he began.
“It would be strange if a newly engaged pair did not take to the dance floor for at least one dance at a ball, Mr Park,” Lord Min interrupted him.
“Of course, sir. The next set then,” Jimin said with a bow.
Not too long ago, Jimin adored balls and making new acquaintances and dancing. Above all, he adored dancing. He would stay on the floor for every dance whether quadrille or cotillion or country jig. If he ran out of partners, he could always drag his sire out to dance with him. Even as she admonished him, told him it was too boisterous of him, she humoured him, danced two dances with him until she was panting trying to catch her breath. And then there was Junghyun… His sire had forbidden him.
Jimin shoved the thought to the back of his mind, as Lord Min led him to where the couples were lining up to begin the next dance. He told himself that he had imagined the sudden lull in conversation, there and gone again. Across from him, Lord Min appeared as nonplussed as ever.
The music started up anew and the dance began.
It was a fast, energetic song, and Jimin was grateful for it. He hadn’t needed to count his steps in years and years, but a song such as this one required focus, so much so that he wouldn’t have been able to have an overly intelligent conversation with Lord Min.
Ah, but it was pure joy to dance again.
To feel the music soar through him and around him, the spins and intricate steps, the couples weaving together in synchronisation, hearing laughter here and there at a missed step or a perfectly executed one, was the greatest fun. He’d always loved it, had missed it in his time away from all this.
Caught in the joy of it, he glanced across at Lord Min only to find him unmoved.
When the song came to an end, they acknowledged each other with a bow.
As was custom, Jimin held out his arm for Lord Min to take, to scent him at the inside of his wrist.
Lord Min did so, quickly and clinically. His mossy, cedar wood scent left barely a trace on Jimin’s skin.
“I shall escort you back to your parents,” he said.
The crowds parted easily for Lord Min as they made their way from the dance floor to the side of the ballroom where his parents were conversing with the Kims, a young alpha lord and his omega mate, who Jimin had met at a few other balls and soirees during the season.
“Lord Min, what a pleasure to see you again,” his sire greeted him.
Easy conversation resumed and it turned out that Lord Min knew the Kims quite well.
It was as the Kims and Lord Min excused themselves from their party, that Jimin’s sire seized his arm in a grip of steel.
“I said no dancing,” she said in a hiss, scent building.
“Lord Min asked me, it would have been strange if a newly engaged pair didn’t dance at least once,” he repeated Lord Min’s words from earlier, trying to draw away from her grip. She didn’t let up.
“Dancing is what brought about your ruination in the first place,” she said. “I forbid you from dancing until your marriage lines are written and you are wearing a ring.”
“Sire, I -”
She let him go and turned away.
Rubbing his throbbing arm, Jimin turned away as well, searching for some escape from their party.
Not six feet from them, stood Lord Min, watching him with that same blank look. No doubt he’d heard the entire chastisement.
Humiliation burning hotly in his belly, Jimin plastered a mild smile across his face and fled as far as he could.