SAFBIAN Ch 173

Chapter 173 (Extra 2.6)

Haban paused reading the memorial and lowered his gaze. Dori had fallen asleep with his head pillowed on Haban’s knee.

“Your Majesty, shall I escort His Highness back to the quarters?”

A nearby attendant kept their voice low, careful not to wake Dori.

“That won’t be necessary. You may leave as well.”

Haban set the memorial aside and pushed the desk away. Though the broad daybed would have been more comfortable for Dori, Haban didn’t want him a single inch away from his body.

Golden honey glistened at the corner of Dori’s mouth, fallen open in sleep. Perhaps that was why his skin felt so soft and pliant—he had been seeking sweets lately.

Even so, the weight he was told to gain hadn’t appeared; his frame still seemed too slender. Especially…

Haban absently rubbed Dori’s belly. How wonderful it would be if this place swelled, carrying his child.

It was not for the sake of an heir. Regardless of opposition from the ministers, he fully intended to seat Dori in that place. Nor would he ever take concubines or consorts. Once was enough to lose Dori because of it.

He simply wanted to see a child who resembled Dori—this was the desire of a man, not an emperor.

Haban wiped Dori’s lips clean with a fresh cloth and pulled the thin blanket—kicked down in sleep—back up to his belly. Dori didn’t stir; he slept deeply. The quiet was peaceful.

Propping his chin on an elbow over his other knee, Haban thought,

Yes. Empress, child—what of it.

Being with Dori was enough. When Dori’s gaze or touch reached him, even meaningless objects around them became lovable.

They said the mating-bond of a fox beastman could be sundered only by death. Though the mating seal was not yet imprinted, a true match was joined by heart.

“There’s no need to delay what I’ve planned.”

Haban pressed a kiss to Dori’s neat forehead, the white hair brushed aside, as though sealing it with a stamp.

“…W-whoa.”

Dori pushed open the door to a new bedchamber and stopped short in surprise. The room was filled with fragrant flowers.

“Why stand there? Come in.”

Haban urged from behind. Dori, dazed, stepped inside.

At the summer palace, they’d alternated among different bedchambers, but this was the first built over water, which had already struck Dori as wondrous when entering the building.

And now, an entire room overflowing with flowers.

“What is all this?”

To prevent the heavy perfume from becoming suffocating, the round window was opened wide, moonlight shyly pouring in.

Dori looked around repeatedly, wondering when this had all been prepared.

Only when he belatedly realized he was being gently steered about did he notice the plush softness at his back. Haban had already guided him down onto the bed.

“…”

Above him, the silent shadow caging him between two arms loomed large. Haban’s chest rose and fell, as if he were the one tense.

What was he about to say?

Feeling himself grow tense as well, Dori took a slow breath. A low chuckle ruffled the white hair fallen across his brow.

“If only you were this well-behaved all the time.”

At the affectionate scold, Dori’s eyes flew wide. Haban’s tenderness brushed those sharp brows and lifted away.

Haban slowly began to speak; worry colored his exhale.

“You know it already. Being at my side is not only joy.”

“…”

Dori feared the imperial palace. Too many hid ill intent behind smiling faces. There were attendants who acted courteous to his face then snapped behind his back, and ministers who called him “His Highness” with their tongues while their eyes brimmed with scorn.

If only he hadn’t heard it—but pretending not to know what one has heard was hard indeed.

They would not change easily. There would still be attendants angered at serving a mere beast, and ministers invoking the royal line to oppose an emperor who kept only him near.

“Do you regret it?”

“No. Not at all.”

Dori immediately shook his head.

Rather, he didn’t want to leave Haban alone in that frightening palace. Even if he could not be a great strength, he could at least roam as a fox, quietly gather what was said, and report every word to Haban.

It hurt to see even a trace of sadness in Haban’s eyes. Thankfully, those dark eyes, touched with laughter, wandered across Dori’s milky cheeks.

“Even if you did, I wouldn’t send you away.”

“Then why say such things?”

Because I’m sorry.

Because I ache for you.

Instead of speaking the words circling his mouth, Haban fixed Dori with eyes gone even darker.

What Dori had once wished for was no more than a tiny room with a kitchen, to plant and grow vegetables; if there were a little to spare, he’d raise a chick—small and frail like himself—in a coop.

Yet, though he could grant all the gold and treasure in the world, the emperor of an empire could never grant that simple, humble wish.

“In the future, it will still be difficult for you to live simply and freely as you wished.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

Dori tilted his head.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t know—why bring it up now?

He truly didn’t mind. At times he missed the memory of bounding over high mountains as a fox.

And yes, it saddened him a little that he and Haban wouldn’t live cozily, just the two of them, like the mated foxes he’d seen in the red fox village. How warm might it be to burrow a den and rest back-to-back? But Haban was human; he wouldn’t feel the same. It was disappointing, but natural.

Dori couldn’t guess why Haban kept dredging up the past.

“Thank you for saying so. Even if I can’t give you everything, at least I can choose only the best for you.”

“What you give is already more than enough.”

“And…”

Drawing a deep breath, Haban looked straight into Dori’s eyes as if to carve a vow. Their gazes met.

“…I will cherish you above all.”

His voice trembled. Dori was struck dumb for a moment.

A special room floating on water.

A room filled with fragrant flowers and lavish adornments.

Unspoken sincerity slowly reached him. He had thought the room was prepared for a special night, but it wasn’t only that.

Haban plucked the fairest flower from the vase by the bed and stripped its petals one by one.

Red petals settled on the center of Dori’s brow, then on each cheek. Then, crushing the remaining petals between his fingers, Haban painted Dori’s lips with the flower’s dye.

This was… surely…

“Therefore, will you marry me?”

A proposal.

Dori could not answer at once. His lips kept fluttering. In the widened gold of his eyes, a nervous Haban’s face was reflected.

“Why not answer quickly?”

“…”

“If… if it displeases you…”

“I—I will.”

Dori forced out the words caught in his throat. Though heavily suppressed and damp with tears, they conveyed his meaning.

Haban soothed him, stroking the damp corners of his eyes.

“You’re already crying? I just promised to make you smile.”

It’s just… my heart feels strange…

Dori murmured softly.

Was a proposal supposed to make one feel breathless, as if the chest might burst? As if a prick of a needle would pop him—

“Then the engagement is agreed. Now, to the bridal night.”

“…B-bridal night! And it isn’t our f-first time!”

“What are you saying? Do you not know the meaning? The bridal night is the first night as husband and wife…”

“I know! Enough! I get it!”

Blushing to the tips of his ears, Dori clamped both hands over Haban’s mouth.

Haban’s lips curved; he slipped out his tongue and licked Dori’s palm. “Eek!” His tail nearly sprang out. Dori snatched his hands away.

Haban pressed his lips to Dori’s again, then gently nipped the lower lip and released it.

“Have you heard—”

“What?”

“In the villages, they call a new husband ‘seobang-nim’.”

“…”

Dori, fanning his flushed face with his hand, went rigid. In other words—Haban meant he wouldn’t let Dori go until that word slipped from Dori’s lips tonight.

How could he say something so mortifying!

His golden eyes rolled toward the door.

‘…Should I run?’

Haban immediately filled his vision, blocking his escape.

“They say a groom becomes a vengeful spirit if the bride spurns him on the first night.”

Issuing the playful threat, Haban drew over a tray set on the pillow. A small kettle, two cups, and bite-sized side dishes were set neatly upon it.

He opened the kettle’s lid and tested the aroma.

As different flowers bloomed with the seasons, so too did the wedding wine change with the time of year.

In spring, azalea petals—pink as Dori’s tongue—were mixed with glutinous rice; in autumn, chrysanthemums—gold like Dori’s eyes—were brewed with the season’s first rice.

In winter, the red camellia that budded even in snow white as the white fox’s pelt became a sweet, gentle wine.

And the kettle in Haban’s hand brimmed with summer. The pale yellow liquid was so clear the bottom could be seen. Made from lotus—noble even from mud, like Dori—it carried an alluring fragrance.

Truly, every season was Dori. It would always be so: Dori would be his four seasons, his flowers.

Haban took a sip from one cup and held the wine in his mouth. Then he leaned in and sealed his lips to Dori’s.

Gulp.

“Hah.”

A long breath escaped Dori as he swallowed the well-brewed wine.

He had always grumbled when Haban drank alone; this first shared cup seemed to satisfy him immensely. His eyes begged for more.

“The night is long—don’t get drunk so soon.”

Haban hooked a finger into the knot of Dori’s inner robe. The cord binding tight across his chest and tied at the solar plexus loosened slowly.

Haban plucked a much paler blossom than before. Rubbing its petals between thumb and forefinger, a rosy tint spread.

“Doesn’t this match here exactly?”

Dori’s white skin was marvelously pink only where needed most. The petal-stain on Haban’s fingers colored the nipple visible through the loosening front.

Haban was especially teasing tonight. Dori shook his head, face blazing red.

The bridge of Haban’s high nose traced the curve of his shoulder. With tiny kisses falling downward, he caught one breast in his mouth, the nub within standing taut.

Haban rolled the stiffened peak with his tongue, then sucked the surrounding flesh hard.

“Hah! Ah, it h-hurts…!”

Only when Dori moaned did Haban release it. On Dori’s pale skin, the color spread easily; the reddened area extended beyond the original areola.

“Why always…!”

Seeing one side so conspicuously larger, Dori’s brow twitched.

Though he knew the deep red would fade back with time, he fretted—what if it became permanently uneven? He didn’t realize that’s exactly what Haban wanted.

Haban wanted Dori to keep himself carefully covered. He had developed that fixation after hearing the hurried footsteps when Dori—careless after changing from fox to man—ran out from behind the screen with no clothing.

“Well. Others would be startled to see.”

“…It’s your fault, Haban.”

“There’s nothing for you to worry about. You’ll be seen only by me for life, won’t you?”

Haban filled the cup to the brim.

Footnotes:

• Seobang-nim (서방님): A traditional term used in Korean villages to address one’s husband, here playfully invoked to tease about the “bridal night.”