CW: Explicit language, physical/emotional abuse.
Jun narrowly avoids a giant bird (emu, he thinks it’s called) as it tries to attack the hors d'oeuvres on a nearby table. His stride never falters however, eyes fixed upon the sunny-faced Marquis as the latter converses animatedly with a small crowd.
Mira is close behind, form tense and on high alert, recognising that her young master is agitated.
When the Marquis notices Jun’s approach, his welcome is not one of surprise. Rather, it’s one of expectation and delight.
“Ahhh! Bijan Azar~! What a wonderful surprise to see you here!” Korain beams widely as he glides over to Jun and kisses the air beside his cheeks.
Jun barely stops himself from jerking away. He returns with a dip of the head. “Korain. I should say the same for you.”
“Bijan?” One of the guests casts a confused glance at Jun. “What a curious name. Do you know the Marquis, my lord?”
“We are…acquainted,” Jun grits out through his smile.
“Je suis désolé. It is Fifth Lord Hwan Jun, oui?” Korain’s phoenix eyes glitter in dark amusement, his lips turned up in a shadow of a smirk.
Jun returns his gaze coldly. “That is correct.”
“Imagine my utter surprise to hear that you are of the Six Houses on the East. And a Hwan, no less.”
“At most, sir.”
“Sir?” Korain gasps theatrically, gripping the front of his suit. “My lord, are we on such terrible terms for you to address me so?”
Jun narrows his eyes at man, unable to fathom his intent. “...Lord…Korain.”
“Leblanc, my lord. Have you forgotten so easily?”
“Oh, Lord Leblanc has been an absolute darling!” A guest gushes, clinging onto the Marquis’ arm. She gazes up at him adoringly. “Is he not the most beautiful man you’ve ever met?”
“Come now, dear,” her husband admonishes, his glasses fogging over as he attempts to pry his wife away. “Leave the good man alone. I am sure his lordship would like to make his social rounds–”
Another guest eagerly interjects. “Lord Leblanc has been regaling us with tales of his philanthropic endeavours, particularly to do with the redevelopment of the Slums. The Governor must endear to him greatly to leave such a project of import in his hands.”
Jun furrows his brows in perplexion as he glances at Korain. The latter seems entirely unruffled, simply gazing back with an expectant smile.
“...Indeed. We have been working together on…a social programme of sorts in the Slums. A tax plan that redistributes wealth and ensures that none go hungry or without medicine. It is, admittedly, an admirable venture by Lord Leblanc.”
Impressed murmurs ripples through the small crowd, and the Marquis has enough sense to look bashful.
“Of course, you would want to start a fund for the project, no? So that we may also donate to the cause!”
“Oh, yes yes! I have been agonising over what to care about next.”
“We don’t have to visit the Slums, do we? I heard the roads there are unpaved!”
“You are a generous soul, Lord Leblanc. Is there, perchance, a Lady Leblanc?”
“What a thing to say, Lady Yang! Perhaps you should slow down on the champagne?”
“Are you certain that we should donate to the Slummers? I heard that they do nothing but inebriate themselves and breed like vermin.”
“Perhaps we could open up a schoolhouse in the People’s District? We could teach them basic etiquette and social graces.”
“I think they may need to be taught from the ground up, dear.”
“Oh, then how to paint their faces and style their hair?”
“More basic than that, dear.”
“How more basic can you get?”
“This is only the beginning, my lord and ladies,” Korain raises his voice above the chatter. The waning attention at once snaps back to the Marquis. He waves his decorative fan before his face, the motion mesmerising and elegant. “My philanthropy will expand across the entire city herself. Not only will I raise the Slums out of the dirt, but I will elevate the city, the East, to heights unimaginable. We will be the envy of the four territories, the gem of the Eastern Empire! For I have the favour of the Governor yes, and the Mother herself!”
Gasps and pattering applause respond to the Marquis’ bold words, his audience taken by his charm and alluring visage.
Only Jun and Mira remain unmoved, for they know the truth of this man.
“My apologies,” Lord Escarra booms as he joins the applause, a brilliant grin stretching out his round face. “I could not help but overhear. Is this true that you intend on cleaning up the Slums?”
“And more,” Korain confirms with an elegant bow. “Lord Escarra, it is an absolute pleasure to meet you at last.”
“Indeed, my lord. But forgive me, I do not believe I know you–”
“I have travelled far from the North, so it is of no surprise that you have not heard of me before today. I am Marquis Korain Leblanc of the House of Leblanc.”
Escarra tugs at his moustache, squinting at the younger man. “Leblanc, you say? How curious, I do not know this name. You must be a House of worth to hold such a title?”
“We are indeed. We prefer to work in the shadows, so to speak.”
“Ah. And tell me, Lord Leblanc, how do you propose to deal with the Slums? Depending on how sound your proposal is, I may be inclined to fund the entire project myself.”
“You are aware, of course, that Slummers are not considered true citizens of the East. This means that there are no resources being poured into this district. Nothing is being fixed. Nothing is improving. It is essentially, ungoverned and neglected. And so, I have created a taxation plan to improve the condition of the Slums.”
Jun purses his lips as he hears Korain spout a familiar speech. One that had effectively swayed Jun himself when he first heard of it.
The Marquis sweeps his fan every so often, so emphasise his words. And so he continues, “Once the more pressing matter of poverty has been addressed, I will of course look to legalising the status of the Slummers–”
“Surely not! To think that those beasts would have the same rights as us is preposterous.”
Korain laughs liltingly behind his fluttering fan. “You must allow me to finish, my lady. I use the term ‘legal’, however I do not intend for Slummers to possess the same status as those in the other two districts. No, they shall have their own status. One that will allow them the right to live and work legally within the Mother’s grace. But nothing more. Their voices shall not rise above yours.”
“What is the point of this?”
“Who will tend to your garden, my lady? Or launder your clothes? Furthermore, they will be taxable citizens, which means a significant boost to our economy.”
“Which means we pay less?”
“You understand perfectly,” Korain croons, snapping his fan close. “We must assist those most in need, but in the process if we should reap the rewards of doing so, whyever not?”
“Why not indeed!” Lord Escarra laughs uproariously, slapping his large belly in his mirth. “You have a mind for politics, Lord Leblanc. Have you introduced yourself to Second Lady Tahli Razad?”
“Not yet, my lord.”
“How do you intend on clearing out the gangs in the Slums? I have heard there has been some unrest as of late.”
Korain huffs a laugh and gently presses the tip of his fan to his chin. A slight angle of the head in thought. “They are nothing more than criminals and addicts. It would be a simple thing to gather them all up and toss them into the stockades. If they should hang, then there are less mouths to feed and more resources for law-abiding citizens.”
“And what of your Marchioness, Lord Leblanc?” Jun’s voice cuts through the conversation like a whetted blade, his tone mercilessly sharp. “I am sure they would have differing thoughts on the matter.”
“Do you presume to know the Marchioness better than I, Lord Hwan?” Korain responds smoothly, his smirk cutting into his cheek. “She would applaud my vision as long as I keep her well stocked with her favourite trinkets and drink. She, who has endured the worst, would finally experience the best. Do you not wish this for her, my lord?”
“Women are easily swayed by such things! You are right of course, Lord Leblanc. The more gifts I give the lady, the less faults she finds in me!”
“I find that it is often the other way around, my lord. Men are too easily controlled by their vacuous need to inflate their ego. I would say that the good lady has long played you like a fiddle.”
An explosion of glass silences the laughter. Every pair of eyes land on the irascible Fifth Lord Hwan Jun, who stands tall and taut in his silent fury. Goldens pale as they bore into the Marquis, utter disdain etched across his face.
Korain steps back, startled by the intensity of the lord’s anger.
“Your silver tongue is impressive, Korain,” Jun says, his words as brittle as the shattered glass at his feet. “Tell me, how exactly did you find yourself to this soiree?”
“An invitation, much like everyone else here,” Korain lilts, forcing a pleasant smile.
“How strange. I thought that every invitation had been handwritten by Lord Escarra himself. And yet he claims not to have met you before.”
“Oh, come now, Jun,” Escarra admonishes, though he remains in good humour. “He must have accompanied a guest. Ah, yes, I am curious Lord Leblanc, who was it that you came here with today?”
Korain’s smile visible strains, but he bravely continues his charade. “I fear I may have offended Lord Hwan in some way, enough for him to break his glass. I must offer my sincere apologies if I have–”
“Answer the viscount, Korain,” Jun cuts him off, smiling thinly. “Who did you accompany?”
“I do not believe it is relevant,” Korain protests, flipping open his fan and obscuring his mouth. “Lord Escarra, I do apologise for this. It seems as though my presence here has stirred Lord Hwan’s vendetta against me.”
“Vendetta? Whatever do you mean?” Escarra frowns, glancing between the two younger men.
“Ah, he has long held intimate feelings for the Marchioness. I do not wish to publicise our old feud, however I do feel persecuted–”
Tittering chatter and scandalised gasps meet this revelation, and the atmosphere of revelry rapidly changes to that of terse confrontation.
“I tire of this farce,” Jun clips, snatching the fan from Korain’s hand. He easily snaps it in twain with one hand, exposing the cheap wood from which it had been crafted. “The reason you have never heard of the Leblancs, Lord Escarra, is because no such House exists. This man is a Slummer who suffers from delusions of grandeur. He fashions himself as a Marquis and speaks poor Feridalis to present himself as thus. While I cannot deny that he has done much for the Slums, it is clear that his intentions for the district, for his people, are far from altruistic.”
“You go too far, Hwan Jun,” Korain seethes, eyes near bulging as he attempts to control his temper. “If you want to fuck my Marchioness, then be a man and fuck her. Do not test me here today.”
“This has nothing to do with the Marchioness,” Jun says, coldly. “It has to do with how you do not belong here, Korain. These people are lawmakers, economists, cultural leaders, and scientists that shape our very knowledge of the world. Their very will determines our history. Who are you to weasel your way into their midst and claim to the same power? They are not your people, Korain. They are mine.”
The Marquis flinches with every point, the colour drained from his gaunt cheeks.
Jun feels a callous pleasure for every flinch his thorny words induce. He swiftly closes the gap between them and looms overhead like a stirring storm. At this distance, Korain's forced to raise his head and experience the true extent of Jun’s height, both physical and in status.
“I thought you had the potential for change, but hearing the loathsome words you utter today, I see that I have been foolish in my thinking. The shadowborn should remain where they belong, and not dare step into the sun.”
Shaking, Korain grabs the lord’s collar, practically frothing at the mouth. “You dare speak to me in this way–?!”
“The question is how do you dare?” Jun interjects, curtly. He glares down his nose at the charlatan, upper lip curling in disgust. “I am the scion of the House of Hwan, the son of the Minister for Military Affairs, the confidante of the Crown Prince, the future Governor of Hanjuyang. Who are you, sir, to dare speak to me as if I were your mere subordinate?”
With every title Jun slams into his prey, Korain seems to wither and shrink, until he’s nothing more than a shriveled husk. His eyes turn glazed and he finds himself paralysed by his own crumbling hubris. How cruelly and efficiently he had been whittled down to the marrow.
“I will tell you who you are,” Jun continues, every word enunciated to draw blood. “You are the Marquis of a junkyard. A coward who sends children to their deaths over petty squabbles. An addict who is shameless in his perversions. An Easterner who plays a Northern lord for his own vanity. A Slummer without a second name and worse still, is ashamed of this fact. You, sir, are nothing more than the throne of trash you sit upon.”
And now it’s not just Jun staring at Korain with the disdain of the upper echelon, but every person who he had so thoroughly charmed mere seconds ago.
No amount of words, no amount of arguing, could convince these people. They are only convinced by power, and they are certain of the power than Hwan Jun possesses in his veins. Korain is a wildcard, the outlier, and now, pariah, as condemned by Fifth Lord Hwan Jun.
He catches sight of Escarra gesturing for his guards and, with a final burning glare, Korain turns heel and flees.
As the tension is broken by jeers and laughter, by pats upon the back and commendations of his verbal flagellation, Jun silently watches Korain stumble away. Sadistic pleasure dissipates, leaving behind a sense of quiet horror growing by the second.
***
Rin leaps up from Korain’s bed and rushes to him in breathless delight. “I’ve been waiting all day! Where have you been?”
Korain shoulders past the raven, tearing the silken ascot tie from his collar. Icy wrath freezes over his delicate visage and his breath comes in shallow pants. Humiliation consumes his core like acerbic bile, relentless and wicked.
Rin rubs his aching shoulder, blinking at Korain’s pacing form. “I’ve been saving that bottle of wine you got me. Thought we could drink it together.”
“Do what you will,” Korain snaps, running a hand through his mussed hair. His mind ticks over furiously as he revisits the last hour, over and over again in a frenzy. “I have no use for you. Leave.”
“No use for me?” Rin raises a brow, resting a hand upon a thrust out hip. “Do you wanna try that again?”
The Marquis sends him a rending glare. “...Désolé,” he grits out. “I am on edge–”
“That’s why you need a drink!” The raven grins and bounds over to the desk where a bottle of wine and three glasses sit. “I thought maybe when Bijan returns, we could all have a drink together. Let bygones be bygones and all that shit. Do you think he’ll bring back any food from that fancy party of his?”
“I do not want a drink. Take the bottle and get out–”
“Stop sulking and come help me with this! I can’t open the damn cork. It’s stuck in there with wax or something.”
“I said, get out–”
“And I said that you need a drink! Things have been so grim and boring here lately, so I'm not leaving until–”
Rin slams into the wall, air knocked painfully from his lungs. The bottle tumbles. Glass shatters. Priceless liquid floods the ground.
Korain pins him by the chest and throat, his grip white and unyielding. Blanched apoplectic, he brings his face near, a mere inch away. Bloodshot eyes, bulging and strained, regard the raven with madness. “I am your Marquis! Your king! And you dare speak to me as if I were a mere subordinate?”
Rin lets out a choked gasp, struggling to pull in a proper breath. Pain arcs up and down his spine. Heels scrub the floor in desperation. He scrabbles at the hand wringing his throat. Nails catch on bony fingers and nothing more.
The Marquis bares his teeth in sadistic glee as he drinks in the sight of Rin’s suffering. “You have nothing to say to me now, do you? Know your place, Marchioness.” He releases the raven abruptly and glides over to his desk, his initial rage momentarily soothed.
Rin drops with a torrid gasp, shaking as he’s thrust into the darkness of his memories. The same bony fingers that coaxed him into false security before ripping his very heart from his chest. The promises, the lies, the agony, the desires, they all come rushing back in an oppressive force, carving his very flesh from his body until there remains a hollow.
Korain seats himself behind his desk and pulls out a handheld mirror to fix his hair. He pauses mid-preen and catches that strange impassivity upon the raven’s face. He clicks his tongue in irritation and lowers the mirror.
“You should not push me so when I am in a mood, mon amour,” he hums, resting his chin atop his hand. “I warned you, did I not? That I was on edge? And yet you continue to push me with disregard. Who is to blame when I inevitably lose my temper?”
Rin raises his dull gaze to the Marquis. “...I am to blame,” he monotones.
“And you have ruined a perfectly good wine.”
Korain twirls the mirror in his hand as he considers the apathetic youth. The corner of his mouth twitches. “Come, Marchioness. Come and join me. I have much to tell you about my day.”
Some of the clouds clear from Rin’s mind when he sees the Marquis’ visage soften. That proffered hand is like the air he sought so desperately. A precious light to ease the darkness.
Rin slowly rises to his feet, wincing at the fresh hurt collected upon his body. He steps over the glass and hesitantly takes Korain’s hand. A flicker of yearning paints the hollow red.
Korain tugs Rin into his lap and wraps his arms around his trembling form. He noses Rin’s neck, grazing along the hand print there. “The truth is, I had attended a soiree in the High District, attempting to widen my network. I have the idea that the more connections to powerful allies, the more support I can garner for the Slums. As you can imagine, it had been going rather well, when I ran into none other than Bijan Azar…”
