koogalaxzy

[koogalaxzy]

im a new follower i just read your sunghoon fic and it was amazingly written. from the plot, story flow, characters, to dialogue. HOT AF!! i cant wait to read you future works, i know you'll eat it again 😭💦🤤

OMG THANK U SO MUCH!! seriously, this means the world to me 🥹💕 knowing you enjoyed it enough to send a message like this?? i’m honestly so touched!!

[koogalaxzy]

big, bad boss | p. sunghoon

pairing: boss! sunghoon x fem. reader genre: smut, enemies to fwbs to (?) wc: 23k+ summary: You can handle Park Sunghoon’s insults, his impossible standards, even his hands all over you after hours. What you can’t handle? The possibility that the man you swore to never fall for might just be the only one you can’t let go of. content warnings: toxic sunghoon!! he’s so controlling in this but it’s hot so he gets a pass (from me). unprotected sex, public sex, angry sex, hate sex, desk sex, bathroom sex, basically ALL the sex lol. oral (fem receiving), fingering, use of sex toys, power imbalance, dom/sub dynamics, a little bit of humiliation kink, dirty talk, jealousy, possessiveness, slight dubcon (consensual but power-imbalanced). enemies-to-fwb-to-lovers. emotional constipation from literally everyone. cat mom reader & (eventually) cat dad sunghoon. brief pregnancy scare. pls do not look for healthy boundaries or communication in this fic, this is pure office filth. a bit of domestic vibes at the end. a/n: first sunghoon fic WHEW. this one’s been simmering for a while guys. literally came to me while watching the no doubt mv, i was like fawk he looks way too good in a suit… i need him in an office setting immediately. disclaimer: the way i write him here is absolutely not how i think he is irl. the only accurate thing is him being a neat freak lol. oh, and me calling him handsome 28473 times because… well, he is. anyways!! pls pls pls lmk what you think 🥺 and THANK YOU for all the love on my previous fic, the new follows, the asks—everything!!! *sends one million flying kisses through your screen*

Becoming important at a job you despise is… well, it’s definitely not a good feeling.

You're reminded of this unfortunate fact every single day at your corporate job, where even though the paycheck is attractive, you're constantly drowning under the immense pressure exerted by your jerk of a boss.

Park Sunghoon has exactly one redeeming quality and that is his stupidly handsome face. But everything else about him is so rotten, you can't even enjoy glancing at his perfect features without a bitter feeling pooling deep in your stomach, similar to the one you get moments before hurling.

You might be wondering what exactly he did to warrant this hatred. The better question would be, what hasn't he done? From your very first week, Sunghoon was a complete asshole who had you running to the bathroom in tears after he openly called your work "uninspired garbage" a "colossal waste of time," and even claimed that hiring someone so inexperienced was an insult to the company's standards.

Funnily enough, you managed to climb the ranks within just one year and found yourself working directly under him. Though you couldn't even celebrate your promotion because being closer to Sunghoon only multiplied your misery. It was safe to say your life was one big ball of stress thanks to him. 

So to cope you developed a rigorous self-care routine which consisted of pilates, drinking only decaffeinated beverages, attending overpriced meditation sessions, and even trying acupuncture.

But your favorite method to decompress involved channeling your frustrations toward the subject of all your afflictions. Sometimes that included taping his picture onto a punching bag and going absolutely feral.

Unfortunately (and embarrassingly) for you, not all your tension was purely angry…

Even if it hurt your soul to admit it your boss was exactly your type physically. Like, why the hell was he always scowling when he literally had the face of an angel? Really, nobody could blame you if your pent-up anger occasionally morphed into sexual frustration.

And yeah, you dealt with that too. Usually with your hands…and your collection of sex toys.

Which was exactly why you found yourself standing awkwardly in a discreet adult shop tucked away in the wealthier part of the city. You chose it because it was the farthest possible distance from your neighborhood, drastically reducing the chance of running into any nosy neighbors.

You shuffled curiously through the aisles, giggling at the sheer size of some toys. A few of them even had the word “monster” in the labels.

You currently had one of those ridiculous monster dildos in your hand wondering how anyone could possibly fit something like that inside them. You briefly considered taking it home, purely for research purposes, of course.

Just as you were inspecting the absurdly graphic details printed on the toy's box, someone stepped next to you way closer than necessary. Who stood this close to someone while browsing monster-sized dildos?

Giving them a subtle side glance, you realized it was a man. Tall enough that you could barely see beyond his chin without obviously staring. A black mask covered most of his face, obscuring his identity. You cleared your throat uncomfortably and walked away, an odd feeling tingling along your spine from the stranger's presence.

You browsed for a little while longer before deciding on just two items—the ridiculously gigantic dildo and a discreet rose toy. As you joined the checkout line, you noticed there was only one other person ahead of you, but unfortunately, she seemed to be having trouble with her card so it was taking a while.

The stranger from earlier joined the line directly behind you, making you sigh in irritation. Just your luck.

Your skin prickled uncomfortably as he stepped even closer, despite the line clearly not moving. Right. Your therapist had repeatedly emphasized setting clear boundaries, something you admittedly weren’t great at. Now seemed like a perfect time to practice that.

You turned abruptly, nostrils flaring with barely concealed anger. “Excuse me,” you snapped, emphasizing every syllable. “Have you never heard of personal space? You’re standing way too close, so if you could kindly step back, that would be great.”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes flickering downward to the giant dildo box you were still clutching tightly, then back up to your face as you tapped your foot impatiently. A soft snort escaped him. Was he mocking you?!

“Back off, jerk” you hissed the insult through gritted teeth before turning your back to him again.

“I can’t believe the first time you decide to stand up for yourself is in a sex shop.”

Do you know that dreadful feeling that washes over you right before disaster strikes?

That was exactly how you felt when you recognized that voice. A voice belonging to none other than your daily tormentor.

Slowly, you turned around again. He’d pulled his mask down and pushed his cap up, fully revealing his unfairly attractive face. A slight smile graced his lips, probably the first genuine smile you'd ever seen from him in the entire miserable year you'd known Park Sunghoon.

“Fucking hell…” you whispered, eyes growing to the size of saucers, knees feeling dangerously weak.

Your fight-or-flight instincts chose precisely that moment to kick in, and you reacted in possibly the worst way imaginable: you bolted. Unfortunately, you bolted with both unpaid items still in your hands.

You didn’t even realize your mistake until you were sitting in your car, chest heaving, heart hammering so hard you could hear it in your head. Panic clawed up your throat when you saw the items still clutched in your hand. With a strangled cry, you tossed the incriminating bag out your car window and drove away at breakneck speed, half-expecting sirens at any second.

Seriously, what were the odds of bumping into your boss at a sex you shop?!

The next morning you dragged yourself reluctantly into your workplace, looking as close to a corpse as humanly possible. You hadn’t slept at all, spending the entire night drafting your resignation letter. Forty different versions until you decided on one that didn’t seem too much like trauma dumping.

You had a million reasons to quit already, but after the mortifying nightmare of Sunghoon catching you holding a monster dildo box at a sex shop and calling him a jerk? Yeah, that one topped the list. 

Maybe this was just the universe finally screaming at you to do better for yourself.

Still, dread knotted in your stomach at the thought of suddenly being unemployed. Fucking Park Sunghoon… Did he ever get tired of ruining your life?

Your coworkers greeted you warmly as you walked past them, but several quickly stepped aside after seeing your vacant stare and pale complexion. You overheard hushed whispers: "Is she okay?" "She looks terrible”. You ignored them all.

Once you reached your boss’s office door, you paused, noticing how your hand trembled as you raised it to knock. Taking a shaky breath, you rapped twice.

“Come in,” he called, and you pushed open the door, wincing at its squeak. Had it always been that loud? Well, you wouldn't really know since you immediately dissociated every time you entered this office.

His dark eyes flickered upward, flashing briefly before he returned his attention to the files on his desk. “I hope that’s the corrected version of last week's report in your hand,” he said, pushing up his reading glasses.

God, why did he have to look so attractive in those stupid glasses? You wished he’d wear them more often, preferably in situations other than berating you. Shit—those sleepless nights must’ve fried your brain. You should feel nothing but deep, burning hatred toward this man right now. He was actively ruining your life!

“Erm…no. It’s actually—” You stepped forward hesitantly and placed the letter on his desk, sliding it towards him as if feeding a hungry lion, then stepping quickly away.

“A resignation letter?” he questioned impassively, picking up the envelope and glancing at your shaky handwriting on the envelope. There were definitely a few tear stains visible on the surface.

“Yes, sir. And I wanted to apologize sincerely for yesterday. It was extremely inappropriate of me. There are other reasons, too… they’re all listed in there.” Your voice practically died in your throat under his intense stare.

He sighed deeply and set the letter down without bothering to open it. “Y/N, can I be frank with you?” he started and you braced yourself. 

“You’re too stubborn, impulsive most of the time, overly emotional, defensive—”

Your jaw dropped open, ready to protest, but he held up a hand silencing you before you even started.

“But you’re also one of the hardest workers on this floor. You bring fresh ideas, you’re meticulous to a fault, you push the team to improve. A perfectionist like me… exactly what this company values.”

“If this is your way of convincing me to stay—”

“I’m not finished,” he interrupted sharply. “You’re all those things, sure. But one thing I never took you for was a coward.”

Your entire body went rigid with rage and it ignited so fast in your chest you could not stop the next words from coming out. “I am not a coward. I'm finally putting myself first! Do you honestly think you can say all those horrible things about me and then smooth it over with a couple of generic compliments? That’s not how this works! From day one you’ve made it your personal mission to make my work life miserable! And don’t even try feeding me some bullshit about seeing potential or trying to build my character or whatever ‘tough love’ corporate crap you're about to spew, because I won’t believe it for a second!”

You were shouting now, pretty sure everyone outside could probably hear you, but you’d reached a point beyond caring.

“And while we’re busy listing adjectives for each other,” you continued breathlessly, “let me tell you exactly what you are! You’re the most self-centered, sociopathic, egomaniacal, narcissistic, emotionally constipated, manipulative, control freak bastard I’ve ever known! I’m quitting because of you. I can't stand being here another second, because I can’t stand you!”

You stood there, chest heaving, waiting to see what the devil in designer glasses would do next.

His expression stayed maddeningly neutral until the faintest curl ghosted across his mouth. A smile? Why on earth was Park Sunghoon smiling? Had he finally lost it? Or had you? Because that was definitely a smirk, and now he was rising from his chair, closing the distance between you.

A million panic-scenarios flashed through your head. Maybe he just wanted to yell at you up close. Maybe he planned to throttle you on the spot. Murderer wasn’t even on the list of insults you’d hurled at him but—

“There she is,” he murmured darkly. “The pretty thing I saw in the sex shop. For a moment I doubted it was you… someone with that much fire, that much backbone. But here you are again.”

He stopped so close you could pick out the mint on his breath under the expensive cologne. Your brain was so scrambled you could do nothing but count every mole on his flawless skin, and notice the fact that he didn’t appear to have a single visible pore. What in the fresh hell was happening?

“Language,” he chided softly, apparently you’d spoken your confusion aloud. “Just because I let you scream at me doesn’t mean you can use whatever words you like.”

Warmth flooded your skin, and your tongue stuck to the roof of your dry mouth. What was this weird sensation? It felt as if you’d wandered into a dream, standing bare in a cage with a lion prowling around you. Sunghoon’s gaze was fiercer than ever.

“Uhm… I don’t understand—”

“Let me clarify.” His voice dropped into a velvety tone. “I won’t claim I never meant those things I said, but they weren’t out of malice. If anything, I wanted to see how far you could go before you stopped playing nice.”

You walked back into the wall and he followed, not touching yet but close enough that his body heat curled around you. “Don’t shrink back now,” he whispered. “Show me what that sharp little mouth can do.”

Your lips parted in indignation only for his grin to widen, stealing the breath and every comeback right out of you. He had perfectly straight teeth and unnervingly sharp canines. They were almost vampiric. Was your boss a vampire? That would explain why working for him felt like being bled dry day after day.

But right now, as those midnight eyes pinned you in place, the only thing you knew for sure was that you were in far deeper than any resignation letter could fix. 

And then all those swirling thoughts in your head stopped because he kissed you, brutally hard, swallowing your gasp of shock. His hand tangled roughly in your hair, tipping your head back until you were at his mercy.

His mouth trailed hot kisses across the soft skin of your neck, you bit your lip if only to try to contain the whimpers that were threatening to spill out of you. His sharp canines sunk softly into your skin and he sucked the spot after in almost a soothing manner.

It felt as though you’d lost your job, your mind, and apparently your self-respect—but fuck if you didn’t suddenly feel alive for the first time in months.

When he kissed you again it turned savage quick, all the pent-up frustration, a year’s worth of anger and denial spilling out in the space of a few ragged breaths. 

Sunghoon’s hands found your waist, gripping you hard enough to bruise. With barely a grunt as warning, he shoved you back until you collided with the desk, your palms splaying behind you for balance.

He crowded in, not giving you a second to reconsider. It was as if he could sense your hesitation and didn’t plan on letting you recover it. Your thighs hit the edge of the desk and he pinned you there, the solid line of his body fitting between your legs as he bent to nip your jaw, then your throat again, his breath hot and wild against your skin.

“Still want to quit?” he murmured, hands already hiking your skirt. “Or are you going to admit you need this as much as I do?”

Your laugh came out shaky. “I’d rather beg for anything but this job, asshole—”

He cut you off pushing your underwear aside and slipping a finger inside, harder than you expected, and so skilled it almost made you cry. Your hips jerked up helplessly, humiliation and need mixing into something molten.

“That’s right,” Sunghoon growled. “You love this, don’t you? Making a mess all over my fingers, desperate to be fucked by your boss. Never thought you’d be such a needy little thing.”

You hated how your body responded to every filthy word. His thumb circled your clit mercilessly and you gasped. “You should see yourself, whimpering on my desk,” he taunted. “I bet that monster dildo you picked out was just wishful thinking… thinking about getting filled up, stretched out, but you wanted the real thing, didn’t you?”

You managed a glare, but it drifted down when he started undoing his belt and freeing himself. The sight of his cock made your mouth go dry. He was big. Intimidatingly so. There was a split second of panic in your eyes, and he saw it, smirking as he lined himself up with you.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered, rubbing the tip of his cock against your entrance. “Are you scared? You can still run to HR and tell them about your big, bad boss. Or you can stay right here and take every fucking inch like a good girl.”

When he saw you had no intention of stopping him, he pushed in slowly and didn’t stop until he bottomed out, hips flush with yours. The stretch was dizzying, almost too much, but your body greedily tried to take more, clenching around him.

“Shit—so fucking tight,” he groaned, his voice breaking a little, grip bruising on your hips. “You’re gonna have to loosen up a bit, baby. I can’t move.”

Your walls we’re hugging him so hard he got scared he’d get stuck in there for a second (Nof that it would be such a bad thing). But then you relaxed as you got used to his size and he started moving slowly.

You whimpered, nails digging into the wood. “God, Sunghoon…” 

“Yeah, moan my name just like that,” he rasped, snapping his hips forward and pulling back only to slam in deeper. “You want everyone out there to know who’s fucking you stupid?”

Every word had you spiraling, your body burning, arching to meet his thrusts. The filthy rush of his dominance, the grip of his hands, the way he bent you back over his desk and took what he wanted—every bit of it broke down your defenses. He leaned over you, one hand gripping your jaw, forcing your gaze up to meet his.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered. “You don’t come until I tell you, got it?”

You nodded, barely coherent. All the nerves in your body lit up from the pressure and the brutal rhythm of his cock slamming into you. He pushed harder, deeper, and relentlessly.

“You’re mine now,” he snarled, biting at your throat. “My dirty little office slut, letting your boss fuck you on his desk because you couldn’t help yourself.”

“Y—yes,” you gasped, broken and burning for him.

“That’s right. Cum for me, right now. Show me how much you need it.”

As you fell apart, trembling and ruined against his desk, you realized you’d never let anyone talk to you like this—but god, you liked it when he did.

So, you didn’t quit. 

Instead, you trudged back into the office the next morning. Sore in places you’d rather not recall and wishing you could blot out yesterday’s debauchery from your body with industrial-grade bleach.

Things honestly couldn’t have gone worse. You’d marched into Sunghoon’s office to let out a year’s worth of grievances, and sure, you’d “let it all out”… just not in the way you’d planned. 

He still refused to accept your resignation, and there was zero chance you were marching to HR after engaging in the world’s most ridiculous office affair. Everyone knows the employee with less power always gets burned, and you were not leaving without your full paycheck.

Waiting for the elevator, you opened your phone’s camera, angling your neck to check the damage. Not even half a bottle of foundation could fully cover the vampire bites Sunghoon had branded you with. 

You dabbed your skin one last time before the elevator dinged and, as if conjured by your anxiety, in walked the devil himself.

“Good morning,” he said, and it took genuine effort not to flinch under his gaze.

“Uh, morning,” you muttered, pressing yourself into the farthest corner of the elevator, doing your best to look small and invisible.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, voice casual. If you weren’t so on edge, you’d have given him the side-eye. Since when did the man who regularly worked you into exhaustion care about your rest?

“As well as I could manage,” you replied, lips pressed tight.

“Hmm. I did go a little rough on you yesterday.” He said it as if he was apologizing for a harsh tennis match, not for nearly rearranging your insides.

A dust mote or possibly your own panic got lodged in your throat, and you started coughing. It took you a few seconds to recover and all you could manage was a hoarse “Let’s not speak of that ever again.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not dying to have the office know about our little secret either.”

Of course he was an ass about it. You rolled your eyes. “You think I am? For the record, I tried to quit. But no, Mr. Spoiled Sunghoon has to get his way, as always!”

He turned fully toward you, blocking the doors with that broad frame. “You’re calling me spoiled when you’re throwing a fit like this? And, for the record, I was about to suggest we find someplace more private to continue our… business instead.”

Your jaw dropped. Was he seriously proposing you keep fucking but just in a different…  location?

“You’ve misunderstood. I have no intention of continuing anything with you except maybe a more professional work relationship.”

He laughed a humorless laugh that skimmed your nerves raw. “You don’t believe that even a little.”

“Why do you have to fight me on every single thing? Does it give you some twisted satisfaction to see me pissed off?”

He flashed a wolfish smile. “Surprisingly, yes. But I found out yesterday that it’s even more satisfying seeing you come all over my co—”

The elevator doors suddenly slid open, saving you from whatever depravity he was about to say. You practically leapt to the other side so dramatically you had to fake a leg cramp to explain your awkward movement to the coworker stepping in. The newcomer eyed you curiously but said nothing, thank god.

You caught Sunghoon’s reflection in the elevator’s polished wall and he was clearly biting back a laugh, enjoying every second of your mortification.

When you arrived at your desk—flustered, anxious, and already mentally exhausted—you actually clasped your hands under the desk and prayed. Please let today pass without incident. Please let Park Sunghoon forget I exist for once in his damn life.

Realistically, he only called you into his office once or twice a week. Usually to nitpick your reports or assign corrections. And you figured he was smart enough to want to maintain at least the illusion of normalcy, which meant keeping that routine.

Naturally, you thought wrong.

Because barely fifteen minutes had passed before you saw your desk phone light up with a call from his extension.

You stared at it in silent horror, briefly considering smashing your forehead into the stapler. A workplace injury would be a valid excuse to leave early, right?

…For any normal boss, sure. But Sunghoon wasn’t a normal boss. He was a sadistic egomaniac who unfortunately had the dick to back up a portion of his arrogance.

Just then, your coworker Mina strolled by and smiled sweetly, clearly unaware that you were on the verge of losing your mind. You latched onto her like a lifeline.

“Mina! Can you help me with something?”

“Sure, what is it?” she asked, stepping closer.

You grabbed the offending stack of papers. “Can you take these reports to Mr. Park for me?” you offered her a smile hoping she wouldn’t question you. 

She blinked, a little confused. “Sure… but why?”

Fucking hell. “Oh, it’s just—I really need to use the bathroom, like, right now. Could you just drop them off for me?” The bathroom excuse was foolproof. No one argues with that.

“Oh, okay! But couldn’t you take it after?”

Why was she asking so many questions? Just take the goddamn file and save your doomed coworker from her crazy boss.

Your smile widened so unnaturally it probably triggered a horror response in her brain. Mina’s own smile faltered slightly in concern.

“I’m only saying that because you know how he gets with the reports… He’ll probably want to talk to you about it.”

Right. Like you didn’t already know that.

“I know! It’s just…” fuck it, being honest might make her feel bad for you. “I don’t want to deal with his berating right now.” You sighed.

She hesitated but then smiled in solidarity “I get it. He scares me a bit too. I'll bring them to him and say you needed the bathroom urgently.” 

Victory.

“Thank you so much, Mina! I owe you one.”

To commit to the bit, you stood up and headed toward the bathrooms, waiting just around the corner. You peeked out from behind a pillar and watched her step into Sunghoon’s office. Sorry for sending you into the lion’s den, Mina.

After five strategically-timed minutes in the bathroom, you returned to your desk and sat for three whole minutes before your phone rang again.

You saw the caller ID and instantly considered throwing yourself out the nearest window.

“Hel—”

“Come into my office. Now.”

The finality in his tone snapped any last thread of avoidance you were clinging to. You sighed, mentally braced for the gallows walk, and made your way to his office.

“You wanted me?” you asked coldly, sticking your head in and trying very hard not to look at the desk you’d been thoroughly fucked on yesterday.

“Come in,” he said, without looking up. “And close the door.”

You swallowed hard.

Closing the door meant isolation. No witnesses. Just you and him. And judging by the tone in his voice, you knew this wasn’t going to be a normal work talk. Hell, it probably wasn’t going to be a talk at all.

“I’m actually very busy right now, so—”

“Are you?” His voice was soft but cutting. “I doubt hiding out in the bathroom counts as a busy task.”

You shot him a look. Was he spying on you? “How did you even know?”

“Ms. Myoi isn’t exactly subtle,” he replied, almost smirking. “Next time, pick someone with a better poker face.”

“You got the files, so what’s the problem?” You tried to keep your tone firm, but your nerves were showing.

He stood up so quickly you barely had time to react. Every instinct screamed for you to bolt, but instead, you froze as his long fingers curled gently but firmly around your forearm, tugging you in closer. With his other hand, he closed the door behind you and turned the lock.

“I think you’re under the impression that, after what happened yesterday… You know, me stuffing you full of my cock and all… that you can talk to me however you please.” His tone was low and dangerous. “But you’re mistaken. I’m still your boss, and while you’re here, you’re going to show me respect.”

You hated the way he was speaking to you, hated even more the way his hand was now gliding up your arm, fingers brushing lightly around your throat and up to the sensitive nape of your neck.

“This is a total abuse of power,” you managed. “You can’t just summon me in here and expect me to drop everything because you think I’ll be easy for you. I’m not here to satisfy your needs. I’m here to work. And if that’s not what you want, let me go.”

He chuckled, the hand at your neck stroking slow circles against your skin. “Did you really think I called you in for anything other than work?” His tone was almost playful, clearly amused by your suggestion.

“I told you I wasn’t planning to do that again,” he added, his eyes flickering down your body with an infuriating amount of calm. “Not here, at least.”

Your chin lifted defiantly, meeting his gaze head-on. “What makes you think I’d want to do it again anywhere?” 

“Because you loved it. You took my cock like it was the best thing that had ever happened to you. And right now…” He leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re pressing your thighs together just from hearing me talk about it.”

Your whole body flushed—because fuck him, you were.

His hand tightened ever so slightly at your nape. “You can lie with that mouth all you want,” he murmured, “but your body? Your body doesn’t lie to me. It wants me. Still.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, your breath turning embarrassingly shaky. Sunghoon saw your hesitation, your silent surrender, and smiled a  slow, arrogant smirk that sent a thrill straight down your spine.

He leaned closer, lips brushing lightly against your ear as he spoke in a whisper. “You know what your problem is? You talk so much, but the second I touch you…” his fingertips traced trails from your nape down your spine “you fall apart so beautifully. Yesterday you were practically begging me.”

“I—I wasn’t begging,” you lied weakly, breath hitching as his fingers slipped underneath the edge of your collar, stroking softly across your collarbone. 

“Really?” he murmured. “Because I distinctly remember how loud you were” his voice dipped into something darker, hotter. “Do you remember how tightly you clenched around me when I told you exactly what a good little slut you were being for your boss?”

You swallowed a whimper, shame and lust tightening your throat. His other hand cupped your jaw gently, thumb brushing your lower lip as he tilted your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“You liked that, didn’t you? Liked taking every inch of me right here in my office,” he said quietly. “I bet you spent all night replaying it, wishing I was there to do it again. And again. And again.”

Your eyes fluttered shut involuntarily as his thumb stroked across your lip again, gently pressing just enough to part them. You were utterly pliant, melting like wax under his touch.

“Look at you,” he murmured softly, eyes glinting with triumph. “So responsive. Just my voice, my fingers on your skin, and you’re trembling already.” He leaned in. “I wonder how much more desperate I could make you.”

You couldn’t even pretend anymore. Your body was begging him silently. He drew back just slightly, a satisfied smirk playing at his lips as he took in your flushed expression.

“Meet me during your lunch break,” he ordered quietly, pulling away enough to restore a cruel semblance of professionalism. “Don’t be late. You know I’m not patient.”

Your cheeks burned hotly at the implication, even as a thrill raced through you. You nodded weakly, knowing there was no chance you’d refuse.

You counted down the hours to lunch with embarrassing anticipation, barely getting any work done. Not only was Park Sunghoon living rent-free in your head, he was now actively sabotaging your productivity. Ugh. How could hate and want coexist so aggressively? It was unnatural.

Finally, when the clock struck 1PM, you all but leapt out of your seat only to force yourself to sit right back down after realizing how eager you looked. Get a grip.

Just as you were trying to muster the courage to casually make your exit, your phone buzzed with a text from him:

Sunghoon: Change of plans. Meet me at the parking lot.

You stared at the message, scoffing. Really? He was going to make you walk all the way downstairs just to get railed in the backseat of his car?

You grumbled under your breath the entire way down to the parking lot, texting him as soon as you arrived: Which one’s your car?

You really should’ve known.

A black Mercedes-Benz—the newest model, naturally—rolled up and parked directly in front of you. The door popped open automatically, and there he was with sunglasses on, one arm draped lazily over the wheel, and a small tilt of his chin beckoning you inside like he was some villain in a K-drama.

You rolled your eyes but got in anyway.

“Why didn’t you bring your bag?” he asked immediately, not even sparing you a glance.

“I have my wallet in my phone case. I don’t need anything else.”

“I’ll have one of the staff bring it to my place later.”

“Your place?!” You sat upright, the seatbelt snapping back loudly as you turned to him.

He didn’t even glance over. “Where did you think we were going?”

“To eat lunch? I mean, I’m actually hungry,” you insisted, only half lying. You knew where this was heading, but you refused to seem too eager.

He sighed as if you were an unexpected challenge in his otherwise perfectly curated day. “Either way, you’re not coming back in today. I’ll have your bag delivered. So, where do you want to eat?”

“Wait a second. What do you mean I’m not coming back? My shift isn’t over. I have work to do!”

He gave you a look, one thick brow raised behind his sunglasses. “Yeah, work I assigned you. Which means I can unassign it just as easily. Strap in.”

“Sunghoon, this is… ridiculous! You can’t just kidnap me from work just because you’re my boss!”

He smirked. “I definitely can.”

“That doesn’t make it okay!” you grumbled, finally buckling your seatbelt with as much attitude as you could manage.

“I don’t understand what you’re so upset about. You’re getting out early, still getting paid for the full shift, and you’ll be thoroughly taken care of.” He glanced at you. “I’d think you’d be thanking me.”

“Of course you don’t see the problem,” you muttered, turning to scowl out the window. “Whatever. Just drive.”

Sunghoon didn’t say anything. The engine purred back to life, and you tried not to focus on the fact that you were skipping work to go God knows where with your arrogant, dangerously hot boss to get possibly (likely) fucked into tomorrow.

The car ride started in a silence that felt too heavy for two people who’d literally had sex on a desk 24 hours ago. You stared out the window, arms crossed, trying not to seem too aware of how expensive everything in this car felt. The leather, the tech, even the damn smell… it all screamed money. 

“Alright,” he said eventually, “how do you feel about that new French-Japanese fusion place in uptown?”

“Fusion? Uptown? That sounds like a two hour meal and three digit prices.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “So?”

“So,” you said, turning to look at him, “I said I’m hungry. I’m not trying to sit through seven courses of foam and edible flowers.”

“Fine,” he muttered. “What do you suggest, then?”

You thought for half a second. “We could hit that little spot near the office. You know, the one with the best kimchi fried rice—”

“No.”

You frowned. “Why not?”

“I’m not taking you somewhere that has a laminated menu and plastic chairs.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You’re such a snob.”

“And you have the palate of a college student.”

You gaped at him. “You know what? Maybe I do want to eat something cheap and greasy. You ever think that maybe not all of us grew up eating imported truffle oil on toast?”

He chuckled. “Why are you making it sound like a crime to want something nice?”

“Because you think nice has to mean expensive.”

He didn’t reply right away, just turned the corner smoothly. You could feel his gaze on you even though he was watching the road.

“Fine. I’ll make a deal with you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Go on.”

“I’ll let you pick where we eat this time, but next time, it’s my choice.”

Your stomach flipped at the implication of doing this again, but you refused to show it. “You’re assuming there’ll be a next time.”

Sunghoon smirked. “There will.”

You turned back to the window with a huff, trying to hide your tiny smile. 

“Wait—turn right here. There’s a food truck fair in that parking lot!

There was a second of silence so loud it made you look back at him. Sunghoon slowly turned his head toward you, scandalized.

“You want me to eat in a parking lot?”

“Oh come on. It’s street food!”

“Do you have any idea how many food safety violations they probably have?”

“You think your caviar isn’t hiding mercury or something? Please.”

He gave you a look like you’d just suggested licking a subway pole. “We could catch anything from there.”

You laughed, genuinely. “You’re being dramatic.”

“You know there’s a reason the Michelin Guide doesn’t cover sketchy food trucks.”

“Just try the food, Sunghoon. I promise you won’t die from eating a greasy burger”

“Bold of you to assume that’s not exactly how my obituary would read,” he muttered, but he was already making the turn.

You smirked triumphantly. “Are you actually giving in?”

He sighed, the weight of compromise clearly hurting his soul. “I’m making a tactical concession to avoid hearing you complain the rest of the day.”

“That’s what I thought,” you said sweetly, already unbuckling your seatbelt.

“If I get food poisoning, I’m dragging you down with me.”

The food truck you chose specialized in Korean fusion, with spicy pork tacos, kimchi fries, and bulgogi rice bowls. It was the kind of place where napkins came in a metal dispenser and water was self-serve. Sunghoon looked deeply out of place with his lil crisp button-up still tucked, Rolex peeking under his cuff, and an expression like he was trying not to breathe too deeply.

“That man’s handling cash and tortillas without changing gloves.” He said, pointing at the guy working the front.

“That man,” you replied, swatting his finger down “is a hero bringing joy to the masses. Relax.”

You ordered tacos, ignoring Sunghoon’s skeptical gaze as you squeezed lime over the foil-wrapped mess. “Don’t tell me you’ve never eaten from a truck before.”

“I have,” he lied, studying the salsa bottles. “It just… isn’t usually my first choice.”

You picked a picnic table under an umbrella. Sunghoon pulled out a crisp linen handkerchief (of course he carried one) and wiped the bench before you could sit.

“Oh my God, you’re embarrassing me,” you laughed.

“Your immune system will thank me,” he said, unfolding it like a placemat. 

“Here. Try acting like the rest of us humans” you handed him a tray.

“There’s no cutlery…” He said, eyeing the tacos suspiciously.

“Obviously,” you said, already digging into yours. “You have to use your hands, Richie Rich.”

Sunghoon reluctantly picked one up and took a bite. His jaw worked slowly, expression unreadable. You waited for a complaint.

“One to ten, rate your $6 lunch.”

He hesitated, glancing at your happy expression. “Eight. And don’t let it go to your head.”

You gasped dramatically. “Is that approval? From Park Sunghoon? Should I alert the media?”

“I said don’t push it.” But the corner of his mouth twitched dangerously close to a smile.

As you sat across from each other, legs nearly brushing beneath the bench, the sun felt warmer, the breeze softer. For a moment, everything felt dangerously normal.

Until he leaned in and brushed his thumb across the corner of your mouth.

You froze. “What are you doing?”

“You had sauce.” He licked his thumb without breaking eye contact. “Don’t say I never take care of you.”

You stared, half-appalled. “You are literally why my therapist is booked solid.”

“Happy to keep her employed,” he said, flashing a grin. “I’m sure you have plenty to discuss about how much you enjoy working under me.”

You snorted. “In what world would I admit that?”

He shrugged, tearing open a sauce packet with annoying elegance. “You already admitted it with your thighs yesterday.”

You kicked him lightly under the table. “You can’t say things like that in public.”

“No one’s listening,” he said, but his eyes hadn’t left your face once. He was watching you too closely.

You looked away, stabbing a fry. “So what is this supposed to be? Lunch and… whatever comes after?”

He leaned in slightly, forearms resting on the table. “You really think I’m that predictable?”

“Aren’t you?”

He shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “If I was just here for that, I wouldn’t have bothered with lunch.”

“Then why did you?”

“Still figuring that out.”

You cleared your throat, suddenly conscious of how close you were. “Well, while you work on your revelation, I’m getting dessert.”

He stood smoothly. “Pick whatever you want.”

“Even the bubble waffles?” you teased.

“Get two. You’ll need the sugar.”

You blinked. “Why?”

Sunghoon just smiled.

“I thought you said getting into my pants wasn’t the plan today,” you continued, arms folding tightly across your chest.

Sunghoon’s gaze flicked unapologetically downward. “I just changed my mind. Your ass looks incredible in that skirt.”

The truth is, he barely noticed until now just how distracted he’d become simply from watching the way your skirt hugged your curves. It irritated him a bit, actually, that you could derail his thoughts so effortlessly.

You kind of figured things would end up at his place, but your appetite for anything besides food totally disappeared. Maybe it was the realization that you’d let yourself get sidetracked from work, and, weirdly enough, you actually liked just hanging out and eating with him. But if you had sex with him now, it’d just confirm that to him, you were just an easily accessible warm hole, nothing more.

You grimaced at your own thoughts and suddenly got angry at the fact that you were even here.

“Well, I'm sorry but Richard’s waiting for me, so I have to get home.”

His entire demeanor shifted instantly, shoulders tightening, the casual ease disappearing from his expression.

“And who the hell is Richard?”

A faint tension settled into his jaw. It wasn’t jealousy—at least, that’s what he told himself. It was simply the irritation of someone who disliked having his plans disrupted.

You blinked at him. “Seriously?”

“And your shift isn’t even over yet,” he added coldly, looking at his watch.

Your blood pressure spiked instantly. “You’re joking, right? Now my shift matters? Five minutes ago you were rearranging my entire day like it was your personal schedule.”

Sunghoon glared at you, his grip on the keys turning almost painful. He knew he was being petty, but he didn’t care. Especially with you dodging him like this.

“I just asked who Richard was, there’s no need to get so defensive.”

“Well, it’s none of your damn business.”

Your words were sharp enough to make his jaw clench. He let out a frustrated breath, telling himself not to say anything else that could possibly upset you more.

“Now you can take me home, or I’ll get a cab. Your choice.” you said, unyielding.

There was a stubborn silence before Sunghoon finally relented, unlocking the car with a curt click. Without another word, you both slid inside, any easiness from before completely gone.

“So what—” Sunghoon scoffed as he started the engine, eyes hardening with visible annoyance. “You can sleep with me but I can’t ask who you’re rushing home to?”

“Exactly, because we’re not anything, remember?”

The reply was blunt enough that even Sunghoon found himself momentarily at a loss for a comeback. That’s right, this was supposed to be a casual thing. So why did this suddenly feel so much more personal?

He didn’t care who you were seeing, really—he just didn’t appreciate surprises.

Nobody said another word the entire drive. You could practically hear every exhale he took through his nose as he maneuvered the Mercedes through traffic. When he finally pulled up in front of your building, you unbuckled fast, eager to put distance between you.

“Thanks for the food,” you said curtly, fingers already on the door handle.

His gaze flicked over. “Sure.”

You stepped out, letting the door slam just to be petty. Sunghoon’s jaw flexed, his hands gripping the wheel harder. The Benz sped off with a throaty growl, and you resisted the urge to flip him off as the tail lights faded.

Upstairs, you kicked off your shoes and made a beeline for the one thing that had been getting you through this godforsaken job for the last 13 months.

The punching bag.

It hung from the ceiling near your bookshelf, worn from frequent abuse. Centered at face level was a printout of Park Sunghoon’s corporate ID that you’d taped with scotch.

“You smug, insufferable bastard!” you shouted, kicking the bag so hard it swung wildly. “Acting like you own my schedule, my life, my goddamn—”

Thwack. A right hook.

“‘Who the hell is Richard?’ None of your business, that’s who!”

Thump. Left jab.

“Shift’s not over—my ass!”

You unleashed a rapid combo, each hit knocking the bag back with satisfying heft. Across the room, Richard, the mildly judgmental tabby who ruled your apartment with silent disdain blinked at you from his perch.

“See, Richie?” You kneed the bag for good measure. “This is why we can’t have nice things. Because men like Park Sunghoon exist.”

Richard only cocked his head, emitting a single meow and looking entirely unimpressed.

You landed one final kick then sagged against the bag, chest heaving. Richard hopped down, padded over, and brushed against your shin, purring as though to say drama over? snack time?

You blew out a breath, raking sweaty hair off your forehead. “Yeah, buddy. Snack time.” Anything to shift focus away from a certain arrogant boss whose expensive cologne you could still—annoyingly— smell on you.

Sunghoon drove back with one hand still tight on the wheel, the other tapping against the center console in a restless rhythm. His jaw hadn’t unclenched since you slammed the door on his car.

He wasn’t pissed. He just… didn’t like how the afternoon ended. You were supposed to come home with him. You were supposed to want to. 

Instead, you’d thrown some guy’s name in his face and got all defensive like he didn’t have a right to ask. Which was bullshit. You’d let him in once, and he was pretty sure you’d let him in again—hell, he knew you would—but the idea of someone else waiting for you? That didn't sit well for some reason.

Why were you being such a brat? You clearly liked the arrangement, otherwise, you wouldn’t have even let him take you out to lunch. He actually tried, you know? Tried not to make it seem like all he cared about was fucking you. Okay, sure, that was a big part of it—but he did want to get to know you too. And then you had to go and be with someone else? Fuck. He hated this… hated the bitter taste of being someone’s second choice.

You weren’t even dating and he didn’t have a right to ask you who you were seeing on the side. You’d said that yourself. Plus, he didn’t want to date anyway. He didn’t want something soft or complicated. He didn’t want to know what you liked for breakfast or listen to your problems or figure out what you meant when you said fine in a tone that clearly wasn’t.

He just wanted the control back. That’s all this was.

Because the second you said someone else was waiting for you, the balance tipped. And Park Sunghoon didn’t like losing his grip on anything—especially not something he already had in his hands.

He switched into the next lane with a bit more force than necessary, letting the tires roar for him. His thumb tightened on the wheel. Richard. Stupid fucking name. Sounded like a finance bro who wore boat shoes and called people “champ”

He didn’t care who Richard was. He just didn’t like the image of you choosing to go home to anyone else even if he didn’t want you for more than what you were.

Which he didn’t.

Obviously.

He was just annoyed.

Frustrated.

Hard again, if he was being honest.

With a low, irritable sigh, Sunghoon turned into the parking garage of his building and killed the engine. He sat there for a second, resting his head back against the seat with his eyes closed.

This was nothing. You were nothing.

But you had looked really fucking good storming away from him.

Sunghoon gave you space the next day. Not out of guilt but because he figured pushing after yesterday’s disaster would only make things worse. You were temperamental, stubborn as hell, and smart enough to know he was trying.

Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about you. Specifically, about the way those pencil skirts you paraded around made your legs and ass look fantastic. 

By the time Friday rolled around, he’d settled on a strategy: subtlety. A little distance, then a reappearance. Just enough to keep you guessing.

So after five o’clock, when most of the floor had already packed up, he left his office with every intention of catching you at your desk. You always stayed late on Fridays, getting the week's reports done so your Mondays weren’t hell. It was part of your routine, and he knew your routines well.

But when he stepped out, your desk was empty.

He glanced around but only one intern remained. Sunghoon walked over. The intern flinched and straightened instantly.

“Where is everyone?” Sunghoon asked calmly.

The intern blinked, clearly panicking under the pressure. “Uh… there’s a team dinner, sir. At that Kimchi place down the block… I think everyone from our department went.”

Sunghoon didn’t bother replying. He just turned on his heel and left.

The kimchi place was downright dismal. The smell of gochujang and sizzling pork could be smelled even from outside. All of Marketing-Finance Floor 23 seemed crammed into one corner.

As soon as Sunghoon entered the room the conversation  died. The only thing that could be heard was a nervous chorus of “Boss?” 

Sunghoon’s eyes locked on you first. On the hem of your skirt riding high on your crossed legs, your cheeks flushed from beer, and your smile collapsing into a flat line the moment you saw him. You were sitting at a corner table, a half-empty pitcher between you and some guy from Finance whose name Sunghoon didn’t even care to remember.

“Next round’s on me,” he announced, sliding his Amex to the sputtering waitress. This seemed to do the trick because the energy returned to the room accompanied by cheers.

Sunghoon moved toward your table.

“This table’s full.” You said immediately, cold but polite.

But before he could reply, one of the interns sprang up like an obedient golden retriever. “Oh, Mr. Park, you can take my seat!”

You smiled tightly at the intern as Sunghoon sat.

That’s when he noticed that the table was all males. And the one beside you was definitely flirting. Sunghoon vaguely recognized him. Sungchan, or something. The guy leaned in when you laughed at whatever he was saying, his hand dangerously close to your arm.

Sunghoon’s jaw ticked.

“Seems like you’re having a great time,” he said flatly, putting down his drink a little too firmly.

You didn’t even glance at him. “I was.”

“Hmm” he hummed, offering a hollow smile. “Didn’t realize this was such an… intimate team gathering.”

“That's usually how work dinners go.”

“Do you laugh like that with everyone you work with?” he asked coolly, eyes flicking to Sungchan, who was too immersed in conversation with another coworker to pay attention to you two.

“Do not start with this.” You glared.

“I’m just saying what I see.”

“No, you’re just pissed you’re not the center of attention.” You stood up abruptly. “Excuse me.”

Sunghoon didn’t give you a moment. He was right behind you as you slipped around the corner and into the women’s restroom. You barely caught your own reflection before his voice sounded at your back.

“Would Richard approve of you out this late, drinking with a bunch of guys?”

You shot him a deadly look in the mirror. “This is the ladies’ restroom. Get out.”

He leaned against the doorframe, clearly not planning on leaving. “I’m just asking. I’m guessing you two have some kind of open relationship.”

You spun to face him, jaw clenched. “Enough about Richard, already.”

He shrugged, rolling up his sleeves casually. “I mean, I’ve been thinking about it. I don’t really mind it that much anymore.”

Your brow furrowed. “What are you getting at?”

“That you’re taken.” His voice dropped a note. “I thought it would bother me. I don’t usually like sharing. But…”

He closed the distance, backing you up against the sink.

“I could make you forget all about him.”

You swallowed, eyes narrowing. “This is highly inappropriate.”

He stepped between your legs before you could sidestep, one hand pressing to the counter beside your hip.

“Inappropriate would be me fucking you right here,” he said calmly. “So I will fuck you in the stall instead…”

You stared up at him, furious that your heart was racing, furious that your body hadn’t caught up to your mind screaming walk away.

Instead, you took a fistful of his shirt and that’s all it took for the thread to snap. He grabbed your wrist and before you could say another word, he was guiding—no, manhandling—you toward the nearest stall.

You stumbled back into it, the door swinging shut behind you with a loud click. 

“You want to laugh with your little office boy toys, fine. But you know none of them will ever get you like this.” he said, already slipping his hand up under your skirt.

“You’re disgusting” you hissed, even as your thighs parted automatically. 

His smile was lazy, sharp canines appearing. “You like me like this.”

You rolled your eyes but the attitude was cut short when he hooked your underwear to the side and ran his fingers through the wetness he found there.

“Dripping,” he whispered. “All that show out there with that dumb accountant but you’re fucking soaked for me.”

“Are you jealous?” you managed, but your voice was already strangled by want.

“Jealous?” Sunghoon scoffed, his other hand unbuttoning your shirt. “I just hate seeing something I’ve ruined get played with by someone else.”

He flicked open the last button, shoving your shirt off your shoulders with barely a glance. Your bra was in the way for all of two seconds until he hooked a finger under the center and yanked it down.

“Pretty,” he murmured, thumb brushing over your nipple. For a second, he just looked at you, half-naked and panting against the wall. His hand trailed lower, skimming your stomach, fingers hooking under your waistband impatiently.

You gripped the handrail, desperate to keep your footing as he shoved two fingers inside you without warning.

“Don’t make a sound,” he growled. “Or do, I don’t give a shit if the whole building hears you getting split open by your boss’ fingers.”

You bit your lip, failing to stifle the whimper that slipped out as his thumb circled your clit.

“We… we shouldn’t do this here” you choked, hips rocking against his hand. “Anyone could come in—-“

“I know,” he cut in, voice rough. “And I’m going to make you come on my fingers while your coworkers toast to a great fucking work week in the next room.”

He kissed you roughly as his fingers thrust in deeper, making you gasp against his mouth. He swallowed it all.

He undid his belt swiftly but your greedy eyes couldn’t take a peek of him because he spun you around quickly, your hands pressing against the cold wall for balance.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” He lined himself up, pressing the head of his cock against you. “For me to fuck you like the needy little slut you really are.”

“Sunghoon—” Your voice cracked. Whatever protest you had evaporated as he thrust in deeply, filling you so suddenly your forehead almost hit the tile wall.

“I told you to be quiet,” he growled, hand clamping over your mouth as his hips snapped roughly into yours. “Unless you want your entire restaurant to hear how desperate you are.”

You moaned against his palm, muffled, eyes squeezed shut as he fucked you ruthlessly. You hated him, hated yourself for how good it felt, for how much you loved the brutal way he fucked you every time. Your body clenched greedily around him, betraying every bit of pride you had left.

“Fuck,” he hissed against your ear, composure cracking. “This tight cunt… did Richard fuck you before you came here tonight? Did you think of me the whole time?”

You whimpered, shaking your head, overwhelmed by how perfectly he filled and ruined you.

“No?” he laughed darkly, gripping your hair and pulling your head back roughly. “You’re mine. Remember that. I know nobody fucks you like this.”

Your body tightened, dizzy from the sensation of every thrust hitting deeper. The cubicle walls shook with each movement, the cheap metal rattling beneath the weight of your reckless need. 

“Come on,” he whispered harshly, hand sliding down to circle your clit mercilessly. “Now cum for me. Be a good girl for once in your life.”

You shattered instantly, violently, screaming against his palm, your walls fluttering around him. Sunghoon swore, still fucking you through every after shock and only pulling out when he was close. He pumped himself outside and spilled his cum all over your legs.

He held you there for a moment, both of you panting, barely holding yourselves upright against the stall wall. Then, he released you and adjusted himself neatly. Your legs trembled, barely able to stand.

“I’m still mad at you,” you whispered, voice hoarse.

He zipped up without blinking. “Good. You fuck better when you’re mad.”

You kicked the door shut behind you, dropped your bag, and let out a groan that probably startled half the building. Richard blinked up from his favorite spot on the windowsill, tail twitching with interest.

You toed off your shoes and collapsed onto the couch. “Richard, I swear to god, your mom’s about to lose her mind.”

He meowed, hopping down and trotting over, immediately stretching up to press his paws to your knee.

“Do you want to hear how my day went? Or are you just here for pets?” You rubbed behind his ear. “Never mind. You’re the only man in my life who isn’t an egomaniac.”

Richard purred in response, eyes wide and curious.

You sighed and started, “Park Sunghoon is the human equivalent of a migraine. He’s so full of himself. It’s always his way or nothing. He’s obsessed with control. And with my—” You caught yourself, cheeks warming. “—I mean, with being the center of attention.”

Richard licked his paw and gave you the bland, patient stare only cats can manage.

“Do you know what he did at work dinner? He walked in, sucked the air out of the room, and then got all territorial the second someone even looked at me. Like, hello? You’re my boss, not my husband!” You huffed, grabbing a throw pillow and squeezing it to your chest.

“And of course, he always has to one-up me. Always has to have the last word. I swear, he’d argue with a brick wall just to prove he could.” You sighed at the ceiling. “One of these days, I’m going to out-stubborn him, Richard. Just you wait.”

Richard meowed and rolled over, practically demanding you scratch his belly.

You gave in, smiling despite yourself. “If I ever start falling for a guy like him, you have my full permission to claw some sense into me. Okay? I mean it.”

Richard let out a long, slow blink, then tucked his head into your lap.

“Oh, don’t even. I know what you’re thinking. ‘But you let him rail you in a bathroom, so who’s really at fault?’ And yeah, fine, okay. That did happen. Doesn’t mean he gets to act like that.”

You sighed, unzipping your skirt halfway to sprawl more comfortably.

“And what was that comment tonight? ‘Did Richard fuck you before you came here?’ First of all, he’s a cat, you lunatic! Secondly, who says that? Who follows you into the ladies restroom just to whisper bullshit like that in your ear and still manage to look hot doing it?”

Silence.

Richard stretched his front paws and turned away from you.

“I hate him,” you groaned. “I hate that stupid look he gets when he knows I’m seconds away from either punching him or climbing him like a fucking ladder. I hate that he talks to me like he owns my body. I hate that I let him.”

You exhaled. For a moment, you try to let yourself forget the mess outside these walls and just be a girl with a comfy couch and a very good cat.

“He’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Richard purred, which was probably him agreeing.

“…And I need new panties.”

The following Monday was hell. You walked into the building with your chin high and your legs still sore, determined to keep it professional. Sunghoon, of course, didn’t look even slightly affected. He entered the conference room as if he hadn’t rearranged your insides in a public restroom stall less than 48 hours earlier.

The team meeting started normally enough. Mostly about updates, deadlines, and more mind-numbing corporate stuff. You were seated across from him, doing your best to ignore the way his eyes kept drifting to you.

Then came the part where you had to present your weekly figures.

“Your report doesn’t account for the regional shift in quarter-two projections,” Sunghoon said, flipping through your printed pages without looking up.

You gave him a tight smile. “That’s because I was told to prioritize active trends over predictive models. As per last Friday’s brief, sir.”

A few heads turned at your sharp tone.

Sunghoon arched a thick brow. “Then you were told wrong.”

“Oh, so now you’re saying your own directives were wrong?”

“You must’ve misinterpreted them. Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said coolly, shutting the folder.

Your jaw tightened. “Funny, since the last time I ‘misinterpreted’ something, you ended up correcting me right away.”

The air in the room dropped to sub-zero.

Sunghoon smiled. But it wasn’t nice. “Let’s take five. I think some of us need to clear our heads”

No one argued. The team scattered so fast it was like fire had broken out. Then it was just you and him.

“I see the bathroom didn’t teach you anything.” He said, voice low and flat as he rounded the table slowly.

You stood your ground. “If you think you can intimidate me in here just because we—”

“Oh, princess,” he murmured. “I’m not trying to intimidate you.”

He pushed you backward until your thighs hit the edge of the conference table. You blinked, but didn’t move. Stubborn to the end.

“Is this how you want to play it?” you asked, breathing uneven.

His eyes dropped to your hips. “This is how you like it.”

You opened your mouth to fire back but gasped when he dropped to his knees in front of you, palms sliding up the backs of your thighs and pulling you closer to his face, lips brushing against the hem of your skirt.

“Sunghoon—”

“Hush,” he said simply, lifting your leg over his shoulder. “You do too much talking.”

He shoved your panties aside and licked a slow stripe up your center. Your hand flew to the edge of the table, nails digging in. His mouth was hot and merciless, tongue working you open with infuriating skill.

“Is this what you wanted?” he muttered, voice muffled between your thighs. “To act like a brat in front of the team so I’d remind you how to behave?”

You couldn’t answer. His mouth was moving too fast now, tongue circling your clit while his fingers spread you wider. Your head fell back, hips rocking helplessly against his face.

He sucked hard, then pulled back just enough to smirk. “Still think you’re in charge?”

You didn’t trust your voice, so you just whimpered, grinding down on his mouth.

He didn’t stop when your thighs shook or even when you clenched around his tongue, crying out into the empty conference room.

When you finally came, it was with a broken sound and a trembling grip on the polished edge of the table. He kept his mouth on you the whole time, lapping up everything you gave him like he was starved.

Eventually, he stood and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, adjusting his sleeves.

You were still breathless, flushed, legs too weak to stand

“I expect your revised report in my inbox by end of day,” he said smoothly, as if he hadn’t just tongue-fucked you into silence.

Sunghoon’s phone buzzed against the table. A single glance at the caller ID wiped the smugness from his face.

His jaw set. “I have to take this.”

You were still half perched on the edge of the conference table, skirt rucked up, panties sticking to you uncomfortably. “Now?”

He straightened his suit jacket with one sharp tug, then swiped to answer. “Yes, Chairman Park?”

Whatever he heard on the other end made the muscle in his cheek jump. “Understood. I’ll be there in ten.”

He killed the call and grabbed a folder he had tossed aside earlier. “I have to go.” His eyes flicked down to your still open thighs then darted back up as if forcing himself to look away. “Make yourself presentable before leaving”

He grabbed his suit jacket from the chair, ran a hand through his hair, and started toward the door.

“Wait, what?” you asked, still breathless. “Are you seriously just—leaving?”

He didn’t even look back. “I have to take care of something.”

Your mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding, right? You just made me—”

“Clean the table up,” he said, already halfway out. “There’s a team coming in here at four.”

The door shut behind him, leaving only the faint scent of his cologne and the distant click of his shoes fading down the hall.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, yanking your panties back up. “I cannot believe I let that man near me again.”

And once again, you were left cleaning yourself up after Park Sunghoon decided to turn you inside out and vanish like nothing ever happened.

You went back to your desk and channeled every ounce of your anger into the stupid corrections Sunghoon had asked for, using every shred of self-restraint not to add an extremely inappropriate cartoon at the end for his private viewing.

When you finished, there wasn’t much else to do, so you decided to grab some snacks from the staff room. But as you made your way there, you nearly collided with Sunghoon, who was turning the corner accompanied by the CEO, Mr. Park, and a girl you’d never seen before.

The girl looked like she’d just walked off a runway. She was absolutely stunning, with the kind of beauty that made you double-take. She was gazing at Sunghoon with sparkling eyes, clearly smitten, and Sunghoon… was also smiling? And not his usual smirk or that infuriating shit-eating grin, either. This was almost gentle, his eyes crinkling at the corners, a dimple appearing on his cheek. Since when did he have dimples?

You got caught staring when all of you paused in the hallway. After a few awkward seconds, you remembered you were supposed to greet them. “Mr. Park,” you bowed, earning a polite smile from the CEO.

“Oh, hello! Miss Y/L/N, right? Yes, I heard it was your proposal last year that revived the department. Well done! Sunghoon here really picks out the best candidates, doesn’t he?” He clapped Sunghoon on the back and laughed warmly.

Pick out? Well, he certainly picked out the best girl to use. You frowned, but Sunghoon noticed and stepped in smoothly.

“You’re too kind, sir.”

The CEO gestured to the girl. “This is my daughter.”

“Jang Wonyoung,” she said, extending a perfectly manicured hand.

You took it and smiled politely. “Nice to meet you.”

“She’ll be starting here tomorrow,” the CEO continued.

“Here?” you asked, glancing between them. “As in… this department?”

“Indeed. Please treat her well,” Mr. Park said with a friendly nod. You bowed your head again.

“Of course, sir.”

You didn’t realize they accepted new candidates mid-year in this department, but you supposed being the CEO’s daughter had its perks.

“Well, I was just grabbing a refreshment,” you said, offering a brief smile before stepping past them and into the room. 

You glanced over your shoulder and caught Sunghoon stealing a quick glance at you. So this was the “very important business” that made him leave you hot, bothered, and stranded in the conference room? Of course. Giving the CEO’s daughter a personal tour was obviously more urgent than finishing what he’d started with you.

You tried to shake off the weird surge of annoyance building in your chest. You were supposed to be focusing on yourself, right? But ever since your twisted affair with Sunghoon began, your whole life had slipped out of order.

You’d missed your weekend pilates class because your limbs were too sore from being railed in the bathroom. You’d gotten maybe three hours of sleep, replaying every aggravating thing he’d ever done, simmering in irritation and… something else you refused to discuss. You’d even skipped lunch a few times, pretending to be swamped with work just so he wouldn’t get the chance to “kidnap” you again.

Safe to say, Park Sunghoon was wrecking absolute havoc on your routine, and you were desperate to claw back some control.

Maybe this new girl would distract him and he’d finally leave you the hell alone. The idea made your mouth twist with something ugly and in your distracted state, you sipped your freshly brewed coffee, scalding your tongue immediately.

You walked out of the refreshment room with a burnt tongue, a soured mood, and not even a little bit refreshed.

Wonyoung joining your team turned out to be a much bigger hassle than you’d expected. Especially since, out of everyone, you were picked to show her the ropes during her first week. It was like babysitting a celebrity, except the fans were your own coworkers.

Every male employee you passed seemed to have suddenly discovered urgent business near your desk, only to pull you aside with the world’s most obvious fake smiles.

“So, uh… you got her number yet?”

“You think she’s seeing anyone?”

You’d learned to fake a polite smile back and keep it moving, but by Wednesday you were ready to claw your ears off. 

The real cherry on top, however, was Sunghoon himself. With Wonyoung around, he’d doubled down on humiliating you in every meeting. Every little thing you said was picked apart, corrected, or ignored outright. You could feel her perfect eyes on you every time he put you on the spot, and by Friday you were seething.

By the end of the week, you were so keyed up you couldn’t even fake politeness anymore. And unsurprisingly, being micromanaged and dragged into extra tasks had left you behind on your actual work.

Which is how you found yourself still at the office at nearly 3 a.m, hunched over your desk and furiously editing reports with trembling hands and a full mug of forbidden coffee. So much for your no caffeine rule.

Your phone buzzed, and when you saw it was a message from Sunghoon, you nearly hurled it across the room. 

What the hell did he want now? He’d barely acknowledged your existence this week, except to hand you extra work or cut you down in front of the entire team. Maybe he wanted to tell you you’d missed a comma in one of the reports. You knew how much he enjoyed kicking you when you were already down.

Your phone rang again but this time it was a call. You sighed, grabbed it, and answered with zero effort to hide your annoyance. “What?”

“Are you still at the office?” His voice was frustratingly alert for this hour.

“Why?”

“It’s 2am.”

You glanced at the clock. “I am painfully aware. How do you even know I’m here?”

“I can see the security cameras.”

“That’s not creepy at all,” you muttered, spinning in your chair. “Glad to know I can’t even work myself to death in peace.”

“I also saw you were still at your desk when I left earlier. And I know you well enough to know you’d probably stay late.”

“Right, you know me so well,” you shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have about a million reports to correct. Which I got behind on, because I was busy playing tour guide to the little princess all week by the way.”

There was a pause and you almost thought he might apologize. But Sunghoon, as always, surprised you.

“Just… don’t stay too late. The security guards leave at three, and I don’t want to hear about you getting locked in.”

You rolled your eyes. “Noted, boss.”

He hung up before you could add anything else. You tossed your phone onto the desk and stared at your blinking cursor, feeling more annoyed than before.

Sunghoon walked in on the next day already armed with a rare idea. He would let you go home early. You had spent half the night here so the least he could do was let you beat the rush hour traffic.

Then he saw you climb out of Sungchan’s car.

Every good intention died immediately. The muscles in his face tightened so hard into a scowl they ached. He crossed the parking lot in long strides until he was in front of you.

“Morning,” he said impassively. “You two are late.”

He knew you weren’t. The Rolex on his wrist still read 8:58. But the words fired out anyway.

Your easy smile vanished as you simply huffed and strode past him into the building without a word. Sungchan offered a quick bow, clearly confused, then hurried after you. 

Sunghoon’s eyes narrowed. Since when did you commute with Sungchan? Did you not have a perfectly functioning car?

He waited until Sungchan had disappeared back to the accounting floor, before stalking over to your desk. He forced himself to make his tone as casual as possible. You looked irritable enough to bite.

“So,” he said, hands in his pockets, “did you finish those report corrections?”

Without speaking, you lifted a neat stack of files, and set them in his hand. 

Great. Now you weren’t even talking to him.

“I didn’t know you were so close with Sungchan,” he tried, still aiming for non-threatening. “Car trouble? Or is he your new chauffeur?”

You exhaled one of those long, tired sighs that felt like a door slamming in his face before finally looking up at him. The frost in your eyes was familiar, almost nostalgic. He realized he had barely seen you outside meetings last week, and in a twisted way he had missed this exact glare.

“Do you need something?” you asked, voice flat as glass.

He frowned. “No, I was just—”

“Then, if it’s not work-related, I have a lot to do.” You gathered another stack of folders and stood. “And Ms. Jang seems to be waiting for you.”

Sunghoon followed the direction of your nod. Wonyoung stood outside his office with a tablet in her hands. He looked back at you, hoping for one more second of eye contact, something he could read. You were already walking away.

He clenched the corrected reports a little too tightly and turned toward Wonyoung. Whatever nice gesture he’d planned for you earlier was dead on arrival.

You knew from that chilly exchange that your day would not be a walk in the park. The meeting was only ten minutes in and already your nails were half-destroyed from how hard you were digging them into your palm.

Sunghoon was on a roll today. Maybe it was the caffeine or the fact that Wonyoung was seated beside him looking all pretty. But whatever it was, he had decided today was the day to challenge everything you said.

“No,” he cut in for the fourth time, tone clipped, “that’s not what the report reflects. Unless you’ve somehow redefined what productivity looks like, Miss Y/L/N.”

You inhaled sharply. “It’s what the data says. You know, the thing you usually ignore when it doesn’t flatter your genius ideas?”

A few coworkers coughed into their palms. Some even looked up as if  they were watching live combat. Wonyoung, of course, just blinked politely.

Sunghoon’s jaw twitched. “Just because I let you lead these meetings doesn’t mean you should forget who’s running this department.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten,” you snapped. “It’s kind of hard when every sentence from your mouth is a dick-measuring contest with yourself.”

The entire room fell into stunned silence.

Sunghoon didn’t even flinch. He just slowly set down his pen and met your gaze with equal intensity. “I think that’s enough for today. Good job everyone.” 

This scene was very familiar and if you remembered correctly, if you stayed in here another second, he would get you in a compromising situation you’d surely regret later.

So you huffed out a breath and walked out, ignoring the curious looks exchanged behind you. Sunghoon was hot on your heels.

“You’ve got a fucking mouth on you,” he muttered, stalking toward you.

“And you’ve got a god complex. Guess we all have flaws, don’t we?”

“I’m your superior.”

“And I’m sick of you reminding me that when I don’t roll over every time you bark!”

He was suddenly in front of you, invading your space. “I wouldn’t have to remind you if you knew how to behave.”

“Says the one who doesn’t know how to treat a woman unless your dick’s out.”

Sunghoon's hand gripped the back of your neck and shoved you into the filing cabinets inside the copy room, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to tell you the gloves were off.

“Oh, you wanna talk about dicks?” he hissed, his mouth now inches from yours. “Let me remind you how good mine felt buried inside you.”

You refused to back down. “Are you going to fuck the attitude out of me again? How very predictable.”

You twisted in his grip, shoving his chest, but he caught your wrists.

“You want to keep mouthing off?” he rasped, advancing until your bodies hit the cabinet.

“Fuck you.”

He answered by twisting a fist into your hair and crushing his mouth to yours, his tongue driving past your lips as though he could steal every spark of your anger. His free hand slid down to cup your jaw, fingers locking around your chin to hold you still.

“Fucking look at you” he spat, lips swollen and smeared as he tore himself from your mouth “All that attitude, but you’re shaking for me. Who’s the predictable one?”

You glared, stubborn to the last, but your hips betrayed you with a needy twitch. He grabbed you and spun you, forcing you forward until your chest slammed against the cabinet’s freezing edge. His hand bunched up your skirt high, the other tearing your tights and panties down in one rough motion.

“Let me guess,” he sneered, fingers trailing between your legs, “Sungchan made you this wet? Or was it the thought of me bending you over like this?”

You gasped when two long fingers plunged inside you. There was nothing tender in the way he moved—just a ruthless rhythm, demanding your surrender.He curled his fingers, thumb flicking over your clit, making you whimper despite yourself.

“God, listen to you. Moaning like a slut in the copy room,” he taunted, voice dropping lower. “You act so high and mighty, but you’d let me fuck you anywhere, wouldn’t you?”

You bit your wrist to stifle a cry, your hips rocking back against his hand.

“That’s right. Take it. You love it when I treat you like this. You want it rougher?  Or do you want me to slow down and pretend I give a shit about your feelings?”

“Don’t you dare slow down,” you snapped, words strangled with need.

He laughed breathlessly. “Didn’t think so.”

He pulled his fingers out and licked them with a wicked grin. “Pathetic. You’re dripping for me. After all your bitching, you still can’t help yourself.”

You twisted, grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him down, biting his lower lip hard enough to taste blood. “Just shut up and fuck me.”

His belt hit the floor within a second. He gripped your hips, lined himself up, and thrust in so deep and sudden you yelped. He didn let you adjust to his sheer size, simply grabbed your wrists, pinning them behind your back with one hand, the other squeezing your throat, forcing your back to arch.

“Don’t you dare close your legs. I wanna see you take every inch,” he snarled, grabbing your thighs and holding them wide as he pounded into you. His cock was stretching you so wide and deep, hitting all the right spots until you were a mess of moans and broken pleas. 

Every thrust was sharp and punishing, your body shuddering under him, wetness dripping down your thighs. If anyone heard, they’d know exactly what he was doing to you but you could not care less at that moment.

“Who do you belong to?” His voice was sharp. “Say it. Say you’re mine, or I’ll leave you like this.”

You shook, barely able to breathe. “Yours. I’m yours.”

He leaned down, teeth grazing your ear. “Louder.”

“Yours!” you gasped, voice echoing in the tiny room.

“Yeah, that’s right. And when you walk out of here, everyone’s going to know it. I want my cum leaking down your thighs during the next meeting. I want you thinking about this every time you sit down at your desk. You got that?”

You nodded desperately, tears stinging your eyes from the stretch and the force of his thrusts.

He let go of your wrists, grabbed your hips, and fucked you harder, so rough you saw stars. He reached around and rubbed your clit fast, breath hot against your neck.

“Cum for me, baby.”

You came so hard, whole body seizing in the waves of your orgasm. Your legs shook, almost giving out able to hold you up. Sunghoon kept going, chasing his own release, until he pulled out and came by your legs with a guttural curse.

You let your head fall back against the cabinet, trying to catch your breath. The fury that had burned so hot just minutes ago had dulled into a simmer of exhausted annoyance. You expected to turn around and see Sunghoon already tugging up his pants, smoothing his hair back into place, maybe even tossing a smug remark over his shoulder like "clean yourself up."

But when you looked, he wasn’t walking away. He was still standing behind, holding a handkerchief similar to the one he’d used when you ate together.

And then, to your complete disbelief, he knelt down.

You blinked. "What are you—"

Before you could finish, he was gently wiping the mess off your thighs—his and yours. His touch was careful, the same hands that just made you see stars  now moving with a tenderness that almost made you recoil.

When he finally stood again, you caught the faint but unmistakable flush on the tips of his ears. He avoided your gaze for a moment, brushing his palms against his pants as if trying to rid himself of the moment.

“Did something happen to your car?”

It took you a second to catch up. “Uhm, yeah, it wouldn’t start this morning. It’s at the shop now.”

He nodded once, then looked at you with a neutral expression. “I can give you a ride home. And to work, until it’s fixed.”

You paused mid-motion as you adjusted your tights. That was… surprisingly considerate. Especially coming from someone who usually barked orders instead of offering help.

“I… sure. You can give me a ride home today,” you said cautiously. “As for tomorrow, I’ll think about it.”

His gaze lingered on you for a second longer than and then he nodded again.

“All right then.”

He wasn’t forcing a choice on you this time. How strange.

Later, when the workday finally ended, you waited by your desk. Usually, you were the last one to leave, and tonight was no exception so the office was mostly dark and quiet by the time Sunghoon emerged from his office.

“Ready?” he asked walking over.

“Yes,” you said, grabbing your things and falling into step beside him as you made your way to the elevator. 

There was an odd tension between you, but not the usual  combative kind. This was almost awkward. Because for the first time, you were leaving together without arguing or being forced into it.

Once inside his car, you couldn’t help but remember how hard you’d slammed the door the last time you were here. This time, you shut it gently, settling into the plush seat. Sunghoon glanced at you. “Remind me your your address again.”

You gave it to him, then the rest of the ride was quiet except for the faint music playing on the radio. The air inside the Mercedes was icy cold, and you found yourself rubbing your arms.

“Are you cold?” he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the silence and making you flinch a little.

“A bit. I forgot my jacket at the office,” you admitted.

Without a word, he turned down the AC. You shot him a surprised look and muttered a quiet, “Thanks.”

What were these weird, almost pleasant interactions? It was disorienting, acting as if he hadn’t called you a slut while pounding into you just hours ago.

He pulled up in front of your building. Every rational instinct in you said to just thank him and get out, but the small, reckless part of you that liked these quiet moments won out.

“Would you like to come up?” you asked, the words almost slipping out before you could stop yourself.

Sunghoon looked stunned and was silent for so long you nearly rescinded the offer. But then he switched off the ignition and unbuckled his seatbelt in one smooth motion.

You led the way up the stairs, glancing back with a quick, “Sorry, the elevator’s busted, but I’m only on the third floor.” As you fumbled with your keys, you realized you hadn’t even checked if the place was tidy. Shit. You hadn’t expected any visitors—especially not Park Sunghoon.

You pushed open the door and peeked inside. Not bad. At least your laundry wasn’t everywhere.

“Come in,” you said, stepping aside so he could enter. He took off his shoes, scanning the small apartment with that unreadable expression of his. You couldn’t tell if he was silently judging your shoebox space or mentally praising your attempts at decorating.

“Uhm, I’ll get you something to drink. Tea? Water?”

“Water’s fine,” he replied, following you toward the kitchen.

“Okay, you can just—” You stopped dead in your tracks as your gaze landed on the elephant in the room: your punching bag, standing proud in the corner, with Sunghoon’s picture still taped squarely to its center. His face was staring straight at both of you.

You spun around in a panic to check if he’d noticed, but of course he had.

“I see you have very particular ways of entertaining yourself in here,” he said, amusement curling in his voice.

“Oh, god.” You rushed over, trying to untangle the heavy bag from its hook, but it wouldn’t budge. You tried peeling off the picture, but you’d used so much tape that it refused to budge.

“This is not what it seems,” you stammered, attempting to hide the offending evidence with your body.

He just grinned. “I think it’s exactly what it seems. But don’t worry…I use your pictures to let off steam, too.” He winked, and your mouth dropped open at the implication.

“What—?”

Before things could spiral further, Richard picked that moment to waltz out of your bedroom. The cat sauntered past you and headed straight for Sunghoon, tail held high, eyes curious. Sunghoon crouched down and gave the orange tabby a gentle pat on the head.

“And who is this?” he asked, stroking the soft fur.

“Richard,” you said simply, waiting for his reaction.

His hand froze mid-pet, and he looked up at you, stunned disbelief written all over his face. Then an incredulous laugh burst out of him.

“This is Richard…?” he asked, straightening up, still half-laughing.

“Yup.” You grinned, unable to hide it. “Bet you feel pretty dumb now.”

He shook his head, still smiling. “For getting jealous of a cat?!”

You tried to look innocent, but the satisfaction on your face was impossible to miss. “Guess so.”

“Who names their cat Richard?” Sunghoon asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s wrong with the name Richard?”

“That’s a grown man’s name.”

You crossed your arms. “I named him after the tiger in my favorite movie, Life of Pi. It felt appropriate.”

He glanced at the orange tabby. “He hardly looks like a tiger to me.”

“He’s very fierce and wise, actually.” You scratched behind Richard’s ear. “I think he can even sense bad vibes in people. He scratched my ex’s face once and a week later I found out the idiot was cheating.”

Right on cue, Richard tapped Sunghoon’s leg with a paw, then purred the moment Sunghoon scooped him up.

Sunghoon smirked. “Guess my vibes are fine.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t trust the judgement of a cat.”

Sunghoon scoffed and scratched beneath Richard’s chin, earning another contented purr. “Can’t believe you named him after a tiger,” he murmured.

“Have you even seen Life of Pi?” you asked, suspicion creeping in.

He shook his head. “I never had the time. There’s a tiger in it, I assume?”

Your jaw dropped. “You work eighty hours a week and still find time to ruin my life, but you can’t spend two hours on one of the best films ever?”

“That’s a bold statement.”

“Sit.” 

A half-smile tugged at his mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

You queued the movie while Sunghoon lounged stiffly on the couch, Richard curled stubbornly in his lap. You tossed him a blanket both to be polite and because your apartment ran cool at night.

“No commentary until after. I take this movie very seriously.”

“I think I can hold my tongue.”

You explained every detail as the movie played—why Richard Parker was the tiger’s name, the symbolism of whether everything was real or just in Pi’s mind, the parts that always made you cry or laugh. Sunghoon watched, surprisingly attentive, occasionally glancing at you as much as the screen.

At some point, you realized your legs were touching. And somewhere between Pi’s first dazzling storm and his heartbreaking plea to the universe Sunghoon’s shoulder arm slipped behind you on the coach. 

You’d occasionally glance his way, noticing the slight furrow of his thick brows during emotional scenes and the small smiles when something amused him. You had never really seen Sunghoon relax like this, unguarded, his features softening as he became absorbed in the story.

At some point, your exhaustion caught up to you and without even realizing it, your eyelids grew heavy.

It wasn’t until morning sunlight started filtering through the blinds hours later that you woke up. Your cheek was pressed against something warm and firm and blinking sleepily, you realized with a jolt that it wasn’t a pillow… it was Sunghoon’s chest. His arm was loosely wrapped around you, his head tilted slightly, his breathing steady and peaceful.

You’d cuddled in your sleep. Oh lord.

After that accidental night on the couch, everything changed in subtle ways. You weren’t exactly friends, but you weren’t enemies either. He still rolled his eyes at your snark, you still muttered under your breath about his god complex—but now, he took you home every night. 

And somehow, that always turned into “let’s just watch something before bed,” which inevitably became shared popcorn, shared blankets, and shared pillows.

Some nights, you’d fall asleep on opposite ends of the couch and wake up tangled together, Richard squeezed somewhere in the middle like an orange pillow. Other nights, there was lingering heat—a kiss pressed to your shoulder, or the back of your neck, when he thought you were already asleep.

You’d convinced yourself you were fine with this weird in-between. You even ignored the fact that, lately, you kind of wanted him to stay over more. You liked seeing him half awake and soft in your kitchen, hair sticking up, pouring two cups of coffee.

But it couldn’t stay sweet forever.

It happened on a Thursday. You were in the shower, humming to yourself, when you realized you’d left your phone on your bed. Sunghoon, making himself at home in your apartment as always, went to grab it for you when it buzzed but the battery died at that moment. He opened your nightstand drawer, looking for a charger.

And found your stash.

He picked up the monster dildo first, brow arching so high it nearly disappeared into his hairline. The rose toy rolled out right after, bouncing off his knuckle and landing with a soft thud on your sheets.

You stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, hair dripping, only to find Sunghoon standing by your bed, your entire sex toy arsenal on proud display in his hands.

You froze. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He looked up, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Well, well… I always knew you were insatiable, but this is impressive.”

You wanted to melt into the floor. “Put those back.”

He turned the monster dildo over in his palm, appraising it like a weapon. “You actually use this? On yourself?”

You tried to snatch it, but he pulled it just out of reach. “Give it—”

He cut you off with a look that said don’t-even-try, and just like that, all the softness of the past week evaporated.

“Why bother with these?” he asked, stepping closer until your knees hit the bed. “When you’ve got me?”

You glared, embarrassment making your skin burn. “Sometimes you’re not around, asshole.”

His smirk darkened. “Then I guess we better make up for lost time, don’t you think?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he pressed a hand to your shoulder, pushing you gently to sit on the edge of the mattress. He tossed the toys down beside you, crowding into your space, heat pouring off him in waves.

“Here’s how this is going to go,” he said, voice dropping to a growl. “You’re going to show me exactly how you use these. And then I’m going to show you why you’ll never need them again.”

He slipped your towel down, his eyes devouring every inch of your glistening skin. He picked up the rose toy and flicked it on, the gentle buzz loud in the quiet room.

“Lay back,” he ordered, and you did—body already shaking with anticipation.

He tossed the rose toy onto the bed, its gentle buzz loud in the quiet room. You hesitated, still flushed from the shower, feeling the heat of his gaze as you settled back against your pillows. Sunghoon kneeled at tj, legs spread, dark eyes devouring every inch of your exposed skin.

“Go on,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing. “Show me how you play when you’re alone. I want to see everything.”

You could feel his eyes burning into you as you pressed the toy against your clit, legs falling open wider for him, not just for the toy’s sake but because the hunger in his gaze made you feel more confident. The rose fluttered, sending tiny waves through you, and you couldn’t help the shaky sounds spilling from your lips.

He leaned forward a little, his voice husky. “Shit,” he said quietly. “Do you always fuck yourself this pretty, or is it just because I’m watching?”

Your breath caught, fingers slipping as your thighs tensed. He smirked, settling a hand over your knee to keep you wide open. “Don’t hide from me. I want to see every single thing you do to yourself when you’re alone. I want to know exactly what it takes to make you come when I’m not here.”

You whined, rolling your hips. “Sunghoon—please—”

He watched the toy kiss you, watched you tremble, and his eyes got darker, voice roughening. “I bet you rub yourself like this just wishing it was my tongue instead of that toy.” He let his hand slide up, tracing your thigh, almost but not quite touching where you wanted him. “Or do you imagine my fingers fucking you open, filling you up until you can’t take any more?”

You nodded, too close to care about being coy. The toy buzzed higher and you gasped, feeling your orgasm start to crest.

But his hand shot out, stopping yours, and he leaned in until his mouth hovered right next to your ear. “Don’t come until I say. You know better than that.”

You whimpered in frustration.

He plucked the toy from your hand, turning it off with a click. “You want to come, princess?” he whispered, and the teasing was gone from his tone now, replaced with a darker command. “Open your legs wider. Let me show you how it’s done.”

His mouth was on you a second later. His tongue slid greedily over your clit, circling, then flattening as he sucked. His fingers pressed into you, filling you in a way the toy never could.

His gaze remained locked on your face. His dark eyes never looked as alive as when he was looking up from between your thighs.

“God, you’re so fucking wet,” he groaned, breath warm against your skin. “You really did get yourself worked up for me. You love being watched, don’t you? Love knowing you have all my attention, huh? You are a greedy little thing.”

You couldn’t answer in anything but incoherent mumbles and moans. His hand pressed firmly over your stomach, holding you still as he sucked and licked, working you closer, refusing to give you the mercy of release until he decided you’d earned it.

“Now,” he growled, voice barely more than a snarl, “cum for me now.”

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up, coming apart in his mouth, trembling and gasping as your orgasm took over—harder than anything that little toy could’ve ever managed. He licked you through it, holding you until you finally stopped shaking.

When he finally detached from you, his mouth was slick, his eyes still hungry. He leaned over, kissing you deep and dirty so you could taste yourself on his tongue, and whispered, “Next time you want to play with your toys, you do it while I watch. Got it?”

As Sunghoon started spending more nights at your place, he made it a habit to try every toy in your collection. He’d probably tried every last one on you, determined to learn which ones made you come the hardest. But his absolute favorite wasn’t from your drawer at all, it was something he picked out and bought himself. A sleek black plug that vibrated on command.

You’d given him attitude about it. He just smiled, handed you the plug, and watched as you put it in before work. That was three hours ago.

Now, you were walking through the office with the plug buried deep inside, thighs clenched tight even though Sunghoon hadn’t so much as touched the remote yet. You couldn’t deny there was a weird thrill in the risk, in not knowing when or if he’d use it. But after weeks together, you also knew that Sunghoon loved pushing your limits… Especially in public.

“Y/N!” Sungchan’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. He caught up to you in the hallway.

You smiled at him, adjusting the stack of files in your arms. “Hi, Sungchan!”

He grinned back and took half your papers before you could protest. “Hey, where have you been lately? We haven’t seen you at a single dinner since the last quarter ended.”

You scrambled for an excuse that didn’t involve confessing that Sunghoon had been monopolizing all your nights lately. “Oh, uh… I had family visiting, so I’ve been showing them around.”

He nodded, believing it. “Ah, I see. Still, it’d be nice if you could make it to the next one. I miss—uh, we miss you over there.”

You smiled back, heart squeezing a bit at his earnestness. “I miss it too. I’ll definitely be there next—AH!”

A sudden jolt of vibration inside you cut your sentence short. Your knees nearly buckled as the plug came to life rocketing through your core.

Sungchan stopped, concern written all over his face. “Are you okay?”

You forced a brittle smile, fighting to stay upright. “Y-yeah, sorry. Leg cramp. Must’ve overdone it at Pilates.”

The toy started again, stronger this time. You bit down a whimper, gripping the papers tighter as your thighs squeezed together in helpless reaction.

You didn’t need to look far for the culprit. Sunghoon strolled out of the copy room at that exact moment, remote hidden in his palm, satisfaction flickering behind his polite mask. He had clearly listened to every word of your conversation and waited for the perfect moment to torture you.

“Oh, boss!” Sungchan said, bowing politely. 

“Everything alright here?” he asked, his eyes never leaving your face. You could tell from the curl at the corner of his mouth that he was enjoying every second of your squirming.

Sungchan nodded, shifting the papers in his arms. “I was just helping Y/N with these reports.”

Sunghoon’s gaze flicked downward, taking in your shaky legs. “Miss Y/L/N, are you feeling alright? You seem… tense.”

You met his eyes, breathless, fighting not to murder him on the spot. “I’m fine. Really. Just… cramps.”

He tilted his head, feigning concern as his thumb rolled the dial a little higher. The vibration inside you grew wicked and relentless.

“Let me know if you need to step away,” he said, voice low and laced with dark amusement. “I wouldn’t want you to be… uncomfortable at work.”

You clenched your jaw and glared at him, vowing silent revenge.

Sungchan stood there awkwardly, still clutching half your paperwork, completely unaware that you were one second away from dropping to your knees from something a lot filthier than “cramps.”

“Miss Y/L/N, a word in my office,” Sunghoon said finally, voice pleasant enough to fool anyone who didn’t know him. His thumb pressed the remote again and another deep vibration nearly made you cry. Your hand shot out, steadying yourself on the wall as Sungchan frowned in concern.

“I’ll take those,” Sunghoon added, collecting the reports from Sungchan with a civil nod. “Thank you, Sungchan. That’ll be all.”

He waited for you to follow, every step a test of your composure. You walked, feeling every throb, every twist of sensation as the plug kept buzzing on and off in random intervals.

As soon as his office door clicked shut, Sunghoon pressed you back against it and his mouth was on your neck. His hand trailed down your spine, under your skirt, gripping your ass with possessive force. You gasped, hips bucking against his.

He didn’t bother hiding his hunger. “On your knees. Right now.”

You dropped, the plush carpet digging into your knees as you looked up at him. Your hands trembled, but he just pressed the remote again, sending another jolt through the toy. He kept his gaze locked on yours, undoing his belt slowly, his cock was already thick and hard when he pulled it out.

“Keep your hands behind your back,” he said, biting his lip. “If you touch me before I say, or if you stop moving, you don’t get to cum. Understand?”

You nodded, biting your lip as he guided himself to your mouth. The plug thrummed inside you again and the sharp waves of pleasure made your whole body twitch. “Speak”

“Yes, sir.”

“Open that pretty mouth,” he said, smirking as you took him in, hollowing your cheeks and letting spit drip down your chin. 

He thrust in shallowly but he was big enough to make you gag. The plug buzzed again matching his rhythm, torturing you until you were a quivering mess.

“So good,” he praised, one hand tangled in your hair as you sucked him down. “Look at you. Fuck, you’re so pretty with my cock in your mouth. You love it, don’t you?”

You whimpered around him, letting your tongue swirl around his, eyes focused on a vein that kept pulsing agains your nose. He pulled out just enough to let you gasp for air, thumb swiping the mess from your lips. “If you want to come, keep working for it.”

You took him back in, letting him fuck your throat while the toy buzzed harder inside you. You were shaking, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity. He watched you mesmerized, drinking in the sight of you debased and ruined.

He pressed the remote, cutting the vibration just as you were about to tip over, and you whined, hips bucking in frustration. He just laughed, thrusting deeper, hips stuttering as you gagged around him, drool and precum slicking your chin.

“Beg for it,” he said, pulling you off with a pop. “Tell me why you deserve to come.”

You sobbed, voice shaking. “Please, Sunghoon, I’ve been good, so good… Please let me come—I need it, I need you—”

He groaned, thumb stroking your cheek. “Yes, such a good girl.” He yanked you to your feet, spinning you and bending you over his desk. 

He pinned you down with one hand between your shoulder blades, while the other finally reached between your legs. He pressed the remote again but on full power this time, the plug vibrating so violently it nearly knocked the sense from you.

He thrust inside, burying himself to the hilt, the sensation almost too much to bear with the toy still inside you. “You cum when I say. Not a second before. Or I’ll leave you aching all night.”

He fucked you hard against his expensive mahogany desk. It’d been a while since you found yourself in this situation.The first time, you'd been on the verge of quitting. Now, you were in so deep the thought of leaving almost felt absurd.

The room filled with the sound of skin on skin. “So fucking tight around my cock, you’re made to be used, aren’t you? You want everyone to know how filthy you are?”

You could only nod, biting the desk to stifle your screams.

When he finally let you come, it was with a snarl of permission. Your body convulsed, legs trembling so hard you nearly collapsed. He followed with a growl, pulling out at the last second to empty himself around your legs.

He leaned in, breath hot on your ear. “You did good, baby. But next time, if you stop for even a second, I’ll edge you in every meeting until you’re begging on your knees in front of everyone.”

He pulled himself into his pants again nd handed you a tissue with a twisted smile. “Don’t you dare take that plug out until I tell you.”

On Friday, you let your best friend Jiah drag you to a tiny café two blocks from the office. It had been weeks since you’d seen her in person, and she was determined to catch up over overpriced pastries and matcha lattes.

Jiah perched on the edge of her seat, eyes bright. “So? How’s the office drama? Last time we talked you were ready to throw a stapler at your boss.”

You forced a laugh, swirling foam with your straw. “The drama hasn’t died but let’s just say my ways of coping are … better.”

She wiggled her brows. “Oooh, do tell.”

You dodged, asking about her family instead. Jiah launched into updates, including a long tangent about her older sister, Yerin.

“You remember Yerin’s boyfriend? The med-school guy?” Jiah said, breaking off a piece of croissant. “She just found out she’s pregnant.”

Your brows shot up. “Seriously? Weren’t they being careful?”

“That’s the thing… They were doing the pull-out method.” Jiah rolled her eyes. “He swore he had ‘great timing’ Turns out pre-cum can have sperm, so… surprise baby.”

You choked on your latte. “Wait, that can happen? I thought it was only risky if—”

“Nope.” She wiped her fingers on a napkin. “Doc told her even a tiny amount can be enough. She was only a week late before the test lit up like a Christmas tree.”

A cold prickle slid down your spine. Two weeks late. You did a quick mental calculation. Your own period was… what, four days overdue now? Maybe five? You’d chalked it up to stress and the whirlwind that was Park Sunghoon, but now every twinge in your body felt like a warning siren.

Jiah kept talking, but her voice blurred under the thud of your own heartbeat. You flashed back to all the times Sunghoon pulled out only at the last second… or sometimes not at all. Most of the times you’d had sex it was either after an argument or an emotional moment where neither of you paid much attention to anything other than getting into each other’s pants. You thought you were safe enough. Apparently you had thought wrong.

“Y/N? You zoning out on me?” Jiah frowned.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “Work headache.”

She reached over and squeezed your hand. “Take a break this weekend, okay?”

You nodded and checked your watch, suddenly eager to leave. You hugged her goodbye outside the café, then headed straight to the corner pharmacy. In your mind you could already see two pink lines and Sunghoon’s cold expression.

Inside the bright aisles, you grabbed the first pregnancy test pack you saw, plus a bottle of aspirin for the impending migraine that was coming your way. Receipt in hand, you tucked everything into your bag and headed home, with your stomach in knots.

In the elevator up to your apartment, you pressed a palm to your flat abdomen and exhaled. Maybe your cycle was just off. It wouldn’t be the first time. Still, you couldn’t shake this weird feeling. The memory of Sunghoon’s hands on your hips, his whispered orders, and the way he sometimes pulsed inside you before he pulled out.

Richard greeted you at the door with a questioning meow. You set the test on the bathroom sink, heart pounding so loud you almost didn’t hear him.

“Give me a minute, buddy,” you whispered.

You pulled out tue test and stared at the white stick on the sink like it was a cursed object.

Three minutes. That’s what the instructions said. Wait three minutes to know what the rest of your life would look like. But you were already sweating thirty seconds in, pacing in tight circles while Richard watched from the hallway as if he somehow knew something serious was happening.

You didn’t feel pregnant. Whatever that meant. You felt tired, bloated, a little nauseous…but you’d asummed it all the work stress, Sunghoon, bad sleep, and probably the coffee addiction you’d reignited. You kept telling yourself that. Over and over. But still… your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

You set a timer on your phone and turned it face down. The longest three minutes of your life ticked by. You tried distracting yourself by doomscrolling and petting Richard. Nothing worked. Your eyes kept flicking toward the bathroom, it was as if the damn test was whispering your name from the counter.

Finally the timer went off and the sound startled you so bad, you had to steel yourself before you flipped the phone and stepped back into the bathroom.

Two lines.

Two very, very pink lines.

You picked up the test with shaky fingers, hoping maybe your vision was just messed up. You held it up to the light. Still two lines. 

“Oh my god.” Your voice came out hoarse. “Oh my god.”

You sank onto the floor, test still in hand in your shaky hands. Your mouth was dry. Your skin felt clammy. The terrifying, irreversible shift of knowing your body wasn’t just yours anymore. 

The idea settled like a stone in your gut. You didn’t know what to feel or think. 

How far along? When did it happen? Was it that night in the bathroom? His apartment? The goddamn copy room?

You pressed your palms into your eyes, trying not to panic. You were smart. It wasn’t like you to miss something as important as using protection. God, it was because Sunghoon distracted you in ways no one else did. 

You glanced down at the test again. Still two lines. Still screaming the same thing.

Richard meowed softly from the doorway. You looked at him, voice barely above a whisper.

“…What the hell am I supposed to do?”

The next morning, you woke up before your alarm, heart pounding with dread and disbelief. The first thing you saw was the positive pregnancy test on your nightstand as undeniable proof of your stupidity. You grabbed your bag and headed to the pharmacy the second it opened. Just to be sure. Maybe the first one was faulty, or expired, or just wrong. It had to be.

But it wasn’t.

You sat in your bathroom, knees drawn to your chest, staring at two pink lines for the second time in twelve hours. No matter how many times you blinked, they didn’t change. You called your doctor’s office and managed to snag an appointment for later that afternoon.

Now came the harder part which was getting out of work. That meant you had to face Sunghoon.

You waited until after the rush of meetings to slip into his office. He was at his desk, brow furrowed over some report. He barely looked up.

“What is it?” His tone was brisk, but you could hear the familiar thread of concern woven through.

You forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. “I need to leave a little early today. I, uh, have a personal appointment.”

His eyes flickered up. “What kind of appointment?”

You felt your pulse spike. “Just… some stuff I’ve been putting off. Nothing serious.” You tried to sound casual, but even to your own ears it was a little too shaky.

He didn’t look convinced. “You don’t usually ask to leave early. Are you feeling okay?”

You nodded too quickly. “Fine. It’s nothing, really.”

He watched you for a long moment, then nodded, though his gaze was sharper now. “All right. You can go. Just let me know if you need anything.”

You managed a tight smile, thanked him, and hurried out. The relief was only temporary. You felt his eyes on you as you packed up your bag later. You kept your head down, moving quickly through the halls, trying to breathe. You just needed to get out without drawing attention.

But as you stepped out onto the sidewalk, you heard your name.

“Y/N.”

You turned to see Sunghoon coming after you. He stopped in front of you, face tight with concern.

“What’s going on?” he asked quietly, lowering his voice. “You’ve been weird all week, and now you’re leaving in the middle of the day. Did something happen? Is someone bothering you?”

You tried to keep your voice steady. “I told you, I just have an appointment.”

He studied you, eyes searching your face for the truth. “If it’s something serious, you know you can tell me, right?”

You couldn’t meet his gaze. “It’s nothing you need to worry about. I promise.”

He didn’t move. “Y/N—”

“I’ll be back tomorrow. I just… need a day, okay?” You stepped around him, heart pounding.

He watched you go, suspicion and worry etched into every line of his face.

You barely noticed the city traffic as you made your way to your doctor’s office. Part of you wished you could just tell him, have him hold you, promise that everything would be all right. But you weren’t ready.

And you had no idea what he’d do when he finally found out.

You spent the entire afternoon at the clinic—filling out forms with trembling hands, answering questions you barely heard, and then sitting through the blood test, heart racing the whole time. The nurse gave you a gentle smile as she bandaged your arm, telling you the results would be ready the next day. You nodded numbly, thanked her, and collected your things. You felt both lighter and heavier at once—like the truth was closing in from all sides.

Outside, dusk was already settling over the city. You wrapped your coat tighter around you and pushed through the clinic doors, bracing for cold air and the blur of street noise.

What you didn’t expect was to see Sunghoon leaning against the rail, arms crossed, his gaze locked on the entrance like he’d been waiting there for hours.

You stopped short, a fresh wave of anxiety crashing through you. “Sunghoon?”

He looked you up and down, his eyes dark with worry. “So it was a doctor’s appointment.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. You clutched your purse tighter.

“Are you sick?” he asked quietly, stepping closer, scanning your face for any sign of injury or pain. “Or is it something worse?”

You shook your head quickly, voice barely more than a whisper. “No. I’m not sick.”

He exhaled, but didn’t relax. “Then what is it? You’ve been acting strange all week. Avoiding me, lying about where you’re going—” He broke off, jaw working. “Are you in trouble? Is someone—?”

“No,” you said, sharper than you meant. “It’s not like that. I just… I needed to figure some things out on my own first.”

He let that hang in the air, the weight of your silence stretching between you. Finally, he spoke, voice much softer. “Okay… and did you figure it out?”

You looked away, blinking hard. “I’ll know tomorrow,” you managed. 

He nodded slowly, studying you for a long moment before speaking again. “I have an important meeting, but I’ll take you home first.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do. Come on.”

He extended his hand toward you, and for a second, you hesitated. But eventually, your fingers curled around his. You’d never walked together like this before—hand in hand, quiet, deliberate—and it felt oddly intimate. Like a threshold you weren’t sure either of you had meant to cross.

If you were pregnant… would Sunghoon want to make things official? Would he ask you to be with him just because of a child? You weren’t even sure what you were to him now. But the thought grew heavier with each step you took beside him.

You bit down on your quivering lip, stopping without meaning to.

“What is it?” he asked, turning to face you. His brow furrowed when he saw your eyes glassy with tears. He stepped close and framed your face with gentle palms. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I…” You didn’t want to tell him yet, not until you were completely sure. But it felt like a weight on your chest, making it harder to breathe. And when he looked at you like that, with concern instead of distance, part of you wanted to believe he wouldn’t hate you.

“I took a pregnancy test yesterday.”

His thumb paused its soothing sweep across your cheek. You swallowed. “Two tests, actually…They were both positive.”

He didn’t speak for eight whole seconds. You counted. And in those eight seconds, your mind conjured every worst-case scenario. Maybe he’d pull away and leave. Maybe he’d say you did this on purpose, and accuse you of trying to trap him. Maybe he’d deny it was even his.

“You’re pregnant?” was all he said, softly.

He didn’t look angry. Or disgusted. Just… serious. Like he was processing.

“I don’t know,” you replied quickly, heart racing. “The tests aren’t always accurate. I looked it up… if they’re expired or stored too long, they can give false results. Or if you think you’re pregnant, your body can sometimes trick itself, and the hormone levels get messed up and—” You stopped, breath catching. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

He watched you quietly, then asked, “And you got blood work today?”

You nodded. “Yeah. But the lab closed early, so I won’t get results until tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he said, exhaling. “I’ll come with you.”

“You really don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do. Of course I do.” His tone was firm but not angry. “Y/N, I’m just as involved in this as you. Just… don’t push me away, alright?”

You looked up into his eyes and, for a moment, saw a flicker of emotion you’d never seen before. Maybe he was nervous too, but he was holding it together for both of you. He didn’t seem angry. If anything, he seemed determined to stay.

It was the first time in days you didn’t feel completely alone. You let yourself lean into that support, just for now.

When you got to your apartment, Sunghoon decided to stay, and you didn’t protest. The thought of being alone right now was almost unbearable.

“Are you hungry? I’m assuming you didn’t eat lunch today,” he said, slipping off his suit jacket.

“Uh… yeah, actually. I didn’t.” You only just realized how hollow your stomach felt.

“I’ll make something for you,” he offered.

You turned your head slowly on the couch, eyeing him skeptically. “You cook?”

“I’m not the best,” he admitted, rolling up his sleeves. “But I make the best fried abalone you’ll ever taste.”

“Really…” you said, doubt dripping from your tone.

He cracked a grin. “You’ll see.”

Turns out he did make the best butter-fried abalones you’d ever tasted. And this was coming from someone who’d always been on the fence about seafood. You scraped your plate nearly clean, only stopping when you realized licking it would cross some sort of line.

You let out a blissed sigh. “This food just fucked me and sucked me good.”

Sunghoon paused mid-bite, eyes flicking up with a look of disbelief and amusement. “I’ve never had my cooking reviewed quite like that.”

You laughed, patting your stomach happily. “No, seriously. If I knew you could cook like this, I would’ve locked you up in my apartment weeks ago.”

He set down his chopsticks, grinning. “Oh yeah? Tell me more about this scenario.”

“I’m not joking! I’ve basically been living off ramen and fast food for months. Half the time I barely manage a smoothie before work.”

He tilted his head, giving you a look that was half playful, half serious. “That won’t do. Especially if…” His gaze slid to your stomach and stayed there, almost protectively. “If you really are pregnant, you’re going to need proper meals.”

You cleared your throat, suddenly overwhelmed by the image of a domestic Sunghoon cooking in your kitchen, massaging your sore feet, texting you pictures of baby onesies, reading articles about parenting and sending you dumb memes about fatherhood. 

Stop. You can’t do this to yourself.

Even if you were pregnant, that didn’t mean you’d suddenly fall in love and ride off into a pastel colored domestic fantasy with Park Sunghoon. You barely tolerated each other just a few months ago. You couldn’t afford to forget that.

You shook your head with a weak laugh. “I can’t believe this is happening. If you’d told me last year I’d be having a pregnancy scare with my boss… the same boss who made me bite my nails bloody from stress, I would’ve died laughing.”

Sunghoon’s smile faded a bit as he mulled that over. “I’m sorry for treating you that way.” 

You looked up, surprised by the earnestness in his voice.

“I mean it. I… I don’t really have an excuse. But if I had to give you one, I guess it’s because I wanted your attention.”

You blinked, surprised. “You wanted my attention?”

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I know I went about it the absolute worst way, but I’ve never really been good at… expressing things. And you were so closed off to me at first. It felt like the only way I could get you to even look at me was to—well, be an asshole.”

You weren’t sure what to say. His apology wasn’t perfect, but it was genuine and oddly vulnerable. 

“I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow,” you said at last. “But… thank you for being here.”

He met your eyes. “Whatever the result is, you won’t handle it alone. I mean that.”

You didn’t sleep much. Every time you closed your eyes, your mind spun through a reel of possible futures—some terrifying, some strangely sweet, all overwhelming. By sunrise, you’d already been awake for hours, lying in bed with Richard stretched across your ankles, thinking about what the day might bring.

You moved through your morning routine on autopilot, barely tasting your coffee, feeling your nerves build with every tick of the clock. Work had never seemed so impossible. How were you supposed to focus on emails and deadlines when your entire life could be about to change?

By the time you arrived at the office, the overhead lights felt too bright and the air too cold. You kept your head down, clutching your bag a little tighter than usual as you made your way to your desk.

Sunghoon walked in a few minutes after you. You’d agreed to arrive separately to keep things from looking suspicious but even so, when he passed your desk, his eyes couldn’t help but flick your way for just a moment.

You tried to lose yourself in your work so the day would go basted, but it didn’t work. Every ping from your computer made you jump. Every time someone said your name, your heart pounded.

Mina, your coworker, leaned over the divider. “Hey, are you okay? You look kind of pale.”

You offered a thin smile. “Yeah, just didn’t sleep well.”

She nodded, not pressing, but you could feel her worry lingering as she turned back to her monitor. You wished you could tell her. The secret felt too big to hold, like it might crack open and spill everywhere at any moment.

A few hours later, as you were rereading the same email for the third time, you felt someone pause beside your desk. You didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.

“Can I see you in my office?” Sunghoon’s voice was soft enough that only you could hear.

You followed him. The short walk down the hallway felt impossibly long, every step echoing your anxiety. When the door closed behind you, the world shrank to just the two of you.

He didn’t go behind his desk but leaned back against the edge, watching you for a moment. “How are you feeling?”

It was a simple question, but it nearly broke you. You looked away, blinking fast. “Nervous… and tired. I barely slept.”

He nodded, hands fidgeting with the edge of the desk. “Me too.” A pause. “I kept thinking about a lot of things.”

You looked at him then. He looked tired too, circles under his eyes, the usual sharpness of his appearance dulled by something softer. “I thought about a lot of things too,” you admitted quietly. “What if I am? What if I’m not? I can’t even figure out what I want to happen.”

He let out a slow breath. “Me neither. I used to think I’d hate the idea… you know, of being responsible for someone else, losing control over my own life. But the last couple days… it’s been all I can think about. I keep imagining what it would be like.”

There was a long silence. You watched the morning light creep across his office, a bright line cutting between you on the floor.

“But no matter what happens at that appointment, I want you to know I’m here. I mean it. I know I’ve been an asshole before, but I’m not going anywhere.”

You felt something tight in your chest loosen just a little.

“Thank you,” you said, meaning it more than you thought possible.

You stood there, both of you, caught in a moment that felt both terrifying and fragile and knowing the day ahead would change everything, one way or another.

By the time you left the office, the sky was navy. You walked the two blocks to the clinic in near silence, but it wasn’t awkward. Rather, it felt like gathering strength. Halfway there, Sunghoon slipped his fingers between yours.

You paused in front of the clinic, breaths streaming white in the cold air. Inside waited an envelope with your name and a single line of text that could redraw your future.

Sunghoon rubbed your knuckles with his thumb. “Ready?”

You looked up at him. The sharp boss, the reluctant cook, the man who’d stayed when he could have run—all in one complicated silhouette. 

You inhaled, exhaled, and nodded. “Let’s do this.”

The clinic’s waiting room was almost empty this late in the evening. A muted newscast flickered across a wall-mounted TV; the only other patient was a teen scrolling on her phone. You and Sunghoon sat in the far corner, coats draped over your laps, hands still laced together. Every tick of the reception clock seemed amplified.

You tried counting your breaths—four in, four out—but your pulse wouldn’t slow. If it’s positive, life will change tonight.Strangely, the thought no longer panicked you as it had twenty-four hours ago. Sunghoon’s steady grip helped anchor that.

A nurse finally appeared and called your name. You rose; he rose with you. She led you down a short hallway into a small consultation room, pastel posters about prenatal vitamins on the walls. A moment later Dr. Han entered with a file—your file—clasped to her chest. She greeted you both with the same gentle warmth as the day before and took a seat opposite.

You could feel Sunghoon’s thumb tracing a slow circle over your knuckles. He was outwardly calm, but his hand was slightly clammy.

Dr. Han opened the folder. “Good evening. I have the results of your quantitative hCG test.” She looked up, meeting your gaze first, then Sunghoon’s. “It’s negative. You’re not pregnant.”

The words settled like falling snow—soft, definitive, almost silent. For a heartbeat you simply stared, processing. Not pregnant. Relief rushed in, light and dizzying… and then something else, a bittersweet pang that surprised you.

Sunghoon exhaled so slowly you felt it more than heard it. He squeezed your hand once, gently. There was no visible disappointment or joy—just that same grounded steadiness he’d shown all day.

Dr. Han continued, explaining the false positives. “They can happen for a few reasons: chemical pregnancies that end very early, residual hCG from a recent miscarriage, certain fertility medications, even test strips that have degraded in storage. Urine tests are convenient, but they’re not infallible. Your bloodwork is conclusive, though—there’s no ongoing pregnancy.”

You nodded, swallowing. “Thank you for explaining.”

She offered a reassuring smile, discussed cycle-tracking apps, suggested a follow-up if your period remained irregular, and then excused herself. When the door clicked shut, you finally let your shoulders drop.

Sunghoon didn’t speak right away. Instead, he reached up with his free hand and brushed a loose strand of hair from your forehead, tucking it gently behind your ear. The gesture was so tender it made your throat ache.

“So,” you managed, voice barely above a whisper, “no baby.”

“No baby,” he echoed softly.

You waited for the wave of relief to crest. It did—but it carried an undertow of unexpected wistfulness. You glanced at him, searching his face for clues. He met your eyes and seemed to read the question there.

“I thought I’d feel only relief,” he admitted, tone quiet, honest. “But I… don’t. Not entirely.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Me either. How weird is that?”

He stepped closer, still holding your hand, his other palm settling warm against your cheek. “Maybe it’s not weird,” he said. “These last few days… thinking about what might happen. It made me see things differently.”

You felt tears prick but didn’t look away. “Differently how?”

He drew a steady breath, the corners of his mouth lifting in a small, almost shy smile—an expression you’d never thought possible on Park Sunghoon. “I realized I want more than late-night reports and stress-induced hookups. I want… an us.Maybe a house that smells like butter-fried abalones,”—the smile widened when you laughed—“and maybe, someday, an actual crib. Not because we panicked into it, but because we chose it together.”

Your heart thudded, a warm bloom spreading through your chest. “You’re serious?” you whispered.

“I’ve never been more serious.” He cupped both hands around your face now, thumb brushing the skin under your eye. “I’ve always been good at work and terrible at feelings. You make me want to fix the second part.”

You covered his hands with yours. “I want that too,” you said, the truth ringing clear once you spoke it. “I want to see what us looks like when it’s not tangled up in deadlines and copy-room insanity.”

He kissed your forehead softly then rested his own against it. “Then we start slow. We can go on real dates, have real conversations.” A wry grin tugged at his lips. “And maybe slightly fewer vibrating toys at the office.”

You laughed, leaning into him, feeling lighter than you had in months. “Deal. Although the toys are negotiable.”

“Good.” He kissed you properly this time, full of promise rather than urgency. When he pulled back, his eyes were warm. “Hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Great,” he said, entwining your fingers as you headed for the door. “Because I’ve been perfecting my abalone recipe.”

“Is that so?” you teased, bumping his shoulder. “Guess I’ll have to lock you in my kitchen for real then.”

His laugh echoed down the hallway, and you felt the future open wide.

Epilogue- 8 Months Later

You sat perched on the padded table, swinging your feet lightly, dressed in a pale blue smock. Your hands were folded over your barely-there bump.

You were twelve weeks along.

Sunghoon was sitting in the chair beside you, one leg crossed over the other, fingers drumming lightly on his thigh. His tie was loosened, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Despite the long day at work, he didn’t look tired. If anything, he looked anxious. 

“I still don’t get how it happened this fast,” you muttered under his breath, glancing sideways at him. “We were careful.”

He shrugged, lips tugging into a small smile. “Were we? I remember at least two times that we definitely weren’t.”

“Two?” You blinked. “I can name at least four.”

He laughed softly, leaning closer and resting his hand against your belly. “Well. One of them worked.”

The nurse came in, breaking the moment. “Doctor Han will be in shortly to do your first ultrasound,” she said kindly. “You’ll be able to hear the heartbeat today.”

Sunghoon stiffened beside you. You reached out and took his hand without looking. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, but the word cracked slightly. “I just… hearing it makes it real.”

You squeezed his hand. “It is real.”

He nodded once. “I know. Doesn’t mean I’m not scared shitless.”

You turned to him, voice gentle. “Me too, but we have each other.”

He brought your joined hands to his lips and kissed your knuckles. “Always.”

The doctor arrived shortly after, warm and chatty as always. You laid back on the table and pulled the gown open. The cold jelly over your stomach made you jolt. Sunghoon stood by your side, fingers still laced in yours, eyes glued to the screen scared that he might miss it if he blinked.

And then there it was. A grainy flicker, pulsing steadily in the center of the screen.

“That’s the heartbeat,” the doctor said with a small smile. “It sounds strong and regular. Everything looks perfect.”

The sound filled the room like thunder. Tiny, rapid thuds that made your chest swell. You blinked fast, swallowing the lump in your throat. When you looked up at Sunghoon, his eyes were glassy.

He was crying. Not a lot—just one tear, maybe two—but the sight floored you.

He didn’t say a word. Just leaned down and kissed your forehead, staying there for a long second, breathing you in.

Later, in the car, he reached for your hand again and said quietly, “I don’t think I knew what love really felt like until now.”

You looked over, a bit surprised. “Because of the baby?”

“Because of you,” he said. “And now… both of you.”

You turned your face toward the window, hiding the stupid smile curling on your lips, blinking fast again.

At home, Richard sat perched on the windowsill as usual like a little orange gargoyle. When you kicked off your shoes, he jumped down and padded over to inspect you.

Sunghoon leaned in from behind, resting both hands over your stomach. “Alright, Richard. You’d better get used to sharing her.”

Richard meowed.

You smiled. “That sounded like reluctant acceptance to me.”

“Good enough,” Sunghoon murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

The house felt warm and safe. There were butter abalones in the microwave and ultrasound photos on the kitchen counter.

And for the first time in your life, waiting didn’t feel scary.

feedback is always appreciated! <3 tysm for reading

[koogalaxzy]

ngl guys i’m eating a bit w this sunghoon fic i’m writing rn

[koogalaxzy]

i honestly don’t even know how to respond to this :’) it’s such an incredible feeling to read thoughts like these about my writing. i mostly write for my own enjoyment, so knowing that you guys like my ideas enough to leave such sweet comments means the world to me MY HEART IS JUST SO FULL <3

the veiled prince | j. jungkook

pairing: knight! jungkook x royal! fem. reader

genre: royalty au, smut

wc: 21.4k+

summary: jeon jungkook is anointed as the protector of the kingdom’s future king, but this proves to be a more difficult job when he realizes the crown prince is hiding a big secret.

content warning: explicit sexual content, violence & blood, gender concealment, period-typical sexism, religious themes/sacrilege (blasphemy, sex in sacred space), slight dubcon elements (power imbalance), reference to infant death, mild emotional abuse, parental pressure, alcohol consumption, mentions of prostitution/brothels.

a/n: hiii! *nervous wave* this is my very first jungkook fic, and i’m actually buzzing with nerves rn. i’ve been working on this since last year so i’m rlly excited to finally share it with the world. hope you enjoy! let me know what you guys think in the comments or my inbox <3

The tavern was filled with the sounds of raucous laughter and the scent of ale. The men of the town brigade sat around a big wooden table, their hearty chuckles bouncing off the low ceiling.

“Can’t believe our youngest here’s landed himself a spot in the royal brigade!” Sergeant Lee, a grizzled veteran with a salt-and-pepper beard and a booming voice, clapped Jungkook on the back hard enough to rattle his cup.

Jungkook offered a polite, almost shy smile. “It’s just another post, Sergeant.”

“Just another post, he says!” Lee roared, laughing heartily. “Royal brigade’s not just any post, boy. It’s the post.” He slammed a hand down on the table, the wood groaning under the force. “Best keep that modesty in check, or you’ll make the rest of us look bad.”

“Aye, I remember when he first set foot on the base, half my size, and now look at those arms…” Chuck added, his voice slick with humor. He was a lanky man, with messy blonde hair that hung over his face. His smirk was all charm despite the missing tooth in the front as he tossed a wink at the serving girl who kept casting Jungkook flirtatious glances. “Leave some of the ladies for us, eh?”

“Let’s not celebrate too soon,” Garret muttered, his tone sharp as always. He was stocky, with a broad chest and thick arms, a man whose worn plate armor bore more scratches than anyone here. His gaze flickered to the door, where the wind howled outside, carrying the cold scent of the mountains. “Royal brigade’s no game. You’ll be under different standards from the moment you set foot in that palace.”

Chuck rolled his eyes. “Here we go. You’d think they were sending him to the gallows.”

Garret ignored him. “I’m just saying… there’s more to that post than guarding a door. And there’s him to deal with.”

Jungkook arched a brow. “Him?”

“The crown Prince,” Jack chimed in, setting his mug down with a loud thud. He was younger than most soldiers but sharp-eyed, his dark hair messy and unkempt, his leather jerkin a little too tight from years of fieldwork. He leaned forward with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Haven’t you heard the whispers? Thought you kept your ears as clean as your boots, Jeon.”

“You know I don’t care about gossip,” Jungkook replied calmly but with a hint of curiosity. it’s true that he didn’t care about rumors, but there was something about this conversation that caught his attention.

Jack leaned forward, his grin widening. “Then you’ve missed the best one. His highness isn’t… like other men. There’s a reason they call him The Veiled Prince.”

Jungkook tilted his head, brow furrowing. “The Veiled Prince? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Chuck chuckled, the firelight catching in his eyes as he adjusted his cloak, its deep blue fabric embroidered with the insignia of the kingdom. He didn’t meet Jungkook’s gaze, instead turning his attention to the wooden rafters above. Garret exchanged a glance with Jack before shrugging.

“It means what it sounds like,” Garret said, almost whispering as if the walls themselves might be listening. “He’s not what he seems.”

Jack tapped a finger on the table. “Just take one close look at him and you’ll know somethin’ ain't right. He’s too… delicate. His face, his voice—hell, even his body.”

Jungkook squinted at him, confused but half-amused. “Maybe there’s something you’ve discovered about yourself, Jack… being that interested in how the prince looks,” he joked, nudging Jack with his elbow. 

The table erupted in laughter and Jack leaned back, a sly grin creeping across his face. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough, won’t ya? Spend enough time close to him, and you’ll know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.” He raised his mug “Here’s to Jeon Jungkook, the youngest royal guard! May he survive court life without losing his mind.”

The morning of Jungkook’s inauguration into the royal brigade arrived faster than he’d expected. He woke before dawn and pulled on his boots for the long walk to the palace. The soft clack of his steps echoed down the narrow stone path, the world around him still shrouded in that gray hush before sunrise.

Something felt off, though. He couldn’t shake the conversation from last night. Jack’s words about the Prince looping through his mind, stubborn and persistent.

Jungkook had always kept to himself, learned early on to steer clear of gossip and mindless chatter. The other men in the brigade thrived on rumor and speculation, their voices filling every corner with wild stories, but he’d never had the patience for it. It was easier, safer, to stay silent.

Since he’d arrived in this town at the age of seventeen, he had devoted himself entirely to the regimented life of a soldier. There was no room for distractions. No time for the petty squabbles of royalty or the whisperings of court politics. His focus had been on training and on earning his place among the fiercest warriors the kingdom had to offer.

And yet, here he was, on the morning of what was supposed to be the culmination of many years of hard work, and his mind was anything but clear. The royal brigade, the very one most soldiers dreamed of joining, was now within his reach—and yet, his thoughts kept returning to the prince. The Veiled Prince. The very rumors that he'd managed to ignore til now seemed to be clawing at him now, demanding attention. 

Jungkook gritted his teeth as he approached the entrance of the palace. His duty had never been about men of the royal family. It had always been about the honor of serving the kingdom, about proving himself worthy of the rank he’d earned. The others called him a quiet one, distant even, but that had only served him well. The younger recruits often found it difficult to match his drive and focus, and the older soldiers admired his ability to keep his head down and do what was asked of him, no matter the cost. And he meant to keep it that way.

His thoughts drifted back to the prince, but not the rumors this time. He thought of the responsibility the crown prince bore, a burden Jungkook had always respected from afar. His place at court, his family, the weight of an entire kingdom’s future hanging on his shoulders. Jungkook could scarcely imagine it. 

He approached the palace gates, boots scuffing softly against the clean stone path, only to be stopped by two royal guards standing tall in polished armor. Their eyes locked on him immediately—one looked him up and down, the other stepped into his path, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“State your business,” the taller one barked. His tone wasn’t hostile, but it was firm, clearly not his first time turning away overeager boys from the city.

“Jeon Jungkook. I’ve been newly assigned to the royal brigade,” Jungkook replied calmly, though his heart ticked a little faster.

The second guard squinted. “You’re the new brigade recruit?” he repeated slowly. “You sure you’re not here to deliver someone’s breakfast?”

Jungkook’s jaw flexed, but he kept his tone leveled. “Captain Toren is expecting me.”

They exchanged a glance. One of them huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re barely out of your training boots.”

“And pretty enough to be a court musician, not a guard,” the other added under his breath, though not softly enough.

Before Jungkook could respond, another figure stepped out from inside the main doors—an older guard with sharp eyes and a clipped voice. “Is there a reason you’re delaying the newest escort?”

The two guards stiffened immediately, their mockery vanishing. “No, sir!” they echoed.

Jungkook walked past them without a word, though he felt their eyes on his back the whole way.

Before he could step further inside, the older guard who’d reprimanded the others approached him with a slow, assessing gait. He was tall and lean, his silver-streaked beard trimmed to regulation, and his armor bore the faint scuffs of long service.

“You’re Jeon, then?” he asked, voice gravelly but not unkind.

“Yes, sir.”

The man gave a small grunt. “I’m Wrenhart. Lieutenant of the East Wing. Been in this place longer than some of the stonework.” He nodded toward the interior hall. “I’ll escort you to Captain Toren.”

Jungkook gave a sharp nod, falling into step beside him.

As they walked through the tall archways and polished corridors, Wrenhart cast a sideways glance at him. “You’re younger than I expected,” he said plainly. “They’ve got plenty of sharp-eyed recruits, but it’s rare to send one straight to the Prince.”

Jungkook didn’t take the bait. “I go where I’m ordered.”

Wrenhart gave a low chuckle. “Good answer. Just keep that mouth closed and your sword ready. The palace has fewer blades, but more ways to bleed.”

His boots echoed against the pristine stone floor of the main hall, and he instinctively straightened his posture. The space was immaculate, the air tinged with the faint scent of oiled leather. 

A few men were already inside, their movements precise as they adjusted their uniforms or inspected their weapons. Unlike the lively, chaotic energy of his old comrades, the men of the royal brigade seemed quiet and focused.

It was all so… different.

Jungkook felt a twinge of unease as he stepped further into the hall. He’d spent years thriving in the rugged environment of the town’s brigade, where banter and brotherhood masked the grueling demands of their work. Here, the men seemed distant, their camaraderie subdued by formality.

Even their uniforms were different. Much more crisp and tailored, a sharp contrast to the well-worn gear Jungkook was wearing now. He caught his reflection in a polished shield hanging on the wall and suddenly felt out of place. His hair, still slightly disheveled from the early morning wind, and his roughened boots stood out against the pristine order of this place.

Would he fit in?

“Jeon,” a voice called, breaking through his thoughts. He turned sharply to see a tall, broad-shouldered man approaching him, he could guess just by his looks that he was an important man. His expression was calm but piercing as his eyes swept over Jungkook. “I’m Captain Toren. You’re early,” he said, his tone neither harsh nor warm, just efficient. 

“Yes, sir, nice to meet you sir.” Jungkook replied, his voice steadier than he felt.

“Good,” Toren said with a curt nod. “Punctuality is expected here, as is discipline. You’ll find things are different from what you’re used to in the town brigade.” He glanced at Jungkook’s boots, and though he said nothing, the slight raise of his brow made Jungkook acutely aware of the scuffed leather. “But you’ll adapt.”

“Yes, sir!” Jungkook repeated, though he wasn’t so sure.

As Toren turned and began talking to Wrenhart, Jungkook exhaled slowly, his gaze wandering across the room again. 

As he observed the soldiers around him, a thought struck him. Their restraint, their unwavering discipline, it wasn’t unlike the way he approached his own duties. He had always been more reserved than his mates. Perhaps, in time, he could find his place here. These men didn’t waste words, and neither did he. 

“Jeon, I trust you’ve been thoroughly debriefed on your assignment here by the recruiter,” Captain Toren began, his tone brisk as his boots clapped in a quick pace. “Due to the importance of your post, we can’t spare time to show you around the castle. I expect you to learn as you go.”

Jungkook hurried after him, the captain’s long strides forcing him to half-jog just to keep up. The deeper they moved into the palace, the quieter it got, as though the very stones carried the weight of centuries of secrets. 

“Sir,” Jungkook began, his voicd edged with hesitation, “I was told my post was with the royal guards... to protect the palace and accompany the King during his out-of-town duties.”

Toren didn’t break stride, his sharp gaze fixed ahead. “You’ve been misinformed,” he said curtly. “Your assignment is to protect the crown Prince directly.”

Jungkook nearly stumbled as his mind raced to process the statement. The crown Prince? How could that be his post? He was new and clearly untested at this level. 

“What?” Jungkook blurted out, his voice louder than he’d intended. The captain turned his head slightly, his expression neutral save for the raised eyebrow that conveyed mild disapproval.

“Is there a problem, Jeon?” Toren asked, his voice calm but cool.

“No, sir!” Jungkook replied quickly, his pulse quickening. “I just… Excuse my intrusion, but how can I already be assigned to directly serve someone under the line of succession? I’ve yet to familiarize myself with the royal court.”

Toren stopped abruptly, and Jungkook came to an awkward halt behind him, straightening instinctively. The captain turned, his keen eyes locking on Jungkook’s with an intensity that felt like being measured and weighed.

“Your skills and conduct at the town brigade earned you this position,” Toren said evenly, though there was a faint shift in his tone, a note that hinted at something beyond the words. “We’ve heard great things about you, Jeon. There’s a clear reason why you were the only recruit from your brigade. Your discipline, your ability to focus on the task at hand without distraction—that is what we need.”

Jungkook frowned slightly, unsure if he should respond. There was something in the captain’s choice of words, the way he spoke of focus and distraction, that felt strange. It wasn’t the kind of praise he was used to. Back in the barracks, it was your strength, your swordsmanship, or your guts that got you recognized.

“The crown Prince requires a certain kind of discretion,” Toren continued, his tone neutral but purposeful. “And not everyone is suited for that role. If you feel you aren’t, now is the time to say so.”

The air between them seemed to tighten. Jungkook knew better than to ask what the captain meant, but his curiosity stirred. Discretion? Was that just a polite way of saying he needed to keep his head down and mouth shut? The gossip about the Prince drifted back into his mind, but he shoved them aside. Speculation wasn’t his place.

“No, sir,” Jungkook said firmly, straightening his back. “I will fulfill my duty to the crown Prince.”

Toren’s eyes stayed on him for a moment longer before he nodded once. “Good. Then follow me.”

Jungkook followed him up the staircase. The flight seemed endless, spiraling upward like it reached the heavens themselves. Each landing revealed another stretch of steps, their polished white marble gleaming faintly in the soft light filtering through narrow stained-glass windows.

When they finally stopped, Captain Toren gestured toward a pair of imposing black doors, their surfaces adorned with subtle carvings of intricate vines and heraldic symbols. 

“The Prince is currently in a meeting with the King and the court,” Toren explained as he stood in front of the doors. “We’ll wait here until he’s done. Once introduced, you’ll accompany him to his duties for the day.”

“Understood,” Jungkook replied as calmly as he could.

He couldn’t help but feel a mounting sense of unease—no, not unease. Awe, perhaps. The sheer weight of the role he was about to step into, was almost suffocating. It wasn’t every day that a common soldier was thrust so close to the royal family, and certainly not so soon after arriving at the brigade.

The Captain’s reasoning earlier had been logical, but incomplete. There was more to this assignment than his discipline or skills, though it wasn’t his place to question further. Still, the doubt gnawed at him. Why only him? Why now?

His thoughts churned as they waited, time seeming to stretch and warp in the cavernous silence of the hall. The muted murmur of voices behind the heavy doors was barely audible. Jungkook adjusted his stance, willing his nerves to still. Whatever his assignment entailed, he had to appear composed. 

After what felt like an eternity, the great black doors creaked open, revealing a flood of richly dressed courtiers spilling out into the corridor. Their fine silks and embroidered velvets brushed past him as they moved in hushed conversations, their faces a mixture of poise and exhaustion. Jungkook stood at attention, his eyes fixed forward, though he couldn’t help but feel out of place amid such finery.

Then, from the back of the group, a figure emerged.

The King.

The man’s presence filled the space effortlessly, his broad shoulders draped in a robe of deep blue trimmed with gold. His expression was calm, yet commanding, the kind of look that left no room for doubt about his authority. As the king passed, Jungkook bowed slightly.

But it wasn’t the King who held Jungkook’s attention when he straightened back.

Behind him, moving with a quieter grace, was the Prince.

Jungkook’s breath caught. He had seen the Prince before but it was mostly glimpses from afar during public ceremonies or images in portraits hung in the barracks. But this was different. Up close, the rumors that had once seemed exaggerated now felt startlingly real.

The Prince was petite, his frame almost fragile under the soft folds of his ceremonial attire. His features were striking in a way that defied conventional expectations of masculinity: high cheekbones, a finely sculpted nose, and full lips that looked so soft. But it was his eyes that drew Jungkook in. They were wide, framed with dark, long lashes, and impossibly expressive.

For a moment, their gazes locked. The Prince’s eyes flicked up to Jungkook’s, studying him with curiosity. It wasn’t scrutiny, but more like a fleeting assessment, a glance that seemed to measure him without judgment. Jungkook felt rooted to the spot, caught in the subtle pull of that gaze.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it wasn’t this.

The Prince’s beauty wasn’t just unusual, it was disarming. It made sense now, why the court whispered, why the people gossiped. Standing before him, Jungkook could almost understand how someone might mistake him for something other than what he was.

Jungkook swallowed hard, breaking the spell. His jaw tightened as he schooled his features into neutrality, reminding himself that this was no time to indulge in those thoughts. 

“Jeon!” the Captain said sharply, motioning him forward. Jungkook nodded, stepping forward with purposeful strides.

Toren addressed the King and Prince with a bow so fluid it seemed rehearsed to perfection. “Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness,” he began, his tone deferential. “This is Jeon Jungkook, the newest recruit of the royal brigade. He will be serving Your Highness directly. Despite his youth, he has been highly decorated for his exemplary skills on the battlefield—”

The king raised a hand, a simple gesture that silenced Toren mid-sentence. 

“I am already acquainted with his reputation,” the King said, his gaze sharp as it settled on Jungkook. “You are the one who aided in reclaiming the Lowlands, are you not? Yes… I recall the reports. Remarkable work for one so young.”

Jungkook bowed low, his heart pounding in his chest. “Your Majesty, it was an honor to serve.”

The King’s expression softened just enough to show a flicker of approval. “And now, you are entrusted with the protection of the crown Prince. A task of no small consequence. See to it that you are equal to the duty.”

Before Jungkook could utter a reply, the King turned with the unhurried grace of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question. His robe swept across the floor as he walked away, speaking over his shoulder. “Toren, you are dismissed. The Prince will brief him further.”

Captain Toren bowed deeply. “As you will, Your Majesty.” Straightening, he added, “Your Highness, I shall leave you in capable hands.”

The Captain gave a curt nod before following the King. Jungkook stood there, momentarily frozen, feeling the vastness of the hall closing in around him. He clenched his fists lightly, willing himself to focus. 

He dared to glance at the Prince, who stood observing him without a word. The Prince’s bearing was every bit as regal as one might expect, but there was an inscrutable quality that made him seem untouchable. His attire, rich in dark blues and silvers, was impeccably tailored, but it only enhanced the delicacy of his frame and the fine structure of his face.

The Prince’s gaze lingered on Jungkook for a moment longer before he hummed softly, a sound neither dismissive nor approving, and then turned.

Jungkook followed obediently, falling into step just behind him. 

“What is your name?” the Prince asked, breaking the silence. The sound of his voice startled Jungkook slightly. It was softer and lighter than he’d imagined.

Jungkook hesitated for a second. “Jeon, Your Royal Highness.”

The Prince stopped abruptly, glancing over his shoulder with a look of mild reproach. “No,” he said, his tone almost indulgent, as though correcting a child.  “Your given name. What is it?”

Jungkook stiffened slightly, caught off guard by the question. “It’s Jungkook, Your Highness.”

The Prince turned fully, his expression softening into something faintly amused. “Jungkook…” he repeated, almost as though testing the sound of it. His lips curved into a faint smile that made Jungkook’s stomach tighten unexpectedly. “Very well. You shall address me as ‘Your Highness’ when required, but you needn’t do so with every sentence. I have no need for overdone pleasantries.”

Jungkook blinked, unsure how to respond. “Yes, Your Highness,” he said anyway, earning a slight chuckle from the Prince.

As they continued down the hallway, Jungkook followed closely, his eyes occasionally drifting to the Prince’s profile. There was something almost ethereal about him, a lightness that seemed at odds with the gravitas of his station. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, and Jungkook wondered if it was coming from the Prince or the castle itself. 

The day stretched on endlessly into a slow and languid rhythm that Jungkook hadn’t expected. His first glimpse into royal life had been eye-opening, though not in the way he expected. For all the grandeur and prestige, the day’s proceedings were mind-numbingly dull.

By mid-day, Jungkook found himself struggling to keep his focus from wandering. The halls, while beautiful, began to blur together in their sameness with its gold inlays and towering arches. The endless meetings, each one echoing the last, left him yearning for the brisk efficiency of the town brigade.

The Prince, however, seemed unfazed by the monotony. He carried out his duties with a serene elegance that both impressed and baffled Jungkook. There was a calmness in the way the Prince moved through the day, as though he were immune to the weariness that tugged at everyone else. His voice remained patient even during the most repetitive discussions, addressing each advisor with the same respect.

It wasn’t until the afternoon meeting with the townspeople that the day took on a semblance of life. The grand chamber was transformed, its imposing walls softened by the presence of ordinary villagers who had come to voice their concerns. Jungkook stood behind the Prince, his posture rigid, but his focus sharpened by the shift in energy.

The Prince’s demeanor also changed subtly as the first villager stepped forward. His previously restrained expression softened, his dark eyes warming with an attentiveness that felt genuine. For the first time that day, Jungkook saw a spark of life in him.

When a farmer approached, bowing low as he spoke of the Prince’s help with irrigation for the season’s crops, the monarch’s entire face lit up.

“Your efforts have been tireless, Your Highness,” the farmer said, his voice tinged with gratitude. “We’ve never seen such bountiful yields. My family and I can’t thank you enough.”

The Prince inclined his head gracefully. “The success of your fields speaks to your diligence as much as the Palace’s aid,” he replied, his tone light but earnest. “Still, it gladdens me to know that we’ve been of some help to you.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but notice the way the Prince’s shoulders relaxed with each expression of thanks, as if the villagers’ words were a balm against the otherwise dull repetition of his duties. The praise seemed to energize him in a way no formal meeting or courtly discussion could.

Another villager—a young woman clutching a small child—stepped forward. Her voice trembled as she thanked the Prince for providing medical supplies during a recent outbreak of illness in her village. The Prince listened intently, nodding with quiet encouragement as she spoke.

“We are fortunate to have such a compassionate leader,” she finished, bowing deeply.

Jungkook observed the Prince, taking in the quiet pride in his expression, the way he lingered just a moment longer as he assured the woman her thanks was unnecessary. It was subtle, but Jungkook felt something about the Prince’s connection to these people was different from the polished indifference he showed in the court meetings.

When one elderly woman clasped her hands and tearfully thanked him for providing seed grain during the last drought, Jungkook caught the faintest flicker of a smile on the Prince’s lips. It was quick but genuine, and it lit his delicate features in a way that momentarily silenced the soldier’s restless thoughts.

By the end of the day, it was Jungkook’s duty to escort the Prince safely to his chambers. As part of his routine, he was to stand watch outside until another member of the royal brigade relieved him for the night. Come morning, he would resume his post as the Prince’s shadow.

The corridors were quiet at this hour, their stillness broken only by their footsteps. Dim sconces cast flickering shadows against the walls, lending the space an almost eerie air. Jungkook kept his pace only a step behind the Prince, who moved with his usual grace… at least at first.

He noticed something peculiar then. The Prince’s gait, which had been smooth the whole day, was off. His steps were uneven and his shoulders sagged as though carrying an invisible weight. As Jungkook drew closer, he caught the faint sound of labored breathing.  

“Your Highness, are you well?” Jungkook asked.  

“Yes, perfectly fine,” the Prince replied sharply, though the strain in his voice betrayed the words. He quickened his pace, forcing Jungkook to keep up. “Let’s hurry,” he added, his tone clipped but tinged with urgency.  

Jungkook frowned, his instincts flaring. Something wasn’t right. The prince’s complexion appeared pale, almost ashen. His breathing grew more ragged with every step, and for a moment, Jungkook thought the Prince might collapse before they reached the chamber doors.  

When they arrived, the Prince pushed the heavy wooden doors open and disappeared inside without so much as a backward glance. Jungkook hesitated outside. He wasn’t sure if he should remain at his post or wait for further instruction.

Just as he was debating, the door creaked open again. The Prince reappeared, his face now alarmingly pale, almost bluish, and his breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Find Lady Evra,” he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, the Prince closed the door once more, leaving a confused Jungkook staring at the polished wood.  

He cursed inwardly. He had no idea who Lady Evra was or where to find her.  

With no better option, Jungkook set off down the corridor. His eyes scanned for any sign of staff, his mind racing through every scrap of information he’d gathered about the palace since his arrival. After what felt like an eternity, he finally spotted a young servant carrying a tray of linens.  

“You—wait!” Jungkook called out, his tone urgent but controlled. The servant froze, wide-eyed as Jungkook approached “The Prince has requested someone named Lady Evra. Do you know where I can find her?”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll fetch her right away,” she said before hurrying off in the opposite direction, the linens swaying precariously in her arms.

Jungkook retraced his steps to the Prince’s chambers, resuming his post by the door. He hesitated for a moment before raising his voice just enough to be heard through the thick wood. “Your Highness, I’ve sent someone to call for Lady Evra. She should arrive shortly.”

There was no response from inside, only the faint sound of movement. Jungkook stood stiffly at attention, his sharp eyes fixed on the door. His hand rested instinctively on the hilt of his sword.

After a few minutes, Jungkook saw a group of servants approaching hurriedly. Leading them was a woman who exuded an air of authority. She was dressed in what resembled a maid's attire, but hers was of a richer fabric and a distinct color. From the way she carried herself, Jungkook could only assume she was the head of the royal attendants.

When her sharp gaze fell on him, she slowed her stride, clearing her throat. Her eyes locked onto his with a look of immediate distrust.  

“And who might you be?” she asked warily.

“I’m the Prince’s new charge, ma’am,” Jungkook replied evenly. “I began my post today.”  

Lady Evra’s brow arched in suspicion. “New charge, you say? Strange. I was not informed of such a change.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t dwell on it. “Regardless, you are dismissed. The night watch will take over from here.”  

“With all due respect, ma’am,” Jungkook said carefully, “protocol dictates that I remain until the next guard arrives. Leaving now would mean leaving His Highness unprotected.”  

Her expression hardened, and she stepped closer, her voice dropping into a sharp whisper. “I can assure you the Prince will be fine in my care. Now, do as you’re told.”  

Without waiting for his reply, she brushed past him, her shoulder nearly grazing his. As she entered the chamber, Jungkook caught a fleeting glimpse inside. The Prince was hunched over on the bed, his face obscured. Then the door shut firmly in his face.  

Jungkook stood there for a moment, jaw tightening. He reminded himself why he was chosen for this position: his ability to follow orders without prying. He exhaled slowly, shaking off his unease. Whatever was happening in that room was not his concern.  

Inside the room, the air was tense as Lady Evra worked deftly, her fingers unlacing the corset that had tormented the Prince all day.  

“I’ve said this countless times, this wretched contraption no longer fits!”  you hissed, your voice strained as you finally freed yourself from the suffocating garment. “I’ve been wearing the same corset since I was sixteen. I cannot endure it any longer.”  

Lady Evra’s expression remained composed. “Your Highness, you know you must wear it. I’ll do my best to have it adjusted.”

“It’s useless,” you countered, exhaling deeply. “My mother won’t allow you to leave any room for my natural shape to show. How does she expect me to fulfill my duties when I can’t even take a full breath?”

You moved toward the tall mirrors lining the chamber wall, your gaze sharp as you scrutinized your reflection. Each year, your form became more pronounced, and with it, the corset grew more punishing.  

“And what of this new knight?” you said, turning away from the mirror. “Why replace Sir Alric? And with this boy from the town, no less. He probably now thinks the Prince is sickly and will soon share whatever nonsense he concocts with his mates.” You sighed, letting the maids step in to prepare you for the evening’s rest.  

“If I may, Your Highness,” one of the younger maids ventured as she led you to the waiting bath. The warm, perfumed water enveloped you, the milky lather soothing your strained muscles. You gave a slight nod, allowing her to continue.  

“There are whispers among the palace staff,” she said cautiously, her tone respectful but firm. “The new guard, they say, is no ordinary recruit. He is highly decorated, despite his age. He’s also not bred here, and, according to what I’ve gathered, he’s a man of few words”

Lady Evra, clicked her tongue. “He was standing outside like a watchdog! Refused to leave even after I dismissed him. Stubborn as a mule.” She crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. “I’ll be keeping a close eye on him. If he’s strange, I’ll speak to Toren and have him out of here in less than a day.”

You sighed, sinking deeper into the warm water, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. “Do as you see fit, Evra. Just ensure he keeps his mouth shut and stays out of my way.”

The days following the corset incident were nothing short of exhausting. Every interaction with Jungkook felt like walking a tightrope—your irritation simmering just beneath the surface, and his calm, dutiful presence only served to fuel your frustration. It was unbearable. Everywhere you turned, there he was standing guard by your door, shadowing your steps through the halls, his eyes always watchful. You hated it. You hated him—or so you kept telling yourself.

"Must you always hover?" You snapped one afternoon as you walked through the palace gardens. "I can breathe without you monitoring every step I take, you know."

Jungkook, walking a respectful distance behind you, replied smoothly. "It’s my duty to ensure your safety, Your Highness."

You spun on your heel, glaring at him. "My safety? From what, exactly? The murderous rose bushes? The treacherous cobblestones? Or are you afraid I’ll trip over my own feet and die?"

His face remained impassive, though his jaw tightened ever so slightly. "I take my role seriously, Your Highness. If my presence offends you, I’ll adjust my distance."

You huffed, crossing your arms. "It’s not your distance… it’s your attitude. You act as if I’m some fragile doll that’ll shatter at the slightest inconvenience. I survived before you came along. I’ll survive after you’re gone."

For a moment, he said nothing, simply watching you with those wide, unreadable eyes. Then, with a slight bow of his head, he replied, "I don’t doubt your strength, Your Highness. But even the strongest need someone to watch their back."

The calmness in his voice only irritated you more. You turned sharply, continuing down the garden path, your footsteps quick and uneven. "I don’t need you to watch my back. I need you to stay out of my way."

His response was quiet but firm. "Understood."

The weight of his simple reply settled over you, making your anger feel misplaced, almost childish. But your stubbornness wouldn’t allow you to back down. You marched ahead, determined to ignore the strange tightening in your chest, the inexplicable guilt gnawing at your resolve.

This tension became a constant, simmering beneath every exchange. Every glance Jungkook cast in your direction felt scrutinizing, even though he never once said anything out of line. And every time you snapped, he took it with that maddening calmness, never rising to your provocations.

Until one day, he didn’t.

The great hall buzzed with murmurs as townspeople filled the space for another people’s meeting, their faces lined with worry and frustration. You sat on the elevated dais, your gaze steady as the villagers came forward to air their grievances. It was a familiar scene, mostly complaints about taxes, disputes over land, requests for aid. You nodded, offering solutions where you could.  

But then, a middle-aged man stepped forward, his expression twisted with anger. His clothes were worn, his hands calloused from hard labor. "Your Highness," he began, his voice shaking with barely restrained fury, "the crime in the city is out of control. Our streets are no longer safe!”

You leaned forward slightly. "We are aware of the issue, and I assure you, measures are being taken—"  

"Measures?" he interrupted, his voice rising. "The only measures your soldiers seem to take are the ones that lead them to the bottom of an ale tankard! They’re useless, wasting our coin while we fend for ourselves."  

The crowd muttered in agreement, their voices a low rumble of discontent.  

You raised a hand to calm them. "I understand your frustration. The crown does not take this lightly, and I will personally ensure—"  

"You?" The man’s voice broke, his hand trembling as he reached into his coat. "All you do is sit on your throne safely while we suffer!"  

Before you could react, the flash of a blade caught the light as he pulled a knife from his cloak. Gasps filled the hall, and everything seemed to slow for a moment.  

But Jungkook was faster. In a single, fluid motion, he stepped in front of you, his sword drawn and leveled at the man’s throat. "Drop it," Jungkook commanded, unwavering.  

The villager’s eyes widened, his hand faltering as the tip of Jungkook’s blade pressed against his skin. "I—I didn’t mean to—" he stammered, his anger now mixed with fear.  

"Drop the knife!" Jungkook repeated, and this time, the man obeyed, the weapon clattering to the stone floor.  

Captain Toren and the other guards quickly moved in, seizing the man and leading him away. The tension in the hall was palpable, the murmurs of the crowd now hushed whispers.  

The meeting was promptly dismissed, the townspeople ushered out under by the guards. You rose from your seat, heart still pounding, and marched out of the hall without a word.  

Jungkook followed close behind.  

Once you reached the privacy of a secluded courtyard, you whirled around to face him. "What in the world was that?" you snapped, your voice sharp with anger.  

Jungkook stood firm, his arms crossed. "I was doing my job, Your Highness" he replied evenly.  

"Your job?" you repeated, incredulous. "Your job is not to scare my people!"  

He frowned, his eyes narrowing. "With all due respect, Your Highness, my job is to keep you alive. That man could’ve killed you."  

"He was desperate, he was not going to harm me!" you countered, your voice rising. "He needed help, not a blade at his throat."  

Jungkook took a step closer, his tone hardening. "Desperation makes people dangerous. If I hadn’t acted, you could’ve been seriously hurt or worse."  

You glared at him, hands clenched at your sides. "You made me look weak, Jeon. In front of everyone. How am I supposed to lead when my own guard undermines me?"  

His composure slipped, frustration evident in his voice. "And how am I supposed to do my duty when you refuse to see the risks around you?"  

There was a moment of silence. Finally, Jungkook exhaled. "I’m not your enemy, Your Highness. I’m trying to protect you, even if you dislike me for it."  

You looked away, the anger still simmering but now mixed with an uncomfortable realization that he might be right. Without another word, you turned and walked away. But the tension between you lingered as a crackling undercurrent that neither of you could ignore.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into a full month of the same dull duties. The Prince hadn’t experienced any further incidents, and since he rarely left the castle, Jungkook’s duties felt more ceremonial than protective. Inside the palace walls, the biggest threats were mundane like slipping on the stairs or burning yourself on a stray candle.

Still, one thing did unsettle him and that was the maids. It felt as though they were constantly watching him. But more scrutinizing was Lady Evra, whose sharp glances and curt words made it clear she didn’t think highly of him. Jungkook couldn’t quite pinpoint why, but he suspected she was just waiting for him to slip up.

Today, however, promised a break from routine. The kingdom was hosting dignitaries from neighboring states to celebrate the success of this year’s crops. The festivities included a hunting game, and the Prince would be participating.

Jungkook found himself looking forward to the day’s events. He had never been hunting before. The reason being that this activity was largely reserved for nobles and royals. For Jungkook, weapons had only ever been tools of war, used against enemies of the kingdom. 

As he waited for the Prince to emerge from his chambers, Jungkook couldn’t help but notice how long it always took him. He’d observed plenty of men prepare for the day, from fellow soldiers to high-ranking officers, and their routines were straightforward: a quick wash, a shave, clothes thrown on with minimal fuss. Even royals, he assumed, wouldn’t stray far from that. But the prince? His routine was far more elaborate.  

It wasn’t just the time he took but also the constant presence of maids—never a single male servant. Jungkook found this unusual. Nobles might have personal attendants, but it was customary for male royals to be assisted by male stewards, especially when dressing for public appearances. Yet here, only women fluttered in and out of the Prince’s chambers.

Jungkook’s brow furrowed as he leaned against the wall outside the door. Why so much secrecy? He wondered. 

His thoughts were abruptly cut short by the sharp clearing of a throat. Jungkook straightened at once, spinning on his heel to face an unimpressed Lady Evra, with the Prince standing just behind her. 

Jungkook’s gaze slid past the head maid and landed squarely on the Prince, who was wearing a finely tailored black velvet suit. Unlike his usual flowing robes, this ensemble clung to his form, outlining every contour. Jungkook’s mind involuntarily drifted back to that night at the tavern:

He’s too… delicate. His face, his voice—hell, even his body.

He could see it now. The Prince’s build was slender, with narrow shoulders tapering to a small waist. But lower still, his thighs seemed more shapely, fuller than one might expect. Jungkook swallowed, his thoughts beginning to tread into dangerous territory.

“What are you gawking at with that foolish expression, boy?” Lady Evra snapped, her tone sharp enough to slice through his reverie. She clicked her fingers in front of his face, jolting him back to reality. Jungkook mentally cursed himself for being so obvious.

“My apologies, ma’am,” he muttered, quickly lowering his gaze.

The Prince cast his eyes downward, a faint pink tinge brushing his cheeks. Jungkook’s heart stuttered at the sight, but before he could dwell on it, the Prince turned on his heel and began to walk away. Lady Evra followed, though not without shooting Jungkook a final withering glare, her eyes narrowing in warning.

Jungkook exhaled slowly, pressing his lips into a tight line. Focus, fool. 

When they arrived at the hunting grounds, Jungkook was immediately struck by the lack of royal guards. Only Captain Toren and two more guards stood watch over the King, alongside Jungkook himself. The absence of a larger contingent seemed odd, given the importance of the event. 

More surprising, however, was the presence of Lady Evra. She stood out sharply among the assembled men, all of whom were accompanied only by their stewards or squires. Jungkook couldn’t help but wonder what purpose a maid had at such a gathering. It was unusual, to say the least, for a woman—especially one in her position—to attend a hunting excursion.

The journey there had been rough. The carriage lurched and swayed over the uneven, muddy roads, making the ride uncomfortable for all. By the time they arrived, Lady Evra was visibly pale, her knuckles white as she gripped the carriage’s edge. As soon as the wheels stopped, she nearly leapt from the cabin, clutching a handkerchief over her mouth. She looked as though she might empty the contents of her stomach at any moment.

"Please fetch Lady Evra some water," The Prince instructed one of the nearby stewards.

Turning to Lady Evra, he added, "You may rest in the carriage. I won’t require your assistance for the time being."

Lady Evra nodded stiffly, still covering her mouth. Without another word, she retreated to the designated camp area, her usual sharp demeanor dampened by her obvious discomfort. Jungkook watched her leave, unable to shake the feeling that her presence here was more than just an odd coincidence.

The dense forest stretched around them, the towering trees creating long shadows as the afternoon sun began its slow descent. The hunting party had dispersed, each group fanning out in search of game. Jungkook remained close to you, bow in hand, his eyes sharp as he scanned the surroundings. His primary duty was to ensure that the area was safe, yet his gaze kept drifting to you instead.

You moved with a certain grace, your slim figure seeming out of place among the rugged hunters. The tight-fitting black velvet suit from earlier now seemed even more impractical in the wild. The way it hugged your narrow waist and flared slightly over your hips was… distracting. Jungkook found himself stealing glances, his grip tightening on his bow each time his eyes wandered.

“You’ve been staring,” you said suddenly. You didn’t turn to look at Jungkook, instead keeping your gaze ahead.

Jungkook stiffened, clearing his throat. “I’m merely keeping watch, Your Highness. It’s my duty.”

You finally glanced back, one brow arched. “Is it? Funny, I didn’t realize my waistline required such vigilant protection.”

Jungkook felt heat rise to his cheeks. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I was… assessing the terrain.”

“Of course,” you replied, your tone light but your eyes lingering on him just long enough to unsettle him.

Jungkook tried to shake off his discomfort, focusing on his surroundings. His instincts were on high alert, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted—not by his thoughts, and certainly not by you.

Suddenly, a sharp rustling in the underbrush made both of you halt. Jungkook raised his bow instinctively, scanning the dense foliage.

“It’s probably just a deer,” you whispered.

Before Jungkook could respond, a sharp sound cut through the air. An arrow zipped past, grazing Jungkook’s arm and embedding itself in a tree behind him. He barely registered the sting before he heard your sharp intake of breath. His heart stopped as he turned to see you clutching your side, blood seeping through your fingers.

“Your Highness!” Jungkook lunged forward just as the ground beneath you gave way. You stumbled, and before Jungkook could grab hold of you, both of you tumbled down a steep slope. Rocks and branches tore at your clothes and skin until you landed in a crumpled heap at the bottom.

Jungkook groaned, pushing himself up despite the aching in his limbs. His eyes immediately sought out your form. Scrambling over, he knelt beside you. “Your Highness, are you all right?”

Your eyes fluttered open, face pale. “I… I think the arrow grazed me.”

Jungkook’s gaze fell to the blood-soaked fabric at your side. He knew he had to act quickly. “It’s more than a graze, Your Highness. You’re losing too much blood. I need to tend to the wound.”

You shook your head weakly, attempting to push his hands away. “No. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Jungkook insisted firmly. “If I don’t stop the bleeding, you could—”

“I said no!” You snapped, voice trembling with both pain and defiance. Your hand gripped the torn edge of your garment. “You cannot… I won’t allow it.”

Jungkook hesitated, understanding dawning in his eyes. You weren’t just refusing out of pride… you were hiding something. But there was no time for hesitation. Gritting his teeth, Jungkook grabbed your wrist gently but firmly. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but your life comes before anything else.”

With one swift motion, Jungkook tore the fabric away from your side, revealing the wound… and something else. His breath caught. Beneath the blood and torn fabric, your chest was bound tightly, concealing curves that no man would possess.

Jungkook froze, his mind racing, but he forced himself to focus. “Your Highness… You—”

“Just hush,” you whispered hoarsely, eyes burning with both fear and anger. “And do what you must….”

Snapping out of his shock, Jungkook nodded, his hands steady as he worked. He pressed a cloth to the wound, applying pressure to stem the bleeding. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he murmured, his voice low. “But you need to trust me now.”

Your eyes searched his eyes for a long moment before you finally, reluctantly, nodded. Jungkook tore away the side of the corset where the arrow had struck, making you gasp, your hands instinctively flying to cover your chest. But Jungkook’s focus was entirely on tending your wound. He ripped a strip from his own jacket and wrapped it tightly around you, improvising a bandage. His mind was whirling with a million thoughts but his hands remained steady. 

“How could this happen…” you winced weakly, eyes blinking slow and unfocused.

Jungkook glanced around the tangled underbrush as he finished securing the makeshift bandage around your side. “I don’t think it was a missed arrow, Your Highness. All the groups were assigned different parts of the forest… no one should’ve been near us. Whoever shot that arrow meant to hit you.”

His gaze drifted back, lingering for a second where your ripped corset revealed the bound curves beneath. Realizing, he cleared his throat and jerked his eyes up to meet yours. You stared him down, cheeks flushed more with anger than embarrassment.

“We need to move. It’s not safe here.”

You tried to sit up, grimacing as pain knifed through your side. “I… I don’t think I can get up,”

“I’ll carry you to the carriage,” Jungkook said, already moving to help.

“Absolutely not.” You shot him a fierce glare, even as your lips trembled. “I refuse to be hauled around like some helpless damsel.”

Jungkook gave an exasperated huff. “Your Highness, this isn’t up for debate. My duty is to keep you alive no matter what.”

You lifted your chin. “I will not be carried.”

“For the love of—” Jungkook muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’re so damned stubborn.”

Your eyes blazed, but the pain kept you from doing more than gritting your teeth. “Excuse me?!”

“Quiet now.” 

Before you could even protest the absolute audacity, his arms scooped under your knees and shoulders, lifting you easily. The motion jostled your side making your breath hitch through clenched teeth.

“You absolute brute!” You hissed.

“You're bleeding out,” he shot back, adjusting his grip just slightly so your head could rest against his chest. “Forgive me for prioritizing your survival over your comfort.”

Your fingers dug into the front of his uniform. “You could have at least warned me.”

“I did,” Jungkook muttered. “You just don’t listen.”

You scowled up at him, though the expression was weakened by your paling face and the way your head lolled slightly from the blood loss. “I am the crown Prince, you know. You should treat me with a modicum of…of dignity.”

“With all due respect, Your Highness,” he snapped, glancing down at you with frustration simmering just below the surface. “You make my job more difficult when you act like you'd rather die than accept help.”

He got nothing more than a quiet huff of indignation in response. You were clearly growing too weak to argue back so he quickened his pace. His gaze flicked constantly between the path ahead and the shadows shifting through the branches. But despite his vigilance, he still looked down at you every few seconds, checking your breathing.

After a moment, your voice came softer, more strained. “Do you think it was one of the guests? Someone who knew I’d be out here, away from the castle?”

Jungkook didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “But whoever it was, they knew enough to aim for where you’d be most vulnerable.”

“You mustn’t tell anyone,” you murmured weakly after a second. Jungkook glanced down at you. “About what you saw.”

His jaw flexed subtly, and for a moment he was silent. “Your secret is safe with me, Your Highness.”

Something in his voice made you believe him, despite your best instincts warning you otherwise.

He adjusted his grip and pushed into a jog. The pain flared along your ribs, but you bit back the cry, burying it in the fabric of his collar. 

“Stay with me,” he murmured quietly, quickening his pace. “We’re almost there.”

Within minutes, shapes emerged on the rise. Toren's eyes widened when he saw the crimson stain at your side.

“Prince—!” He started.

“Later,” you rasped, before Jungkook could answer. “Find whoever fired that arrow first.”

Toren snapped a signal to his men. The physician rushed forward as Jungkook eased you into a soft cushion inside the carriage, but your hand caught his wrist before he could step back.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

The female physician began cutting away the rest of the corset. Jungkook turned, placing himself between you and the widening circle of soldiers, shielding your secret with his own body as the hunt for the unseen archer began.

“This is an outrage! An arrow shot at the Crown Prince! What barbaric times are we living in?” the Queen seethed, her heels clicking furiously across the marble floor as she paced the length of your chambers. Her hands, adorned in glinting rings, were clenched tightly at her sides, white with fury.

You lay still in bed, propped up against a pile of silk-stitched pillows, a dark expression carved into your face. Pain still throbbed beneath the bandages at your side, but it was nothing compared to the knot forming in your stomach.

You hadn’t yet told her.

She was already fuming, her voice echoing off the high ceilings, and you had no idea how to add to her fire without sparking a full inferno. You didn’t even know what they’d do to Jungkook if they found out. A soldier learning the most guarded secret in the kingdom? The risk alone was enough to get someone executed. But…

Your thoughts flicked back to the look on his face when he saw your body. Not disgust. He was definitely shocked but not disgusted. And you were only alive because of his quick reaction.

You wanted to trust him. But did you know you could?

“The royal guards scoured the entire forest,” your father said, his voice tight with exhaustion. He sat slumped on the edge of the chaise, one hand pressed to his temple, the other clenched over his knee. “There were no tracks, no signs, no discarded arrows. Whoever it was, they planned their escape well.”

He looked older than he had the day before. You know he hadn’t slept. his robes were still wrinkled from the previous night’s vigil at your bedside.

“The wound could have been fatal!” the Queen snapped, turning toward him. “They aimed for her side! Low enough to bleed her out before help could arrive. This wasn’t a warning shot.”

“The physician said she’ll make a full recovery,” your father reminded gently. “Thanks to quick action. The bleeding was stopped in time.”

“Thanks to Jungkook.” You said, staring at the gilded canopy above. “If he hadn’t acted, I might not be here.”

Your mother’s eyes snapped to yours, sharp with calculation. “That boy…he bandaged your wound?”

You hesitated. The truth was teetering at the edge of your tongue. “He saved my life,” you said, skirting the specifics, not quite meeting her gaze.

Your father let out a slow breath. “Then we owe him a debt. At least some among the guards still know their duty.”

But your mother was not so easily appeased. She narrowed her eyes with suspicion. “I want to speak to him. Alone. If he is to be your constant shadow, I need to know exactly what kind of man we’ve invited into this family’s confidence.” Her words left no room for argument.

A tremor of fear ran through you—not for yourself, but for Jungkook. The more people who knew, the more fragile your secret became. And you couldn’t shake the worry that your mother would see straight through any lie he tried to offer.

A knock sounded. Lady Evra slipped inside, curtsying quickly. “Your Majesties, Sir Jeon has returned from debriefing with Captain Toren. He requests permission to deliver his report in person.”

Ice rippled through your chest. The Queen’s eyes flashed. “Bring him.”

Jungkook entered and sank to one knee, head bowed. “Your Majesties. Your Highness.”

“You kept my child alive,” the King began. “For that, the crown owes you.”

“Yes,” the Queen cut in, “but you also led the hunting party that placed the Prince in the arrow’s path. Explain.”

Jungkook lifted his gaze. “Your Majesty, the party followed the assigned quadrant. The assailant lay in wait outside any sanctioned sector. Whoever it was moved with purpose and vanished the moment the shot was fired.”

“You saw no crest, no colors?”

“None, Your Majesty. Only a black-fletched arrow. I have secured it for inspection.”

The Queen folded her arms. “And after the attack? How did you manage the wound?”

Jungkook’s shoulders squared, but his voice stayed steady throughout the questioning. “I made a bandage from my uniform and transported the Prince to the carriage as quickly as possible.”

“And you did not see anything… strange?” She raised a brow.

“No, I was focused on keeping the Prince from bleeding out.”

Your chest loosened by a fraction at his quick wit.

The King exhaled. “I will make sure to let the court know you’ll remain as primary escort for the Prince.”

The Queen looked ready to object, but your voice slipped in first “I concur. Sir Jeon acted decisively. I am alive because of him.”

The Queen inclined her head after a few seconds, the gesture sharp as a sword’s edge. “Very well. But from this day forward you answer to me as well, Sir Jeon. Fail once, and no medal will shield you.”

“I understand, Your Majesty,” Jungkook said firmly.

“Then go,” she ordered. “See the prince’s guard doubled and the gate captains briefed about our new security measures.”

He bowed once more and withdrew.

You let out the breath you’d been holding. Your father rose to leave. “Rest, my child. We will find whoever did this.”

When your parents had gone, Lady Evra fussed with your pillows, but you caught her sleeve. “Send for Sir Jeon quietly. I… need to thank him.”

Lady Evra’s brows arched, but she only nodded. “As you wish, Highness.”

After a few minutes, a knock sounded at your door. You sat up with difficulty, wincing as the movement tugged at your healing side. “Come in!” you called, adjusting the blanket around your waist.

The door creaked open, and Jungkook stepped in with his usual calm, bowing his head slightly before crossing the room. He stopped just at the edge of your bed, posture rigid, as though unsure how close was too close.

Your loose camisole left little to the imagination. The bindings were gone so the faint curve of your chest was now impossible to hide. Still, Jungkook’s eyes didn’t waver once. His gaze held respectfully to your face.

“You wished to see me, Your Highness?”

“Yes.” You found yourself nibbling the inside of your lip nervously. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he now carried your greatest secret or the simple fact that you were alone with him in your chambers. Both felt equally improper. “I wanted to thank you again for saving me.”

“It was only my duty, Your Highness.”

“I know…”  You drew a slow breath. “I also wanted to apologize… for being so difficult.”

“I don’t hold it against you, Your Highness. I’d be difficult too, if I were in your place.”

“I think the Queen suspects you know more than you let on.”

“Yes, the interrogation made that pretty clear,” he replied without missing a beat.

His deadpan delivery made you huff a laugh despite yourself.  He didn’t smile back but his expression softened. And for just a second, he looked at you not like a soldier looking at a royal, but like a boy looking at someone he wasn’t sure how to categorize anymore.

Your smile made him lose that unwavering focus he was known for. His eyes dipped ever so slightly before darting back up. He swallowed.

You caught the slip. “Something wrong, Sir Jeon?”

“No,” he said too quickly. “You should rest. You’re still healing.”

“Is that a dismissal?” you teased, a faint smirk tugging at your lips.

His jaw tightened. “No, Your Highness. Merely a concern.”

“Very well, then. You’re dismissed.”

He bowed and slipped out, the door whisper-quiet behind him.

From the day the physician cleared you to leave bed, Jungkook seemed to multiply—one shadow was no longer enough. If he’d hovered before, now he was practically stuck to your side. Always posted outside your door even after his shift was supposed to end, tracking every corridor you crossed, materializing whenever a servant so much as sneezed in your direction. You told yourself it was because of the arrow, because you were still healing. But deep down you sensed it was because of what he’d seen in the ravine.

Your first outing was a simple walk across the inner courtyard. The morning sunlight spilled over the flagstones and you longed to feel it on your face. You managed three steps before Jungkook appeared at your side.

“If I trip, will you throw yourself under me like a mattress?” You huffed, trying hard not to roll your eyes.

“If necessary, your Highness,” he answered, unblinking.

You clicked your tongue and kept walking, noting the way castle staff parted around him cautiosly. Rumors had already taken flight about the Prince’s new guard, silent as stone, deadly as winter. You wondered which version of the story they told, the one where you were a delicate invalid, or the one where Jungkook was an overzealous watchdog. Neither sat comfortably.

Later that week, you attempted to sneak to the library after dusk to review the latest grain-tax ledgers. You’d just slipped through the double doors when a low voice cut the stillness.

“Your highness.”

You whirled. Jungkook was standing neared the doors, arms folded, as though he’d just spawned there.

“Did you follow me? Your shift ended hours ago” you hissed.

“You must’ve forgotten that the Queen ordered double watch on every entrance after the attack. I can hardly leave the future monarch to wander unguarded gaps.”

“This is the royal archive, not a battlefield.”

“Any place becomes a battlefield once an enemy steps inside.” 

You opened your mouth to retort but suddenly footsteps sounded in the antechamber. Jungkook was beside you in an instant, one hand on the hilt at his waist, the other gently pressing you behind a towering shelf.

The door creaked and two junior ministers drifted in, whispering about budget approvals. Only when they left did Jungkook relax.

“One cannot be too careful,” he murmured. “Not every foe announces himself with a blade.”

You shot him a glare. “You see threats where there are none.”

“Perhaps. Yet my vigilance has saved Your Highness before.”

A dozen retorts crowded your tongue, but none survived the heat in his gaze.

You stepped back first. “Very well. Sit and read if you must, but do so in silence while I work”

He inclined his head. “As you wish.”

You took a table by the tall windows; he chose a chair just within arm’s reach, angled so he could watch the door and, annoyingly, you. Under the wavering candlelight, you tried to drown in numbers, yet awareness of him pulsed at the edge of every calculation.

When the tower bell tolled midnight, you closed the ledger with a thud. “Finished,” you said, more to the thudding in your chest than the paperwork.

Jungkook rose, offering his arm. You hesitated, then took it—if only to steady the soreness in your side. His warmth seeped through the linen sleeve.

As he guided you back to your chambers, you realized two things with unsettling clarity:

First, the palace seemed far safer when he was near.

Second, no safety had ever felt quite so perilous for your heart.

Your injuries had yet to fully mend when your mother, in all her gilded grandeur, declared it time to host a royal ball.

As if a pierced flank and bruised ribs were no excuse to be spared the torment of brocade and small talk.

Worse still, guests from your mother’s bloodline—house Calderan, of the western realm—had been invited. And with them, your cousin Victor. You despised Victor. He was as insufferable as his father, your uncle the marquess of flintmere. Both were horribly self-important, crude, and always eager to remind the court of your… delicate disposition.

Your father had little love for them either, but decorum bound his hands. Calderan and your court were long allies, and the celebration required their presence.

Because of this unfortunate fact you were now struggling into formal attire before a tall gilt mirror. Fresh bindings hugged your ribs, hot with ache, and the new double-breasted velvet coat—blood red, embroidered in silver—pinched at your shoulders. Just as you contemplated tearing a seam for air, a knock rattled the door.

“For the love of the gods, enter!” you snapped.

The door swung wide and Jungkook stepped inside, one hand pressed to his breast in courteous greeting—then froze at the sight of you half dressed, corset strings dangling like snakes.

“What is it, Jeon? Can you not see I am rather occupied?” you demanded.

“My apologies, Highness.” He dipped his head. “I bear word from the Great Hall. The royal party from Calderan has arrived sooner than expected, and Their Majesties request your presence at once in the Receiving Hall.”

“What?” you exclaimed, voice pitching higher than you’d like. “I’m not even dressed! And these wretched clothes don’t fit. Fetch lady Evra at once.”

“Lady Evra is presently addressing some disturbance downstairs, Highness. It seems the scullery maid set the kitchen alight.”

“Curse it all!” you swore, fighting the urge to fling something across the chamber. Jungkook's lips twitched as if he found your outrage amusing.

“Well, don’t just stand there! Come help me with this.” You jabbed a finger at the offending corset’s laces.

His eyes went round. “M—me, Your Highness?”

“No, i’m speaking to the armor in the corner. Of course you! Make yourself useful for once.”

Color climbed his neck, but he crossed the carpet without further protest. You turned, bracing both palms on the bed-post while he gathered the laces of your corset. His fingers brushed the small of your back. He worked carefully, drawing each pull snug but not cruel.

“Too tight?” he asked, voice a shade lower than usual.

“It will have to do,” you muttered, trying—and failing—to ignore how your pulse fluttered where his knuckles grazed skin.

He tied the final knot, then helped settle the velvet coat over your shoulders. You faced the mirror. The garment now lay smooth, waist nipped just enough to suggest aristocratic elegance.

“Thank you,” you said, voice softer than expected.

“Always, your highness.”

His eyes lingered before he bowed and turned toward the door.

“Jeon.”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“If Victor so much as looks at me the wrong way tonight,” you said, slipping into your polished boots, “I expect you to ‘escort’ him into a wall.”

“Gladly, Your Highness”

The bells of the west tower chimed eighth hour as you and Jungkook left your chamber. He offered his arm which you accepted only because the corridor felt endless and your side still ached under silk and whalebone. 

At the doors of the Great Receiving Hall, you let his arm go as the herald struck his staff with three measured raps that silenced the string ensemble within.

“His Highness, The Crown Prince, accompanied by Sir Jeon Jungkook of the Royal Brigade.”

The carved oak panels swung wide. Heat washed over you first coming from the braziers that roared in every corner. Tapestries of your house stag and House Calderan’s silver hawk hung side by side. Above the high tablewas  a chandelier bristled with beeswax candles, dripping slow pearls of wax toward the floor.

All eyes turned as you crossed the threshold. Some widened in sympathy at the pallor still ghosting your features; more than a few flicked to Jungkook, curiosity sharpening into speculation. The string players shifted seamlessly into the opening of the ceremonial court dance—a formation performed in a large circle by the noblemen and lords, and a second concentric circle by the ladies and visiting dignitaries.

“Steady,” Jungkook murmured.

“I am steady,” you replied with a tight smile.

Halfway across the hall, a voice as smooth as oiled steel cut through the courtly murmurs.

“Cousin!” Victor Calderan detached himself from a knot of western lords, crossing to you with the swagger of a man certain every eye belonged on him. He bowed then straightened to his full, irritating height. “I feared we should meet next at a funeral. Imagine my relief to see you upright, if not entirely… unharmed.”

Your jaw locked. “Your concern dazzles me, Victor.”

He smirked, gaze darting to Jungkook. “And this must be the heroic shadow who hauled you from barbaric brambles. Tell me, Sir… was it bravery or blind luck that kept the arrow from finding a truer mark?”

Jungkook’s expression did not change, but you saw his muscles tighten under his vambrace. “Luck always bows to skill, my lord,” he said evenly. “And skill serves the crown.”

A hint of annoyance crossed Victor’s face then vanished under a grin. “Well spoken. Still, I wonder if our dear Prince would fare better guarded by men of better lineage.” He let the insult hang but Jungkook seemed unaffected.

“You damn–”

Before you could finish, the Queen appeared beside you “Victor,” she said warmly, “your father awaits you by the dais.” It was not a suggestion. Victor bowed again, much deeper to her, and left.

Your mother’s smile dropped the moment his back turned. “Behave,” she warned under her breath. “The first set is the ceremonial march, you must appear united.” 

You bowed just to hide an eye roll. “As Your Majesty wills.”

A drum signaled the dance’s start. You and Victor joined the outer circle of lords, your places dictated by birth, while Jungkook took his place along the wall with the other guards. Victor’s presence at your side was unavoidable, his harsh touch on your side during the linking step made you wince.

“Still sore?” Victor murmured as the circles rotated, his lips barely moving. “If those bandages split, imagine the scandal.”

You kept your smile frozen. “If that happens, it won’t be my bindings that split... it will be your lip.”

His eyes glittered, but he was forced to move on as the circle turned and you broke away, hands briefly joining with Lord Banford, then Lord Giles. At every turn, you felt Jungkook’s gaze on you.

When the dance ended, you made to walk away and sit down but Victor stopped you, pulling you back harshly.

“Come on, cousin! Are you tired already?” 

Jungkook was at your side in a second.

“Does the guard speak for the Crown now?” Victor chuckled darkly.

“He speaks when the Crown cannot waste breath,” you answered, accepting Jungkook’s steadying arm. “My physician forbade further strain.”

The Chamberlain hurried forward, announcing the second formation, where you would join a different grouping—this time among the royal cousins and western lords. Custom demanded your continued presence, but you lifted your chin and turned to your mother.

“This set I forfeit,” you declared, voice ringing over the music. “In gratitude for my continued heartbeat, I would honor the man who saved the heir to the crown.”

A jolt of shock moved through the hall, but your mother inclined her head reluctantly, and the King gave a small nod from the dais.

Instead of taking a place in the second set, you moved aside, allowing Jungkook to join. Though not strictly within the bounds of custom, your action was shielded by royal decree.

You leaned in, voice just for him. “You see? I can break a rule or two when I must.”

He let the hint of a smile curled his mouth. “And survive it, Highness.”

The rest of the ball blurred past with Victor’s dark looks from the dance circle, the Queen’s measured glances, and the way the court’s eyes tracked every step you took with your silent, loyal guard at your side. Your closeness would not go unnoticed nor, perhaps, would you want it to.

“Mother, you cannot be serious! They’re an utter nuisance! Why would you keep them here longer than necessary?” you protested, trailing at her heels as she moved about her solar the following morning. Sunlight gleamed off gilded mirrors and the silver trinkets that lined her shelves, mocking your mood.

She turned sharply, her jewels flashing. “Because they are family, and because I say so. Besides, your father is in the midst of delicate negotiations with them.”

You scoffed, folding your arms. “Oh, please. My father would sooner share a cell with the rats under the kitchens than spend another day at table with Uncle and Victor.”

Her lips thinned. “That’s enough. You’re acting like a spoiled child.”

You clenched your jaw, biting back another retort. Without waiting for dismissal, you stormed from her chambers, slamming the heavy oak door behind you.

Jungkook was waiting outside, posture alert. He fell into step at your side the moment you emerged.

“This is absurd,” you muttered, barely slowing your stride as you swept down the corridor. 

“Your Highness, if you walk at that pace, you’ll tear your stitches,” Jungkook cautioned.

You bristled, refusing to look at him. “I am perfectly capable of walking, Jeon. Kindly grant me some dignity.”

Before he could reply, a familiar, grating voice drifted down the hall.

“Cousin.”

You stopped dead, spine stiffening as Victor sauntered toward you.

“I trust you heard the good news,” he drawled, spreading his arms joyfully. “We’re to enjoy your fine hospitality for several more days. How utterly delightful.”

“Truly wonderful,” you replied, the cold expression in your face not matching the words at all.

He grinned. “Since we have so much time to rekindle our friendship, perhaps we should indulge in some amusement. You know, like old times.”

You glanced quickly at Jungkook, drawing a steadying breath before stepping closer to Victor.

“I hardly think that would be appropriate.”

“Oh, come now!” Victor’s voice rose, clearly intended for Jungkook’s ears. “Be a man, will you? You’re the only Prince I know who shuns a bit of female company. It wouldn’t kill you to enjoy yourself for once. Visit the city, see the girls dance. In fact, your guard is welcome to join us. The last one… what was his name? Sir Alric, was it? He could hardly stay away from those girls. Surely Sir Jeon doesn’t object to a little pleasure?”

Your eyes narrowed, refusing to give Victor the satisfaction of a reaction.

“I assure you,” you said, voice icy, “I have neither the time nor the inclination to carouse with you, cousin. Nor do I require your advice on how to behave as a man.”

Victor chuckled, but there was no warmth in it. “We’ll see. Even the purest Prince in the realm has his vices. Perhaps your new shadow here might teach you a thing or two.”

“Mind your tongue, Lord Victor,” Jungkook interrupted. “You tread close to slander.”

Victor arched a brow, clearly amused. “Slander? I thought the Prince welcomed plain speech.”

“My loyalty,” you said, stepping forward until your boots touched the hem of Victor’s cloak, “does not extend to brothels or barroom gossip. Neither does my patience.”

His smile thinned. “So prickly. Perhaps the arrow did more harm than I heard. Well—” He spread his hands in mock apology. “The offer stands. Should you grow tired of the court, you know where to find me.”

He pivoted and strolled away. Only when his footsteps faded did you release the breath strangled by the corset.

Jungkook’s eyes stayed on the corridor’s far end before returning to you. “You should not let him bait you.”

“I know.” You pressed a palm to the ache beneath your ribs. “But I know him well enough to know he won’t stop pestering me.”

Night had already draped the capital in velvet by the time Victor found a way to corner you again.

You were halfway through supper when a page arrived with a folded billet stamped in House Calderan’s hawk.

His Highness is invited to continue the evening’s festivities in the city. Your father’s treaty depends upon our growing “camaraderie.”A carriage waits at the north postern.

You could almost hear the smug lilt in every curl of ink. Refusal would definitely reach your uncle’s ears by dawn which would likely damage  the negotiations your father desperately needed. 

The truth was, your kingdom had seen better days. Crime crept through the streets, the fields had withered beneath a relentless drought, and the coffers grew thinner every day. In his desperation, your father had turned to family, forging alliances wherever he could.

So you swalloed your pride and slipped from the palace under cover of night, Jungkook at your side. Neither of you spoke as the postern gate thudded shut behind you. Two Calderan riders flanked the carriage. Inside, Victor lounged with his legs crossed, grinning wide as you entered.

“Cousin! I thought you’d faint from virtue and abandon me to the wolves.” He knocked twice on the carriage roof, and the horses surged forward. “No need to fret. The Gilded Swan keeps its finer rooms for those of proper blood.”

You took your seat opposite, brushing off his jibe. Jungkook stood by the door, his eyes fixed on the shadowed streets beyond the rattling shutters.

Victor uncorked a silver flask and swirled its contents, his gaze sharp. “Tell me, have you ever seen dancers from the southern isles? They’re… a rare delicacy. Your guard may feast his eyes as well. Consider it a courtesy from one man to another.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened, but he held his tongue. 

The carriage rattled downhill through a maze of twisting lanes until you reached The Gilded Swan’s front of polished wood and gilded carvings of wings. Women in gauzy silks greeted patrons on the steps

Victor was out first, flipping a coin pouch to the doorman. “See that House Calderan gets the finest chamber.”

There were severak ushions sprawled around low tables laden with wine and fruit inside, while a sunken stage in the center drew all eyes. Dancers shimmered in veils and jewels, their skirts flashing as they twirled, each movement met with cheers and hungry applause.

Victor sank into a couch, discarding his boots as if he were in his own chambers. He beckoned a pair of courtesans with a lazy curl of fingers. “Wine for the Prince,” he ordered, “and something stronger for Sir Jeon… he looks parched.”

“I don’t drink while on duty,” Jungkook said firmly. He stationed himself at your shoulder, watchful as a tower guard.

Victor’s grin turned sly. “So disciplined. Perhaps the dancers can loosen that spine.” He snapped, and a tall woman with chrysanthemum tattoos crossed to Jungkook, offering a tray of crystal cups.

Jungkook took none.

The woman turned to you, lowering gracefully. Her kohl-lined eyes roved over your figure, pausing at the stiff line of your torso. She tilted her head, curiosity pricking but before her hand could brush the boned front of your doublet, you leaned back.

“No entertainment,” you said, keeping your tone princely and bored. “I am here only to ensure my cousin’s discretion.”

Victor laughed, raising his goblet. “Ever the dull blade, cousin. Truly no edge for pleasure. Tell me, do the bindings truly leave no room for—”

Jungkook stood between you. “Mind the heir’s dignity, Lord Victor.”

“Spirits be merciful, Sir Stonewall. We are all friends here.”

Yet his stare lingered before drifting toward a curtained staircase that led to secluded chambers.

“Very well,” he sighed, feigning magnanimity. “If my cousin will not try  the Swan’s delights, I shall enjoy twice the share.” He stood up with a girl on each arm, and sauntered toward the stairs. “Perhaps another night, Your Highness… when your nurse allows.”

You forced a breath past clenched teeth.

“We can leave if you wish to, Highness.”

You shook your head, eyes still on the curtained stairs. “No. Victor thinks I’m weak. Let him wear out his appetites. We will see how well he argues tariffs tomorrow with a pounding skull.”

You managed a tight smile. “Besides, I have my own entertainment.” You pointed to a quieter alcove overlooking the stage. “There. Far from roaming hands.”

He escorted you to the nook, positioning himself so no stray reveler could approach unnoticed. 

Hours later, when Victor was well and truly lost beyond those curtains, you remained in the alcove. Below, you could see the dancers entertaining nonstop. A single brass lamp burned on your table, its low flame gilded Jungkook’s profile and it was hard not to notice the clean line of his jaw, the faint scar at his temple, the way lamplight glanced off his dark lashes whenever he blinked.

Perhaps it was the spiced wine Victor pressed on you before he vanished, which you refilled at least twice since . Perhaps it was the warm stupefying musk of incense that drifted from braziers along the wall. Either way, your limbs felt pleasantly untethered, your thoughts inhibited. You laid sideways on a velvet bolster, temple propped on your fist, studying the man who refused to leave your side.

“You do realize,” you said, words coming slower than usual, “that you have not taken your eyes off that door since we sat down.”

“It is the only entrance to these private stairs,” Jungkook answered. His tone was even, but his gaze slid to you for the briefest moment. “If trouble returns, it will come from there.”

You let your head loll back. “Still the dutiful shield. Even in a house of vice.”

“I am sworn everywhere,” he said quietly.

“Sworn everywhere,” you echoed. “To me”

That earned his full attention. His eyes, dark as spilled ink, held your own and you wished nothing more than to see into his thoughts.

An idea, warm and reckless, bloomed behind your ribs as you reached across the low table and brushed a fingertip along the edge of Jungkook’s gauntlet where metal met leather. “Remove this,” you murmured.

“Highness?” His voice caught in surprise.

“The armor,” you clarified, sliding your finger higher, grazing the strap at his wrist. “If I must endure bone and lace, you may relinquish a single plate. Humor me.”

His lips parted and you could tell he was trying to find a way to refuse. But the dutiful soldier in him told him to obey. Slowly he unbuckled the vambrace and removed it.

Without the gauntlet, his hand looked strangely vulnerable, long fingers scarred at the knuckles, veins tracing elegant lines beneath skin. You found yourself cataloging each detail as though it were a secret map.

You took the risk, folding your hand over his. Jungkook did not pull away, though every muscle in his forearm flexed.

“Your pulse is fast,” you whispered, sliding your thumb across the roughness of his knuckles.

“So is yours,” he replied, eyes locked on the place your hands met.

Perhaps he meant to reclaim discipline and perhaps you meant to retreat. Neither happened. Instead you leaned forward, wine-sweet breath mingling with his steady exhale. From this close you noticed the faint scent of cedar oil on his tunic and the way a single strand of hair curled against his cheek. Your gaze drifted to his lips and how soft they looked. You’d never been kissed before but suddenly the curiosity to experience it felt stronger.

“Highness,” he breathed.

“Do you truly not desire any distraction?” you asked, trying for light teasing, but the words husked in your throat.

“I desire—” He stopped, swallowed. “I desire your safety.”

“And now?” Your lips were inches from his. “Am I in danger?”

A flicker of something like hunger flashed in his eyes. He raised his free hand, intending, you knew, to guide you back to a safer distance. But he misjudged and his fingers brushed the bare line of your collarbone instead. The touch was light as a feather yet it felt like embers striking tinder.

“I think you’ve had more wine than you intended, Highness.” His jaw tightened slightly, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before swiftly darting back to your eyes.

“I know precisely how much I’ve had,” you countered quietly. “And it is just enough to see clearly.”

He exhaled slowly, but made no move to withdraw. “And what is it you see clearly now?”

“You.”

His dark eyes searched your face, their careful mask slipping. “Your Highness, I—”

But words seemed suddenly insufficient. Before caution could whisper warnings, you leaned in even closer, enough to feel the warmth of his breath fan across your cheek.

“You’re quite handsome, Jeon,” you breathed, and then the realization of your boldness caught up to you. But even then, you couldn’t pull away.. or didn’t want to.

Jungkook’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Highness,” he finally managed, voice strained. “We must be careful…”

But still, he did not move away. And you wondered, heart racing wildly in your chest, whether either of you truly wanted him to.

You let your gaze drop to his mouth. He drew in a shaky breath, then closed the distance, brushing the gentlest kiss against your lips. It lasted no longer than a sigh, but the heat of it spread through you faster than the wine had. When he pulled away, only inches remained, his nose still nearly touching yours, and you knew caution had already slipped from both your hands.

After that, everything became a hazy rush. You could barely recall what was said or how you’d managed to leave, only the feel of his hand at your back and the way he kept you close until the cool night air met your skin outside.

The city’s raucous glow had faded behind you as you rode back to the palace. Jungkook carried you through the shadowed halls, keeping to the servants’ ways where no courtiers would see. Your head lolled, the fine points of your princely attire digging into your ribs and making every step a trial.

When at last you reached your chambers, Jungkook all but dropped you onto the old settee. You slumped with a groan, fingers clawing at your sash and the linen bindings beneath.

“You must shed these clothes, Highness,” Jungkook said, trying to keep his tone respectful. “You’ll not heal sleeping in such tight bindings.”

You snorted. “Spare me the lecture. If you’ve any compassion, help me before I die of strangulation. Saints, this is tighter than a miser’s fist.”

He hesitated, glancing aside. “This is improper—”

“Oh, by the gods, Jungkook!” you snapped, voice sharper than intended. “You think I care for propriety tonight? I’ve suffered arrows, your company, and Victor’s idiocy. Help me or leave me for the crows.”

He muttered something under his breath—a curse, probably—but obeyed. His fingers found the cords at your back, unsteady only in the beginning. The binding was nothing like court ladies’ corsets. It was just cruel, tight linen, meant to flatten your chest beneath the shirt and sash. As he worked, you nearly sagged in relief from all the air rushing in.

“Mercy, that’s better,” you groaned. “If I die of a broken rib, you have my permission to toss me in the moat.”

“You should lie down, Highness” he murmured, his voice low and strangely gentle.

You shot him a side look, drunken bravado bleeding into your words. “Only if you swear to catch me, Jeon. I think my legs are lost to the night.”

He slid an arm behind your shoulders, helping you upright. The motion spun you and you tumbled against his hard chest, hands gripping his shirt for balance.

“Gods, you’re sturdy,” you slurred, grinning like a fool. “Is that what they teach in the brigade? To stand firm no matter what fool Prince pitches into you?”

He swallowed, lips parting. “It’s…expected of me, Highness.”

You laughed brightly. “Expected. Hah. I expect nothing and am never disappointed. Look at you, face all grim as judgment day. No jest, not even a smile.” You squinted up at him, noting the worry in his gaze. “Why do you look at me like that?”

He was silent, hands still steady on your waist, but his eyes betrayed him.

“Don’t be so serious,” you whispered, suddenly closer. “There’s no secret between us. Not anymore.”

Your lips brushed his, barely a touch, but it was enough to scatter any pretense of sobriety. He froze. Both honor and desire warring under his skin.

You pulled back, smirking despite yourself. “You have no taste for this, have you? No appetite for ruin?”

“That is not it,” he rasped, his voice hoarse.

Before he could protest further, you kissed him. A real kiss this time, hard and sure, all the reckless longing you’d been holding in. His hand curled at your back.

You broke away, breathing hard, half in his lap now. “Tell me truly,” you demanded. “Do you want this, or must I beg?”

He exhaled like a man dying of thirst. “I do.”

As his hands slid under the last linen, your bindings came undone and for the first time—maybe in your entire life—someone saw you not as a Prince, but as you.

You waited for judgment, but Jungkook’s eyes only darkened as his gaze swept down your bared chest.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he whispered. His hands trembled as they cupped your waist, his thumbs smoothing over your ribs, mapping bruises and your wound. His fingers relished on the softness, the secret curves only you had ever touched until now.

You wanted to make a joke to break the nerves, but the words melted in your throat. Instead, you watched him watch you, and your heart ached, shocked at how it felt to be gazed at like that.

He bent his head, lips ghosting down your collarbone. “Tell me if you wish me to stop,” he murmured against your skin.

You shook your head, voice ragged. “Don’t you dare.”

He smiled and kissed down your body. Mouth lingering on every inch, tracing the swell of your breast with reverent lips. Hands spreading your legs open—showing you, wordlessly, that nothing about you needed hiding. When he finally pressed his mouth to your nipples, you gasped, one hand flying to tangle in his hair.

His tongue traced gentle circles around the softest part of you, his breath hot, the scrape of his jaw rough but grounding. You shook in his hands, aching from the inside out.

Your thoughts unraveled. This is me, my true form. You could barely remember the last time you’d felt your body as anything but a disguise, made to fit someone else’s story. Now, with his tongue and lips coaxing pleasure from you, every moan felt like reclamation, every arch of your back a defiance of everything the court said you were not.

Let them say I’m unfit, let them call me monster or traitor, you thought as you cried out for him, but at least he knows me. He knows me.

His kisses trailed lower, aching passes of his lips that left your skin flushed and trembling. Every inch of you he touched felt new no longer hidden. When he settled between your thighs, you jolted. Not from fear, but from the terrifying ache of being seen there. You’d bound yourself for years, flattened what made you a woman. No one had ever touched you like this, looked at you like this.

“Please,” Jungkook whispered, hands firm on your thighs as he guided them apart. “I want to see you.”

Your head tipped back, lips parted in a soundless plea. “Don’t mock me,” you breathed.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he said, voice rough with restraint. “You don’t know what it does to me—seeing you like this. Real. Unhidden. Do you know how many men would fall to their knees for you?”

Then he did. Right there, between your legs, head bowed not in service to your crown, but to your body.

He kissed the inside of your thigh first then higher, then higher still, until your hips jerked and your hand flew to his hair again, fingers twisting in the strands like rope. The first pass of his tongue against your most sensitive flesh made your knees lock around his shoulders.

You gasped helplessly. “Jungkook—!”

He didn’t speak. Just moaned low against your cunt, and the vibration sent a white-hot jolt straight through you. He licked you with so much fervor, you’d think he was a starving man.

It was unbearable, how good it felt. Unfathomable. The Prince—you, who had fought in war councils and sparred in training yards—reduced to nothing but trembling whimpers and heat between your thighs. His hands never stopped holding you, grounding you, keeping you from flying apart.

The room blurred. Your mind went blank. All you knew was the relentless pressure of his mouth, the way he sucked and licked and groaned against you as if your pleasure was the only reward he’d ever wanted.

“Gods,” you whispered, hips grinding up into his face, “I— I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, voice muffled, filthy and warm. “Let go. Let me have it.”

You shattered with a cry that would haunt the stone walls if they had memory, back arched, thighs trembling, every muscle locking as you spilled into his waiting mouth. He held you through it, drinking it in, the wet sounds obscene and sacred all at once.

Only when it ended, when your body finally stopped thrumming did Jungkook stop. Slick with sweat, chest heaving.

He didn’t speak. He simply rose, face flushed, lips glistening with your pleasure, and met your eyes with something so raw it made your throat close.

No man had ever kissed you there. No man ever could.

And now, Jungkook—your sworn protector—had knelt between your legs and made you come undone as if it was his greatest duty.

“If the world had sense, it would crown you queen,” he whispered against your ear.

You woke to a shaft of pale morning light spilling through the narrow windows. For a long, breathless moment, you lay utterly still, not quite sure where you were or even who you were.

But your body reminded you with the ache in your thighs, the softness where your bindings usually gripped you, the strange, delicious soreness between your legs. And then…Gods. The memories rushed in, scenes flashing through your mind with blinding clarity. Jungkook’s mouth, the press of his hands, the way you’d let yourself be worshipped in every way you’d been forbidden.

A spike of panic shot through you. You sat up too quickly, the room spinning, covers falling to your lap. Your shirt was thrown across the foot of the bed. Your bindings lay in a heap by the settee. You drew your knees up, arms wrapped tight around yourself, heart racing so loud you could barely hear your own breath.

You looked for Jungkook, already knowing before you checked that he was gone. The hearth was cold, the door shut tight. No trace of him but the memory of the weight of his body, the heat of his mouth, the words he’d whispered into your skin.

Your throat burned with shame and dread. What if someone knew? What if someone heard? You pressed your palm to your mouth, trying to stifle a gasp that was half horror, half desperate longing.

Last night you weren’t a prince or a pawn or a prisoner. Last night, you were just a woman. A wanted woman, loved with a fierceness that still lived in your bones.

But now, daylight had returned you to the castle and its old lies. Your heart pounded as you forced yourself to move, fumbling to dress, to pull your bindings tight enough to erase the softness he’d worshipped. Your fingers shook on the knots.

You tried to compose yourself, to breathe, to remind yourself of what must be done. Of the mask you had to wear.

But as you stared at your reflection, at your mussed hair, bruised lips, and bright eyes, there was no hiding what had changed.

You’d been seen and touched for the first time.

And now, as you moved about your lonely chamber, the world pressing back in with all its old weight, you didn’t know if you wanted to cry, scream, or just go back to last night and live it over, consequences be damned.

You stepped into the corridor still lacing the last tie of your sash, trying to compose your face into something neutral. But it shattered the moment your eyes met the uniform of the man standing at your post.

And it was not Jungkook.

A different guard—older, stiffer, unfamiliar—stood at attention outside your door, hands behind his back, chin high.

“Where’s Jungkook?” you asked sharply.

The man blinked, clearly startled by your tone. “Pardon, Your Highness?”

“Jeon Jungkook. My personal escort. Where is he?” You stepped closer.

“I was told by Captain Toren that he’s... indisposed. I was assigned to relieve him of today’s duty.”

“Indisposed?” You raised a brow. “Since when does Sir Jeon shirk duty for a sickbed?”

The guard shifted uncomfortably. “I know not, Highness. Only that Captain Toren said he’d not be attending the Prince today.”

You didn’t wait for another explanation. Your jaw clenched as you spun on your heel, fury pumping through your limbs faster than your blood could carry it. 

“Your Highness—!”

He left. He just left.

Coward.

You stormed through the hallways, ignoring the glances of courtiers and servants as your pace grew more feral with each step.  You checked the guard barracks first—empty. Then the inner court. Then the old stables.

Every place he might’ve been, every shadow you thought he could’ve retreated to after defiling the body of a prince in the hush of night.

And he was nowhere.

You hadn’t known what you expected… maybe guilt, maybe him standing with his head bowed, ready to explain, to apologize for slipping away like a thief but this absence felt worse.

As if he’d taken your skin with him. As if he’d kissed you, tasted you, broken every rule and decided afterward that it hadn’t been worth the risk.

You finally found Captain Toren speaking to a handful of men by the training yard. The moment he saw you approach, he bowed slightly.

“Your Highness. Is something the matter?”

You ignored the others. “Where is Jungkook?”

Toren’s brows lifted. “He is indisposed—”

“Indisposed is not an answer,” you snapped. “I asked where.”

There was a brief pause, but it made your stomach turn. “I granted him leave this morning. He left the grounds. Said he needed time to clear his head.”

Your breath stilled in your chest. The silence after felt like it scraped your ribs raw.

He ran away from you.

Without another word, you turned on your heel, fury crackling just beneath your skin. But underneath that humiliation.Your guard, your confidant, your secret, your lover—for one night—had taken all of you in his mouth and hands and then vanished.

So be it.

If he thought he could disappear without consequence, he’d sorely underestimated you.

The door closed behind Jungkook on a breathless hush. He paused in the corridor, back pressed to the wall, eyes shut tight. He could still feel you, your hands clutching his hair, the press of your thighs around his head, the taste of you lingering on his tongue.

He should have stayed. He should have faced you when the sun came. But the enormity of what he'd done, that you'd let him do, was enough to shatter the foundation of every vow he’d ever sworn.

He moved through the empty palace like a ghost, head down, avoiding every servant’s gaze. He'd barely made it to his quarters before the panic set in for real.

Saints above, what have I done?

He'd known you as a Prince—sharp-tongued, reckless, always shoving against every rule. But last night… last night he'd seen you as no one else had. The hidden softness of your body, the way your voice broke when you begged, the wild way you pulled him close, desperate for something real.

And gods forgive him, he’d worshipped you. He’d knelt before you, tongue aching to give you pleasure until you broke against him. The memory of your cries was a brand on his soul.

But daylight did not bring peace. It brought terror. Every moan, every gasp, every whispered plea was a risk not only to you but to the very kingdom.

He'd tried to clean himself in the barracks, scrubbing your scent from his skin with icy water, as if cold could erase the warmth of your body or the sight of your eyes as you came undone for him. It didn’t work.

He couldn’t face you. Not with his hands still shaking, not with want and shame fighting in his gut.

So when Captain Toren found him at dawn, face haggard, and offered him leave—“You look like you’ve not slept in a week, Jeon. Take the day. Gods know the court will not collapse if I put another sword outside the Prince’s door”—he took it, barely trusting himself to speak.

Now he wandered the city’s edge, cloak pulled tight against the morning chill, lost in the noise of market stalls. He had nowhere to go. All he could do was remember the taste of your skin, the way you’d looked at him, and the sick ache that he’d ruined everything by wanting you too much.

He did not know if you would forgive him. He did not know if he deserved it. He only knew one thing with blinding, ruinous certainty…  he could never protect you from this. From the court, from scandal,  from himself.

Jungkook wandered through the winding city streets, the clang of cathedral bells chasing him from square to square. He couldn’t settle, couldn’t think. Every step was just distance put between himself and the castle—between himself and her. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, still tingling with memory and regret.

He ducked down a quieter alley that  eeked of wine, piss, and cheap perfume. He hadn’t even made it to the edge when he heard that smug, drawling voice he would’ve recognized in his sleep.

“Well, if it isn’t the Prince’s lapdog. Out chasing your own tail this morning, Sir Jeon?”

Victor leaned against a tavern wall, cloak askew, hair a mess, a faint stain of last night’s excess still clinging to his collar. His eyes were bloodshot, but the venom in them was sober as steel.

Jungkook’s jaw flexed. “Lord Victor. Shouldn’t you be sleeping off such an entertaining night?”

Victor smirked, pushing off the wall. “I could ask the same. I imagine the Prince kept you plenty busy yesterday. I wonder what the palace would say if they knew where that mouth of yours had been last night?”

Jungkook froze. There was no way he could know about what you did in your chambers, it was just the two of you there and he was too preoccupied here drinking himself to death. He must’ve seen you in the alcove, the kiss.

Jungkook stepped closer, refusing to show his worry. “Watch your tongue, my lord.”

“Or what? You’ll cut it out?” Victor’s grin sharpened. “How long’s it been going on, hmm? I’ve had my suspicions, of course. That little princeling’s been avoiding women like plague since birth… Makes sense now, doesn’t it?”

A dark fury settled over Jungkook. “You know nothing.”

Victor only laughed. “What, struck a nerve? What would the Queen say if she knew her heir was letting a common-born soldier mouth her off in a brothel? What would the court say, the people? Tell me, Jeon…do you prefer her weeping or begging?”

The blade was out before Jungkook even knew he’d drawn it.

Victor flinched, but it was too late. Jungkook slammed him into the alley wall, forearm pinning his throat, dagger pressed tight to his cheek.

“If you ever breathe a word, if you ever so much as look at the Prince sideways—“ Jungkook growled, “and I'll carve your tongue out and mail it to your father.”

Victor struggled, but Jungkook’s grip didn’t loosen. “You wouldn’t dare—”

Jungkook headbutted him. The crack of bone echoed in the stone alley.

Victor reeled, collapsing to his knees. Jungkook didn’t let up. He kicked him hard in the ribs then grabbed the back of his collar and slammed him face-first into the cobblestones.

Blood splattered as Victor groaned, trying to crawl away. Jungkook pressed a boot between his shoulder blades, blade poised at the base of his skull.

“You speak ill of her again and I'll make sure they find your corpse hanging in the north woods with your cock stuffed down your throat,” he whispered.

Victor coughed, wheezing. “Go on, then! Kill me! Prove you’re just as feral as they say!”

Jungkook held still, the blade trembled in his hand. A bit more and he’d cut straight into the skin and he could only imagine what a satisfying moment it would be.

But he put the blade away.

“You’re not worth it,” he said coldly. “But understand me, Lord Calderan—if I so much as hear your boots echo near the Prince’s door again, I will make you regret it”

Before walking away he landed a few more raw punches to Victor’s face, so he would not forget when he saw his reflection. Then he turned, leaving your cousin bloodied and gasping in the filth.

Back in the castle, you were done waiting. You tore through the corridors, snapping orders, refusing to let anyone stop you. You would find Jungkook. Drag him back if you had to.

Just as you walked into the training yard to demand Captain Toren to send a search party, the clang of the portcullis carried clear across the ward and a breathless sentry sprinted in.

“Your Highness… the south gate… Sir Jeon returned.”he said between breaths.

You spun, boots biting the sand, cape snapping behind you as you stalked for the archway that opened on the outer bailey. Two guards tried to flank you but one glare sent them scattering. 

Jungkook crossed the drawbridge alone. His cloak was torn, his knuckles split open, and you could swear shreds of Victor Calderan’s livery clung to his sleeve. But his eyes fixed on you the moment he stepped beneath the gatehouse. Whatever storm lived there matched yours blow for blow.

He stopped three paces short and dropped to one knee with his head bowed. “Your Highness.”

You didn’t give him leave to rise. Instead you stared, shaking with fury.

“Look at me.”

He lifted his head. The courtyard might as well have been empty save for the two of you. A few servants hovered at distant doors, merchants stalled their carts, even the ravens on the battlements fell quiet.

“Where did you go?” Each word was a blade you flung at him. “You swore to keep me and then you vanished before dawn like a coward.”

Pain flickered across his face, “I left because I feared I’d done you harm, Your Highness. Because if the court learns what we… what I did—”

“You think a disappearing act protects me?” You laughed bitterly. “Don’t be so damned honorable.”

“I regret nothing,” he said, the words bursting out. He surged to his feet before closing the gap in two strides. “Nothing but leaving you alone. I couldn’t breathe for it.”

You wanted to strike him and scream but you shoved him instead. He barely moved, but his breath hitched like you’d run him through.

“I searched every hall,” you hissed. “I nearly ripped the castle down stone by stone.”

“I fought Victor,” he blurted shakily. “He cornered me in the city, spewing poison about last night. He saw us in the alcove. I lost my head… I drew steel. If rumor spreads, it will be by his tongue or mine.”

The anger in you swelled, then toppled under a wave of cold fear. You seized his chin, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Did you kill him?”

“No,” Jungkook said. “But I left him bleeding enough to remember my words well.”

You exhaled a jagged breath, fingers slipping from his face to his shoulder feeling the tremor there, matching your own.

“You cannot fight every battle for me,” you said, softer but no less fierce.

“I can try,” he answered. “Or die on the attempt. But I will not run again.”

The resolve in his eyes cut through every echo of shame. In that heartbeat, the yard, the court, the watching world—all of it fell away. You stepped into him, fists twisting in the collar of his torn cloak. His hands found your elbow, reverent even in urgency, a touch that spoke more than any public display.

“Swear it,” you breathed, low and fierce.

“On blade and blood,” he said, voice for you alone, “I am yours to command.”

The onlookers could only see a Prince and her battered guard, standing eye to eye in the hush, but between you the promise burned brighter than any scandal or sword.

You released him at last, straightening your cloak, resolve returned. “Come. Tend your wounds and then we will decide how to silence Calderan.”

He nodded once and together you walked back toward the heart of the castle.

The eyes of the court lingered on your back as you strode from the yard, Jungkook at your side. He matched your pace despite the raw edge of tension radiating from his every step, one hand curled loosely into a fist, dried blood still crusted along his knuckles. Neither of you spoke until the castle swallowed you both.

You ducked into a side chamber near your quarters—a private room used by the royal guards. You shut the door firmly behind you. Jungkook started to speak, but you held up a hand.

“Sit,” you ordered softly, voice no longer edged in fury.

He hesitated only a moment before lowering himself onto the bench, watching carefully as you gathered clean cloth and water from the cabinet. Your chest was tight, heartbeat thrumming wildly beneath your bindings, but your hands were steady as you knelt in front of him.

Taking his hand, you examined his split knuckles, anger rising anew at the bruises forming under torn skin. “You should have been more careful.”

Jungkook’s voice was low and quiet. “He deserved worse.”

You sighed softly, dipping the cloth into water and gently pressing it against his hand. Jungkook’s muscles tensed, but he didn’t flinch or pull away.

“You know he will speak, don’t you?” 

“Not if he values his tongue.” His reply was dark, certain.

Your lips twitched despite yourself. You carefully cleaned the blood from his hand, gentle in contrast to the fury still simmering beneath your skin. “I feared I might never see you again,” you admitted quietly.

He looked away, jaw tightening. “I was a fool. I thought leaving would protect you. But I swear it won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” you whispered, thumb brushing lightly over the raw skin. You glanced up, meeting his eyes. “I cannot endure another morning like this.”

Jungkook’s gaze softened, and slowly he turned his hand, catching your fingers gently. “Nor I.”

“You’ll be sore tomorrow,” you murmured, releasing his hand.

“A worthy price,” he said simply.

You stood slowly, allowing yourself one last lingering look at him before straightening your posture, mask sliding back into place. “Come. You must report back to Captain Torren.”

But you didn’t even make it halfway down the corridor before a servant intercepted you, bowing deeply.

“Her Majesty requests your presence in his chambers, Your Highness. At once.”

Jungkook stiffened beside you. You didn’t look at him, only nodded.

“Of course,” you said tightly.

The King’s receiving room was a gilded cage with high windows and the constant scent of cigars and bitter tea filling the air. He stood by the hearth, hands behind his back.

“Prince,” He greeted you coolly. His gaze flicked to Jungkook with a razor’s edge. “And Sir Jeon. I am glad you’re both still in one piece, judging by the trail of whispers currently flooding my halls.”

You gave a slight bow. “Father.”

“Come now,” he said with feigned warmth, “let’s not pretend I haven’t already heard every version of this morning’s spectacle. The servants have been fussing all morning about you causing a ruckus and then you cursed Sir Jeon dead in front of the entire court.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Am I missing any details?”

Jungkook moved to kneel, but you raised a hand subtly to stop him.

“I was retrieving my guard,” you said evenly. “His absence was unexplained, and I had cause to be concerned.”

“Concerned enough to shout at him in front of the entire southern garrison?” the King asked, voice growing colder. “Tell me, my child… is this guard so essential that you’d undermine royal decorum to drag him back by his collar?”

“He is sworn to my protection,” you said firmly. “When he vanished, I acted accordingly.”

“Vanished,” the king echoed, his eyes flicking to Jungkook. “And what explanation have you, Sir Jeon, for abandoning your duty? For coming back bloodied, with half the city talking?”

“He defended my honor,” you said without hesitation. “From a man who has done nothing but insult this house since the day he arrived.”

The King raised one brow. “Victor Calderan?”

“Victor Calderan.”

His eyes shifted again to Jungkook. “Is this true?”

“I acted in defense of the Prince’s dignity, Your Majesty,” he said steadily. “I drew no blade until insult turned to threat.”

The King let the silence stretch then finally, he exhaled and moved toward the table.

“I should send him home,” he muttered. “That little rat and his bloated father both.”

“I would not object,” you said under your breath.

He shot you a look. “But Calderan blood is not easily spilled without price. Should Lord Victor demand satisfaction, the entire treaty may hang by a thread.”

You bristled. “With respect, Father, if Lord Victor can’t hold his tongue, perhaps he’s not fit to negotiate for his house.”

The king’s stare sharpened. “That is not your decision to make. And it is not your duty to chase after your guard through the halls like a lost child. Whatever has passed between you—” his eyes narrowed, and your heart froze, “—remember that you are heir to this kingdom. Your choices weigh more than anyone else’s.”

“As for you, Sir Jeon… if you fail to keep your place at the Prince’s side without incident it will more than your commission you lose. Is that clear?”

Jungkook bowed his head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The King let the silence stretch again, letting you both feel the chill in his study seep into your bones.

“I will not have the future of my house risked for the sake of one reckless guard and one reckless heir,” he said at last. “From now on, you will both be watched. Do not give me cause to regret my patience.”

You stared at the mosaic floor, jaw clenched, every muscle urging you to argue, to insist that you’d had no choice. But the weight of the crown perched on his brow reminded you that here, in this chamber, he was not just your father; he was the King, and you were the wayward heir who’d brought fresh rumors to an already restless court.

“You are dismissed. And kindly refrain from further disrupting my morning.”

You bowed and turned away with your last bit of dignity, Jungkook gliding into step beside you. Only once you were a safe distance from the council chamber did you allow yourself to breathe.

“Well,” you murmured, your tone edged with wryness, “that was less severe than I anticipated.”

Jungkook let out a quiet, sardonic laugh. “His Majesty did not order to remove my head. I consider that a win.”

You allowed yourself a small smile, the tension easing ever so slightly from your shoulders.

“It would seem we are to live another day, then,” you replied.

He glanced at you, a trace of mischief flickering in his eyes despite the gravity of your situation. “Fortune favors us.”

The palace chapel sat at the far end of the eastern cloister, practically forgotten now that grander temples dotted the city. Few ventured there except old priests and novices to maintain the statues and other sacred artifacts, and at this late hour the tiny sanctuary was empty.

You slipped through the narrow door making sure that the night time guard didn’t follow you. You’d dismissed them with the excuse of needing some time for private devotion. The king would approve— piety always soothed rumor, after all.

At the altar rail you knelt in silence for a whil, until soft footsteps echoed behind you.

“Highness,” Jungkook murmured.

“You came,” you said, rising slowly.

“I received your note.” He managed a wry smile. “It seems you were in need of some private prayer.”

You huffed a breath. “I need far more than prayer.”

“Today,” you continued, forcing steadiness into your voice, “the court saw their Prince lose control. My father saw it. And all because I could not bear to think you’d left me.” Your gaze dropped to his bandaged hand. “I was ready to tear the palace down.”

He stepped forward “I regret leaving, but I do not regret what we shared. Not a breath of it.”

The words were a balm, even if they left your heart aching. You moved closer. “We stand on the edge of a sword,” you whispered. “One misstep, and somebody will bleed.”

“I know,” he answered. “Yet here I stand.”

You reached for his injured hand. He hesitated, then let your fingers brush the knuckles. “Does it hurt?”

“Barely,” he said, gaze locked to yours.

You released a shaky sigh and turned, leading him down the side aisle to a tiny transept chapel. 

“Here,” you murmured, guiding him to a bench. You fetched a small vial of holy oil left on the credence shelf, poured a drop on your thumb, and knelt to touch it gently to each battered knuckle.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face. “That’s for anointing the dying, not the living.”

“Hush,” you said, pressing a final kiss to the back of his hand. “As the Prince I say this should be for the living who’ve risked death for me.”

His eyes smiled at you, crinkled at the corners and shining despite their dark color.

You rose, and this time he didn’t fight the impulse. He reached, settling his uninjured hand at the small of your back “Why did you really summon me here?” he whispered.

You drew in a steadying breath. “I just needed to be sure you’d be there when dawn comes. That you won’t disappear again.”

“I’m not leaving again.” His voice did not waver. 

“And,” you added softly, daring, “I need… your touch again, even if only here, where no one dares to look.”

The storm in his eyes lasted but two seconds before you felt the cold of the chapel wall searing through your clothes as Jungkook pressed you back.

The hush of the sacred air shattered by the rasp of hurried breaths. This wasn’t the practiced grace of royal undressing. It was frantic. Fingers slipping over sweaty skin, belts tugged half-loose, layers bunched at your elbows. Every brush of his hands felt dangerous and exciting.

Your breaths hitched, chest rising fast against tight bindings, the sound of him—hoarse, hungry—spilling into the shadowed alcove. His hands found your hips, thumbs digging in hard enough to bruise as he pulled you flush against him. There was nothing reverent in his touch anymore. You felt the tremor in his grip, the desperate stutter of his exhale as he nosed along your jaw.

You caught his mouth with yours, teeth clashing in a kiss that tasted of salty sweat. Lips parting as he bit down gently, just shy of pain.

His palm cradled the side of your face, rough thumb smearing the flush of your cheek, and for a moment you forgot where you were.

“If someone finds us—” you whispered breathlessly, voice trembling against his lips.

“Then let them bear witness,” he said darkly, eyes fierce and wild as they captured yours. “I fear no judgment but losing you.”

He spun you around, your chest pressed against the cold stone, one arm braced firmly beside your head. You felt the faint tremor in his hand as it slid roughly down your back, tugging impatiently at layers until he found the hem of your breeches and shoved inside. His palm was calloused and urgent as his fingers found you all wet and desperately willing under his touch.

Your forehead pressed against the stone, eyes squeezed shut as he opened you slowly, two fingers curling deep in your core. His other hand rose quickly to muffle your moans against his shoulder.

“Quiet, Your Highness,” he warned in a rough whisper, mouth hot against your ear. “Or do you wish the entire court to hear how eagerly their future monarch yields?”

His hand moved faster, hips pressing insistently against you, and you felt the undeniable hardness of his cock through his breeches. When his teeth grazed your neck, you bit fiercely into your sleeve, desperate to silence your moans and his name trembling dangerously upon your tongue.

His fingers work you ruthlessly, thumb circling your clit. You didn’t hold on long, coming hard and fast on his fingers.

He kept going, not letting up until you were shaking.

When he finally pulled his hand away, you twisted and caught his wrist, dragging his slick fingers to your mouth to suck them clean, meeting his eyes the whole time.

“Fuck,” He whispered, barely audible, as if even here the gods might overhear.

You hadnt even caught your breath before he turned you back around. His lips found yours, hand rising to your cheek, still wet from where it’d ust been inside you. You dragged him closer, tasting yourself on his tongue, neither of you pretending you’re anything but desperate now.

“Please,” you whisper, the word trembling out between your teeth, the plea of a sovereign who’s ready to kneel for no one but him. “I need you. All of you. Do not make me beg.”

His control snapped, finally.  He fumbled with your breeches, yanking them down just enough to bare you, his own clothes undone with the same desperate haste. He pressed himself against you, one hand tangled in the fabric at your chest, the other steadying your hip as he aligned himself at your entrance.

He was hot and hard and impossibly thick. When he pushed into you, your body stretched to take him, the unfamiliar ache drawing your eyes shut and forcing a gasp from your lips. The pain was sharp but edged with an overwhelming relief, a fullness that left you crying. For a second you could only clutch at him, feeling the sting and the fast pulse of your heart fluttering wildly in your chest.

He paused, brow pressed to yours, breath shuddering as he held himself there. “I will stop—just say the word,” he whispered, voice rough with concern and restraint.

“No,” you gasp, nails digging in his shoulder. “Don’t stop. I want this more than anything.”

He held himself still for a few seconds, giving you time to adjust, waiting as you breathed through the sting and pressure and the dizzying intimacy of it all.

After a moment, your muscles eased around him and the ache softened into pleasure blooming where pain had been. You moved your hips, testing, and the friction made you shudder, tears pricking your eyes now not from pain but from want.

He felt it too. “Gods above, you are perfect,” he whispered, his voice thick with awe. “So tight, so exquisite.”

He drove into you, abandoning all pretense of gentleness, and you nearly sobbed into the hollow of his neck at the exquisite pain and the forbidden stretch of him—taken utterly where even saints had never dared to look.

The angle was all wrong and all right, knees spread shamelessly, every sound echoing in the hush of the chapel. His hand clamped over your mouth to swallow your cries, his teeth gritted as he took you deep and relentless, every last shred of knightly self-restraint destroyed by the secret he would die to protect.

You gripped his shoulders, body split open around him, still hungry for more. Needing more. He fucked into you as though he meant to brand your very soul with his shape. His grunts spilling against your mouth, your moans echoing in the sacred silence.

“Gods,” he hissed, his thrusts faltering as you clenched tightly around him. “We should not—this is… by all that’s holy, this is profane.”

“Does it feel wrong?” you whispered, lips brushing his skin as you spoke. “Do I feel like sin to you, Jeon?”

“No… you are… salvation itself,” he growled, snapping his hips harder, drawing a choked cry from you as your eyes fluttered back. “I would burn for this a thousand times.”

You laughed breathlessly “You would burn for me?”

“Yes,” he gasped. “By all the saints, yes.”

“Then make me cry out in this holy house.”

He groaned deep in his chest. “You are meant to be the vessel of the divine… holy, untouched. Yet look at you now… ruined for me against the chapel wall, spilling down my cock for any god who dares to look.”

“Stop—” you managed, your voice a trembling plea, not because you did not crave it, but because his words unraveled you faster than his body ever could.

He snarled, driving deeper, one hand rising to circle your throat. The weight of his palm there made your thighs quake.

“You will be Queen,” he muttered, voice low and ragged, each word another oath against your skin. “Anointed before the gods.”

“And what a queen I shall be,” you rasped, barely able to form the words, “impure, made so by your seed.”

He groaned, the word torn from his chest. Then his thrusts quickened, one arm locking you up by the waist as the other held your neck. Your moans broke in your throat, and you swore every star beyond the stained-glass windows flickered in answer.

“Look at me as you come undone on my cock.”

Your eyes met, wild and shining. In that moment, you cared for neither your title nor any consequence. You were simply the crown Prince, being filled by her guard in a place meant for prayer.

With a cry stifled by his hand at your throat, you fell apart. Body tightening and shaking, your legs locking around him as he drove through your climax. His own followed moments later, his body shuddering as he spilled himself deep inside you, buried to the hilt, his voice ragged and reverent as he moaned, “Mine.”

His thrusts became rougher, desperate, his hand sliding to your thigh to hold you open as his thumb found your clit again, coaxing every last tremor from your ruined body. The world melted away into the crash of bodies and need.

Somewhere outside, the bells tolled for midnight. Inside, you were left wrecked if only proven by wild hair, flushed skin, and his seed slick on your thighs. The memory of his cock and his hands, forever burned into you.

He held you there, arms locked around your waist, unwilling to let you go.

“I will burn for this,” he whispered, voice raw.

You drew him close for another bruising kiss. “Then we shall burn together.”

Afterward, the hush of the chapel pressed close. Jungkook held you, breath soft against your brow. The stone felt less cold now, your limbs leaden and content for the first time in memory.

He drew you into his lap, cloak pulled to shield you both from the lingering chill. His hand traced the curve of your cheek, eyes searching yours for what words could not say.

For a long while, you only listened to the shared breaths and the distant tolling of the bells.

But secrets had a weight of their own. You pressed your face to his shoulder. “I owe you the truth.”

Jungkook stilled, arms tightening protectively. “There is nothing you could say that would turn me from you.”

You let out a soft laugh. “You say that now, but you don’t know what I carry.”

He touched his forehead to yours, eyes fierce and gentle all at once. “Then tell me. Let me carry it too.”

You drew in a steadying breath. “I was not born to be heir. My mother, the queen…she had a son. My twin. But he did not live past his first breath. She had three failed pregnany before ours, and the king’s council grew anxious. A realm with no prince had no future in their eyes. So they gave me his name. Only a man could inherit the crown, so a man I became.”

Jungkook listened, his thumb stroking your jaw.

You swallowed. “The council never knew. The midwife was sworn to secrecy. The servants, threatened. I was raised as their son, their hope, their lie. All my life I have been split in two.. what the world must see and what I am under the skin.”

He brushed a strand of hair from your brow, his gaze full of sorrow and pride. “And yet you carry it all. Not just the crown, but your mother’s grief, your father’s ambition, the weight of a kingdom’s secret.”

You nodded, the truth finally spoken into holy air. “All for a throne I am not allowed to claim as myself.”

Jungkook cupped your cheek. “You are more than their heir, more than any king’s shadow. You are the future because you endured what none of them could.”

Tears burned hot in your eyes. “And if they learn the truth, I lose everything.”

“Not everything,” he promised, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You will never lose me.”

You melted into his arms. In the hush of that ruined sanctuary—with the past laid bare and the world waiting just beyond the door—you finally understood what it meant to be free, because of the man who held you, who saw you for the woman you truly are.

[koogalaxzy]

girllll if that was your first fic i just can't wait for what else is coming in the future

eeeek thank uuu mwAh💓💓

it’s actually not my first fic, but my first published jungkook fic. i’ve written a lot of fics in my other blog and i’ve written for jk a lot too but never posted them (idk why cause he’s literally my ult bias and the loml) but i’m so thankful that a lot of you like it cause it only motivates me to post my other drafts even more!

[koogalaxzy]

thank you for writing such a well written jungkook royalty fic! love him so much in the story 🥹 though oc had such an unfair life, i'm glad she finally has jungkook as an anchor.. but i feel really sad towards the end and from the way jungkook vowed to burn with oc.. why do i get a feeling something will happen to him? (pls tell me they'll both be okay 😭)

whatever hardships they'd encounter later on i just hope they get their happily ever after :(

first off, thank you so much for taking the time to send such a lovely message! there’s honestly no better feeling as a writer than knowing people are genuinely immersed in the world and the characters you’ve created.

the story is definitely on the angsty side (i probably should have tagged it as such lol) and i think it just felt honest to end the story at the start of their relationship rather than force a neat happy ending. realistically, everything is stacked against them so it felt truer to leave their fate a bit open. i think they’re both survivors, and whatever happens, they’ll always fight for each other (and maybe, they’ll find their own kind of happy ending).

thank you again for reading and for caring about these two. your message truly made my day <33

[koogalaxzy]

aaaahh thank u so much rlly!!! 🫶🏼🥹

the veiled prince | j. jungkook

pairing: knight! jungkook x royal! fem. reader

genre: royalty au, smut

wc: 21.4k+

summary: jeon jungkook is anointed as the protector of the kingdom’s future king, but this proves to be a more difficult job when he realizes the crown prince is hiding a big secret.

content warning: explicit sexual content, violence & blood, gender concealment, period-typical sexism, religious themes/sacrilege (blasphemy, sex in sacred space), slight dubcon elements (power imbalance), reference to infant death, mild emotional abuse, parental pressure, alcohol consumption, mentions of prostitution/brothels.

a/n: hiii! *nervous wave* this is my very first jungkook fic, and i’m actually buzzing with nerves rn. i’ve been working on this since last year so i’m rlly excited to finally share it with the world. hope you enjoy! let me know what you guys think in the comments or my inbox <3

The tavern was filled with the sounds of raucous laughter and the scent of ale. The men of the town brigade sat around a big wooden table, their hearty chuckles bouncing off the low ceiling.

“Can’t believe our youngest here’s landed himself a spot in the royal brigade!” Sergeant Lee, a grizzled veteran with a salt-and-pepper beard and a booming voice, clapped Jungkook on the back hard enough to rattle his cup.

Jungkook offered a polite, almost shy smile. “It’s just another post, Sergeant.”

“Just another post, he says!” Lee roared, laughing heartily. “Royal brigade’s not just any post, boy. It’s the post.” He slammed a hand down on the table, the wood groaning under the force. “Best keep that modesty in check, or you’ll make the rest of us look bad.”

“Aye, I remember when he first set foot on the base, half my size, and now look at those arms…” Chuck added, his voice slick with humor. He was a lanky man, with messy blonde hair that hung over his face. His smirk was all charm despite the missing tooth in the front as he tossed a wink at the serving girl who kept casting Jungkook flirtatious glances. “Leave some of the ladies for us, eh?”

“Let’s not celebrate too soon,” Garret muttered, his tone sharp as always. He was stocky, with a broad chest and thick arms, a man whose worn plate armor bore more scratches than anyone here. His gaze flickered to the door, where the wind howled outside, carrying the cold scent of the mountains. “Royal brigade’s no game. You’ll be under different standards from the moment you set foot in that palace.”

Chuck rolled his eyes. “Here we go. You’d think they were sending him to the gallows.”

Garret ignored him. “I’m just saying… there’s more to that post than guarding a door. And there’s him to deal with.”

Jungkook arched a brow. “Him?”

“The crown Prince,” Jack chimed in, setting his mug down with a loud thud. He was younger than most soldiers but sharp-eyed, his dark hair messy and unkempt, his leather jerkin a little too tight from years of fieldwork. He leaned forward with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Haven’t you heard the whispers? Thought you kept your ears as clean as your boots, Jeon.”

“You know I don’t care about gossip,” Jungkook replied calmly but with a hint of curiosity. it’s true that he didn’t care about rumors, but there was something about this conversation that caught his attention.

Jack leaned forward, his grin widening. “Then you’ve missed the best one. His highness isn’t… like other men. There’s a reason they call him The Veiled Prince.”

Jungkook tilted his head, brow furrowing. “The Veiled Prince? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Chuck chuckled, the firelight catching in his eyes as he adjusted his cloak, its deep blue fabric embroidered with the insignia of the kingdom. He didn’t meet Jungkook’s gaze, instead turning his attention to the wooden rafters above. Garret exchanged a glance with Jack before shrugging.

“It means what it sounds like,” Garret said, almost whispering as if the walls themselves might be listening. “He’s not what he seems.”

Jack tapped a finger on the table. “Just take one close look at him and you’ll know somethin’ ain't right. He’s too… delicate. His face, his voice—hell, even his body.”

Jungkook squinted at him, confused but half-amused. “Maybe there’s something you’ve discovered about yourself, Jack… being that interested in how the prince looks,” he joked, nudging Jack with his elbow. 

The table erupted in laughter and Jack leaned back, a sly grin creeping across his face. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough, won’t ya? Spend enough time close to him, and you’ll know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.” He raised his mug “Here’s to Jeon Jungkook, the youngest royal guard! May he survive court life without losing his mind.”

The morning of Jungkook’s inauguration into the royal brigade arrived faster than he’d expected. He woke before dawn and pulled on his boots for the long walk to the palace. The soft clack of his steps echoed down the narrow stone path, the world around him still shrouded in that gray hush before sunrise.

Something felt off, though. He couldn’t shake the conversation from last night. Jack’s words about the Prince looping through his mind, stubborn and persistent.

Jungkook had always kept to himself, learned early on to steer clear of gossip and mindless chatter. The other men in the brigade thrived on rumor and speculation, their voices filling every corner with wild stories, but he’d never had the patience for it. It was easier, safer, to stay silent.

Since he’d arrived in this town at the age of seventeen, he had devoted himself entirely to the regimented life of a soldier. There was no room for distractions. No time for the petty squabbles of royalty or the whisperings of court politics. His focus had been on training and on earning his place among the fiercest warriors the kingdom had to offer.

And yet, here he was, on the morning of what was supposed to be the culmination of many years of hard work, and his mind was anything but clear. The royal brigade, the very one most soldiers dreamed of joining, was now within his reach—and yet, his thoughts kept returning to the prince. The Veiled Prince. The very rumors that he'd managed to ignore til now seemed to be clawing at him now, demanding attention. 

Jungkook gritted his teeth as he approached the entrance of the palace. His duty had never been about men of the royal family. It had always been about the honor of serving the kingdom, about proving himself worthy of the rank he’d earned. The others called him a quiet one, distant even, but that had only served him well. The younger recruits often found it difficult to match his drive and focus, and the older soldiers admired his ability to keep his head down and do what was asked of him, no matter the cost. And he meant to keep it that way.

His thoughts drifted back to the prince, but not the rumors this time. He thought of the responsibility the crown prince bore, a burden Jungkook had always respected from afar. His place at court, his family, the weight of an entire kingdom’s future hanging on his shoulders. Jungkook could scarcely imagine it. 

He approached the palace gates, boots scuffing softly against the clean stone path, only to be stopped by two royal guards standing tall in polished armor. Their eyes locked on him immediately—one looked him up and down, the other stepped into his path, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“State your business,” the taller one barked. His tone wasn’t hostile, but it was firm, clearly not his first time turning away overeager boys from the city.

“Jeon Jungkook. I’ve been newly assigned to the royal brigade,” Jungkook replied calmly, though his heart ticked a little faster.

The second guard squinted. “You’re the new brigade recruit?” he repeated slowly. “You sure you’re not here to deliver someone’s breakfast?”

Jungkook’s jaw flexed, but he kept his tone leveled. “Captain Toren is expecting me.”

They exchanged a glance. One of them huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re barely out of your training boots.”

“And pretty enough to be a court musician, not a guard,” the other added under his breath, though not softly enough.

Before Jungkook could respond, another figure stepped out from inside the main doors—an older guard with sharp eyes and a clipped voice. “Is there a reason you’re delaying the newest escort?”

The two guards stiffened immediately, their mockery vanishing. “No, sir!” they echoed.

Jungkook walked past them without a word, though he felt their eyes on his back the whole way.

Before he could step further inside, the older guard who’d reprimanded the others approached him with a slow, assessing gait. He was tall and lean, his silver-streaked beard trimmed to regulation, and his armor bore the faint scuffs of long service.

“You’re Jeon, then?” he asked, voice gravelly but not unkind.

“Yes, sir.”

The man gave a small grunt. “I’m Wrenhart. Lieutenant of the East Wing. Been in this place longer than some of the stonework.” He nodded toward the interior hall. “I’ll escort you to Captain Toren.”

Jungkook gave a sharp nod, falling into step beside him.

As they walked through the tall archways and polished corridors, Wrenhart cast a sideways glance at him. “You’re younger than I expected,” he said plainly. “They’ve got plenty of sharp-eyed recruits, but it’s rare to send one straight to the Prince.”

Jungkook didn’t take the bait. “I go where I’m ordered.”

Wrenhart gave a low chuckle. “Good answer. Just keep that mouth closed and your sword ready. The palace has fewer blades, but more ways to bleed.”

His boots echoed against the pristine stone floor of the main hall, and he instinctively straightened his posture. The space was immaculate, the air tinged with the faint scent of oiled leather. 

A few men were already inside, their movements precise as they adjusted their uniforms or inspected their weapons. Unlike the lively, chaotic energy of his old comrades, the men of the royal brigade seemed quiet and focused.

It was all so… different.

Jungkook felt a twinge of unease as he stepped further into the hall. He’d spent years thriving in the rugged environment of the town’s brigade, where banter and brotherhood masked the grueling demands of their work. Here, the men seemed distant, their camaraderie subdued by formality.

Even their uniforms were different. Much more crisp and tailored, a sharp contrast to the well-worn gear Jungkook was wearing now. He caught his reflection in a polished shield hanging on the wall and suddenly felt out of place. His hair, still slightly disheveled from the early morning wind, and his roughened boots stood out against the pristine order of this place.

Would he fit in?

“Jeon,” a voice called, breaking through his thoughts. He turned sharply to see a tall, broad-shouldered man approaching him, he could guess just by his looks that he was an important man. His expression was calm but piercing as his eyes swept over Jungkook. “I’m Captain Toren. You’re early,” he said, his tone neither harsh nor warm, just efficient. 

“Yes, sir, nice to meet you sir.” Jungkook replied, his voice steadier than he felt.

“Good,” Toren said with a curt nod. “Punctuality is expected here, as is discipline. You’ll find things are different from what you’re used to in the town brigade.” He glanced at Jungkook’s boots, and though he said nothing, the slight raise of his brow made Jungkook acutely aware of the scuffed leather. “But you’ll adapt.”

“Yes, sir!” Jungkook repeated, though he wasn’t so sure.

As Toren turned and began talking to Wrenhart, Jungkook exhaled slowly, his gaze wandering across the room again. 

As he observed the soldiers around him, a thought struck him. Their restraint, their unwavering discipline, it wasn’t unlike the way he approached his own duties. He had always been more reserved than his mates. Perhaps, in time, he could find his place here. These men didn’t waste words, and neither did he. 

“Jeon, I trust you’ve been thoroughly debriefed on your assignment here by the recruiter,” Captain Toren began, his tone brisk as his boots clapped in a quick pace. “Due to the importance of your post, we can’t spare time to show you around the castle. I expect you to learn as you go.”

Jungkook hurried after him, the captain’s long strides forcing him to half-jog just to keep up. The deeper they moved into the palace, the quieter it got, as though the very stones carried the weight of centuries of secrets. 

“Sir,” Jungkook began, his voicd edged with hesitation, “I was told my post was with the royal guards... to protect the palace and accompany the King during his out-of-town duties.”

Toren didn’t break stride, his sharp gaze fixed ahead. “You’ve been misinformed,” he said curtly. “Your assignment is to protect the crown Prince directly.”

Jungkook nearly stumbled as his mind raced to process the statement. The crown Prince? How could that be his post? He was new and clearly untested at this level. 

“What?” Jungkook blurted out, his voice louder than he’d intended. The captain turned his head slightly, his expression neutral save for the raised eyebrow that conveyed mild disapproval.

“Is there a problem, Jeon?” Toren asked, his voice calm but cool.

“No, sir!” Jungkook replied quickly, his pulse quickening. “I just… Excuse my intrusion, but how can I already be assigned to directly serve someone under the line of succession? I’ve yet to familiarize myself with the royal court.”

Toren stopped abruptly, and Jungkook came to an awkward halt behind him, straightening instinctively. The captain turned, his keen eyes locking on Jungkook’s with an intensity that felt like being measured and weighed.

“Your skills and conduct at the town brigade earned you this position,” Toren said evenly, though there was a faint shift in his tone, a note that hinted at something beyond the words. “We’ve heard great things about you, Jeon. There’s a clear reason why you were the only recruit from your brigade. Your discipline, your ability to focus on the task at hand without distraction—that is what we need.”

Jungkook frowned slightly, unsure if he should respond. There was something in the captain’s choice of words, the way he spoke of focus and distraction, that felt strange. It wasn’t the kind of praise he was used to. Back in the barracks, it was your strength, your swordsmanship, or your guts that got you recognized.

“The crown Prince requires a certain kind of discretion,” Toren continued, his tone neutral but purposeful. “And not everyone is suited for that role. If you feel you aren’t, now is the time to say so.”

The air between them seemed to tighten. Jungkook knew better than to ask what the captain meant, but his curiosity stirred. Discretion? Was that just a polite way of saying he needed to keep his head down and mouth shut? The gossip about the Prince drifted back into his mind, but he shoved them aside. Speculation wasn’t his place.

“No, sir,” Jungkook said firmly, straightening his back. “I will fulfill my duty to the crown Prince.”

Toren’s eyes stayed on him for a moment longer before he nodded once. “Good. Then follow me.”

Jungkook followed him up the staircase. The flight seemed endless, spiraling upward like it reached the heavens themselves. Each landing revealed another stretch of steps, their polished white marble gleaming faintly in the soft light filtering through narrow stained-glass windows.

When they finally stopped, Captain Toren gestured toward a pair of imposing black doors, their surfaces adorned with subtle carvings of intricate vines and heraldic symbols. 

“The Prince is currently in a meeting with the King and the court,” Toren explained as he stood in front of the doors. “We’ll wait here until he’s done. Once introduced, you’ll accompany him to his duties for the day.”

“Understood,” Jungkook replied as calmly as he could.

He couldn’t help but feel a mounting sense of unease—no, not unease. Awe, perhaps. The sheer weight of the role he was about to step into, was almost suffocating. It wasn’t every day that a common soldier was thrust so close to the royal family, and certainly not so soon after arriving at the brigade.

The Captain’s reasoning earlier had been logical, but incomplete. There was more to this assignment than his discipline or skills, though it wasn’t his place to question further. Still, the doubt gnawed at him. Why only him? Why now?

His thoughts churned as they waited, time seeming to stretch and warp in the cavernous silence of the hall. The muted murmur of voices behind the heavy doors was barely audible. Jungkook adjusted his stance, willing his nerves to still. Whatever his assignment entailed, he had to appear composed. 

After what felt like an eternity, the great black doors creaked open, revealing a flood of richly dressed courtiers spilling out into the corridor. Their fine silks and embroidered velvets brushed past him as they moved in hushed conversations, their faces a mixture of poise and exhaustion. Jungkook stood at attention, his eyes fixed forward, though he couldn’t help but feel out of place amid such finery.

Then, from the back of the group, a figure emerged.

The King.

The man’s presence filled the space effortlessly, his broad shoulders draped in a robe of deep blue trimmed with gold. His expression was calm, yet commanding, the kind of look that left no room for doubt about his authority. As the king passed, Jungkook bowed slightly.

But it wasn’t the King who held Jungkook’s attention when he straightened back.

Behind him, moving with a quieter grace, was the Prince.

Jungkook’s breath caught. He had seen the Prince before but it was mostly glimpses from afar during public ceremonies or images in portraits hung in the barracks. But this was different. Up close, the rumors that had once seemed exaggerated now felt startlingly real.

The Prince was petite, his frame almost fragile under the soft folds of his ceremonial attire. His features were striking in a way that defied conventional expectations of masculinity: high cheekbones, a finely sculpted nose, and full lips that looked so soft. But it was his eyes that drew Jungkook in. They were wide, framed with dark, long lashes, and impossibly expressive.

For a moment, their gazes locked. The Prince’s eyes flicked up to Jungkook’s, studying him with curiosity. It wasn’t scrutiny, but more like a fleeting assessment, a glance that seemed to measure him without judgment. Jungkook felt rooted to the spot, caught in the subtle pull of that gaze.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it wasn’t this.

The Prince’s beauty wasn’t just unusual, it was disarming. It made sense now, why the court whispered, why the people gossiped. Standing before him, Jungkook could almost understand how someone might mistake him for something other than what he was.

Jungkook swallowed hard, breaking the spell. His jaw tightened as he schooled his features into neutrality, reminding himself that this was no time to indulge in those thoughts. 

“Jeon!” the Captain said sharply, motioning him forward. Jungkook nodded, stepping forward with purposeful strides.

Toren addressed the King and Prince with a bow so fluid it seemed rehearsed to perfection. “Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness,” he began, his tone deferential. “This is Jeon Jungkook, the newest recruit of the royal brigade. He will be serving Your Highness directly. Despite his youth, he has been highly decorated for his exemplary skills on the battlefield—”

The king raised a hand, a simple gesture that silenced Toren mid-sentence. 

“I am already acquainted with his reputation,” the King said, his gaze sharp as it settled on Jungkook. “You are the one who aided in reclaiming the Lowlands, are you not? Yes… I recall the reports. Remarkable work for one so young.”

Jungkook bowed low, his heart pounding in his chest. “Your Majesty, it was an honor to serve.”

The King’s expression softened just enough to show a flicker of approval. “And now, you are entrusted with the protection of the crown Prince. A task of no small consequence. See to it that you are equal to the duty.”

Before Jungkook could utter a reply, the King turned with the unhurried grace of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question. His robe swept across the floor as he walked away, speaking over his shoulder. “Toren, you are dismissed. The Prince will brief him further.”

Captain Toren bowed deeply. “As you will, Your Majesty.” Straightening, he added, “Your Highness, I shall leave you in capable hands.”

The Captain gave a curt nod before following the King. Jungkook stood there, momentarily frozen, feeling the vastness of the hall closing in around him. He clenched his fists lightly, willing himself to focus. 

He dared to glance at the Prince, who stood observing him without a word. The Prince’s bearing was every bit as regal as one might expect, but there was an inscrutable quality that made him seem untouchable. His attire, rich in dark blues and silvers, was impeccably tailored, but it only enhanced the delicacy of his frame and the fine structure of his face.

The Prince’s gaze lingered on Jungkook for a moment longer before he hummed softly, a sound neither dismissive nor approving, and then turned.

Jungkook followed obediently, falling into step just behind him. 

“What is your name?” the Prince asked, breaking the silence. The sound of his voice startled Jungkook slightly. It was softer and lighter than he’d imagined.

Jungkook hesitated for a second. “Jeon, Your Royal Highness.”

The Prince stopped abruptly, glancing over his shoulder with a look of mild reproach. “No,” he said, his tone almost indulgent, as though correcting a child.  “Your given name. What is it?”

Jungkook stiffened slightly, caught off guard by the question. “It’s Jungkook, Your Highness.”

The Prince turned fully, his expression softening into something faintly amused. “Jungkook…” he repeated, almost as though testing the sound of it. His lips curved into a faint smile that made Jungkook’s stomach tighten unexpectedly. “Very well. You shall address me as ‘Your Highness’ when required, but you needn’t do so with every sentence. I have no need for overdone pleasantries.”

Jungkook blinked, unsure how to respond. “Yes, Your Highness,” he said anyway, earning a slight chuckle from the Prince.

As they continued down the hallway, Jungkook followed closely, his eyes occasionally drifting to the Prince’s profile. There was something almost ethereal about him, a lightness that seemed at odds with the gravitas of his station. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, and Jungkook wondered if it was coming from the Prince or the castle itself. 

The day stretched on endlessly into a slow and languid rhythm that Jungkook hadn’t expected. His first glimpse into royal life had been eye-opening, though not in the way he expected. For all the grandeur and prestige, the day’s proceedings were mind-numbingly dull.

By mid-day, Jungkook found himself struggling to keep his focus from wandering. The halls, while beautiful, began to blur together in their sameness with its gold inlays and towering arches. The endless meetings, each one echoing the last, left him yearning for the brisk efficiency of the town brigade.

The Prince, however, seemed unfazed by the monotony. He carried out his duties with a serene elegance that both impressed and baffled Jungkook. There was a calmness in the way the Prince moved through the day, as though he were immune to the weariness that tugged at everyone else. His voice remained patient even during the most repetitive discussions, addressing each advisor with the same respect.

It wasn’t until the afternoon meeting with the townspeople that the day took on a semblance of life. The grand chamber was transformed, its imposing walls softened by the presence of ordinary villagers who had come to voice their concerns. Jungkook stood behind the Prince, his posture rigid, but his focus sharpened by the shift in energy.

The Prince’s demeanor also changed subtly as the first villager stepped forward. His previously restrained expression softened, his dark eyes warming with an attentiveness that felt genuine. For the first time that day, Jungkook saw a spark of life in him.

When a farmer approached, bowing low as he spoke of the Prince’s help with irrigation for the season’s crops, the monarch’s entire face lit up.

“Your efforts have been tireless, Your Highness,” the farmer said, his voice tinged with gratitude. “We’ve never seen such bountiful yields. My family and I can’t thank you enough.”

The Prince inclined his head gracefully. “The success of your fields speaks to your diligence as much as the Palace’s aid,” he replied, his tone light but earnest. “Still, it gladdens me to know that we’ve been of some help to you.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but notice the way the Prince’s shoulders relaxed with each expression of thanks, as if the villagers’ words were a balm against the otherwise dull repetition of his duties. The praise seemed to energize him in a way no formal meeting or courtly discussion could.

Another villager—a young woman clutching a small child—stepped forward. Her voice trembled as she thanked the Prince for providing medical supplies during a recent outbreak of illness in her village. The Prince listened intently, nodding with quiet encouragement as she spoke.

“We are fortunate to have such a compassionate leader,” she finished, bowing deeply.

Jungkook observed the Prince, taking in the quiet pride in his expression, the way he lingered just a moment longer as he assured the woman her thanks was unnecessary. It was subtle, but Jungkook felt something about the Prince’s connection to these people was different from the polished indifference he showed in the court meetings.

When one elderly woman clasped her hands and tearfully thanked him for providing seed grain during the last drought, Jungkook caught the faintest flicker of a smile on the Prince’s lips. It was quick but genuine, and it lit his delicate features in a way that momentarily silenced the soldier’s restless thoughts.

By the end of the day, it was Jungkook’s duty to escort the Prince safely to his chambers. As part of his routine, he was to stand watch outside until another member of the royal brigade relieved him for the night. Come morning, he would resume his post as the Prince’s shadow.

The corridors were quiet at this hour, their stillness broken only by their footsteps. Dim sconces cast flickering shadows against the walls, lending the space an almost eerie air. Jungkook kept his pace only a step behind the Prince, who moved with his usual grace… at least at first.

He noticed something peculiar then. The Prince’s gait, which had been smooth the whole day, was off. His steps were uneven and his shoulders sagged as though carrying an invisible weight. As Jungkook drew closer, he caught the faint sound of labored breathing.  

“Your Highness, are you well?” Jungkook asked.  

“Yes, perfectly fine,” the Prince replied sharply, though the strain in his voice betrayed the words. He quickened his pace, forcing Jungkook to keep up. “Let’s hurry,” he added, his tone clipped but tinged with urgency.  

Jungkook frowned, his instincts flaring. Something wasn’t right. The prince’s complexion appeared pale, almost ashen. His breathing grew more ragged with every step, and for a moment, Jungkook thought the Prince might collapse before they reached the chamber doors.  

When they arrived, the Prince pushed the heavy wooden doors open and disappeared inside without so much as a backward glance. Jungkook hesitated outside. He wasn’t sure if he should remain at his post or wait for further instruction.

Just as he was debating, the door creaked open again. The Prince reappeared, his face now alarmingly pale, almost bluish, and his breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Find Lady Evra,” he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, the Prince closed the door once more, leaving a confused Jungkook staring at the polished wood.  

He cursed inwardly. He had no idea who Lady Evra was or where to find her.  

With no better option, Jungkook set off down the corridor. His eyes scanned for any sign of staff, his mind racing through every scrap of information he’d gathered about the palace since his arrival. After what felt like an eternity, he finally spotted a young servant carrying a tray of linens.  

“You—wait!” Jungkook called out, his tone urgent but controlled. The servant froze, wide-eyed as Jungkook approached “The Prince has requested someone named Lady Evra. Do you know where I can find her?”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll fetch her right away,” she said before hurrying off in the opposite direction, the linens swaying precariously in her arms.

Jungkook retraced his steps to the Prince’s chambers, resuming his post by the door. He hesitated for a moment before raising his voice just enough to be heard through the thick wood. “Your Highness, I’ve sent someone to call for Lady Evra. She should arrive shortly.”

There was no response from inside, only the faint sound of movement. Jungkook stood stiffly at attention, his sharp eyes fixed on the door. His hand rested instinctively on the hilt of his sword.

After a few minutes, Jungkook saw a group of servants approaching hurriedly. Leading them was a woman who exuded an air of authority. She was dressed in what resembled a maid's attire, but hers was of a richer fabric and a distinct color. From the way she carried herself, Jungkook could only assume she was the head of the royal attendants.

When her sharp gaze fell on him, she slowed her stride, clearing her throat. Her eyes locked onto his with a look of immediate distrust.  

“And who might you be?” she asked warily.

“I’m the Prince’s new charge, ma’am,” Jungkook replied evenly. “I began my post today.”  

Lady Evra’s brow arched in suspicion. “New charge, you say? Strange. I was not informed of such a change.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t dwell on it. “Regardless, you are dismissed. The night watch will take over from here.”  

“With all due respect, ma’am,” Jungkook said carefully, “protocol dictates that I remain until the next guard arrives. Leaving now would mean leaving His Highness unprotected.”  

Her expression hardened, and she stepped closer, her voice dropping into a sharp whisper. “I can assure you the Prince will be fine in my care. Now, do as you’re told.”  

Without waiting for his reply, she brushed past him, her shoulder nearly grazing his. As she entered the chamber, Jungkook caught a fleeting glimpse inside. The Prince was hunched over on the bed, his face obscured. Then the door shut firmly in his face.  

Jungkook stood there for a moment, jaw tightening. He reminded himself why he was chosen for this position: his ability to follow orders without prying. He exhaled slowly, shaking off his unease. Whatever was happening in that room was not his concern.  

Inside the room, the air was tense as Lady Evra worked deftly, her fingers unlacing the corset that had tormented the Prince all day.  

“I’ve said this countless times, this wretched contraption no longer fits!”  you hissed, your voice strained as you finally freed yourself from the suffocating garment. “I’ve been wearing the same corset since I was sixteen. I cannot endure it any longer.”  

Lady Evra’s expression remained composed. “Your Highness, you know you must wear it. I’ll do my best to have it adjusted.”

“It’s useless,” you countered, exhaling deeply. “My mother won’t allow you to leave any room for my natural shape to show. How does she expect me to fulfill my duties when I can’t even take a full breath?”

You moved toward the tall mirrors lining the chamber wall, your gaze sharp as you scrutinized your reflection. Each year, your form became more pronounced, and with it, the corset grew more punishing.  

“And what of this new knight?” you said, turning away from the mirror. “Why replace Sir Alric? And with this boy from the town, no less. He probably now thinks the Prince is sickly and will soon share whatever nonsense he concocts with his mates.” You sighed, letting the maids step in to prepare you for the evening’s rest.  

“If I may, Your Highness,” one of the younger maids ventured as she led you to the waiting bath. The warm, perfumed water enveloped you, the milky lather soothing your strained muscles. You gave a slight nod, allowing her to continue.  

“There are whispers among the palace staff,” she said cautiously, her tone respectful but firm. “The new guard, they say, is no ordinary recruit. He is highly decorated, despite his age. He’s also not bred here, and, according to what I’ve gathered, he’s a man of few words”

Lady Evra, clicked her tongue. “He was standing outside like a watchdog! Refused to leave even after I dismissed him. Stubborn as a mule.” She crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. “I’ll be keeping a close eye on him. If he’s strange, I’ll speak to Toren and have him out of here in less than a day.”

You sighed, sinking deeper into the warm water, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. “Do as you see fit, Evra. Just ensure he keeps his mouth shut and stays out of my way.”

The days following the corset incident were nothing short of exhausting. Every interaction with Jungkook felt like walking a tightrope—your irritation simmering just beneath the surface, and his calm, dutiful presence only served to fuel your frustration. It was unbearable. Everywhere you turned, there he was standing guard by your door, shadowing your steps through the halls, his eyes always watchful. You hated it. You hated him—or so you kept telling yourself.

"Must you always hover?" You snapped one afternoon as you walked through the palace gardens. "I can breathe without you monitoring every step I take, you know."

Jungkook, walking a respectful distance behind you, replied smoothly. "It’s my duty to ensure your safety, Your Highness."

You spun on your heel, glaring at him. "My safety? From what, exactly? The murderous rose bushes? The treacherous cobblestones? Or are you afraid I’ll trip over my own feet and die?"

His face remained impassive, though his jaw tightened ever so slightly. "I take my role seriously, Your Highness. If my presence offends you, I’ll adjust my distance."

You huffed, crossing your arms. "It’s not your distance… it’s your attitude. You act as if I’m some fragile doll that’ll shatter at the slightest inconvenience. I survived before you came along. I’ll survive after you’re gone."

For a moment, he said nothing, simply watching you with those wide, unreadable eyes. Then, with a slight bow of his head, he replied, "I don’t doubt your strength, Your Highness. But even the strongest need someone to watch their back."

The calmness in his voice only irritated you more. You turned sharply, continuing down the garden path, your footsteps quick and uneven. "I don’t need you to watch my back. I need you to stay out of my way."

His response was quiet but firm. "Understood."

The weight of his simple reply settled over you, making your anger feel misplaced, almost childish. But your stubbornness wouldn’t allow you to back down. You marched ahead, determined to ignore the strange tightening in your chest, the inexplicable guilt gnawing at your resolve.

This tension became a constant, simmering beneath every exchange. Every glance Jungkook cast in your direction felt scrutinizing, even though he never once said anything out of line. And every time you snapped, he took it with that maddening calmness, never rising to your provocations.

Until one day, he didn’t.

The great hall buzzed with murmurs as townspeople filled the space for another people’s meeting, their faces lined with worry and frustration. You sat on the elevated dais, your gaze steady as the villagers came forward to air their grievances. It was a familiar scene, mostly complaints about taxes, disputes over land, requests for aid. You nodded, offering solutions where you could.  

But then, a middle-aged man stepped forward, his expression twisted with anger. His clothes were worn, his hands calloused from hard labor. "Your Highness," he began, his voice shaking with barely restrained fury, "the crime in the city is out of control. Our streets are no longer safe!”

You leaned forward slightly. "We are aware of the issue, and I assure you, measures are being taken—"  

"Measures?" he interrupted, his voice rising. "The only measures your soldiers seem to take are the ones that lead them to the bottom of an ale tankard! They’re useless, wasting our coin while we fend for ourselves."  

The crowd muttered in agreement, their voices a low rumble of discontent.  

You raised a hand to calm them. "I understand your frustration. The crown does not take this lightly, and I will personally ensure—"  

"You?" The man’s voice broke, his hand trembling as he reached into his coat. "All you do is sit on your throne safely while we suffer!"  

Before you could react, the flash of a blade caught the light as he pulled a knife from his cloak. Gasps filled the hall, and everything seemed to slow for a moment.  

But Jungkook was faster. In a single, fluid motion, he stepped in front of you, his sword drawn and leveled at the man’s throat. "Drop it," Jungkook commanded, unwavering.  

The villager’s eyes widened, his hand faltering as the tip of Jungkook’s blade pressed against his skin. "I—I didn’t mean to—" he stammered, his anger now mixed with fear.  

"Drop the knife!" Jungkook repeated, and this time, the man obeyed, the weapon clattering to the stone floor.  

Captain Toren and the other guards quickly moved in, seizing the man and leading him away. The tension in the hall was palpable, the murmurs of the crowd now hushed whispers.  

The meeting was promptly dismissed, the townspeople ushered out under by the guards. You rose from your seat, heart still pounding, and marched out of the hall without a word.  

Jungkook followed close behind.  

Once you reached the privacy of a secluded courtyard, you whirled around to face him. "What in the world was that?" you snapped, your voice sharp with anger.  

Jungkook stood firm, his arms crossed. "I was doing my job, Your Highness" he replied evenly.  

"Your job?" you repeated, incredulous. "Your job is not to scare my people!"  

He frowned, his eyes narrowing. "With all due respect, Your Highness, my job is to keep you alive. That man could’ve killed you."  

"He was desperate, he was not going to harm me!" you countered, your voice rising. "He needed help, not a blade at his throat."  

Jungkook took a step closer, his tone hardening. "Desperation makes people dangerous. If I hadn’t acted, you could’ve been seriously hurt or worse."  

You glared at him, hands clenched at your sides. "You made me look weak, Jeon. In front of everyone. How am I supposed to lead when my own guard undermines me?"  

His composure slipped, frustration evident in his voice. "And how am I supposed to do my duty when you refuse to see the risks around you?"  

There was a moment of silence. Finally, Jungkook exhaled. "I’m not your enemy, Your Highness. I’m trying to protect you, even if you dislike me for it."  

You looked away, the anger still simmering but now mixed with an uncomfortable realization that he might be right. Without another word, you turned and walked away. But the tension between you lingered as a crackling undercurrent that neither of you could ignore.

As days turned into weeks, and weeks into a full month of the same dull duties. The Prince hadn’t experienced any further incidents, and since he rarely left the castle, Jungkook’s duties felt more ceremonial than protective. Inside the palace walls, the biggest threats were mundane like slipping on the stairs or burning yourself on a stray candle.

Still, one thing did unsettle him and that was the maids. It felt as though they were constantly watching him. But more scrutinizing was Lady Evra, whose sharp glances and curt words made it clear she didn’t think highly of him. Jungkook couldn’t quite pinpoint why, but he suspected she was just waiting for him to slip up.

Today, however, promised a break from routine. The kingdom was hosting dignitaries from neighboring states to celebrate the success of this year’s crops. The festivities included a hunting game, and the Prince would be participating.

Jungkook found himself looking forward to the day’s events. He had never been hunting before. The reason being that this activity was largely reserved for nobles and royals. For Jungkook, weapons had only ever been tools of war, used against enemies of the kingdom. 

As he waited for the Prince to emerge from his chambers, Jungkook couldn’t help but notice how long it always took him. He’d observed plenty of men prepare for the day, from fellow soldiers to high-ranking officers, and their routines were straightforward: a quick wash, a shave, clothes thrown on with minimal fuss. Even royals, he assumed, wouldn’t stray far from that. But the prince? His routine was far more elaborate.  

It wasn’t just the time he took but also the constant presence of maids—never a single male servant. Jungkook found this unusual. Nobles might have personal attendants, but it was customary for male royals to be assisted by male stewards, especially when dressing for public appearances. Yet here, only women fluttered in and out of the Prince’s chambers.

Jungkook’s brow furrowed as he leaned against the wall outside the door. Why so much secrecy? He wondered. 

His thoughts were abruptly cut short by the sharp clearing of a throat. Jungkook straightened at once, spinning on his heel to face an unimpressed Lady Evra, with the Prince standing just behind her. 

Jungkook’s gaze slid past the head maid and landed squarely on the Prince, who was wearing a finely tailored black velvet suit. Unlike his usual flowing robes, this ensemble clung to his form, outlining every contour. Jungkook’s mind involuntarily drifted back to that night at the tavern:

He’s too… delicate. His face, his voice—hell, even his body.

He could see it now. The Prince’s build was slender, with narrow shoulders tapering to a small waist. But lower still, his thighs seemed more shapely, fuller than one might expect. Jungkook swallowed, his thoughts beginning to tread into dangerous territory.

“What are you gawking at with that foolish expression, boy?” Lady Evra snapped, her tone sharp enough to slice through his reverie. She clicked her fingers in front of his face, jolting him back to reality. Jungkook mentally cursed himself for being so obvious.

“My apologies, ma’am,” he muttered, quickly lowering his gaze.

The Prince cast his eyes downward, a faint pink tinge brushing his cheeks. Jungkook’s heart stuttered at the sight, but before he could dwell on it, the Prince turned on his heel and began to walk away. Lady Evra followed, though not without shooting Jungkook a final withering glare, her eyes narrowing in warning.

Jungkook exhaled slowly, pressing his lips into a tight line. Focus, fool. 

When they arrived at the hunting grounds, Jungkook was immediately struck by the lack of royal guards. Only Captain Toren and two more guards stood watch over the King, alongside Jungkook himself. The absence of a larger contingent seemed odd, given the importance of the event. 

More surprising, however, was the presence of Lady Evra. She stood out sharply among the assembled men, all of whom were accompanied only by their stewards or squires. Jungkook couldn’t help but wonder what purpose a maid had at such a gathering. It was unusual, to say the least, for a woman—especially one in her position—to attend a hunting excursion.

The journey there had been rough. The carriage lurched and swayed over the uneven, muddy roads, making the ride uncomfortable for all. By the time they arrived, Lady Evra was visibly pale, her knuckles white as she gripped the carriage’s edge. As soon as the wheels stopped, she nearly leapt from the cabin, clutching a handkerchief over her mouth. She looked as though she might empty the contents of her stomach at any moment.

"Please fetch Lady Evra some water," The Prince instructed one of the nearby stewards.

Turning to Lady Evra, he added, "You may rest in the carriage. I won’t require your assistance for the time being."

Lady Evra nodded stiffly, still covering her mouth. Without another word, she retreated to the designated camp area, her usual sharp demeanor dampened by her obvious discomfort. Jungkook watched her leave, unable to shake the feeling that her presence here was more than just an odd coincidence.

The dense forest stretched around them, the towering trees creating long shadows as the afternoon sun began its slow descent. The hunting party had dispersed, each group fanning out in search of game. Jungkook remained close to you, bow in hand, his eyes sharp as he scanned the surroundings. His primary duty was to ensure that the area was safe, yet his gaze kept drifting to you instead.

You moved with a certain grace, your slim figure seeming out of place among the rugged hunters. The tight-fitting black velvet suit from earlier now seemed even more impractical in the wild. The way it hugged your narrow waist and flared slightly over your hips was… distracting. Jungkook found himself stealing glances, his grip tightening on his bow each time his eyes wandered.

“You’ve been staring,” you said suddenly. You didn’t turn to look at Jungkook, instead keeping your gaze ahead.

Jungkook stiffened, clearing his throat. “I’m merely keeping watch, Your Highness. It’s my duty.”

You finally glanced back, one brow arched. “Is it? Funny, I didn’t realize my waistline required such vigilant protection.”

Jungkook felt heat rise to his cheeks. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I was… assessing the terrain.”

“Of course,” you replied, your tone light but your eyes lingering on him just long enough to unsettle him.

Jungkook tried to shake off his discomfort, focusing on his surroundings. His instincts were on high alert, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted—not by his thoughts, and certainly not by you.

Suddenly, a sharp rustling in the underbrush made both of you halt. Jungkook raised his bow instinctively, scanning the dense foliage.

“It’s probably just a deer,” you whispered.

Before Jungkook could respond, a sharp sound cut through the air. An arrow zipped past, grazing Jungkook’s arm and embedding itself in a tree behind him. He barely registered the sting before he heard your sharp intake of breath. His heart stopped as he turned to see you clutching your side, blood seeping through your fingers.

“Your Highness!” Jungkook lunged forward just as the ground beneath you gave way. You stumbled, and before Jungkook could grab hold of you, both of you tumbled down a steep slope. Rocks and branches tore at your clothes and skin until you landed in a crumpled heap at the bottom.

Jungkook groaned, pushing himself up despite the aching in his limbs. His eyes immediately sought out your form. Scrambling over, he knelt beside you. “Your Highness, are you all right?”

Your eyes fluttered open, face pale. “I… I think the arrow grazed me.”

Jungkook’s gaze fell to the blood-soaked fabric at your side. He knew he had to act quickly. “It’s more than a graze, Your Highness. You’re losing too much blood. I need to tend to the wound.”

You shook your head weakly, attempting to push his hands away. “No. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Jungkook insisted firmly. “If I don’t stop the bleeding, you could—”

“I said no!” You snapped, voice trembling with both pain and defiance. Your hand gripped the torn edge of your garment. “You cannot… I won’t allow it.”

Jungkook hesitated, understanding dawning in his eyes. You weren’t just refusing out of pride… you were hiding something. But there was no time for hesitation. Gritting his teeth, Jungkook grabbed your wrist gently but firmly. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but your life comes before anything else.”

With one swift motion, Jungkook tore the fabric away from your side, revealing the wound… and something else. His breath caught. Beneath the blood and torn fabric, your chest was bound tightly, concealing curves that no man would possess.

Jungkook froze, his mind racing, but he forced himself to focus. “Your Highness… You—”

“Just hush,” you whispered hoarsely, eyes burning with both fear and anger. “And do what you must….”

Snapping out of his shock, Jungkook nodded, his hands steady as he worked. He pressed a cloth to the wound, applying pressure to stem the bleeding. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he murmured, his voice low. “But you need to trust me now.”

Your eyes searched his eyes for a long moment before you finally, reluctantly, nodded. Jungkook tore away the side of the corset where the arrow had struck, making you gasp, your hands instinctively flying to cover your chest. But Jungkook’s focus was entirely on tending your wound. He ripped a strip from his own jacket and wrapped it tightly around you, improvising a bandage. His mind was whirling with a million thoughts but his hands remained steady. 

“How could this happen…” you winced weakly, eyes blinking slow and unfocused.

Jungkook glanced around the tangled underbrush as he finished securing the makeshift bandage around your side. “I don’t think it was a missed arrow, Your Highness. All the groups were assigned different parts of the forest… no one should’ve been near us. Whoever shot that arrow meant to hit you.”

His gaze drifted back, lingering for a second where your ripped corset revealed the bound curves beneath. Realizing, he cleared his throat and jerked his eyes up to meet yours. You stared him down, cheeks flushed more with anger than embarrassment.

“We need to move. It’s not safe here.”

You tried to sit up, grimacing as pain knifed through your side. “I… I don’t think I can get up,”

“I’ll carry you to the carriage,” Jungkook said, already moving to help.

“Absolutely not.” You shot him a fierce glare, even as your lips trembled. “I refuse to be hauled around like some helpless damsel.”

Jungkook gave an exasperated huff. “Your Highness, this isn’t up for debate. My duty is to keep you alive no matter what.”

You lifted your chin. “I will not be carried.”

“For the love of—” Jungkook muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’re so damned stubborn.”

Your eyes blazed, but the pain kept you from doing more than gritting your teeth. “Excuse me?!”

“Quiet now.” 

Before you could even protest the absolute audacity, his arms scooped under your knees and shoulders, lifting you easily. The motion jostled your side making your breath hitch through clenched teeth.

“You absolute brute!” You hissed.

“You're bleeding out,” he shot back, adjusting his grip just slightly so your head could rest against his chest. “Forgive me for prioritizing your survival over your comfort.”

Your fingers dug into the front of his uniform. “You could have at least warned me.”

“I did,” Jungkook muttered. “You just don’t listen.”

You scowled up at him, though the expression was weakened by your paling face and the way your head lolled slightly from the blood loss. “I am the crown Prince, you know. You should treat me with a modicum of…of dignity.”

“With all due respect, Your Highness,” he snapped, glancing down at you with frustration simmering just below the surface. “You make my job more difficult when you act like you'd rather die than accept help.”

He got nothing more than a quiet huff of indignation in response. You were clearly growing too weak to argue back so he quickened his pace. His gaze flicked constantly between the path ahead and the shadows shifting through the branches. But despite his vigilance, he still looked down at you every few seconds, checking your breathing.

After a moment, your voice came softer, more strained. “Do you think it was one of the guests? Someone who knew I’d be out here, away from the castle?”

Jungkook didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “But whoever it was, they knew enough to aim for where you’d be most vulnerable.”

“You mustn’t tell anyone,” you murmured weakly after a second. Jungkook glanced down at you. “About what you saw.”

His jaw flexed subtly, and for a moment he was silent. “Your secret is safe with me, Your Highness.”

Something in his voice made you believe him, despite your best instincts warning you otherwise.

He adjusted his grip and pushed into a jog. The pain flared along your ribs, but you bit back the cry, burying it in the fabric of his collar. 

“Stay with me,” he murmured quietly, quickening his pace. “We’re almost there.”

Within minutes, shapes emerged on the rise. Toren's eyes widened when he saw the crimson stain at your side.

“Prince—!” He started.

“Later,” you rasped, before Jungkook could answer. “Find whoever fired that arrow first.”

Toren snapped a signal to his men. The physician rushed forward as Jungkook eased you into a soft cushion inside the carriage, but your hand caught his wrist before he could step back.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

The female physician began cutting away the rest of the corset. Jungkook turned, placing himself between you and the widening circle of soldiers, shielding your secret with his own body as the hunt for the unseen archer began.

“This is an outrage! An arrow shot at the Crown Prince! What barbaric times are we living in?” the Queen seethed, her heels clicking furiously across the marble floor as she paced the length of your chambers. Her hands, adorned in glinting rings, were clenched tightly at her sides, white with fury.

You lay still in bed, propped up against a pile of silk-stitched pillows, a dark expression carved into your face. Pain still throbbed beneath the bandages at your side, but it was nothing compared to the knot forming in your stomach.

You hadn’t yet told her.

She was already fuming, her voice echoing off the high ceilings, and you had no idea how to add to her fire without sparking a full inferno. You didn’t even know what they’d do to Jungkook if they found out. A soldier learning the most guarded secret in the kingdom? The risk alone was enough to get someone executed. But…

Your thoughts flicked back to the look on his face when he saw you bleeding. Not disgust. Not hesitation. Just focus. A strange steadiness that lingered even after his shock.

You wanted to trust him. But did you know you could?

“The royal guards scoured the entire forest,” your father said, his voice tight with exhaustion. He sat slumped on the edge of the chaise, one hand pressed to his temple, the other clenched over his knee. “There were no tracks, no signs, no discarded arrows. Whoever it was, they planned their escape well.”

He looked older than he had the day before. You know he hadn’t slept. his robes were still wrinkled from the previous night’s vigil at your bedside.

“The wound could have been fatal!” the Queen snapped, turning toward him. “They aimed for her side! Low enough to bleed her out before help could arrive. This wasn’t a warning shot.”

“The physician said she’ll make a full recovery,” your father reminded gently. “Thanks to quick action. The bleeding was stopped in time.”

“Thanks to Jungkook.” You said, staring at the gilded canopy above. “If he hadn’t acted, I might not be here.”

Your mother’s eyes snapped to yours, sharp with calculation. “That boy…he bandaged your wound?”

You hesitated. The truth was teetering at the edge of your tongue. “He saved my life,” you said, skirting the specifics, not quite meeting her gaze.

Your father let out a slow breath. “Then we owe him a debt. At least some among the guards still know their duty.”

But your mother was not so easily appeased. She narrowed her eyes with suspicion. “I want to speak to him. Alone. If he is to be your constant shadow, I need to know exactly what kind of man we’ve invited into this family’s confidence.” Her words left no room for argument.

A tremor of fear ran through you—not for yourself, but for Jungkook. The more people who knew, the more fragile your secret became. And you couldn’t shake the worry that your mother would see straight through any lie he tried to offer.

A knock sounded. Lady Evra slipped inside, curtsying quickly. “Your Majesties, Sir Jeon has returned from debriefing with Captain Toren. He requests permission to deliver his report in person.”

Ice rippled through your chest. The Queen’s eyes flashed. “Bring him.”

Jungkook entered and sank to one knee, head bowed. “Your Majesties. Your Highness.”

“You kept my child alive,” the King began. “For that, the crown owes you.”

“Yes,” the Queen cut in, “but you also led the hunting party that placed the Prince in the arrow’s path. Explain.”

Jungkook lifted his gaze. “Your Majesty, the party followed the assigned quadrant. The assailant lay in wait outside any sanctioned sector. Whoever it was moved with purpose and vanished the moment the shot was fired.”

“You saw no crest, no colors?”

“None, Your Majesty. Only a black-fletched arrow. I have secured it for inspection.”

The Queen folded her arms. “And after the attack? How did you manage the wound?”

Jungkook’s shoulders squared, but his voice stayed steady throughout the questioning. “I made a bandage from my uniform and transported the Prince to the carriage as quickly as possible.”

Your chest loosened by a fraction at his quick wit.

The King exhaled. “I will make sure to let the court know you’ll remain as primary escort for the Prince.”

The Queen looked ready to object, but your voice slipped in first “I concur. Sir Jeon acted decisively. I am alive because of him.”

The Queen inclined her head after a few seconds, the gesture sharp as a sword’s edge. “Very well. But from this day forward you answer to me as well, Sir Jeon. Fail once, and no medal will shield you.”

“I understand, Your Majesty,” Jungkook said firmly.

“Then go,” she ordered. “See the prince’s guard doubled and the gate captains briefed about our new security measures.”

He bowed once more and withdrew.

You let out the breath you’d been holding. Your father rose to leave. “Rest, my child. We will find whoever did this.”

When your parents had gone, Lady Evra fussed with your pillows, but you caught her sleeve. “Send for Sir Jeon quietly. I… need to thank him.”

Lady Evra’s brows arched, but she only nodded. “As you wish, Highness.”

After a few minutes, a knock sounded at your door. You sat up with difficulty, wincing as the movement tugged at your healing side. “Come in!” you called, adjusting the blanket around your waist.

The door creaked open, and Jungkook stepped in with his usual calm, bowing his head slightly before crossing the room. He stopped just at the edge of your bed, posture rigid, as though unsure how close was too close.

Your loose camisole left little to the imagination. The bindings were gone so the faint curve of your chest was now impossible to hide. Still, Jungkook’s eyes didn’t waver once. His gaze held respectfully to your face.

“You wished to see me, Your Highness?”

“Yes.” You found yourself nibbling the inside of your lip nervously. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he now carried your greatest secret or the simple fact that you were alone with him in your chambers. Both felt equally improper. “I wanted to thank you again for saving me.”

“It was only my duty, Your Highness.”

“I know…”  You drew a slow breath. “I also wanted to apologize… for being so difficult.”

“I don’t hold it against you, Your Highness. I’d be difficult too, if I were in your place.”

“I think the Queen suspects you know more than you let on.”

“Yes, the interrogation made that pretty clear,” he replied without missing a beat.

His deadpan delivery made you huff a laugh despite yourself.  He didn’t smile back but his expression softened. And for just a second, he looked at you not like a soldier looking at a royal, but like a boy looking at someone he wasn’t sure how to categorize anymore.

Your smile made him lose that unwavering focus he was known for. His eyes dipped ever so slightly before darting back up. He swallowed.

You caught the slip. “Something wrong, Sir Jeon?”

“No,” he said too quickly. “You should rest. You’re still healing.”

“Is that a dismissal?” you teased, a faint smirk tugging at your lips.

His jaw tightened. “No, Your Highness. Merely a concern.”

“Very well, then. You’re dismissed.”

He bowed and slipped out, the door whisper-quiet behind him.

From the day the physician cleared you to leave bed, Jungkook seemed to multiply—one shadow was no longer enough. If he’d hovered before, now he was practically stuck to your side. Always posted outside your door even after his shift was supposed to end, tracking every corridor you crossed, materializing whenever a servant so much as sneezed in your direction. You told yourself it was because of the arrow, because you were still healing. But deep down you sensed it was because of what he’d seen in the ravine.

Your first outing was a simple walk across the inner courtyard. The morning sunlight spilled over the flagstones and you longed to feel it on your face. You managed three steps before Jungkook appeared at your side.

“If I trip, will you throw yourself under me like a mattress?” You huffed, trying hard not to roll your eyes.

“If necessary, your Highness,” he answered, unblinking.

You clicked your tongue and kept walking, noting the way castle staff parted around him cautiosly. Rumors had already taken flight about the Prince’s new guard, silent as stone, deadly as winter. You wondered which version of the story they told, the one where you were a delicate invalid, or the one where Jungkook was an overzealous watchdog. Neither sat comfortably.

Later that week, you attempted to sneak to the library after dusk to review the latest grain-tax ledgers. You’d just slipped through the double doors when a low voice cut the stillness.

“Your highness.”

You whirled. Jungkook was standing neared the doors, arms folded, as though he’d just spawned there.

“Did you follow me? Your shift ended hours ago” you hissed.

“You must’ve forgotten that the Queen ordered double watch on every entrance after the attack. I can hardly leave the future monarch to wander unguarded gaps.”

“This is the royal archive, not a battlefield.”

“Any place becomes a battlefield once an enemy steps inside.” 

You opened your mouth to retort but suddenly footsteps sounded in the antechamber. Jungkook was beside you in an instant, one hand on the hilt at his waist, the other gently pressing you behind a towering shelf.

The door creaked and two junior ministers drifted in, whispering about budget approvals. Only when they left did Jungkook relax.

“One cannot be too careful,” he murmured. “Not every foe announces himself with a blade.”

You shot him a glare. “You see threats where there are none.”

“Perhaps. Yet my vigilance has saved Your Highness before.”

A dozen retorts crowded your tongue, but none survived the heat in his gaze.

You stepped back first. “Very well. Sit and read if you must, but do so in silence while I work”

He inclined his head. “As you wish.”

You took a table by the tall windows; he chose a chair just within arm’s reach, angled so he could watch the door and, annoyingly, you. Under the wavering candlelight, you tried to drown in numbers, yet awareness of him pulsed at the edge of every calculation.

When the tower bell tolled midnight, you closed the ledger with a thud. “Finished,” you said, more to the thudding in your chest than the paperwork.

Jungkook rose, offering his arm. You hesitated, then took it—if only to steady the soreness in your side. His warmth seeped through the linen sleeve.

As he guided you back to your chambers, you realized two things with unsettling clarity:

First, the palace seemed far safer when he was near.

Second, no safety had ever felt quite so perilous for your heart.

Your injuries had yet to fully mend when your mother, in all her gilded grandeur, declared it time to host a royal ball.

As if a pierced flank and bruised ribs were no excuse to be spared the torment of brocade and small talk.

Worse still, guests from your mother’s bloodline—house Calderan, of the western realm—had been invited. And with them, your cousin Victor. You despised Victor. He was as insufferable as his father, your uncle the marquess of flintmere. Both were horribly self-important, crude, and always eager to remind the court of your… delicate disposition.

Your father had little love for them either, but decorum bound his hands. Calderan and your court were long allies, and the celebration required their presence.

Because of this unfortunate fact you were now struggling into formal attire before a tall gilt mirror. Fresh bindings hugged your ribs, hot with ache, and the new double-breasted velvet coat—blood red, embroidered in silver—pinched at your shoulders. Just as you contemplated tearing a seam for air, a knock rattled the door.

“For the love of the gods, enter!” you snapped.

The door swung wide and Jungkook stepped inside, one hand pressed to his breast in courteous greeting—then froze at the sight of you half dressed, corset strings dangling like snakes.

“What is it, Jeon? Can you not see I am rather occupied?” you demanded.

“My apologies, Highness.” He dipped his head. “I bear word from the Great Hall. The royal party from Calderan has arrived sooner than expected, and Their Majesties request your presence at once in the Receiving Hall.”

“What?” you exclaimed, voice pitching higher than you’d like. “I’m not even dressed! And these wretched clothes don’t fit. Fetch lady Evra at once.”

“Lady Evra is presently addressing some disturbance downstairs, Highness. It seems the scullery maid set the kitchen alight.”

“Curse it all!” you swore, fighting the urge to fling something across the chamber. Jungkook's lips twitched as if he found your outrage amusing.

“Well, don’t just stand there! Come help me with this.” You jabbed a finger at the offending corset’s laces.

His eyes went round. “M—me, Your Highness?”

“No, i’m speaking to the armor in the corner. Of course you! Make yourself useful for once.”

Color climbed his neck, but he crossed the carpet without further protest. You turned, bracing both palms on the bed-post while he gathered the laces of your corset. His fingers brushed the small of your back. He worked carefully, drawing each pull snug but not cruel.

“Too tight?” he asked, voice a shade lower than usual.

“It will have to do,” you muttered, trying—and failing—to ignore how your pulse fluttered where his knuckles grazed skin.

He tied the final knot, then helped settle the velvet coat over your shoulders. You faced the mirror. The garment now lay smooth, waist nipped just enough to suggest aristocratic elegance.

“Thank you,” you said, voice softer than expected.

“Always, your highness.”

His eyes lingered before he bowed and turned toward the door.

“Jeon.”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“If Victor so much as looks at me the wrong way tonight,” you said, slipping into your polished boots, “I expect you to ‘escort’ him into a wall.”

“Gladly, Your Highness”

The bells of the west tower chimed eighth hour as you and Jungkook left your chamber. He offered his arm which you accepted only because the corridor felt endless and your side still ached under silk and whalebone. 

At the doors of the Great Receiving Hall, you let his arm go as the herald struck his staff with three measured raps that silenced the string ensemble within.

“His Highness, The Crown Prince, accompanied by Sir Jeon Jungkook of the Royal Brigade.”

The carved oak panels swung wide. Heat washed over you first coming from the braziers that roared in every corner. Tapestries of your house stag and House Calderan’s silver hawk hung side by side. Above the high tablewas  a chandelier bristled with beeswax candles, dripping slow pearls of wax toward the floor.

All eyes turned as you crossed the threshold. Some widened in sympathy at the pallor still ghosting your features; more than a few flicked to Jungkook, curiosity sharpening into speculation. The string players shifted seamlessly into the opening of the ceremonial court dance—a formation performed in a large circle by the noblemen and lords, and a second concentric circle by the ladies and visiting dignitaries.

“Steady,” Jungkook murmured.

“I am steady,” you replied with a tight smile.

Halfway across the hall, a voice as smooth as oiled steel cut through the courtly murmurs.

“Cousin!” Victor Calderan detached himself from a knot of western lords, crossing to you with the swagger of a man certain every eye belonged on him. He bowed then straightened to his full, irritating height. “I feared we should meet next at a funeral. Imagine my relief to see you upright, if not entirely… unharmed.”

Your jaw locked. “Your concern dazzles me, Victor.”

He smirked, gaze darting to Jungkook. “And this must be the heroic shadow who hauled you from barbaric brambles. Tell me, Sir… was it bravery or blind luck that kept the arrow from finding a truer mark?”

Jungkook’s expression did not change, but you saw his muscles tighten under his vambrace. “Luck always bows to skill, my lord,” he said evenly. “And skill serves the crown.”

A hint of annoyance crossed Victor’s face then vanished under a grin. “Well spoken. Still, I wonder if our dear Prince would fare better guarded by men of better lineage.” He let the insult hang but Jungkook seemed unaffected.

“You damn–”

Before you could finish, the Queen appeared beside you “Victor,” she said warmly, “your father awaits you by the dais.” It was not a suggestion. Victor bowed again, much deeper to her, and left.

Your mother’s smile dropped the moment his back turned. “Behave,” she warned under her breath. “The first set is the ceremonial march, you must appear united.” 

You bowed just to hide an eye roll. “As Your Majesty wills.”

A drum signaled the dance’s start. You and Victor joined the outer circle of lords, your places dictated by birth, while Jungkook took his place along the wall with the other guards. Victor’s presence at your side was unavoidable, his harsh touch on your side during the linking step made you wince.

“Still sore?” Victor murmured as the circles rotated, his lips barely moving. “If those bandages split, imagine the scandal.”

You kept your smile frozen. “If that happens, it won’t be my bindings that split... it will be your lip.”

His eyes glittered, but he was forced to move on as the circle turned and you broke away, hands briefly joining with Lord Banford, then Lord Giles. At every turn, you felt Jungkook’s gaze on you.

When the dance ended, you made to walk away and sit down but Victor stopped you, pulling you back harshly.

“Come on, cousin! Are you tired already?” 

Jungkook was at your side in a second.

“Does the guard speak for the Crown now?” Victor chuckled darkly.

“He speaks when the Crown cannot waste breath,” you answered, accepting Jungkook’s steadying arm. “My physician forbade further strain.”

The Chamberlain hurried forward, announcing the second formation, where you would join a different grouping—this time among the royal cousins and western lords. Custom demanded your continued presence, but you lifted your chin and turned to your mother.

“This set I forfeit,” you declared, voice ringing over the music. “In gratitude for my continued heartbeat, I would honor the man who saved the heir to the crown.”

A jolt of shock moved through the hall, but your mother inclined her head reluctantly, and the King gave a small nod from the dais.

Instead of taking a place in the second set, you moved aside, allowing Jungkook to join. Though not strictly within the bounds of custom, your action was shielded by royal decree.

You leaned in, voice just for him. “You see? I can break a rule or two when I must.”

He let the hint of a smile curled his mouth. “And survive it, Highness.”

The rest of the ball blurred past with Victor’s dark looks from the dance circle, the Queen’s measured glances, and the way the court’s eyes tracked every step you took with your silent, loyal guard at your side. Your closeness would not go unnoticed nor, perhaps, would you want it to.

“Mother, you cannot be serious! They’re an utter nuisance! Why would you keep them here longer than necessary?” you protested, trailing at her heels as she moved about her solar the following morning. Sunlight gleamed off gilded mirrors and the silver trinkets that lined her shelves, mocking your mood.

She turned sharply, her jewels flashing. “Because they are family, and because I say so. Besides, your father is in the midst of delicate negotiations with them.”

You scoffed, folding your arms. “Oh, please. My father would sooner share a cell with the rats under the kitchens than spend another day at table with Uncle and Victor.”

Her lips thinned. “That’s enough. You’re acting like a spoiled child.”

You clenched your jaw, biting back another retort. Without waiting for dismissal, you stormed from her chambers, slamming the heavy oak door behind you.

Jungkook was waiting outside, posture alert. He fell into step at your side the moment you emerged.

“This is absurd,” you muttered, barely slowing your stride as you swept down the corridor. 

“Your Highness, if you walk at that pace, you’ll tear your stitches,” Jungkook cautioned.

You bristled, refusing to look at him. “I am perfectly capable of walking, Jeon. Kindly grant me some dignity.”

Before he could reply, a familiar, grating voice drifted down the hall.

“Cousin.”

You stopped dead, spine stiffening as Victor sauntered toward you.

“I trust you heard the good news,” he drawled, spreading his arms joyfully. “We’re to enjoy your fine hospitality for several more days. How utterly delightful.”

“Truly wonderful,” you replied, the cold expression in your face not matching the words at all.

He grinned. “Since we have so much time to rekindle our friendship, perhaps we should indulge in some amusement. You know, like old times.”

You glanced quickly at Jungkook, drawing a steadying breath before stepping closer to Victor.

“I hardly think that would be appropriate.”

“Oh, come now!” Victor’s voice rose, clearly intended for Jungkook’s ears. “Be a man, will you? You’re the only Prince I know who shuns a bit of female company. It wouldn’t kill you to enjoy yourself for once. Visit the city, see the girls dance. In fact, your guard is welcome to join us. The last one… what was his name? Sir Alric, was it? He could hardly stay away from those girls. Surely Sir Jeon doesn’t object to a little pleasure?”

Your eyes narrowed, refusing to give Victor the satisfaction of a reaction.

“I assure you,” you said, voice icy, “I have neither the time nor the inclination to carouse with you, cousin. Nor do I require your advice on how to behave as a man.”

Victor chuckled, but there was no warmth in it. “We’ll see. Even the purest Prince in the realm has his vices. Perhaps your new shadow here might teach you a thing or two.”

“Mind your tongue, Lord Victor,” Jungkook interrupted. “You tread close to slander.”

Victor arched a brow, clearly amused. “Slander? I thought the Prince welcomed plain speech.”

“My loyalty,” you said, stepping forward until your boots touched the hem of Victor’s cloak, “does not extend to brothels or barroom gossip. Neither does my patience.”

His smile thinned. “So prickly. Perhaps the arrow did more harm than I heard. Well—” He spread his hands in mock apology. “The offer stands. Should you grow tired of the court, you know where to find me.”

He pivoted and strolled away. Only when his footsteps faded did you release the breath strangled by the corset.

Jungkook’s eyes stayed on the corridor’s far end before returning to you. “You should not let him bait you.”

“I know.” You pressed a palm to the ache beneath your ribs. “But I know him well enough to know he won’t stop pestering me.”

Night had already draped the capital in velvet by the time Victor found a way to corner you again.

You were halfway through supper when a page arrived with a folded billet stamped in House Calderan’s hawk.

His Highness is invited to continue the evening’s festivities in the city. Your father’s treaty depends upon our growing “camaraderie.”A carriage waits at the north postern.

You could almost hear the smug lilt in every curl of ink. Refusal would definitely reach your uncle’s ears by dawn which would likely damage  the negotiations your father desperately needed. 

The truth was, your kingdom had seen better days. Crime crept through the streets, the fields had withered beneath a relentless drought, and the coffers grew thinner every day. In his desperation, your father had turned to family, forging alliances wherever he could.

So you swalloed your pride and slipped from the palace under cover of night, Jungkook at your side. Neither of you spoke as the postern gate thudded shut behind you. Two Calderan riders flanked the carriage. Inside, Victor lounged with his legs crossed, grinning wide as you entered.

“Cousin! I thought you’d faint from virtue and abandon me to the wolves.” He knocked twice on the carriage roof, and the horses surged forward. “No need to fret. The Gilded Swan keeps its finer rooms for those of proper blood.”

You took your seat opposite, brushing off his jibe. Jungkook stood by the door, his eyes fixed on the shadowed streets beyond the rattling shutters.

Victor uncorked a silver flask and swirled its contents, his gaze sharp. “Tell me, have you ever seen dancers from the southern isles? They’re… a rare delicacy. Your guard may feast his eyes as well. Consider it a courtesy from one man to another.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened, but he held his tongue. 

The carriage rattled downhill through a maze of twisting lanes until you reached The Gilded Swan’s front of polished wood and gilded carvings of wings. Women in gauzy silks greeted patrons on the steps

Victor was out first, flipping a coin pouch to the doorman. “See that House Calderan gets the finest chamber.”

There were severak ushions sprawled around low tables laden with wine and fruit inside, while a sunken stage in the center drew all eyes. Dancers shimmered in veils and jewels, their skirts flashing as they twirled, each movement met with cheers and hungry applause.

Victor sank into a couch, discarding his boots as if he were in his own chambers. He beckoned a pair of courtesans with a lazy curl of fingers. “Wine for the Prince,” he ordered, “and something stronger for Sir Jeon… he looks parched.”

“I don’t drink while on duty,” Jungkook said firmly. He stationed himself at your shoulder, watchful as a tower guard.

Victor’s grin turned sly. “So disciplined. Perhaps the dancers can loosen that spine.” He snapped, and a tall woman with chrysanthemum tattoos crossed to Jungkook, offering a tray of crystal cups.

Jungkook took none.

The woman turned to you, lowering gracefully. Her kohl-lined eyes roved over your figure, pausing at the stiff line of your torso. She tilted her head, curiosity pricking but before her hand could brush the boned front of your doublet, you leaned back.

“No entertainment,” you said, keeping your tone princely and bored. “I am here only to ensure my cousin’s discretion.”

Victor laughed, raising his goblet. “Ever the dull blade, cousin. Truly no edge for pleasure. Tell me, do the bindings truly leave no room for—”

Jungkook stood between you. “Mind the heir’s dignity, Lord Victor.”

“Spirits be merciful, Sir Stonewall. We are all friends here.”

Yet his stare lingered before drifting toward a curtained staircase that led to secluded chambers.

“Very well,” he sighed, feigning magnanimity. “If my cousin will not try  the Swan’s delights, I shall enjoy twice the share.” He stood up with a girl on each arm, and sauntered toward the stairs. “Perhaps another night, Your Highness… when your nurse allows.”

You forced a breath past clenched teeth.

“We can leave if you wish to, Highness.”

You shook your head, eyes still on the curtained stairs. “No. Victor thinks I’m weak. Let him wear out his appetites. We will see how well he argues tariffs tomorrow with a pounding skull.”

You managed a tight smile. “Besides, I have my own entertainment.” You pointed to a quieter alcove overlooking the stage. “There. Far from roaming hands.”

He escorted you to the nook, positioning himself so no stray reveler could approach unnoticed. 

Hours later, when Victor was well and truly lost beyond those curtains, you remained in the alcove. Below, you could see the dancers entertaining nonstop. A single brass lamp burned on your table, scenting the air with clove and orange its low flame gilded Jungkook’s profile and it was hard not to notice the clean line of his jaw, the faint scar at his temple, the way lamplight glanced off his dark lashes whenever he blinked.

Perhaps it was the spiced wine Victor pressed on you before he vanished, which you refilled at least twice seen. Perhaps it was the warm stupefying musk of incense that drifted from braziers along the wall. Either way, your limbs felt pleasantly untethered, your thoughts inhibited. You laid sideways on a velvet bolster, temple propped on your fist, studying the man who refused to leave your side.

“You do realize,” you said, words coming slower than usual, “that you have not taken your eyes off that door since we sat down.”

“It is the only entrance to these private stairs,” Jungkook answered. His tone was even, but his gaze slid to you for the briefest moment. “If trouble returns, it will come from there.”

You let your head loll back. “Still the dutiful shield. Even in a house of vice.”

“I am sworn everywhere,” he said quietly.

“Sworn everywhere,” you echoed. “To me”

That earned his full attention. His eyes, dark as spilled ink, held your own and you wished nothing more than to see into his thoughts.

An idea, warm and reckless, bloomed behind your ribs as you reached across the low table and brushed a fingertip along the edge of Jungkook’s gauntlet where metal met leather. “Remove this,” you murmured.

“Highness?” His voice caught in surprise.

“The armor,” you clarified, sliding your finger higher, grazing the strap at his wrist. “If I must endure bone and lace, you may relinquish a single plate. Humor me.”

His lips parted and you could tell he was trying to find a way to refuse. But the dutiful soldier in him told him to obey. Slowly he unbuckled the vambrace and removed it.

Without the gauntlet, his hand looked strangely vulnerable, long fingers scarred at the knuckles, veins tracing elegant lines beneath skin. You found yourself cataloging each detail as though it were a secret map.

You took the risk, folding your hand over his. Jungkook did not pull away, though every muscle in his forearm flexed.

“Your pulse is fast,” you whispered, sliding your thumb across the roughness of his knuckles.

“So is yours,” he replied, eyes locked on the place your hands met.

Perhaps he meant to reclaim discipline and perhaps you meant to retreat. Neither happened. Instead you leaned forward, wine-sweet breath mingling with his steady exhale. From this close you noticed the faint scent of cedar oil on his tunic and the way a single strand of hair curled against his cheek. Your gaze drifted to his lips and how soft they looked. You’d never been kissed before but suddenly the curiosity to experience it felt stronger.

“Highness,” he breathed.

“Do you truly not desire any distraction?” you asked, trying for light teasing, but the words husked in your throat.

“I desire—” He stopped, swallowed. “I desire your safety.”

“And now?” Your lips were inches from his. “Am I in danger?”

A flicker of something like hunger flashed in his eyes. He raised his free hand, intending, you knew, to guide you back to a safer distance. But he misjudged and his fingers brushed the bare line of your collarbone instead. The touch was light as a feather yet it felt like embers striking tinder.

“I think you’ve had more wine than you intended, Highness.” His jaw tightened slightly, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before swiftly darting back to your eyes.

“I know precisely how much I’ve had,” you countered quietly. “And it is just enough to see clearly.”

He exhaled slowly, but made no move to withdraw. “And what is it you see clearly now?”

“You.”

His dark eyes searched your face, their careful mask slipping. “Your Highness, I—”

But words seemed suddenly insufficient. Before caution could whisper warnings, you leaned in even closer, enough to feel the warmth of his breath fan across your cheek.

“You’re quite handsome, Jeon,” you breathed, and then the realization of your boldness caught up to you. But even then, you couldn’t pull away.. or didn’t want to.

Jungkook’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Highness,” he finally managed, voice strained. “We must be careful…”

But still, he did not move away. And you wondered, heart racing wildly in your chest, whether either of you truly wanted him to.

The city’s raucous glow had faded behind you, but your thoughts were a muddle. Jungkook carried you through the shadowed halls, keeping to the servants’ ways where no courtiers would see. Your head lolled, the fine points of your princely attire digging into your ribs and making every step a trial.

When at last you reached your chambers, Jungkook all but dropped you onto the old settee. You slumped with a groan, fingers clawing at your sash and the linen bindings beneath.

“You must shed these clothes, Highness,” Jungkook said, trying to keep his tone respectful. “You’ll not heal sleeping in such tight bindings.”

You snorted. “Spare me the lecture. If you’ve any compassion, help me before I die of strangulation. Saints, this is tighter than a miser’s fist.”

He hesitated, glancing aside. “This is improper—”

“Oh, by the gods, Jungkook!” you snapped, voice sharper than intended. “You think I care for propriety tonight? I’ve suffered arrows, your company, and Victor’s idiocy. Help me or leave me for the crows.”

He muttered something under his breath—a curse, probably—but obeyed. His fingers found the cords at your back, unsteady only in the beginning. The binding was nothing like court ladies’ corsets. It was just cruel, tight linen, meant to flatten your chest beneath the shirt and sash. As he worked, you nearly sagged in relief from all the air rushing in.

“Mercy, that’s better,” you groaned. “If I die of a broken rib, you have my permission to toss me in the moat.”

“You should lie down, Highness” he murmured, his voice low and strangely gentle.

You shot him a side look, drunken bravado bleeding into your words. “Only if you swear to catch me, Jeon. I think my legs are lost to the night.”

He slid an arm behind your shoulders, helping you upright. The motion spun you and you tumbled against his hard chest, hands gripping his shirt for balance.

“Gods, you’re sturdy,” you slurred, grinning like a fool. “Is that what they teach in the brigade? To stand firm no matter what fool Prince pitches into you?”

He swallowed, lips parting. “It’s…expected of me, Highness.”

You laughed brightly. “Expected. Hah. I expect nothing and am never disappointed. Look at you, face all grim as judgment day. No jest, not even a smile.” You squinted up at him, noting the worry in his gaze. “Why do you look at me like that?”

He was silent, hands still steady on your waist, but his eyes betrayed him.

“Don’t be so serious,” you whispered, suddenly closer. “There’s no secret between us. Not anymore.”

Your lips brushed his, barely a touch, but it was enough to scatter any pretense of sobriety. He froze. Both honor and desire warring under his skin.

You pulled back, smirking despite yourself. “You have no taste for this, have you? No appetite for ruin?”

“That is not it,” he rasped, his voice hoarse.

Before he could protest further, you kissed him. A real kiss this time, hard and sure, all the reckless longing you’d been holding in. His hand curled at your back.

You broke away, breathing hard, half in his lap now. “Tell me truly,” you demanded. “Do you want this, or must I beg?”

He exhaled like a man dying of thirst. “I do.”

As his hands slid under the last linen, your bindings came undone and for the first time—maybe in your entire life—someone saw you not as a Prince, but as you.

You waited for judgment, but Jungkook’s eyes only darkened as his gaze swept down your bared chest.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he whispered. His hands trembled as they cupped your waist, his thumbs smoothing over your ribs, mapping bruises and your wound. His fingers relished on the softness, the secret curves only you had ever touched until now.

You wanted to make a joke to break the nerves, but the words melted in your throat. Instead, you watched him watch you, and your heart ached, shocked at how it felt to be gazed at like that.

He bent his head, lips ghosting down your collarbone. “Tell me if you wish me to stop,” he murmured against your skin.

You shook your head, voice ragged. “Don’t you dare.”

He smiled and kissed down your body. Mouth lingering on every inch, tracing the swell of your breast with reverent lips. Hands spreading your legs open—showing you, wordlessly, that nothing about you needed hiding. When he finally pressed his mouth to your nipples, you gasped, one hand flying to tangle in his hair.

His tongue traced gentle circles around the softest part of you, his breath hot, the scrape of his jaw rough but grounding. You shook in his hands, aching from the inside out.

Your thoughts unraveled. This is me, my true form. You could barely remember the last time you’d felt your body as anything but a disguise, made to fit someone else’s story. Now, with his tongue and lips coaxing pleasure from you, every moan felt like reclamation, every arch of your back a defiance of everything the court said you were not.

Let them say I’m unfit, let them call me monster or traitor, you thought as you cried out for him, but at least he knows me. He knows me.

His kisses trailed lower, aching passes of his lips that left your skin flushed and trembling. Every inch of you he touched felt new no longer hidden. When he settled between your thighs, you jolted. Not from fear, but from the terrifying ache of being seen there. You’d bound yourself for years, flattened what made you a woman. No one had ever touched you like this, looked at you like this.

“Please,” Jungkook whispered, hands firm on your thighs as he guided them apart. “I want to see you.”

Your head tipped back, lips parted in a soundless plea. “Don’t mock me,” you breathed.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he said, voice rough with restraint. “You don’t know what it does to me—seeing you like this. Real. Unhidden. Do you know how many men would fall to their knees for you?”

Then he did. Right there, between your legs, head bowed not in service to your crown, but to your body.

He kissed the inside of your thigh first then higher, then higher still, until your hips jerked and your hand flew to his hair again, fingers twisting in the strands like rope. The first pass of his tongue against your most sensitive flesh made your knees lock around his shoulders.

You gasped helplessly. “Jungkook—!”

He didn’t speak. Just moaned low against your cunt, and the vibration sent a white-hot jolt straight through you. He licked you with so much fervor, you’d think he was a starving man.

It was unbearable, how good it felt. Unfathomable. The Prince—you, who had fought in war councils and sparred in training yards—reduced to nothing but trembling whimpers and heat between your thighs. His hands never stopped holding you, grounding you, keeping you from flying apart.

The room blurred. Your mind went blank. All you knew was the relentless pressure of his mouth, the way he sucked and licked and groaned against you as if your pleasure was the only reward he’d ever wanted.

“Gods,” you whispered, hips grinding up into his face, “I— I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, voice muffled, filthy and warm. “Let go. Let me have it.”

You shattered with a cry that would haunt the stone walls if they had memory, back arched, thighs trembling, every muscle locking as you spilled into his waiting mouth. He held you through it, drinking it in, the wet sounds obscene and sacred all at once.

Only when it ended, when your body finally stopped thrumming did Jungkook stop. Slick with sweat, chest heaving.

He didn’t speak. He simply rose, face flushed, lips glistening with your pleasure, and met your eyes with something so raw it made your throat close.

No man had ever kissed you there. No man ever could.

And now, Jungkook—your sworn protector—had knelt between your legs and made you come undone as if it was his greatest duty.

“If the world had sense, it would crown you queen,” he whispered against your ear.

You woke to a shaft of pale morning light spilling through the narrow windows. For a long, breathless moment, you lay utterly still, not quite sure where you were or even who you were.

But your body reminded you with the ache in your thighs, the softness where your bindings usually gripped you, the strange, delicious soreness between your legs. And then…Gods. The memories rushed in, scenes flashing through your mind with blinding clarity. Jungkook’s mouth, the press of his hands, the way you’d let yourself be worshipped in every way you’d been forbidden.

A spike of panic shot through you. You sat up too quickly, the room spinning, covers falling to your lap. Your shirt was thrown across the foot of the bed. Your bindings lay in a heap by the settee. You drew your knees up, arms wrapped tight around yourself, heart racing so loud you could barely hear your own breath.

You looked for Jungkook, already knowing before you checked that he was gone. The hearth was cold, the door shut tight. No trace of him but the memory of the weight of his body, the heat of his mouth, the words he’d whispered into your skin.

Your throat burned with shame and dread. What if someone knew? What if someone heard? You pressed your palm to your mouth, trying to stifle a gasp that was half horror, half desperate longing.

Last night you weren’t a prince or a pawn or a prisoner. Last night, you were just a woman. A wanted woman, loved with a fierceness that still lived in your bones.

But now, daylight had returned you to the castle and its old lies. Your heart pounded as you forced yourself to move, fumbling to dress, to pull your bindings tight enough to erase the softness he’d worshipped. Your fingers shook on the knots.

You tried to compose yourself, to breathe, to remind yourself of what must be done. Of the mask you had to wear.

But as you stared at your reflection, at your mussed hair, bruised lips, and bright eyes, there was no hiding what had changed.

You’d been seen and touched for the first time.

And now, as you moved about your lonely chamber, the world pressing back in with all its old weight, you didn’t know if you wanted to cry, scream, or just go back to last night and live it over, consequences be damned.

You stepped into the corridor still lacing the last tie of your sash, trying to compose your face into something neutral. But it shattered the moment your eyes met the uniform of the man standing at your post.

And it was not Jungkook.

A different guard—older, stiffer, unfamiliar—stood at attention outside your door, hands behind his back, chin high.

“Where’s Jungkook?” you asked sharply.

The man blinked, clearly startled by your tone. “Pardon, Your Highness?”

“Jeon Jungkook. My personal escort. Where is he?” You stepped closer.

“I was told by Captain Toren that he’s... indisposed. I was assigned to relieve him of today’s duty.”

“Indisposed?” You raised a brow. “Since when does Sir Jeon shirk duty for a sickbed?”

The guard shifted uncomfortably. “I know not, Highness. Only that Captain Toren said he’d not be attending the Prince today.”

You didn’t wait for another explanation. Your jaw clenched as you spun on your heel, fury pumping through your limbs faster than your blood could carry it. 

“Your Highness—!”

He left. He just left.

Coward.

You stormed through the hallways, ignoring the glances of courtiers and servants as your pace grew more feral with each step.  You checked the guard barracks first—empty. Then the inner court. Then the old stables.

Every place he might’ve been, every shadow you thought he could’ve retreated to after defiling the body of a prince in the hush of night.

And he was nowhere.

You hadn’t known what you expected… maybe guilt, maybe him standing with his head bowed, ready to explain, to apologize for slipping away like a thief but this absence felt worse.

As if he’d taken your skin with him. As if he’d kissed you, tasted you, broken every rule and decided afterward that it hadn’t been worth the risk.

You finally found Captain Toren speaking to a handful of men by the training yard. The moment he saw you approach, he bowed slightly.

“Your Highness. Is something the matter?”

You ignored the others. “Where is Jungkook?”

Toren’s brows lifted. “He is indisposed—”

“Indisposed is not an answer,” you snapped. “I asked where.”

There was a brief pause, but it made your stomach turn. “I granted him leave this morning. He left the grounds. Said he needed time to clear his head.”

Your breath stilled in your chest. The silence after felt like it scraped your ribs raw.

He ran away from you.

Without another word, you turned on your heel, fury crackling just beneath your skin. But underneath that humiliation.Your guard, your confidant, your secret, your lover—for one night—had taken all of you in his mouth and hands and then vanished.

So be it.

If he thought he could disappear without consequence, he’d sorely underestimated you.

The door closed behind Jungkook on a breathless hush. He paused in the corridor, back pressed to the wall, eyes shut tight. He could still feel you, your hands clutching his hair, the press of your thighs around his head, the taste of you lingering on his tongue.

He should have stayed. He should have faced you when the sun came. But the enormity of what he'd done, that you'd let him do, was enough to shatter the foundation of every vow he’d ever sworn.

He moved through the empty palace like a ghost, head down, avoiding every servant’s gaze. He'd barely made it to his quarters before the panic set in for real.

Saints above, what have I done?

He'd known you as a Prince—sharp-tongued, reckless, always shoving against every rule. But last night… last night he'd seen you as no one else had. The hidden softness of your body, the way your voice broke when you begged, the wild way you pulled him close, desperate for something real.

And gods forgive him, he’d worshipped you. He’d knelt before you, tongue aching to give you pleasure until you broke against him. The memory of your cries was a brand on his soul.

But daylight did not bring peace. It brought terror. Every moan, every gasp, every whispered plea was a risk not only to you but to the very kingdom.

He'd tried to clean himself in the barracks, scrubbing your scent from his skin with icy water, as if cold could erase the warmth of your body or the sight of your eyes as you came undone for him. It didn’t work.

He couldn’t face you. Not with his hands still shaking, not with want and shame fighting in his gut.

So when Captain Toren found him at dawn, face haggard, and offered him leave—“You look like you’ve not slept in a week, Jeon. Take the day. Gods know the court will not collapse if I put another sword outside the Prince’s door”—he took it, barely trusting himself to speak.

Now he wandered the city’s edge, cloak pulled tight against the morning chill, lost in the noise of market stalls. He had nowhere to go. All he could do was remember the taste of your skin, the way you’d looked at him, and the sick ache that he’d ruined everything by wanting you too much.

He did not know if you would forgive him. He did not know if he deserved it. He only knew one thing with blinding, ruinous certainty…  he could never protect you from this. From the court, from scandal,  from himself.

Jungkook wandered through the winding city streets, the clang of cathedral bells chasing him from square to square. He couldn’t settle, couldn’t think. Every step was just distance put between himself and the castle—between himself and her. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, still tingling with memory and regret.

He ducked down a quieter alley that  eeked of wine, piss, and cheap perfume. He hadn’t even made it to the edge when he heard that smug, drawling voice he would’ve recognized in his sleep.

“Well, if it isn’t the Prince’s lapdog. Out chasing your own tail this morning, Sir Jeon?”

Victor leaned against a tavern wall, cloak askew, hair a mess, a faint stain of last night’s excess still clinging to his collar. His eyes were bloodshot, but the venom in them was sober as steel.

Jungkook’s jaw flexed. “Lord Victor. Shouldn’t you be sleeping off such an entertaining night?”

Victor smirked, pushing off the wall. “I could ask the same. I imagine the Prince kept you plenty busy yesterday. I wonder what the palace would say if they knew where that mouth of yours had been last night?”

Jungkook froze. There was no way he could know about what you did in your chambers, it was just the two of you there and he was too preoccupied here drinking himself to death. He must’ve seen you in the alcove, the kiss.

Jungkook stepped closer, refusing to show his worry. “Watch your tongue, my lord.”

“Or what? You’ll cut it out?” Victor’s grin sharpened. “How long’s it been going on, hmm? I’ve had my suspicions, of course. That little princeling’s been avoiding women like plague since birth… Makes sense now, doesn’t it?”

A dark fury settled over Jungkook. “You know nothing.”

Victor only laughed. “What, struck a nerve? What would the Queen say if she knew her heir was letting a common-born soldier mouth her off in a brothel? What would the court say, the people? Tell me, Jeon…do you prefer her weeping or begging?”

The blade was out before Jungkook even knew he’d drawn it.

Victor flinched, but it was too late. Jungkook slammed him into the alley wall, forearm pinning his throat, dagger pressed tight to his cheek.

“If you ever breathe a word, if you ever so much as look at the Prince sideways—“ Jungkook growled, “and I'll carve your tongue out and mail it to your father.”

Victor struggled, but Jungkook’s grip didn’t loosen. “You wouldn’t dare—”

Jungkook headbutted him. The crack of bone echoed in the stone alley.

Victor reeled, collapsing to his knees. Jungkook didn’t let up. He kicked him hard in the ribs then grabbed the back of his collar and slammed him face-first into the cobblestones.

Blood splattered as Victor groaned, trying to crawl away. Jungkook pressed a boot between his shoulder blades, blade poised at the base of his skull.

“You speak ill of her again and I'll make sure they find your corpse hanging in the north woods with your cock stuffed down your throat,” he whispered.

Victor coughed, wheezing. “Go on, then! Kill me! Prove you’re just as feral as they say!”

Jungkook held still, the blade trembled in his hand. A bit more and he’d cut straight into the skin and he could only imagine what a satisfying moment it would be.

But he put the blade away.

“You’re not worth it,” he said coldly. “But understand me, Lord Calderan—if I so much as hear your boots echo near the Prince’s door again, I will make you regret it”

Before walking away he landed a few more raw punches to Victor’s face, so he would not forget when he saw his reflection. Then he turned, leaving your cousin bloodied and gasping in the filth.

Back in the castle, you were done waiting. You tore through the corridors, snapping orders, refusing to let anyone stop you. You would find Jungkook. Drag him back if you had to.

Just as you walked into the training yard to demand Captain Toren to send a search party, the clang of the portcullis carried clear across the ward and a breathless sentry sprinted in.

“Your Highness… the south gate… Sir Jeon returned.”he said between breaths.

You spun, boots biting the sand, cape snapping behind you as you stalked for the archway that opened on the outer bailey. Two guards tried to flank you but one glare sent them scattering. 

Jungkook crossed the drawbridge alone. His cloak was torn, his knuckles split open, and you could swear shreds of Victor Calderan’s livery clung to his sleeve. But his eyes fixed on you the moment he stepped beneath the gatehouse. Whatever storm lived there matched yours blow for blow.

He stopped three paces short and dropped to one knee with his head bowed. “Your Highness.”

You didn’t give him leave to rise. Instead you stared, shaking with fury.

“Look at me.”

He lifted his head. The courtyard might as well have been empty save for the two of you. A few servants hovered at distant doors, merchants stalled their carts, even the ravens on the battlements fell quiet.

“Where did you go?” Each word was a blade you flung at him. “You swore to keep me and then you vanished before dawn like a coward.”

Pain flickered across his face, “I left because I feared I’d done you harm, Your Highness. Because if the court learns what we… what I did—”

“You think a disappearing act protects me?” You laughed bitterly. “Don’t be so damned honorable.”

“I regret nothing,” he said, the words bursting out. He surged to his feet before closing the gap in two strides. “Nothing but leaving you alone. I couldn’t breathe for it.”

You wanted to strike him and scream but you shoved him instead. He barely moved, but his breath hitched like you’d run him through.

“I searched every hall,” you hissed. “I nearly ripped the castle down stone by stone.”

“I fought Victor,” he blurted shakily. “He cornered me in the city, spewing poison about last night. He saw us in the alcove. I lost my head… I drew steel. If rumor spreads, it will be by his tongue or mine.”

The anger in you swelled, then toppled under a wave of cold fear. You seized his chin, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Did you kill him?”

“No,” Jungkook said. “But I left him bleeding enough to remember my words well.”

You exhaled a jagged breath, fingers slipping from his face to his shoulder feeling the tremor there, matching your own.

“You cannot fight every battle for me,” you said, softer but no less fierce.

“I can try,” he answered. “Or die on the attempt. But I will not run again.”

The resolve in his eyes cut through every echo of shame. In that heartbeat, the yard, the court, the watching world—all of it fell away. You stepped into him, fists twisting in the collar of his torn cloak. His hands found your elbow, reverent even in urgency, a touch that spoke more than any public display.

“Swear it,” you breathed, low and fierce.

“On blade and blood,” he said, voice for you alone, “I am yours to command.”

The onlookers could only see a Prince and her battered guard, standing eye to eye in the hush, but between you the promise burned brighter than any scandal or sword.

You released him at last, straightening your cloak, resolve returned. “Come. Tend your wounds and then we will decide how to silence Calderan.”

He nodded once and together you walked back toward the heart of the castle.

The eyes of the court lingered on your back as you strode from the yard, Jungkook at your side. He matched your pace despite the raw edge of tension radiating from his every step, one hand curled loosely into a fist, dried blood still crusted along his knuckles. Neither of you spoke until the castle swallowed you both.

You ducked into a side chamber near your quarters—a private room used by the royal guards. You shut the door firmly behind you. Jungkook started to speak, but you held up a hand.

“Sit,” you ordered softly, voice no longer edged in fury.

He hesitated only a moment before lowering himself onto the bench, watching carefully as you gathered clean cloth and water from the cabinet. Your chest was tight, heartbeat thrumming wildly beneath your bindings, but your hands were steady as you knelt in front of him.

Taking his hand, you examined his split knuckles, anger rising anew at the bruises forming under torn skin. “You should have been more careful.”

Jungkook’s voice was low and quiet. “He deserved worse.”

You sighed softly, dipping the cloth into water and gently pressing it against his hand. Jungkook’s muscles tensed, but he didn’t flinch or pull away.

“You know he will speak, don’t you?” 

“Not if he values his tongue.” His reply was dark, certain.

Your lips twitched despite yourself. You carefully cleaned the blood from his hand, gentle in contrast to the fury still simmering beneath your skin. “I feared I might never see you again,” you admitted quietly.

He looked away, jaw tightening. “I was a fool. I thought leaving would protect you. But I swear it won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” you whispered, thumb brushing lightly over the raw skin. You glanced up, meeting his eyes. “I cannot endure another morning like this.”

Jungkook’s gaze softened, and slowly he turned his hand, catching your fingers gently. “Nor I.”

“You’ll be sore tomorrow,” you murmured, releasing his hand.

“A worthy price,” he said simply.

You stood slowly, allowing yourself one last lingering look at him before straightening your posture, mask sliding back into place. “Come. You must report back to Captain Torren.”

But you didn’t even make it halfway down the corridor before a servant intercepted you, bowing deeply.

“Her Majesty requests your presence in his chambers, Your Highness. At once.”

Jungkook stiffened beside you. You didn’t look at him, only nodded.

“Of course,” you said tightly.

The King’s receiving room was a gilded cage with high windows and the constant scent of cigars and bitter tea filling the air. He stood by the hearth, hands behind his back.

“Prince,” He greeted you coolly. His gaze flicked to Jungkook with a razor’s edge. “And Sir Jeon. I am glad you’re both still in one piece, judging by the trail of whispers currently flooding my halls.”

You gave a slight bow. “Father.”

“Come now,” he said with feigned warmth, “let’s not pretend I haven’t already heard every version of this morning’s spectacle. The servants have been fussing all morning about you causing a ruckus and then you cursed Sir Jeon dead in front of the entire court.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Am I missing any details?”

Jungkook moved to kneel, but you raised a hand subtly to stop him.

“I was retrieving my guard,” you said evenly. “His absence was unexplained, and I had cause to be concerned.”

“Concerned enough to shout at him in front of the entire southern garrison?” the King asked, voice growing colder. “Tell me, my child… is this guard so essential that you’d undermine royal decorum to drag him back by his collar?”

“He is sworn to my protection,” you said firmly. “When he vanished, I acted accordingly.”

“Vanished,” the king echoed, his eyes flicking to Jungkook. “And what explanation have you, Sir Jeon, for abandoning your duty? For coming back bloodied, with half the city talking?”

“He defended my honor,” you said without hesitation. “From a man who has done nothing but insult this house since the day he arrived.”

The King raised one brow. “Victor Calderan?”

“Victor Calderan.”

His eyes shifted again to Jungkook. “Is this true?”

“I acted in defense of the Prince’s dignity, Your Majesty,” he said steadily. “I drew no blade until insult turned to threat.”

The King let the silence stretch then finally, he exhaled and moved toward the table.

“I should send him home,” he muttered. “That little rat and his bloated father both.”

“I would not object,” you said under your breath.

He shot you a look. “But Calderan blood is not easily spilled without price. Should Lord Victor demand satisfaction, the entire treaty may hang by a thread.”

You bristled. “With respect, Father, if Lord Victor can’t hold his tongue, perhaps he’s not fit to negotiate for his house.”

The king’s stare sharpened. “That is not your decision to make. And it is not your duty to chase after your guard through the halls like a lost child. Whatever has passed between you—” his eyes narrowed, and your heart froze, “—remember that you are heir to this kingdom. Your choices weigh more than anyone else’s.”

“As for you, Sir Jeon… if you fail to keep your place at the Prince’s side without incident it will more than your commission you lose. Is that clear?”

Jungkook bowed his head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The King let the silence stretch again, letting you both feel the chill in his study seep into your bones.

“I will not have the future of my house risked for the sake of one reckless guard and one reckless heir,” he said at last. “From now on, you will both be watched. Do not give me cause to regret my patience.”

You stared at the mosaic floor, jaw clenched, every muscle urging you to argue, to insist that you’d had no choice. But the weight of the crown perched on his brow reminded you that here, in this chamber, he was not just your father; he was the King, and you were the wayward heir who’d brought fresh rumors to an already restless court.

“You are dismissed. And kindly refrain from further disrupting my morning.”

You bowed and turned away with your last bit of dignity, Jungkook gliding into step beside you. Only once you were a safe distance from the council chamber did you allow yourself to breathe.

“Well,” you murmured, your tone edged with wryness, “that was less severe than I anticipated.”

Jungkook let out a quiet, sardonic laugh. “His Majesty did not order to remove my head. I consider that a win.”

You allowed yourself a small smile, the tension easing ever so slightly from your shoulders.

“It would seem we are to live another day, then,” you replied.

He glanced at you, a trace of mischief flickering in his eyes despite the gravity of your situation. “Fortune favors us.”

The palace chapel sat at the far end of the eastern cloister, practically forgotten now that grander temples dotted the city. Few ventured there except old priests and novices to maintain the statues and other sacred artifacts, and at this late hour the tiny sanctuary was empty.

You slipped through the narrow door making sure that the night time guard didn’t follow you. You’d dismissed them with the excuse of needing some time for private devotion. The king would approve— piety always soothed rumor, after all.

At the altar rail you knelt in silence for a whil, until soft footsteps echoed behind you.

“Highness,” Jungkook murmured.

“You came,” you said, rising slowly.

“I received your note.” He managed a wry smile. “It seems you were in need of some private prayer.”

You huffed a breath. “I need far more than prayer.”

“Today,” you continued, forcing steadiness into your voice, “the court saw their Prince lose control. My father saw it. And all because I could not bear to think you’d left me.” Your gaze dropped to his bandaged hand. “I was ready to tear the palace down.”

He stepped forward “I regret leaving, but I do not regret what we shared. Not a breath of it.”

The words were a balm, even if they left your heart aching. You moved closer. “We stand on the edge of a sword,” you whispered. “One misstep, and somebody will bleed.”

“I know,” he answered. “Yet here I stand.”

You reached for his injured hand. He hesitated, then let your fingers brush the knuckles. “Does it hurt?”

“Barely,” he said, gaze locked to yours.

You released a shaky sigh and turned, leading him down the side aisle to a tiny transept chapel. 

“Here,” you murmured, guiding him to a bench. You fetched a small vial of holy oil left on the credence shelf, poured a drop on your thumb, and knelt to touch it gently to each battered knuckle.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face. “That’s for anointing the dying, not the living.”

“Hush,” you said, pressing a final kiss to the back of his hand. “As the Prince I say this should be for the living who’ve risked death for me.”

His eyes smiled at you, crinkled at the corners and shining despite their dark color.

You rose, and this time he didn’t fight the impulse. He reached, settling his uninjured hand at the small of your back “Why did you really summon me here?” he whispered.

You drew in a steadying breath. “I just needed to be sure you’d be there when dawn comes. That you won’t disappear again.”

“I’m not leaving again.” His voice did not waver. 

“And,” you added softly, daring, “I need… your touch again, even if only here, where no one dares to look.”

The storm in his eyes lasted but two seconds before you felt the cold of the chapel wall searing through your clothes as Jungkook pressed you back.

The hush of the sacred air shattered by the rasp of hurried breaths. This wasn’t the practiced grace of royal undressing. It was frantic. Fingers slipping over sweaty skin, belts tugged half-loose, layers bunched at your elbows. Every brush of his hands felt dangerous and exciting.

Your breaths hitched, chest rising fast against tight bindings, the sound of him—hoarse, hungry—spilling into the shadowed alcove. His hands found your hips, thumbs digging in hard enough to bruise as he pulled you flush against him. There was nothing reverent in his touch anymore. You felt the tremor in his grip, the desperate stutter of his exhale as he nosed along your jaw.

You caught his mouth with yours, teeth clashing in a kiss that tasted of salty sweat. Lips parting as he bit down gently, just shy of pain.

His palm cradled the side of your face, rough thumb smearing the flush of your cheek, and for a moment you forgot where you were.

“If someone finds us—” you whispered breathlessly, voice trembling against his lips.

“Then let them bear witness,” he said darkly, eyes fierce and wild as they captured yours. “I fear no judgment but losing you.”

He spun you around, your chest pressed against the cold stone, one arm braced firmly beside your head. You felt the faint tremor in his hand as it slid roughly down your back, tugging impatiently at layers until he found the hem of your breeches and shoved inside. His palm was calloused and urgent as his fingers found you all wet and desperately willing under his touch.

Your forehead pressed against the stone, eyes squeezed shut as he opened you slowly, two fingers curling deep in your core. His other hand rose quickly to muffle your moans against his shoulder.

“Quiet, Your Highness,” he warned in a rough whisper, mouth hot against your ear. “Or do you wish the entire court to hear how eagerly their future monarch yields?”

His hand moved faster, hips pressing insistently against you, and you felt the undeniable hardness of his cock through his breeches. When his teeth grazed your neck, you bit fiercely into your sleeve, desperate to silence your moans and his name trembling dangerously upon your tongue.

His fingers work you ruthlessly, thumb circling your clit. You didn’t hold on long, coming hard and fast on his fingers.

He kept going, not letting up until you were shaking.

When he finally pulled his hand away, you twisted and caught his wrist, dragging his slick fingers to your mouth to suck them clean, meeting his eyes the whole time.

“Fuck,” He whispered, barely audible, as if even here the gods might overhear.

You hadnt even caught your breath before he turned you back around. His lips found yours, hand rising to your cheek, still wet from where it’d ust been inside you. You dragged him closer, tasting yourself on his tongue, neither of you pretending you’re anything but desperate now.

“Please,” you whisper, the word trembling out between your teeth, the plea of a sovereign who’s ready to kneel for no one but him. “I need you. All of you. Do not make me beg.”

His control snapped, finally.  He fumbled with your breeches, yanking them down just enough to bare you, his own clothes undone with the same desperate haste. He pressed himself against you, one hand tangled in the fabric at your chest, the other steadying your hip as he aligned himself at your entrance.

He was hot and hard and impossibly thick. When he pushed into you, your body stretched to take him, the unfamiliar ache drawing your eyes shut and forcing a gasp from your lips. The pain was sharp but edged with an overwhelming relief, a fullness that left you crying. For a second you could only clutch at him, feeling the sting and the fast pulse of your heart fluttering wildly in your chest.

He paused, brow pressed to yours, breath shuddering as he held himself there. “I will stop—just say the word,” he whispered, voice rough with concern and restraint.

“No,” you gasp, nails digging in his shoulder. “Don’t stop. I want this more than anything.”

He held himself still for a few seconds, giving you time to adjust, waiting as you breathed through the sting and pressure and the dizzying intimacy of it all.

After a moment, your muscles eased around him and the ache softened into pleasure blooming where pain had been. You moved your hips, testing, and the friction made you shudder, tears pricking your eyes now not from pain but from want.

He felt it too. “Gods above, you are perfect,” he whispered, his voice thick with awe. “So tight, so exquisite.”

He drove into you, abandoning all pretense of gentleness, and you nearly sobbed into the hollow of his neck at the exquisite pain and the forbidden stretch of him—taken utterly where even saints had never dared to look.

The angle was all wrong and all right, knees spread shamelessly, every sound echoing in the hush of the chapel. His hand clamped over your mouth to swallow your cries, his teeth gritted as he took you deep and relentless, every last shred of knightly self-restraint destroyed by the secret he would die to protect.

You gripped his shoulders, body split open around him, still hungry for more. Needing more. He fucked into you as though he meant to brand your very soul with his shape. His grunts spilling against your mouth, your moans echoing in the sacred silence.

“Gods,” he hissed, his thrusts faltering as you clenched tightly around him. “We should not—this is… by all that’s holy, this is profane.”

“Does it feel wrong?” you whispered, lips brushing his skin as you spoke. “Do I feel like sin to you, Jeon?”

“No… you are… salvation itself,” he growled, snapping his hips harder, drawing a choked cry from you as your eyes fluttered back. “I would burn for this a thousand times.”

You laughed breathlessly “You would burn for me?”

“Yes,” he gasped. “By all the saints, yes.”

“Then make me cry out in this holy house.”

He groaned deep in his chest. “You are meant to be the vessel of the divine… holy, untouched. Yet look at you now… ruined for me against the chapel wall, spilling down my cock for any god who dares to look.”

“Stop—” you managed, your voice a trembling plea, not because you did not crave it, but because his words unraveled you faster than his body ever could.

He snarled, driving deeper, one hand rising to circle your throat. The weight of his palm there made your thighs quake.

“You will be Queen,” he muttered, voice low and ragged, each word another oath against your skin. “Anointed before the gods.”

“And what a queen I shall be,” you rasped, barely able to form the words, “impure, made so by your seed.”

He groaned, the word torn from his chest. Then his thrusts quickened, one arm locking you up by the waist as the other held your neck. Your moans broke in your throat, and you swore every star beyond the stained-glass windows flickered in answer.

“Look at me as you come undone on my cock.”

Your eyes met, wild and shining. In that moment, you cared for neither your title nor any consequence. You were simply the crown Prince, being filled by her guard in a place meant for prayer.

With a cry stifled by his hand at your throat, you fell apart. Body tightening and shaking, your legs locking around him as he drove through your climax. His own followed moments later, his body shuddering as he spilled himself deep inside you, buried to the hilt, his voice ragged and reverent as he moaned, “Mine.”

His thrusts became rougher, desperate, his hand sliding to your thigh to hold you open as his thumb found your clit again, coaxing every last tremor from your ruined body. The world melted away into the crash of bodies and need.

Somewhere outside, the bells tolled for midnight. Inside, you were left wrecked if only proven by wild hair, flushed skin, and his seed slick on your thighs. The memory of his cock and his hands, forever burned into you.

He held you there, arms locked around your waist, unwilling to let you go.

“I will burn for this,” he whispered, voice raw.

You drew him close for another bruising kiss. “Then we shall burn together.”

Afterward, the hush of the chapel pressed close. Jungkook held you, breath soft against your brow. The stone felt less cold now, your limbs leaden and content for the first time in memory.

He drew you into his lap, cloak pulled to shield you both from the lingering chill. His hand traced the curve of your cheek, eyes searching yours for what words could not say.

For a long while, you only listened to the shared breaths and the distant tolling of the bells.

But secrets had a weight of their own. You pressed your face to his shoulder. “I owe you the truth.”

Jungkook stilled, arms tightening protectively. “There is nothing you could say that would turn me from you.”

You let out a soft laugh. “You say that now, but you don’t know what I carry.”

He touched his forehead to yours, eyes fierce and gentle all at once. “Then tell me. Let me carry it too.”

You drew in a steadying breath. “I was not born to be heir. My mother, the queen…she had a son. My twin. But he did not live past his first breath. She had three failed pregnany before ours, and the king’s council grew anxious. A realm with no prince had no future in their eyes. So they gave me his name. Only a man could inherit the crown, so a man I became.”

Jungkook listened, his thumb stroking your jaw.

You swallowed. “The council never knew. The midwife was sworn to secrecy. The servants, threatened. I was raised as their son, their hope, their lie. All my life I have been split in two.. what the world must see and what I am under the skin.”

He brushed a strand of hair from your brow, his gaze full of sorrow and pride. “And yet you carry it all. Not just the crown, but your mother’s grief, your father’s ambition, the weight of a kingdom’s secret.”

You nodded, the truth finally spoken into holy air. “All for a throne I am not allowed to claim as myself.”

Jungkook cupped your cheek. “You are more than their heir, more than any king’s shadow. You are the future because you endured what none of them could.”

Tears burned hot in your eyes. “And if they learn the truth, I lose everything.”

“Not everything,” he promised, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You will never lose me.”

You melted into his arms. In the hush of that ruined sanctuary—with the past laid bare and the world waiting just beyond the door—you finally understood what it meant to be free, because of the man who held you, who saw you for the woman you truly are.

[koogalaxzy]

the veiled prince | j. jungkook

pairing: knight! jungkook x royal! fem. reader

genre: royalty au, smut

wc: 21.4k+

summary: jeon jungkook is anointed as the protector of the kingdom’s future king, but this proves to be a more difficult job when he realizes the crown prince is hiding a big secret.

content warning: explicit sexual content, violence & blood, gender concealment, period-typical sexism, religious themes/sacrilege (blasphemy, sex in sacred space), slight dubcon elements (power imbalance), reference to infant death, mild emotional abuse, parental pressure, alcohol consumption, mentions of prostitution/brothels.

a/n: hiii! *nervous wave* this is my very first jungkook fic, and i’m actually buzzing with nerves rn. i’ve been working on this since last year so i’m rlly excited to finally share it with the world. hope you enjoy! let me know what you guys think in the comments or my inbox <3

The tavern was filled with the sounds of raucous laughter and the scent of ale. The men of the town brigade sat around a big wooden table, their hearty chuckles bouncing off the low ceiling.

“Can’t believe our youngest here’s landed himself a spot in the royal brigade!” Sergeant Lee, a grizzled veteran with a salt-and-pepper beard and a booming voice, clapped Jungkook on the back hard enough to rattle his cup.

Jungkook offered a polite, almost shy smile. “It’s just another post, Sergeant.”

“Just another post, he says!” Lee roared, laughing heartily. “Royal brigade’s not just any post, boy. It’s the post.” He slammed a hand down on the table, the wood groaning under the force. “Best keep that modesty in check, or you’ll make the rest of us look bad.”

“Aye, I remember when he first set foot on the base, half my size, and now look at those arms…” Chuck added, his voice slick with humor. He was a lanky man, with messy blonde hair that hung over his face. His smirk was all charm despite the missing tooth in the front as he tossed a wink at the serving girl who kept casting Jungkook flirtatious glances. “Leave some of the ladies for us, eh?”

“Let’s not celebrate too soon,” Garret muttered, his tone sharp as always. He was stocky, with a broad chest and thick arms, a man whose worn plate armor bore more scratches than anyone here. His gaze flickered to the door, where the wind howled outside, carrying the cold scent of the mountains. “Royal brigade’s no game. You’ll be under different standards from the moment you set foot in that palace.”

Chuck rolled his eyes. “Here we go. You’d think they were sending him to the gallows.”

Garret ignored him. “I’m just saying… there’s more to that post than guarding a door. And there’s him to deal with.”

Jungkook arched a brow. “Him?”

“The crown Prince,” Jack chimed in, setting his mug down with a loud thud. He was younger than most soldiers but sharp-eyed, his dark hair messy and unkempt, his leather jerkin a little too tight from years of fieldwork. He leaned forward with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Haven’t you heard the whispers? Thought you kept your ears as clean as your boots, Jeon.”

“You know I don’t care about gossip,” Jungkook replied calmly but with a hint of curiosity. it’s true that he didn’t care about rumors, but there was something about this conversation that caught his attention.

Jack leaned forward, his grin widening. “Then you’ve missed the best one. His highness isn’t… like other men. There’s a reason they call him The Veiled Prince.”

Jungkook tilted his head, brow furrowing. “The Veiled Prince? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Chuck chuckled, the firelight catching in his eyes as he adjusted his cloak, its deep blue fabric embroidered with the insignia of the kingdom. He didn’t meet Jungkook’s gaze, instead turning his attention to the wooden rafters above. Garret exchanged a glance with Jack before shrugging.

“It means what it sounds like,” Garret said, almost whispering as if the walls themselves might be listening. “He’s not what he seems.”

Jack tapped a finger on the table. “Just take one close look at him and you’ll know somethin’ ain't right. He’s too… delicate. His face, his voice—hell, even his body.”

Jungkook squinted at him, confused but half-amused. “Maybe there’s something you’ve discovered about yourself, Jack… being that interested in how the prince looks,” he joked, nudging Jack with his elbow. 

The table erupted in laughter and Jack leaned back, a sly grin creeping across his face. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough, won’t ya? Spend enough time close to him, and you’ll know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.” He raised his mug “Here’s to Jeon Jungkook, the youngest royal guard! May he survive court life without losing his mind.”

The morning of Jungkook’s inauguration into the royal brigade arrived faster than he’d expected. He woke before dawn and pulled on his boots for the long walk to the palace. The soft clack of his steps echoed down the narrow stone path, the world around him still shrouded in that gray hush before sunrise.

Something felt off, though. He couldn’t shake the conversation from last night. Jack’s words about the Prince looping through his mind, stubborn and persistent.

Jungkook had always kept to himself, learned early on to steer clear of gossip and mindless chatter. The other men in the brigade thrived on rumor and speculation, their voices filling every corner with wild stories, but he’d never had the patience for it. It was easier, safer, to stay silent.

Since he’d arrived in this town at the age of seventeen, he had devoted himself entirely to the regimented life of a soldier. There was no room for distractions. No time for the petty squabbles of royalty or the whisperings of court politics. His focus had been on training and on earning his place among the fiercest warriors the kingdom had to offer.

And yet, here he was, on the morning of what was supposed to be the culmination of many years of hard work, and his mind was anything but clear. The royal brigade, the very one most soldiers dreamed of joining, was now within his reach—and yet, his thoughts kept returning to the prince. The Veiled Prince. The very rumors that he'd managed to ignore til now seemed to be clawing at him now, demanding attention. 

Jungkook gritted his teeth as he approached the entrance of the palace. His duty had never been about men of the royal family. It had always been about the honor of serving the kingdom, about proving himself worthy of the rank he’d earned. The others called him a quiet one, distant even, but that had only served him well. The younger recruits often found it difficult to match his drive and focus, and the older soldiers admired his ability to keep his head down and do what was asked of him, no matter the cost. And he meant to keep it that way.

His thoughts drifted back to the prince, but not the rumors this time. He thought of the responsibility the crown prince bore, a burden Jungkook had always respected from afar. His place at court, his family, the weight of an entire kingdom’s future hanging on his shoulders. Jungkook could scarcely imagine it. 

He approached the palace gates, boots scuffing softly against the clean stone path, only to be stopped by two royal guards standing tall in polished armor. Their eyes locked on him immediately—one looked him up and down, the other stepped into his path, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“State your business,” the taller one barked. His tone wasn’t hostile, but it was firm, clearly not his first time turning away overeager boys from the city.

“Jeon Jungkook. I’ve been newly assigned to the royal brigade,” Jungkook replied calmly, though his heart ticked a little faster.

The second guard squinted. “You’re the new brigade recruit?” he repeated slowly. “You sure you’re not here to deliver someone’s breakfast?”

Jungkook’s jaw flexed, but he kept his tone leveled. “Captain Toren is expecting me.”

They exchanged a glance. One of them huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re barely out of your training boots.”

“And pretty enough to be a court musician, not a guard,” the other added under his breath, though not softly enough.

Before Jungkook could respond, another figure stepped out from inside the main doors—an older guard with sharp eyes and a clipped voice. “Is there a reason you’re delaying the newest escort?”

The two guards stiffened immediately, their mockery vanishing. “No, sir!” they echoed.

Jungkook walked past them without a word, though he felt their eyes on his back the whole way.

Before he could step further inside, the older guard who’d reprimanded the others approached him with a slow, assessing gait. He was tall and lean, his silver-streaked beard trimmed to regulation, and his armor bore the faint scuffs of long service.

“You’re Jeon, then?” he asked, voice gravelly but not unkind.

“Yes, sir.”

The man gave a small grunt. “I’m Wrenhart. Lieutenant of the East Wing. Been in this place longer than some of the stonework.” He nodded toward the interior hall. “I’ll escort you to Captain Toren.”

Jungkook gave a sharp nod, falling into step beside him.

As they walked through the tall archways and polished corridors, Wrenhart cast a sideways glance at him. “You’re younger than I expected,” he said plainly. “They’ve got plenty of sharp-eyed recruits, but it’s rare to send one straight to the Prince.”

Jungkook didn’t take the bait. “I go where I’m ordered.”

Wrenhart gave a low chuckle. “Good answer. Just keep that mouth closed and your sword ready. The palace has fewer blades, but more ways to bleed.”

His boots echoed against the pristine stone floor of the main hall, and he instinctively straightened his posture. The space was immaculate, the air tinged with the faint scent of oiled leather. 

A few men were already inside, their movements precise as they adjusted their uniforms or inspected their weapons. Unlike the lively, chaotic energy of his old comrades, the men of the royal brigade seemed quiet and focused.

It was all so… different.

Jungkook felt a twinge of unease as he stepped further into the hall. He’d spent years thriving in the rugged environment of the town’s brigade, where banter and brotherhood masked the grueling demands of their work. Here, the men seemed distant, their camaraderie subdued by formality.

Even their uniforms were different. Much more crisp and tailored, a sharp contrast to the well-worn gear Jungkook was wearing now. He caught his reflection in a polished shield hanging on the wall and suddenly felt out of place. His hair, still slightly disheveled from the early morning wind, and his roughened boots stood out against the pristine order of this place.

Would he fit in?

“Jeon,” a voice called, breaking through his thoughts. He turned sharply to see a tall, broad-shouldered man approaching him, he could guess just by his looks that he was an important man. His expression was calm but piercing as his eyes swept over Jungkook. “I’m Captain Toren. You’re early,” he said, his tone neither harsh nor warm, just efficient. 

“Yes, sir, nice to meet you sir.” Jungkook replied, his voice steadier than he felt.

“Good,” Toren said with a curt nod. “Punctuality is expected here, as is discipline. You’ll find things are different from what you’re used to in the town brigade.” He glanced at Jungkook’s boots, and though he said nothing, the slight raise of his brow made Jungkook acutely aware of the scuffed leather. “But you’ll adapt.”

“Yes, sir!” Jungkook repeated, though he wasn’t so sure.

As Toren turned and began talking to Wrenhart, Jungkook exhaled slowly, his gaze wandering across the room again. 

As he observed the soldiers around him, a thought struck him. Their restraint, their unwavering discipline, it wasn’t unlike the way he approached his own duties. He had always been more reserved than his mates. Perhaps, in time, he could find his place here. These men didn’t waste words, and neither did he. 

“Jeon, I trust you’ve been thoroughly debriefed on your assignment here by the recruiter,” Captain Toren began, his tone brisk as his boots clapped in a quick pace. “Due to the importance of your post, we can’t spare time to show you around the castle. I expect you to learn as you go.”

Jungkook hurried after him, the captain’s long strides forcing him to half-jog just to keep up. The deeper they moved into the palace, the quieter it got, as though the very stones carried the weight of centuries of secrets. 

“Sir,” Jungkook began, his voicd edged with hesitation, “I was told my post was with the royal guards... to protect the palace and accompany the King during his out-of-town duties.”

Toren didn’t break stride, his sharp gaze fixed ahead. “You’ve been misinformed,” he said curtly. “Your assignment is to protect the crown Prince directly.”

Jungkook nearly stumbled as his mind raced to process the statement. The crown Prince? How could that be his post? He was new and clearly untested at this level. 

“What?” Jungkook blurted out, his voice louder than he’d intended. The captain turned his head slightly, his expression neutral save for the raised eyebrow that conveyed mild disapproval.

“Is there a problem, Jeon?” Toren asked, his voice calm but cool.

“No, sir!” Jungkook replied quickly, his pulse quickening. “I just… Excuse my intrusion, but how can I already be assigned to directly serve someone under the line of succession? I’ve yet to familiarize myself with the royal court.”

Toren stopped abruptly, and Jungkook came to an awkward halt behind him, straightening instinctively. The captain turned, his keen eyes locking on Jungkook’s with an intensity that felt like being measured and weighed.

“Your skills and conduct at the town brigade earned you this position,” Toren said evenly, though there was a faint shift in his tone, a note that hinted at something beyond the words. “We’ve heard great things about you, Jeon. There’s a clear reason why you were the only recruit from your brigade. Your discipline, your ability to focus on the task at hand without distraction—that is what we need.”

Jungkook frowned slightly, unsure if he should respond. There was something in the captain’s choice of words, the way he spoke of focus and distraction, that felt strange. It wasn’t the kind of praise he was used to. Back in the barracks, it was your strength, your swordsmanship, or your guts that got you recognized.

“The crown Prince requires a certain kind of discretion,” Toren continued, his tone neutral but purposeful. “And not everyone is suited for that role. If you feel you aren’t, now is the time to say so.”

The air between them seemed to tighten. Jungkook knew better than to ask what the captain meant, but his curiosity stirred. Discretion? Was that just a polite way of saying he needed to keep his head down and mouth shut? The gossip about the Prince drifted back into his mind, but he shoved them aside. Speculation wasn’t his place.

“No, sir,” Jungkook said firmly, straightening his back. “I will fulfill my duty to the crown Prince.”

Toren’s eyes stayed on him for a moment longer before he nodded once. “Good. Then follow me.”

Jungkook followed him up the staircase. The flight seemed endless, spiraling upward like it reached the heavens themselves. Each landing revealed another stretch of steps, their polished white marble gleaming faintly in the soft light filtering through narrow stained-glass windows.

When they finally stopped, Captain Toren gestured toward a pair of imposing black doors, their surfaces adorned with subtle carvings of intricate vines and heraldic symbols. 

“The Prince is currently in a meeting with the King and the court,” Toren explained as he stood in front of the doors. “We’ll wait here until he’s done. Once introduced, you’ll accompany him to his duties for the day.”

“Understood,” Jungkook replied as calmly as he could.

He couldn’t help but feel a mounting sense of unease—no, not unease. Awe, perhaps. The sheer weight of the role he was about to step into, was almost suffocating. It wasn’t every day that a common soldier was thrust so close to the royal family, and certainly not so soon after arriving at the brigade.

The Captain’s reasoning earlier had been logical, but incomplete. There was more to this assignment than his discipline or skills, though it wasn’t his place to question further. Still, the doubt gnawed at him. Why only him? Why now?

His thoughts churned as they waited, time seeming to stretch and warp in the cavernous silence of the hall. The muted murmur of voices behind the heavy doors was barely audible. Jungkook adjusted his stance, willing his nerves to still. Whatever his assignment entailed, he had to appear composed. 

After what felt like an eternity, the great black doors creaked open, revealing a flood of richly dressed courtiers spilling out into the corridor. Their fine silks and embroidered velvets brushed past him as they moved in hushed conversations, their faces a mixture of poise and exhaustion. Jungkook stood at attention, his eyes fixed forward, though he couldn’t help but feel out of place amid such finery.

Then, from the back of the group, a figure emerged.

The King.

The man’s presence filled the space effortlessly, his broad shoulders draped in a robe of deep blue trimmed with gold. His expression was calm, yet commanding, the kind of look that left no room for doubt about his authority. As the king passed, Jungkook bowed slightly.

But it wasn’t the King who held Jungkook’s attention when he straightened back.

Behind him, moving with a quieter grace, was the Prince.

Jungkook’s breath caught. He had seen the Prince before but it was mostly glimpses from afar during public ceremonies or images in portraits hung in the barracks. But this was different. Up close, the rumors that had once seemed exaggerated now felt startlingly real.

The Prince was petite, his frame almost fragile under the soft folds of his ceremonial attire. His features were striking in a way that defied conventional expectations of masculinity: high cheekbones, a finely sculpted nose, and full lips that looked so soft. But it was his eyes that drew Jungkook in. They were wide, framed with dark, long lashes, and impossibly expressive.

For a moment, their gazes locked. The Prince’s eyes flicked up to Jungkook’s, studying him with curiosity. It wasn’t scrutiny, but more like a fleeting assessment, a glance that seemed to measure him without judgment. Jungkook felt rooted to the spot, caught in the subtle pull of that gaze.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it wasn’t this.

The Prince’s beauty wasn’t just unusual, it was disarming. It made sense now, why the court whispered, why the people gossiped. Standing before him, Jungkook could almost understand how someone might mistake him for something other than what he was.

Jungkook swallowed hard, breaking the spell. His jaw tightened as he schooled his features into neutrality, reminding himself that this was no time to indulge in those thoughts. 

“Jeon!” the Captain said sharply, motioning him forward. Jungkook nodded, stepping forward with purposeful strides.

Toren addressed the King and Prince with a bow so fluid it seemed rehearsed to perfection. “Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness,” he began, his tone deferential. “This is Jeon Jungkook, the newest recruit of the royal brigade. He will be serving Your Highness directly. Despite his youth, he has been highly decorated for his exemplary skills on the battlefield—”

The king raised a hand, a simple gesture that silenced Toren mid-sentence. 

“I am already acquainted with his reputation,” the King said, his gaze sharp as it settled on Jungkook. “You are the one who aided in reclaiming the Lowlands, are you not? Yes… I recall the reports. Remarkable work for one so young.”

Jungkook bowed low, his heart pounding in his chest. “Your Majesty, it was an honor to serve.”

The King’s expression softened just enough to show a flicker of approval. “And now, you are entrusted with the protection of the crown Prince. A task of no small consequence. See to it that you are equal to the duty.”

Before Jungkook could utter a reply, the King turned with the unhurried grace of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question. His robe swept across the floor as he walked away, speaking over his shoulder. “Toren, you are dismissed. The Prince will brief him further.”

Captain Toren bowed deeply. “As you will, Your Majesty.” Straightening, he added, “Your Highness, I shall leave you in capable hands.”

The Captain gave a curt nod before following the King. Jungkook stood there, momentarily frozen, feeling the vastness of the hall closing in around him. He clenched his fists lightly, willing himself to focus. 

He dared to glance at the Prince, who stood observing him without a word. The Prince’s bearing was every bit as regal as one might expect, but there was an inscrutable quality that made him seem untouchable. His attire, rich in dark blues and silvers, was impeccably tailored, but it only enhanced the delicacy of his frame and the fine structure of his face.

The Prince’s gaze lingered on Jungkook for a moment longer before he hummed softly, a sound neither dismissive nor approving, and then turned.

Jungkook followed obediently, falling into step just behind him. 

“What is your name?” the Prince asked, breaking the silence. The sound of his voice startled Jungkook slightly. It was softer and lighter than he’d imagined.

Jungkook hesitated for a second. “Jeon, Your Royal Highness.”

The Prince stopped abruptly, glancing over his shoulder with a look of mild reproach. “No,” he said, his tone almost indulgent, as though correcting a child.  “Your given name. What is it?”

Jungkook stiffened slightly, caught off guard by the question. “It’s Jungkook, Your Highness.”

The Prince turned fully, his expression softening into something faintly amused. “Jungkook…” he repeated, almost as though testing the sound of it. His lips curved into a faint smile that made Jungkook’s stomach tighten unexpectedly. “Very well. You shall address me as ‘Your Highness’ when required, but you needn’t do so with every sentence. I have no need for overdone pleasantries.”

Jungkook blinked, unsure how to respond. “Yes, Your Highness,” he said anyway, earning a slight chuckle from the Prince.

As they continued down the hallway, Jungkook followed closely, his eyes occasionally drifting to the Prince’s profile. There was something almost ethereal about him, a lightness that seemed at odds with the gravitas of his station. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, and Jungkook wondered if it was coming from the Prince or the castle itself. 

The day stretched on endlessly into a slow and languid rhythm that Jungkook hadn’t expected. His first glimpse into royal life had been eye-opening, though not in the way he expected. For all the grandeur and prestige, the day’s proceedings were mind-numbingly dull.

By mid-day, Jungkook found himself struggling to keep his focus from wandering. The halls, while beautiful, began to blur together in their sameness with its gold inlays and towering arches. The endless meetings, each one echoing the last, left him yearning for the brisk efficiency of the town brigade.

The Prince, however, seemed unfazed by the monotony. He carried out his duties with a serene elegance that both impressed and baffled Jungkook. There was a calmness in the way the Prince moved through the day, as though he were immune to the weariness that tugged at everyone else. His voice remained patient even during the most repetitive discussions, addressing each advisor with the same respect.

It wasn’t until the afternoon meeting with the townspeople that the day took on a semblance of life. The grand chamber was transformed, its imposing walls softened by the presence of ordinary villagers who had come to voice their concerns. Jungkook stood behind the Prince, his posture rigid, but his focus sharpened by the shift in energy.

The Prince’s demeanor also changed subtly as the first villager stepped forward. His previously restrained expression softened, his dark eyes warming with an attentiveness that felt genuine. For the first time that day, Jungkook saw a spark of life in him.

When a farmer approached, bowing low as he spoke of the Prince’s help with irrigation for the season’s crops, the monarch’s entire face lit up.

“Your efforts have been tireless, Your Highness,” the farmer said, his voice tinged with gratitude. “We’ve never seen such bountiful yields. My family and I can’t thank you enough.”

The Prince inclined his head gracefully. “The success of your fields speaks to your diligence as much as the Palace’s aid,” he replied, his tone light but earnest. “Still, it gladdens me to know that we’ve been of some help to you.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but notice the way the Prince’s shoulders relaxed with each expression of thanks, as if the villagers’ words were a balm against the otherwise dull repetition of his duties. The praise seemed to energize him in a way no formal meeting or courtly discussion could.

Another villager—a young woman clutching a small child—stepped forward. Her voice trembled as she thanked the Prince for providing medical supplies during a recent outbreak of illness in her village. The Prince listened intently, nodding with quiet encouragement as she spoke.

“We are fortunate to have such a compassionate leader,” she finished, bowing deeply.

Jungkook observed the Prince, taking in the quiet pride in his expression, the way he lingered just a moment longer as he assured the woman her thanks was unnecessary. It was subtle, but Jungkook felt something about the Prince’s connection to these people was different from the polished indifference he showed in the court meetings.

When one elderly woman clasped her hands and tearfully thanked him for providing seed grain during the last drought, Jungkook caught the faintest flicker of a smile on the Prince’s lips. It was quick but genuine, and it lit his delicate features in a way that momentarily silenced the soldier’s restless thoughts.

By the end of the day, it was Jungkook’s duty to escort the Prince safely to his chambers. As part of his routine, he was to stand watch outside until another member of the royal brigade relieved him for the night. Come morning, he would resume his post as the Prince’s shadow.

The corridors were quiet at this hour, their stillness broken only by their footsteps. Dim sconces cast flickering shadows against the walls, lending the space an almost eerie air. Jungkook kept his pace only a step behind the Prince, who moved with his usual grace… at least at first.

He noticed something peculiar then. The Prince’s gait, which had been smooth the whole day, was off. His steps were uneven and his shoulders sagged as though carrying an invisible weight. As Jungkook drew closer, he caught the faint sound of labored breathing.  

“Your Highness, are you well?” Jungkook asked.  

“Yes, perfectly fine,” the Prince replied sharply, though the strain in his voice betrayed the words. He quickened his pace, forcing Jungkook to keep up. “Let’s hurry,” he added, his tone clipped but tinged with urgency.  

Jungkook frowned, his instincts flaring. Something wasn’t right. The prince’s complexion appeared pale, almost ashen. His breathing grew more ragged with every step, and for a moment, Jungkook thought the Prince might collapse before they reached the chamber doors.  

When they arrived, the Prince pushed the heavy wooden doors open and disappeared inside without so much as a backward glance. Jungkook hesitated outside. He wasn’t sure if he should remain at his post or wait for further instruction.

Just as he was debating, the door creaked open again. The Prince reappeared, his face now alarmingly pale, almost bluish, and his breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Find Lady Evra,” he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, the Prince closed the door once more, leaving a confused Jungkook staring at the polished wood.  

He cursed inwardly. He had no idea who Lady Evra was or where to find her.  

With no better option, Jungkook set off down the corridor. His eyes scanned for any sign of staff, his mind racing through every scrap of information he’d gathered about the palace since his arrival. After what felt like an eternity, he finally spotted a young servant carrying a tray of linens.  

“You—wait!” Jungkook called out, his tone urgent but controlled. The servant froze, wide-eyed as Jungkook approached “The Prince has requested someone named Lady Evra. Do you know where I can find her?”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll fetch her right away,” she said before hurrying off in the opposite direction, the linens swaying precariously in her arms.

Jungkook retraced his steps to the Prince’s chambers, resuming his post by the door. He hesitated for a moment before raising his voice just enough to be heard through the thick wood. “Your Highness, I’ve sent someone to call for Lady Evra. She should arrive shortly.”

There was no response from inside, only the faint sound of movement. Jungkook stood stiffly at attention, his sharp eyes fixed on the door. His hand rested instinctively on the hilt of his sword.

After a few minutes, Jungkook saw a group of servants approaching hurriedly. Leading them was a woman who exuded an air of authority. She was dressed in what resembled a maid's attire, but hers was of a richer fabric and a distinct color. From the way she carried herself, Jungkook could only assume she was the head of the royal attendants.

When her sharp gaze fell on him, she slowed her stride, clearing her throat. Her eyes locked onto his with a look of immediate distrust.  

“And who might you be?” she asked warily.

“I’m the Prince’s new charge, ma’am,” Jungkook replied evenly. “I began my post today.”  

Lady Evra’s brow arched in suspicion. “New charge, you say? Strange. I was not informed of such a change.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t dwell on it. “Regardless, you are dismissed. The night watch will take over from here.”  

“With all due respect, ma’am,” Jungkook said carefully, “protocol dictates that I remain until the next guard arrives. Leaving now would mean leaving His Highness unprotected.”  

Her expression hardened, and she stepped closer, her voice dropping into a sharp whisper. “I can assure you the Prince will be fine in my care. Now, do as you’re told.”  

Without waiting for his reply, she brushed past him, her shoulder nearly grazing his. As she entered the chamber, Jungkook caught a fleeting glimpse inside. The Prince was hunched over on the bed, his face obscured. Then the door shut firmly in his face.  

Jungkook stood there for a moment, jaw tightening. He reminded himself why he was chosen for this position: his ability to follow orders without prying. He exhaled slowly, shaking off his unease. Whatever was happening in that room was not his concern.  

Inside the room, the air was tense as Lady Evra worked deftly, her fingers unlacing the corset that had tormented the Prince all day.  

“I’ve said this countless times, this wretched contraption no longer fits!”  you hissed, your voice strained as you finally freed yourself from the suffocating garment. “I’ve been wearing the same corset since I was sixteen. I cannot endure it any longer.”  

Lady Evra’s expression remained composed. “Your Highness, you know you must wear it. I’ll do my best to have it adjusted.”

“It’s useless,” you countered, exhaling deeply. “My mother won’t allow you to leave any room for my natural shape to show. How does she expect me to fulfill my duties when I can’t even take a full breath?”

You moved toward the tall mirrors lining the chamber wall, your gaze sharp as you scrutinized your reflection. Each year, your form became more pronounced, and with it, the corset grew more punishing.  

“And what of this new knight?” you said, turning away from the mirror. “Why replace Sir Alric? And with this boy from the town, no less. He probably now thinks the Prince is sickly and will soon share whatever nonsense he concocts with his mates.” You sighed, letting the maids step in to prepare you for the evening’s rest.  

“If I may, Your Highness,” one of the younger maids ventured as she led you to the waiting bath. The warm, perfumed water enveloped you, the milky lather soothing your strained muscles. You gave a slight nod, allowing her to continue.  

“There are whispers among the palace staff,” she said cautiously, her tone respectful but firm. “The new guard, they say, is no ordinary recruit. He is highly decorated, despite his age. He’s also not bred here, and, according to what I’ve gathered, he’s a man of few words”

Lady Evra, clicked her tongue. “He was standing outside like a watchdog! Refused to leave even after I dismissed him. Stubborn as a mule.” She crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. “I’ll be keeping a close eye on him. If he’s strange, I’ll speak to Toren and have him out of here in less than a day.”

You sighed, sinking deeper into the warm water, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. “Do as you see fit, Evra. Just ensure he keeps his mouth shut and stays out of my way.”

The days following the corset incident were nothing short of exhausting. Every interaction with Jungkook felt like walking a tightrope—your irritation simmering just beneath the surface, and his calm, dutiful presence only served to fuel your frustration. It was unbearable. Everywhere you turned, there he was standing guard by your door, shadowing your steps through the halls, his eyes always watchful. You hated it. You hated him—or so you kept telling yourself.

"Must you always hover?" You snapped one afternoon as you walked through the palace gardens. "I can breathe without you monitoring every step I take, you know."

Jungkook, walking a respectful distance behind you, replied smoothly. "It’s my duty to ensure your safety, Your Highness."

You spun on your heel, glaring at him. "My safety? From what, exactly? The murderous rose bushes? The treacherous cobblestones? Or are you afraid I’ll trip over my own feet and die?"

His face remained impassive, though his jaw tightened ever so slightly. "I take my role seriously, Your Highness. If my presence offends you, I’ll adjust my distance."

You huffed, crossing your arms. "It’s not your distance… it’s your attitude. You act as if I’m some fragile doll that’ll shatter at the slightest inconvenience. I survived before you came along. I’ll survive after you’re gone."

For a moment, he said nothing, simply watching you with those wide, unreadable eyes. Then, with a slight bow of his head, he replied, "I don’t doubt your strength, Your Highness. But even the strongest need someone to watch their back."

The calmness in his voice only irritated you more. You turned sharply, continuing down the garden path, your footsteps quick and uneven. "I don’t need you to watch my back. I need you to stay out of my way."

His response was quiet but firm. "Understood."

The weight of his simple reply settled over you, making your anger feel misplaced, almost childish. But your stubbornness wouldn’t allow you to back down. You marched ahead, determined to ignore the strange tightening in your chest, the inexplicable guilt gnawing at your resolve.

This tension became a constant, simmering beneath every exchange. Every glance Jungkook cast in your direction felt scrutinizing, even though he never once said anything out of line. And every time you snapped, he took it with that maddening calmness, never rising to your provocations.

Until one day, he didn’t.

The great hall buzzed with murmurs as townspeople filled the space for another people’s meeting, their faces lined with worry and frustration. You sat on the elevated dais, your gaze steady as the villagers came forward to air their grievances. It was a familiar scene, mostly complaints about taxes, disputes over land, requests for aid. You nodded, offering solutions where you could.  

But then, a middle-aged man stepped forward, his expression twisted with anger. His clothes were worn, his hands calloused from hard labor. "Your Highness," he began, his voice shaking with barely restrained fury, "the crime in the city is out of control. Our streets are no longer safe!”

You leaned forward slightly. "We are aware of the issue, and I assure you, measures are being taken—"  

"Measures?" he interrupted, his voice rising. "The only measures your soldiers seem to take are the ones that lead them to the bottom of an ale tankard! They’re useless, wasting our coin while we fend for ourselves."  

The crowd muttered in agreement, their voices a low rumble of discontent.  

You raised a hand to calm them. "I understand your frustration. The crown does not take this lightly, and I will personally ensure—"  

"You?" The man’s voice broke, his hand trembling as he reached into his coat. "All you do is sit on your throne safely while we suffer!"  

Before you could react, the flash of a blade caught the light as he pulled a knife from his cloak. Gasps filled the hall, and everything seemed to slow for a moment.  

But Jungkook was faster. In a single, fluid motion, he stepped in front of you, his sword drawn and leveled at the man’s throat. "Drop it," Jungkook commanded, unwavering.  

The villager’s eyes widened, his hand faltering as the tip of Jungkook’s blade pressed against his skin. "I—I didn’t mean to—" he stammered, his anger now mixed with fear.  

"Drop the knife!" Jungkook repeated, and this time, the man obeyed, the weapon clattering to the stone floor.  

Captain Toren and the other guards quickly moved in, seizing the man and leading him away. The tension in the hall was palpable, the murmurs of the crowd now hushed whispers.  

The meeting was promptly dismissed, the townspeople ushered out under by the guards. You rose from your seat, heart still pounding, and marched out of the hall without a word.  

Jungkook followed close behind.  

Once you reached the privacy of a secluded courtyard, you whirled around to face him. "What in the world was that?" you snapped, your voice sharp with anger.  

Jungkook stood firm, his arms crossed. "I was doing my job, Your Highness" he replied evenly.  

"Your job?" you repeated, incredulous. "Your job is not to scare my people!"  

He frowned, his eyes narrowing. "With all due respect, Your Highness, my job is to keep you alive. That man could’ve killed you."  

"He was desperate, he was not going to harm me!" you countered, your voice rising. "He needed help, not a blade at his throat."  

Jungkook took a step closer, his tone hardening. "Desperation makes people dangerous. If I hadn’t acted, you could’ve been seriously hurt or worse."  

You glared at him, hands clenched at your sides. "You made me look weak, Jeon. In front of everyone. How am I supposed to lead when my own guard undermines me?"  

His composure slipped, frustration evident in his voice. "And how am I supposed to do my duty when you refuse to see the risks around you?"  

There was a moment of silence. Finally, Jungkook exhaled. "I’m not your enemy, Your Highness. I’m trying to protect you, even if you dislike me for it."  

You looked away, the anger still simmering but now mixed with an uncomfortable realization that he might be right. Without another word, you turned and walked away. But the tension between you lingered as a crackling undercurrent that neither of you could ignore.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into a full month of the same dull duties. The Prince hadn’t experienced any further incidents, and since he rarely left the castle, Jungkook’s duties felt more ceremonial than protective. Inside the palace walls, the biggest threats were mundane like slipping on the stairs or burning yourself on a stray candle.

Still, one thing did unsettle him and that was the maids. It felt as though they were constantly watching him. But more scrutinizing was Lady Evra, whose sharp glances and curt words made it clear she didn’t think highly of him. Jungkook couldn’t quite pinpoint why, but he suspected she was just waiting for him to slip up.

Today, however, promised a break from routine. The kingdom was hosting dignitaries from neighboring states to celebrate the success of this year’s crops. The festivities included a hunting game, and the Prince would be participating.

Jungkook found himself looking forward to the day’s events. He had never been hunting before. The reason being that this activity was largely reserved for nobles and royals. For Jungkook, weapons had only ever been tools of war, used against enemies of the kingdom. 

As he waited for the Prince to emerge from his chambers, Jungkook couldn’t help but notice how long it always took him. He’d observed plenty of men prepare for the day, from fellow soldiers to high-ranking officers, and their routines were straightforward: a quick wash, a shave, clothes thrown on with minimal fuss. Even royals, he assumed, wouldn’t stray far from that. But the prince? His routine was far more elaborate.  

It wasn’t just the time he took but also the constant presence of maids—never a single male servant. Jungkook found this unusual. Nobles might have personal attendants, but it was customary for male royals to be assisted by male stewards, especially when dressing for public appearances. Yet here, only women fluttered in and out of the Prince’s chambers.

Jungkook’s brow furrowed as he leaned against the wall outside the door. Why so much secrecy? He wondered. 

His thoughts were abruptly cut short by the sharp clearing of a throat. Jungkook straightened at once, spinning on his heel to face an unimpressed Lady Evra, with the Prince standing just behind her. 

Jungkook’s gaze slid past the head maid and landed squarely on the Prince, who was wearing a finely tailored black velvet suit. Unlike his usual flowing robes, this ensemble clung to his form, outlining every contour. Jungkook’s mind involuntarily drifted back to that night at the tavern:

He’s too… delicate. His face, his voice—hell, even his body.

He could see it now. The Prince’s build was slender, with narrow shoulders tapering to a small waist. But lower still, his thighs seemed more shapely, fuller than one might expect. Jungkook swallowed, his thoughts beginning to tread into dangerous territory.

“What are you gawking at with that foolish expression, boy?” Lady Evra snapped, her tone sharp enough to slice through his reverie. She clicked her fingers in front of his face, jolting him back to reality. Jungkook mentally cursed himself for being so obvious.

“My apologies, ma’am,” he muttered, quickly lowering his gaze.

The Prince cast his eyes downward, a faint pink tinge brushing his cheeks. Jungkook’s heart stuttered at the sight, but before he could dwell on it, the Prince turned on his heel and began to walk away. Lady Evra followed, though not without shooting Jungkook a final withering glare, her eyes narrowing in warning.

Jungkook exhaled slowly, pressing his lips into a tight line. Focus, fool. 

When they arrived at the hunting grounds, Jungkook was immediately struck by the lack of royal guards. Only Captain Toren and two more guards stood watch over the King, alongside Jungkook himself. The absence of a larger contingent seemed odd, given the importance of the event. 

More surprising, however, was the presence of Lady Evra. She stood out sharply among the assembled men, all of whom were accompanied only by their stewards or squires. Jungkook couldn’t help but wonder what purpose a maid had at such a gathering. It was unusual, to say the least, for a woman—especially one in her position—to attend a hunting excursion.

The journey there had been rough. The carriage lurched and swayed over the uneven, muddy roads, making the ride uncomfortable for all. By the time they arrived, Lady Evra was visibly pale, her knuckles white as she gripped the carriage’s edge. As soon as the wheels stopped, she nearly leapt from the cabin, clutching a handkerchief over her mouth. She looked as though she might empty the contents of her stomach at any moment.

"Please fetch Lady Evra some water," The Prince instructed one of the nearby stewards.

Turning to Lady Evra, he added, "You may rest in the carriage. I won’t require your assistance for the time being."

Lady Evra nodded stiffly, still covering her mouth. Without another word, she retreated to the designated camp area, her usual sharp demeanor dampened by her obvious discomfort. Jungkook watched her leave, unable to shake the feeling that her presence here was more than just an odd coincidence.

The dense forest stretched around them, the towering trees creating long shadows as the afternoon sun began its slow descent. The hunting party had dispersed, each group fanning out in search of game. Jungkook remained close to you, bow in hand, his eyes sharp as he scanned the surroundings. His primary duty was to ensure that the area was safe, yet his gaze kept drifting to you instead.

You moved with a certain grace, your slim figure seeming out of place among the rugged hunters. The tight-fitting black velvet suit from earlier now seemed even more impractical in the wild. The way it hugged your narrow waist and flared slightly over your hips was… distracting. Jungkook found himself stealing glances, his grip tightening on his bow each time his eyes wandered.

“You’ve been staring,” you said suddenly. You didn’t turn to look at Jungkook, instead keeping your gaze ahead.

Jungkook stiffened, clearing his throat. “I’m merely keeping watch, Your Highness. It’s my duty.”

You finally glanced back, one brow arched. “Is it? Funny, I didn’t realize my waistline required such vigilant protection.”

Jungkook felt heat rise to his cheeks. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I was… assessing the terrain.”

“Of course,” you replied, your tone light but your eyes lingering on him just long enough to unsettle him.

Jungkook tried to shake off his discomfort, focusing on his surroundings. His instincts were on high alert, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted—not by his thoughts, and certainly not by you.

Suddenly, a sharp rustling in the underbrush made both of you halt. Jungkook raised his bow instinctively, scanning the dense foliage.

“It’s probably just a deer,” you whispered.

Before Jungkook could respond, a sharp sound cut through the air. An arrow zipped past, grazing Jungkook’s arm and embedding itself in a tree behind him. He barely registered the sting before he heard your sharp intake of breath. His heart stopped as he turned to see you clutching your side, blood seeping through your fingers.

“Your Highness!” Jungkook lunged forward just as the ground beneath you gave way. You stumbled, and before Jungkook could grab hold of you, both of you tumbled down a steep slope. Rocks and branches tore at your clothes and skin until you landed in a crumpled heap at the bottom.

Jungkook groaned, pushing himself up despite the aching in his limbs. His eyes immediately sought out your form. Scrambling over, he knelt beside you. “Your Highness, are you all right?”

Your eyes fluttered open, face pale. “I… I think the arrow grazed me.”

Jungkook’s gaze fell to the blood-soaked fabric at your side. He knew he had to act quickly. “It’s more than a graze, Your Highness. You’re losing too much blood. I need to tend to the wound.”

You shook your head weakly, attempting to push his hands away. “No. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Jungkook insisted firmly. “If I don’t stop the bleeding, you could—”

“I said no!” You snapped, voice trembling with both pain and defiance. Your hand gripped the torn edge of your garment. “You cannot… I won’t allow it.”

Jungkook hesitated, understanding dawning in his eyes. You weren’t just refusing out of pride… you were hiding something. But there was no time for hesitation. Gritting his teeth, Jungkook grabbed your wrist gently but firmly. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but your life comes before anything else.”

With one swift motion, Jungkook tore the fabric away from your side, revealing the wound… and something else. His breath caught. Beneath the blood and torn fabric, your chest was bound tightly, concealing curves that no man would possess.

Jungkook froze, his mind racing, but he forced himself to focus. “Your Highness… You—”

“Just hush,” you whispered hoarsely, eyes burning with both fear and anger. “And do what you must….”

Snapping out of his shock, Jungkook nodded, his hands steady as he worked. He pressed a cloth to the wound, applying pressure to stem the bleeding. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he murmured, his voice low. “But you need to trust me now.”

Your eyes searched his eyes for a long moment before you finally, reluctantly, nodded. Jungkook tore away the side of the corset where the arrow had struck, making you gasp, your hands instinctively flying to cover your chest. But Jungkook’s focus was entirely on tending your wound. He ripped a strip from his own jacket and wrapped it tightly around you, improvising a bandage. His mind was whirling with a million thoughts but his hands remained steady. 

“How could this happen…” you winced weakly, eyes blinking slow and unfocused.

Jungkook glanced around the tangled underbrush as he finished securing the makeshift bandage around your side. “I don’t think it was a missed arrow, Your Highness. All the groups were assigned different parts of the forest… no one should’ve been near us. Whoever shot that arrow meant to hit you.”

His gaze drifted back, lingering for a second where your ripped corset revealed the bound curves beneath. Realizing, he cleared his throat and jerked his eyes up to meet yours. You stared him down, cheeks flushed more with anger than embarrassment.

“We need to move. It’s not safe here.”

You tried to sit up, grimacing as pain knifed through your side. “I… I don’t think I can get up,”

“I’ll carry you to the carriage,” Jungkook said, already moving to help.

“Absolutely not.” You shot him a fierce glare, even as your lips trembled. “I refuse to be hauled around like some helpless damsel.”

Jungkook gave an exasperated huff. “Your Highness, this isn’t up for debate. My duty is to keep you alive no matter what.”

You lifted your chin. “I will not be carried.”

“For the love of—” Jungkook muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’re so damned stubborn.”

Your eyes blazed, but the pain kept you from doing more than gritting your teeth. “Excuse me?!”

“Quiet now.” 

Before you could even protest the absolute audacity, his arms scooped under your knees and shoulders, lifting you easily. The motion jostled your side making your breath hitch through clenched teeth.

“You absolute brute!” You hissed.

“You're bleeding out,” he shot back, adjusting his grip just slightly so your head could rest against his chest. “Forgive me for prioritizing your survival over your comfort.”

Your fingers dug into the front of his uniform. “You could have at least warned me.”

“I did,” Jungkook muttered. “You just don’t listen.”

You scowled up at him, though the expression was weakened by your paling face and the way your head lolled slightly from the blood loss. “I am the crown Prince, you know. You should treat me with a modicum of…of dignity.”

“With all due respect, Your Highness,” he snapped, glancing down at you with frustration simmering just below the surface. “You make my job more difficult when you act like you'd rather die than accept help.”

He got nothing more than a quiet huff of indignation in response. You were clearly growing too weak to argue back so he quickened his pace. His gaze flicked constantly between the path ahead and the shadows shifting through the branches. But despite his vigilance, he still looked down at you every few seconds, checking your breathing.

After a moment, your voice came softer, more strained. “Do you think it was one of the guests? Someone who knew I’d be out here, away from the castle?”

Jungkook didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “But whoever it was, they knew enough to aim for where you’d be most vulnerable.”

“You mustn’t tell anyone,” you murmured weakly after a second. Jungkook glanced down at you. “About what you saw.”

His jaw flexed subtly, and for a moment he was silent. “Your secret is safe with me, Your Highness.”

Something in his voice made you believe him, despite your best instincts warning you otherwise.

He adjusted his grip and pushed into a jog. The pain flared along your ribs, but you bit back the cry, burying it in the fabric of his collar. 

“Stay with me,” he murmured quietly, quickening his pace. “We’re almost there.”

Within minutes, shapes emerged on the rise. Toren's eyes widened when he saw the crimson stain at your side.

“Prince—!” He started.

“Later,” you rasped, before Jungkook could answer. “Find whoever fired that arrow first.”

Toren snapped a signal to his men. The physician rushed forward as Jungkook eased you into a soft cushion inside the carriage, but your hand caught his wrist before he could step back.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

The female physician began cutting away the rest of the corset. Jungkook turned, placing himself between you and the widening circle of soldiers, shielding your secret with his own body as the hunt for the unseen archer began.

“This is an outrage! An arrow shot at the Crown Prince! What barbaric times are we living in?” the Queen seethed, her heels clicking furiously across the marble floor as she paced the length of your chambers. Her hands, adorned in glinting rings, were clenched tightly at her sides, white with fury.

You lay still in bed, propped up against a pile of silk-stitched pillows, a dark expression carved into your face. Pain still throbbed beneath the bandages at your side, but it was nothing compared to the knot forming in your stomach.

You hadn’t yet told her.

She was already fuming, her voice echoing off the high ceilings, and you had no idea how to add to her fire without sparking a full inferno. You didn’t even know what they’d do to Jungkook if they found out. A soldier learning the most guarded secret in the kingdom? The risk alone was enough to get someone executed. But…

Your thoughts flicked back to the look on his face when he saw your body. Not disgust. He was definitely shocked but not disgusted. And you were only alive because of his quick reaction.

You wanted to trust him. But did you know you could?

“The royal guards scoured the entire forest,” your father said, his voice tight with exhaustion. He sat slumped on the edge of the chaise, one hand pressed to his temple, the other clenched over his knee. “There were no tracks, no signs, no discarded arrows. Whoever it was, they planned their escape well.”

He looked older than he had the day before. You know he hadn’t slept. his robes were still wrinkled from the previous night’s vigil at your bedside.

“The wound could have been fatal!” the Queen snapped, turning toward him. “They aimed for her side! Low enough to bleed her out before help could arrive. This wasn’t a warning shot.”

“The physician said she’ll make a full recovery,” your father reminded gently. “Thanks to quick action. The bleeding was stopped in time.”

“Thanks to Jungkook.” You said, staring at the gilded canopy above. “If he hadn’t acted, I might not be here.”

Your mother’s eyes snapped to yours, sharp with calculation. “That boy…he bandaged your wound?”

You hesitated. The truth was teetering at the edge of your tongue. “He saved my life,” you said, skirting the specifics, not quite meeting her gaze.

Your father let out a slow breath. “Then we owe him a debt. At least some among the guards still know their duty.”

But your mother was not so easily appeased. She narrowed her eyes with suspicion. “I want to speak to him. Alone. If he is to be your constant shadow, I need to know exactly what kind of man we’ve invited into this family’s confidence.” Her words left no room for argument.

A tremor of fear ran through you—not for yourself, but for Jungkook. The more people who knew, the more fragile your secret became. And you couldn’t shake the worry that your mother would see straight through any lie he tried to offer.

A knock sounded. Lady Evra slipped inside, curtsying quickly. “Your Majesties, Sir Jeon has returned from debriefing with Captain Toren. He requests permission to deliver his report in person.”

Ice rippled through your chest. The Queen’s eyes flashed. “Bring him.”

Jungkook entered and sank to one knee, head bowed. “Your Majesties. Your Highness.”

“You kept my child alive,” the King began. “For that, the crown owes you.”

“Yes,” the Queen cut in, “but you also led the hunting party that placed the Prince in the arrow’s path. Explain.”

Jungkook lifted his gaze. “Your Majesty, the party followed the assigned quadrant. The assailant lay in wait outside any sanctioned sector. Whoever it was moved with purpose and vanished the moment the shot was fired.”

“You saw no crest, no colors?”

“None, Your Majesty. Only a black-fletched arrow. I have secured it for inspection.”

The Queen folded her arms. “And after the attack? How did you manage the wound?”

Jungkook’s shoulders squared, but his voice stayed steady throughout the questioning. “I made a bandage from my uniform and transported the Prince to the carriage as quickly as possible.”

“And you did not see anything… strange?” She raised a brow.

“No, I was focused on keeping the Prince from bleeding out.”

Your chest loosened by a fraction at his quick wit.

The King exhaled. “I will make sure to let the court know you’ll remain as primary escort for the Prince.”

The Queen looked ready to object, but your voice slipped in first “I concur. Sir Jeon acted decisively. I am alive because of him.”

The Queen inclined her head after a few seconds, the gesture sharp as a sword’s edge. “Very well. But from this day forward you answer to me as well, Sir Jeon. Fail once, and no medal will shield you.”

“I understand, Your Majesty,” Jungkook said firmly.

“Then go,” she ordered. “See the prince’s guard doubled and the gate captains briefed about our new security measures.”

He bowed once more and withdrew.

You let out the breath you’d been holding. Your father rose to leave. “Rest, my child. We will find whoever did this.”

When your parents had gone, Lady Evra fussed with your pillows, but you caught her sleeve. “Send for Sir Jeon quietly. I… need to thank him.”

Lady Evra’s brows arched, but she only nodded. “As you wish, Highness.”

After a few minutes, a knock sounded at your door. You sat up with difficulty, wincing as the movement tugged at your healing side. “Come in!” you called, adjusting the blanket around your waist.

The door creaked open, and Jungkook stepped in with his usual calm, bowing his head slightly before crossing the room. He stopped just at the edge of your bed, posture rigid, as though unsure how close was too close.

Your loose camisole left little to the imagination. The bindings were gone so the faint curve of your chest was now impossible to hide. Still, Jungkook’s eyes didn’t waver once. His gaze held respectfully to your face.

“You wished to see me, Your Highness?”

“Yes.” You found yourself nibbling the inside of your lip nervously. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he now carried your greatest secret or the simple fact that you were alone with him in your chambers. Both felt equally improper. “I wanted to thank you again for saving me.”

“It was only my duty, Your Highness.”

“I know…”  You drew a slow breath. “I also wanted to apologize… for being so difficult.”

“I don’t hold it against you, Your Highness. I’d be difficult too, if I were in your place.”

“I think the Queen suspects you know more than you let on.”

“Yes, the interrogation made that pretty clear,” he replied without missing a beat.

His deadpan delivery made you huff a laugh despite yourself.  He didn’t smile back but his expression softened. And for just a second, he looked at you not like a soldier looking at a royal, but like a boy looking at someone he wasn’t sure how to categorize anymore.

Your smile made him lose that unwavering focus he was known for. His eyes dipped ever so slightly before darting back up. He swallowed.

You caught the slip. “Something wrong, Sir Jeon?”

“No,” he said too quickly. “You should rest. You’re still healing.”

“Is that a dismissal?” you teased, a faint smirk tugging at your lips.

His jaw tightened. “No, Your Highness. Merely a concern.”

“Very well, then. You’re dismissed.”

He bowed and slipped out, the door whisper-quiet behind him.

From the day the physician cleared you to leave bed, Jungkook seemed to multiply—one shadow was no longer enough. If he’d hovered before, now he was practically stuck to your side. Always posted outside your door even after his shift was supposed to end, tracking every corridor you crossed, materializing whenever a servant so much as sneezed in your direction. You told yourself it was because of the arrow, because you were still healing. But deep down you sensed it was because of what he’d seen in the ravine.

Your first outing was a simple walk across the inner courtyard. The morning sunlight spilled over the flagstones and you longed to feel it on your face. You managed three steps before Jungkook appeared at your side.

“If I trip, will you throw yourself under me like a mattress?” You huffed, trying hard not to roll your eyes.

“If necessary, your Highness,” he answered, unblinking.

You clicked your tongue and kept walking, noting the way castle staff parted around him cautiosly. Rumors had already taken flight about the Prince’s new guard, silent as stone, deadly as winter. You wondered which version of the story they told, the one where you were a delicate invalid, or the one where Jungkook was an overzealous watchdog. Neither sat comfortably.

Later that week, you attempted to sneak to the library after dusk to review the latest grain-tax ledgers. You’d just slipped through the double doors when a low voice cut the stillness.

“Your highness.”

You whirled. Jungkook was standing neared the doors, arms folded, as though he’d just spawned there.

“Did you follow me? Your shift ended hours ago” you hissed.

“You must’ve forgotten that the Queen ordered double watch on every entrance after the attack. I can hardly leave the future monarch to wander unguarded gaps.”

“This is the royal archive, not a battlefield.”

“Any place becomes a battlefield once an enemy steps inside.” 

You opened your mouth to retort but suddenly footsteps sounded in the antechamber. Jungkook was beside you in an instant, one hand on the hilt at his waist, the other gently pressing you behind a towering shelf.

The door creaked and two junior ministers drifted in, whispering about budget approvals. Only when they left did Jungkook relax.

“One cannot be too careful,” he murmured. “Not every foe announces himself with a blade.”

You shot him a glare. “You see threats where there are none.”

“Perhaps. Yet my vigilance has saved Your Highness before.”

A dozen retorts crowded your tongue, but none survived the heat in his gaze.

You stepped back first. “Very well. Sit and read if you must, but do so in silence while I work”

He inclined his head. “As you wish.”

You took a table by the tall windows; he chose a chair just within arm’s reach, angled so he could watch the door and, annoyingly, you. Under the wavering candlelight, you tried to drown in numbers, yet awareness of him pulsed at the edge of every calculation.

When the tower bell tolled midnight, you closed the ledger with a thud. “Finished,” you said, more to the thudding in your chest than the paperwork.

Jungkook rose, offering his arm. You hesitated, then took it—if only to steady the soreness in your side. His warmth seeped through the linen sleeve.

As he guided you back to your chambers, you realized two things with unsettling clarity:

First, the palace seemed far safer when he was near.

Second, no safety had ever felt quite so perilous for your heart.

Your injuries had yet to fully mend when your mother, in all her gilded grandeur, declared it time to host a royal ball.

As if a pierced flank and bruised ribs were no excuse to be spared the torment of brocade and small talk.

Worse still, guests from your mother’s bloodline—house Calderan, of the western realm—had been invited. And with them, your cousin Victor. You despised Victor. He was as insufferable as his father, your uncle the marquess of flintmere. Both were horribly self-important, crude, and always eager to remind the court of your… delicate disposition.

Your father had little love for them either, but decorum bound his hands. Calderan and your court were long allies, and the celebration required their presence.

Because of this unfortunate fact you were now struggling into formal attire before a tall gilt mirror. Fresh bindings hugged your ribs, hot with ache, and the new double-breasted velvet coat—blood red, embroidered in silver—pinched at your shoulders. Just as you contemplated tearing a seam for air, a knock rattled the door.

“For the love of the gods, enter!” you snapped.

The door swung wide and Jungkook stepped inside, one hand pressed to his breast in courteous greeting—then froze at the sight of you half dressed, corset strings dangling like snakes.

“What is it, Jeon? Can you not see I am rather occupied?” you demanded.

“My apologies, Highness.” He dipped his head. “I bear word from the Great Hall. The royal party from Calderan has arrived sooner than expected, and Their Majesties request your presence at once in the Receiving Hall.”

“What?” you exclaimed, voice pitching higher than you’d like. “I’m not even dressed! And these wretched clothes don’t fit. Fetch lady Evra at once.”

“Lady Evra is presently addressing some disturbance downstairs, Highness. It seems the scullery maid set the kitchen alight.”

“Curse it all!” you swore, fighting the urge to fling something across the chamber. Jungkook's lips twitched as if he found your outrage amusing.

“Well, don’t just stand there! Come help me with this.” You jabbed a finger at the offending corset’s laces.

His eyes went round. “M—me, Your Highness?”

“No, i’m speaking to the armor in the corner. Of course you! Make yourself useful for once.”

Color climbed his neck, but he crossed the carpet without further protest. You turned, bracing both palms on the bed-post while he gathered the laces of your corset. His fingers brushed the small of your back. He worked carefully, drawing each pull snug but not cruel.

“Too tight?” he asked, voice a shade lower than usual.

“It will have to do,” you muttered, trying—and failing—to ignore how your pulse fluttered where his knuckles grazed skin.

He tied the final knot, then helped settle the velvet coat over your shoulders. You faced the mirror. The garment now lay smooth, waist nipped just enough to suggest aristocratic elegance.

“Thank you,” you said, voice softer than expected.

“Always, your highness.”

His eyes lingered before he bowed and turned toward the door.

“Jeon.”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“If Victor so much as looks at me the wrong way tonight,” you said, slipping into your polished boots, “I expect you to ‘escort’ him into a wall.”

“Gladly, Your Highness”

The bells of the west tower chimed eighth hour as you and Jungkook left your chamber. He offered his arm which you accepted only because the corridor felt endless and your side still ached under silk and whalebone. 

At the doors of the Great Receiving Hall, you let his arm go as the herald struck his staff with three measured raps that silenced the string ensemble within.

“His Highness, The Crown Prince, accompanied by Sir Jeon Jungkook of the Royal Brigade.”

The carved oak panels swung wide. Heat washed over you first coming from the braziers that roared in every corner. Tapestries of your house stag and House Calderan’s silver hawk hung side by side. Above the high tablewas  a chandelier bristled with beeswax candles, dripping slow pearls of wax toward the floor.

All eyes turned as you crossed the threshold. Some widened in sympathy at the pallor still ghosting your features; more than a few flicked to Jungkook, curiosity sharpening into speculation. The string players shifted seamlessly into the opening of the ceremonial court dance—a formation performed in a large circle by the noblemen and lords, and a second concentric circle by the ladies and visiting dignitaries.

“Steady,” Jungkook murmured.

“I am steady,” you replied with a tight smile.

Halfway across the hall, a voice as smooth as oiled steel cut through the courtly murmurs.

“Cousin!” Victor Calderan detached himself from a knot of western lords, crossing to you with the swagger of a man certain every eye belonged on him. He bowed then straightened to his full, irritating height. “I feared we should meet next at a funeral. Imagine my relief to see you upright, if not entirely… unharmed.”

Your jaw locked. “Your concern dazzles me, Victor.”

He smirked, gaze darting to Jungkook. “And this must be the heroic shadow who hauled you from barbaric brambles. Tell me, Sir… was it bravery or blind luck that kept the arrow from finding a truer mark?”

Jungkook’s expression did not change, but you saw his muscles tighten under his vambrace. “Luck always bows to skill, my lord,” he said evenly. “And skill serves the crown.”

A hint of annoyance crossed Victor’s face then vanished under a grin. “Well spoken. Still, I wonder if our dear Prince would fare better guarded by men of better lineage.” He let the insult hang but Jungkook seemed unaffected.

“You damn–”

Before you could finish, the Queen appeared beside you “Victor,” she said warmly, “your father awaits you by the dais.” It was not a suggestion. Victor bowed again, much deeper to her, and left.

Your mother’s smile dropped the moment his back turned. “Behave,” she warned under her breath. “The first set is the ceremonial march, you must appear united.” 

You bowed just to hide an eye roll. “As Your Majesty wills.”

A drum signaled the dance’s start. You and Victor joined the outer circle of lords, your places dictated by birth, while Jungkook took his place along the wall with the other guards. Victor’s presence at your side was unavoidable, his harsh touch on your side during the linking step made you wince.

“Still sore?” Victor murmured as the circles rotated, his lips barely moving. “If those bandages split, imagine the scandal.”

You kept your smile frozen. “If that happens, it won’t be my bindings that split... it will be your lip.”

His eyes glittered, but he was forced to move on as the circle turned and you broke away, hands briefly joining with Lord Banford, then Lord Giles. At every turn, you felt Jungkook’s gaze on you.

When the dance ended, you made to walk away and sit down but Victor stopped you, pulling you back harshly.

“Come on, cousin! Are you tired already?” 

Jungkook was at your side in a second.

“Does the guard speak for the Crown now?” Victor chuckled darkly.

“He speaks when the Crown cannot waste breath,” you answered, accepting Jungkook’s steadying arm. “My physician forbade further strain.”

The Chamberlain hurried forward, announcing the second formation, where you would join a different grouping—this time among the royal cousins and western lords. Custom demanded your continued presence, but you lifted your chin and turned to your mother.

“This set I forfeit,” you declared, voice ringing over the music. “In gratitude for my continued heartbeat, I would honor the man who saved the heir to the crown.”

A jolt of shock moved through the hall, but your mother inclined her head reluctantly, and the King gave a small nod from the dais.

Instead of taking a place in the second set, you moved aside, allowing Jungkook to join. Though not strictly within the bounds of custom, your action was shielded by royal decree.

You leaned in, voice just for him. “You see? I can break a rule or two when I must.”

He let the hint of a smile curled his mouth. “And survive it, Highness.”

The rest of the ball blurred past with Victor’s dark looks from the dance circle, the Queen’s measured glances, and the way the court’s eyes tracked every step you took with your silent, loyal guard at your side. Your closeness would not go unnoticed nor, perhaps, would you want it to.

“Mother, you cannot be serious! They’re an utter nuisance! Why would you keep them here longer than necessary?” you protested, trailing at her heels as she moved about her solar the following morning. Sunlight gleamed off gilded mirrors and the silver trinkets that lined her shelves, mocking your mood.

She turned sharply, her jewels flashing. “Because they are family, and because I say so. Besides, your father is in the midst of delicate negotiations with them.”

You scoffed, folding your arms. “Oh, please. My father would sooner share a cell with the rats under the kitchens than spend another day at table with Uncle and Victor.”

Her lips thinned. “That’s enough. You’re acting like a spoiled child.”

You clenched your jaw, biting back another retort. Without waiting for dismissal, you stormed from her chambers, slamming the heavy oak door behind you.

Jungkook was waiting outside, posture alert. He fell into step at your side the moment you emerged.

“This is absurd,” you muttered, barely slowing your stride as you swept down the corridor. 

“Your Highness, if you walk at that pace, you’ll tear your stitches,” Jungkook cautioned.

You bristled, refusing to look at him. “I am perfectly capable of walking, Jeon. Kindly grant me some dignity.”

Before he could reply, a familiar, grating voice drifted down the hall.

“Cousin.”

You stopped dead, spine stiffening as Victor sauntered toward you.

“I trust you heard the good news,” he drawled, spreading his arms joyfully. “We’re to enjoy your fine hospitality for several more days. How utterly delightful.”

“Truly wonderful,” you replied, the cold expression in your face not matching the words at all.

He grinned. “Since we have so much time to rekindle our friendship, perhaps we should indulge in some amusement. You know, like old times.”

You glanced quickly at Jungkook, drawing a steadying breath before stepping closer to Victor.

“I hardly think that would be appropriate.”

“Oh, come now!” Victor’s voice rose, clearly intended for Jungkook’s ears. “Be a man, will you? You’re the only Prince I know who shuns a bit of female company. It wouldn’t kill you to enjoy yourself for once. Visit the city, see the girls dance. In fact, your guard is welcome to join us. The last one… what was his name? Sir Alric, was it? He could hardly stay away from those girls. Surely Sir Jeon doesn’t object to a little pleasure?”

Your eyes narrowed, refusing to give Victor the satisfaction of a reaction.

“I assure you,” you said, voice icy, “I have neither the time nor the inclination to carouse with you, cousin. Nor do I require your advice on how to behave as a man.”

Victor chuckled, but there was no warmth in it. “We’ll see. Even the purest Prince in the realm has his vices. Perhaps your new shadow here might teach you a thing or two.”

“Mind your tongue, Lord Victor,” Jungkook interrupted. “You tread close to slander.”

Victor arched a brow, clearly amused. “Slander? I thought the Prince welcomed plain speech.”

“My loyalty,” you said, stepping forward until your boots touched the hem of Victor’s cloak, “does not extend to brothels or barroom gossip. Neither does my patience.”

His smile thinned. “So prickly. Perhaps the arrow did more harm than I heard. Well—” He spread his hands in mock apology. “The offer stands. Should you grow tired of the court, you know where to find me.”

He pivoted and strolled away. Only when his footsteps faded did you release the breath strangled by the corset.

Jungkook’s eyes stayed on the corridor’s far end before returning to you. “You should not let him bait you.”

“I know.” You pressed a palm to the ache beneath your ribs. “But I know him well enough to know he won’t stop pestering me.”

Night had already draped the capital in velvet by the time Victor found a way to corner you again.

You were halfway through supper when a page arrived with a folded billet stamped in House Calderan’s hawk.

His Highness is invited to continue the evening’s festivities in the city. Your father’s treaty depends upon our growing “camaraderie.”A carriage waits at the north postern.

You could almost hear the smug lilt in every curl of ink. Refusal would definitely reach your uncle’s ears by dawn which would likely damage  the negotiations your father desperately needed. 

The truth was, your kingdom had seen better days. Crime crept through the streets, the fields had withered beneath a relentless drought, and the coffers grew thinner every day. In his desperation, your father had turned to family, forging alliances wherever he could.

So you swalloed your pride and slipped from the palace under cover of night, Jungkook at your side. Neither of you spoke as the postern gate thudded shut behind you. Two Calderan riders flanked the carriage. Inside, Victor lounged with his legs crossed, grinning wide as you entered.

“Cousin! I thought you’d faint from virtue and abandon me to the wolves.” He knocked twice on the carriage roof, and the horses surged forward. “No need to fret. The Gilded Swan keeps its finer rooms for those of proper blood.”

You took your seat opposite, brushing off his jibe. Jungkook stood by the door, his eyes fixed on the shadowed streets beyond the rattling shutters.

Victor uncorked a silver flask and swirled its contents, his gaze sharp. “Tell me, have you ever seen dancers from the southern isles? They’re… a rare delicacy. Your guard may feast his eyes as well. Consider it a courtesy from one man to another.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened, but he held his tongue. 

The carriage rattled downhill through a maze of twisting lanes until you reached The Gilded Swan’s front of polished wood and gilded carvings of wings. Women in gauzy silks greeted patrons on the steps

Victor was out first, flipping a coin pouch to the doorman. “See that House Calderan gets the finest chamber.”

There were severak ushions sprawled around low tables laden with wine and fruit inside, while a sunken stage in the center drew all eyes. Dancers shimmered in veils and jewels, their skirts flashing as they twirled, each movement met with cheers and hungry applause.

Victor sank into a couch, discarding his boots as if he were in his own chambers. He beckoned a pair of courtesans with a lazy curl of fingers. “Wine for the Prince,” he ordered, “and something stronger for Sir Jeon… he looks parched.”

“I don’t drink while on duty,” Jungkook said firmly. He stationed himself at your shoulder, watchful as a tower guard.

Victor’s grin turned sly. “So disciplined. Perhaps the dancers can loosen that spine.” He snapped, and a tall woman with chrysanthemum tattoos crossed to Jungkook, offering a tray of crystal cups.

Jungkook took none.

The woman turned to you, lowering gracefully. Her kohl-lined eyes roved over your figure, pausing at the stiff line of your torso. She tilted her head, curiosity pricking but before her hand could brush the boned front of your doublet, you leaned back.

“No entertainment,” you said, keeping your tone princely and bored. “I am here only to ensure my cousin’s discretion.”

Victor laughed, raising his goblet. “Ever the dull blade, cousin. Truly no edge for pleasure. Tell me, do the bindings truly leave no room for—”

Jungkook stood between you. “Mind the heir’s dignity, Lord Victor.”

“Spirits be merciful, Sir Stonewall. We are all friends here.”

Yet his stare lingered before drifting toward a curtained staircase that led to secluded chambers.

“Very well,” he sighed, feigning magnanimity. “If my cousin will not try  the Swan’s delights, I shall enjoy twice the share.” He stood up with a girl on each arm, and sauntered toward the stairs. “Perhaps another night, Your Highness… when your nurse allows.”

You forced a breath past clenched teeth.

“We can leave if you wish to, Highness.”

You shook your head, eyes still on the curtained stairs. “No. Victor thinks I’m weak. Let him wear out his appetites. We will see how well he argues tariffs tomorrow with a pounding skull.”

You managed a tight smile. “Besides, I have my own entertainment.” You pointed to a quieter alcove overlooking the stage. “There. Far from roaming hands.”

He escorted you to the nook, positioning himself so no stray reveler could approach unnoticed. 

Hours later, when Victor was well and truly lost beyond those curtains, you remained in the alcove. Below, you could see the dancers entertaining nonstop. A single brass lamp burned on your table, its low flame gilded Jungkook’s profile and it was hard not to notice the clean line of his jaw, the faint scar at his temple, the way lamplight glanced off his dark lashes whenever he blinked.

Perhaps it was the spiced wine Victor pressed on you before he vanished, which you refilled at least twice since . Perhaps it was the warm stupefying musk of incense that drifted from braziers along the wall. Either way, your limbs felt pleasantly untethered, your thoughts inhibited. You laid sideways on a velvet bolster, temple propped on your fist, studying the man who refused to leave your side.

“You do realize,” you said, words coming slower than usual, “that you have not taken your eyes off that door since we sat down.”

“It is the only entrance to these private stairs,” Jungkook answered. His tone was even, but his gaze slid to you for the briefest moment. “If trouble returns, it will come from there.”

You let your head loll back. “Still the dutiful shield. Even in a house of vice.”

“I am sworn everywhere,” he said quietly.

“Sworn everywhere,” you echoed. “To me”

That earned his full attention. His eyes, dark as spilled ink, held your own and you wished nothing more than to see into his thoughts.

An idea, warm and reckless, bloomed behind your ribs as you reached across the low table and brushed a fingertip along the edge of Jungkook’s gauntlet where metal met leather. “Remove this,” you murmured.

“Highness?” His voice caught in surprise.

“The armor,” you clarified, sliding your finger higher, grazing the strap at his wrist. “If I must endure bone and lace, you may relinquish a single plate. Humor me.”

His lips parted and you could tell he was trying to find a way to refuse. But the dutiful soldier in him told him to obey. Slowly he unbuckled the vambrace and removed it.

Without the gauntlet, his hand looked strangely vulnerable, long fingers scarred at the knuckles, veins tracing elegant lines beneath skin. You found yourself cataloging each detail as though it were a secret map.

You took the risk, folding your hand over his. Jungkook did not pull away, though every muscle in his forearm flexed.

“Your pulse is fast,” you whispered, sliding your thumb across the roughness of his knuckles.

“So is yours,” he replied, eyes locked on the place your hands met.

Perhaps he meant to reclaim discipline and perhaps you meant to retreat. Neither happened. Instead you leaned forward, wine-sweet breath mingling with his steady exhale. From this close you noticed the faint scent of cedar oil on his tunic and the way a single strand of hair curled against his cheek. Your gaze drifted to his lips and how soft they looked. You’d never been kissed before but suddenly the curiosity to experience it felt stronger.

“Highness,” he breathed.

“Do you truly not desire any distraction?” you asked, trying for light teasing, but the words husked in your throat.

“I desire—” He stopped, swallowed. “I desire your safety.”

“And now?” Your lips were inches from his. “Am I in danger?”

A flicker of something like hunger flashed in his eyes. He raised his free hand, intending, you knew, to guide you back to a safer distance. But he misjudged and his fingers brushed the bare line of your collarbone instead. The touch was light as a feather yet it felt like embers striking tinder.

“I think you’ve had more wine than you intended, Highness.” His jaw tightened slightly, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before swiftly darting back to your eyes.

“I know precisely how much I’ve had,” you countered quietly. “And it is just enough to see clearly.”

He exhaled slowly, but made no move to withdraw. “And what is it you see clearly now?”

“You.”

His dark eyes searched your face, their careful mask slipping. “Your Highness, I—”

But words seemed suddenly insufficient. Before caution could whisper warnings, you leaned in even closer, enough to feel the warmth of his breath fan across your cheek.

“You’re quite handsome, Jeon,” you breathed, and then the realization of your boldness caught up to you. But even then, you couldn’t pull away.. or didn’t want to.

Jungkook’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Highness,” he finally managed, voice strained. “We must be careful…”

But still, he did not move away. And you wondered, heart racing wildly in your chest, whether either of you truly wanted him to.

You let your gaze drop to his mouth. He drew in a shaky breath, then closed the distance, brushing the gentlest kiss against your lips. It lasted no longer than a sigh, but the heat of it spread through you faster than the wine had. When he pulled away, only inches remained, his nose still nearly touching yours, and you knew caution had already slipped from both your hands.

After that, everything became a hazy rush. You could barely recall what was said or how you’d managed to leave, only the feel of his hand at your back and the way he kept you close until the cool night air met your skin outside.

The city’s raucous glow had faded behind you as you rode back to the palace. Jungkook carried you through the shadowed halls, keeping to the servants’ ways where no courtiers would see. Your head lolled, the fine points of your princely attire digging into your ribs and making every step a trial.

When at last you reached your chambers, Jungkook all but dropped you onto the old settee. You slumped with a groan, fingers clawing at your sash and the linen bindings beneath.

“You must shed these clothes, Highness,” Jungkook said, trying to keep his tone respectful. “You’ll not heal sleeping in such tight bindings.”

You snorted. “Spare me the lecture. If you’ve any compassion, help me before I die of strangulation. Saints, this is tighter than a miser’s fist.”

He hesitated, glancing aside. “This is improper—”

“Oh, by the gods, Jungkook!” you snapped, voice sharper than intended. “You think I care for propriety tonight? I’ve suffered arrows, your company, and Victor’s idiocy. Help me or leave me for the crows.”

He muttered something under his breath—a curse, probably—but obeyed. His fingers found the cords at your back, unsteady only in the beginning. The binding was nothing like court ladies’ corsets. It was just cruel, tight linen, meant to flatten your chest beneath the shirt and sash. As he worked, you nearly sagged in relief from all the air rushing in.

“Mercy, that’s better,” you groaned. “If I die of a broken rib, you have my permission to toss me in the moat.”

“You should lie down, Highness” he murmured, his voice low and strangely gentle.

You shot him a side look, drunken bravado bleeding into your words. “Only if you swear to catch me, Jeon. I think my legs are lost to the night.”

He slid an arm behind your shoulders, helping you upright. The motion spun you and you tumbled against his hard chest, hands gripping his shirt for balance.

“Gods, you’re sturdy,” you slurred, grinning like a fool. “Is that what they teach in the brigade? To stand firm no matter what fool Prince pitches into you?”

He swallowed, lips parting. “It’s…expected of me, Highness.”

You laughed brightly. “Expected. Hah. I expect nothing and am never disappointed. Look at you, face all grim as judgment day. No jest, not even a smile.” You squinted up at him, noting the worry in his gaze. “Why do you look at me like that?”

He was silent, hands still steady on your waist, but his eyes betrayed him.

“Don’t be so serious,” you whispered, suddenly closer. “There’s no secret between us. Not anymore.”

Your lips brushed his, barely a touch, but it was enough to scatter any pretense of sobriety. He froze. Both honor and desire warring under his skin.

You pulled back, smirking despite yourself. “You have no taste for this, have you? No appetite for ruin?”

“That is not it,” he rasped, his voice hoarse.

Before he could protest further, you kissed him. A real kiss this time, hard and sure, all the reckless longing you’d been holding in. His hand curled at your back.

You broke away, breathing hard, half in his lap now. “Tell me truly,” you demanded. “Do you want this, or must I beg?”

He exhaled like a man dying of thirst. “I do.”

As his hands slid under the last linen, your bindings came undone and for the first time—maybe in your entire life—someone saw you not as a Prince, but as you.

You waited for judgment, but Jungkook’s eyes only darkened as his gaze swept down your bared chest.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he whispered. His hands trembled as they cupped your waist, his thumbs smoothing over your ribs, mapping bruises and your wound. His fingers relished on the softness, the secret curves only you had ever touched until now.

You wanted to make a joke to break the nerves, but the words melted in your throat. Instead, you watched him watch you, and your heart ached, shocked at how it felt to be gazed at like that.

He bent his head, lips ghosting down your collarbone. “Tell me if you wish me to stop,” he murmured against your skin.

You shook your head, voice ragged. “Don’t you dare.”

He smiled and kissed down your body. Mouth lingering on every inch, tracing the swell of your breast with reverent lips. Hands spreading your legs open—showing you, wordlessly, that nothing about you needed hiding. When he finally pressed his mouth to your nipples, you gasped, one hand flying to tangle in his hair.

His tongue traced gentle circles around the softest part of you, his breath hot, the scrape of his jaw rough but grounding. You shook in his hands, aching from the inside out.

Your thoughts unraveled. This is me, my true form. You could barely remember the last time you’d felt your body as anything but a disguise, made to fit someone else’s story. Now, with his tongue and lips coaxing pleasure from you, every moan felt like reclamation, every arch of your back a defiance of everything the court said you were not.

Let them say I’m unfit, let them call me monster or traitor, you thought as you cried out for him, but at least he knows me. He knows me.

His kisses trailed lower, aching passes of his lips that left your skin flushed and trembling. Every inch of you he touched felt new no longer hidden. When he settled between your thighs, you jolted. Not from fear, but from the terrifying ache of being seen there. You’d bound yourself for years, flattened what made you a woman. No one had ever touched you like this, looked at you like this.

“Please,” Jungkook whispered, hands firm on your thighs as he guided them apart. “I want to see you.”

Your head tipped back, lips parted in a soundless plea. “Don’t mock me,” you breathed.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he said, voice rough with restraint. “You don’t know what it does to me—seeing you like this. Real. Unhidden. Do you know how many men would fall to their knees for you?”

Then he did. Right there, between your legs, head bowed not in service to your crown, but to your body.

He kissed the inside of your thigh first then higher, then higher still, until your hips jerked and your hand flew to his hair again, fingers twisting in the strands like rope. The first pass of his tongue against your most sensitive flesh made your knees lock around his shoulders.

You gasped helplessly. “Jungkook—!”

He didn’t speak. Just moaned low against your cunt, and the vibration sent a white-hot jolt straight through you. He licked you with so much fervor, you’d think he was a starving man.

It was unbearable, how good it felt. Unfathomable. The Prince—you, who had fought in war councils and sparred in training yards—reduced to nothing but trembling whimpers and heat between your thighs. His hands never stopped holding you, grounding you, keeping you from flying apart.

The room blurred. Your mind went blank. All you knew was the relentless pressure of his mouth, the way he sucked and licked and groaned against you as if your pleasure was the only reward he’d ever wanted.

“Gods,” you whispered, hips grinding up into his face, “I— I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, voice muffled, filthy and warm. “Let go. Let me have it.”

You shattered with a cry that would haunt the stone walls if they had memory, back arched, thighs trembling, every muscle locking as you spilled into his waiting mouth. He held you through it, drinking it in, the wet sounds obscene and sacred all at once.

Only when it ended, when your body finally stopped thrumming did Jungkook stop. Slick with sweat, chest heaving.

He didn’t speak. He simply rose, face flushed, lips glistening with your pleasure, and met your eyes with something so raw it made your throat close.

No man had ever kissed you there. No man ever could.

And now, Jungkook—your sworn protector—had knelt between your legs and made you come undone as if it was his greatest duty.

“If the world had sense, it would crown you queen,” he whispered against your ear.

You woke to a shaft of pale morning light spilling through the narrow windows. For a long, breathless moment, you lay utterly still, not quite sure where you were or even who you were.

But your body reminded you with the ache in your thighs, the softness where your bindings usually gripped you, the strange, delicious soreness between your legs. And then…Gods. The memories rushed in, scenes flashing through your mind with blinding clarity. Jungkook’s mouth, the press of his hands, the way you’d let yourself be worshipped in every way you’d been forbidden.

A spike of panic shot through you. You sat up too quickly, the room spinning, covers falling to your lap. Your shirt was thrown across the foot of the bed. Your bindings lay in a heap by the settee. You drew your knees up, arms wrapped tight around yourself, heart racing so loud you could barely hear your own breath.

You looked for Jungkook, already knowing before you checked that he was gone. The hearth was cold, the door shut tight. No trace of him but the memory of the weight of his body, the heat of his mouth, the words he’d whispered into your skin.

Your throat burned with shame and dread. What if someone knew? What if someone heard? You pressed your palm to your mouth, trying to stifle a gasp that was half horror, half desperate longing.

Last night you weren’t a prince or a pawn or a prisoner. Last night, you were just a woman. A wanted woman, loved with a fierceness that still lived in your bones.

But now, daylight had returned you to the castle and its old lies. Your heart pounded as you forced yourself to move, fumbling to dress, to pull your bindings tight enough to erase the softness he’d worshipped. Your fingers shook on the knots.

You tried to compose yourself, to breathe, to remind yourself of what must be done. Of the mask you had to wear.

But as you stared at your reflection, at your mussed hair, bruised lips, and bright eyes, there was no hiding what had changed.

You’d been seen and touched for the first time.

And now, as you moved about your lonely chamber, the world pressing back in with all its old weight, you didn’t know if you wanted to cry, scream, or just go back to last night and live it over, consequences be damned.

You stepped into the corridor still lacing the last tie of your sash, trying to compose your face into something neutral. But it shattered the moment your eyes met the uniform of the man standing at your post.

And it was not Jungkook.

A different guard—older, stiffer, unfamiliar—stood at attention outside your door, hands behind his back, chin high.

“Where’s Jungkook?” you asked sharply.

The man blinked, clearly startled by your tone. “Pardon, Your Highness?”

“Jeon Jungkook. My personal escort. Where is he?” You stepped closer.

“I was told by Captain Toren that he’s... indisposed. I was assigned to relieve him of today’s duty.”

“Indisposed?” You raised a brow. “Since when does Sir Jeon shirk duty for a sickbed?”

The guard shifted uncomfortably. “I know not, Highness. Only that Captain Toren said he’d not be attending the Prince today.”

You didn’t wait for another explanation. Your jaw clenched as you spun on your heel, fury pumping through your limbs faster than your blood could carry it. 

“Your Highness—!”

He left. He just left.

Coward.

You stormed through the hallways, ignoring the glances of courtiers and servants as your pace grew more feral with each step.  You checked the guard barracks first—empty. Then the inner court. Then the old stables.

Every place he might’ve been, every shadow you thought he could’ve retreated to after defiling the body of a prince in the hush of night.

And he was nowhere.

You hadn’t known what you expected… maybe guilt, maybe him standing with his head bowed, ready to explain, to apologize for slipping away like a thief but this absence felt worse.

As if he’d taken your skin with him. As if he’d kissed you, tasted you, broken every rule and decided afterward that it hadn’t been worth the risk.

You finally found Captain Toren speaking to a handful of men by the training yard. The moment he saw you approach, he bowed slightly.

“Your Highness. Is something the matter?”

You ignored the others. “Where is Jungkook?”

Toren’s brows lifted. “He is indisposed—”

“Indisposed is not an answer,” you snapped. “I asked where.”

There was a brief pause, but it made your stomach turn. “I granted him leave this morning. He left the grounds. Said he needed time to clear his head.”

Your breath stilled in your chest. The silence after felt like it scraped your ribs raw.

He ran away from you.

Without another word, you turned on your heel, fury crackling just beneath your skin. But underneath that humiliation.Your guard, your confidant, your secret, your lover—for one night—had taken all of you in his mouth and hands and then vanished.

So be it.

If he thought he could disappear without consequence, he’d sorely underestimated you.

The door closed behind Jungkook on a breathless hush. He paused in the corridor, back pressed to the wall, eyes shut tight. He could still feel you, your hands clutching his hair, the press of your thighs around his head, the taste of you lingering on his tongue.

He should have stayed. He should have faced you when the sun came. But the enormity of what he'd done, that you'd let him do, was enough to shatter the foundation of every vow he’d ever sworn.

He moved through the empty palace like a ghost, head down, avoiding every servant’s gaze. He'd barely made it to his quarters before the panic set in for real.

Saints above, what have I done?

He'd known you as a Prince—sharp-tongued, reckless, always shoving against every rule. But last night… last night he'd seen you as no one else had. The hidden softness of your body, the way your voice broke when you begged, the wild way you pulled him close, desperate for something real.

And gods forgive him, he’d worshipped you. He’d knelt before you, tongue aching to give you pleasure until you broke against him. The memory of your cries was a brand on his soul.

But daylight did not bring peace. It brought terror. Every moan, every gasp, every whispered plea was a risk not only to you but to the very kingdom.

He'd tried to clean himself in the barracks, scrubbing your scent from his skin with icy water, as if cold could erase the warmth of your body or the sight of your eyes as you came undone for him. It didn’t work.

He couldn’t face you. Not with his hands still shaking, not with want and shame fighting in his gut.

So when Captain Toren found him at dawn, face haggard, and offered him leave—“You look like you’ve not slept in a week, Jeon. Take the day. Gods know the court will not collapse if I put another sword outside the Prince’s door”—he took it, barely trusting himself to speak.

Now he wandered the city’s edge, cloak pulled tight against the morning chill, lost in the noise of market stalls. He had nowhere to go. All he could do was remember the taste of your skin, the way you’d looked at him, and the sick ache that he’d ruined everything by wanting you too much.

He did not know if you would forgive him. He did not know if he deserved it. He only knew one thing with blinding, ruinous certainty…  he could never protect you from this. From the court, from scandal,  from himself.

Jungkook wandered through the winding city streets, the clang of cathedral bells chasing him from square to square. He couldn’t settle, couldn’t think. Every step was just distance put between himself and the castle—between himself and her. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, still tingling with memory and regret.

He ducked down a quieter alley that  eeked of wine, piss, and cheap perfume. He hadn’t even made it to the edge when he heard that smug, drawling voice he would’ve recognized in his sleep.

“Well, if it isn’t the Prince’s lapdog. Out chasing your own tail this morning, Sir Jeon?”

Victor leaned against a tavern wall, cloak askew, hair a mess, a faint stain of last night’s excess still clinging to his collar. His eyes were bloodshot, but the venom in them was sober as steel.

Jungkook’s jaw flexed. “Lord Victor. Shouldn’t you be sleeping off such an entertaining night?”

Victor smirked, pushing off the wall. “I could ask the same. I imagine the Prince kept you plenty busy yesterday. I wonder what the palace would say if they knew where that mouth of yours had been last night?”

Jungkook froze. There was no way he could know about what you did in your chambers, it was just the two of you there and he was too preoccupied here drinking himself to death. He must’ve seen you in the alcove, the kiss.

Jungkook stepped closer, refusing to show his worry. “Watch your tongue, my lord.”

“Or what? You’ll cut it out?” Victor’s grin sharpened. “How long’s it been going on, hmm? I’ve had my suspicions, of course. That little princeling’s been avoiding women like plague since birth… Makes sense now, doesn’t it?”

A dark fury settled over Jungkook. “You know nothing.”

Victor only laughed. “What, struck a nerve? What would the Queen say if she knew her heir was letting a common-born soldier mouth her off in a brothel? What would the court say, the people? Tell me, Jeon…do you prefer her weeping or begging?”

The blade was out before Jungkook even knew he’d drawn it.

Victor flinched, but it was too late. Jungkook slammed him into the alley wall, forearm pinning his throat, dagger pressed tight to his cheek.

“If you ever breathe a word, if you ever so much as look at the Prince sideways—“ Jungkook growled, “and I'll carve your tongue out and mail it to your father.”

Victor struggled, but Jungkook’s grip didn’t loosen. “You wouldn’t dare—”

Jungkook headbutted him. The crack of bone echoed in the stone alley.

Victor reeled, collapsing to his knees. Jungkook didn’t let up. He kicked him hard in the ribs then grabbed the back of his collar and slammed him face-first into the cobblestones.

Blood splattered as Victor groaned, trying to crawl away. Jungkook pressed a boot between his shoulder blades, blade poised at the base of his skull.

“You speak ill of her again and I'll make sure they find your corpse hanging in the north woods with your cock stuffed down your throat,” he whispered.

Victor coughed, wheezing. “Go on, then! Kill me! Prove you’re just as feral as they say!”

Jungkook held still, the blade trembled in his hand. A bit more and he’d cut straight into the skin and he could only imagine what a satisfying moment it would be.

But he put the blade away.

“You’re not worth it,” he said coldly. “But understand me, Lord Calderan—if I so much as hear your boots echo near the Prince’s door again, I will make you regret it”

Before walking away he landed a few more raw punches to Victor’s face, so he would not forget when he saw his reflection. Then he turned, leaving your cousin bloodied and gasping in the filth.

Back in the castle, you were done waiting. You tore through the corridors, snapping orders, refusing to let anyone stop you. You would find Jungkook. Drag him back if you had to.

Just as you walked into the training yard to demand Captain Toren to send a search party, the clang of the portcullis carried clear across the ward and a breathless sentry sprinted in.

“Your Highness… the south gate… Sir Jeon returned.”he said between breaths.

You spun, boots biting the sand, cape snapping behind you as you stalked for the archway that opened on the outer bailey. Two guards tried to flank you but one glare sent them scattering. 

Jungkook crossed the drawbridge alone. His cloak was torn, his knuckles split open, and you could swear shreds of Victor Calderan’s livery clung to his sleeve. But his eyes fixed on you the moment he stepped beneath the gatehouse. Whatever storm lived there matched yours blow for blow.

He stopped three paces short and dropped to one knee with his head bowed. “Your Highness.”

You didn’t give him leave to rise. Instead you stared, shaking with fury.

“Look at me.”

He lifted his head. The courtyard might as well have been empty save for the two of you. A few servants hovered at distant doors, merchants stalled their carts, even the ravens on the battlements fell quiet.

“Where did you go?” Each word was a blade you flung at him. “You swore to keep me and then you vanished before dawn like a coward.”

Pain flickered across his face, “I left because I feared I’d done you harm, Your Highness. Because if the court learns what we… what I did—”

“You think a disappearing act protects me?” You laughed bitterly. “Don’t be so damned honorable.”

“I regret nothing,” he said, the words bursting out. He surged to his feet before closing the gap in two strides. “Nothing but leaving you alone. I couldn’t breathe for it.”

You wanted to strike him and scream but you shoved him instead. He barely moved, but his breath hitched like you’d run him through.

“I searched every hall,” you hissed. “I nearly ripped the castle down stone by stone.”

“I fought Victor,” he blurted shakily. “He cornered me in the city, spewing poison about last night. He saw us in the alcove. I lost my head… I drew steel. If rumor spreads, it will be by his tongue or mine.”

The anger in you swelled, then toppled under a wave of cold fear. You seized his chin, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Did you kill him?”

“No,” Jungkook said. “But I left him bleeding enough to remember my words well.”

You exhaled a jagged breath, fingers slipping from his face to his shoulder feeling the tremor there, matching your own.

“You cannot fight every battle for me,” you said, softer but no less fierce.

“I can try,” he answered. “Or die on the attempt. But I will not run again.”

The resolve in his eyes cut through every echo of shame. In that heartbeat, the yard, the court, the watching world—all of it fell away. You stepped into him, fists twisting in the collar of his torn cloak. His hands found your elbow, reverent even in urgency, a touch that spoke more than any public display.

“Swear it,” you breathed, low and fierce.

“On blade and blood,” he said, voice for you alone, “I am yours to command.”

The onlookers could only see a Prince and her battered guard, standing eye to eye in the hush, but between you the promise burned brighter than any scandal or sword.

You released him at last, straightening your cloak, resolve returned. “Come. Tend your wounds and then we will decide how to silence Calderan.”

He nodded once and together you walked back toward the heart of the castle.

The eyes of the court lingered on your back as you strode from the yard, Jungkook at your side. He matched your pace despite the raw edge of tension radiating from his every step, one hand curled loosely into a fist, dried blood still crusted along his knuckles. Neither of you spoke until the castle swallowed you both.

You ducked into a side chamber near your quarters—a private room used by the royal guards. You shut the door firmly behind you. Jungkook started to speak, but you held up a hand.

“Sit,” you ordered softly, voice no longer edged in fury.

He hesitated only a moment before lowering himself onto the bench, watching carefully as you gathered clean cloth and water from the cabinet. Your chest was tight, heartbeat thrumming wildly beneath your bindings, but your hands were steady as you knelt in front of him.

Taking his hand, you examined his split knuckles, anger rising anew at the bruises forming under torn skin. “You should have been more careful.”

Jungkook’s voice was low and quiet. “He deserved worse.”

You sighed softly, dipping the cloth into water and gently pressing it against his hand. Jungkook’s muscles tensed, but he didn’t flinch or pull away.

“You know he will speak, don’t you?” 

“Not if he values his tongue.” His reply was dark, certain.

Your lips twitched despite yourself. You carefully cleaned the blood from his hand, gentle in contrast to the fury still simmering beneath your skin. “I feared I might never see you again,” you admitted quietly.

He looked away, jaw tightening. “I was a fool. I thought leaving would protect you. But I swear it won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” you whispered, thumb brushing lightly over the raw skin. You glanced up, meeting his eyes. “I cannot endure another morning like this.”

Jungkook’s gaze softened, and slowly he turned his hand, catching your fingers gently. “Nor I.”

“You’ll be sore tomorrow,” you murmured, releasing his hand.

“A worthy price,” he said simply.

You stood slowly, allowing yourself one last lingering look at him before straightening your posture, mask sliding back into place. “Come. You must report back to Captain Torren.”

But you didn’t even make it halfway down the corridor before a servant intercepted you, bowing deeply.

“Her Majesty requests your presence in his chambers, Your Highness. At once.”

Jungkook stiffened beside you. You didn’t look at him, only nodded.

“Of course,” you said tightly.

The King’s receiving room was a gilded cage with high windows and the constant scent of cigars and bitter tea filling the air. He stood by the hearth, hands behind his back.

“Prince,” He greeted you coolly. His gaze flicked to Jungkook with a razor’s edge. “And Sir Jeon. I am glad you’re both still in one piece, judging by the trail of whispers currently flooding my halls.”

You gave a slight bow. “Father.”

“Come now,” he said with feigned warmth, “let’s not pretend I haven’t already heard every version of this morning’s spectacle. The servants have been fussing all morning about you causing a ruckus and then you cursed Sir Jeon dead in front of the entire court.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Am I missing any details?”

Jungkook moved to kneel, but you raised a hand subtly to stop him.

“I was retrieving my guard,” you said evenly. “His absence was unexplained, and I had cause to be concerned.”

“Concerned enough to shout at him in front of the entire southern garrison?” the King asked, voice growing colder. “Tell me, my child… is this guard so essential that you’d undermine royal decorum to drag him back by his collar?”

“He is sworn to my protection,” you said firmly. “When he vanished, I acted accordingly.”

“Vanished,” the king echoed, his eyes flicking to Jungkook. “And what explanation have you, Sir Jeon, for abandoning your duty? For coming back bloodied, with half the city talking?”

“He defended my honor,” you said without hesitation. “From a man who has done nothing but insult this house since the day he arrived.”

The King raised one brow. “Victor Calderan?”

“Victor Calderan.”

His eyes shifted again to Jungkook. “Is this true?”

“I acted in defense of the Prince’s dignity, Your Majesty,” he said steadily. “I drew no blade until insult turned to threat.”

The King let the silence stretch then finally, he exhaled and moved toward the table.

“I should send him home,” he muttered. “That little rat and his bloated father both.”

“I would not object,” you said under your breath.

He shot you a look. “But Calderan blood is not easily spilled without price. Should Lord Victor demand satisfaction, the entire treaty may hang by a thread.”

You bristled. “With respect, Father, if Lord Victor can’t hold his tongue, perhaps he’s not fit to negotiate for his house.”

The king’s stare sharpened. “That is not your decision to make. And it is not your duty to chase after your guard through the halls like a lost child. Whatever has passed between you—” his eyes narrowed, and your heart froze, “—remember that you are heir to this kingdom. Your choices weigh more than anyone else’s.”

“As for you, Sir Jeon… if you fail to keep your place at the Prince’s side without incident it will more than your commission you lose. Is that clear?”

Jungkook bowed his head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The King let the silence stretch again, letting you both feel the chill in his study seep into your bones.

“I will not have the future of my house risked for the sake of one reckless guard and one reckless heir,” he said at last. “From now on, you will both be watched. Do not give me cause to regret my patience.”

You stared at the mosaic floor, jaw clenched, every muscle urging you to argue, to insist that you’d had no choice. But the weight of the crown perched on his brow reminded you that here, in this chamber, he was not just your father; he was the King, and you were the wayward heir who’d brought fresh rumors to an already restless court.

“You are dismissed. And kindly refrain from further disrupting my morning.”

You bowed and turned away with your last bit of dignity, Jungkook gliding into step beside you. Only once you were a safe distance from the council chamber did you allow yourself to breathe.

“Well,” you murmured, your tone edged with wryness, “that was less severe than I anticipated.”

Jungkook let out a quiet, sardonic laugh. “His Majesty did not order to remove my head. I consider that a win.”

You allowed yourself a small smile, the tension easing ever so slightly from your shoulders.

“It would seem we are to live another day, then,” you replied.

He glanced at you, a trace of mischief flickering in his eyes despite the gravity of your situation. “Fortune favors us.”

The palace chapel sat at the far end of the eastern cloister, practically forgotten now that grander temples dotted the city. Few ventured there except old priests and novices to maintain the statues and other sacred artifacts, and at this late hour the tiny sanctuary was empty.

You slipped through the narrow door making sure that the night time guard didn’t follow you. You’d dismissed them with the excuse of needing some time for private devotion. The king would approve— piety always soothed rumor, after all.

At the altar rail you knelt in silence for a whil, until soft footsteps echoed behind you.

“Highness,” Jungkook murmured.

“You came,” you said, rising slowly.

“I received your note.” He managed a wry smile. “It seems you were in need of some private prayer.”

You huffed a breath. “I need far more than prayer.”

“Today,” you continued, forcing steadiness into your voice, “the court saw their Prince lose control. My father saw it. And all because I could not bear to think you’d left me.” Your gaze dropped to his bandaged hand. “I was ready to tear the palace down.”

He stepped forward “I regret leaving, but I do not regret what we shared. Not a breath of it.”

The words were a balm, even if they left your heart aching. You moved closer. “We stand on the edge of a sword,” you whispered. “One misstep, and somebody will bleed.”

“I know,” he answered. “Yet here I stand.”

You reached for his injured hand. He hesitated, then let your fingers brush the knuckles. “Does it hurt?”

“Barely,” he said, gaze locked to yours.

You released a shaky sigh and turned, leading him down the side aisle to a tiny transept chapel. 

“Here,” you murmured, guiding him to a bench. You fetched a small vial of holy oil left on the credence shelf, poured a drop on your thumb, and knelt to touch it gently to each battered knuckle.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face. “That’s for anointing the dying, not the living.”

“Hush,” you said, pressing a final kiss to the back of his hand. “As the Prince I say this should be for the living who’ve risked death for me.”

His eyes smiled at you, crinkled at the corners and shining despite their dark color.

You rose, and this time he didn’t fight the impulse. He reached, settling his uninjured hand at the small of your back “Why did you really summon me here?” he whispered.

You drew in a steadying breath. “I just needed to be sure you’d be there when dawn comes. That you won’t disappear again.”

“I’m not leaving again.” His voice did not waver. 

“And,” you added softly, daring, “I need… your touch again, even if only here, where no one dares to look.”

The storm in his eyes lasted but two seconds before you felt the cold of the chapel wall searing through your clothes as Jungkook pressed you back.

The hush of the sacred air shattered by the rasp of hurried breaths. This wasn’t the practiced grace of royal undressing. It was frantic. Fingers slipping over sweaty skin, belts tugged half-loose, layers bunched at your elbows. Every brush of his hands felt dangerous and exciting.

Your breaths hitched, chest rising fast against tight bindings, the sound of him—hoarse, hungry—spilling into the shadowed alcove. His hands found your hips, thumbs digging in hard enough to bruise as he pulled you flush against him. There was nothing reverent in his touch anymore. You felt the tremor in his grip, the desperate stutter of his exhale as he nosed along your jaw.

You caught his mouth with yours, teeth clashing in a kiss that tasted of salty sweat. Lips parting as he bit down gently, just shy of pain.

His palm cradled the side of your face, rough thumb smearing the flush of your cheek, and for a moment you forgot where you were.

“If someone finds us—” you whispered breathlessly, voice trembling against his lips.

“Then let them bear witness,” he said darkly, eyes fierce and wild as they captured yours. “I fear no judgment but losing you.”

He spun you around, your chest pressed against the cold stone, one arm braced firmly beside your head. You felt the faint tremor in his hand as it slid roughly down your back, tugging impatiently at layers until he found the hem of your breeches and shoved inside. His palm was calloused and urgent as his fingers found you all wet and desperately willing under his touch.

Your forehead pressed against the stone, eyes squeezed shut as he opened you slowly, two fingers curling deep in your core. His other hand rose quickly to muffle your moans against his shoulder.

“Quiet, Your Highness,” he warned in a rough whisper, mouth hot against your ear. “Or do you wish the entire court to hear how eagerly their future monarch yields?”

His hand moved faster, hips pressing insistently against you, and you felt the undeniable hardness of his cock through his breeches. When his teeth grazed your neck, you bit fiercely into your sleeve, desperate to silence your moans and his name trembling dangerously upon your tongue.

His fingers work you ruthlessly, thumb circling your clit. You didn’t hold on long, coming hard and fast on his fingers.

He kept going, not letting up until you were shaking.

When he finally pulled his hand away, you twisted and caught his wrist, dragging his slick fingers to your mouth to suck them clean, meeting his eyes the whole time.

“Fuck,” He whispered, barely audible, as if even here the gods might overhear.

You hadnt even caught your breath before he turned you back around. His lips found yours, hand rising to your cheek, still wet from where it’d ust been inside you. You dragged him closer, tasting yourself on his tongue, neither of you pretending you’re anything but desperate now.

“Please,” you whisper, the word trembling out between your teeth, the plea of a sovereign who’s ready to kneel for no one but him. “I need you. All of you. Do not make me beg.”

His control snapped, finally.  He fumbled with your breeches, yanking them down just enough to bare you, his own clothes undone with the same desperate haste. He pressed himself against you, one hand tangled in the fabric at your chest, the other steadying your hip as he aligned himself at your entrance.

He was hot and hard and impossibly thick. When he pushed into you, your body stretched to take him, the unfamiliar ache drawing your eyes shut and forcing a gasp from your lips. The pain was sharp but edged with an overwhelming relief, a fullness that left you crying. For a second you could only clutch at him, feeling the sting and the fast pulse of your heart fluttering wildly in your chest.

He paused, brow pressed to yours, breath shuddering as he held himself there. “I will stop—just say the word,” he whispered, voice rough with concern and restraint.

“No,” you gasp, nails digging in his shoulder. “Don’t stop. I want this more than anything.”

He held himself still for a few seconds, giving you time to adjust, waiting as you breathed through the sting and pressure and the dizzying intimacy of it all.

After a moment, your muscles eased around him and the ache softened into pleasure blooming where pain had been. You moved your hips, testing, and the friction made you shudder, tears pricking your eyes now not from pain but from want.

He felt it too. “Gods above, you are perfect,” he whispered, his voice thick with awe. “So tight, so exquisite.”

He drove into you, abandoning all pretense of gentleness, and you nearly sobbed into the hollow of his neck at the exquisite pain and the forbidden stretch of him—taken utterly where even saints had never dared to look.

The angle was all wrong and all right, knees spread shamelessly, every sound echoing in the hush of the chapel. His hand clamped over your mouth to swallow your cries, his teeth gritted as he took you deep and relentless, every last shred of knightly self-restraint destroyed by the secret he would die to protect.

You gripped his shoulders, body split open around him, still hungry for more. Needing more. He fucked into you as though he meant to brand your very soul with his shape. His grunts spilling against your mouth, your moans echoing in the sacred silence.

“Gods,” he hissed, his thrusts faltering as you clenched tightly around him. “We should not—this is… by all that’s holy, this is profane.”

“Does it feel wrong?” you whispered, lips brushing his skin as you spoke. “Do I feel like sin to you, Jeon?”

“No… you are… salvation itself,” he growled, snapping his hips harder, drawing a choked cry from you as your eyes fluttered back. “I would burn for this a thousand times.”

You laughed breathlessly “You would burn for me?”

“Yes,” he gasped. “By all the saints, yes.”

“Then make me cry out in this holy house.”

He groaned deep in his chest. “You are meant to be the vessel of the divine… holy, untouched. Yet look at you now… ruined for me against the chapel wall, spilling down my cock for any god who dares to look.”

“Stop—” you managed, your voice a trembling plea, not because you did not crave it, but because his words unraveled you faster than his body ever could.

He snarled, driving deeper, one hand rising to circle your throat. The weight of his palm there made your thighs quake.

“You will be Queen,” he muttered, voice low and ragged, each word another oath against your skin. “Anointed before the gods.”

“And what a queen I shall be,” you rasped, barely able to form the words, “impure, made so by your seed.”

He groaned, the word torn from his chest. Then his thrusts quickened, one arm locking you up by the waist as the other held your neck. Your moans broke in your throat, and you swore every star beyond the stained-glass windows flickered in answer.

“Look at me as you come undone on my cock.”

Your eyes met, wild and shining. In that moment, you cared for neither your title nor any consequence. You were simply the crown Prince, being filled by her guard in a place meant for prayer.

With a cry stifled by his hand at your throat, you fell apart. Body tightening and shaking, your legs locking around him as he drove through your climax. His own followed moments later, his body shuddering as he spilled himself deep inside you, buried to the hilt, his voice ragged and reverent as he moaned, “Mine.”

His thrusts became rougher, desperate, his hand sliding to your thigh to hold you open as his thumb found your clit again, coaxing every last tremor from your ruined body. The world melted away into the crash of bodies and need.

Somewhere outside, the bells tolled for midnight. Inside, you were left wrecked if only proven by wild hair, flushed skin, and his seed slick on your thighs. The memory of his cock and his hands, forever burned into you.

He held you there, arms locked around your waist, unwilling to let you go.

“I will burn for this,” he whispered, voice raw.

You drew him close for another bruising kiss. “Then we shall burn together.”

Afterward, the hush of the chapel pressed close. Jungkook held you, breath soft against your brow. The stone felt less cold now, your limbs leaden and content for the first time in memory.

He drew you into his lap, cloak pulled to shield you both from the lingering chill. His hand traced the curve of your cheek, eyes searching yours for what words could not say.

For a long while, you only listened to the shared breaths and the distant tolling of the bells.

But secrets had a weight of their own. You pressed your face to his shoulder. “I owe you the truth.”

Jungkook stilled, arms tightening protectively. “There is nothing you could say that would turn me from you.”

You let out a soft laugh. “You say that now, but you don’t know what I carry.”

He touched his forehead to yours, eyes fierce and gentle all at once. “Then tell me. Let me carry it too.”

You drew in a steadying breath. “I was not born to be heir. My mother, the queen…she had a son. My twin. But he did not live past his first breath. She had three failed pregnany before ours, and the king’s council grew anxious. A realm with no prince had no future in their eyes. So they gave me his name. Only a man could inherit the crown, so a man I became.”

Jungkook listened, his thumb stroking your jaw.

You swallowed. “The council never knew. The midwife was sworn to secrecy. The servants, threatened. I was raised as their son, their hope, their lie. All my life I have been split in two.. what the world must see and what I am under the skin.”

He brushed a strand of hair from your brow, his gaze full of sorrow and pride. “And yet you carry it all. Not just the crown, but your mother’s grief, your father’s ambition, the weight of a kingdom’s secret.”

You nodded, the truth finally spoken into holy air. “All for a throne I am not allowed to claim as myself.”

Jungkook cupped your cheek. “You are more than their heir, more than any king’s shadow. You are the future because you endured what none of them could.”

Tears burned hot in your eyes. “And if they learn the truth, I lose everything.”

“Not everything,” he promised, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You will never lose me.”

You melted into his arms. In the hush of that ruined sanctuary—with the past laid bare and the world waiting just beyond the door—you finally understood what it meant to be free, because of the man who held you, who saw you for the woman you truly are.

[koogalaxzy]

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status: booting up ⌗⌗⌗ … 2% complete

- MDNI 18+

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📌 last updated: big, bad boss (sunghoon)

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Jungkook (BTS)

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Jaehyun (NCT)

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🥀 Mini/Blurbs

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[koogalaxzy]

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[koogalaxzy]

══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══ 𓂃 ࣪ ˖ ABOUT ˖ ࣪ ་ 🖇️ ══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══

hi, i’m dani!

✎ writer. multi-stan.

✎ 23 | she/her | est timezone

✎ this blog is for you if you enjoy fanfictions from any of the idols below! expect fluff, angst, smut.

✎ i’ve been writing since 2016 but only started posting my work publicly around 3 years ago

✎ i also have an nct dream blog @hyuckiefluff, and i might rewrite some of the fics there for this blog. just a heads-up i’m not plagiarizing myself lol.

✎ this is an strictly 18+ space since most of what i write is nsfw

✎ who i write about:

— BTS: jungkook

— NCT: jaehyun

— ENHYPEN: sunghoon, jungwon, heeseung

— RIIZE: anton

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│ 📁 #koomasterlist

│ 📌 #koorulez

│ 📨 #kooreqs — #kooaskz

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