Chapter Text
Jeongguk woke with the unmistakable sense that something had slipped out of place overnight.
Not a sound woke him.
Not a nightmare.
Just an ache in his chest — like his heart had been pulled slightly to the left.
Wrong.
Everything felt wrong.
His breath came uneven. The air was cold in a way it never was inside the palace. Heavy curtains fluttered even though the windows were shut. His sheets felt too light. His skin felt too warm. Like something inside him already knew before anyone said a word.
He pushed himself upright slowly, fingers dragging through his hair as he tried to shake off the feeling. But the dread just sat there — stubborn, suffocating, refusing to leave.
A soft knock came at his door.
He hesitated. Maybe I should just remain locked up here, he thought… He sighed and gathered a little courage.
“Enter,” Jeongguk said, his voice smaller than he intended.
The door cracked open just enough for Jinjoo to step in. The moment Jeongguk saw his face, everything in his chest tightened.
Jinjoo never looked scared.
Never nervous.
Never this pale.
“Master Jeongguk,” he said quietly.
“I told you to stop calling me that. My name is Jeongguk,” he said with a sigh.
“I’m sorry,” Jinjoo said, head bowed.
“It’s okay,” Jeongguk replied. “You were saying something, Jinjoo?”
“Your uncle requests your presence downstairs.”
His tone was off. Too low. Too careful.
And he wasn’t making eye contact.
“What happened?” Jeongguk asked.
Jinjoo’s throat bobbed like he was swallowing stones.
“I… believe there has been an accident.”
He didn’t say what kind.
Didn’t say who.
Didn’t say where.
Just an accident.
Jeongguk swung his legs out of bed immediately.
“An accident with who?”
But Jinjoo’s eyes stayed glued to the floor.
He whispered, “Your uncle will… explain it better.”
No.
That meant it was bad.
VERY bad.
Jeongguk dressed quickly — movements sharp, almost frantic. He grabbed a fitted black shirt, dark trousers, and a charcoal coat embroidered lightly with golden threads at the cuffs. His fingers fumbled at the buttons. His reflection in the mirror looked unfamiliar — eyes already too wide, shoulders too stiff, bracing for a storm.
“Jinjoo… look at me,” Jeongguk said softly.
Jinjoo didn’t.
He bowed even lower.
That sealed it.
Something terrible was waiting downstairs.
They stepped into the hallway.
And the silence hit immediately.
No morning chatter.
No servants laughing faintly from the kitchens.
No distant clatter.
Just cold marble.
Cold air.
Cold dread.
As Jeongguk walked, the maids bowed to him — deeper than usual, slower than usual. Every face looked tense. Someone’s eyes were red, as if she’d been crying. And not one of them dared meet his gaze.
Jeongguk’s heartbeat became louder with every step.
“Jinjoo,” he said as they turned a corner, “what aren’t you telling me?” he asked with a sigh.
Jinjoo shook his head. “Please, Master… Jeongguk… I can’t.”
That was enough.
Jeongguk’s unease turned into determination. He began walking faster, then broke into a sprint down the corridor. Footsteps echoed, breath ragged. The walls felt like they stretched endlessly, but he didn’t stop until he reached the throne room doors.
He took a deep breath.
Then pushed them open.
Dozens of eyes turned toward him at once.
Council members.
Soldiers.
Advisors.
The atmosphere was thick with tension — suffocating.
What on earth is going on? Jeongguk thought.
In the center stood Uncle Seojoon.
A man always too calm for Jeongguk’s liking. Hair neatly slicked back, clothes pristine, hands clasped behind him as if waiting to deliver lines in a play. He looked nothing like Jimin.
“Jungkook,” he said, voice too soft, too sweet. “Come. Sit down, son. Everything is—”
Jeongguk rolled his eyes at the awful attempt at cordiality.
“Tell me,” Jeongguk cut sharply. “Now.”
Before Seojoon could speak, another man stepped forward.
Older.
Gray streaks in his dark hair.
Warm eyes filled with genuine sadness.
Minho.
His father’s closest adviser.
Minho bowed deeply.
“There was… an explosion.”
Jeongguk’s stomach dropped.
“A bombing,” Minho continued.
“Your parents were there.”
Jeongguk felt the world tilt.
His mouth opened, but the words felt too heavy.
Oh my God…
“My parents… were they… are they—”
He couldn’t finish.
He couldn’t physically say the word.
Minho’s voice softened even more.
“We don’t know. Several bodies were recovered, but they were badly burned. Unidentifiable.”
For a moment, Jeongguk forgot how to breathe. He spun, feeling dizzy.
Seojoon stepped forward as if to touch him — hands gentle, expression crafted perfectly for sympathy.
Jeongguk stepped away immediately.
He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stand straighter.
He would NOT cry here.
Not in front of them.
Not where they could twist weakness into an excuse.
“What happens now?” he asked quietly.
Seojoon sighed dramatically, like a parent dealing with a child.
“Now, Jungkook, you go to your room and rest. Let the adults—”
“What do you mean? I’m not going anywhere.”
“Jeongguk, you are in a state of—”
“No,” Jeongguk replied.
The word came out cold.
Final.
He walked past Seojoon and sat in his father’s seat at the head of the long table.
The scrape of the chair echoed like thunder.
Everyone was impressed at his composure.
“Let’s get on with the next topic,” Jeongguk said, refusing to bow his head.
A soldier rushed in — breathless.
Young, lean, sharp jawline, hair tied back, thin scar through his left eyebrow. Armor slightly dusty from travel.
“Your Majesty,” he said, kneeling. “I am Bakhyun. I bring a message from Daegu.”
Jeongguk nodded. “Speak.”
“They demand our troops march within one week. If we do not, they will take it as surrender.”
Jeongguk inhaled slowly.
“We cannot go to war,” he said. “My father was against it. Their forces overpower ours.” He ran his fingers through his hair.
“We have no choice,” Seojoon replied.
Jeongguk wanted to roll his eyes, but that wouldn’t be very prince-like, would it…
“If we send our soldiers, they will die!” His voice cracked on the last word. “My parents never wanted that.” He said, trying to calm down; Seojoon was really pushing his buttons.
Seojoon’s voice dropped.
“Well… your parents aren’t here anymore, are they? And whose fault is that?”
Gasps echoed.
Bakhyun looked horrified.
Minho’s face twisted in anger.
Jeongguk stared at his uncle — emotionless. Then…
“I am the future king,” he said. “And no one makes ANY decision without my command. Do you understand?”
Quiet mumbling spread as everyone shifted in their seats.
After a minute, they all replied:
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Seojoon’s jaw twitched.
“You are also forbidden from calling another meeting without my permission,” Jeongguk added, deciding that he didn’t want Seojoon to get used to too much freedom.
“…Yes, Your Majesty.”
Jeongguk stood and walked out, the tension finally cracking into shaky breaths the moment the doors closed behind him.
He whispered to himself, “I just need to think… I need to fix this.”
He turned a corner — and stopped.
Two servants were fighting.
Jinjoo was holding a letter close to his chest while a maid tried to grab it.
“He doesn’t need this right now!” Jinjoo said.
“He asked for ALL messages!” the maid shot back.
“Enough,” Jeongguk said.
Both froze.
“Give me the letter.”
The maid handed it over instantly.
Jeongguk opened it.
Elegant handwriting.
Soft loops.
Playful strokes.
“Hey baby, wanna get married?
Meet me in the garden where our borders touch.
I might know a way to stop the war.”
Signed,
KTH
Jeongguk remembered the stranger and sighed.
“What do I have to lose?” he whispered.
His heart drummed, but he needed to find a way to save his kingdom, and he wouldn’t get it by sitting in the palace all day.
For the first time that day…
He moved with purpose.
He needed to get some paperwork finished.
He’d see Taehyung when it was dark.
He’d save his kingdom.