Peony Of The Glen

by noir_7

Chapter 19

The soft morning light filtered into the breakfast hall, sparkling in cut-crystal glasses. Jungkook sat beside Jimin, picking at an apple without appetite. His mind was not on the food or the gentle murmur of courtiers; it was trapped in the cold, stone logic of the Western Mountains.

The library encounter had replayed in his mind all night, a frustrating loop. Taehyung’s earnest, proud explanation of his ‘household’—all advisors and generals, not a single mention of a consort, a companion, a lover. The omission was a gaping silence, and Jungkook’s thoughts rushed to fill it with grim possibilities.

He’s the Crown Prince. The first reason was political, cold, and undeniable. Producing a strong heir, securing the lineage, would be a paramount duty, as it was in any kingdom. In a harsh, militant culture, wouldn’t it make strategic sense to have multiple Omegas available? To ensure fertility, to create alliances through multiple bloodlines? The thought was a stone in his stomach.

And he’s… Jungkook’s eyes flickered up involuntarily as the main doors opened. Taehyung entered with Yoongi a step behind. He was dressed in another of his severe, well-cut tunics, his posture regal and composed. The morning light caught the sharp line of his jaw, the alluring depth of his eyes. So incredibly handsome. 

Jungkook watched as Taehyung acknowledged the room with a slight bow, his gaze sweeping and inevitably finding him. Their eyes met across the sunlit space. Taehyung’s expression was open, hopeful even, a silent query in his look. Did you understand my explanation? Are we aligned?

But Jungkook saw only the questions he couldn’t answer. He offered a small, polite nod in return, then looked down at his plate, breaking the connection.

The second reason was visceral, social. An Alpha of his status, with his looks and power… there would be Omegas drawn to that. Omegas in his own court who would not mind sharing him, but see it as an honor. Who would queue for a moment of his attention, a chance to bear a child with his bloodline.

But I would mind.

The thought rose, unbidden and fierce, from a deep, hidden place within him. It wasn’t a calculated political stance. It was a raw, Omega instinct, a possessiveness that surprised him with its vehemence. The idea of Taehyung touching another, scenting another, sharing the intensity of his focus… it felt like a violation of something that hadn’t even been promised to him. It felt wrong. He would not be a jewel in a crown shared with others. He would not be one melody in a chorus. He would either be the sole symphony, or he would have silence.

To share would be to diminish his own worth, to accept a fraction when he knew he deserved a whole.

The breakfast passed in a blur of polite conversation and delicate flavors that Jungkook barely tasted. His mother leaned towards him, her voice gentle. "The cuttings from the southern orchid, my dear. Master Kwon tells me you oversaw their acclimation. Will they bloom before the first frost?"

He pulled his focus from the whirlpool of his own thoughts with an effort. "They should, Mother. The glasshouse environment is stable. We're mimicking the dawn mist of their native valley." He explained the humidity adjustments, his voice finding its familiar, confident rhythm when speaking of his work. As he talked, he could feel a specific, focused gaze on him. Without looking, he knew it was Taehyung, watching him with that intense, absorbing attention. It was a spotlight he both craved and wanted to escape.

Across the table, King Daejung cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the lighter chatter. "A reminder to the table," he announced, his voice carrying the weight of granite. "In two days' time, our party—myself, Queen Sohyun, King Junseo, and Queen Isu—will depart for the demonstration in the outer Glen."

A subtle shift went through the room. The visiting Western lords nodded; the Eastern courtiers straightened in their seats. It was known, but the formal declaration made it real.

King Junseo smiled warmly, his eyes resting on his son and then including Jimin with a respectful nod. "In our absence, the household, and our honored guests, will be in your capable hands, Jungkook-ah. We expect you and Master Jimin to uphold the Glen's hospitality." His tone was trusting, but it was a command nonetheless. Be a good host. Be a responsible Prince.

Jungkook felt the weight of the responsibility settle on his shoulders, a familiar mantle of duty that was suddenly intertwined with the tangled, personal mess of his feelings. He was to be Taehyung's host. His guide. His companion, in a palace suddenly empty of their mediating parents.

He bowed his head to his father and the Western King. "Of course, Your Majesties. We are honored to serve." His voice was steady, the perfect picture of a dutiful Prince.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Taehyung's reaction. The Alpha Prince's intense gaze didn't waver, but a new, unmistakable spark lit within it.

Jimin, beside him, gave a nearly imperceptible shift in his posture. His role had just been officially expanded from protector to co-steward of a delicate, potentially volatile, diplomatic-and-romantic situation.

As the kings returned to their conversation, the breakfast hall’s noise seemed to swell, but for Jungkook, it faded. The countdown had begun. Two days until the parents left. Two days until he was alone with a Crown Prince whose intensity thrilled him, and whose customs remained a locked door he didn't have the key to.

As servants began to clear the finer china, Taehyung’s voice cut through the concluding murmurs. It was addressed to the table at large, but his eyes were fixed on Jungkook.

“Your Majesties,” he began, with a respectful nod to the kings and queens, before turning his focus. “Prince Jungkook. Your mention of the different honey varieties the other day, and how they reflect the specific meadows the bees forage… I find myself quite intrigued. If your schedule permits, I would be grateful for the opportunity to see the royal apiaries. To understand the source of such… nuanced flavor.”

The request was perfectly pitched. It demonstrated attentiveness, intellectual curiosity, and was rooted in Jungkook’s own area of expertise. It was a scholarly Prince’s request, not a suitor’s. It was also, Jungkook knew with a sinking feeling, a masterful tactical move. A semi-private tour, in his domain, with a legitimate pretext.

All eyes turned to him. His father looked pleased at the display of cross-cultural interest. His mother offered an encouraging smile.

Jungkook met Taehyung’s gaze. The Alpha’s expression was earnest, open, with that spark of keen interest that was so dangerously appealing. There was no hint of the possessive intensity from the garden, no awkwardness from the library misunderstanding. Just a prince wanting to learn about bees.

Internally, Jungkook sighed. A deep, weary exhalation that had no outlet. The tightening in his chest was a mix of reluctance and a traitorous flicker of anticipation. He could not refuse without seeming churlish or a poor host, especially after his father’s directive.

He arranged his features into a mask of pleasant, neutral composure—the Prince of the Glen, gracious and knowledgeable. “Of course, Your Highness,” he said, his voice even and polite. “The apiaries are quite active at this hour. I would be happy to show you after the morning councils conclude. Shall we say in two hours?”

The agreement was a concession, but on his terms. A specific time, a buffer of other duties. He was not being swept away; he was penciling in an appointment.

Taehyung’s answering smile was small but vivid, a flash of genuine pleasure that made something in Jungkook’s stomach flutter despite his resolve. “That would be perfect. Thank you, Prince Jungkook.”

As the breakfast officially broke up and people began to drift away, Jungkook felt Jimin’s subtle nudge against his arm. He didn’t need to look to know the expression on his friend’s face: a mix of sympathy and wicked amusement.

Two hours, Jungkook thought, steeling himself. Two hours until he had to play guide to one of the most confusing, attractive, and potentially problematic Alpha he’d ever met.

 

···—–—⚜—–—···

 

Jungkook waited, under a sky of clear, porcelain blue, at the entrance to the walled garden that housed the royal apiaries. He had dressed practically in a sturdy linen tunic and trousers, his hair tied back. He was the expert, the guide. He repeated the mantra to himself as he watched Taehyung approach down the gravel path.

The Crown Prince of the Western Mountains looked… eager. There was a lightness to his step that was different from his usual measured stride. He too had dressed down, his tunic a simple grey, and he carried no visible weapon. His expression was one of open, focused curiosity, the intensity of his gaze now directed at the task of understanding bees, not unraveling Jungkook. It was... still oddly attractive.

“Your Highness,” Taehyung greeted, a genuine smile touching his lips. “Thank you for making the time. I’ve been thinking about the connection between soil, bloom, and flavor since you mentioned it.”

“The connection is everything,” Jungkook replied, his tone carefully modulated into that of a lecturer. He turned and led the way through the gate into the apiary garden. The air changed immediately, thrumming with a low, persistent hum and thick with the sweet, heavy scent of nectar and warm wax. Neat rows of painted wooden hives stood on stone plinths, surrounded by a riot of lavender, borage, and flowering herbs. Bees zipped through the air like tiny, golden bullets. “This is not merely a production facility. It’s an ecosystem. Each hive’s territory is carefully curated.”

He launched into an explanation, using the facts as a shield. He spoke of queen bees and worker roles, of pollen baskets and nectar processing. He pointed out the different flowers in the foraging beds. “The lavender yields a honey that is delicate, almost floral. The clover from the northern meadows gives a milder, creamier taste.”

Taehyung listened, his head tilted, his eyes following Jungkook’s gestures with rapt attention. He asked intelligent questions—not flattering ones, but real ones. “So the taste is a direct map of the land they can access? If you moved a hive to the citrus groves, the honey would change completely?”

“Within a few weeks, yes,” Jungkook confirmed, surprised by the acuity of the question. He found himself explaining the concept of terroir, a word from an old agricultural text that described how a specific place imparted its unique character to what grew there.

“Terroir,” Taehyung repeated, tasting the word. “The essence of the place captured in a substance. That is a powerful concept. It speaks of authenticity. Of truth to origin.” His gaze drifted from the hives to Jungkook, and for a moment, the lecture hall atmosphere wavered. “It is a philosophy that seems to resonate deeply with you.”

Jungkook felt his shield crack. He had been using the apiary as a diversion, but Taehyung had seamlessly connected it back to him, to his core beliefs. It was a compliment of the most disarming kind—one that understood him.

He cleared his throat, turning towards a quieter hive at the end of a row. “This one,” he said, forcing his voice back to neutrality, “is our oldest. The queen is exceptionally stable. The honey has a complexity the newer hives can’t match. Depth comes with time, and consistency.”

He was talking about bees. He was absolutely talking about bees. But the words hung in the humming air between them, heavy with unspoken parallel. Depth comes with time, and consistency. Was it a warning? A hope? He wasn’t sure himself.

Taehyung moved to stand beside him, not too close, but near enough that Jungkook could catch his scent—blood orange and, clean air, now underlaid with the warmth of the sun and the green smell of the garden. He looked at the old hive, his expression thoughtful.

“A valuable lesson,” he said quietly, his voice almost lost in the drone of wings. “Some things cannot be rushed. Their value is in the layers built over seasons.” He glanced at Jungkook, his eyes serious.

Jungkook was walking towards a particularly productive hive now, his posture stiff, his finger pointing at the busy entrance. But internally, something in his chest had started to flutter against his will. 

“You’ll observe the pollen collectors returning,” he stated, his voice flat, still purposefully devoid of its usual warmth. “The coloration on their pollen baskets indicates a primary forage of borage. This results in a honey with a faint, herbal aftertaste and a higher mineral content.”

He didn’t look at Taehyung. He kept his gaze fixed on the bees, a safe, moving focal point. “Each hive maintains a strict social structure. A single fertile queen. Thousands of sterile female workers whose roles shift with age—nurses, builders, foragers, guards. A few hundred male drones, whose sole purpose is genetic contribution before their seasonal expiration.”

He recited the facts like lines from a manual. Hive hierarchy. Honey yield per season. Optimal pollination cycles for maximizing orchard fruit set. He spoke of pheromone signals and waggle dances, reducing the complex, vibrant miracle of the apiary to a series of clinical, functional processes.

“The survival of the colony depends on this unwavering order,” he concluded, finally risking a glance at his companion. “Any disruption to the hierarchy, any introduction of a foreign element or a competing queen, leads to instability. Often to conflict. Sometimes to collapse.”

The words hung in the sweet, heavy air. He hadn’t meant to say the last part. It had slipped out, the sterile lecture cracking to reveal the sharp edge of his own anxiety beneath.

Taehyung, who had been listening in silence, his hands clasped behind his back, finally stirred. He wasn’t looking at the bees either. He was looking at Jungkook, his dark eyes missing nothing—the rigid set of his shoulders, the deliberate avoidance of his gaze, the way the passionate prince who spoke of covenants with the land had locked himself behind a wall of impersonal data.

“Fascinating,” Taehyung said, his voice quiet. He took a slow step closer, not intruding, but closing the distance Jungkook had carefully maintained. “The efficiency is remarkable. But…” He paused, his head tilting. “You described the honey from the old hive as having ‘complexity.’ ‘Depth.’ Those are not terms of pure function, Prince Jungkook. Those are terms of… character.”

He gestured to the hive, then back to Jungkook, his gaze intent. “You reduced this,” he said, indicating the buzzing, living world around them, “to a report on logistics and output. But that’s not what you see when you look at it, is it? You see the character. The story in the flavor. The history in the old queen.” He took another step, now standing directly beside him, their shoulders almost brushing. His voice dropped, not to a whisper, but to a tone of pure, focused sincerity. “Why are you only telling me the facts?”

The question was a direct strike, bypassing all defenses. The monotone lecture shattered. Jungkook’s breath caught. He was exposed, caught between the rows of hives with no more data to spew. The Alpha prince hadn’t been bored or fooled. He’d been observing him, and he’d seen right through the performance.

Then, movement.

A single bee, dusty with yellow pollen, drifted from a nearby lavender spike. It circled once, twice, then descended, landing with a barely perceptible tickle on the tender skin of Jungkook’s inner wrist.

He went rigid. Not with the calm stillness of a gardener, but with the paralyzing freeze of fear. His breath hitched, his eyes widening as he stared at the small insect perched on his pulse point. A memory, vivid and visceral, flashed—a childhood summer, a disturbed nest, a swarm of stinging pain and panicked tears. He’d overcome the phobia through sheer will, learning bee language, respecting their space, but the primal flinch of fear was a ghost that never fully left.

And it had to appear now. In front of him.

Shame burned hotter than any sting. He, the Prince of the Earth, the master of these gardens, was terrified of one of its tiniest inhabitants. He hated this weakness, despised the vulnerability. His mind screamed at him to stay still, to not provoke it, but every muscle was locked in a silent battle between dignity and deep-seated panic.

He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Could only stare at the bee, willing it to fly away, his princely composure crumbling into something young and exposed right before the Alpha he was trying so hard to keep at a distance.

The world narrowed to the tiny, ticking weight on his skin. Jungkook’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs, so loud he was sure Taehyung could hear it over the drone of the hives. He was a statue of terrified mortification, his mind a white blank of panic. Move. Breathe. Don’t scream. The commands bounced uselessly in his skull. All his carefully maintained distance, his princely neutrality, his intellectual shields—they were all meaningless in the face of this small, buzzing creature and the childhood terror it unleashed.

He braced for a reaction. For a laugh, however subtle. For a comment, a teasing question. For Taehyung to use this moment of weakness as another point of entry, to play the heroic Alpha rescuing the fragile Omega.

But Taehyung did none of those things.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t startle. He simply acted.

His hand entered Jungkook’s paralyzed field of vision, but not in a swift, aggressive swipe. It was a slow, deliberate extension. His fingers, calloused from sword grips, were steady. He didn’t reach for Jungkook’s wrist. Instead, his gaze still fixed on the bee, he plucked a single, broad leaf of lemon balm from a plant beside them.

With the same focused precision he used in sparring, Taehyung brought the edge of the soft, fragrant leaf to Jungkook’s wrist. The contact was feather-light, a whisper against his skin. He applied the gentlest pressure, not on Jungkook, but on the surface beside the bee, encouraging it to step from the terrifying precipice of Jungkook’s pulse onto the green platform.

The bee, unbothered, complied. It ambled onto the leaf, its legs a delicate prickling sensation that made Jungkook shudder.

Still without a word, Taehyung turned. He took three slow, measured steps away from Jungkook, away from the hives, towards an open patch of sun-warmed thyme. He crouched, bringing the leaf level with the flowering herbs, and waited. After a moment, the bee, sensing a better opportunity, lifted into the air and buzzed away towards the lavender.

Only then did Taehyung rise. He dropped the leaf and turned back to Jungkook, brushing his hands together lightly. His expression was calm, neutral. There was no smirk of triumph, no gleam of satisfaction in having ‘saved’ him. There was only a quiet, practical competence, as if he had simply moved a piece of furniture that was in the way.

The entire act had taken less than ten seconds. It had required no grand gesture, no dramatic speech. It was a solution, executed with efficiency and profound respect. He hadn’t touched Jungkook without permission. He hadn’t violated the bee’s space with violence. He had simply… handled it.

The paralysis broke. Air rushed back into Jungkook’s lungs in a sharp, shaky gasp. The fear receded, leaving behind a wave of heat that had nothing to do with the sun. It was a flush of profound, disorienting attraction, so potent it stole the breath he’d just regained.

Taehyung hadn’t performed an Alpha display of protective dominance. He had performed an act of pure, attentive care. He had seen Jungkook’s fear, understood it in an instant, and had chosen the action that would alleviate it with the least amount of fuss or humiliation. It was the opposite of the possessive jealousy he’d shown over Lord Jang. This was a strength that protected without claiming, that solved problems without seeking credit.

This man, who plotted troop movements and negotiated treaties, had just used a leaf to rescue him from a bee with more tenderness than most people showed handling a newborn chick.

“I…” Jungkook’s voice came out a ragged whisper. He cleared his throat, trying to find the princely monotone, but it was gone. “I… thank you.” The words were inadequate, humbled.

Taehyung simply nodded, his gaze softening from its intense focus to something warmer. “They are calm bees,” he said, his voice still low, as if continuing a normal conversation. “But it’s wise to respect a creature that can command such a reaction.” He didn’t say your reaction. He framed it as a universal truth, giving Jungkook an out, preserving his dignity.

It was too much. The care, the discretion, the sheer, unassuming competence of it. Jungkook felt flustered, unmoored, and hopelessly captivated. He looked away, down at his own wrist where the ghost of the bee’s feet still seemed to tickle.

“The… the honey from the lemon balm,” he managed to say, grasping for a familiar subject, but his voice was still unsteady. “It’s… it’s very mild. Soothing.”

“I can imagine,” Taehyung replied. He didn’t press. He didn’t seize the moment to ask why he’d been so afraid. Jungkook’s carefully guarded heart gave a traitorous, undeniable lurch of pure, unwilling attraction.

Taehyung felt a quiet, profound satisfaction settle in his chest. The stark, unguarded fear in Jungkook’s eyes had been a shock, a crack in the Prince’s imposing, knowledgeable facade. But more than the fear, it was the trust—the frozen, silent plea—that had resonated within him. He had acted on instinct, not strategy, choosing the method that would cause the least distress. Seeing the tension drain from Jungkook’s shoulders, hearing that ragged whisper of thanks, was a reward greater than any diplomatic victory. He had been useful. He had alleviated a distress, and in doing so, perhaps had nudged aside a piece of the wall Jungkook had seemingly been building between them.

He watched as Jungkook looked away, a faint blush staining his cheeks. The Prince was flustered, yes, but the rigid, lecturing tone was gone as well. The air between them no longer thrummed with forced neutrality, but with a softer, more vulnerable energy. Taehyung didn’t push. He simply stood, letting the peace of the garden and the resolution of the small crisis work its magic.

For Jungkook, the world had subtly rearranged itself. His gaze, now helplessly drawn back to the Alpha, began to catalogue details with a new, hungry awareness.

The way the sunlight caught the gold in Taehyung’s hair, not like spun sunlight as before, but like the warm, rich hue of the wildflower honey from the high meadows. The elegant strength of his hands, which could wield a sword with brutal precision or guide a bee with infinite care. The solid line of his shoulders under the simple tunic, promising a shelter that felt suddenly, desperately appealing.

His traitorous mind, freed from its cage of suspicion and lecture, began to spin vivid, unwelcome fantasies.

He imagined tripping on a garden path, not seriously, just enough to stumble—and those strong hands catching his elbow, steadying him with that same silent efficiency. “I’m here.”

He pictured a late night in the library, a heavy tome slipping from a high shelf—and Taehyung reaching over him, easily catching it, his chest a warm, solid wall against Jungkook’s back for a fleeting second. The scent of blood orange and parchment would surround him.

Worse, he envisioned feeling unwell, a headache perhaps, retiring early from some tedious function—and Taehyung, noticing his absence, not making a scene, but later, quietly having a servant deliver a cup of the very lemon balm honey they’d just discussed, with no note, no fanfare. Just a simple, undeniable act of noticing. Of attentiveness.

Each scenario was a bolt of lightning to his system, thrilling and terrifying. This wasn’t the grand, possessive passion of poetry. This was something quieter, deeper, and infinitely more dangerous. It was an attraction built on competence, on action, on a strength that protected. It was the kind of allure that could make an Omega—could make him—want to lower his defenses permanently, to trust that strength with his vulnerabilities.

He dragged his eyes away, staring fixedly at a beehive, but he no longer saw the social structure or the honey yield.

“We should… perhaps continue,” Jungkook murmured, his voice still not quite his own. “The… the hives in the shaded quadrant produce a different character of wax.” The subject was safe, but the delivery was soft, hesitant. The wall was down. And through the breach, a flood of unwanted desire was pouring in.

They moved into a cooler part of the walled garden, where dlight filtered through a canopy of old apple trees. The hives here were a darker wood, blending into the shadow.

“Less direct sun means the bees work at a slightly different rhythm. The honey is… darker. Richer. It takes longer to mature.” He heard his own words and felt them resonate with a meaning he hadn’t intended.

Taehyung walked beside him, his presence a quiet, solid warmth. He didn’t press with questions now, but listened with an attentiveness that felt physical. “A slower process,” he observed, his gaze on the shaded hives. “For a more complex result. It seems patience is a virtue here, as it is with the old hive.”

He was connecting everything back to the philosophy, to the deeper truths Jungkook held dear. It was no longer just about bees; it was a continuing, silent conversation about their worlds.

Jungkook stopped before one of the shaded hives, watching a few bees drift lazily in and out. The frantic panic was gone, replaced by this new, humming awareness. “They’re less defensive here,” he found himself saying, the admission personal. “The heat in the full sun… it can make them irritable. Here, they’re calm. They have what they need, without the pressure.”

Once again, he wasn’t sure if he was still talking about bees. The words felt dangerously close to a confession about himself, about what he needed.

Taehyung was silent for a long moment, studying the tranquil activity. “A wise adaptation,” he said finally, his voice low. “To thrive where you are planted, not where you are expected to be.” He turned his head, and his eyes met Jungkook’s. There was no pressure in his gaze, only a deep, acknowledging understanding. “It requires great strength, to choose the shade that allows you to be your best self, rather than forcing yourself to bloom in a harsh light that doesn’t suit you.”

The understanding was so perfect, so unexpected, that made Jungkook stop for a moment. This Alpha from the harsh, bright mountains understood the value of shade.

They completed the loop of the apiaries, ending back near the gate. The hum of the garden seemed softer now, a peaceful backdrop rather than an overwhelming noise.

“Thank you, Prince Jungkook,” Taehyung said, his gratitude sincere. “This has been… profoundly educational. You’ve given me a new lens through which to see many things.”

Jungkook merely nodded, unable to form a coherent sentence. The tour was over. The facts had been shared. But the ground between them had fundamentally changed. He hadn’t just shown Taehyung his apiaries; he had, in his fear and in his recovery, shown him a piece of his heart. And Taehyung had handled it with more care than he’d ever shown a royal treaty.

“Tonight,” he began, his voice breaking the quiet gently, “there is a meeting of my father’s advisors. A review of the preliminary trade accords. It will be dry, I’m afraid.” A faint, self-deprecating smile touched his lips. “But your insights, particularly on sustainable yield and long-term resource management… they would be invaluable. If you have no prior engagement, I would be honored if you would attend. As a… thank you. For the tour.”

The invitation was formal, respectful, and strategically brilliant. It offered a legitimate, public setting for continued interaction, one that played directly to Jungkook’s strengths and intellect.

Jungkook’s instinct was to retreat, to rebuild his new walls after the vulnerability of the bee incident. But the request was so perfectly tailored, so acknowledging of his worth beyond his Omega status, that refusal felt churlish. More than that, a part of him wanted to go, to see Taehyung in his element again.

“I have no prior engagement,” he heard himself say, his voice steadier than he felt. “I… I would be glad to attend. Thank you for the invitation.”

Taehyung’s smile widened, a flash of genuine pleasure. “Excellent.” He paused, then gestured back towards the palace. “May I… walk you back?”

The question was simple, but it sent a fresh jolt through Jungkook. A walk back, just the two of them, after everything. It felt like a continuation of intimacy. His mind scrambled.

“I mean,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush of false nonchalance, “we have to walk in the same direction anyway.” He shrugged one shoulder, trying to appear indifferent even as his heart gave a traitorous, warm thump against his ribs.

A small, knowing glint appeared in Taehyung’s eyes, but he merely nodded. “That we do.”

They fell into step together, the gravel crunching softly underfoot. The warmth in Jungkook’s chest spread, a pleasant, insistent glow. He glanced at Taehyung from the corner of his eye—the strong profile, the calm demeanor. The Alpha had been nothing but respectful, insightful, and kind.

But a cold reminder slithered through the warmth, a splash of icy reality.

He might value what you’re trying to stay away from.

Harem. Cage. Conquests. The words were stark, a brutal counterpoint to the gentleness he’d just witnessed. This man was the heir to a militant kingdom. His ‘household’ could be full of Omegas bound by duty and strategy, not choice. His kindness today didn’t erase the potential for a gilded prison tomorrow. The warmth in his chest now felt like a betrayal of his own principles, a dangerous softening towards a future that could still mean the loss of everything he cherished.

He walked in silence, the conflict a quiet war within him. The attraction was real, and growing. The fear was just as real, and deeply rooted. And between them walked the Crown Prince of the Western Mountains, a man who was proving to be a labyrinth of contradictions, each turn more captivating and more perilous than the last.

The walk back to the palace was conducted in a comfortable, humming quiet, but beneath the surface, Taehyung felt a quiet, steady triumph. The rigid, factual wall Prince Jungkook had built around himself in the apiary had undeniably cracked. The fear, the vulnerability, the subsequent softness in his voice and posture—it was a shift, subtle but monumental. He had seen a part of the Omega Prince that was not curated for court, and he had been allowed to help. The memory of Jungkook’s wide, terrified eyes and the subsequent flush of gratitude was a potent fuel for his cautious optimism.

He walked beside Jungkook, careful to maintain a respectful distance, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. He could feel the slight tension in the air, a delicate, new thing that was not hostility, but a fragile awareness. He had no desire to shatter it with presumptuous closeness.

To keep the connection alive without pressuring it, he chose the safest, most genuine topic he could think of. “The peonies,” he began, his voice conversational, “the ones you were tending the other day. How are they faring? I trust the… aphid situation has been managed?”

He glanced at Jungkook, seeing the Prince’s profile soften at the mention of his beloved flowers. It was the right question.

“The ladybugs proved effective,” Jungkook replied, his tone losing its last edge of forced neutrality, becoming simply informative. “I checked this morning. The balance is restoring itself.” A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. “They’re resilient. They just needed the right conditions to defend themselves.”

Taehyung nodded, matching his pace to Jungkook’s unhurried steps. “I have no doubt,” he said, and let a note of sincere admiration color his voice. “With you, they are under expert care.”

The compliment was deliberate. It praised Jungkook’s skill, his nurturing nature, his domain. It was not about his beauty or his status, but about his capability. It was the kind of praise, Taehyung was learning, that Jungkook could accept without suspicion.

He saw the effect—a slight, pleased straightening of Jungkook’s shoulders, a quick glance in his direction before those dark eyes returned to the path ahead.

They reached the side entrance to the palace all too soon. Taehyung stopped, turning to face Jungkook fully. “I will send a guard to escort you to the meeting chamber this evening,” he said, his tone reverting to polite formality, but his eyes held a warmth that the words did not. “Until then, Your Highness.”

Jungkook met his gaze for a sustained moment, and Taehyung saw it—not openness, but a lessening of the guarded distance. A consideration. It was enough.

“Until then, Your Highness,” Jungkook echoed, his voice quiet. He gave a slight, respectful bow of his head, then turned and disappeared into the cool shadows of the palace.