Rainy Days, I'm thinking 'bout you

An2 : The big parts in italics are flashback that are told as memories. I tried to make it the clearest I could but I'm sorry if sometimes it's a bit confusing :/

Gentle reminder that all rights are reserved, so please do not copy, translate or repost my stories. Also I do not own BTS or their actions, the stories are entirely fictionnal and does not depict real-life events or involve any actual member of BTS.

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“Harder.” The voice growls, sharp and unforgiving in the silence of the back courtyard.

Yoongi exhales, exhausted, but doesn’t let it show as he lunges forward, muscles taut, arm extended, trying to graze his opponent with the tip of his spear.

Their weapons collide. Metal cracks and rings again and again as they fight, but no matter how much strength Yoongi pours into it, his opponent merely deflects the blows, striking back here and there —as if almost bored.

And yet, Yoongi is one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen. At court, everyone sings his praises, betting that one day he’ll be even stronger than our brother. Watching him train, usually, there’s no reason to doubt it.

But today, his mind seems elsewhere.

Perched on the tree trunk they cut down so I could sit, I squirm, trying to find a better position. My butt is freezing, damn it. The air bites at my skin, sharp and icy, and even though it doesn’t snow much this time of year, the sun has been shy lately, barely lighting the gray landscape and the half-dead trees.

I’m not supposed to be outside. Mother will scold me if she finds out —but I don’t care. For the past few days, I’ve been too nervous to stay alone in a room. And even if he doesn’t show it, I know Yoongi feels the same.

Something has shifted recently. Ever since the announcement of Hobi’s coronation, really. When Father made it public, during the annual summer gala, everyone cheered —but it sounded fake. I remember Mother turning pale, and neither she nor Hobi said a word for the rest of the evening.

Since then, everything has been preparation and excitement —but mostly pressure, coming from every direction. Everything has to be perfect, down to the smallest detail. As a result, I haven’t really seen them in days. And it doesn’t help that the purple bear hasn’t left my side for a second.

Because of the coronation preparations, Yoongi was asked to prepare a proper duel, with spears —and to be sure he could win against anyone. We all know he’d win against one of the purple monsters. What frightens us is the idea that he might have to fight someone else.

As for me, I was asked to weave our crest, to sew it onto Hobi’s ceremonial outfit. The bear growled when I snapped back that I was better with pistols than needles, but he didn’t force me to weave either. I just hope he doesn’t tell Father.

Behind me, a few steps away from the fallen trunk, I can hear him move. Without looking, I know that the scraping sound is the pommel of his spear rubbing against the dirt as he draws small circles in the dust. He does that all the time, and I don’t know why. The most terrifying part is when he does it at night, standing in front of my bedroom door, the metal pommel screeching against the marble tiles. I have nightmares about that sound alone.

Yoongi throws himself fully into preparing for his duel. Hobi certainly wouldn’t want Yoongi to fight to celebrate his coronation, so I think he’s doing it more out of obligation than anything else. When I told him how ridiculous I thought it all was, he answered that maybe one day I’d have to learn to take things seriously.

It made my teeth grind —because I am serious. If they let me train, I’m sure I’d be just as good as Yoongi. When I practice in secret in the forest, I never miss my target with a pistol. And Yoongi may know how to fight, but I can hide in the trees faster than anyone. Why does he get duels, and I get stuck with weaving?

A shrill sound makes me flinch, goosebumps racing up my spine. I’d recognize that sound anywhere. I’ve heard it every week since I was born.

It’s the horn of the purple shadows.

In front of me, Yoongi and his opponent —a wolf whose snout sticks out from beneath his hood— freeze mid-movement, turning toward the sound. Yoongi stiffens instantly, jaw tight, and if we were still six, he would probably have come to hide against me.

The bear steps closer; I can feel him just behind me. I don’t move. Partly because I don’t want to. Partly because I can’t.

I want to run. I want to bolt —but I’m terrified the shadows would catch me, and that I’d be next on the list.

As if to prove the thought right, the bear places a skeletal, iron grip on my shoulder the second I try to stand, stopping me from moving at all. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Yoongi shout something at him as he steps toward me, spear clenched tightly in his hands.

He barely moves before the wolf’s spear slides under his chin, ready to strike.

I start gasping without meaning to, locking eyes with my brother. His brows are drawn together now, his expression more than annoyed. A small, pathetic cry slips from me when he keeps moving and a thin red line blooms across his neck where the blade presses. I shake my head frantically.

His eyes darken —the color they always take when I contradict him. But also when he’s afraid. And after all this time, he knows as well as I do that it’s too dangerous. Better to wait patiently until it’s over, then hide in our beds and cry in silence.

More shadows quickly flood the courtyard, all armed with spears. When I was little, I used to distract myself by trying to recognize each animal. I don’t bother anymore. The longer you look at them, the less they resemble animals. They’re just twisted faces carved straight from stone, without eyes or souls —and their lack of humanity is somehow more terrifying than their actions.

Each of them seems to be holding someone by the arm, the victims’ hands bound tightly behind their backs, so tight I know they can’t do anything but walk.

It feels like I’m trapped in the same nightmare, over and over. The shadows arrange themselves in a semicircle at the center of the courtyard, forcing the condemned to their knees, and the horn sounds again —distant, insidious.

Once. The shadows step to the left of their victims. Usually, there are only two or three. Today, there are more than twenty.

A second time. The shadows raise their spears, ready to strike. I’ve heard that with the coronation approaching, the sacrifices are becoming more frequent —to bring more luck to the heir. The thought froze my blood. And there was no one for me to cling to then.

If I turned my head just a little, I could see the dark façade of the palace behind me, its tall windows reflecting no light. And at the very top, on the fourth-floor balcony, I know I would see a man standing proudly, watching the scene with a satisfied smile.

But I have no desire to meet my father’s sly, skin-crawling gaze. So I stay still, eyes fixed on the horror unfolding in front of me.

In the distance, I see the plum-colored shadow holding the horn lift it again —but the great doors burst open, and a richly dressed woman storms out in fury.

Her long dark hair is swept into an elegant bun atop her head, and the violet jewels of her regalia gleam faintly in the weak sunlight. I know —because I’ve heard it said many times— that I have the same face as her, even if the comment is often followed by how my eyes resemble my father’s more. A detail I hate with all my being.

My mother’s face softens the instant her gaze lands on me, and she rushes forward without bothering to lift her skirt from the dust. Something loosens in my chest as she comes closer —the unshakable certainty that if Mom is here, everything will be okay.

“Harin. Thank God, I thought—” she whispers when she reaches me. Then her pale green eyes —so light they almost look gray— fall on the bear’s hand still gripping my shoulder, and she stiffens.

I’m about to reassure her, to tell her everything is fine even though we both know it’s not and she can clearly see the tears pooling in my eyes, but she doesn’t give me the chance. Her gaze snaps to Yoongi, to the blade at his throat now stained red from the blood seeping from the cut. “What is wrong with you? Let him go!”

Her scream shatters the cold silence as she throws herself forward, trying to push the spear away from Yoongi’s neck. It only presses harder, blood trickling down my brother’s throat.

Mother keeps shouting, her voice growing more frantic as none of the shadows move to obey —until another voice cuts through, much calmer, but no less tense.

“She told you to let them go.”

Half a second. That’s all it takes for the two plum shadows to release us —Yoongi and me— after Hoseok’s voice snaps through the air.

Immediately, Mother pulls Yoongi into her arms, one hand pressed to his neck as if it might close the wound and stop the blood from staining his violet clothes. Hoseok, instead, comes toward me, his dark gaze never leaving mine.

‘Are you okay?’ his eyes seem to ask when he reaches me. I nod, rubbing my shoulder, just as Yoongi mutters, “I’m fine, Mom. It’s nothing.”

At eighteen, Hoseok is sharper than most —and he knows us better than anyone. That probably explains why, every time I say I’m fine, he sees straight through my fake smile and the tears I try to hide.

He pulls me into his arms, gently, tucking my head against his shoulder so no one can see me cry. No one is allowed to cry in Bruria. Crying is for the weak.

I let myself sink into my brother’s embrace for a few seconds. Hobi gives the best hugs. But today, even his feel cold. As if the closer the coronation gets, the more his body turns to ice.

The horn sounds again. Once —shadows shifting into position. On the second blast, I pull away from Hoseok, still holding his hand as I straighten to watch.

His cold fingers tighten around mine as the spears rise against the white sky. Maybe I should weave that crest, after all.

“You don’t have to look,” he whispers softly, just loud enough for me to hear.

“Why should I be spared, if you’re forced to endure it?” I whisper back, eyes fixed on the blades glinting faintly.

His grip tightens. “Because I’m the heir.”

“That’s not fair.”

From the corner of my eye, I see him smile at the small pout forming on my lips. He lifts his hand and gently wipes the tear sliding down my cheek with his thumb.

He catches my gaze just as the third horn blast sounds. “It’ll be over soon. I promise.”

His voice drowns out the awful sound of blades crashing down on bare necks.

“It’s only a matter of time.”

*

“Well, well. I have to admit, I’m impressed.”

Eosu looks me over without the slightest shame, pacing slow circles around me while twirling his goatee between his fingers.

I say nothing, simply tracking his movements, on my guard. The Silhouettes may be behaving themselves, posted along the wall and perfectly still since I ordered them to stand down, but I know very well that if they had to choose, they would obey Eosu before they ever listened to me.

And on top of that, I have no idea where they took Jimin.

Eosu struck him hard at the back of the head, knocking him unconscious the second I arrived. Deep down, I’m not even sure Jimin saw me —though there’s little chance he didn’t.

Two silhouettes carried his limp body off somewhere I can’t see, far from me. And I can’t afford to take any risks until I find him.

Eosu stops in front of me, a predatory smile curling his lips. “I never thought you’d do anything that would drag you out of that little hole you crawled into like a rat,” he spits, his tone venomous enough to turn every word into an insult —yet paired with a broad, disarming smile. “I seriously underestimated you, my dear Ina.”

His smile widens, and a violent wave of nausea rolls through me.

As a child, Eosu barely looked at me. I was the youngest, the insignificant little girl, overly coddled by her older brothers. He must have known I had no chance of ever reaching the throne, which would explain why he cared so much more about Hoseok.

Hobi.

Just thinking his name tightens something painful in my chest. All of this effort, only for me to throw myself back into the wolf’s jaws like a fool.

Maybe I should have listened to Yoongi. Sent Taehyung’s guard instead of coming alone. But that would have meant hundreds of unnecessary deaths —and anyway, it’s far too late to worry about that now.

“You look well, Uncle,” I say lightly, betraying none of the turmoil churning inside me.

I have no business being here. I panicked when I saw Jimin on the ground beneath their scythes —too many memories from my childhood came rushing back at the sight. And now, I regret it bitterly. I never should have come.

Eosu laughs —a low, guttural sound that would make my skin crawl if I hadn’t grown up surrounded by noises just like it.

“And you’re far from dead,” he rasps, resentment thick in his voice.

I smile despite myself. I hate this man so deeply that seeing him like this almost gives me satisfaction.

“Would you have preferred it that way?”

“I’ll admit, I believed it for a long time. Even if it wasn’t convenient for me —but you can imagine that much.” His gaze drifts, as if lost in thought, before he shakes his head. “You did an excellent job staying in the shadows. That’s why, when I learned you were the prince’s official bodyguard, I found myself almost… disappointed.”

I clench my jaw, but I don’t react. This snake will get nothing out of me about Taehyung.

“No, truly,” he booms, clicking his tongue as he resumes pacing in front of me. “I expected more from you, Princess.”

The word makes me tense before I can stop myself. I trap my tongue between my teeth to keep anything from slipping out. It’s been an eternity since anyone called me that.

Eosu studies me, eyes narrowed, unmoving for long seconds.

When he finally moves, it’s only to snap his fingers. I stiffen instantly. Even without seeing them, I can feel the silhouettes behind me.

“Children, say hello to our dear Princess,” he announces with a sweeping gesture. “Show her how happy you are to finally see her again, after all these years.”

Then his gaze settles back on me, a veil of darkness sliding over his eyes. “Ina, I assume you remember the Borenars. You loved them so much, as a child.”

He barely finishes speaking before a firm hand clamps down on my shoulder, pressing hard enough that if I hadn’t been braced for it, I would have been forced to my knees.

Still, I remain upright —every muscle locked tight, but standing— ignoring the searing pain in my shoulder as I glare at my uncle.

Of course he knows how terrified those creatures made me. He would probably laugh if he knew I still have nightmares about them. Right now, the only thing keeping me from collapsing in place is Jimin.

I can’t afford to be weak until he’s safe.

Refusing to lower my gaze or swallow, I lift my chin instead, meeting the stare that haunted me for so many years, among dozens of others. “Let me leave with the Prince.”

My voice comes out steadier, stronger than I feel —and for a fleeting second, I’m proud of it. Until Eosu laughs in my face, utterly unimpressed.

“Of course, Your Highness. Your wishes are commands,” he sneers, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, his eyes darker than ever.

I grit my teeth. “I’m serious. If you don’t want to start a war—”

“Oh, but that’s exactly what I want,” he cuts in cheerfully.

I shake my head, stunned. “You don’t realize—”

He doesn’t even let me finish. His voice echoes off the stone walls as he looms over me, his smile long gone.

“I have a better idea. Tell me where your brother is, and maybe I won’t kill you.”

I freeze.

He just stares at me, leaning down slightly to bring his face level with mine. The hand on my shoulder doesn’t loosen for a second —I swear it grows heavier by the moment.

“You don’t know?” I finally ask, incredulous. “You managed to find me, but not him? You’re even more stupid than I thought, Uncle.”

His features harden at the mockery, but to my surprise, he doesn’t react. In my memories, Eosu never tolerated being laughed at.

“I’m not talking about that brother, Ina.”

I wish I could say I stay as impassive as he does. That I give nothing away. That I keep laughing in his face.

The truth is, something collapses inside me.

I should have known he wouldn’t resurface for no reason. Without realizing it, my breathing grows harsher, my fists clench, and even though I don’t break eye contact, we both feel the shift in the air.

Before I can stop it, the panic is back.

“Let go of me,” I snap suddenly —but the hand on my shoulder barely twitches. My voice is almost shaking when I turn my head to glare at the purple shadow. “I said: let go.”

I clench my teeth so hard it looks like I might lunge at him. Inside, all I want is to run. If I’m fast enough, maybe I can find Jimin before they catch me.

The shadow hesitates, then finally releases me and steps back. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Eosu frown, then grind his teeth. He may be their commander, but the Borenars are still under orders to obey the royal family —whether I like it or not.

Eosu doesn’t even have time to speak before I’ve drawn the dagger from my boot and pressed it beneath his throat.

He doesn’t flinch. Still impassive.

“Tell me where Jimin is,” I growl, teeth clenched as every instinct in my body screams at me to flee.

Eosu shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “I truly expected better from you, my little Ina.” If I didn’t know him better, I’d swear he looks almost regretful as he meets my gaze. “Do you really think the Prince of Hestidia will want your help after seeing you present yourself as his enemy?”

My eyes widen in horror, my grip on the dagger loosening.

I don’t have time to make sense of his words —because in the next instant, a brutal blow strikes the back of my skull, and everything goes black.

With no real purpose, I wander through the aisles of the library. I don’t come here often, and that’s probably why it makes me feel so small every single time. Ebonwick Manor may be nowhere near as vast as the Capital Palace, but it’s hardly lacking —its grand, lavish rooms are proof enough, and the library is the clearest example of all.

The aisles stretch on for dozens of meters, the shelves climbing all the way up to the ceiling, forcing the use of towering wooden ladders to reach the highest ones. Hundreds —thousands— of grimoires, each more beautiful than the last, just waiting to be taken down and read. And yet, in the middle of all that, I only see her.

She accompanies me here every day —I’m meant to constantly refine my education, even at Ebonwick— but the more time passes, the more convinced I am that she enjoys these moments more than she enjoys me.

She’s there, her back to me, long hair gathered into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, head tilted back to better study the spines of the heavy volumes lined up before her.

Every day, she comes here with me, chooses one, and spends hours buried in it —usually until I start complaining, bored out of my mind, just to make us leave and do something else.

A sigh escapes me. I cross my arms over my chest and lean against a shelf, watching her. A few strands have slipped free from her hairstyle, swaying gently, and my fingers itch with the urge to catch them. I stay, admiring the perfect curve of her nose. Her high cheekbones. Her eyes —narrow and wide all at once, like a cat’s. Stunning enough to knock the breath out of you, yet sharp enough to read you like an open book.

Then, slowly, she leans forward. Rises onto the tips of her toes, stretching to reach a book above her head —and when I see her try again and again, it’s stronger than me.

I step closer, silent, slipping in behind her without a word. She only notices me when my fingers close around the book she’s been struggling to grab and I pull it down toward us. She startles, elbow knocking into the shelf, and instinctively my free hand settles at her waist to steady her.

When she turns, it isn’t —much to my delight— to shove my hand away. It’s to glare at me as I hand her the grimoire.

“I could’ve managed on my own,” she grumbles, though she still murmurs a very small thank you as she takes it from me.

“I don’t doubt it for a second, Darling,” I reply easily, not bothering to hide my smile when a soft pink blooms across her cheeks.

She rolls her eyes and walks away, and an incredulous laugh slips out of me. With each passing day, she cares less and less about politeness —and I love it.

Grabbing a random book, I follow her as she settles onto one of the many couches arranged in the center of the room. She makes herself comfortable, opening the heavy book on her lap with delicate care.

“What are you reading today?” I ask quietly, sitting beside her.

When I do, we end up close enough that my thigh brushes hers before settling, leaving only a few centimeters between us. If she notices, she does nothing to put distance between us.

“A collection on sewing and embroidery of all kinds,” she answers simply, flipping eagerly through the pages.

When no response comes, she looks up at me, her beautiful hazel eyes meeting mine, frozen in disbelief. “What?” she asks. “What’s with that face?”

The hint of a smile curves my lips. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t have pictured you as an admirer of that kind of… craft,” I murmur after a moment, a soft laugh escaping me.

She narrows her catlike eyes. “And what is that supposed to mean?” she challenges, one brow arched. “That I’m incapable of doing anything that doesn’t involve exercise or fighting?”

Another laugh slips out of me, and I shake my head quickly. “Not at all. But you…” I take my time choosing my words, enjoying myself far too much as I stretch my arm along the back of the couch, behind her head, while she waits, eyebrow still raised. “You like simple things. Dancing to the rhythm of your own heart. Riding or walking for hours without a destination. Sitting still just to listen to birdsong. Getting on my nerves, too,” I add when she looks away just a second too late for me to miss the red tint spreading across her cheeks. I try to ignore the ridiculously pleasant wave of warmth tightening in my chest. “Embroidery… It feels both too calm and not peaceful enough for you. I’d bet you’d be bored of it within a day.”

She weighs my words for a few seconds, giving me free rein to admire the little pout forming on her lips. I could do that for hours. She’s far too beautiful for my own good.

“I used to do it as a child,” she finally mutters, something conflicted flickering across her face before a smile takes over. “I hated it. Haven’t tried again since, though.”

“Don’t,” I beg theatrically, opening my own book with one hand. “I’d be far too afraid you’d get irritated and try to slit my throat with your needles.”

And then —what she does next makes my heart stop.

She laughs.

A soft, beautiful sound that spills straight from her chest before fading into something quieter, almost shy. Her smile grows, her eyes crinkling slightly, lighting up her face with that spark that makes them shine.

My poor heart takes its time starting again. When it does, it skips a beat —then another— because the smile that lingers on her face is even more beautiful than any I’ve ever seen on her.

God help me. She’s going to kill me.

“Min Harin,” I say lightly, because I can’t let her see just how pathetically gone I am for her, “did you just laugh at one of my jokes?”

She freezes, the red on her cheeks deepening. “Absolutely not.”

“I heard it,” I insist, leaning a little closer.

“You must be mistaken,” she denies, chin lifted.

I smile, far too soft whenever it comes to her. “You should do it more often.” Then, remembering what it did to my heart, I murmur, “Or maybe not.”

Of course —Harin being Harin— she hears me. “And why not?” she asks, leaning in as well, leaving only the barest distance between our faces.

Because it makes me want to kiss you, I want to scream —but I don’t. Even with the golden glint in her eyes that seems to whisper then do it.

I should. I seriously consider it. And when I finally gather the courage and lean in —just a little— to close the distance, my lips don’t have time to reach hers.

Because I wake up.

Alone, in my enormous bed.

I turn toward her side, already thinking of rewriting the ending of this memory tangled with my dreams —but I’m met with cold, unmistakably abandoned sheets.

“Harin?” I call out blindly, hoping to see her rise from the large armchair by the fireplace, where she always curls up.

But only silence answers me. Silence —and moonlight slipping through the window at the far end of the room, where the curtain wasn’t properly drawn. That same light barely reveals two small gouges in the wood of the nearby furniture —exactly the size of a falcon’s talons.

This is the fourth time Cat-Eyes clicks his tongue because my heel keeps hammering against the floor at full speed. Each time, I let it go —I lower my heel back down until the pressure becomes unbearable and I start again. Four times.

If there’s a fifth, I think I might just jump at his throat and rip him open. Not that it would scare him, judging by the size of the man.

One single day was enough for me to decide that I truly, deeply hate afternoons in the library when Harin isn’t here. Her brother might not be the most unpleasant person I know, but it’s obvious this has nothing to do with that.

For starters, he’s told me to relax at least seven times in the span of thirty minutes —which, naturally, had the exact opposite effect. And to top it all off, shortly after that, some servants had the brilliant idea of bringing in violinists to, and I quote, “help His Majesty enjoy himself.”

Now, I have no proof that this idea came from the lieutenant —but I have some very strong suspicions.

“Stop that, Your Highness. You’re going to hurt yourself,” he suddenly says from his armchair without even bothering to look up from his book, looking more bored than ever, cheek resting against his closed fist.

That’s it. The thin thread of my patience snaps completely.

“That’s enough,” I growl, dropping the book I’d been holding without reading onto the couch beside me before standing up and advancing toward him, threatening. “Now you’re going to stop your bullshit and tell me where she is.”

That, at least, makes him look up at me —his mask of indifference not cracking for even a second as he arches an eyebrow, and I suddenly get the very clear impression that he’s thinking, oh, look at that, he barks now?

He ignores me outright, his attention returning to his book as he delicately turns the page, despite my voice shaking with tension and bottled-up anger.

It feels like my skull is boiling.

I will never find the words to describe the distress that flooded me when I woke up this morning and realized she wasn’t there anymore. I swear I felt something stop inside me —my heart, probably.

It got worse when I questioned the lieutenant —not only because I had to push so hard just to get a reason that I could’ve killed him four times over with the anger burning through me, but mostly because that distress turned into pure, petrifying fear.

She left to “take care of something,” according to him —and I’m not stupid. Knowing Harin, she found out where Jimin was and charged straight there without a second thought. I don’t know whether I’m more hurt that she didn’t tell me, or terrified that something might happen to her.

Given that I can’t breathe calmly or stop shaking, it’s mostly the second option. It’s killing me to know she’s out there alone and that I can’t do a damn thing about it.

“Listen to me, you filthy little—”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

I stop short, startled, while he remains just as weary as ever. “What, listening to me?”

The look he gives me over the top of his book makes me want to slap myself, but I shake my head and refocus.

“Tell me where she went, or I swear I’ll have your head cut off,” I snap, pointing a finger at him, teeth clenched, fully prepared to follow through —even if Harin would probably kill me for it. I don’t care. I just want to find her. Fuck.

“Go right ahead. It might spare me the headache you’re currently giving me,” he replies without batting an eye, stifling a yawn.

I let my arm fall back down, defeated. I guess threats don’t work on him. This jerk will take whatever he knows in the grave with him.

Keep calm, Taehyung. Harin is unbeatable —it’s only a matter of time, and she’ll come back. With Jimin, on top of that. Perfect.

Yes. Perfect —except patience has never been one of my strengths.

“Why didn’t she tell me, huh?!” I explode, practically screaming, my voice echoing up into the high ceiling. “What the fuck are you hiding from me?!”

Cat-Eyes sighs as he sets his book aside and rubs his eyes. He stays like that for a long moment, as if hesitating between continuing to ignore me and ripping my throat out.

Personally, I’d prefer the second option. At least it would take my mind off things.

“She went alone to avoid moving dozens of men, that’s all,” he finally mutters —and I freeze. Why doesn’t that reassure me at all?

“Do I look like I give a shit?” I snap back, on the verge of losing it. “Tell me where she is, right now, or I—”

He stands up suddenly, cutting me off. “Listen, Your Highness. Believe it or not, the only reason I’m here with you is because my idiot sister asked me to keep an eye on you while she’s gone. So for once, stop behaving like a spoiled child and kindly go back to waiting in your chair until I tell you to stand up.”

The last words are almost spat in my face —but I don’t hold it against him. Between what he’s just admitted and the idea that Harin went alone toward our enemies, it’s not hard to guess that he’s just as tense as I am.

Still, one part sticks.

Harin asked him to watch over me…?

“Why is it her who went? You’re Jimin’s bodyguar—”

“Your Highness, go sit down before I lose my temper.”

“Lose it. I want to know where she is. That’s an order.”

He glares at me, brow furrowed. “As you just so kindly reminded me, I am Jimin’s bodyguard. I owe you no obedience —only respect.” His eyes darken then, sharpening. “So with all due respect, Your Highness, go fuck yourself.”

And with that, he doesn’t wait for my reaction before turning away, barely sparing me a glance as he picks up his book and resumes where he left off, cheek resting against his fist.

I stay there, standing in front of him, just as tense despite his endless calm, my breathing the only sound breaking the heavy silence.

Until finally —after long, silent minutes— I speak again, my voice trembling so badly it nearly gives out.

“And if she doesn’t come back?”

At first, I think he hasn’t heard me, judging by his unchanged stillness. But he proves me wrong when, slowly —very slowly— his right eyebrow lifts, stretching the scar that cuts across his eye as he presses his tongue into his cheek, forming a small bulge that alone is enough to show just how much anger he’s keeping buried inside.

The look he gives me then would send chills down anyone’s spine.

“If she doesn’t come back, I’ll go deal with those bastards myself. And after that, you’re free to follow me —if you want. For all I care.”

Even the celebrations in Bruria feel cold —like everything else.

An orchestra may be playing, but a tight silence hangs in the air, and except for Father, everyone looks like they’d rather be anywhere else.

I’ve never seen the great cathedral this full. I don’t go there very often, to be honest —the old building scares me so much that I usually do everything I can to avoid it. This time, there’s no way out.

The frilly dress Mother told me to wear itches horribly. She said it looked good on me —even Hoseok complimented it, with a stiff smile— but I think it’s awful.

Yoongi didn’t escape the reception outfit either. He looks more tense than ever, trapped in his shirt and tailored jacket. His hair has been tied into a bun at the back of his head, with only the longest strands falling down his neck —the hairstyle of troop commanders. Everyone was delighted to see him like that.

Me, I grimaced. It suits him perfectly, but I don’t like what it means. And I thought Mother was going to faint when she saw him.

He nudges me lightly with his elbow when he notices I’m paying more attention to him than to the stage in front of us, and I straighten up immediately, called back to order. Mother spent all of yesterday repeating the same things to us over and over.

That today was very important. That we had to be flawless. That we must not draw attention to ourselves. That everything had to be perfect.

Standing off to the side, she holds herself straight, chin raised like always. She’s more beautiful than ever, dressed to the nines in a gown I’ve never seen her wear before—but it’s definitely better than mine.

I really hate this dress.

As the King’s second wife, she’s always had more pressure on her shoulders —she always had to be perfect, or she would shame her husband. As far as I know, the only thing the court ever reproached her for was being too much of a mother hen with Yoongi and me —and if she hadn’t been, I don’t know how we would have survived.

In the middle of the platform, facing the crowd, Hoseok stands in his ceremonial clothes, the small crest I eventually finished embroidering stitched onto his shoulder.

Father stands farther away, his silver crown gleaming under the chandelier light, and nothing will ever hide the barely contained satisfaction in his sly gaze.

Without meaning to, I clench my fists, a shiver running through me. I hate that look.

Beside him stands Uncle Eonu, his brother and royal advisor. The rest of the royal family is positioned behind Yoongi and me, along with a few courtiers. Most of the other people in the crowd are members of high society —but they’re so few you’d think they were just peasants picked up along the road.

The country has seen better days. That’s probably why everyone was waiting so desperately for the coronation. The promise of new days.

In front of Hoseok, his back to us, an old man recites the coronation speech, quoting one by one all the lines from the great texts about regency and the transfer of power in Bruria. Texts Yoongi and I were made to study a few months ago, without finding the slightest interest in them—they’re just incomprehensible poems.

We might still be small, but that doesn’t mean we’re stupid.

I’ve noticed, for several weeks now, that Hobi isn’t the same anymore. He doesn’t play with us. He doesn’t eat with us. In fact, we barely see him at all now. Every time we do get to spend time with him, he looks constantly stressed, on edge —and he looks at the purple shadows with even more hatred and fear than before.

Yoongi said he probably knows something we don’t —and ever since, I’ve been dying to know what. And at the same time, the constantly terrified look on my big brother’s face stops me from asking.

“Today is a great day,” the old man continues, his trembling voice growing louder, and I see Hoseok hide a grimace. “The day when, at last, our king is no longer alone. The day when, like the sun finally reaching us, our heir will gain access to the ultimate treasure and aid our King in his quest. May he be all-powerful, and restore Bruria to its former greatness.”

I don’t understand any of it —and judging by the boredom painted on Yoongi’s face, neither does he. At least he’s making an effort to stay awake. Mother would kill us if something like that happened, especially after how much she insisted. We have to be impeccable.

“I swear it.” Hobi murmurs, in a tone I might have thought solemn if I didn’t know him so well. The truth is, I can see how tight his features are from here, and I’m ready to bet he’s squirming with discomfort.

I can’t wait for this moment to be over.

The orchestra changes tune, something colder, even more frightening, the sound of the choirs making the stone walls vibrate as Hoseok lowers his head so the old man can place what he’s holding with both hands —a thin crown of thorns, made of silver. It settles perfectly into his brown hair, as if it were made just for him.

I’ve seen that crown in paintings before —but apart from the fact that it’s worn by the prince who will take the throne when the King dies, I have no idea what it means. Maybe I should’ve listened better when the tutor talked…?

Some people in the assembly start to straighten up, thinking the ceremony is over. Yoongi and I exchange a look, unsure whether to do the same, but the orchestra suddenly stops playing, and monsters in purple cloaks climb onto the platform, carrying together a wide bowl at least as big as my arm, filled with a thick golden liquid.

A murmur runs through the crowd. Yoongi and I crane our necks to see better, confused.

“And now,” the old man continues, taking the bowl in his shaking hands, “I, proud servant of the Jung family for nearly three generations, will make you, Jung Eoso, twenty-seventh heir of the Jung line, the man worthy of the power and responsibilities we already see in you.”

His voice booms, barely drowning out the confused whispers growing louder. I glance at Mother, puzzled, but her eyes are locked on Hobi, fingers clenched in the folds of her dress.  Yoongi places his hand on my thigh and draws my attention to the crowd behind us —monsters in purple cloaks are moving silently, trying to restore order. We look at each other without saying anything, knowing exactly what it means.

Something is wrong.

“Now drink, young heir! Drink, so you may become the honorable warrior we see in you! Drink the sacred mead of the Borenars —drink, and show us the way!”

People shift restlessly. The crowd almost growls, held back by the few purple monsters. On the platform, Father shoots them a dark look, and as my uncle makes a small gesture with his hand, something I can’t see happens —and suddenly, silence falls.

Right as Hoseok’s lips touch the rim of the bowl.

We expect him to take just one sip —but no. The old man tilts the bowl without giving him any respite, and soon it’s empty and Hobi straightens up.

He opens his eyes again, his face more closed off than ever. And when his gaze meets mine, I swear his pupils are golden —but a second later, they’re their usual black again, and I think I must have imagined it.

The old man shows the empty bowl to Father, who nods, satisfied. Hobi stands tall, his silver crown sitting straight on his head, and the orchestra begins to play again, people cheering this time.

As if nothing happened.

For the rest of the ceremony, Hoseok’s eyes never meet mine —or Yoongi’s, or Mother’s.

And the whole time, I carry this awful certainty that something is very, very wrong.

*

Above my head, a silver fox stares at me without blinking.

Not a real fox. A fox made of fabric, embroidered into one of those horrible tapestries they hang from the ceiling —both to decorate these awful stone walls and to make the cold bearable.

When I was little, I remember servants dying of cold because the tapestries weren’t thick enough. The weather there was no joke.

I want to tear the fox apart. I want it to stop staring at me. Its eyes —tiny violet gemstones— do nothing but drag bad memories back to the surface. Memories I would rather forget. Memories that would keep me from ever sleeping again if I linger on them too long.

Maybe if I climb onto the bed, I could reach it.

No. That’s stupid. It would make noise, and anyway, they took my daggers. No way I’m touching that thing with my bare hands.

And I need to save my strength for Jimin. I don’t have much time left. The tiny window —the only opening in the room they locked me in— barely lets me see the changing landscape outside.

Night is falling.

I don’t know how long he’s been there, but one thing I’m sure of is that they didn’t lock Jimin in a room with as many tapestries as mine. Eosu wants to keep me alive. I doubt he’s showing Jimin the same kindness.

He’ll freeze to death if we don’t get him out quickly.

So I move.

I’d rather die trying to save him than spend one more second here anyway. Eosu decorated everything like the castle of Bruria, down to the smallest detail —like those awful chandeliers that barely light the rooms, casting shadows you swear are moving along the walls.

I expect a violet silhouette to jump out at me any second, and I’ve never regretted not having a weapon this much. I feel naked. I hate it.

My nightmares made sure I never forgot the horrors that happened within the castle walls. But they never did justice to the sickness that crawls inside me just from being here.

One sharp elbow strike is enough to shatter the small pane of glass, thinned by the biting heat of the Fire Plains. A violent pain shoots through my elbow —I think a shard of glass lodged itself inside— but for a moment, it pulls my mind away from the panic that hasn’t left me for hours, so I let it be. Anything, as long as I think of something else.

I have to twist and wriggle to squeeze through the opening, only to catch myself just in time when my foot nearly misses the ledge. I don’t breathe properly until I’m outside —and even then, barely.

I remember the sound of horns blown in the middle of the night. The screams of agony coming from the basements. Footsteps outside my bedroom door, like someone hesitating to enter. Blades coming down, day after day. Hands forcing us to watch.

One foot, then the other.

I hit the ground in less than three seconds, then bolt around the building, hiding in the shadows the very young night creates. I spot violet silhouettes stationed here and there, but I’m so terrified I avoid them without even thinking.

I find the improvised dungeons easily —a small tower attached to the massive one I just escaped, even more ruined than the main structure. Without wasting any time, I find a broken section of wall and climb inside, just as silent as before.

I bitterly regret that not-so-distant time when I could have curled up in Taehyung’s arms as if nothing were wrong.

A shrill sound suddenly cuts through the air, yanking me out of my thoughts, and my blood runs cold.

A horn just sounded.

It’s over for me. Someone must have seen me escape. They’re going to chase me down, catch me, lock me up again before—

The horn sounds again —three times— and I can breathe again.

Four horn blasts. The shift.

The silhouettes that roam at night aren’t the same as the ones during the day —I know that, because the ones that moved in the dark terrified me even more when I was a child.

Which means not only that I’d better hurry —but also, more importantly, that I have an opening.

So I don’t waste a single second. With a quick movement, I grab the two hooks hidden in my boot —the ones they didn’t find when they searched me— and I quicken my pace, constantly glancing back over my shoulder.

I freeze, melting into the shadows and holding my breath when I spot a Silhouette moving a few meters ahead of me. It doesn’t notice me, continuing toward the main tower where Eosu is probably waiting. I breathe a little easier when it leaves my field of vision.

My breath catches even harder, though, when I turn my head and see what it was guarding.

A small black door, fitted with a heavy padlock.

I sigh, a rush of hope suddenly filling my chest —it almost feels too easy.

And that’s when my uncle’s words come back to me.

“Do you really think the prince of Hestidia will want your help, after seeing you present yourself as his enemy?”

I freeze, breath caught—

and something inside me breaks.

There is, quite frankly, something seriously wrong with Jimin’s skull. Why the hell does it hurt this much?!

On top of that, the damn pain is making him hallucinate. Otherwise, why would he have seen Harin— Ina? Princess of Bruria?

Plunged back into darkness, Jimin rubs his head, swearing under his breath. What kind of mess has he gotten himself into this time…?

He must have dreamed it. There’s no other explanation. There’s simply no way —after everything Harin has done for them, all the times they trusted her, she can’t—

This time, Jimin doesn’t even try to hold back the tears spilling down his cheeks. It’s been at least two hours since they dragged him back into his cell —more than enough time to think. And Jimin knows that even completely out of his mind, he couldn’t have imagined that.

Harin betrayed them.

And damn it —why does admitting it silently hurt this much?

In a way, it makes sense. She infiltrated their group —her position as Taehyung’s bodyguard giving her the perfect cover— earned their trust by helping them in Ironshell, then handed them over to their enemies on a silver platter. Maybe she even used Taehyung to extract information from him.

Wordlessly, Jimin lets his head fall back against the wall and allows the tears to flow freely. She really played them all.

Now those monsters from Bruria will probably kill him —before going after Taehyung. Then, without a doubt, they’ll deal with the Kings and seize control of the Realms, just like that man —Jung— seemed to suggest. It’s over.

Jimin would like to say the pain tearing through his chest comes from the thought of his own imminent death. The truth is, his tears have nothing to do with that. He can’t believe she did this to them.

After all those moments together. Long mornings talking on the stone bench while Yoongi and Taehyung trained in the underground hall. Meals filled with laughter and warmth. Confessions. Shared emotions.

All of it —for nothing.

All of it, just for her to use them without hesitation.

Taehyung was right —Jimin trusts too easily. And now he’s cursing himself for not listening, because that trust might be what gets his friend killed.

Through his tears, he swears again —louder this time, as his sobs intensify, fueled by the tearing pain in his chest.

He can still see the gentle smile she wore when they talked quietly in the cold. The emotion in her eyes every time Taehyung looked her way.

Why does it hurt so much —to think it was all just a game to her?!

If she were in front of him right now, he would—

A harsh metallic scrape echoes through the air, and Jimin freezes as the door of his cell opens a few inches, letting a blinding beam of light spill inside.

Suddenly blinded, Jimin raises a hand to shield his eyes, curling in on himself against the wall. That’s it. They’ve come for him. They’re going to kill him. This is—

“Psst.”

A hand appears in the narrow opening —a slender hand, almost translucent in the harsh light. Jimin goes rigid, breath caught. What the hell is this?!

“Psst!” he hears again, louder this time, and though he can barely see, Jimin swears the hand is motioning for him to come closer.

His head hurts worse than ever —between that and the light nearly blinding him, he’s on the verge of short-circuiting. But he’s convinced he’s going to die soon anyway, so he figures he might as well take a risk. What does he have to lose?

With part of his mind vaguely noting that he’s never heard the violet silhouettes speak before, he wipes the tears from his cheeks and crawls forward on all fours, still struggling to release the breath he’s holding.

The moment he touches the door, the hand suddenly grabs him by the collar and yanks him violently out of his cell.

A cry of pain escapes him as he finds himself —again, for the second time today— engulfed in that overwhelming light his eyes can no longer tolerate, forcing him to squeeze them shut until he sees nothing at all.

He doesn’t even have time to scream again —a hand clamps over his mouth, preventing him from making a sound. Panic surges. He tries to open his eyes, to reach out and grab his attacker, but the pain in his head and eyes is unbearable the moment he parts his lids, and his hands close on empty air as he’s gently pressed back against the wall, pinned in place.

His ears start ringing, and fresh tears sting his eyes, still far too sensitive to handle the light.

It’s over. This person is going to kill him. Jimin is going to die —and he won’t even get to see Taehyung one last time.

“Calm down, for god’s sake,” a voice suddenly says, and Jimin’s heart stutters, because he knows that voice. But in his panic, he can’t tell whether he actually heard it —or imagined it.

The pressure on his mouth eases slightly, and Jimin takes the chance to shove the hand away, immediately coughing and sputtering, his eyes still barely open.

“Take this,” the voice continues, utterly unconcerned with his current state. Something is tossed at him, and his fingers close around warm fabric —a long coat, maybe, or a cloak. “Run east and don’t stop.” Through the blinding white haze, he vaguely makes out an arm pointing in a direction. “About a hundred meters out, you’ll find a horse tied to a tree. Take it. Go home —and don’t come back. Is that clear?”

With great effort, Jimin lifts his head. He sees only a dark shape looming over him, with strands —vines, or maybe hair— spilling down above his face. He opens his mouth to respond, tongue thick—

—but he doesn’t get the chance.

“Never come back,” the voice says, thick with emotion. “I’m begging you.”

The next second, the shadow is gone —and Jimin is alone again, surrounded by an endless white that keeps blinding him.

He’s unable to move, too stunned. As his eyes slowly adjust to the sudden brightness, enough for him to make out his surroundings, he tries to understand what just happened —and fails.

Did one of the monsters really just help him…? Or was it…?

He doesn’t find an answer —only the sound of approaching footsteps, echoing somewhere in the distance.

So Jimin doesn’t think. He reacts on pure survival instinct, his breath lodged in his throat. Clutching the fabric he was given as if it could save him, he runs. Following the vague direction he was shown, he runs as fast as he can, ignoring the burning in his legs —thinking only of running, running, for as long as it takes to put distance between himself and that madhouse.

When he finally spots a tree, he’s completely out of breath. By the time he reaches it, his limbs give out, and he collapses into a cloud of dust.

His arms shake as he tries to push himself up, but after three attempts, he manages. He lifts his head —and this time, the shadow towering over him isn’t one of those horrible violet monsters.

It’s a tall horse with a cream-colored coat, wearing nothing but a bridle that tethers it to the tree, watching him with quiet curiosity.

Jimin could cry.

The horse is really there. Just like promised. …He can leave.

With a sudden burst of strength, he stands, grabs the horse’s bridle, and fumbles frantically at the knot. He doesn’t know if he’s dreaming, but he swears he hears the sounds of chaos behind him, back in the nightmare he barely escaped. And if there’s one thing he knows right now, it’s that he has no desire to return.

When his trembling, exhausted fingers struggle to undo the knot, the stallion almost seems to help, pulling its massive head back to tug on the reins. A choked cry of victory escapes Jimin, and in no time at all, he grabs the reins and hauls himself onto the horse’s back —burning muscles and shaking legs be damned.

The horse needs only a light kick of the heel to understand. Jimin barely has time to hold on before it takes off at full speed, heading east.

As the wild gallop leaves a trail of dust and churned earth behind them, Jimin looks back one last time over his shoulder, toward the austere tower.

He casts it a final glance —but his eyes are still too sensitive to notice the figure standing at the base of the tower, watching him flee.

And even if his vision had been clear, he is already far, far too distant to make out the brown strands whipping in the wind, or to recognize the hazel eyes following him as he disappears.

“She’ll be here tomorrow.”

Those were the words Cat-Eyes spoke the night before, when dusk began to fall. A simple sentence, delivered like a promise —no need to add anything else.

Then he went to bed with a dark look in his eyes, leaving me alone with that hollow fear gnawing at my gut.

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep a wink.

I spent every minute waiting for her —straining to catch the sound of hooves tearing into the estate at full speed. I even went to her room, hoping —maybe— she might have left something behind. A clue. A note. Anything at all.

But no. Nothing.

When the sun finally rose, she wasn’t there. Not when the servants brought me breakfast. Not when Cat-Eyes joined me, looking like he hadn’t slept either. And even now, with the day well underway, there’s still no word from Harin.

I don’t know whether I want to curl up in a corner and cry, or punch someone just to take the edge off —even if only for a few minutes. Or saddle a horse and go looking for her, no matter where it takes me.

The only thing stopping me is Cat-Eyes’s expression —because he looks like he wants to do all of that three times harder than I do, and I have no desire to be the unfortunate target if he snaps.

Every second —right now included, as we sit aimlessly in the library without even pretending to read, just holding books— the words are dying to spill off my tongue.

Where is she?

My fingers itch with the urge to grab the Lieutenant by the shoulders and shake him until he finally answers me, until he stops playing dead and tells me where Harin has gone. Because I won’t last another day without her. Without knowing whether she’s alive or not.

Today, Cat-Eyes doesn’t click his tongue when my heel taps the floor again and again. Maybe because his own fingers are making the same restless motion against his thigh.

The manor is completely silent, which only makes it heavier —as if not just the servants, but the walls themselves have sensed the tension coiled inside.

Until, suddenly, footsteps echo overhead —on the floor above.

Cat-Eyes and I lift our heads in perfect sync, as if the ceiling might split open and Harin will fall straight through it.

But no. Just footsteps —hurried ones, and many of them, as though several people are moving quickly through the corridor.

I sigh and lower my gaze back to my book. I don’t even get the chance to read a single word—

The library doors burst open with a sharp crack.

“Y-Your Highness!”

A small servant rushes in, breathless, panic written all over her face as her eyes latch onto mine. I stand on instinct, stepping toward her to calm her down, but she shakes her head.

“What’s going on?” The Lieutenant rises and positions himself behind me, and the servant’s gaze ricochets between the two of us.

“The guards,” she begins, then swallows hard. “Th-They saw a rider enter the estate. They told me to warn you—”

“A man or a woman?” Cat-Eyes cuts in, one hand landing on my shoulder, his voice thick with hope.

She turns toward me, as if asking permission to answer. I nod eagerly, hanging on her words just as much as the Lieutenant is.

Please let it be her…

Slowly, the servant shakes her head. “They couldn’t tell. The western entrance is too far to see clearly from the windows—”

We barely hear the rest.

After a rushed mutter of “shit,” Cat-Eyes and I move as one, brushing past her and sprinting into the corridor. Our footsteps thunder against the marble tiles as we tear down the grand staircase. The Lieutenant is faster than I’ve ever seen him, beating me by seconds as he throws open the main doors with his shoulder and storms into the courtyard.

By the time I reach him, guards dressed in black are already in position, ready to receive our guest—

And my heart stutters when I see them.

From where we stand, the horse is coming straight toward us, but the rider is slumped too low for us to recognize. All we can make out is a brown coat clinging to the horse’s neck like their life depends on it.

“I know that horse,” I murmur without thinking, staring at its coat gleaming cream in the sunlight.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Lieutenant release what very much resembles a sigh. He recognizes it too.

It’s Lexi. The stallion of—

“Your Highness, watch out!”

A guard barely has time to shout before someone suddenly shoves me aside, sparing me from colliding head-on with the horse as it comes to an abrupt stop. With practiced ease, Cat-Eyes grabs the reins, trying to steady the animal.

“Easy, easy, big guy,” he murmurs, gently stroking the space between its eyes.

The horse snorts, stamping the ground —and it doesn’t take a genius to see how exhausted it is. The same seems to be true of the rider, still curled in on themselves.

I don’t even have time to speak —or comment on the lack of saddle or gear— when the rider suddenly tips backward, nearly collapsing to the ground if I and a few men hadn’t reacted fast enough to catch them.

And the moment I grab that weakened body, it takes me less than a second to understand.

It’s not Harin.

The pain that crashes into my chest at that realization is unbearable —but it’s nothing compared to what floods my entire body when the rider grips my shoulder with a trembling hand and speaks.

Because I’d recognize that voice anywhere. And it has never sounded so fragile.

“Taehyung… we need to—”

He chokes on his own saliva, fingers clutching frantically at my jacket, trying —and failing— to say more. Tears well in his swollen, bloodshot eyes.

“Hey—hey, calm down. Someone help me,” I signal to a few guards, who quickly assist me in easing Jimin down onto the ground. Cat-Eyes still holds tight to Lexi.

“No, you don’t understand, we have to—”

“Breathe. Breathe. Can someone bring him water?”

A guard takes off at once, vanishing into the manor. Lexi paws the ground, nervous, and Jimin still refuses to let go of me.

I’ve never seen him like this.

Even when his entire family was slaughtered and he had to flee his kingdom alone, he came back to me spotless, that infuriating smile still tugging at his lips. Now—

Now he looks like he’s crawled straight out of hell.

Someone brings water. He drains it at an alarming speed —as if he hasn’t had a drop in days— then looks around, blinking again and again, as though he can’t quite believe he’s here. With us.

Cat-Eyes doesn’t let go of Lexi for a second, his hand still resting protectively between the horse’s eyes. But his gaze is locked on the entrance to the estate, every line of his face drawn tight.

And he does not look pleased.

“Taehyung,” Jimin finally manages, dragging my attention back to him.

My teeth clench at the sight of his hollow cheeks and the burst vessels in his eyes. I’m going to kill the bastard who did this to him.

“We have to hurry. They… They’re going to attack. The purple monsters, they—”

“Where is Harin?”

The Lieutenant’s voice cuts through the air, sending a chill straight down my spine.

It no longer carries that quiet warmth —the subtle softness that usually lingers beneath his words, that makes him so easy to trust once you know him. No.

Right now, his voice is nothing but a threat. A warning to anyone foolish enough to contradict him. Rough. Final. Carried by the wind like a blade.

I turn to Jimin, waiting —because if I’m too afraid to ask, I need the answer just as badly—

But Jimin doesn’t look at me.

Instead, he turns toward Cat-Eyes. And suddenly, despite how weak he looks, his gaze hardens.

“Where do you think she is?” he snaps. “She stayed behind.”

That’s enough to draw the Lieutenant’s full attention, his thick brows knitting together. I don’t like the sharp glint in his eyes —though I think I like Jimin’s tone even less.

Accusatory. Bitter.

A weight drops straight into my stomach. Now it’s my turn to cling to him.

“What —what are you talking about? Why would Harin—”

“She betrayed us, Taehyung,” Jimin says suddenly, locking eyes with me. “She’s with them. She betrayed us.”

Yoongi doesn’t like what he’s hearing. Not one bit. Not at all. Not even remotely.

This was never supposed to happen like this. None of this was.

He doesn’t understand how he let things spiral so far out of control. He’d truly believed he had a handle on the situation —and until recently, he had. But ever since the assassination attempt on Taehyung, it’s been as if everything has slipped through his fingers. Part of him can’t help thinking this is his fault —he never should have let them take Jimin— but another part knows that thought is useless. There was nothing he could have done against them. Not alone. He would’ve needed his sister, or maybe even his brother, to stand a chance.

Now everything is unraveling. Whatever grip he once had on the course of events has been violently ripped away, leaving him powerless —and he hates that more than anything.

All he knows is that he has to go get Harin —because there is no world in which he leaves her there, in their hands. If they have to relive that nightmare, then they’ll do it together. And Yoongi has already left his sister alone in that hell for far too long.

But the plan has gone to shit.

Now, if he leaves, it’ll look like a—“What did they lock you in?”

“I don’t know,” Jimin mutters weakly, clutching the blanket around his shoulders like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart. He’s on his third bowl of broth. “Some kind of tiny room, no openings at all. Pitch black —and I couldn’t move. And on top of that, I kept hearing these… screams…”

Yoongi clenches his jaw to hide the shiver crawling up his spine.

Oh, he remembers the black rooms. They’re the worst of them all. Spend even a few minutes in total darkness, cut off from any light, and when you’re finally dragged back out, you’re blind for hours —days, if you’re fragile enough. He still remembers the plum-colored shadows carefully preparing the herbs. The ones they burned afterward, whose fumes made you black out. The perfect destabilization method.

He swallows hard at the thought of Harin enduring that right now.

He really needs to go get her. Now.

The Plains of Fire aren’t that far, are they? Maybe if he cuts through the northern mountain pass, near the sea, he could reach it faster—

“And Harin?”

Taehyung’s voice cuts in suddenly, slightly unsteady, and Yoongi is surprised by the tremor in it. He knows the prince grew attached to his sister  —but not to this extent.

Jimin has repeated it hundreds of times since arriving —so often Yoongi’s ears are practically bleeding from it— yet the prince refuses to accept it. Yoongi isn’t sure whether that’s a good sign or a bad one.

“She betrayed us, Taehyung,” Jimin almost spits, his exhausted face twisting with contempt.

Yoongi clenches his teeth and fists to keep from hitting him.

He cannot stand that word.

“That’s impossible,” the Irinian protests, shaking his head vehemently.

For a fleeting second, Yoongi thinks he looks like a child throwing a tantrum. He hides it well, but Yoongi can see the tears beginning to pool in his eyes. The prince hasn’t slept in days —Yoongi’s surprised he’s still standing at all. Expecting him to stay composed in the face of this…

“I saw her, Taehyung. Yesterday —or before, I don’t know. I was pinned to the floor, I could feel their blades on my neck —their blades, Tae, they were going to kill me— and then she walked in, firing her gun, yelling ‘I am Princess Jung Ina, daughter of I-don’t-know-who—’”

“No, that’s not—” the prince chokes, swallowing a sob.

“And right after that, suddenly no one around me. No blades on my neck,” Jimin continues, gesturing wildly. “I heard it, Tae. Jung Ina.”

Yoongi can’t breathe.

Under other circumstances, he might’ve been proud of himself for not breaking down like Taehyung clearly is. But right now, he can’t move at all.

She didn’t do that. Impossible. She couldn’t have taken that risk… She —who was so deeply haunted by those memories— she couldn’t have… willingly…?

Yes. Yes, damn it.

Yoongi has no choice but to accept it.

He knows his sister. She gets attached too easily. And getting attached to the two princes —he knew it was a terrible idea. He can’t even blame her. He himself had grown attached to Jimin, enough that watching him get taken had filled him with genuine regret —if not outright worry.

Harin would’ve done anything to save him.

Now, Yoongi feels no regret. No worry. Only contempt for the man standing in front of him.

Harin sacrificed herself for him —and this is how he repays her? Calling her a traitor at the first opportunity. Yoongi has no business being here.

He should’ve left long ago. In fact, he should’ve left with Harin the moment the shadows reappeared —princes be damned.

“She —she must’ve lied, made something up to get you released, it’s not—” Taehyung stammers, looking around as if the answer might appear out of thin air. The color drains from his face. He looks on the verge of fainting.

“They obeyed her immediately, Taehyung. She wasn’t lying,” Jimin snaps, unflinching.

“Y-you must be mistaken, it’s not pos—”

“I saw her, Taehyung,” the blond growls.

A small, broken sound escapes the prince’s throat —something disturbingly close to a whimper. His face twists, and he collapses into a chair, head buried in his hands.

When Jimin continues, his voice is marginally softer —but only just.

“She had a ring, Tae. A ring I’d never seen on her before. This huge violet stone with a fox engraved on it. And guess what —there were foxes drawn all over that mad tower. And now that I think about it, the lunatic who greeted me, Jung… Eosu, or whatever —he looked just like her. Like two drops of water.”

Yoongi clenches his jaw so hard he fears it might crack.

It’s his turn to look away, to keep from making a strangled sound —because if he does, this will end badly. His fists are so tight his nails must be cutting into his skin.

Eosu.

Fuck. That bastard is still alive?

Beyond the boiling urge to hit Jimin as hard as he can for what he just said —because if there’s one person Harin doesn’t resemble, it’s that piece of shit Eosu— Yoongi mostly wants to leave. Now.

If Eosu is hunting them, he’ll know exactly how to draw Yoongi out: hurt Harin. And he won’t hesitate to do it.

Yoongi doesn’t have a second to lose.

He’ll deal with Jimin and his disgusting conclusions later. Right now, he needs to saddle Holly and get out —showing his lieutenant’s insignia, he might be able to cross the border without questions. Once there, he’ll get his sister, and they’ll disappear far from these deranged kingdoms.

Jimin can deal with the purple shadows and Eosu on his own, if he hates them so much. All Yoongi wants is his sister.

Lost in his thoughts, he only notices the silence when Jimin speaks again, more quietly.

“Listen,” the blond begins, resting a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder. Only then does Yoongi notice the brunet is shaking from head to toe —he doesn’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad one. “I’m sorry, but… we need to face the truth, Tae. We were played. And now this unknown king —this… Jung —he wants our kingdoms.”

From his corner of the room, Yoongi barely restrains himself from shouting that Eosu was never a king, and never will be.

But he stays silent. It’s too late for explanations.

“So we have to go. Stop them. If we get our hands on this guy, we’ll control all the purple monsters —I know we can do it.”

Yoongi nearly laughs in their faces. He can’t remember the last time he’d been so naïve.

“You know where they are?” Taehyung’s voice is hollow, stripped of all emotion when he finally speaks again after what feels like an eternity. When he lifts his head, his face is just as empty —except he looks utterly broken. Like a stone eroded by too many storms.

Almost solemnly, Jimin nods, unaware of Yoongi’s flaring nostrils. “An abandoned tower in the Plains of Fire. I should be able to lead us there.”

Slowly, Taehyung nods, gaze unfocused. “Then we warn the men —we leave tomorrow, and we wipe that nest of bastards off the map.”

They stand together.

“Tomorrow, Jung Eosu and Jung Ina will be nothing but bad memories.”

Yoongi doesn’t hear the dull crack of splintering wood.

He only hears his anger —red, roaring— buzzing in his ears as he grips something with all his strength, unaware that it’s the fireplace mantel he’s just broken in half.

When the two princes turn toward him, a golden flash passes through his eyes —but he’s far too furious to notice. The atmosphere shifts.

It’s as if they’re only just remembering he’s there.

The trust that once filled their gazes is gone —replaced by something distant, almost hostile. Two hunters eyeing the great stag they’re about to bring down.

Yoongi glares back, too consumed by rage to trust himself to speak. He knew this would happen. And still, he let it.

Maybe that’s what he should hate himself for.

Harin chose to trust them. He chose to believe they couldn’t hurt them if things went wrong. In the end, he remembers the last time he was this naïve.

“Is there a problem, Lieutenant?” Jimin is the first to speak, his tone cold and cutting as he approaches, leaving a frozen Taehyung behind him.

Yoongi doesn’t move. Doesn’t answer. He doesn’t trust himself to. He just stares him down.

Her name is Harin, he wants to scream —but he doesn’t. It’s not worth it anymore. Min Harin. Not that pathetic excuse for a name they loathed their entire childhood.

“I suppose this is the moment you tell us you’re on their side,” Jimin continues, stepping close enough for them to glare at each other. “That you’re planning to kill us in our sleep to stop tomorrow’s battle, hmm? Because really, Lieutenant —you were never with us, were you?”

Slowly, Yoongi tightens his fists.

His face remains impassive, as always. “I admit, I have very little admiration for men who jump to conclusions with such arrogance.”

Jimin’s face hardens —and Yoongi has never seen such hatred in eyes that are usually so gentle.

Behind Jimin, Taehyung moves closer —and it takes Yoongi a few seconds to recognize the object in his hand as a small black dagger. One of Harin’s.

His anger spikes.

“So you are with them,” the prince says, his deep voice so empty Yoongi isn’t even sure he’s truly looking at him. Yoongi doesn’t answer.

They take his silence as confirmation.

Jimin exhales —once, twice— shaking his head. “I never would’ve believed this of you, Lieutenant. You’re impressive. I suppose this little plan —becoming our bodyguard, earning our trust— you must’ve thought it through for a long time, right? Because if she’s a Jung, then so are you. What’s your real name? Yi—”

He doesn’t finish. Because Yoongi spits in his face.

Right on his cheek, just beneath his eye.

Never breaking eye contact, Yoongi wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Later, he’ll think he really should’ve aimed for the eye.

“You know nothing,” he growls through clenched teeth, every ounce of his rage vibrating in his voice.

Jimin flinches —just slightly.

Yoongi is already turning away, toward Taehyung.

“And you,” he begins, pointing an accusing finger. “You —I thought you’d think twice before disappointing me this easily. But deep down, I expected it. I chose to believe you truly loved her rather than admit you’re just a—”

He doesn’t finish. Taehyung’s fist slams into his jaw.

Yoongi’s head snaps to the side, blood and spit flying.

When he meets Taehyung’s gaze again, his whole body is shaking with rage, his eyes burning with something lethal. He should’ve known this would end badly.

No more words are exchanged. Yoongi has nothing left to say anyway.

The only sound breaking the charged silence is Taehyung snapping his fingers —followed immediately by the creak of a door opening, and two soldiers entering.

They’re not dressed in black. They wear the royal guard’s uniform —Taehyung’s men, recalled for the search.

“Gentlemen,” Taehyung thunders, his voice rattling Yoongi’s ears, “do me a favor and give this man a tour of the dungeons.”

From the corner of his eye, Yoongi sees the soldiers pale. “But, Your Highness —that’s the lieutenant, we can’t—”

“No,” Taehyung cuts in, throwing Yoongi one last murderous glance before turning away. “He’s a traitor to the kingdom, to be executed tomorrow. Lock him up tight. And if his black uniform bothers you, take it off him —he doesn’t deserve it.”

“ ‘Rin, this isn’t a good idea,” Yoongi grumbles, still holding my hand.

I turn to him, no longer trying to hide the tears in my eyes. “I just… want to go to bed,” I whisper —not to be quiet, but because I can’t manage any louder.

Yoongi softens at the sight, but he hesitates. He hates these big parties as much as I do, and he wants to leave just as badly —especially since he saw it happen, when one of the dukes tried to slip his hand under my dress. Yoongi was the one who shoved him away. I want to cry so badly that it aches through my whole body.

But Mother insisted. Tonight, we must be perfect.

So Yoongi is going to try to convince me to go back, promising never to leave my side. It won’t help —there will always be something else waiting to scare me.

“Please,” I whisper, almost begging. I managed to lose my bear, I’m not going to be stopped by my own brother.

Yoongi doesn’t have time to respond, though —a low, cold voice cuts through the air and freezes our blood.

“Prince Ino. Princess Ina. You should be at the party.”

We spin around at the same time —face to face with a purple monster looming over us, leaving us no choice but to go back into the great hall.

Yoongi freezes, clutching my hand —but barely has time to stammer when Hobi suddenly appears from behind the figure, making it jump back.

“I’ve got this, it’s fine.”

The monster seems to nod, then vanishes. Hardly gone, and Yoongi and I rush into Hobi’s arms. He holds us without flinching. Yoongi has grown so much he’s almost shoulder-height to him —I can barely rest my head on his chest, but it doesn’t stop Hobi from holding us tight, tight, tight. After a moment, he straightens and kisses our hair gently.

“Are you both alright?” he asks simply.

We shake our heads together. Yoongi even holds out his hand to show him my tears, but I smack his fingers away. Babies cry. I’m not a baby.

Hoseok smiles softly, lifting a hand to brush my tears gently. I love it when he does that —I feel like I’m five again, when he held me in his arms to tell me stories all night.

“Hobi?” I finally whisper, almost shy. He smiles, eyes squinting a little.

“Yes, Angel?”

I swallow. Yoongi does too. He knows this is the only time we can really ask.

“Why were your eyes golden?” “What was happening earlier?”

His smile doesn’t change, but something in his gaze shifts. He strokes our hair gently, biting his lower lip as if thinking.

When he finally speaks, his voice is so low it’s almost impossible to hear.

“Nothing you need to worry about.” Then, after a pause: “You should go back to the table. Father won’t be happy if you don’t finish your plate.”

I can feel tears already forming under my eyes.

“I don’t want to,” I whisper, just as Yoongi mutters, “I want to leave.”

Again, he smiles sadly. “Soon. I promise.”

He kisses each of our cheeks before letting us go gently, standing up. “Remember what I always told you when you were little?”

Yoongi and I exchange uncertain looks. Of course we remember.

At our silence, Hobi raises an eyebrow, so I answer, “If you hear footsteps in the hall, hide in the hole under the mattress.”

“If you hear the scythes, close your eyes until someone tells you to open them,” Yoongi continues, reciting the lines we know by heart.

“And if you hear the hunting horns, run with all your strength,” we finish together, in one voice.

Hobi nods, adding only, “Run where?”

We answer without hesitation. “The hollow tree behind the castle.”

I’ve always thought Harin’s horse was a little frightening.

No, not Harin —I remember suddenly, and my chest tightens so hard that my whole body stiffens. Ina.

Ina. Jung Ina. Princess of the Kingdom that just swore the ruin of mine.

I grip the glass in my hand harder, until it shatters into pieces. Across from me, tied so tightly to a ring he can barely move, Lexi —Har–Ina’s horse —stares at me with a dark, judging eye, pawing the ground. I’ve only been sitting here a few minutes, and he’s been staring like he’s calculating the perfect angle to charge at me.

I should move. Stand up, do something, at least go to sleep —the troops are organized for tomorrow. All I need now is rest.

But I know I won’t be able to find it. In fact, I can’t even find the strength to lift myself from this wooden chair.

Only the strength, in silence, hands and arms trembling uncontrollably, to look at the emerald carved like a flower, split down the middle. To admire the ring that’s been turned into a signet, hanging on a silver chain. A silver chain that I found dangling from the bridle of this cursed horse.

I can still see myself giving it to her. I want to vomit.

To scream, hit something —better yet, someone— to shout until I collapse from exhaustion. Instead, all I can do is sit there, watching how that half-stone glimmers in the torchlight, under the judging gaze of a stallion.

That single blue-green stone seems to hypnotize me, making it impossible to look away. Impossible to feel the time passing silently around me. Until someone enters the stable, their footsteps drawing closer until they stop in front of the stall where I’m sitting.

“Your Highness,” one of my men thunders, tense, but I keep turning the half-flower in my palm. “You must come, the—”

“I asked to be left alone,” I cut him off, tracing the clean split in the flower with my thumb.

I hear him swallow distinctly, which annoys me. “It’s urgent, Your Highness. It’s the Lieutenant.”

I’m about to yell at him to leave, but his last words freeze me, instantly snapping my attention. I lift my head, sitting up enough to see him over the stall door.

“Well? What about him?”

He swallows again, gripping the pommel of his sword tighter. “He’s escaped, Your Highness. And the entire special guard has disappeared.”

I hate the great hall. I decided that when I was eight, and Father forced me to dance in front of everyone with the son of a duke.

Today, I hate it even more. Everyone is celebrating, laughing, singing, dancing—but it’s all just to hide the tension we can all feel.

There are purple monsters everywhere—pinned against the walls, posted beside the tables, near the windows. All of them wield those horrible long spears.

I’m terrified that one of them will attack and kill us all. Yoongi too, given how little he eats.

At the high table, slightly elevated above the others, sit Father, Uncle Eosu on one side, Hoseok on the other, and Mother just beside him. We’re not old enough to sit there yet. And that’s probably for the best. Father terrifies me.

He snaps his fingers. Four purple figures appear before him, so fast that my blood runs cold. “Bring me the gift for my son.”

Hoseok lifts his head, expression unreadable. “A gift, Father?”

Father smiles with all his teeth as the doors of the great hall slam open. “It is my duty to make you the greatest of Kings. And every king must prepare his heir…”

Two purple figures enter the hall, wasting no time before pushing to the ground what they held by the elbows —a girl with long hair as red as fire. I only see her face when she lifts her head —she looks younger than Hobi, but older than Yoongi and me— and I can’t look away.

Her hair is red, her skin golden. I don’t leave the castle often, but I’ve been to parties and receptions, and I’ve never seen anyone like her. I thought everyone had dark hair and nearly white skin.

I vaguely hear shouting, screaming even. Yoongi has frozen beside me, eyes fixed on the high table. Father and Hobi are yelling at each other.

Next to them, Mother has risen, a hand covering her mouth in horror as she watches the girl on the ground, barely moving. The words Usuryn princess and Hestidia are shouted, but I have no idea what they mean.

All I know is that one second, it’s a celebration.

The next second, Hoseok lunges at Father, hands on his neck to strangle him, and chaos erupts.

Everyone rises, runs, screams. Tables fly as the purple figures surge, spears threatening everyone. I crane my neck to see the high table, where I no longer see Hoseok —but Yoongi pulls me back to keep me from moving forward.

Panic rises in me. I don’t see Hoseok. I don’t see Mother. And I am terrified the purple monsters will kill us.

When Yoongi tugs harder on my hand and I let myself be dragged along, I catch a glimpse under the table —Father lying flat on his back.

I barely have time to note how strange it is to lie down at a moment like this before I see the silver crown of thorns planted under his throat.

Before I can even process what that means, the hunting horns echo throughout the castle.

Yoongi and I don’t need words —barely need to look at each other. Even without the reminder from a few minutes ago, we wouldn’t have forgotten.

“If you hear the hunting horns, run with all your strength.”

So we run.

We run without stopping, crushing each other’s fingers in our tight grip as we flee. We dodge the purple figures as best we can, take crooked little staircases to lose those chasing us. When we finally exit the building, Yoongi grabs an abandoned spear from the ground, and we run even faster.

We run. Even when we’re out of breath, even when our legs shake from weakness, we run.

Until we’re away from the castle. Until we reach the edge of the dark forest. Until we stand before the massive hollow tree.

We hide inside the trunk, out of sight, panting in silence, huddled together, trembling with fear. For a long time. A very long time.

Footsteps finally sound, loud. So loud we know they’re approaching. We exchange panicked glances, thinking it could be one of the purple monsters —the steps are fast enough— but before we can decide what to do, a hand slips through the opening, and Hoseok’s head appears, his eyes glowing golden.

Seeing him, I feel like I can move again.

We throw ourselves at him, letting the tears finally flow, and he sighs, holding us close, murmuring “thank you” over and over. When he finally releases us, he pulls us from the trunk, and this time he doesn’t bother wiping our tears.

“We need to hurry, kids, there’s not much time,” he mutters, pulling us along, running so fast it’s hard to keep up. At the forest’s edge, we leap for joy —Mother is there, holding the reins of two horses. It’s only then, thinking we might actually make it, that I notice Mother’s and Hobi’s clothes are torn, and Hobi has blood on his temple.

They don’t give us time to question it, hoisting each of us onto a horse. Yoongi clutches his spear tightly against himself, hanging onto Mother’s waist, seated ahead of him, while Hobi slides behind me and grabs the reins.

In the distance, the hunting horns still echo through the palace as the horses gallop, the icy wind hitting us full on. We’re going so fast, I’m a little scared, but I don’t dare say it.

Hobi is with us. Mother is with us. Everything will be fine, right?

“Hobi? Where are we going?” I ask after a few minutes, unable to recognize the landscape.

Seconds pass before he answers. “We’re leaving, Harin. Like I promised.”

*

Never did I think I’d be back in a castle with purple drapes. Never did I think I’d wear a dress of the same color again, or braid my hair with thin silver threads like before.

Yet often, I feared it would happen. Perhaps I shouldn’t have —Mother always said the more afraid you are of something, the more certain it will come, and now I think she was right.

She also said that no matter what happens, the stars always shine above us. Yet when I look up, I see no stars —only heavy purple drapes stretched to keep a semblance of warmth, and a silver-embroidered fox staring at me, ready to pounce.

I flinch when a Borenar suddenly places a plate in front of me, snapping me out of my thoughts. He leaves quickly, leaving me alone with a bowl of brown porridge and a wooden spoon. I had tried to forget the details of my childhood —but I remember this well. This is what they served to prisoners. And more than once, this kind of porridge was poisoned to get rid of inconvenient people faster.

I imagine my existence must annoy Eosu.

“Eat, child,” he thunders, slouching on his ridiculous throne, one knee folded over the armrest. He would never have dared this at Father’s court. He throws me one of those looks I hate, falsely warm and benevolent. “You need strength, after all these useless efforts for the crown prince.”

I grit my teeth but say nothing. I don’t touch the spoon, refusing to eat the horror they’ve served me, because I’m not that stupid.

He glares at me, and I meet his gaze. I see his features harden as he absentmindedly plays with his goatee, and I know that look. The look of a manipulator willing to do anything to get what he wants.

“Very well,” he finally says when he realizes I won’t give in. In mock-lazy movements, he rises and approaches the table where I’m seated. I try to stay focused on him and on all the shadows I know are lurking behind me, but it’s harder than it seems —and on edge, I flinch violently when Eosu snatches my bowl and hurls it against the wall with a crash.

I owe my stone-cold silence only to clenching the inside of my cheek with my teeth to bite back the scream threatening to escape.

“If I can praise the two allied Kingdoms for anything, my dear niece, it’s that at least they’ve hardened you,” his cutting tone affects me less than I thought it would, even though his mere presence terrifies me. Perhaps because I hold back from yelling that it was the memory of Bruria that “hardened” me.

I settle back almost comfortably on the old wooden chair provided, chin high, meeting his gaze without flinching for a single second.

You don’t scare me, my eyes say, even though my whole body screams mercy, let me go.

“Good, since you seem ready for business,” he growls, this time his usually falsely pleasant voice taking a low, impatient edge, “Let’s get serious.”

He barely needs to snap his fingers for the Borenars to spring into action. I don’t have time to react before the table is thrown across the room against the wall, and a scream escapes me as a thin hand wraps around my neck —cold and crushing.

Instinctively, I turn my head and tuck my chin to protect my arteries, but it’s too late —the skeletal fingers are perfectly positioned to snap my neck in a second if they wish.

I’m lifted into the air, and while panic seizes me under Eosu’s satisfied gaze, I kick and flail, trying in vain to destabilize the purple monster and make it release my neck —useless.

Soon another hand appears, and it takes me several seconds to realize it’s tying my legs with a rope, literally stopping me from moving. I try to fight, but it’s skilled, and a firmer grip on my neck makes black spots appear in my vision and my strength fade.

When I summon the courage to open my eyes, I meet my uncle’s furious gaze, eyes glinting malevolently.

“Now, let’s make this clear, little Ina,” he says almost softly, but the venom in his words is palpable. “You will answer my question… and maybe I won’t kill you.”

I close my eyes, pulling with all my strength against the fingers around my throat, to no avail, and soon a third hand appears from nowhere, grabbing the back of my head to force me to face him.

He is so close I can feel his breath on my face as he whispers the words like a secret.

“Where. Is. Hoseok?”

His voice, and the warmth of his breath on my cheeks, sends chills through me —but worse is the meaning of his question, sliding into me —part hope, part panic. He doesn’t know where Hoseok is —it’s both a relief, because without Hoseok he can’t claim the throne, and a burden, because I know he’ll do anything to find him.

And by anything, I’m sure he means kill me to get an answer. I won’t give him one.

Somehow, I manage to move under the hand choking me just enough to gather some saliva and spit it in his face. Yoongi always says it’s the only thing to do with fools who refuse to listen. It hits his cheek, but he makes no move to wipe it off.

No, he just shakes his head, disappointed.

“Very well,” he breathes, lowering his gaze. “As you wish.”

The next second, he snaps his fingers —and I’m thrown against a wall, landing on the floor with my feet tied as a dozen purple shadows descend on me.

*

The purple shadows didn’t catch up to us until the next day. Overnight, we only stopped once —at a strange little house where Hobi went to pay a few silver coins to get us new horses.

By the time we were caught, the forest had thinned, and we could see water stretching to the horizon. Mother said it was called the sea —but I had never seen it before. I find it as beautiful as it is terrifying.

“They’re here,” Mother says suddenly after several minutes of watching behind us. Hobi barely flinches, too focused on urging the horse faster —but barely. We’re moving so fast, Yoongi has already thrown up three times.

“Hoseok,” Mother insists after a moment, voice a little panicked. Hobi still doesn’t look at her. “We’re almost there.”

I see Yoongi looking up, so I do the same. Ahead of us, rising into the sky, is a tall tower with a light at the top. Mother called it a lighthouse —but I don’t understand what it’s for.

“We’re almost there,” Hobi repeats, panting. “We just need to—”

He doesn’t finish —because a violent gust of wind brings a hooded purple figure out of nowhere, right in front of us.

Mother screams. Hoseok curses, trying to avoid it, but it’s too late. Holding his spear horizontally, the figure lunges at us, severing the horses’ tendons in one blow.

We crash to the ground, clouds of dust rising in our fall. I cough, spitting, wincing at the taste of dirt in my mouth, but barely have time to complain before I’m yanked to my feet and dragged along.

Seeing Mother panic tells me everything —I run without letting go of Hobi’s hand, and when Yoongi reaches out to help, I cling to it as hard as I can.

Something slices through the air, a spear plants into the ground just to my right, making me scream and let go of Hobi’s hand. He shouts our names, slowing to catch us before pulling us along again —and this time, when he looks behind, his eyes are golden.

I can’t help it —I turn my head to look. I immediately regret it. They are dozens.

I barely have time to hiss in pain —I’ve hit the wall full force, my back took it all— before the Borenars charge, and I almost fall when I rise too quickly, forgetting my bound feet, catching only on the edge of a wall.

I curse under my breath, searching for a way to free the ropes —but it’s too late. A first purple shadow charges, rushing at me with a scythe in each hand. I dodge, rolling to hide behind a piece of furniture —and, curled up, I inspect the rope around my ankles.

A single touch tells me I’ll never undo this knot by myself —it’s far too tight. I barely have time to panic —because damn it, I’m in a dress, feet tied, facing dozens of armed monsters, and I didn’t even think to grab the spoon for defense— when the piece of furniture I was hiding behind is suddenly crushed under the weight of a Borenar. The creature remains, motionless, before my wide eyes, and only when I start inching back —still on my butt, unable to walk— does it tilt its head, as if analyzing me. I hate when they do that.

It’s like it reads my thoughts —because the second I think run! it charges, forcing me to roll aside— but a scream escapes as a claw scrapes along my arm.

Panting, I jump to my feet, ripping the torch from the wall —one end pointed, the other aflame. Not optimal, but better than nothing.

I hold it firmly, facing the purple monsters —and I think I’ve never seen so many at once. As if Eosu had gathered all the troops.

When one of them lunges at me, I dodge by leaping to the side, then, using my momentum, I only need a small bend in my knees to crash headfirst into another. I grab onto the long purple garment, holding its head with both hands and using it as a shield, braced against its back with the strength of my arms. Another approaches from behind, and I turn just in time to see the spear coming —by some miracle, I reflexively pull my legs toward me, and it misses completely. But in its wake, the spear’s blade slips right between my knees, slicing the rope as it falls.

Fueled by a sudden surge of hope, I let myself drop to the ground, my legs now free, and tear my dress to move more easily. All I have to do is extend my arm to set one of the purple coats on fire with the torch, and I barely have time to step back and take cover before chaos erupts.

One of the Borenars burns, clearly unaccustomed to this kind of situation. The others lunge at me —I dodge one, shove another against the wall, and duck just in time to avoid the blade of a third. My torch follows every move, keeping them at a distance —until one of them extends a skeletal hand and grabs my hair, yanking harshly at the strands.

I’m pulled backward with a cry of pain, and the monster doesn’t release my hair until I hit the floor flat on my back, the impact stealing my breath. I roll to the side to avoid another, only to find myself cornered by yet another; I try to stand and run, but a plum-colored wall blocks me. My arm is grabbed, and when I swing the other, my leg is swept from under me. I try to strike with my torch, but again a hand wraps around my neck, and this time they don’t stop there —a stone-hard fist slams into my temple, and I’m thrown backward by the momentum of the blow.

I can’t move. The force of the strike has stunned me, and I’m sure I felt something crack in my neck. Even when I see one of them approaching, while my entire body screams at me to flee, I can’t manage the slightest movement, and soon I’m dragged, forced onto my knees with yet another icy hand clamped around my throat.

It’s only when Eosu approaches me and I try to swallow that I realize my mouth is full of blood. I try to swallow it, but it’s useless —and suddenly I’m terrified of choking on it by accident.

“I’ll repeat my question, Ina,” Eosu thunders, his face still as marble while I teeter on the edge of exhaustion. “And I will only do this once. Where is your brother?”

This time he dodges when I spit in his face, and the large hand tightens around my throat, cutting off my breath. My vision blurs to the point that I can barely make out my uncle’s face, and I start to tremble. I won’t last long like this.

“I won’t tell you,” I spit, a bit of blood staining the stone floor. “Kill me —it’ll be faster.”

My voice fades at the end, suffocated by the hand tightening even more, as if the thought greatly tempts the Borenar holding me. Maybe if I ordered him, he’d let go —but I doubt I have the strength.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Princess,” he sighs, flicking his tongue, the hidden meaning in his words chilling me to the bone. “I’ve already waited over ten years. What’s a few more days, hmm?”

I writhe, eyes wide, fingers clutching the hand around my neck, unable to make a sound. Only the thought surfaces that I wish Yoongi were here, right now.

“You will tell me where he is,” Eosu continues as if nothing has happened. “Even if I have to ask for weeks, you will answer.”

As in all my nightmares, the animals in coats chase us, stretching out wherever I look. Each wields a scythe or spear, and as terror freezes me, I swear I hear their voices in my head.

It whispers to slow down, to wait for them, to be good and obey. But on the other side, Hoseok and Mother are shouting at me to look at them, to just run to the lighthouse, and their voices reassure me far more, so I listen. I run with them, even for several long, exhausting minutes that make me cry.

We barely reach the lighthouse, taking refuge behind a rock, when Hobi lets go of my hand and starts frantically rummaging through the bag he carried. Mother collapses, panting, and I don’t immediately notice the red liquid spilling from her mouth. Yoongi doesn’t either —because we’re both too entranced by the vast water before us— the sea.

“Mother, what is that?” Yoongi asks, pointing to the two shell-like things on the water, motionless near the shore.

“Boats, my dear,” Mother replies, her voice strangled. “They’re used to move across the water.”

At the sound of her suddenly strange voice, we all look up. I freeze at her suddenly waxy complexion, her yellowed eyes, and the blood dripping from her lips. Hobi swears —and it’s the first time I see him like this.

“What the hell happened?!” He grabs her shoulders to inspect her, completely forgetting the big bag he had been searching.

I can’t move —even when I feel Yoongi tug at my dress, which he only does when he’s truly terrified.

Hobi grabs Mother’s wrists, examines everything —her hands, arms, neck— before freezing when he finds a fine red line on her ankle.

“How did they…” She smiles sadly. 

“The blade didn’t just hit the horse.”

He steps back, proud of himself, and the hand lifts me again until my feet dangle freely. My vision is so blurred I can’t anticipate the few blows to my stomach and shoulders, nor feel the pain —they’re real enough— but what I am acutely aware of is my uncle’s voice fading into the distance.

“If only you knew how eager I am for your brother to arrive…” he hums, suddenly cheerful.

“What?” I mumble between blows, though I doubt he hears me.

“Dear Ino,” he breathes, almost joyfully, grabbing a bottle to pour himself a glass of golden liquid. “It’s been ages since I last saw him. How grown he must be! I imagine he’s quite broad now… Oh, I can hardly wait.”

He notices me staring at him, eyebrows furrowed, face twisted in horror. That only widens his smile.

“The Borenars saw him leave your dear prince’s home. Wonderful, isn’t it?” He explains, raising his glass as if to toast before downing half of it. “The whole family, reunited after so many years! Well, not the whole family —for that, you’d have to tell me where dear Eoso hides.”

“His name is Hoseok,” I growl, teeth clenched, and he nods calmly.

“I’ve been told as much. I thought by playing along and using that ridiculous nickname, you’d help me, but evidently not. I’m sorry.” He sighs, setting his glass down with a snap. I barely notice the monsters have stopped beating me, content now to just hold me in place.

“Anyway, all that to say, I’m dying to see dear Ino again. He’s about as stubborn as you, so he’ll surely refuse to tell me where your brother hides… But he’s always been stronger than you, so we’ll have more fun.”

“The blade didn’t just hit the horse,” Mom explains hastily, grabbing him by the shoulders. “It’s just a scratch, it’s nothing, hurry!”

“It’s not just a scratch, damn it! You’re going to…” “Hoseok!” she nearly screams, and he freezes, broken.

He swallows. Then the sound of a hunting horn echoes from the forest, and he snaps into action.

Rummaging through his bag, he hands me a white handkerchief. “Harin, Yoongi, clean the wound —and you, stay with us!” he hurls the last words at Mother in a threatening tone, though his voice sounds more terrified than commanding.

He resumes searching his bag as Yoongi and I bend over Mother, tears blurring our eyes. When Yoongi gently presses the handkerchief against the fine wound above her ankle, we all notice a strange green fluid mixing with the blood.

Mother gives us a big smile. “It’s okay, children. Everything will be fine.”

Yet her leg and chest twitch strangely.

The sound of horns grows closer, and Hoseok swears until, finally finding what he’s looking for, he pulls out red sticks tied with string. Mother starts coughing, spitting blood while trembling, and soon collapses, unable to stay upright. Yoongi and I cry as we try to support her, but Hoseok quickly pulls us back —and his face is even more streaked with tears than ours.

“It’s okay, children,” Mother manages to mumble, mouth bright red, trembling violently. Why does smiling seem to hurt her? “Everything is fine. The stars are always shining above us.”

I cry, cry, cry, cry. I try to hold her hand, but it’s ice-cold in mine. The string connecting the sticks crackles after Hobi lights it, and he keeps repeating ‘I’m sorry’ over and over as he drags us —Yoongi and me— farther from her each second.

I cry, cry, cry, and Mother smiles. She smiles even as Hobi finally carries us, Yoongi and me, each under an arm, to stand and run in the opposite direction. She smiles even as we get farther and smaller. She smiles even as the red sticks explode and the lighthouse collapses. And in her last smile, her lips form an inaudible “I love you.”

I can feel my blood run ice-cold —because suddenly, I am cold all over, and it has nothing to do with the ruined walls. It has, otherwise, everything to do with the realization of where Eosu wants to go with this sick plan.

He wants to torture Yoongi and force me to watch until I confess, because he knows we’ll never speak without it.

“No…” I whisper, gasping for air. My uncle pays no attention to me, already issuing orders to the purple monsters —where to position, how to attack, what condition to bring them back in…

“At the speed he’s moving, he should arrive within a few hours,” he accompanies his words with dismissive hand gestures, the scant interest he has in the situation palpable. “Intercept him as soon as he enters the Lands; we can’t risk him pulling a stunt like the young lady did.”

I barely react to his contemptuous gesture, too disoriented. For pity’s sake, no, no, no…

“We’ll send him to the dark room first, to calm him, then bring him to his sister after an hour or two.”

“Don’t do that…”

“Oh, and ready your scythes, children, I recall our young prince adored them—”

“STOP! We won’t say anything!” I suddenly scream, surprising myself with the volume I manage.

A flat silence falls over the room, every gaze —even the empty ones of the Borenars— turning to me. I stay slumped on the floor, out of breath, ignoring the lone tear rolling down my cheek.

Eosu raises an eyebrow, and I see the perfidious mischief in his eye, enough to turn my stomach.

I can’t. It’s stronger than me. I couldn’t watch Yoongi get tortured —so if I’m going to speak, it might as well be now to spare him this nightmare.

“We won’t say anything… Because we don’t know anything.” I manage to utter after a moment, my voice trembling with a sob.

Across from me, Eosu crumbles.

The lighthouse collapses with a massive boom, kicking up dust that masks our cries. Hobi runs, runs, runs, pressing ever closer to the sea, and I hear his sobs mingling with ours.

He sets us down at the edge, pulling us to run with him, breathless. He keeps glancing back but doesn’t stop.

“We’ll get on the boat, okay? And then it’ll be over, I pro—”

“HOBI!” He doesn’t have time to turn before taking a hard blow to the jaw and collapsing, stunned. I throw myself on him to wake him, crying, and Yoongi steps in front of us, spear pointed at the violet figure looming above. I recognize his stance —he’s ready to charge. But he does nothing —because the monster doesn’t move.

It simply watches us, silent —and when the wind picks up, its hood falls back, revealing a stone bear skull. My bear.

“Please,” I cry, holding Hobi tightly as he rises, his lip bleeding. “Please.”

The bear tilts its head, as if thinking. I see it lift a hand through my tears, as if grabbing something —but it does nothing.

All it does is slowly shift to the side. Just enough for us to pass.

I can’t believe my eyes. Neither can Yoongi, who lowers his leash, stunned. Hobi wastes no time. Furious, he hauls us along as we pass the bear toward the boats.

Leaning over the edges, two men watch us, one in each boat. We barely reach them when Hobi grabs me, and one man helps hoist me aboard before doing the same for Yoongi.

“They were supposed to be three,” the man mutters, just as the horns draw closer and I see violet figures approaching furiously fast.

I frown. Yoongi, Hobi, and I —that’s three, right? Why is he complaining?

“I’ll pay you the same amount,” Hobi simply replies, and the man nods before walking toward a thick rope.

Yoongi realizes before I do.

“…You’re not coming with us?”

I freeze, eyes locked on Hobi. What?

He looks at us, twisting his mouth as he searches for words, then tries a smile.

“If you don’t want them to catch you, we’ll have to go now,” the other man, on the second boat, says, and Hoseok flinches.

He moistens his lips before turning to us, his smile gone. “We’ll meet on the other side, okay? I just…”

“I don’t want to!” I cut in, tears swallowing my voice. He strokes my hair affectionately, his own tears streaking his cheeks.

“It’s necessary, Angel. I’d rather you be safe while I deal with them.”

“We’ll be safer with you!”

“I’ll meet you on the other side, I promise,” Hobi says with a small smile, tugging us one last time to hold us close. We cling to him, but it’s useless. “No sea is uncrossable. We’ll meet very soon, and the three of us can live in a beautiful house with lots of cats!”

“What’s a cat?” Yoongi whines, and it makes Hobi laugh.

“Like a little deer, Yoon,” he explains, then steps back to look at both of us, eyes shining with tears and affection. “I’m so proud of you, if you only knew. You’re the two bravest children I know.”

He kisses both our cheeks before standing. Despite our protests, pleading for him to stay, he steps back.

“We’ll meet on the other side, okay? Take care of each other.”

We barely have time to reply before the man pulls a rope and pushes a plank, and suddenly the boat moves. I cling to Yoongi instinctively as it quickly drifts from land, the wind pushing us far out, and we hold onto each other, watching Hobi wave one last time before boarding his own boat, which also speeds away —but not in the same direction.

Soon, we can no longer see the boat Hobi is on. But what we do see clearly, as we disappear into the mist over the vast, terrifying sea, are the violet shadows lined along the shore, eyes fixed on us. But they don’t come. They never do.

And when I turn my head again, Hobi’s boat is gone, and Yoongi and I are utterly alone in the water.

“What? What does that mean?!”

“I don’t know where Hoseok is. Yoongi doesn’t either,” I whisper. “We split up to lose you, he said we’d meet again—”

Eosu goes pale, and I can tell just by looking at him that he’s piecing everything together, realizing it makes sense. Because it’s the truth. “It’s been twelve years… you’re not trying to tell me—”

“I don’t know where he is. Until yesterday, the possibility that you killed him long ago still seemed very likely.”

He studies me with his gaze, as if trying to determine if I’m telling the truth —and just by seeing the rage that soon fills his dark eyes, I know he believes me.

He turns his head, his gaze lost in the void as he thinks —his entire plan has just fallen apart, without a doubt. If Hoseok is alive, he cannot claim the throne —and he had planned to use us to find him.

I feel a sudden wave of nausea. I feel nothing but disgust, contempt, hatred —for him, but also for myself, for confessing everything so easily.

For a moment, I think I see my uncle’s shoulders slump, as if discouraged. The next second, he lifts his head, and that awful smile I hate is back.

“You know what, children?” he says, all smiles, clapping his hands. “Forget Ino. That boy is just a stubborn mule anyway. Let’s change plans, hmm? I want everyone ready; first thing tomorrow, we’ll attack the princes’ manor.”

I sit up straight, struck like lightning. What? “What?”

“They’ve hidden there too long. That cursed building feels like a provocation. We’ll raze it, take those barely-crowned heads, and then—”

“Why are you doing this? They don’t know anything, for God’s sake, they don’t even know about—”

“ENOUGH!” he screams, and all the rage he tried to mask with a smile bursts forth. “Shut up, you worthless vermin! If I can’t take my crown, I’ll take theirs! These kingdoms rightfully belong to me, and I’ve waited long enough!”

I freeze, petrified. “Send the message to the troops in the South. I want the Kings dead by tomorrow at the latest. Have their heads delivered to me.”

“No,” is all I manage to whisper, trembling.

He’s going to send the shadows to Ebonwick to kill Jimin and Taehyung.

Something inside me breaks. Taehyung. Oh my God, Taehyung.

Yoongi was supposed to stay and protect him. But the Borenars saw him approach —that means he left Ebonwick. He must have seen Jimin come back alone and, understanding the situation, rushed to help. Has it already been two days? I’m sure it’s been longer.

Damn it. Taehyung. They won’t be able to do anything against the shadows, not even with the special guard. They’re going to kill him, they’re really—

I see his peaceful face in sleep, curled against me. Suddenly, I can’t remember the last words I said to him —I only remember running away like a thief, without a goodbye.

And now, he’s going to die because of me.

“W-wait,” I stammer, crawling almost on the ground, reaching out to Eosu. He barely looks at me.

“No, don’t keep them alive, I want it quick. Our guest is supposed to arrive tomorrow, and I want a nice gift for him.”

No no no no no. “Don’t… don’t do this…” I say this time a little louder, and only then do I realize I’m crying. “I beg you, don’t do this.”

When he finally turns to me, it’s with that purely self-interested gleam in his eyes that he always had when around my older brother, and I hiccup in horror.

He crouches down to be at my level, as one would for a child. “Or what, little Ina?”

I freeze.

Or nothing. I have no threat to give him. I have no idea where the man he desperately seeks is, and even at my best, I couldn’t do anything against the Borenars.

I think of Taehyung, the gentleness of his gestures every time he looks at me, his wide smile whenever he laughs. His unwavering determination when it comes to those he loves.

I have nothing to offer Eosu. Or… just—

“I’ll help you.”

The words leave my mouth before I can think twice, and I lift my head toward him, eyes full of hope. His narrow eyes squint as he considers my words, smoothing his goatee with one hand. “You’ll help me?”

“To find Hoseok,” I breathe. My tongue burns; I hate myself for saying it, but I have no other choice. This way, maybe I’ll have enough time to find a way out, while also saving Taehyung.

“I thought you didn’t know where he was?” Eosu presses, one eyebrow raised.

“He’s not in Irinian,” I hurry to say, voice so weak it’s barely audible. “Nor in Hestidia. I would know, or you would have found him by now. That leaves only two Kingdoms. And if no one’s found him, it means he’s hiding —otherwise we’d have found his body.”

His brows furrow, and I can see he’s listening carefully. I hate myself, I hate myself, but with every word, Taehyung’s face is all I see, so I continue.

“If he learns you’re coming, he’ll run again. But if I go to find him… he will come to me. And then he’ll be yours.”

Eosu stares at me, eyes shining with a golden gleam —but he says nothing. He just watches me, thinking.

I recall the softness in Taehyung’s eyes, the scent of his hair enveloping me whenever he takes me in his arms.

“You’d do that?” My uncle finally mutters, almost surprised.

My heart skips a beat. Then another. I wish it would skip them all.

“Promise me you won’t harm the Princes, and I’ll commit to finding Hoseok for you.”

Slowly, painfully slowly, his lips stretch, each inch of skin pulled until his smile stretches across his face, reaching his ears. He lets out a tiny laugh —a tiny one— like a crow’s cry, enough to freeze my blood.

When he looks at me again, his eyes are no longer just gleaming gold. They are gold.

I hold my breath. For Taehyung.

“Deal, Princess.”

Thanks for reading ! Don't hesitate to reblog, like or comment ! I always love to hear 'bout what you guys thought of the chap :) Also don't hesitate to ask if you wanna be tagged !

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An2 : The big parts in italics are flashback that are told as memories. I tried to make it the clearest I could but I'm sorry if sometimes it's a bit confusing :/

Gentle reminder that all rights are reserved, so please do not copy, translate or repost my stories. Also I do not own BTS or their actions, the stories are entirely fictionnal and does not depict real-life events or involve any actual member of BTS.

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“Harder.” The voice growls, sharp and unforgiving in the silence of the back courtyard.

Yoongi exhales, exhausted, but doesn’t let it show as he lunges forward, muscles taut, arm extended, trying to graze his opponent with the tip of his spear.

Their weapons collide. Metal cracks and rings again and again as they fight, but no matter how much strength Yoongi pours into it, his opponent merely deflects the blows, striking back here and there —as if almost bored.

And yet, Yoongi is one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen. At court, everyone sings his praises, betting that one day he’ll be even stronger than our brother. Watching him train, usually, there’s no reason to doubt it.

But today, his mind seems elsewhere.

Perched on the tree trunk they cut down so I could sit, I squirm, trying to find a better position. My butt is freezing, damn it. The air bites at my skin, sharp and icy, and even though it doesn’t snow much this time of year, the sun has been shy lately, barely lighting the gray landscape and the half-dead trees.

I’m not supposed to be outside. Mother will scold me if she finds out —but I don’t care. For the past few days, I’ve been too nervous to stay alone in a room. And even if he doesn’t show it, I know Yoongi feels the same.

Something has shifted recently. Ever since the announcement of Hobi’s coronation, really. When Father made it public, during the annual summer gala, everyone cheered —but it sounded fake. I remember Mother turning pale, and neither she nor Hobi said a word for the rest of the evening.

Since then, everything has been preparation and excitement —but mostly pressure, coming from every direction. Everything has to be perfect, down to the smallest detail. As a result, I haven’t really seen them in days. And it doesn’t help that the purple bear hasn’t left my side for a second.

Because of the coronation preparations, Yoongi was asked to prepare a proper duel, with spears —and to be sure he could win against anyone. We all know he’d win against one of the purple monsters. What frightens us is the idea that he might have to fight someone else.

As for me, I was asked to weave our crest, to sew it onto Hobi’s ceremonial outfit. The bear growled when I snapped back that I was better with pistols than needles, but he didn’t force me to weave either. I just hope he doesn’t tell Father.

Behind me, a few steps away from the fallen trunk, I can hear him move. Without looking, I know that the scraping sound is the pommel of his spear rubbing against the dirt as he draws small circles in the dust. He does that all the time, and I don’t know why. The most terrifying part is when he does it at night, standing in front of my bedroom door, the metal pommel screeching against the marble tiles. I have nightmares about that sound alone.

Yoongi throws himself fully into preparing for his duel. Hobi certainly wouldn’t want Yoongi to fight to celebrate his coronation, so I think he’s doing it more out of obligation than anything else. When I told him how ridiculous I thought it all was, he answered that maybe one day I’d have to learn to take things seriously.

It made my teeth grind —because I am serious. If they let me train, I’m sure I’d be just as good as Yoongi. When I practice in secret in the forest, I never miss my target with a pistol. And Yoongi may know how to fight, but I can hide in the trees faster than anyone. Why does he get duels, and I get stuck with weaving?

A shrill sound makes me flinch, goosebumps racing up my spine. I’d recognize that sound anywhere. I’ve heard it every week since I was born.

It’s the horn of the purple shadows.

In front of me, Yoongi and his opponent —a wolf whose snout sticks out from beneath his hood— freeze mid-movement, turning toward the sound. Yoongi stiffens instantly, jaw tight, and if we were still six, he would probably have come to hide against me.

The bear steps closer; I can feel him just behind me. I don’t move. Partly because I don’t want to. Partly because I can’t.

I want to run. I want to bolt —but I’m terrified the shadows would catch me, and that I’d be next on the list.

As if to prove the thought right, the bear places a skeletal, iron grip on my shoulder the second I try to stand, stopping me from moving at all. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Yoongi shout something at him as he steps toward me, spear clenched tightly in his hands.

He barely moves before the wolf’s spear slides under his chin, ready to strike.

I start gasping without meaning to, locking eyes with my brother. His brows are drawn together now, his expression more than annoyed. A small, pathetic cry slips from me when he keeps moving and a thin red line blooms across his neck where the blade presses. I shake my head frantically.

His eyes darken —the color they always take when I contradict him. But also when he’s afraid. And after all this time, he knows as well as I do that it’s too dangerous. Better to wait patiently until it’s over, then hide in our beds and cry in silence.

More shadows quickly flood the courtyard, all armed with spears. When I was little, I used to distract myself by trying to recognize each animal. I don’t bother anymore. The longer you look at them, the less they resemble animals. They’re just twisted faces carved straight from stone, without eyes or souls —and their lack of humanity is somehow more terrifying than their actions.

Each of them seems to be holding someone by the arm, the victims’ hands bound tightly behind their backs, so tight I know they can’t do anything but walk.

It feels like I’m trapped in the same nightmare, over and over. The shadows arrange themselves in a semicircle at the center of the courtyard, forcing the condemned to their knees, and the horn sounds again —distant, insidious.

Once. The shadows step to the left of their victims. Usually, there are only two or three. Today, there are more than twenty.

A second time. The shadows raise their spears, ready to strike. I’ve heard that with the coronation approaching, the sacrifices are becoming more frequent —to bring more luck to the heir. The thought froze my blood. And there was no one for me to cling to then.

If I turned my head just a little, I could see the dark façade of the palace behind me, its tall windows reflecting no light. And at the very top, on the fourth-floor balcony, I know I would see a man standing proudly, watching the scene with a satisfied smile.

But I have no desire to meet my father’s sly, skin-crawling gaze. So I stay still, eyes fixed on the horror unfolding in front of me.

In the distance, I see the plum-colored shadow holding the horn lift it again —but the great doors burst open, and a richly dressed woman storms out in fury.

Her long dark hair is swept into an elegant bun atop her head, and the violet jewels of her regalia gleam faintly in the weak sunlight. I know —because I’ve heard it said many times— that I have the same face as her, even if the comment is often followed by how my eyes resemble my father’s more. A detail I hate with all my being.

My mother’s face softens the instant her gaze lands on me, and she rushes forward without bothering to lift her skirt from the dust. Something loosens in my chest as she comes closer —the unshakable certainty that if Mom is here, everything will be okay.

“Harin. Thank God, I thought—” she whispers when she reaches me. Then her pale green eyes —so light they almost look gray— fall on the bear’s hand still gripping my shoulder, and she stiffens.

I’m about to reassure her, to tell her everything is fine even though we both know it’s not and she can clearly see the tears pooling in my eyes, but she doesn’t give me the chance. Her gaze snaps to Yoongi, to the blade at his throat now stained red from the blood seeping from the cut. “What is wrong with you? Let him go!”

Her scream shatters the cold silence as she throws herself forward, trying to push the spear away from Yoongi’s neck. It only presses harder, blood trickling down my brother’s throat.

Mother keeps shouting, her voice growing more frantic as none of the shadows move to obey —until another voice cuts through, much calmer, but no less tense.

“She told you to let them go.”

Half a second. That’s all it takes for the two plum shadows to release us —Yoongi and me— after Hoseok’s voice snaps through the air.

Immediately, Mother pulls Yoongi into her arms, one hand pressed to his neck as if it might close the wound and stop the blood from staining his violet clothes. Hoseok, instead, comes toward me, his dark gaze never leaving mine.

‘Are you okay?’ his eyes seem to ask when he reaches me. I nod, rubbing my shoulder, just as Yoongi mutters, “I’m fine, Mom. It’s nothing.”

At eighteen, Hoseok is sharper than most —and he knows us better than anyone. That probably explains why, every time I say I’m fine, he sees straight through my fake smile and the tears I try to hide.

He pulls me into his arms, gently, tucking my head against his shoulder so no one can see me cry. No one is allowed to cry in Bruria. Crying is for the weak.

I let myself sink into my brother’s embrace for a few seconds. Hobi gives the best hugs. But today, even his feel cold. As if the closer the coronation gets, the more his body turns to ice.

The horn sounds again. Once —shadows shifting into position. On the second blast, I pull away from Hoseok, still holding his hand as I straighten to watch.

His cold fingers tighten around mine as the spears rise against the white sky. Maybe I should weave that crest, after all.

“You don’t have to look,” he whispers softly, just loud enough for me to hear.

“Why should I be spared, if you’re forced to endure it?” I whisper back, eyes fixed on the blades glinting faintly.

His grip tightens. “Because I’m the heir.”

“That’s not fair.”

From the corner of my eye, I see him smile at the small pout forming on my lips. He lifts his hand and gently wipes the tear sliding down my cheek with his thumb.

He catches my gaze just as the third horn blast sounds. “It’ll be over soon. I promise.”

His voice drowns out the awful sound of blades crashing down on bare necks.

“It’s only a matter of time.”

*

“Well, well. I have to admit, I’m impressed.”

Eosu looks me over without the slightest shame, pacing slow circles around me while twirling his goatee between his fingers.

I say nothing, simply tracking his movements, on my guard. The Silhouettes may be behaving themselves, posted along the wall and perfectly still since I ordered them to stand down, but I know very well that if they had to choose, they would obey Eosu before they ever listened to me.

And on top of that, I have no idea where they took Jimin.

Eosu struck him hard at the back of the head, knocking him unconscious the second I arrived. Deep down, I’m not even sure Jimin saw me —though there’s little chance he didn’t.

Two silhouettes carried his limp body off somewhere I can’t see, far from me. And I can’t afford to take any risks until I find him.

Eosu stops in front of me, a predatory smile curling his lips. “I never thought you’d do anything that would drag you out of that little hole you crawled into like a rat,” he spits, his tone venomous enough to turn every word into an insult —yet paired with a broad, disarming smile. “I seriously underestimated you, my dear Ina.”

His smile widens, and a violent wave of nausea rolls through me.

As a child, Eosu barely looked at me. I was the youngest, the insignificant little girl, overly coddled by her older brothers. He must have known I had no chance of ever reaching the throne, which would explain why he cared so much more about Hoseok.

Hobi.

Just thinking his name tightens something painful in my chest. All of this effort, only for me to throw myself back into the wolf’s jaws like a fool.

Maybe I should have listened to Yoongi. Sent Taehyung’s guard instead of coming alone. But that would have meant hundreds of unnecessary deaths —and anyway, it’s far too late to worry about that now.

“You look well, Uncle,” I say lightly, betraying none of the turmoil churning inside me.

I have no business being here. I panicked when I saw Jimin on the ground beneath their scythes —too many memories from my childhood came rushing back at the sight. And now, I regret it bitterly. I never should have come.

Eosu laughs —a low, guttural sound that would make my skin crawl if I hadn’t grown up surrounded by noises just like it.

“And you’re far from dead,” he rasps, resentment thick in his voice.

I smile despite myself. I hate this man so deeply that seeing him like this almost gives me satisfaction.

“Would you have preferred it that way?”

“I’ll admit, I believed it for a long time. Even if it wasn’t convenient for me —but you can imagine that much.” His gaze drifts, as if lost in thought, before he shakes his head. “You did an excellent job staying in the shadows. That’s why, when I learned you were the prince’s official bodyguard, I found myself almost… disappointed.”

I clench my jaw, but I don’t react. This snake will get nothing out of me about Taehyung.

“No, truly,” he booms, clicking his tongue as he resumes pacing in front of me. “I expected more from you, Princess.”

The word makes me tense before I can stop myself. I trap my tongue between my teeth to keep anything from slipping out. It’s been an eternity since anyone called me that.

Eosu studies me, eyes narrowed, unmoving for long seconds.

When he finally moves, it’s only to snap his fingers. I stiffen instantly. Even without seeing them, I can feel the silhouettes behind me.

“Children, say hello to our dear Princess,” he announces with a sweeping gesture. “Show her how happy you are to finally see her again, after all these years.”

Then his gaze settles back on me, a veil of darkness sliding over his eyes. “Ina, I assume you remember the Borenars. You loved them so much, as a child.”

He barely finishes speaking before a firm hand clamps down on my shoulder, pressing hard enough that if I hadn’t been braced for it, I would have been forced to my knees.

Still, I remain upright —every muscle locked tight, but standing— ignoring the searing pain in my shoulder as I glare at my uncle.

Of course he knows how terrified those creatures made me. He would probably laugh if he knew I still have nightmares about them. Right now, the only thing keeping me from collapsing in place is Jimin.

I can’t afford to be weak until he’s safe.

Refusing to lower my gaze or swallow, I lift my chin instead, meeting the stare that haunted me for so many years, among dozens of others. “Let me leave with the Prince.”

My voice comes out steadier, stronger than I feel —and for a fleeting second, I’m proud of it. Until Eosu laughs in my face, utterly unimpressed.

“Of course, Your Highness. Your wishes are commands,” he sneers, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, his eyes darker than ever.

I grit my teeth. “I’m serious. If you don’t want to start a war—”

“Oh, but that’s exactly what I want,” he cuts in cheerfully.

I shake my head, stunned. “You don’t realize—”

He doesn’t even let me finish. His voice echoes off the stone walls as he looms over me, his smile long gone.

“I have a better idea. Tell me where your brother is, and maybe I won’t kill you.”

I freeze.

He just stares at me, leaning down slightly to bring his face level with mine. The hand on my shoulder doesn’t loosen for a second —I swear it grows heavier by the moment.

“You don’t know?” I finally ask, incredulous. “You managed to find me, but not him? You’re even more stupid than I thought, Uncle.”

His features harden at the mockery, but to my surprise, he doesn’t react. In my memories, Eosu never tolerated being laughed at.

“I’m not talking about that brother, Ina.”

I wish I could say I stay as impassive as he does. That I give nothing away. That I keep laughing in his face.

The truth is, something collapses inside me.

I should have known he wouldn’t resurface for no reason. Without realizing it, my breathing grows harsher, my fists clench, and even though I don’t break eye contact, we both feel the shift in the air.

Before I can stop it, the panic is back.

“Let go of me,” I snap suddenly —but the hand on my shoulder barely twitches. My voice is almost shaking when I turn my head to glare at the purple shadow. “I said: let go.”

I clench my teeth so hard it looks like I might lunge at him. Inside, all I want is to run. If I’m fast enough, maybe I can find Jimin before they catch me.

The shadow hesitates, then finally releases me and steps back. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Eosu frown, then grind his teeth. He may be their commander, but the Borenars are still under orders to obey the royal family —whether I like it or not.

Eosu doesn’t even have time to speak before I’ve drawn the dagger from my boot and pressed it beneath his throat.

He doesn’t flinch. Still impassive.

“Tell me where Jimin is,” I growl, teeth clenched as every instinct in my body screams at me to flee.

Eosu shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “I truly expected better from you, my little Ina.” If I didn’t know him better, I’d swear he looks almost regretful as he meets my gaze. “Do you really think the Prince of Hestidia will want your help after seeing you present yourself as his enemy?”

My eyes widen in horror, my grip on the dagger loosening.

I don’t have time to make sense of his words —because in the next instant, a brutal blow strikes the back of my skull, and everything goes black.

With no real purpose, I wander through the aisles of the library. I don’t come here often, and that’s probably why it makes me feel so small every single time. Ebonwick Manor may be nowhere near as vast as the Capital Palace, but it’s hardly lacking —its grand, lavish rooms are proof enough, and the library is the clearest example of all.

The aisles stretch on for dozens of meters, the shelves climbing all the way up to the ceiling, forcing the use of towering wooden ladders to reach the highest ones. Hundreds —thousands— of grimoires, each more beautiful than the last, just waiting to be taken down and read. And yet, in the middle of all that, I only see her.

She accompanies me here every day —I’m meant to constantly refine my education, even at Ebonwick— but the more time passes, the more convinced I am that she enjoys these moments more than she enjoys me.

She’s there, her back to me, long hair gathered into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, head tilted back to better study the spines of the heavy volumes lined up before her.

Every day, she comes here with me, chooses one, and spends hours buried in it —usually until I start complaining, bored out of my mind, just to make us leave and do something else.

A sigh escapes me. I cross my arms over my chest and lean against a shelf, watching her. A few strands have slipped free from her hairstyle, swaying gently, and my fingers itch with the urge to catch them. I stay, admiring the perfect curve of her nose. Her high cheekbones. Her eyes —narrow and wide all at once, like a cat’s. Stunning enough to knock the breath out of you, yet sharp enough to read you like an open book.

Then, slowly, she leans forward. Rises onto the tips of her toes, stretching to reach a book above her head —and when I see her try again and again, it’s stronger than me.

I step closer, silent, slipping in behind her without a word. She only notices me when my fingers close around the book she’s been struggling to grab and I pull it down toward us. She startles, elbow knocking into the shelf, and instinctively my free hand settles at her waist to steady her.

When she turns, it isn’t —much to my delight— to shove my hand away. It’s to glare at me as I hand her the grimoire.

“I could’ve managed on my own,” she grumbles, though she still murmurs a very small thank you as she takes it from me.

“I don’t doubt it for a second, Darling,” I reply easily, not bothering to hide my smile when a soft pink blooms across her cheeks.

She rolls her eyes and walks away, and an incredulous laugh slips out of me. With each passing day, she cares less and less about politeness —and I love it.

Grabbing a random book, I follow her as she settles onto one of the many couches arranged in the center of the room. She makes herself comfortable, opening the heavy book on her lap with delicate care.

“What are you reading today?” I ask quietly, sitting beside her.

When I do, we end up close enough that my thigh brushes hers before settling, leaving only a few centimeters between us. If she notices, she does nothing to put distance between us.

“A collection on sewing and embroidery of all kinds,” she answers simply, flipping eagerly through the pages.

When no response comes, she looks up at me, her beautiful hazel eyes meeting mine, frozen in disbelief. “What?” she asks. “What’s with that face?”

The hint of a smile curves my lips. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t have pictured you as an admirer of that kind of… craft,” I murmur after a moment, a soft laugh escaping me.

She narrows her catlike eyes. “And what is that supposed to mean?” she challenges, one brow arched. “That I’m incapable of doing anything that doesn’t involve exercise or fighting?”

Another laugh slips out of me, and I shake my head quickly. “Not at all. But you…” I take my time choosing my words, enjoying myself far too much as I stretch my arm along the back of the couch, behind her head, while she waits, eyebrow still raised. “You like simple things. Dancing to the rhythm of your own heart. Riding or walking for hours without a destination. Sitting still just to listen to birdsong. Getting on my nerves, too,” I add when she looks away just a second too late for me to miss the red tint spreading across her cheeks. I try to ignore the ridiculously pleasant wave of warmth tightening in my chest. “Embroidery… It feels both too calm and not peaceful enough for you. I’d bet you’d be bored of it within a day.”

She weighs my words for a few seconds, giving me free rein to admire the little pout forming on her lips. I could do that for hours. She’s far too beautiful for my own good.

“I used to do it as a child,” she finally mutters, something conflicted flickering across her face before a smile takes over. “I hated it. Haven’t tried again since, though.”

“Don’t,” I beg theatrically, opening my own book with one hand. “I’d be far too afraid you’d get irritated and try to slit my throat with your needles.”

And then —what she does next makes my heart stop.

She laughs.

A soft, beautiful sound that spills straight from her chest before fading into something quieter, almost shy. Her smile grows, her eyes crinkling slightly, lighting up her face with that spark that makes them shine.

My poor heart takes its time starting again. When it does, it skips a beat —then another— because the smile that lingers on her face is even more beautiful than any I’ve ever seen on her.

God help me. She’s going to kill me.

“Min Harin,” I say lightly, because I can’t let her see just how pathetically gone I am for her, “did you just laugh at one of my jokes?”

She freezes, the red on her cheeks deepening. “Absolutely not.”

“I heard it,” I insist, leaning a little closer.

“You must be mistaken,” she denies, chin lifted.

I smile, far too soft whenever it comes to her. “You should do it more often.” Then, remembering what it did to my heart, I murmur, “Or maybe not.”

Of course —Harin being Harin— she hears me. “And why not?” she asks, leaning in as well, leaving only the barest distance between our faces.

Because it makes me want to kiss you, I want to scream —but I don’t. Even with the golden glint in her eyes that seems to whisper then do it.

I should. I seriously consider it. And when I finally gather the courage and lean in —just a little— to close the distance, my lips don’t have time to reach hers.

Because I wake up.

Alone, in my enormous bed.

I turn toward her side, already thinking of rewriting the ending of this memory tangled with my dreams —but I’m met with cold, unmistakably abandoned sheets.

“Harin?” I call out blindly, hoping to see her rise from the large armchair by the fireplace, where she always curls up.

But only silence answers me. Silence —and moonlight slipping through the window at the far end of the room, where the curtain wasn’t properly drawn. That same light barely reveals two small gouges in the wood of the nearby furniture —exactly the size of a falcon’s talons.

This is the fourth time Cat-Eyes clicks his tongue because my heel keeps hammering against the floor at full speed. Each time, I let it go —I lower my heel back down until the pressure becomes unbearable and I start again. Four times.

If there’s a fifth, I think I might just jump at his throat and rip him open. Not that it would scare him, judging by the size of the man.

One single day was enough for me to decide that I truly, deeply hate afternoons in the library when Harin isn’t here. Her brother might not be the most unpleasant person I know, but it’s obvious this has nothing to do with that.

For starters, he’s told me to relax at least seven times in the span of thirty minutes —which, naturally, had the exact opposite effect. And to top it all off, shortly after that, some servants had the brilliant idea of bringing in violinists to, and I quote, “help His Majesty enjoy himself.”

Now, I have no proof that this idea came from the lieutenant —but I have some very strong suspicions.

“Stop that, Your Highness. You’re going to hurt yourself,” he suddenly says from his armchair without even bothering to look up from his book, looking more bored than ever, cheek resting against his closed fist.

That’s it. The thin thread of my patience snaps completely.

“That’s enough,” I growl, dropping the book I’d been holding without reading onto the couch beside me before standing up and advancing toward him, threatening. “Now you’re going to stop your bullshit and tell me where she is.”

That, at least, makes him look up at me —his mask of indifference not cracking for even a second as he arches an eyebrow, and I suddenly get the very clear impression that he’s thinking, oh, look at that, he barks now?

He ignores me outright, his attention returning to his book as he delicately turns the page, despite my voice shaking with tension and bottled-up anger.

It feels like my skull is boiling.

I will never find the words to describe the distress that flooded me when I woke up this morning and realized she wasn’t there anymore. I swear I felt something stop inside me —my heart, probably.

It got worse when I questioned the lieutenant —not only because I had to push so hard just to get a reason that I could’ve killed him four times over with the anger burning through me, but mostly because that distress turned into pure, petrifying fear.

She left to “take care of something,” according to him —and I’m not stupid. Knowing Harin, she found out where Jimin was and charged straight there without a second thought. I don’t know whether I’m more hurt that she didn’t tell me, or terrified that something might happen to her.

Given that I can’t breathe calmly or stop shaking, it’s mostly the second option. It’s killing me to know she’s out there alone and that I can’t do a damn thing about it.

“Listen to me, you filthy little—”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

I stop short, startled, while he remains just as weary as ever. “What, listening to me?”

The look he gives me over the top of his book makes me want to slap myself, but I shake my head and refocus.

“Tell me where she went, or I swear I’ll have your head cut off,” I snap, pointing a finger at him, teeth clenched, fully prepared to follow through —even if Harin would probably kill me for it. I don’t care. I just want to find her. Fuck.

“Go right ahead. It might spare me the headache you’re currently giving me,” he replies without batting an eye, stifling a yawn.

I let my arm fall back down, defeated. I guess threats don’t work on him. This jerk will take whatever he knows in the grave with him.

Keep calm, Taehyung. Harin is unbeatable —it’s only a matter of time, and she’ll come back. With Jimin, on top of that. Perfect.

Yes. Perfect —except patience has never been one of my strengths.

“Why didn’t she tell me, huh?!” I explode, practically screaming, my voice echoing up into the high ceiling. “What the fuck are you hiding from me?!”

Cat-Eyes sighs as he sets his book aside and rubs his eyes. He stays like that for a long moment, as if hesitating between continuing to ignore me and ripping my throat out.

Personally, I’d prefer the second option. At least it would take my mind off things.

“She went alone to avoid moving dozens of men, that’s all,” he finally mutters —and I freeze. Why doesn’t that reassure me at all?

“Do I look like I give a shit?” I snap back, on the verge of losing it. “Tell me where she is, right now, or I—”

He stands up suddenly, cutting me off. “Listen, Your Highness. Believe it or not, the only reason I’m here with you is because my idiot sister asked me to keep an eye on you while she’s gone. So for once, stop behaving like a spoiled child and kindly go back to waiting in your chair until I tell you to stand up.”

The last words are almost spat in my face —but I don’t hold it against him. Between what he’s just admitted and the idea that Harin went alone toward our enemies, it’s not hard to guess that he’s just as tense as I am.

Still, one part sticks.

Harin asked him to watch over me…?

“Why is it her who went? You’re Jimin’s bodyguar—”

“Your Highness, go sit down before I lose my temper.”

“Lose it. I want to know where she is. That’s an order.”

He glares at me, brow furrowed. “As you just so kindly reminded me, I am Jimin’s bodyguard. I owe you no obedience —only respect.” His eyes darken then, sharpening. “So with all due respect, Your Highness, go fuck yourself.”

And with that, he doesn’t wait for my reaction before turning away, barely sparing me a glance as he picks up his book and resumes where he left off, cheek resting against his fist.

I stay there, standing in front of him, just as tense despite his endless calm, my breathing the only sound breaking the heavy silence.

Until finally —after long, silent minutes— I speak again, my voice trembling so badly it nearly gives out.

“And if she doesn’t come back?”

At first, I think he hasn’t heard me, judging by his unchanged stillness. But he proves me wrong when, slowly —very slowly— his right eyebrow lifts, stretching the scar that cuts across his eye as he presses his tongue into his cheek, forming a small bulge that alone is enough to show just how much anger he’s keeping buried inside.

The look he gives me then would send chills down anyone’s spine.

“If she doesn’t come back, I’ll go deal with those bastards myself. And after that, you’re free to follow me —if you want. For all I care.”

Even the celebrations in Bruria feel cold —like everything else.

An orchestra may be playing, but a tight silence hangs in the air, and except for Father, everyone looks like they’d rather be anywhere else.

I’ve never seen the great cathedral this full. I don’t go there very often, to be honest —the old building scares me so much that I usually do everything I can to avoid it. This time, there’s no way out.

The frilly dress Mother told me to wear itches horribly. She said it looked good on me —even Hoseok complimented it, with a stiff smile— but I think it’s awful.

Yoongi didn’t escape the reception outfit either. He looks more tense than ever, trapped in his shirt and tailored jacket. His hair has been tied into a bun at the back of his head, with only the longest strands falling down his neck —the hairstyle of troop commanders. Everyone was delighted to see him like that.

Me, I grimaced. It suits him perfectly, but I don’t like what it means. And I thought Mother was going to faint when she saw him.

He nudges me lightly with his elbow when he notices I’m paying more attention to him than to the stage in front of us, and I straighten up immediately, called back to order. Mother spent all of yesterday repeating the same things to us over and over.

That today was very important. That we had to be flawless. That we must not draw attention to ourselves. That everything had to be perfect.

Standing off to the side, she holds herself straight, chin raised like always. She’s more beautiful than ever, dressed to the nines in a gown I’ve never seen her wear before—but it’s definitely better than mine.

I really hate this dress.

As the King’s second wife, she’s always had more pressure on her shoulders —she always had to be perfect, or she would shame her husband. As far as I know, the only thing the court ever reproached her for was being too much of a mother hen with Yoongi and me —and if she hadn’t been, I don’t know how we would have survived.

In the middle of the platform, facing the crowd, Hoseok stands in his ceremonial clothes, the small crest I eventually finished embroidering stitched onto his shoulder.

Father stands farther away, his silver crown gleaming under the chandelier light, and nothing will ever hide the barely contained satisfaction in his sly gaze.

Without meaning to, I clench my fists, a shiver running through me. I hate that look.

Beside him stands Uncle Eonu, his brother and royal advisor. The rest of the royal family is positioned behind Yoongi and me, along with a few courtiers. Most of the other people in the crowd are members of high society —but they’re so few you’d think they were just peasants picked up along the road.

The country has seen better days. That’s probably why everyone was waiting so desperately for the coronation. The promise of new days.

In front of Hoseok, his back to us, an old man recites the coronation speech, quoting one by one all the lines from the great texts about regency and the transfer of power in Bruria. Texts Yoongi and I were made to study a few months ago, without finding the slightest interest in them—they’re just incomprehensible poems.

We might still be small, but that doesn’t mean we’re stupid.

I’ve noticed, for several weeks now, that Hobi isn’t the same anymore. He doesn’t play with us. He doesn’t eat with us. In fact, we barely see him at all now. Every time we do get to spend time with him, he looks constantly stressed, on edge —and he looks at the purple shadows with even more hatred and fear than before.

Yoongi said he probably knows something we don’t —and ever since, I’ve been dying to know what. And at the same time, the constantly terrified look on my big brother’s face stops me from asking.

“Today is a great day,” the old man continues, his trembling voice growing louder, and I see Hoseok hide a grimace. “The day when, at last, our king is no longer alone. The day when, like the sun finally reaching us, our heir will gain access to the ultimate treasure and aid our King in his quest. May he be all-powerful, and restore Bruria to its former greatness.”

I don’t understand any of it —and judging by the boredom painted on Yoongi’s face, neither does he. At least he’s making an effort to stay awake. Mother would kill us if something like that happened, especially after how much she insisted. We have to be impeccable.

“I swear it.” Hobi murmurs, in a tone I might have thought solemn if I didn’t know him so well. The truth is, I can see how tight his features are from here, and I’m ready to bet he’s squirming with discomfort.

I can’t wait for this moment to be over.

The orchestra changes tune, something colder, even more frightening, the sound of the choirs making the stone walls vibrate as Hoseok lowers his head so the old man can place what he’s holding with both hands —a thin crown of thorns, made of silver. It settles perfectly into his brown hair, as if it were made just for him.

I’ve seen that crown in paintings before —but apart from the fact that it’s worn by the prince who will take the throne when the King dies, I have no idea what it means. Maybe I should’ve listened better when the tutor talked…?

Some people in the assembly start to straighten up, thinking the ceremony is over. Yoongi and I exchange a look, unsure whether to do the same, but the orchestra suddenly stops playing, and monsters in purple cloaks climb onto the platform, carrying together a wide bowl at least as big as my arm, filled with a thick golden liquid.

A murmur runs through the crowd. Yoongi and I crane our necks to see better, confused.

“And now,” the old man continues, taking the bowl in his shaking hands, “I, proud servant of the Jung family for nearly three generations, will make you, Jung Eoso, twenty-seventh heir of the Jung line, the man worthy of the power and responsibilities we already see in you.”

His voice booms, barely drowning out the confused whispers growing louder. I glance at Mother, puzzled, but her eyes are locked on Hobi, fingers clenched in the folds of her dress.  Yoongi places his hand on my thigh and draws my attention to the crowd behind us —monsters in purple cloaks are moving silently, trying to restore order. We look at each other without saying anything, knowing exactly what it means.

Something is wrong.

“Now drink, young heir! Drink, so you may become the honorable warrior we see in you! Drink the sacred mead of the Borenars —drink, and show us the way!”

People shift restlessly. The crowd almost growls, held back by the few purple monsters. On the platform, Father shoots them a dark look, and as my uncle makes a small gesture with his hand, something I can’t see happens —and suddenly, silence falls.

Right as Hoseok’s lips touch the rim of the bowl.

We expect him to take just one sip —but no. The old man tilts the bowl without giving him any respite, and soon it’s empty and Hobi straightens up.

He opens his eyes again, his face more closed off than ever. And when his gaze meets mine, I swear his pupils are golden —but a second later, they’re their usual black again, and I think I must have imagined it.

The old man shows the empty bowl to Father, who nods, satisfied. Hobi stands tall, his silver crown sitting straight on his head, and the orchestra begins to play again, people cheering this time.

As if nothing happened.

For the rest of the ceremony, Hoseok’s eyes never meet mine —or Yoongi’s, or Mother’s.

And the whole time, I carry this awful certainty that something is very, very wrong.

*

Above my head, a silver fox stares at me without blinking.

Not a real fox. A fox made of fabric, embroidered into one of those horrible tapestries they hang from the ceiling —both to decorate these awful stone walls and to make the cold bearable.

When I was little, I remember servants dying of cold because the tapestries weren’t thick enough. The weather there was no joke.

I want to tear the fox apart. I want it to stop staring at me. Its eyes —tiny violet gemstones— do nothing but drag bad memories back to the surface. Memories I would rather forget. Memories that would keep me from ever sleeping again if I linger on them too long.

Maybe if I climb onto the bed, I could reach it.

No. That’s stupid. It would make noise, and anyway, they took my daggers. No way I’m touching that thing with my bare hands.

And I need to save my strength for Jimin. I don’t have much time left. The tiny window —the only opening in the room they locked me in— barely lets me see the changing landscape outside.

Night is falling.

I don’t know how long he’s been there, but one thing I’m sure of is that they didn’t lock Jimin in a room with as many tapestries as mine. Eosu wants to keep me alive. I doubt he’s showing Jimin the same kindness.

He’ll freeze to death if we don’t get him out quickly.

So I move.

I’d rather die trying to save him than spend one more second here anyway. Eosu decorated everything like the castle of Bruria, down to the smallest detail —like those awful chandeliers that barely light the rooms, casting shadows you swear are moving along the walls.

I expect a violet silhouette to jump out at me any second, and I’ve never regretted not having a weapon this much. I feel naked. I hate it.

My nightmares made sure I never forgot the horrors that happened within the castle walls. But they never did justice to the sickness that crawls inside me just from being here.

One sharp elbow strike is enough to shatter the small pane of glass, thinned by the biting heat of the Fire Plains. A violent pain shoots through my elbow —I think a shard of glass lodged itself inside— but for a moment, it pulls my mind away from the panic that hasn’t left me for hours, so I let it be. Anything, as long as I think of something else.

I have to twist and wriggle to squeeze through the opening, only to catch myself just in time when my foot nearly misses the ledge. I don’t breathe properly until I’m outside —and even then, barely.

I remember the sound of horns blown in the middle of the night. The screams of agony coming from the basements. Footsteps outside my bedroom door, like someone hesitating to enter. Blades coming down, day after day. Hands forcing us to watch.

One foot, then the other.

I hit the ground in less than three seconds, then bolt around the building, hiding in the shadows the very young night creates. I spot violet silhouettes stationed here and there, but I’m so terrified I avoid them without even thinking.

I find the improvised dungeons easily —a small tower attached to the massive one I just escaped, even more ruined than the main structure. Without wasting any time, I find a broken section of wall and climb inside, just as silent as before.

I bitterly regret that not-so-distant time when I could have curled up in Taehyung’s arms as if nothing were wrong.

A shrill sound suddenly cuts through the air, yanking me out of my thoughts, and my blood runs cold.

A horn just sounded.

It’s over for me. Someone must have seen me escape. They’re going to chase me down, catch me, lock me up again before—

The horn sounds again —three times— and I can breathe again.

Four horn blasts. The shift.

The silhouettes that roam at night aren’t the same as the ones during the day —I know that, because the ones that moved in the dark terrified me even more when I was a child.

Which means not only that I’d better hurry —but also, more importantly, that I have an opening.

So I don’t waste a single second. With a quick movement, I grab the two hooks hidden in my boot —the ones they didn’t find when they searched me— and I quicken my pace, constantly glancing back over my shoulder.

I freeze, melting into the shadows and holding my breath when I spot a Silhouette moving a few meters ahead of me. It doesn’t notice me, continuing toward the main tower where Eosu is probably waiting. I breathe a little easier when it leaves my field of vision.

My breath catches even harder, though, when I turn my head and see what it was guarding.

A small black door, fitted with a heavy padlock.

I sigh, a rush of hope suddenly filling my chest —it almost feels too easy.

And that’s when my uncle’s words come back to me.

“Do you really think the prince of Hestidia will want your help, after seeing you present yourself as his enemy?”

I freeze, breath caught—

and something inside me breaks.

There is, quite frankly, something seriously wrong with Jimin’s skull. Why the hell does it hurt this much?!

On top of that, the damn pain is making him hallucinate. Otherwise, why would he have seen Harin— Ina? Princess of Bruria?

Plunged back into darkness, Jimin rubs his head, swearing under his breath. What kind of mess has he gotten himself into this time…?

He must have dreamed it. There’s no other explanation. There’s simply no way —after everything Harin has done for them, all the times they trusted her, she can’t—

This time, Jimin doesn’t even try to hold back the tears spilling down his cheeks. It’s been at least two hours since they dragged him back into his cell —more than enough time to think. And Jimin knows that even completely out of his mind, he couldn’t have imagined that.

Harin betrayed them.

And damn it —why does admitting it silently hurt this much?

In a way, it makes sense. She infiltrated their group —her position as Taehyung’s bodyguard giving her the perfect cover— earned their trust by helping them in Ironshell, then handed them over to their enemies on a silver platter. Maybe she even used Taehyung to extract information from him.

Wordlessly, Jimin lets his head fall back against the wall and allows the tears to flow freely. She really played them all.

Now those monsters from Bruria will probably kill him —before going after Taehyung. Then, without a doubt, they’ll deal with the Kings and seize control of the Realms, just like that man —Jung— seemed to suggest. It’s over.

Jimin would like to say the pain tearing through his chest comes from the thought of his own imminent death. The truth is, his tears have nothing to do with that. He can’t believe she did this to them.

After all those moments together. Long mornings talking on the stone bench while Yoongi and Taehyung trained in the underground hall. Meals filled with laughter and warmth. Confessions. Shared emotions.

All of it —for nothing.

All of it, just for her to use them without hesitation.

Taehyung was right —Jimin trusts too easily. And now he’s cursing himself for not listening, because that trust might be what gets his friend killed.

Through his tears, he swears again —louder this time, as his sobs intensify, fueled by the tearing pain in his chest.

He can still see the gentle smile she wore when they talked quietly in the cold. The emotion in her eyes every time Taehyung looked her way.

Why does it hurt so much —to think it was all just a game to her?!

If she were in front of him right now, he would—

A harsh metallic scrape echoes through the air, and Jimin freezes as the door of his cell opens a few inches, letting a blinding beam of light spill inside.

Suddenly blinded, Jimin raises a hand to shield his eyes, curling in on himself against the wall. That’s it. They’ve come for him. They’re going to kill him. This is—

“Psst.”

A hand appears in the narrow opening —a slender hand, almost translucent in the harsh light. Jimin goes rigid, breath caught. What the hell is this?!

“Psst!” he hears again, louder this time, and though he can barely see, Jimin swears the hand is motioning for him to come closer.

His head hurts worse than ever —between that and the light nearly blinding him, he’s on the verge of short-circuiting. But he’s convinced he’s going to die soon anyway, so he figures he might as well take a risk. What does he have to lose?

With part of his mind vaguely noting that he’s never heard the violet silhouettes speak before, he wipes the tears from his cheeks and crawls forward on all fours, still struggling to release the breath he’s holding.

The moment he touches the door, the hand suddenly grabs him by the collar and yanks him violently out of his cell.

A cry of pain escapes him as he finds himself —again, for the second time today— engulfed in that overwhelming light his eyes can no longer tolerate, forcing him to squeeze them shut until he sees nothing at all.

He doesn’t even have time to scream again —a hand clamps over his mouth, preventing him from making a sound. Panic surges. He tries to open his eyes, to reach out and grab his attacker, but the pain in his head and eyes is unbearable the moment he parts his lids, and his hands close on empty air as he’s gently pressed back against the wall, pinned in place.

His ears start ringing, and fresh tears sting his eyes, still far too sensitive to handle the light.

It’s over. This person is going to kill him. Jimin is going to die —and he won’t even get to see Taehyung one last time.

“Calm down, for god’s sake,” a voice suddenly says, and Jimin’s heart stutters, because he knows that voice. But in his panic, he can’t tell whether he actually heard it —or imagined it.

The pressure on his mouth eases slightly, and Jimin takes the chance to shove the hand away, immediately coughing and sputtering, his eyes still barely open.

“Take this,” the voice continues, utterly unconcerned with his current state. Something is tossed at him, and his fingers close around warm fabric —a long coat, maybe, or a cloak. “Run east and don’t stop.” Through the blinding white haze, he vaguely makes out an arm pointing in a direction. “About a hundred meters out, you’ll find a horse tied to a tree. Take it. Go home —and don’t come back. Is that clear?”

With great effort, Jimin lifts his head. He sees only a dark shape looming over him, with strands —vines, or maybe hair— spilling down above his face. He opens his mouth to respond, tongue thick—

—but he doesn’t get the chance.

“Never come back,” the voice says, thick with emotion. “I’m begging you.”

The next second, the shadow is gone —and Jimin is alone again, surrounded by an endless white that keeps blinding him.

He’s unable to move, too stunned. As his eyes slowly adjust to the sudden brightness, enough for him to make out his surroundings, he tries to understand what just happened —and fails.

Did one of the monsters really just help him…? Or was it…?

He doesn’t find an answer —only the sound of approaching footsteps, echoing somewhere in the distance.

So Jimin doesn’t think. He reacts on pure survival instinct, his breath lodged in his throat. Clutching the fabric he was given as if it could save him, he runs. Following the vague direction he was shown, he runs as fast as he can, ignoring the burning in his legs —thinking only of running, running, for as long as it takes to put distance between himself and that madhouse.

When he finally spots a tree, he’s completely out of breath. By the time he reaches it, his limbs give out, and he collapses into a cloud of dust.

His arms shake as he tries to push himself up, but after three attempts, he manages. He lifts his head —and this time, the shadow towering over him isn’t one of those horrible violet monsters.

It’s a tall horse with a cream-colored coat, wearing nothing but a bridle that tethers it to the tree, watching him with quiet curiosity.

Jimin could cry.

The horse is really there. Just like promised. …He can leave.

With a sudden burst of strength, he stands, grabs the horse’s bridle, and fumbles frantically at the knot. He doesn’t know if he’s dreaming, but he swears he hears the sounds of chaos behind him, back in the nightmare he barely escaped. And if there’s one thing he knows right now, it’s that he has no desire to return.

When his trembling, exhausted fingers struggle to undo the knot, the stallion almost seems to help, pulling its massive head back to tug on the reins. A choked cry of victory escapes Jimin, and in no time at all, he grabs the reins and hauls himself onto the horse’s back —burning muscles and shaking legs be damned.

The horse needs only a light kick of the heel to understand. Jimin barely has time to hold on before it takes off at full speed, heading east.

As the wild gallop leaves a trail of dust and churned earth behind them, Jimin looks back one last time over his shoulder, toward the austere tower.

He casts it a final glance —but his eyes are still too sensitive to notice the figure standing at the base of the tower, watching him flee.

And even if his vision had been clear, he is already far, far too distant to make out the brown strands whipping in the wind, or to recognize the hazel eyes following him as he disappears.

“She’ll be here tomorrow.”

Those were the words Cat-Eyes spoke the night before, when dusk began to fall. A simple sentence, delivered like a promise —no need to add anything else.

Then he went to bed with a dark look in his eyes, leaving me alone with that hollow fear gnawing at my gut.

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep a wink.

I spent every minute waiting for her —straining to catch the sound of hooves tearing into the estate at full speed. I even went to her room, hoping —maybe— she might have left something behind. A clue. A note. Anything at all.

But no. Nothing.

When the sun finally rose, she wasn’t there. Not when the servants brought me breakfast. Not when Cat-Eyes joined me, looking like he hadn’t slept either. And even now, with the day well underway, there’s still no word from Harin.

I don’t know whether I want to curl up in a corner and cry, or punch someone just to take the edge off —even if only for a few minutes. Or saddle a horse and go looking for her, no matter where it takes me.

The only thing stopping me is Cat-Eyes’s expression —because he looks like he wants to do all of that three times harder than I do, and I have no desire to be the unfortunate target if he snaps.

Every second —right now included, as we sit aimlessly in the library without even pretending to read, just holding books— the words are dying to spill off my tongue.

Where is she?

My fingers itch with the urge to grab the Lieutenant by the shoulders and shake him until he finally answers me, until he stops playing dead and tells me where Harin has gone. Because I won’t last another day without her. Without knowing whether she’s alive or not.

Today, Cat-Eyes doesn’t click his tongue when my heel taps the floor again and again. Maybe because his own fingers are making the same restless motion against his thigh.

The manor is completely silent, which only makes it heavier —as if not just the servants, but the walls themselves have sensed the tension coiled inside.

Until, suddenly, footsteps echo overhead —on the floor above.

Cat-Eyes and I lift our heads in perfect sync, as if the ceiling might split open and Harin will fall straight through it.

But no. Just footsteps —hurried ones, and many of them, as though several people are moving quickly through the corridor.

I sigh and lower my gaze back to my book. I don’t even get the chance to read a single word—

The library doors burst open with a sharp crack.

“Y-Your Highness!”

A small servant rushes in, breathless, panic written all over her face as her eyes latch onto mine. I stand on instinct, stepping toward her to calm her down, but she shakes her head.

“What’s going on?” The Lieutenant rises and positions himself behind me, and the servant’s gaze ricochets between the two of us.

“The guards,” she begins, then swallows hard. “Th-They saw a rider enter the estate. They told me to warn you—”

“A man or a woman?” Cat-Eyes cuts in, one hand landing on my shoulder, his voice thick with hope.

She turns toward me, as if asking permission to answer. I nod eagerly, hanging on her words just as much as the Lieutenant is.

Please let it be her…

Slowly, the servant shakes her head. “They couldn’t tell. The western entrance is too far to see clearly from the windows—”

We barely hear the rest.

After a rushed mutter of “shit,” Cat-Eyes and I move as one, brushing past her and sprinting into the corridor. Our footsteps thunder against the marble tiles as we tear down the grand staircase. The Lieutenant is faster than I’ve ever seen him, beating me by seconds as he throws open the main doors with his shoulder and storms into the courtyard.

By the time I reach him, guards dressed in black are already in position, ready to receive our guest—

And my heart stutters when I see them.

From where we stand, the horse is coming straight toward us, but the rider is slumped too low for us to recognize. All we can make out is a brown coat clinging to the horse’s neck like their life depends on it.

“I know that horse,” I murmur without thinking, staring at its coat gleaming cream in the sunlight.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Lieutenant release what very much resembles a sigh. He recognizes it too.

It’s Lexi. The stallion of—

“Your Highness, watch out!”

A guard barely has time to shout before someone suddenly shoves me aside, sparing me from colliding head-on with the horse as it comes to an abrupt stop. With practiced ease, Cat-Eyes grabs the reins, trying to steady the animal.

“Easy, easy, big guy,” he murmurs, gently stroking the space between its eyes.

The horse snorts, stamping the ground —and it doesn’t take a genius to see how exhausted it is. The same seems to be true of the rider, still curled in on themselves.

I don’t even have time to speak —or comment on the lack of saddle or gear— when the rider suddenly tips backward, nearly collapsing to the ground if I and a few men hadn’t reacted fast enough to catch them.

And the moment I grab that weakened body, it takes me less than a second to understand.

It’s not Harin.

The pain that crashes into my chest at that realization is unbearable —but it’s nothing compared to what floods my entire body when the rider grips my shoulder with a trembling hand and speaks.

Because I’d recognize that voice anywhere. And it has never sounded so fragile.

“Taehyung… we need to—”

He chokes on his own saliva, fingers clutching frantically at my jacket, trying —and failing— to say more. Tears well in his swollen, bloodshot eyes.

“Hey—hey, calm down. Someone help me,” I signal to a few guards, who quickly assist me in easing Jimin down onto the ground. Cat-Eyes still holds tight to Lexi.

“No, you don’t understand, we have to—”

“Breathe. Breathe. Can someone bring him water?”

A guard takes off at once, vanishing into the manor. Lexi paws the ground, nervous, and Jimin still refuses to let go of me.

I’ve never seen him like this.

Even when his entire family was slaughtered and he had to flee his kingdom alone, he came back to me spotless, that infuriating smile still tugging at his lips. Now—

Now he looks like he’s crawled straight out of hell.

Someone brings water. He drains it at an alarming speed —as if he hasn’t had a drop in days— then looks around, blinking again and again, as though he can’t quite believe he’s here. With us.

Cat-Eyes doesn’t let go of Lexi for a second, his hand still resting protectively between the horse’s eyes. But his gaze is locked on the entrance to the estate, every line of his face drawn tight.

And he does not look pleased.

“Taehyung,” Jimin finally manages, dragging my attention back to him.

My teeth clench at the sight of his hollow cheeks and the burst vessels in his eyes. I’m going to kill the bastard who did this to him.

“We have to hurry. They… They’re going to attack. The purple monsters, they—”

“Where is Harin?”

The Lieutenant’s voice cuts through the air, sending a chill straight down my spine.

It no longer carries that quiet warmth —the subtle softness that usually lingers beneath his words, that makes him so easy to trust once you know him. No.

Right now, his voice is nothing but a threat. A warning to anyone foolish enough to contradict him. Rough. Final. Carried by the wind like a blade.

I turn to Jimin, waiting —because if I’m too afraid to ask, I need the answer just as badly—

But Jimin doesn’t look at me.

Instead, he turns toward Cat-Eyes. And suddenly, despite how weak he looks, his gaze hardens.

“Where do you think she is?” he snaps. “She stayed behind.”

That’s enough to draw the Lieutenant’s full attention, his thick brows knitting together. I don’t like the sharp glint in his eyes —though I think I like Jimin’s tone even less.

Accusatory. Bitter.

A weight drops straight into my stomach. Now it’s my turn to cling to him.

“What —what are you talking about? Why would Harin—”

“She betrayed us, Taehyung,” Jimin says suddenly, locking eyes with me. “She’s with them. She betrayed us.”

Yoongi doesn’t like what he’s hearing. Not one bit. Not at all. Not even remotely.

This was never supposed to happen like this. None of this was.

He doesn’t understand how he let things spiral so far out of control. He’d truly believed he had a handle on the situation —and until recently, he had. But ever since the assassination attempt on Taehyung, it’s been as if everything has slipped through his fingers. Part of him can’t help thinking this is his fault —he never should have let them take Jimin— but another part knows that thought is useless. There was nothing he could have done against them. Not alone. He would’ve needed his sister, or maybe even his brother, to stand a chance.

Now everything is unraveling. Whatever grip he once had on the course of events has been violently ripped away, leaving him powerless —and he hates that more than anything.

All he knows is that he has to go get Harin —because there is no world in which he leaves her there, in their hands. If they have to relive that nightmare, then they’ll do it together. And Yoongi has already left his sister alone in that hell for far too long.

But the plan has gone to shit.

Now, if he leaves, it’ll look like a—“What did they lock you in?”

“I don’t know,” Jimin mutters weakly, clutching the blanket around his shoulders like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart. He’s on his third bowl of broth. “Some kind of tiny room, no openings at all. Pitch black —and I couldn’t move. And on top of that, I kept hearing these… screams…”

Yoongi clenches his jaw to hide the shiver crawling up his spine.

Oh, he remembers the black rooms. They’re the worst of them all. Spend even a few minutes in total darkness, cut off from any light, and when you’re finally dragged back out, you’re blind for hours —days, if you’re fragile enough. He still remembers the plum-colored shadows carefully preparing the herbs. The ones they burned afterward, whose fumes made you black out. The perfect destabilization method.

He swallows hard at the thought of Harin enduring that right now.

He really needs to go get her. Now.

The Plains of Fire aren’t that far, are they? Maybe if he cuts through the northern mountain pass, near the sea, he could reach it faster—

“And Harin?”

Taehyung’s voice cuts in suddenly, slightly unsteady, and Yoongi is surprised by the tremor in it. He knows the prince grew attached to his sister  —but not to this extent.

Jimin has repeated it hundreds of times since arriving —so often Yoongi’s ears are practically bleeding from it— yet the prince refuses to accept it. Yoongi isn’t sure whether that’s a good sign or a bad one.

“She betrayed us, Taehyung,” Jimin almost spits, his exhausted face twisting with contempt.

Yoongi clenches his teeth and fists to keep from hitting him.

He cannot stand that word.

“That’s impossible,” the Irinian protests, shaking his head vehemently.

For a fleeting second, Yoongi thinks he looks like a child throwing a tantrum. He hides it well, but Yoongi can see the tears beginning to pool in his eyes. The prince hasn’t slept in days —Yoongi’s surprised he’s still standing at all. Expecting him to stay composed in the face of this…

“I saw her, Taehyung. Yesterday —or before, I don’t know. I was pinned to the floor, I could feel their blades on my neck —their blades, Tae, they were going to kill me— and then she walked in, firing her gun, yelling ‘I am Princess Jung Ina, daughter of I-don’t-know-who—’”

“No, that’s not—” the prince chokes, swallowing a sob.

“And right after that, suddenly no one around me. No blades on my neck,” Jimin continues, gesturing wildly. “I heard it, Tae. Jung Ina.”

Yoongi can’t breathe.

Under other circumstances, he might’ve been proud of himself for not breaking down like Taehyung clearly is. But right now, he can’t move at all.

She didn’t do that. Impossible. She couldn’t have taken that risk… She —who was so deeply haunted by those memories— she couldn’t have… willingly…?

Yes. Yes, damn it.

Yoongi has no choice but to accept it.

He knows his sister. She gets attached too easily. And getting attached to the two princes —he knew it was a terrible idea. He can’t even blame her. He himself had grown attached to Jimin, enough that watching him get taken had filled him with genuine regret —if not outright worry.

Harin would’ve done anything to save him.

Now, Yoongi feels no regret. No worry. Only contempt for the man standing in front of him.

Harin sacrificed herself for him —and this is how he repays her? Calling her a traitor at the first opportunity. Yoongi has no business being here.

He should’ve left long ago. In fact, he should’ve left with Harin the moment the shadows reappeared —princes be damned.

“She —she must’ve lied, made something up to get you released, it’s not—” Taehyung stammers, looking around as if the answer might appear out of thin air. The color drains from his face. He looks on the verge of fainting.

“They obeyed her immediately, Taehyung. She wasn’t lying,” Jimin snaps, unflinching.

“Y-you must be mistaken, it’s not pos—”

“I saw her, Taehyung,” the blond growls.

A small, broken sound escapes the prince’s throat —something disturbingly close to a whimper. His face twists, and he collapses into a chair, head buried in his hands.

When Jimin continues, his voice is marginally softer —but only just.

“She had a ring, Tae. A ring I’d never seen on her before. This huge violet stone with a fox engraved on it. And guess what —there were foxes drawn all over that mad tower. And now that I think about it, the lunatic who greeted me, Jung… Eosu, or whatever —he looked just like her. Like two drops of water.”

Yoongi clenches his jaw so hard he fears it might crack.

It’s his turn to look away, to keep from making a strangled sound —because if he does, this will end badly. His fists are so tight his nails must be cutting into his skin.

Eosu.

Fuck. That bastard is still alive?

Beyond the boiling urge to hit Jimin as hard as he can for what he just said —because if there’s one person Harin doesn’t resemble, it’s that piece of shit Eosu— Yoongi mostly wants to leave. Now.

If Eosu is hunting them, he’ll know exactly how to draw Yoongi out: hurt Harin. And he won’t hesitate to do it.

Yoongi doesn’t have a second to lose.

He’ll deal with Jimin and his disgusting conclusions later. Right now, he needs to saddle Holly and get out —showing his lieutenant’s insignia, he might be able to cross the border without questions. Once there, he’ll get his sister, and they’ll disappear far from these deranged kingdoms.

Jimin can deal with the purple shadows and Eosu on his own, if he hates them so much. All Yoongi wants is his sister.

Lost in his thoughts, he only notices the silence when Jimin speaks again, more quietly.

“Listen,” the blond begins, resting a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder. Only then does Yoongi notice the brunet is shaking from head to toe —he doesn’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad one. “I’m sorry, but… we need to face the truth, Tae. We were played. And now this unknown king —this… Jung —he wants our kingdoms.”

From his corner of the room, Yoongi barely restrains himself from shouting that Eosu was never a king, and never will be.

But he stays silent. It’s too late for explanations.

“So we have to go. Stop them. If we get our hands on this guy, we’ll control all the purple monsters —I know we can do it.”

Yoongi nearly laughs in their faces. He can’t remember the last time he’d been so naïve.

“You know where they are?” Taehyung’s voice is hollow, stripped of all emotion when he finally speaks again after what feels like an eternity. When he lifts his head, his face is just as empty —except he looks utterly broken. Like a stone eroded by too many storms.

Almost solemnly, Jimin nods, unaware of Yoongi’s flaring nostrils. “An abandoned tower in the Plains of Fire. I should be able to lead us there.”

Slowly, Taehyung nods, gaze unfocused. “Then we warn the men —we leave tomorrow, and we wipe that nest of bastards off the map.”

They stand together.

“Tomorrow, Jung Eosu and Jung Ina will be nothing but bad memories.”

Yoongi doesn’t hear the dull crack of splintering wood.

He only hears his anger —red, roaring— buzzing in his ears as he grips something with all his strength, unaware that it’s the fireplace mantel he’s just broken in half.

When the two princes turn toward him, a golden flash passes through his eyes —but he’s far too furious to notice. The atmosphere shifts.

It’s as if they’re only just remembering he’s there.

The trust that once filled their gazes is gone —replaced by something distant, almost hostile. Two hunters eyeing the great stag they’re about to bring down.

Yoongi glares back, too consumed by rage to trust himself to speak. He knew this would happen. And still, he let it.

Maybe that’s what he should hate himself for.

Harin chose to trust them. He chose to believe they couldn’t hurt them if things went wrong. In the end, he remembers the last time he was this naïve.

“Is there a problem, Lieutenant?” Jimin is the first to speak, his tone cold and cutting as he approaches, leaving a frozen Taehyung behind him.

Yoongi doesn’t move. Doesn’t answer. He doesn’t trust himself to. He just stares him down.

Her name is Harin, he wants to scream —but he doesn’t. It’s not worth it anymore. Min Harin. Not that pathetic excuse for a name they loathed their entire childhood.

“I suppose this is the moment you tell us you’re on their side,” Jimin continues, stepping close enough for them to glare at each other. “That you’re planning to kill us in our sleep to stop tomorrow’s battle, hmm? Because really, Lieutenant —you were never with us, were you?”

Slowly, Yoongi tightens his fists.

His face remains impassive, as always. “I admit, I have very little admiration for men who jump to conclusions with such arrogance.”

Jimin’s face hardens —and Yoongi has never seen such hatred in eyes that are usually so gentle.

Behind Jimin, Taehyung moves closer —and it takes Yoongi a few seconds to recognize the object in his hand as a small black dagger. One of Harin’s.

His anger spikes.

“So you are with them,” the prince says, his deep voice so empty Yoongi isn’t even sure he’s truly looking at him. Yoongi doesn’t answer.

They take his silence as confirmation.

Jimin exhales —once, twice— shaking his head. “I never would’ve believed this of you, Lieutenant. You’re impressive. I suppose this little plan —becoming our bodyguard, earning our trust— you must’ve thought it through for a long time, right? Because if she’s a Jung, then so are you. What’s your real name? Yi—”

He doesn’t finish. Because Yoongi spits in his face.

Right on his cheek, just beneath his eye.

Never breaking eye contact, Yoongi wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Later, he’ll think he really should’ve aimed for the eye.

“You know nothing,” he growls through clenched teeth, every ounce of his rage vibrating in his voice.

Jimin flinches —just slightly.

Yoongi is already turning away, toward Taehyung.

“And you,” he begins, pointing an accusing finger. “You —I thought you’d think twice before disappointing me this easily. But deep down, I expected it. I chose to believe you truly loved her rather than admit you’re just a—”

He doesn’t finish. Taehyung’s fist slams into his jaw.

Yoongi’s head snaps to the side, blood and spit flying.

When he meets Taehyung’s gaze again, his whole body is shaking with rage, his eyes burning with something lethal. He should’ve known this would end badly.

No more words are exchanged. Yoongi has nothing left to say anyway.

The only sound breaking the charged silence is Taehyung snapping his fingers —followed immediately by the creak of a door opening, and two soldiers entering.

They’re not dressed in black. They wear the royal guard’s uniform —Taehyung’s men, recalled for the search.

“Gentlemen,” Taehyung thunders, his voice rattling Yoongi’s ears, “do me a favor and give this man a tour of the dungeons.”

From the corner of his eye, Yoongi sees the soldiers pale. “But, Your Highness —that’s the lieutenant, we can’t—”

“No,” Taehyung cuts in, throwing Yoongi one last murderous glance before turning away. “He’s a traitor to the kingdom, to be executed tomorrow. Lock him up tight. And if his black uniform bothers you, take it off him —he doesn’t deserve it.”

“ ‘Rin, this isn’t a good idea,” Yoongi grumbles, still holding my hand.

I turn to him, no longer trying to hide the tears in my eyes. “I just… want to go to bed,” I whisper —not to be quiet, but because I can’t manage any louder.

Yoongi softens at the sight, but he hesitates. He hates these big parties as much as I do, and he wants to leave just as badly —especially since he saw it happen, when one of the dukes tried to slip his hand under my dress. Yoongi was the one who shoved him away. I want to cry so badly that it aches through my whole body.

But Mother insisted. Tonight, we must be perfect.

So Yoongi is going to try to convince me to go back, promising never to leave my side. It won’t help —there will always be something else waiting to scare me.

“Please,” I whisper, almost begging. I managed to lose my bear, I’m not going to be stopped by my own brother.

Yoongi doesn’t have time to respond, though —a low, cold voice cuts through the air and freezes our blood.

“Prince Ino. Princess Ina. You should be at the party.”

We spin around at the same time —face to face with a purple monster looming over us, leaving us no choice but to go back into the great hall.

Yoongi freezes, clutching my hand —but barely has time to stammer when Hobi suddenly appears from behind the figure, making it jump back.

“I’ve got this, it’s fine.”

The monster seems to nod, then vanishes. Hardly gone, and Yoongi and I rush into Hobi’s arms. He holds us without flinching. Yoongi has grown so much he’s almost shoulder-height to him —I can barely rest my head on his chest, but it doesn’t stop Hobi from holding us tight, tight, tight. After a moment, he straightens and kisses our hair gently.

“Are you both alright?” he asks simply.

We shake our heads together. Yoongi even holds out his hand to show him my tears, but I smack his fingers away. Babies cry. I’m not a baby.

Hoseok smiles softly, lifting a hand to brush my tears gently. I love it when he does that —I feel like I’m five again, when he held me in his arms to tell me stories all night.

“Hobi?” I finally whisper, almost shy. He smiles, eyes squinting a little.

“Yes, Angel?”

I swallow. Yoongi does too. He knows this is the only time we can really ask.

“Why were your eyes golden?” “What was happening earlier?”

His smile doesn’t change, but something in his gaze shifts. He strokes our hair gently, biting his lower lip as if thinking.

When he finally speaks, his voice is so low it’s almost impossible to hear.

“Nothing you need to worry about.” Then, after a pause: “You should go back to the table. Father won’t be happy if you don’t finish your plate.”

I can feel tears already forming under my eyes.

“I don’t want to,” I whisper, just as Yoongi mutters, “I want to leave.”

Again, he smiles sadly. “Soon. I promise.”

He kisses each of our cheeks before letting us go gently, standing up. “Remember what I always told you when you were little?”

Yoongi and I exchange uncertain looks. Of course we remember.

At our silence, Hobi raises an eyebrow, so I answer, “If you hear footsteps in the hall, hide in the hole under the mattress.”

“If you hear the scythes, close your eyes until someone tells you to open them,” Yoongi continues, reciting the lines we know by heart.

“And if you hear the hunting horns, run with all your strength,” we finish together, in one voice.

Hobi nods, adding only, “Run where?”

We answer without hesitation. “The hollow tree behind the castle.”

I’ve always thought Harin’s horse was a little frightening.

No, not Harin —I remember suddenly, and my chest tightens so hard that my whole body stiffens. Ina.

Ina. Jung Ina. Princess of the Kingdom that just swore the ruin of mine.

I grip the glass in my hand harder, until it shatters into pieces. Across from me, tied so tightly to a ring he can barely move, Lexi —Har–Ina’s horse —stares at me with a dark, judging eye, pawing the ground. I’ve only been sitting here a few minutes, and he’s been staring like he’s calculating the perfect angle to charge at me.

I should move. Stand up, do something, at least go to sleep —the troops are organized for tomorrow. All I need now is rest.

But I know I won’t be able to find it. In fact, I can’t even find the strength to lift myself from this wooden chair.

Only the strength, in silence, hands and arms trembling uncontrollably, to look at the emerald carved like a flower, split down the middle. To admire the ring that’s been turned into a signet, hanging on a silver chain. A silver chain that I found dangling from the bridle of this cursed horse.

I can still see myself giving it to her. I want to vomit.

To scream, hit something —better yet, someone— to shout until I collapse from exhaustion. Instead, all I can do is sit there, watching how that half-stone glimmers in the torchlight, under the judging gaze of a stallion.

That single blue-green stone seems to hypnotize me, making it impossible to look away. Impossible to feel the time passing silently around me. Until someone enters the stable, their footsteps drawing closer until they stop in front of the stall where I’m sitting.

“Your Highness,” one of my men thunders, tense, but I keep turning the half-flower in my palm. “You must come, the—”

“I asked to be left alone,” I cut him off, tracing the clean split in the flower with my thumb.

I hear him swallow distinctly, which annoys me. “It’s urgent, Your Highness. It’s the Lieutenant.”

I’m about to yell at him to leave, but his last words freeze me, instantly snapping my attention. I lift my head, sitting up enough to see him over the stall door.

“Well? What about him?”

He swallows again, gripping the pommel of his sword tighter. “He’s escaped, Your Highness. And the entire special guard has disappeared.”

I hate the great hall. I decided that when I was eight, and Father forced me to dance in front of everyone with the son of a duke.

Today, I hate it even more. Everyone is celebrating, laughing, singing, dancing—but it’s all just to hide the tension we can all feel.

There are purple monsters everywhere—pinned against the walls, posted beside the tables, near the windows. All of them wield those horrible long spears.

I’m terrified that one of them will attack and kill us all. Yoongi too, given how little he eats.

At the high table, slightly elevated above the others, sit Father, Uncle Eosu on one side, Hoseok on the other, and Mother just beside him. We’re not old enough to sit there yet. And that’s probably for the best. Father terrifies me.

He snaps his fingers. Four purple figures appear before him, so fast that my blood runs cold. “Bring me the gift for my son.”

Hoseok lifts his head, expression unreadable. “A gift, Father?”

Father smiles with all his teeth as the doors of the great hall slam open. “It is my duty to make you the greatest of Kings. And every king must prepare his heir…”

Two purple figures enter the hall, wasting no time before pushing to the ground what they held by the elbows —a girl with long hair as red as fire. I only see her face when she lifts her head —she looks younger than Hobi, but older than Yoongi and me— and I can’t look away.

Her hair is red, her skin golden. I don’t leave the castle often, but I’ve been to parties and receptions, and I’ve never seen anyone like her. I thought everyone had dark hair and nearly white skin.

I vaguely hear shouting, screaming even. Yoongi has frozen beside me, eyes fixed on the high table. Father and Hobi are yelling at each other.

Next to them, Mother has risen, a hand covering her mouth in horror as she watches the girl on the ground, barely moving. The words Usuryn princess and Hestidia are shouted, but I have no idea what they mean.

All I know is that one second, it’s a celebration.

The next second, Hoseok lunges at Father, hands on his neck to strangle him, and chaos erupts.

Everyone rises, runs, screams. Tables fly as the purple figures surge, spears threatening everyone. I crane my neck to see the high table, where I no longer see Hoseok —but Yoongi pulls me back to keep me from moving forward.

Panic rises in me. I don’t see Hoseok. I don’t see Mother. And I am terrified the purple monsters will kill us.

When Yoongi tugs harder on my hand and I let myself be dragged along, I catch a glimpse under the table —Father lying flat on his back.

I barely have time to note how strange it is to lie down at a moment like this before I see the silver crown of thorns planted under his throat.

Before I can even process what that means, the hunting horns echo throughout the castle.

Yoongi and I don’t need words —barely need to look at each other. Even without the reminder from a few minutes ago, we wouldn’t have forgotten.

“If you hear the hunting horns, run with all your strength.”

So we run.

We run without stopping, crushing each other’s fingers in our tight grip as we flee. We dodge the purple figures as best we can, take crooked little staircases to lose those chasing us. When we finally exit the building, Yoongi grabs an abandoned spear from the ground, and we run even faster.

We run. Even when we’re out of breath, even when our legs shake from weakness, we run.

Until we’re away from the castle. Until we reach the edge of the dark forest. Until we stand before the massive hollow tree.

We hide inside the trunk, out of sight, panting in silence, huddled together, trembling with fear. For a long time. A very long time.

Footsteps finally sound, loud. So loud we know they’re approaching. We exchange panicked glances, thinking it could be one of the purple monsters —the steps are fast enough— but before we can decide what to do, a hand slips through the opening, and Hoseok’s head appears, his eyes glowing golden.

Seeing him, I feel like I can move again.

We throw ourselves at him, letting the tears finally flow, and he sighs, holding us close, murmuring “thank you” over and over. When he finally releases us, he pulls us from the trunk, and this time he doesn’t bother wiping our tears.

“We need to hurry, kids, there’s not much time,” he mutters, pulling us along, running so fast it’s hard to keep up. At the forest’s edge, we leap for joy —Mother is there, holding the reins of two horses. It’s only then, thinking we might actually make it, that I notice Mother’s and Hobi’s clothes are torn, and Hobi has blood on his temple.

They don’t give us time to question it, hoisting each of us onto a horse. Yoongi clutches his spear tightly against himself, hanging onto Mother’s waist, seated ahead of him, while Hobi slides behind me and grabs the reins.

In the distance, the hunting horns still echo through the palace as the horses gallop, the icy wind hitting us full on. We’re going so fast, I’m a little scared, but I don’t dare say it.

Hobi is with us. Mother is with us. Everything will be fine, right?

“Hobi? Where are we going?” I ask after a few minutes, unable to recognize the landscape.

Seconds pass before he answers. “We’re leaving, Harin. Like I promised.”

*

Never did I think I’d be back in a castle with purple drapes. Never did I think I’d wear a dress of the same color again, or braid my hair with thin silver threads like before.

Yet often, I feared it would happen. Perhaps I shouldn’t have —Mother always said the more afraid you are of something, the more certain it will come, and now I think she was right.

She also said that no matter what happens, the stars always shine above us. Yet when I look up, I see no stars —only heavy purple drapes stretched to keep a semblance of warmth, and a silver-embroidered fox staring at me, ready to pounce.

I flinch when a Borenar suddenly places a plate in front of me, snapping me out of my thoughts. He leaves quickly, leaving me alone with a bowl of brown porridge and a wooden spoon. I had tried to forget the details of my childhood —but I remember this well. This is what they served to prisoners. And more than once, this kind of porridge was poisoned to get rid of inconvenient people faster.

I imagine my existence must annoy Eosu.

“Eat, child,” he thunders, slouching on his ridiculous throne, one knee folded over the armrest. He would never have dared this at Father’s court. He throws me one of those looks I hate, falsely warm and benevolent. “You need strength, after all these useless efforts for the crown prince.”

I grit my teeth but say nothing. I don’t touch the spoon, refusing to eat the horror they’ve served me, because I’m not that stupid.

He glares at me, and I meet his gaze. I see his features harden as he absentmindedly plays with his goatee, and I know that look. The look of a manipulator willing to do anything to get what he wants.

“Very well,” he finally says when he realizes I won’t give in. In mock-lazy movements, he rises and approaches the table where I’m seated. I try to stay focused on him and on all the shadows I know are lurking behind me, but it’s harder than it seems —and on edge, I flinch violently when Eosu snatches my bowl and hurls it against the wall with a crash.

I owe my stone-cold silence only to clenching the inside of my cheek with my teeth to bite back the scream threatening to escape.

“If I can praise the two allied Kingdoms for anything, my dear niece, it’s that at least they’ve hardened you,” his cutting tone affects me less than I thought it would, even though his mere presence terrifies me. Perhaps because I hold back from yelling that it was the memory of Bruria that “hardened” me.

I settle back almost comfortably on the old wooden chair provided, chin high, meeting his gaze without flinching for a single second.

You don’t scare me, my eyes say, even though my whole body screams mercy, let me go.

“Good, since you seem ready for business,” he growls, this time his usually falsely pleasant voice taking a low, impatient edge, “Let’s get serious.”

He barely needs to snap his fingers for the Borenars to spring into action. I don’t have time to react before the table is thrown across the room against the wall, and a scream escapes me as a thin hand wraps around my neck —cold and crushing.

Instinctively, I turn my head and tuck my chin to protect my arteries, but it’s too late —the skeletal fingers are perfectly positioned to snap my neck in a second if they wish.

I’m lifted into the air, and while panic seizes me under Eosu’s satisfied gaze, I kick and flail, trying in vain to destabilize the purple monster and make it release my neck —useless.

Soon another hand appears, and it takes me several seconds to realize it’s tying my legs with a rope, literally stopping me from moving. I try to fight, but it’s skilled, and a firmer grip on my neck makes black spots appear in my vision and my strength fade.

When I summon the courage to open my eyes, I meet my uncle’s furious gaze, eyes glinting malevolently.

“Now, let’s make this clear, little Ina,” he says almost softly, but the venom in his words is palpable. “You will answer my question… and maybe I won’t kill you.”

I close my eyes, pulling with all my strength against the fingers around my throat, to no avail, and soon a third hand appears from nowhere, grabbing the back of my head to force me to face him.

He is so close I can feel his breath on my face as he whispers the words like a secret.

“Where. Is. Hoseok?”

His voice, and the warmth of his breath on my cheeks, sends chills through me —but worse is the meaning of his question, sliding into me —part hope, part panic. He doesn’t know where Hoseok is —it’s both a relief, because without Hoseok he can’t claim the throne, and a burden, because I know he’ll do anything to find him.

And by anything, I’m sure he means kill me to get an answer. I won’t give him one.

Somehow, I manage to move under the hand choking me just enough to gather some saliva and spit it in his face. Yoongi always says it’s the only thing to do with fools who refuse to listen. It hits his cheek, but he makes no move to wipe it off.

No, he just shakes his head, disappointed.

“Very well,” he breathes, lowering his gaze. “As you wish.”

The next second, he snaps his fingers —and I’m thrown against a wall, landing on the floor with my feet tied as a dozen purple shadows descend on me.

*

The purple shadows didn’t catch up to us until the next day. Overnight, we only stopped once —at a strange little house where Hobi went to pay a few silver coins to get us new horses.

By the time we were caught, the forest had thinned, and we could see water stretching to the horizon. Mother said it was called the sea —but I had never seen it before. I find it as beautiful as it is terrifying.

“They’re here,” Mother says suddenly after several minutes of watching behind us. Hobi barely flinches, too focused on urging the horse faster —but barely. We’re moving so fast, Yoongi has already thrown up three times.

“Hoseok,” Mother insists after a moment, voice a little panicked. Hobi still doesn’t look at her. “We’re almost there.”

I see Yoongi looking up, so I do the same. Ahead of us, rising into the sky, is a tall tower with a light at the top. Mother called it a lighthouse —but I don’t understand what it’s for.

“We’re almost there,” Hobi repeats, panting. “We just need to—”

He doesn’t finish —because a violent gust of wind brings a hooded purple figure out of nowhere, right in front of us.

Mother screams. Hoseok curses, trying to avoid it, but it’s too late. Holding his spear horizontally, the figure lunges at us, severing the horses’ tendons in one blow.

We crash to the ground, clouds of dust rising in our fall. I cough, spitting, wincing at the taste of dirt in my mouth, but barely have time to complain before I’m yanked to my feet and dragged along.

Seeing Mother panic tells me everything —I run without letting go of Hobi’s hand, and when Yoongi reaches out to help, I cling to it as hard as I can.

Something slices through the air, a spear plants into the ground just to my right, making me scream and let go of Hobi’s hand. He shouts our names, slowing to catch us before pulling us along again —and this time, when he looks behind, his eyes are golden.

I can’t help it —I turn my head to look. I immediately regret it. They are dozens.

I barely have time to hiss in pain —I’ve hit the wall full force, my back took it all— before the Borenars charge, and I almost fall when I rise too quickly, forgetting my bound feet, catching only on the edge of a wall.

I curse under my breath, searching for a way to free the ropes —but it’s too late. A first purple shadow charges, rushing at me with a scythe in each hand. I dodge, rolling to hide behind a piece of furniture —and, curled up, I inspect the rope around my ankles.

A single touch tells me I’ll never undo this knot by myself —it’s far too tight. I barely have time to panic —because damn it, I’m in a dress, feet tied, facing dozens of armed monsters, and I didn’t even think to grab the spoon for defense— when the piece of furniture I was hiding behind is suddenly crushed under the weight of a Borenar. The creature remains, motionless, before my wide eyes, and only when I start inching back —still on my butt, unable to walk— does it tilt its head, as if analyzing me. I hate when they do that.

It’s like it reads my thoughts —because the second I think run! it charges, forcing me to roll aside— but a scream escapes as a claw scrapes along my arm.

Panting, I jump to my feet, ripping the torch from the wall —one end pointed, the other aflame. Not optimal, but better than nothing.

I hold it firmly, facing the purple monsters —and I think I’ve never seen so many at once. As if Eosu had gathered all the troops.

When one of them lunges at me, I dodge by leaping to the side, then, using my momentum, I only need a small bend in my knees to crash headfirst into another. I grab onto the long purple garment, holding its head with both hands and using it as a shield, braced against its back with the strength of my arms. Another approaches from behind, and I turn just in time to see the spear coming —by some miracle, I reflexively pull my legs toward me, and it misses completely. But in its wake, the spear’s blade slips right between my knees, slicing the rope as it falls.

Fueled by a sudden surge of hope, I let myself drop to the ground, my legs now free, and tear my dress to move more easily. All I have to do is extend my arm to set one of the purple coats on fire with the torch, and I barely have time to step back and take cover before chaos erupts.

One of the Borenars burns, clearly unaccustomed to this kind of situation. The others lunge at me —I dodge one, shove another against the wall, and duck just in time to avoid the blade of a third. My torch follows every move, keeping them at a distance —until one of them extends a skeletal hand and grabs my hair, yanking harshly at the strands.

I’m pulled backward with a cry of pain, and the monster doesn’t release my hair until I hit the floor flat on my back, the impact stealing my breath. I roll to the side to avoid another, only to find myself cornered by yet another; I try to stand and run, but a plum-colored wall blocks me. My arm is grabbed, and when I swing the other, my leg is swept from under me. I try to strike with my torch, but again a hand wraps around my neck, and this time they don’t stop there —a stone-hard fist slams into my temple, and I’m thrown backward by the momentum of the blow.

I can’t move. The force of the strike has stunned me, and I’m sure I felt something crack in my neck. Even when I see one of them approaching, while my entire body screams at me to flee, I can’t manage the slightest movement, and soon I’m dragged, forced onto my knees with yet another icy hand clamped around my throat.

It’s only when Eosu approaches me and I try to swallow that I realize my mouth is full of blood. I try to swallow it, but it’s useless —and suddenly I’m terrified of choking on it by accident.

“I’ll repeat my question, Ina,” Eosu thunders, his face still as marble while I teeter on the edge of exhaustion. “And I will only do this once. Where is your brother?”

This time he dodges when I spit in his face, and the large hand tightens around my throat, cutting off my breath. My vision blurs to the point that I can barely make out my uncle’s face, and I start to tremble. I won’t last long like this.

“I won’t tell you,” I spit, a bit of blood staining the stone floor. “Kill me —it’ll be faster.”

My voice fades at the end, suffocated by the hand tightening even more, as if the thought greatly tempts the Borenar holding me. Maybe if I ordered him, he’d let go —but I doubt I have the strength.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Princess,” he sighs, flicking his tongue, the hidden meaning in his words chilling me to the bone. “I’ve already waited over ten years. What’s a few more days, hmm?”

I writhe, eyes wide, fingers clutching the hand around my neck, unable to make a sound. Only the thought surfaces that I wish Yoongi were here, right now.

“You will tell me where he is,” Eosu continues as if nothing has happened. “Even if I have to ask for weeks, you will answer.”

As in all my nightmares, the animals in coats chase us, stretching out wherever I look. Each wields a scythe or spear, and as terror freezes me, I swear I hear their voices in my head.

It whispers to slow down, to wait for them, to be good and obey. But on the other side, Hoseok and Mother are shouting at me to look at them, to just run to the lighthouse, and their voices reassure me far more, so I listen. I run with them, even for several long, exhausting minutes that make me cry.

We barely reach the lighthouse, taking refuge behind a rock, when Hobi lets go of my hand and starts frantically rummaging through the bag he carried. Mother collapses, panting, and I don’t immediately notice the red liquid spilling from her mouth. Yoongi doesn’t either —because we’re both too entranced by the vast water before us— the sea.

“Mother, what is that?” Yoongi asks, pointing to the two shell-like things on the water, motionless near the shore.

“Boats, my dear,” Mother replies, her voice strangled. “They’re used to move across the water.”

At the sound of her suddenly strange voice, we all look up. I freeze at her suddenly waxy complexion, her yellowed eyes, and the blood dripping from her lips. Hobi swears —and it’s the first time I see him like this.

“What the hell happened?!” He grabs her shoulders to inspect her, completely forgetting the big bag he had been searching.

I can’t move —even when I feel Yoongi tug at my dress, which he only does when he’s truly terrified.

Hobi grabs Mother’s wrists, examines everything —her hands, arms, neck— before freezing when he finds a fine red line on her ankle.

“How did they…” She smiles sadly. 

“The blade didn’t just hit the horse.”

He steps back, proud of himself, and the hand lifts me again until my feet dangle freely. My vision is so blurred I can’t anticipate the few blows to my stomach and shoulders, nor feel the pain —they’re real enough— but what I am acutely aware of is my uncle’s voice fading into the distance.

“If only you knew how eager I am for your brother to arrive…” he hums, suddenly cheerful.

“What?” I mumble between blows, though I doubt he hears me.

“Dear Ino,” he breathes, almost joyfully, grabbing a bottle to pour himself a glass of golden liquid. “It’s been ages since I last saw him. How grown he must be! I imagine he’s quite broad now… Oh, I can hardly wait.”

He notices me staring at him, eyebrows furrowed, face twisted in horror. That only widens his smile.

“The Borenars saw him leave your dear prince’s home. Wonderful, isn’t it?” He explains, raising his glass as if to toast before downing half of it. “The whole family, reunited after so many years! Well, not the whole family —for that, you’d have to tell me where dear Eoso hides.”

“His name is Hoseok,” I growl, teeth clenched, and he nods calmly.

“I’ve been told as much. I thought by playing along and using that ridiculous nickname, you’d help me, but evidently not. I’m sorry.” He sighs, setting his glass down with a snap. I barely notice the monsters have stopped beating me, content now to just hold me in place.

“Anyway, all that to say, I’m dying to see dear Ino again. He’s about as stubborn as you, so he’ll surely refuse to tell me where your brother hides… But he’s always been stronger than you, so we’ll have more fun.”

“The blade didn’t just hit the horse,” Mom explains hastily, grabbing him by the shoulders. “It’s just a scratch, it’s nothing, hurry!”

“It’s not just a scratch, damn it! You’re going to…” “Hoseok!” she nearly screams, and he freezes, broken.

He swallows. Then the sound of a hunting horn echoes from the forest, and he snaps into action.

Rummaging through his bag, he hands me a white handkerchief. “Harin, Yoongi, clean the wound —and you, stay with us!” he hurls the last words at Mother in a threatening tone, though his voice sounds more terrified than commanding.

He resumes searching his bag as Yoongi and I bend over Mother, tears blurring our eyes. When Yoongi gently presses the handkerchief against the fine wound above her ankle, we all notice a strange green fluid mixing with the blood.

Mother gives us a big smile. “It’s okay, children. Everything will be fine.”

Yet her leg and chest twitch strangely.

The sound of horns grows closer, and Hoseok swears until, finally finding what he’s looking for, he pulls out red sticks tied with string. Mother starts coughing, spitting blood while trembling, and soon collapses, unable to stay upright. Yoongi and I cry as we try to support her, but Hoseok quickly pulls us back —and his face is even more streaked with tears than ours.

“It’s okay, children,” Mother manages to mumble, mouth bright red, trembling violently. Why does smiling seem to hurt her? “Everything is fine. The stars are always shining above us.”

I cry, cry, cry, cry. I try to hold her hand, but it’s ice-cold in mine. The string connecting the sticks crackles after Hobi lights it, and he keeps repeating ‘I’m sorry’ over and over as he drags us —Yoongi and me— farther from her each second.

I cry, cry, cry, and Mother smiles. She smiles even as Hobi finally carries us, Yoongi and me, each under an arm, to stand and run in the opposite direction. She smiles even as we get farther and smaller. She smiles even as the red sticks explode and the lighthouse collapses. And in her last smile, her lips form an inaudible “I love you.”

I can feel my blood run ice-cold —because suddenly, I am cold all over, and it has nothing to do with the ruined walls. It has, otherwise, everything to do with the realization of where Eosu wants to go with this sick plan.

He wants to torture Yoongi and force me to watch until I confess, because he knows we’ll never speak without it.

“No…” I whisper, gasping for air. My uncle pays no attention to me, already issuing orders to the purple monsters —where to position, how to attack, what condition to bring them back in…

“At the speed he’s moving, he should arrive within a few hours,” he accompanies his words with dismissive hand gestures, the scant interest he has in the situation palpable. “Intercept him as soon as he enters the Lands; we can’t risk him pulling a stunt like the young lady did.”

I barely react to his contemptuous gesture, too disoriented. For pity’s sake, no, no, no…

“We’ll send him to the dark room first, to calm him, then bring him to his sister after an hour or two.”

“Don’t do that…”

“Oh, and ready your scythes, children, I recall our young prince adored them—”

“STOP! We won’t say anything!” I suddenly scream, surprising myself with the volume I manage.

A flat silence falls over the room, every gaze —even the empty ones of the Borenars— turning to me. I stay slumped on the floor, out of breath, ignoring the lone tear rolling down my cheek.

Eosu raises an eyebrow, and I see the perfidious mischief in his eye, enough to turn my stomach.

I can’t. It’s stronger than me. I couldn’t watch Yoongi get tortured —so if I’m going to speak, it might as well be now to spare him this nightmare.

“We won’t say anything… Because we don’t know anything.” I manage to utter after a moment, my voice trembling with a sob.

Across from me, Eosu crumbles.

The lighthouse collapses with a massive boom, kicking up dust that masks our cries. Hobi runs, runs, runs, pressing ever closer to the sea, and I hear his sobs mingling with ours.

He sets us down at the edge, pulling us to run with him, breathless. He keeps glancing back but doesn’t stop.

“We’ll get on the boat, okay? And then it’ll be over, I pro—”

“HOBI!” He doesn’t have time to turn before taking a hard blow to the jaw and collapsing, stunned. I throw myself on him to wake him, crying, and Yoongi steps in front of us, spear pointed at the violet figure looming above. I recognize his stance —he’s ready to charge. But he does nothing —because the monster doesn’t move.

It simply watches us, silent —and when the wind picks up, its hood falls back, revealing a stone bear skull. My bear.

“Please,” I cry, holding Hobi tightly as he rises, his lip bleeding. “Please.”

The bear tilts its head, as if thinking. I see it lift a hand through my tears, as if grabbing something —but it does nothing.

All it does is slowly shift to the side. Just enough for us to pass.

I can’t believe my eyes. Neither can Yoongi, who lowers his leash, stunned. Hobi wastes no time. Furious, he hauls us along as we pass the bear toward the boats.

Leaning over the edges, two men watch us, one in each boat. We barely reach them when Hobi grabs me, and one man helps hoist me aboard before doing the same for Yoongi.

“They were supposed to be three,” the man mutters, just as the horns draw closer and I see violet figures approaching furiously fast.

I frown. Yoongi, Hobi, and I —that’s three, right? Why is he complaining?

“I’ll pay you the same amount,” Hobi simply replies, and the man nods before walking toward a thick rope.

Yoongi realizes before I do.

“…You’re not coming with us?”

I freeze, eyes locked on Hobi. What?

He looks at us, twisting his mouth as he searches for words, then tries a smile.

“If you don’t want them to catch you, we’ll have to go now,” the other man, on the second boat, says, and Hoseok flinches.

He moistens his lips before turning to us, his smile gone. “We’ll meet on the other side, okay? I just…”

“I don’t want to!” I cut in, tears swallowing my voice. He strokes my hair affectionately, his own tears streaking his cheeks.

“It’s necessary, Angel. I’d rather you be safe while I deal with them.”

“We’ll be safer with you!”

“I’ll meet you on the other side, I promise,” Hobi says with a small smile, tugging us one last time to hold us close. We cling to him, but it’s useless. “No sea is uncrossable. We’ll meet very soon, and the three of us can live in a beautiful house with lots of cats!”

“What’s a cat?” Yoongi whines, and it makes Hobi laugh.

“Like a little deer, Yoon,” he explains, then steps back to look at both of us, eyes shining with tears and affection. “I’m so proud of you, if you only knew. You’re the two bravest children I know.”

He kisses both our cheeks before standing. Despite our protests, pleading for him to stay, he steps back.

“We’ll meet on the other side, okay? Take care of each other.”

We barely have time to reply before the man pulls a rope and pushes a plank, and suddenly the boat moves. I cling to Yoongi instinctively as it quickly drifts from land, the wind pushing us far out, and we hold onto each other, watching Hobi wave one last time before boarding his own boat, which also speeds away —but not in the same direction.

Soon, we can no longer see the boat Hobi is on. But what we do see clearly, as we disappear into the mist over the vast, terrifying sea, are the violet shadows lined along the shore, eyes fixed on us. But they don’t come. They never do.

And when I turn my head again, Hobi’s boat is gone, and Yoongi and I are utterly alone in the water.

“What? What does that mean?!”

“I don’t know where Hoseok is. Yoongi doesn’t either,” I whisper. “We split up to lose you, he said we’d meet again—”

Eosu goes pale, and I can tell just by looking at him that he’s piecing everything together, realizing it makes sense. Because it’s the truth. “It’s been twelve years… you’re not trying to tell me—”

“I don’t know where he is. Until yesterday, the possibility that you killed him long ago still seemed very likely.”

He studies me with his gaze, as if trying to determine if I’m telling the truth —and just by seeing the rage that soon fills his dark eyes, I know he believes me.

He turns his head, his gaze lost in the void as he thinks —his entire plan has just fallen apart, without a doubt. If Hoseok is alive, he cannot claim the throne —and he had planned to use us to find him.

I feel a sudden wave of nausea. I feel nothing but disgust, contempt, hatred —for him, but also for myself, for confessing everything so easily.

For a moment, I think I see my uncle’s shoulders slump, as if discouraged. The next second, he lifts his head, and that awful smile I hate is back.

“You know what, children?” he says, all smiles, clapping his hands. “Forget Ino. That boy is just a stubborn mule anyway. Let’s change plans, hmm? I want everyone ready; first thing tomorrow, we’ll attack the princes’ manor.”

I sit up straight, struck like lightning. What? “What?”

“They’ve hidden there too long. That cursed building feels like a provocation. We’ll raze it, take those barely-crowned heads, and then—”

“Why are you doing this? They don’t know anything, for God’s sake, they don’t even know about—”

“ENOUGH!” he screams, and all the rage he tried to mask with a smile bursts forth. “Shut up, you worthless vermin! If I can’t take my crown, I’ll take theirs! These kingdoms rightfully belong to me, and I’ve waited long enough!”

I freeze, petrified. “Send the message to the troops in the South. I want the Kings dead by tomorrow at the latest. Have their heads delivered to me.”

“No,” is all I manage to whisper, trembling.

He’s going to send the shadows to Ebonwick to kill Jimin and Taehyung.

Something inside me breaks. Taehyung. Oh my God, Taehyung.

Yoongi was supposed to stay and protect him. But the Borenars saw him approach —that means he left Ebonwick. He must have seen Jimin come back alone and, understanding the situation, rushed to help. Has it already been two days? I’m sure it’s been longer.

Damn it. Taehyung. They won’t be able to do anything against the shadows, not even with the special guard. They’re going to kill him, they’re really—

I see his peaceful face in sleep, curled against me. Suddenly, I can’t remember the last words I said to him —I only remember running away like a thief, without a goodbye.

And now, he’s going to die because of me.

“W-wait,” I stammer, crawling almost on the ground, reaching out to Eosu. He barely looks at me.

“No, don’t keep them alive, I want it quick. Our guest is supposed to arrive tomorrow, and I want a nice gift for him.”

No no no no no. “Don’t… don’t do this…” I say this time a little louder, and only then do I realize I’m crying. “I beg you, don’t do this.”

When he finally turns to me, it’s with that purely self-interested gleam in his eyes that he always had when around my older brother, and I hiccup in horror.

He crouches down to be at my level, as one would for a child. “Or what, little Ina?”

I freeze.

Or nothing. I have no threat to give him. I have no idea where the man he desperately seeks is, and even at my best, I couldn’t do anything against the Borenars.

I think of Taehyung, the gentleness of his gestures every time he looks at me, his wide smile whenever he laughs. His unwavering determination when it comes to those he loves.

I have nothing to offer Eosu. Or… just—

“I’ll help you.”

The words leave my mouth before I can think twice, and I lift my head toward him, eyes full of hope. His narrow eyes squint as he considers my words, smoothing his goatee with one hand. “You’ll help me?”

“To find Hoseok,” I breathe. My tongue burns; I hate myself for saying it, but I have no other choice. This way, maybe I’ll have enough time to find a way out, while also saving Taehyung.

“I thought you didn’t know where he was?” Eosu presses, one eyebrow raised.

“He’s not in Irinian,” I hurry to say, voice so weak it’s barely audible. “Nor in Hestidia. I would know, or you would have found him by now. That leaves only two Kingdoms. And if no one’s found him, it means he’s hiding —otherwise we’d have found his body.”

His brows furrow, and I can see he’s listening carefully. I hate myself, I hate myself, but with every word, Taehyung’s face is all I see, so I continue.

“If he learns you’re coming, he’ll run again. But if I go to find him… he will come to me. And then he’ll be yours.”

Eosu stares at me, eyes shining with a golden gleam —but he says nothing. He just watches me, thinking.

I recall the softness in Taehyung’s eyes, the scent of his hair enveloping me whenever he takes me in his arms.

“You’d do that?” My uncle finally mutters, almost surprised.

My heart skips a beat. Then another. I wish it would skip them all.

“Promise me you won’t harm the Princes, and I’ll commit to finding Hoseok for you.”

Slowly, painfully slowly, his lips stretch, each inch of skin pulled until his smile stretches across his face, reaching his ears. He lets out a tiny laugh —a tiny one— like a crow’s cry, enough to freeze my blood.

When he looks at me again, his eyes are no longer just gleaming gold. They are gold.

I hold my breath. For Taehyung.

“Deal, Princess.”

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An2 : The big parts in italics are flashback that are told as memories. I tried to make it the clearest I could but I'm sorry if sometimes it's a bit confusing :/

Gentle reminder that all rights are reserved, so please do not copy, translate or repost my stories. Also I do not own BTS or their actions, the stories are entirely fictionnal and does not depict real-life events or involve any actual member of BTS.

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“Harder.” The voice growls, sharp and unforgiving in the silence of the back courtyard.

Yoongi exhales, exhausted, but doesn’t let it show as he lunges forward, muscles taut, arm extended, trying to graze his opponent with the tip of his spear.

Their weapons collide. Metal cracks and rings again and again as they fight, but no matter how much strength Yoongi pours into it, his opponent merely deflects the blows, striking back here and there —as if almost bored.

And yet, Yoongi is one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen. At court, everyone sings his praises, betting that one day he’ll be even stronger than our brother. Watching him train, usually, there’s no reason to doubt it.

But today, his mind seems elsewhere.

Perched on the tree trunk they cut down so I could sit, I squirm, trying to find a better position. My butt is freezing, damn it. The air bites at my skin, sharp and icy, and even though it doesn’t snow much this time of year, the sun has been shy lately, barely lighting the gray landscape and the half-dead trees.

I’m not supposed to be outside. Mother will scold me if she finds out —but I don’t care. For the past few days, I’ve been too nervous to stay alone in a room. And even if he doesn’t show it, I know Yoongi feels the same.

Something has shifted recently. Ever since the announcement of Hobi’s coronation, really. When Father made it public, during the annual summer gala, everyone cheered —but it sounded fake. I remember Mother turning pale, and neither she nor Hobi said a word for the rest of the evening.

Since then, everything has been preparation and excitement —but mostly pressure, coming from every direction. Everything has to be perfect, down to the smallest detail. As a result, I haven’t really seen them in days. And it doesn’t help that the purple bear hasn’t left my side for a second.

Because of the coronation preparations, Yoongi was asked to prepare a proper duel, with spears —and to be sure he could win against anyone. We all know he’d win against one of the purple monsters. What frightens us is the idea that he might have to fight someone else.

As for me, I was asked to weave our crest, to sew it onto Hobi’s ceremonial outfit. The bear growled when I snapped back that I was better with pistols than needles, but he didn’t force me to weave either. I just hope he doesn’t tell Father.

Behind me, a few steps away from the fallen trunk, I can hear him move. Without looking, I know that the scraping sound is the pommel of his spear rubbing against the dirt as he draws small circles in the dust. He does that all the time, and I don’t know why. The most terrifying part is when he does it at night, standing in front of my bedroom door, the metal pommel screeching against the marble tiles. I have nightmares about that sound alone.

Yoongi throws himself fully into preparing for his duel. Hobi certainly wouldn’t want Yoongi to fight to celebrate his coronation, so I think he’s doing it more out of obligation than anything else. When I told him how ridiculous I thought it all was, he answered that maybe one day I’d have to learn to take things seriously.

It made my teeth grind —because I am serious. If they let me train, I’m sure I’d be just as good as Yoongi. When I practice in secret in the forest, I never miss my target with a pistol. And Yoongi may know how to fight, but I can hide in the trees faster than anyone. Why does he get duels, and I get stuck with weaving?

A shrill sound makes me flinch, goosebumps racing up my spine. I’d recognize that sound anywhere. I’ve heard it every week since I was born.

It’s the horn of the purple shadows.

In front of me, Yoongi and his opponent —a wolf whose snout sticks out from beneath his hood— freeze mid-movement, turning toward the sound. Yoongi stiffens instantly, jaw tight, and if we were still six, he would probably have come to hide against me.

The bear steps closer; I can feel him just behind me. I don’t move. Partly because I don’t want to. Partly because I can’t.

I want to run. I want to bolt —but I’m terrified the shadows would catch me, and that I’d be next on the list.

As if to prove the thought right, the bear places a skeletal, iron grip on my shoulder the second I try to stand, stopping me from moving at all. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Yoongi shout something at him as he steps toward me, spear clenched tightly in his hands.

He barely moves before the wolf’s spear slides under his chin, ready to strike.

I start gasping without meaning to, locking eyes with my brother. His brows are drawn together now, his expression more than annoyed. A small, pathetic cry slips from me when he keeps moving and a thin red line blooms across his neck where the blade presses. I shake my head frantically.

His eyes darken —the color they always take when I contradict him. But also when he’s afraid. And after all this time, he knows as well as I do that it’s too dangerous. Better to wait patiently until it’s over, then hide in our beds and cry in silence.

More shadows quickly flood the courtyard, all armed with spears. When I was little, I used to distract myself by trying to recognize each animal. I don’t bother anymore. The longer you look at them, the less they resemble animals. They’re just twisted faces carved straight from stone, without eyes or souls —and their lack of humanity is somehow more terrifying than their actions.

Each of them seems to be holding someone by the arm, the victims’ hands bound tightly behind their backs, so tight I know they can’t do anything but walk.

It feels like I’m trapped in the same nightmare, over and over. The shadows arrange themselves in a semicircle at the center of the courtyard, forcing the condemned to their knees, and the horn sounds again —distant, insidious.

Once. The shadows step to the left of their victims. Usually, there are only two or three. Today, there are more than twenty.

A second time. The shadows raise their spears, ready to strike. I’ve heard that with the coronation approaching, the sacrifices are becoming more frequent —to bring more luck to the heir. The thought froze my blood. And there was no one for me to cling to then.

If I turned my head just a little, I could see the dark façade of the palace behind me, its tall windows reflecting no light. And at the very top, on the fourth-floor balcony, I know I would see a man standing proudly, watching the scene with a satisfied smile.

But I have no desire to meet my father’s sly, skin-crawling gaze. So I stay still, eyes fixed on the horror unfolding in front of me.

In the distance, I see the plum-colored shadow holding the horn lift it again —but the great doors burst open, and a richly dressed woman storms out in fury.

Her long dark hair is swept into an elegant bun atop her head, and the violet jewels of her regalia gleam faintly in the weak sunlight. I know —because I’ve heard it said many times— that I have the same face as her, even if the comment is often followed by how my eyes resemble my father’s more. A detail I hate with all my being.

My mother’s face softens the instant her gaze lands on me, and she rushes forward without bothering to lift her skirt from the dust. Something loosens in my chest as she comes closer —the unshakable certainty that if Mom is here, everything will be okay.

“Harin. Thank God, I thought—” she whispers when she reaches me. Then her pale green eyes —so light they almost look gray— fall on the bear’s hand still gripping my shoulder, and she stiffens.

I’m about to reassure her, to tell her everything is fine even though we both know it’s not and she can clearly see the tears pooling in my eyes, but she doesn’t give me the chance. Her gaze snaps to Yoongi, to the blade at his throat now stained red from the blood seeping from the cut. “What is wrong with you? Let him go!”

Her scream shatters the cold silence as she throws herself forward, trying to push the spear away from Yoongi’s neck. It only presses harder, blood trickling down my brother’s throat.

Mother keeps shouting, her voice growing more frantic as none of the shadows move to obey —until another voice cuts through, much calmer, but no less tense.

“She told you to let them go.”

Half a second. That’s all it takes for the two plum shadows to release us —Yoongi and me— after Hoseok’s voice snaps through the air.

Immediately, Mother pulls Yoongi into her arms, one hand pressed to his neck as if it might close the wound and stop the blood from staining his violet clothes. Hoseok, instead, comes toward me, his dark gaze never leaving mine.

‘Are you okay?’ his eyes seem to ask when he reaches me. I nod, rubbing my shoulder, just as Yoongi mutters, “I’m fine, Mom. It’s nothing.”

At eighteen, Hoseok is sharper than most —and he knows us better than anyone. That probably explains why, every time I say I’m fine, he sees straight through my fake smile and the tears I try to hide.

He pulls me into his arms, gently, tucking my head against his shoulder so no one can see me cry. No one is allowed to cry in Bruria. Crying is for the weak.

I let myself sink into my brother’s embrace for a few seconds. Hobi gives the best hugs. But today, even his feel cold. As if the closer the coronation gets, the more his body turns to ice.

The horn sounds again. Once —shadows shifting into position. On the second blast, I pull away from Hoseok, still holding his hand as I straighten to watch.

His cold fingers tighten around mine as the spears rise against the white sky. Maybe I should weave that crest, after all.

“You don’t have to look,” he whispers softly, just loud enough for me to hear.

“Why should I be spared, if you’re forced to endure it?” I whisper back, eyes fixed on the blades glinting faintly.

His grip tightens. “Because I’m the heir.”

“That’s not fair.”

From the corner of my eye, I see him smile at the small pout forming on my lips. He lifts his hand and gently wipes the tear sliding down my cheek with his thumb.

He catches my gaze just as the third horn blast sounds. “It’ll be over soon. I promise.”

His voice drowns out the awful sound of blades crashing down on bare necks.

“It’s only a matter of time.”

*

“Well, well. I have to admit, I’m impressed.”

Eosu looks me over without the slightest shame, pacing slow circles around me while twirling his goatee between his fingers.

I say nothing, simply tracking his movements, on my guard. The Silhouettes may be behaving themselves, posted along the wall and perfectly still since I ordered them to stand down, but I know very well that if they had to choose, they would obey Eosu before they ever listened to me.

And on top of that, I have no idea where they took Jimin.

Eosu struck him hard at the back of the head, knocking him unconscious the second I arrived. Deep down, I’m not even sure Jimin saw me —though there’s little chance he didn’t.

Two silhouettes carried his limp body off somewhere I can’t see, far from me. And I can’t afford to take any risks until I find him.

Eosu stops in front of me, a predatory smile curling his lips. “I never thought you’d do anything that would drag you out of that little hole you crawled into like a rat,” he spits, his tone venomous enough to turn every word into an insult —yet paired with a broad, disarming smile. “I seriously underestimated you, my dear Ina.”

His smile widens, and a violent wave of nausea rolls through me.

As a child, Eosu barely looked at me. I was the youngest, the insignificant little girl, overly coddled by her older brothers. He must have known I had no chance of ever reaching the throne, which would explain why he cared so much more about Hoseok.

Hobi.

Just thinking his name tightens something painful in my chest. All of this effort, only for me to throw myself back into the wolf’s jaws like a fool.

Maybe I should have listened to Yoongi. Sent Taehyung’s guard instead of coming alone. But that would have meant hundreds of unnecessary deaths —and anyway, it’s far too late to worry about that now.

“You look well, Uncle,” I say lightly, betraying none of the turmoil churning inside me.

I have no business being here. I panicked when I saw Jimin on the ground beneath their scythes —too many memories from my childhood came rushing back at the sight. And now, I regret it bitterly. I never should have come.

Eosu laughs —a low, guttural sound that would make my skin crawl if I hadn’t grown up surrounded by noises just like it.

“And you’re far from dead,” he rasps, resentment thick in his voice.

I smile despite myself. I hate this man so deeply that seeing him like this almost gives me satisfaction.

“Would you have preferred it that way?”

“I’ll admit, I believed it for a long time. Even if it wasn’t convenient for me —but you can imagine that much.” His gaze drifts, as if lost in thought, before he shakes his head. “You did an excellent job staying in the shadows. That’s why, when I learned you were the prince’s official bodyguard, I found myself almost… disappointed.”

I clench my jaw, but I don’t react. This snake will get nothing out of me about Taehyung.

“No, truly,” he booms, clicking his tongue as he resumes pacing in front of me. “I expected more from you, Princess.”

The word makes me tense before I can stop myself. I trap my tongue between my teeth to keep anything from slipping out. It’s been an eternity since anyone called me that.

Eosu studies me, eyes narrowed, unmoving for long seconds.

When he finally moves, it’s only to snap his fingers. I stiffen instantly. Even without seeing them, I can feel the silhouettes behind me.

“Children, say hello to our dear Princess,” he announces with a sweeping gesture. “Show her how happy you are to finally see her again, after all these years.”

Then his gaze settles back on me, a veil of darkness sliding over his eyes. “Ina, I assume you remember the Borenars. You loved them so much, as a child.”

He barely finishes speaking before a firm hand clamps down on my shoulder, pressing hard enough that if I hadn’t been braced for it, I would have been forced to my knees.

Still, I remain upright —every muscle locked tight, but standing— ignoring the searing pain in my shoulder as I glare at my uncle.

Of course he knows how terrified those creatures made me. He would probably laugh if he knew I still have nightmares about them. Right now, the only thing keeping me from collapsing in place is Jimin.

I can’t afford to be weak until he’s safe.

Refusing to lower my gaze or swallow, I lift my chin instead, meeting the stare that haunted me for so many years, among dozens of others. “Let me leave with the Prince.”

My voice comes out steadier, stronger than I feel —and for a fleeting second, I’m proud of it. Until Eosu laughs in my face, utterly unimpressed.

“Of course, Your Highness. Your wishes are commands,” he sneers, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, his eyes darker than ever.

I grit my teeth. “I’m serious. If you don’t want to start a war—”

“Oh, but that’s exactly what I want,” he cuts in cheerfully.

I shake my head, stunned. “You don’t realize—”

He doesn’t even let me finish. His voice echoes off the stone walls as he looms over me, his smile long gone.

“I have a better idea. Tell me where your brother is, and maybe I won’t kill you.”

I freeze.

He just stares at me, leaning down slightly to bring his face level with mine. The hand on my shoulder doesn’t loosen for a second —I swear it grows heavier by the moment.

“You don’t know?” I finally ask, incredulous. “You managed to find me, but not him? You’re even more stupid than I thought, Uncle.”

His features harden at the mockery, but to my surprise, he doesn’t react. In my memories, Eosu never tolerated being laughed at.

“I’m not talking about that brother, Ina.”

I wish I could say I stay as impassive as he does. That I give nothing away. That I keep laughing in his face.

The truth is, something collapses inside me.

I should have known he wouldn’t resurface for no reason. Without realizing it, my breathing grows harsher, my fists clench, and even though I don’t break eye contact, we both feel the shift in the air.

Before I can stop it, the panic is back.

“Let go of me,” I snap suddenly —but the hand on my shoulder barely twitches. My voice is almost shaking when I turn my head to glare at the purple shadow. “I said: let go.”

I clench my teeth so hard it looks like I might lunge at him. Inside, all I want is to run. If I’m fast enough, maybe I can find Jimin before they catch me.

The shadow hesitates, then finally releases me and steps back. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Eosu frown, then grind his teeth. He may be their commander, but the Borenars are still under orders to obey the royal family —whether I like it or not.

Eosu doesn’t even have time to speak before I’ve drawn the dagger from my boot and pressed it beneath his throat.

He doesn’t flinch. Still impassive.

“Tell me where Jimin is,” I growl, teeth clenched as every instinct in my body screams at me to flee.

Eosu shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “I truly expected better from you, my little Ina.” If I didn’t know him better, I’d swear he looks almost regretful as he meets my gaze. “Do you really think the Prince of Hestidia will want your help after seeing you present yourself as his enemy?”

My eyes widen in horror, my grip on the dagger loosening.

I don’t have time to make sense of his words —because in the next instant, a brutal blow strikes the back of my skull, and everything goes black.

With no real purpose, I wander through the aisles of the library. I don’t come here often, and that’s probably why it makes me feel so small every single time. Ebonwick Manor may be nowhere near as vast as the Capital Palace, but it’s hardly lacking —its grand, lavish rooms are proof enough, and the library is the clearest example of all.

The aisles stretch on for dozens of meters, the shelves climbing all the way up to the ceiling, forcing the use of towering wooden ladders to reach the highest ones. Hundreds —thousands— of grimoires, each more beautiful than the last, just waiting to be taken down and read. And yet, in the middle of all that, I only see her.

She accompanies me here every day —I’m meant to constantly refine my education, even at Ebonwick— but the more time passes, the more convinced I am that she enjoys these moments more than she enjoys me.

She’s there, her back to me, long hair gathered into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, head tilted back to better study the spines of the heavy volumes lined up before her.

Every day, she comes here with me, chooses one, and spends hours buried in it —usually until I start complaining, bored out of my mind, just to make us leave and do something else.

A sigh escapes me. I cross my arms over my chest and lean against a shelf, watching her. A few strands have slipped free from her hairstyle, swaying gently, and my fingers itch with the urge to catch them. I stay, admiring the perfect curve of her nose. Her high cheekbones. Her eyes —narrow and wide all at once, like a cat’s. Stunning enough to knock the breath out of you, yet sharp enough to read you like an open book.

Then, slowly, she leans forward. Rises onto the tips of her toes, stretching to reach a book above her head —and when I see her try again and again, it’s stronger than me.

I step closer, silent, slipping in behind her without a word. She only notices me when my fingers close around the book she’s been struggling to grab and I pull it down toward us. She startles, elbow knocking into the shelf, and instinctively my free hand settles at her waist to steady her.

When she turns, it isn’t —much to my delight— to shove my hand away. It’s to glare at me as I hand her the grimoire.

“I could’ve managed on my own,” she grumbles, though she still murmurs a very small thank you as she takes it from me.

“I don’t doubt it for a second, Darling,” I reply easily, not bothering to hide my smile when a soft pink blooms across her cheeks.

She rolls her eyes and walks away, and an incredulous laugh slips out of me. With each passing day, she cares less and less about politeness —and I love it.

Grabbing a random book, I follow her as she settles onto one of the many couches arranged in the center of the room. She makes herself comfortable, opening the heavy book on her lap with delicate care.

“What are you reading today?” I ask quietly, sitting beside her.

When I do, we end up close enough that my thigh brushes hers before settling, leaving only a few centimeters between us. If she notices, she does nothing to put distance between us.

“A collection on sewing and embroidery of all kinds,” she answers simply, flipping eagerly through the pages.

When no response comes, she looks up at me, her beautiful hazel eyes meeting mine, frozen in disbelief. “What?” she asks. “What’s with that face?”

The hint of a smile curves my lips. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t have pictured you as an admirer of that kind of… craft,” I murmur after a moment, a soft laugh escaping me.

She narrows her catlike eyes. “And what is that supposed to mean?” she challenges, one brow arched. “That I’m incapable of doing anything that doesn’t involve exercise or fighting?”

Another laugh slips out of me, and I shake my head quickly. “Not at all. But you…” I take my time choosing my words, enjoying myself far too much as I stretch my arm along the back of the couch, behind her head, while she waits, eyebrow still raised. “You like simple things. Dancing to the rhythm of your own heart. Riding or walking for hours without a destination. Sitting still just to listen to birdsong. Getting on my nerves, too,” I add when she looks away just a second too late for me to miss the red tint spreading across her cheeks. I try to ignore the ridiculously pleasant wave of warmth tightening in my chest. “Embroidery… It feels both too calm and not peaceful enough for you. I’d bet you’d be bored of it within a day.”

She weighs my words for a few seconds, giving me free rein to admire the little pout forming on her lips. I could do that for hours. She’s far too beautiful for my own good.

“I used to do it as a child,” she finally mutters, something conflicted flickering across her face before a smile takes over. “I hated it. Haven’t tried again since, though.”

“Don’t,” I beg theatrically, opening my own book with one hand. “I’d be far too afraid you’d get irritated and try to slit my throat with your needles.”

And then —what she does next makes my heart stop.

She laughs.

A soft, beautiful sound that spills straight from her chest before fading into something quieter, almost shy. Her smile grows, her eyes crinkling slightly, lighting up her face with that spark that makes them shine.

My poor heart takes its time starting again. When it does, it skips a beat —then another— because the smile that lingers on her face is even more beautiful than any I’ve ever seen on her.

God help me. She’s going to kill me.

“Min Harin,” I say lightly, because I can’t let her see just how pathetically gone I am for her, “did you just laugh at one of my jokes?”

She freezes, the red on her cheeks deepening. “Absolutely not.”

“I heard it,” I insist, leaning a little closer.

“You must be mistaken,” she denies, chin lifted.

I smile, far too soft whenever it comes to her. “You should do it more often.” Then, remembering what it did to my heart, I murmur, “Or maybe not.”

Of course —Harin being Harin— she hears me. “And why not?” she asks, leaning in as well, leaving only the barest distance between our faces.

Because it makes me want to kiss you, I want to scream —but I don’t. Even with the golden glint in her eyes that seems to whisper then do it.

I should. I seriously consider it. And when I finally gather the courage and lean in —just a little— to close the distance, my lips don’t have time to reach hers.

Because I wake up.

Alone, in my enormous bed.

I turn toward her side, already thinking of rewriting the ending of this memory tangled with my dreams —but I’m met with cold, unmistakably abandoned sheets.

“Harin?” I call out blindly, hoping to see her rise from the large armchair by the fireplace, where she always curls up.

But only silence answers me. Silence —and moonlight slipping through the window at the far end of the room, where the curtain wasn’t properly drawn. That same light barely reveals two small gouges in the wood of the nearby furniture —exactly the size of a falcon’s talons.

This is the fourth time Cat-Eyes clicks his tongue because my heel keeps hammering against the floor at full speed. Each time, I let it go —I lower my heel back down until the pressure becomes unbearable and I start again. Four times.

If there’s a fifth, I think I might just jump at his throat and rip him open. Not that it would scare him, judging by the size of the man.

One single day was enough for me to decide that I truly, deeply hate afternoons in the library when Harin isn’t here. Her brother might not be the most unpleasant person I know, but it’s obvious this has nothing to do with that.

For starters, he’s told me to relax at least seven times in the span of thirty minutes —which, naturally, had the exact opposite effect. And to top it all off, shortly after that, some servants had the brilliant idea of bringing in violinists to, and I quote, “help His Majesty enjoy himself.”

Now, I have no proof that this idea came from the lieutenant —but I have some very strong suspicions.

“Stop that, Your Highness. You’re going to hurt yourself,” he suddenly says from his armchair without even bothering to look up from his book, looking more bored than ever, cheek resting against his closed fist.

That’s it. The thin thread of my patience snaps completely.

“That’s enough,” I growl, dropping the book I’d been holding without reading onto the couch beside me before standing up and advancing toward him, threatening. “Now you’re going to stop your bullshit and tell me where she is.”

That, at least, makes him look up at me —his mask of indifference not cracking for even a second as he arches an eyebrow, and I suddenly get the very clear impression that he’s thinking, oh, look at that, he barks now?

He ignores me outright, his attention returning to his book as he delicately turns the page, despite my voice shaking with tension and bottled-up anger.

It feels like my skull is boiling.

I will never find the words to describe the distress that flooded me when I woke up this morning and realized she wasn’t there anymore. I swear I felt something stop inside me —my heart, probably.

It got worse when I questioned the lieutenant —not only because I had to push so hard just to get a reason that I could’ve killed him four times over with the anger burning through me, but mostly because that distress turned into pure, petrifying fear.

She left to “take care of something,” according to him —and I’m not stupid. Knowing Harin, she found out where Jimin was and charged straight there without a second thought. I don’t know whether I’m more hurt that she didn’t tell me, or terrified that something might happen to her.

Given that I can’t breathe calmly or stop shaking, it’s mostly the second option. It’s killing me to know she’s out there alone and that I can’t do a damn thing about it.

“Listen to me, you filthy little—”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

I stop short, startled, while he remains just as weary as ever. “What, listening to me?”

The look he gives me over the top of his book makes me want to slap myself, but I shake my head and refocus.

“Tell me where she went, or I swear I’ll have your head cut off,” I snap, pointing a finger at him, teeth clenched, fully prepared to follow through —even if Harin would probably kill me for it. I don’t care. I just want to find her. Fuck.

“Go right ahead. It might spare me the headache you’re currently giving me,” he replies without batting an eye, stifling a yawn.

I let my arm fall back down, defeated. I guess threats don’t work on him. This jerk will take whatever he knows in the grave with him.

Keep calm, Taehyung. Harin is unbeatable —it’s only a matter of time, and she’ll come back. With Jimin, on top of that. Perfect.

Yes. Perfect —except patience has never been one of my strengths.

“Why didn’t she tell me, huh?!” I explode, practically screaming, my voice echoing up into the high ceiling. “What the fuck are you hiding from me?!”

Cat-Eyes sighs as he sets his book aside and rubs his eyes. He stays like that for a long moment, as if hesitating between continuing to ignore me and ripping my throat out.

Personally, I’d prefer the second option. At least it would take my mind off things.

“She went alone to avoid moving dozens of men, that’s all,” he finally mutters —and I freeze. Why doesn’t that reassure me at all?

“Do I look like I give a shit?” I snap back, on the verge of losing it. “Tell me where she is, right now, or I—”

He stands up suddenly, cutting me off. “Listen, Your Highness. Believe it or not, the only reason I’m here with you is because my idiot sister asked me to keep an eye on you while she’s gone. So for once, stop behaving like a spoiled child and kindly go back to waiting in your chair until I tell you to stand up.”

The last words are almost spat in my face —but I don’t hold it against him. Between what he’s just admitted and the idea that Harin went alone toward our enemies, it’s not hard to guess that he’s just as tense as I am.

Still, one part sticks.

Harin asked him to watch over me…?

“Why is it her who went? You’re Jimin’s bodyguar—”

“Your Highness, go sit down before I lose my temper.”

“Lose it. I want to know where she is. That’s an order.”

He glares at me, brow furrowed. “As you just so kindly reminded me, I am Jimin’s bodyguard. I owe you no obedience —only respect.” His eyes darken then, sharpening. “So with all due respect, Your Highness, go fuck yourself.”

And with that, he doesn’t wait for my reaction before turning away, barely sparing me a glance as he picks up his book and resumes where he left off, cheek resting against his fist.

I stay there, standing in front of him, just as tense despite his endless calm, my breathing the only sound breaking the heavy silence.

Until finally —after long, silent minutes— I speak again, my voice trembling so badly it nearly gives out.

“And if she doesn’t come back?”

At first, I think he hasn’t heard me, judging by his unchanged stillness. But he proves me wrong when, slowly —very slowly— his right eyebrow lifts, stretching the scar that cuts across his eye as he presses his tongue into his cheek, forming a small bulge that alone is enough to show just how much anger he’s keeping buried inside.

The look he gives me then would send chills down anyone’s spine.

“If she doesn’t come back, I’ll go deal with those bastards myself. And after that, you’re free to follow me —if you want. For all I care.”

Even the celebrations in Bruria feel cold —like everything else.

An orchestra may be playing, but a tight silence hangs in the air, and except for Father, everyone looks like they’d rather be anywhere else.

I’ve never seen the great cathedral this full. I don’t go there very often, to be honest —the old building scares me so much that I usually do everything I can to avoid it. This time, there’s no way out.

The frilly dress Mother told me to wear itches horribly. She said it looked good on me —even Hoseok complimented it, with a stiff smile— but I think it’s awful.

Yoongi didn’t escape the reception outfit either. He looks more tense than ever, trapped in his shirt and tailored jacket. His hair has been tied into a bun at the back of his head, with only the longest strands falling down his neck —the hairstyle of troop commanders. Everyone was delighted to see him like that.

Me, I grimaced. It suits him perfectly, but I don’t like what it means. And I thought Mother was going to faint when she saw him.

He nudges me lightly with his elbow when he notices I’m paying more attention to him than to the stage in front of us, and I straighten up immediately, called back to order. Mother spent all of yesterday repeating the same things to us over and over.

That today was very important. That we had to be flawless. That we must not draw attention to ourselves. That everything had to be perfect.

Standing off to the side, she holds herself straight, chin raised like always. She’s more beautiful than ever, dressed to the nines in a gown I’ve never seen her wear before—but it’s definitely better than mine.

I really hate this dress.

As the King’s second wife, she’s always had more pressure on her shoulders —she always had to be perfect, or she would shame her husband. As far as I know, the only thing the court ever reproached her for was being too much of a mother hen with Yoongi and me —and if she hadn’t been, I don’t know how we would have survived.

In the middle of the platform, facing the crowd, Hoseok stands in his ceremonial clothes, the small crest I eventually finished embroidering stitched onto his shoulder.

Father stands farther away, his silver crown gleaming under the chandelier light, and nothing will ever hide the barely contained satisfaction in his sly gaze.

Without meaning to, I clench my fists, a shiver running through me. I hate that look.

Beside him stands Uncle Eonu, his brother and royal advisor. The rest of the royal family is positioned behind Yoongi and me, along with a few courtiers. Most of the other people in the crowd are members of high society —but they’re so few you’d think they were just peasants picked up along the road.

The country has seen better days. That’s probably why everyone was waiting so desperately for the coronation. The promise of new days.

In front of Hoseok, his back to us, an old man recites the coronation speech, quoting one by one all the lines from the great texts about regency and the transfer of power in Bruria. Texts Yoongi and I were made to study a few months ago, without finding the slightest interest in them—they’re just incomprehensible poems.

We might still be small, but that doesn’t mean we’re stupid.

I’ve noticed, for several weeks now, that Hobi isn’t the same anymore. He doesn’t play with us. He doesn’t eat with us. In fact, we barely see him at all now. Every time we do get to spend time with him, he looks constantly stressed, on edge —and he looks at the purple shadows with even more hatred and fear than before.

Yoongi said he probably knows something we don’t —and ever since, I’ve been dying to know what. And at the same time, the constantly terrified look on my big brother’s face stops me from asking.

“Today is a great day,” the old man continues, his trembling voice growing louder, and I see Hoseok hide a grimace. “The day when, at last, our king is no longer alone. The day when, like the sun finally reaching us, our heir will gain access to the ultimate treasure and aid our King in his quest. May he be all-powerful, and restore Bruria to its former greatness.”

I don’t understand any of it —and judging by the boredom painted on Yoongi’s face, neither does he. At least he’s making an effort to stay awake. Mother would kill us if something like that happened, especially after how much she insisted. We have to be impeccable.

“I swear it.” Hobi murmurs, in a tone I might have thought solemn if I didn’t know him so well. The truth is, I can see how tight his features are from here, and I’m ready to bet he’s squirming with discomfort.

I can’t wait for this moment to be over.

The orchestra changes tune, something colder, even more frightening, the sound of the choirs making the stone walls vibrate as Hoseok lowers his head so the old man can place what he’s holding with both hands —a thin crown of thorns, made of silver. It settles perfectly into his brown hair, as if it were made just for him.

I’ve seen that crown in paintings before —but apart from the fact that it’s worn by the prince who will take the throne when the King dies, I have no idea what it means. Maybe I should’ve listened better when the tutor talked…?

Some people in the assembly start to straighten up, thinking the ceremony is over. Yoongi and I exchange a look, unsure whether to do the same, but the orchestra suddenly stops playing, and monsters in purple cloaks climb onto the platform, carrying together a wide bowl at least as big as my arm, filled with a thick golden liquid.

A murmur runs through the crowd. Yoongi and I crane our necks to see better, confused.

“And now,” the old man continues, taking the bowl in his shaking hands, “I, proud servant of the Jung family for nearly three generations, will make you, Jung Eoso, twenty-seventh heir of the Jung line, the man worthy of the power and responsibilities we already see in you.”

His voice booms, barely drowning out the confused whispers growing louder. I glance at Mother, puzzled, but her eyes are locked on Hobi, fingers clenched in the folds of her dress.  Yoongi places his hand on my thigh and draws my attention to the crowd behind us —monsters in purple cloaks are moving silently, trying to restore order. We look at each other without saying anything, knowing exactly what it means.

Something is wrong.

“Now drink, young heir! Drink, so you may become the honorable warrior we see in you! Drink the sacred mead of the Borenars —drink, and show us the way!”

People shift restlessly. The crowd almost growls, held back by the few purple monsters. On the platform, Father shoots them a dark look, and as my uncle makes a small gesture with his hand, something I can’t see happens —and suddenly, silence falls.

Right as Hoseok’s lips touch the rim of the bowl.

We expect him to take just one sip —but no. The old man tilts the bowl without giving him any respite, and soon it’s empty and Hobi straightens up.

He opens his eyes again, his face more closed off than ever. And when his gaze meets mine, I swear his pupils are golden —but a second later, they’re their usual black again, and I think I must have imagined it.

The old man shows the empty bowl to Father, who nods, satisfied. Hobi stands tall, his silver crown sitting straight on his head, and the orchestra begins to play again, people cheering this time.

As if nothing happened.

For the rest of the ceremony, Hoseok’s eyes never meet mine —or Yoongi’s, or Mother’s.

And the whole time, I carry this awful certainty that something is very, very wrong.

*

Above my head, a silver fox stares at me without blinking.

Not a real fox. A fox made of fabric, embroidered into one of those horrible tapestries they hang from the ceiling —both to decorate these awful stone walls and to make the cold bearable.

When I was little, I remember servants dying of cold because the tapestries weren’t thick enough. The weather there was no joke.

I want to tear the fox apart. I want it to stop staring at me. Its eyes —tiny violet gemstones— do nothing but drag bad memories back to the surface. Memories I would rather forget. Memories that would keep me from ever sleeping again if I linger on them too long.

Maybe if I climb onto the bed, I could reach it.

No. That’s stupid. It would make noise, and anyway, they took my daggers. No way I’m touching that thing with my bare hands.

And I need to save my strength for Jimin. I don’t have much time left. The tiny window —the only opening in the room they locked me in— barely lets me see the changing landscape outside.

Night is falling.

I don’t know how long he’s been there, but one thing I’m sure of is that they didn’t lock Jimin in a room with as many tapestries as mine. Eosu wants to keep me alive. I doubt he’s showing Jimin the same kindness.

He’ll freeze to death if we don’t get him out quickly.

So I move.

I’d rather die trying to save him than spend one more second here anyway. Eosu decorated everything like the castle of Bruria, down to the smallest detail —like those awful chandeliers that barely light the rooms, casting shadows you swear are moving along the walls.

I expect a violet silhouette to jump out at me any second, and I’ve never regretted not having a weapon this much. I feel naked. I hate it.

My nightmares made sure I never forgot the horrors that happened within the castle walls. But they never did justice to the sickness that crawls inside me just from being here.

One sharp elbow strike is enough to shatter the small pane of glass, thinned by the biting heat of the Fire Plains. A violent pain shoots through my elbow —I think a shard of glass lodged itself inside— but for a moment, it pulls my mind away from the panic that hasn’t left me for hours, so I let it be. Anything, as long as I think of something else.

I have to twist and wriggle to squeeze through the opening, only to catch myself just in time when my foot nearly misses the ledge. I don’t breathe properly until I’m outside —and even then, barely.

I remember the sound of horns blown in the middle of the night. The screams of agony coming from the basements. Footsteps outside my bedroom door, like someone hesitating to enter. Blades coming down, day after day. Hands forcing us to watch.

One foot, then the other.

I hit the ground in less than three seconds, then bolt around the building, hiding in the shadows the very young night creates. I spot violet silhouettes stationed here and there, but I’m so terrified I avoid them without even thinking.

I find the improvised dungeons easily —a small tower attached to the massive one I just escaped, even more ruined than the main structure. Without wasting any time, I find a broken section of wall and climb inside, just as silent as before.

I bitterly regret that not-so-distant time when I could have curled up in Taehyung’s arms as if nothing were wrong.

A shrill sound suddenly cuts through the air, yanking me out of my thoughts, and my blood runs cold.

A horn just sounded.

It’s over for me. Someone must have seen me escape. They’re going to chase me down, catch me, lock me up again before—

The horn sounds again —three times— and I can breathe again.

Four horn blasts. The shift.

The silhouettes that roam at night aren’t the same as the ones during the day —I know that, because the ones that moved in the dark terrified me even more when I was a child.

Which means not only that I’d better hurry —but also, more importantly, that I have an opening.

So I don’t waste a single second. With a quick movement, I grab the two hooks hidden in my boot —the ones they didn’t find when they searched me— and I quicken my pace, constantly glancing back over my shoulder.

I freeze, melting into the shadows and holding my breath when I spot a Silhouette moving a few meters ahead of me. It doesn’t notice me, continuing toward the main tower where Eosu is probably waiting. I breathe a little easier when it leaves my field of vision.

My breath catches even harder, though, when I turn my head and see what it was guarding.

A small black door, fitted with a heavy padlock.

I sigh, a rush of hope suddenly filling my chest —it almost feels too easy.

And that’s when my uncle’s words come back to me.

“Do you really think the prince of Hestidia will want your help, after seeing you present yourself as his enemy?”

I freeze, breath caught—

and something inside me breaks.

There is, quite frankly, something seriously wrong with Jimin’s skull. Why the hell does it hurt this much?!

On top of that, the damn pain is making him hallucinate. Otherwise, why would he have seen Harin— Ina? Princess of Bruria?

Plunged back into darkness, Jimin rubs his head, swearing under his breath. What kind of mess has he gotten himself into this time…?

He must have dreamed it. There’s no other explanation. There’s simply no way —after everything Harin has done for them, all the times they trusted her, she can’t—

This time, Jimin doesn’t even try to hold back the tears spilling down his cheeks. It’s been at least two hours since they dragged him back into his cell —more than enough time to think. And Jimin knows that even completely out of his mind, he couldn’t have imagined that.

Harin betrayed them.

And damn it —why does admitting it silently hurt this much?

In a way, it makes sense. She infiltrated their group —her position as Taehyung’s bodyguard giving her the perfect cover— earned their trust by helping them in Ironshell, then handed them over to their enemies on a silver platter. Maybe she even used Taehyung to extract information from him.

Wordlessly, Jimin lets his head fall back against the wall and allows the tears to flow freely. She really played them all.

Now those monsters from Bruria will probably kill him —before going after Taehyung. Then, without a doubt, they’ll deal with the Kings and seize control of the Realms, just like that man —Jung— seemed to suggest. It’s over.

Jimin would like to say the pain tearing through his chest comes from the thought of his own imminent death. The truth is, his tears have nothing to do with that. He can’t believe she did this to them.

After all those moments together. Long mornings talking on the stone bench while Yoongi and Taehyung trained in the underground hall. Meals filled with laughter and warmth. Confessions. Shared emotions.

All of it —for nothing.

All of it, just for her to use them without hesitation.

Taehyung was right —Jimin trusts too easily. And now he’s cursing himself for not listening, because that trust might be what gets his friend killed.

Through his tears, he swears again —louder this time, as his sobs intensify, fueled by the tearing pain in his chest.

He can still see the gentle smile she wore when they talked quietly in the cold. The emotion in her eyes every time Taehyung looked her way.

Why does it hurt so much —to think it was all just a game to her?!

If she were in front of him right now, he would—

A harsh metallic scrape echoes through the air, and Jimin freezes as the door of his cell opens a few inches, letting a blinding beam of light spill inside.

Suddenly blinded, Jimin raises a hand to shield his eyes, curling in on himself against the wall. That’s it. They’ve come for him. They’re going to kill him. This is—

“Psst.”

A hand appears in the narrow opening —a slender hand, almost translucent in the harsh light. Jimin goes rigid, breath caught. What the hell is this?!

“Psst!” he hears again, louder this time, and though he can barely see, Jimin swears the hand is motioning for him to come closer.

His head hurts worse than ever —between that and the light nearly blinding him, he’s on the verge of short-circuiting. But he’s convinced he’s going to die soon anyway, so he figures he might as well take a risk. What does he have to lose?

With part of his mind vaguely noting that he’s never heard the violet silhouettes speak before, he wipes the tears from his cheeks and crawls forward on all fours, still struggling to release the breath he’s holding.

The moment he touches the door, the hand suddenly grabs him by the collar and yanks him violently out of his cell.

A cry of pain escapes him as he finds himself —again, for the second time today— engulfed in that overwhelming light his eyes can no longer tolerate, forcing him to squeeze them shut until he sees nothing at all.

He doesn’t even have time to scream again —a hand clamps over his mouth, preventing him from making a sound. Panic surges. He tries to open his eyes, to reach out and grab his attacker, but the pain in his head and eyes is unbearable the moment he parts his lids, and his hands close on empty air as he’s gently pressed back against the wall, pinned in place.

His ears start ringing, and fresh tears sting his eyes, still far too sensitive to handle the light.

It’s over. This person is going to kill him. Jimin is going to die —and he won’t even get to see Taehyung one last time.

“Calm down, for god’s sake,” a voice suddenly says, and Jimin’s heart stutters, because he knows that voice. But in his panic, he can’t tell whether he actually heard it —or imagined it.

The pressure on his mouth eases slightly, and Jimin takes the chance to shove the hand away, immediately coughing and sputtering, his eyes still barely open.

“Take this,” the voice continues, utterly unconcerned with his current state. Something is tossed at him, and his fingers close around warm fabric —a long coat, maybe, or a cloak. “Run east and don’t stop.” Through the blinding white haze, he vaguely makes out an arm pointing in a direction. “About a hundred meters out, you’ll find a horse tied to a tree. Take it. Go home —and don’t come back. Is that clear?”

With great effort, Jimin lifts his head. He sees only a dark shape looming over him, with strands —vines, or maybe hair— spilling down above his face. He opens his mouth to respond, tongue thick—

—but he doesn’t get the chance.

“Never come back,” the voice says, thick with emotion. “I’m begging you.”

The next second, the shadow is gone —and Jimin is alone again, surrounded by an endless white that keeps blinding him.

He’s unable to move, too stunned. As his eyes slowly adjust to the sudden brightness, enough for him to make out his surroundings, he tries to understand what just happened —and fails.

Did one of the monsters really just help him…? Or was it…?

He doesn’t find an answer —only the sound of approaching footsteps, echoing somewhere in the distance.

So Jimin doesn’t think. He reacts on pure survival instinct, his breath lodged in his throat. Clutching the fabric he was given as if it could save him, he runs. Following the vague direction he was shown, he runs as fast as he can, ignoring the burning in his legs —thinking only of running, running, for as long as it takes to put distance between himself and that madhouse.

When he finally spots a tree, he’s completely out of breath. By the time he reaches it, his limbs give out, and he collapses into a cloud of dust.

His arms shake as he tries to push himself up, but after three attempts, he manages. He lifts his head —and this time, the shadow towering over him isn’t one of those horrible violet monsters.

It’s a tall horse with a cream-colored coat, wearing nothing but a bridle that tethers it to the tree, watching him with quiet curiosity.

Jimin could cry.

The horse is really there. Just like promised. …He can leave.

With a sudden burst of strength, he stands, grabs the horse’s bridle, and fumbles frantically at the knot. He doesn’t know if he’s dreaming, but he swears he hears the sounds of chaos behind him, back in the nightmare he barely escaped. And if there’s one thing he knows right now, it’s that he has no desire to return.

When his trembling, exhausted fingers struggle to undo the knot, the stallion almost seems to help, pulling its massive head back to tug on the reins. A choked cry of victory escapes Jimin, and in no time at all, he grabs the reins and hauls himself onto the horse’s back —burning muscles and shaking legs be damned.

The horse needs only a light kick of the heel to understand. Jimin barely has time to hold on before it takes off at full speed, heading east.

As the wild gallop leaves a trail of dust and churned earth behind them, Jimin looks back one last time over his shoulder, toward the austere tower.

He casts it a final glance —but his eyes are still too sensitive to notice the figure standing at the base of the tower, watching him flee.

And even if his vision had been clear, he is already far, far too distant to make out the brown strands whipping in the wind, or to recognize the hazel eyes following him as he disappears.

“She’ll be here tomorrow.”

Those were the words Cat-Eyes spoke the night before, when dusk began to fall. A simple sentence, delivered like a promise —no need to add anything else.

Then he went to bed with a dark look in his eyes, leaving me alone with that hollow fear gnawing at my gut.

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep a wink.

I spent every minute waiting for her —straining to catch the sound of hooves tearing into the estate at full speed. I even went to her room, hoping —maybe— she might have left something behind. A clue. A note. Anything at all.

But no. Nothing.

When the sun finally rose, she wasn’t there. Not when the servants brought me breakfast. Not when Cat-Eyes joined me, looking like he hadn’t slept either. And even now, with the day well underway, there’s still no word from Harin.

I don’t know whether I want to curl up in a corner and cry, or punch someone just to take the edge off —even if only for a few minutes. Or saddle a horse and go looking for her, no matter where it takes me.

The only thing stopping me is Cat-Eyes’s expression —because he looks like he wants to do all of that three times harder than I do, and I have no desire to be the unfortunate target if he snaps.

Every second —right now included, as we sit aimlessly in the library without even pretending to read, just holding books— the words are dying to spill off my tongue.

Where is she?

My fingers itch with the urge to grab the Lieutenant by the shoulders and shake him until he finally answers me, until he stops playing dead and tells me where Harin has gone. Because I won’t last another day without her. Without knowing whether she’s alive or not.

Today, Cat-Eyes doesn’t click his tongue when my heel taps the floor again and again. Maybe because his own fingers are making the same restless motion against his thigh.

The manor is completely silent, which only makes it heavier —as if not just the servants, but the walls themselves have sensed the tension coiled inside.

Until, suddenly, footsteps echo overhead —on the floor above.

Cat-Eyes and I lift our heads in perfect sync, as if the ceiling might split open and Harin will fall straight through it.

But no. Just footsteps —hurried ones, and many of them, as though several people are moving quickly through the corridor.

I sigh and lower my gaze back to my book. I don’t even get the chance to read a single word—

The library doors burst open with a sharp crack.

“Y-Your Highness!”

A small servant rushes in, breathless, panic written all over her face as her eyes latch onto mine. I stand on instinct, stepping toward her to calm her down, but she shakes her head.

“What’s going on?” The Lieutenant rises and positions himself behind me, and the servant’s gaze ricochets between the two of us.

“The guards,” she begins, then swallows hard. “Th-They saw a rider enter the estate. They told me to warn you—”

“A man or a woman?” Cat-Eyes cuts in, one hand landing on my shoulder, his voice thick with hope.

She turns toward me, as if asking permission to answer. I nod eagerly, hanging on her words just as much as the Lieutenant is.

Please let it be her…

Slowly, the servant shakes her head. “They couldn’t tell. The western entrance is too far to see clearly from the windows—”

We barely hear the rest.

After a rushed mutter of “shit,” Cat-Eyes and I move as one, brushing past her and sprinting into the corridor. Our footsteps thunder against the marble tiles as we tear down the grand staircase. The Lieutenant is faster than I’ve ever seen him, beating me by seconds as he throws open the main doors with his shoulder and storms into the courtyard.

By the time I reach him, guards dressed in black are already in position, ready to receive our guest—

And my heart stutters when I see them.

From where we stand, the horse is coming straight toward us, but the rider is slumped too low for us to recognize. All we can make out is a brown coat clinging to the horse’s neck like their life depends on it.

“I know that horse,” I murmur without thinking, staring at its coat gleaming cream in the sunlight.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Lieutenant release what very much resembles a sigh. He recognizes it too.

It’s Lexi. The stallion of—

“Your Highness, watch out!”

A guard barely has time to shout before someone suddenly shoves me aside, sparing me from colliding head-on with the horse as it comes to an abrupt stop. With practiced ease, Cat-Eyes grabs the reins, trying to steady the animal.

“Easy, easy, big guy,” he murmurs, gently stroking the space between its eyes.

The horse snorts, stamping the ground —and it doesn’t take a genius to see how exhausted it is. The same seems to be true of the rider, still curled in on themselves.

I don’t even have time to speak —or comment on the lack of saddle or gear— when the rider suddenly tips backward, nearly collapsing to the ground if I and a few men hadn’t reacted fast enough to catch them.

And the moment I grab that weakened body, it takes me less than a second to understand.

It’s not Harin.

The pain that crashes into my chest at that realization is unbearable —but it’s nothing compared to what floods my entire body when the rider grips my shoulder with a trembling hand and speaks.

Because I’d recognize that voice anywhere. And it has never sounded so fragile.

“Taehyung… we need to—”

He chokes on his own saliva, fingers clutching frantically at my jacket, trying —and failing— to say more. Tears well in his swollen, bloodshot eyes.

“Hey—hey, calm down. Someone help me,” I signal to a few guards, who quickly assist me in easing Jimin down onto the ground. Cat-Eyes still holds tight to Lexi.

“No, you don’t understand, we have to—”

“Breathe. Breathe. Can someone bring him water?”

A guard takes off at once, vanishing into the manor. Lexi paws the ground, nervous, and Jimin still refuses to let go of me.

I’ve never seen him like this.

Even when his entire family was slaughtered and he had to flee his kingdom alone, he came back to me spotless, that infuriating smile still tugging at his lips. Now—

Now he looks like he’s crawled straight out of hell.

Someone brings water. He drains it at an alarming speed —as if he hasn’t had a drop in days— then looks around, blinking again and again, as though he can’t quite believe he’s here. With us.

Cat-Eyes doesn’t let go of Lexi for a second, his hand still resting protectively between the horse’s eyes. But his gaze is locked on the entrance to the estate, every line of his face drawn tight.

And he does not look pleased.

“Taehyung,” Jimin finally manages, dragging my attention back to him.

My teeth clench at the sight of his hollow cheeks and the burst vessels in his eyes. I’m going to kill the bastard who did this to him.

“We have to hurry. They… They’re going to attack. The purple monsters, they—”

“Where is Harin?”

The Lieutenant’s voice cuts through the air, sending a chill straight down my spine.

It no longer carries that quiet warmth —the subtle softness that usually lingers beneath his words, that makes him so easy to trust once you know him. No.

Right now, his voice is nothing but a threat. A warning to anyone foolish enough to contradict him. Rough. Final. Carried by the wind like a blade.

I turn to Jimin, waiting —because if I’m too afraid to ask, I need the answer just as badly—

But Jimin doesn’t look at me.

Instead, he turns toward Cat-Eyes. And suddenly, despite how weak he looks, his gaze hardens.

“Where do you think she is?” he snaps. “She stayed behind.”

That’s enough to draw the Lieutenant’s full attention, his thick brows knitting together. I don’t like the sharp glint in his eyes —though I think I like Jimin’s tone even less.

Accusatory. Bitter.

A weight drops straight into my stomach. Now it’s my turn to cling to him.

“What —what are you talking about? Why would Harin—”

“She betrayed us, Taehyung,” Jimin says suddenly, locking eyes with me. “She’s with them. She betrayed us.”

Yoongi doesn’t like what he’s hearing. Not one bit. Not at all. Not even remotely.

This was never supposed to happen like this. None of this was.

He doesn’t understand how he let things spiral so far out of control. He’d truly believed he had a handle on the situation —and until recently, he had. But ever since the assassination attempt on Taehyung, it’s been as if everything has slipped through his fingers. Part of him can’t help thinking this is his fault —he never should have let them take Jimin— but another part knows that thought is useless. There was nothing he could have done against them. Not alone. He would’ve needed his sister, or maybe even his brother, to stand a chance.

Now everything is unraveling. Whatever grip he once had on the course of events has been violently ripped away, leaving him powerless —and he hates that more than anything.

All he knows is that he has to go get Harin —because there is no world in which he leaves her there, in their hands. If they have to relive that nightmare, then they’ll do it together. And Yoongi has already left his sister alone in that hell for far too long.

But the plan has gone to shit.

Now, if he leaves, it’ll look like a—“What did they lock you in?”

“I don’t know,” Jimin mutters weakly, clutching the blanket around his shoulders like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart. He’s on his third bowl of broth. “Some kind of tiny room, no openings at all. Pitch black —and I couldn’t move. And on top of that, I kept hearing these… screams…”

Yoongi clenches his jaw to hide the shiver crawling up his spine.

Oh, he remembers the black rooms. They’re the worst of them all. Spend even a few minutes in total darkness, cut off from any light, and when you’re finally dragged back out, you’re blind for hours —days, if you’re fragile enough. He still remembers the plum-colored shadows carefully preparing the herbs. The ones they burned afterward, whose fumes made you black out. The perfect destabilization method.

He swallows hard at the thought of Harin enduring that right now.

He really needs to go get her. Now.

The Plains of Fire aren’t that far, are they? Maybe if he cuts through the northern mountain pass, near the sea, he could reach it faster—

“And Harin?”

Taehyung’s voice cuts in suddenly, slightly unsteady, and Yoongi is surprised by the tremor in it. He knows the prince grew attached to his sister  —but not to this extent.

Jimin has repeated it hundreds of times since arriving —so often Yoongi’s ears are practically bleeding from it— yet the prince refuses to accept it. Yoongi isn’t sure whether that’s a good sign or a bad one.

“She betrayed us, Taehyung,” Jimin almost spits, his exhausted face twisting with contempt.

Yoongi clenches his teeth and fists to keep from hitting him.

He cannot stand that word.

“That’s impossible,” the Irinian protests, shaking his head vehemently.

For a fleeting second, Yoongi thinks he looks like a child throwing a tantrum. He hides it well, but Yoongi can see the tears beginning to pool in his eyes. The prince hasn’t slept in days —Yoongi’s surprised he’s still standing at all. Expecting him to stay composed in the face of this…

“I saw her, Taehyung. Yesterday —or before, I don’t know. I was pinned to the floor, I could feel their blades on my neck —their blades, Tae, they were going to kill me— and then she walked in, firing her gun, yelling ‘I am Princess Jung Ina, daughter of I-don’t-know-who—’”

“No, that’s not—” the prince chokes, swallowing a sob.

“And right after that, suddenly no one around me. No blades on my neck,” Jimin continues, gesturing wildly. “I heard it, Tae. Jung Ina.”

Yoongi can’t breathe.

Under other circumstances, he might’ve been proud of himself for not breaking down like Taehyung clearly is. But right now, he can’t move at all.

She didn’t do that. Impossible. She couldn’t have taken that risk… She —who was so deeply haunted by those memories— she couldn’t have… willingly…?

Yes. Yes, damn it.

Yoongi has no choice but to accept it.

He knows his sister. She gets attached too easily. And getting attached to the two princes —he knew it was a terrible idea. He can’t even blame her. He himself had grown attached to Jimin, enough that watching him get taken had filled him with genuine regret —if not outright worry.

Harin would’ve done anything to save him.

Now, Yoongi feels no regret. No worry. Only contempt for the man standing in front of him.

Harin sacrificed herself for him —and this is how he repays her? Calling her a traitor at the first opportunity. Yoongi has no business being here.

He should’ve left long ago. In fact, he should’ve left with Harin the moment the shadows reappeared —princes be damned.

“She —she must’ve lied, made something up to get you released, it’s not—” Taehyung stammers, looking around as if the answer might appear out of thin air. The color drains from his face. He looks on the verge of fainting.

“They obeyed her immediately, Taehyung. She wasn’t lying,” Jimin snaps, unflinching.

“Y-you must be mistaken, it’s not pos—”

“I saw her, Taehyung,” the blond growls.

A small, broken sound escapes the prince’s throat —something disturbingly close to a whimper. His face twists, and he collapses into a chair, head buried in his hands.

When Jimin continues, his voice is marginally softer —but only just.

“She had a ring, Tae. A ring I’d never seen on her before. This huge violet stone with a fox engraved on it. And guess what —there were foxes drawn all over that mad tower. And now that I think about it, the lunatic who greeted me, Jung… Eosu, or whatever —he looked just like her. Like two drops of water.”

Yoongi clenches his jaw so hard he fears it might crack.

It’s his turn to look away, to keep from making a strangled sound —because if he does, this will end badly. His fists are so tight his nails must be cutting into his skin.

Eosu.

Fuck. That bastard is still alive?

Beyond the boiling urge to hit Jimin as hard as he can for what he just said —because if there’s one person Harin doesn’t resemble, it’s that piece of shit Eosu— Yoongi mostly wants to leave. Now.

If Eosu is hunting them, he’ll know exactly how to draw Yoongi out: hurt Harin. And he won’t hesitate to do it.

Yoongi doesn’t have a second to lose.

He’ll deal with Jimin and his disgusting conclusions later. Right now, he needs to saddle Holly and get out —showing his lieutenant’s insignia, he might be able to cross the border without questions. Once there, he’ll get his sister, and they’ll disappear far from these deranged kingdoms.

Jimin can deal with the purple shadows and Eosu on his own, if he hates them so much. All Yoongi wants is his sister.

Lost in his thoughts, he only notices the silence when Jimin speaks again, more quietly.

“Listen,” the blond begins, resting a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder. Only then does Yoongi notice the brunet is shaking from head to toe —he doesn’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad one. “I’m sorry, but… we need to face the truth, Tae. We were played. And now this unknown king —this… Jung —he wants our kingdoms.”

From his corner of the room, Yoongi barely restrains himself from shouting that Eosu was never a king, and never will be.

But he stays silent. It’s too late for explanations.

“So we have to go. Stop them. If we get our hands on this guy, we’ll control all the purple monsters —I know we can do it.”

Yoongi nearly laughs in their faces. He can’t remember the last time he’d been so naïve.

“You know where they are?” Taehyung’s voice is hollow, stripped of all emotion when he finally speaks again after what feels like an eternity. When he lifts his head, his face is just as empty —except he looks utterly broken. Like a stone eroded by too many storms.

Almost solemnly, Jimin nods, unaware of Yoongi’s flaring nostrils. “An abandoned tower in the Plains of Fire. I should be able to lead us there.”

Slowly, Taehyung nods, gaze unfocused. “Then we warn the men —we leave tomorrow, and we wipe that nest of bastards off the map.”

They stand together.

“Tomorrow, Jung Eosu and Jung Ina will be nothing but bad memories.”

Yoongi doesn’t hear the dull crack of splintering wood.

He only hears his anger —red, roaring— buzzing in his ears as he grips something with all his strength, unaware that it’s the fireplace mantel he’s just broken in half.

When the two princes turn toward him, a golden flash passes through his eyes —but he’s far too furious to notice. The atmosphere shifts.

It’s as if they’re only just remembering he’s there.

The trust that once filled their gazes is gone —replaced by something distant, almost hostile. Two hunters eyeing the great stag they’re about to bring down.

Yoongi glares back, too consumed by rage to trust himself to speak. He knew this would happen. And still, he let it.

Maybe that’s what he should hate himself for.

Harin chose to trust them. He chose to believe they couldn’t hurt them if things went wrong. In the end, he remembers the last time he was this naïve.

“Is there a problem, Lieutenant?” Jimin is the first to speak, his tone cold and cutting as he approaches, leaving a frozen Taehyung behind him.

Yoongi doesn’t move. Doesn’t answer. He doesn’t trust himself to. He just stares him down.

Her name is Harin, he wants to scream —but he doesn’t. It’s not worth it anymore. Min Harin. Not that pathetic excuse for a name they loathed their entire childhood.

“I suppose this is the moment you tell us you’re on their side,” Jimin continues, stepping close enough for them to glare at each other. “That you’re planning to kill us in our sleep to stop tomorrow’s battle, hmm? Because really, Lieutenant —you were never with us, were you?”

Slowly, Yoongi tightens his fists.

His face remains impassive, as always. “I admit, I have very little admiration for men who jump to conclusions with such arrogance.”

Jimin’s face hardens —and Yoongi has never seen such hatred in eyes that are usually so gentle.

Behind Jimin, Taehyung moves closer —and it takes Yoongi a few seconds to recognize the object in his hand as a small black dagger. One of Harin’s.

His anger spikes.

“So you are with them,” the prince says, his deep voice so empty Yoongi isn’t even sure he’s truly looking at him. Yoongi doesn’t answer.

They take his silence as confirmation.

Jimin exhales —once, twice— shaking his head. “I never would’ve believed this of you, Lieutenant. You’re impressive. I suppose this little plan —becoming our bodyguard, earning our trust— you must’ve thought it through for a long time, right? Because if she’s a Jung, then so are you. What’s your real name? Yi—”

He doesn’t finish. Because Yoongi spits in his face.

Right on his cheek, just beneath his eye.

Never breaking eye contact, Yoongi wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Later, he’ll think he really should’ve aimed for the eye.

“You know nothing,” he growls through clenched teeth, every ounce of his rage vibrating in his voice.

Jimin flinches —just slightly.

Yoongi is already turning away, toward Taehyung.

“And you,” he begins, pointing an accusing finger. “You —I thought you’d think twice before disappointing me this easily. But deep down, I expected it. I chose to believe you truly loved her rather than admit you’re just a—”

He doesn’t finish. Taehyung’s fist slams into his jaw.

Yoongi’s head snaps to the side, blood and spit flying.

When he meets Taehyung’s gaze again, his whole body is shaking with rage, his eyes burning with something lethal. He should’ve known this would end badly.

No more words are exchanged. Yoongi has nothing left to say anyway.

The only sound breaking the charged silence is Taehyung snapping his fingers —followed immediately by the creak of a door opening, and two soldiers entering.

They’re not dressed in black. They wear the royal guard’s uniform —Taehyung’s men, recalled for the search.

“Gentlemen,” Taehyung thunders, his voice rattling Yoongi’s ears, “do me a favor and give this man a tour of the dungeons.”

From the corner of his eye, Yoongi sees the soldiers pale. “But, Your Highness —that’s the lieutenant, we can’t—”

“No,” Taehyung cuts in, throwing Yoongi one last murderous glance before turning away. “He’s a traitor to the kingdom, to be executed tomorrow. Lock him up tight. And if his black uniform bothers you, take it off him —he doesn’t deserve it.”

“ ‘Rin, this isn’t a good idea,” Yoongi grumbles, still holding my hand.

I turn to him, no longer trying to hide the tears in my eyes. “I just… want to go to bed,” I whisper —not to be quiet, but because I can’t manage any louder.

Yoongi softens at the sight, but he hesitates. He hates these big parties as much as I do, and he wants to leave just as badly —especially since he saw it happen, when one of the dukes tried to slip his hand under my dress. Yoongi was the one who shoved him away. I want to cry so badly that it aches through my whole body.

But Mother insisted. Tonight, we must be perfect.

So Yoongi is going to try to convince me to go back, promising never to leave my side. It won’t help —there will always be something else waiting to scare me.

“Please,” I whisper, almost begging. I managed to lose my bear, I’m not going to be stopped by my own brother.

Yoongi doesn’t have time to respond, though —a low, cold voice cuts through the air and freezes our blood.

“Prince Ino. Princess Ina. You should be at the party.”

We spin around at the same time —face to face with a purple monster looming over us, leaving us no choice but to go back into the great hall.

Yoongi freezes, clutching my hand —but barely has time to stammer when Hobi suddenly appears from behind the figure, making it jump back.

“I’ve got this, it’s fine.”

The monster seems to nod, then vanishes. Hardly gone, and Yoongi and I rush into Hobi’s arms. He holds us without flinching. Yoongi has grown so much he’s almost shoulder-height to him —I can barely rest my head on his chest, but it doesn’t stop Hobi from holding us tight, tight, tight. After a moment, he straightens and kisses our hair gently.

“Are you both alright?” he asks simply.

We shake our heads together. Yoongi even holds out his hand to show him my tears, but I smack his fingers away. Babies cry. I’m not a baby.

Hoseok smiles softly, lifting a hand to brush my tears gently. I love it when he does that —I feel like I’m five again, when he held me in his arms to tell me stories all night.

“Hobi?” I finally whisper, almost shy. He smiles, eyes squinting a little.

“Yes, Angel?”

I swallow. Yoongi does too. He knows this is the only time we can really ask.

“Why were your eyes golden?” “What was happening earlier?”

His smile doesn’t change, but something in his gaze shifts. He strokes our hair gently, biting his lower lip as if thinking.

When he finally speaks, his voice is so low it’s almost impossible to hear.

“Nothing you need to worry about.” Then, after a pause: “You should go back to the table. Father won’t be happy if you don’t finish your plate.”

I can feel tears already forming under my eyes.

“I don’t want to,” I whisper, just as Yoongi mutters, “I want to leave.”

Again, he smiles sadly. “Soon. I promise.”

He kisses each of our cheeks before letting us go gently, standing up. “Remember what I always told you when you were little?”

Yoongi and I exchange uncertain looks. Of course we remember.

At our silence, Hobi raises an eyebrow, so I answer, “If you hear footsteps in the hall, hide in the hole under the mattress.”

“If you hear the scythes, close your eyes until someone tells you to open them,” Yoongi continues, reciting the lines we know by heart.

“And if you hear the hunting horns, run with all your strength,” we finish together, in one voice.

Hobi nods, adding only, “Run where?”

We answer without hesitation. “The hollow tree behind the castle.”

I’ve always thought Harin’s horse was a little frightening.

No, not Harin —I remember suddenly, and my chest tightens so hard that my whole body stiffens. Ina.

Ina. Jung Ina. Princess of the Kingdom that just swore the ruin of mine.

I grip the glass in my hand harder, until it shatters into pieces. Across from me, tied so tightly to a ring he can barely move, Lexi —Har–Ina’s horse —stares at me with a dark, judging eye, pawing the ground. I’ve only been sitting here a few minutes, and he’s been staring like he’s calculating the perfect angle to charge at me.

I should move. Stand up, do something, at least go to sleep —the troops are organized for tomorrow. All I need now is rest.

But I know I won’t be able to find it. In fact, I can’t even find the strength to lift myself from this wooden chair.

Only the strength, in silence, hands and arms trembling uncontrollably, to look at the emerald carved like a flower, split down the middle. To admire the ring that’s been turned into a signet, hanging on a silver chain. A silver chain that I found dangling from the bridle of this cursed horse.

I can still see myself giving it to her. I want to vomit.

To scream, hit something —better yet, someone— to shout until I collapse from exhaustion. Instead, all I can do is sit there, watching how that half-stone glimmers in the torchlight, under the judging gaze of a stallion.

That single blue-green stone seems to hypnotize me, making it impossible to look away. Impossible to feel the time passing silently around me. Until someone enters the stable, their footsteps drawing closer until they stop in front of the stall where I’m sitting.

“Your Highness,” one of my men thunders, tense, but I keep turning the half-flower in my palm. “You must come, the—”

“I asked to be left alone,” I cut him off, tracing the clean split in the flower with my thumb.

I hear him swallow distinctly, which annoys me. “It’s urgent, Your Highness. It’s the Lieutenant.”

I’m about to yell at him to leave, but his last words freeze me, instantly snapping my attention. I lift my head, sitting up enough to see him over the stall door.

“Well? What about him?”

He swallows again, gripping the pommel of his sword tighter. “He’s escaped, Your Highness. And the entire special guard has disappeared.”

I hate the great hall. I decided that when I was eight, and Father forced me to dance in front of everyone with the son of a duke.

Today, I hate it even more. Everyone is celebrating, laughing, singing, dancing—but it’s all just to hide the tension we can all feel.

There are purple monsters everywhere—pinned against the walls, posted beside the tables, near the windows. All of them wield those horrible long spears.

I’m terrified that one of them will attack and kill us all. Yoongi too, given how little he eats.

At the high table, slightly elevated above the others, sit Father, Uncle Eosu on one side, Hoseok on the other, and Mother just beside him. We’re not old enough to sit there yet. And that’s probably for the best. Father terrifies me.

He snaps his fingers. Four purple figures appear before him, so fast that my blood runs cold. “Bring me the gift for my son.”

Hoseok lifts his head, expression unreadable. “A gift, Father?”

Father smiles with all his teeth as the doors of the great hall slam open. “It is my duty to make you the greatest of Kings. And every king must prepare his heir…”

Two purple figures enter the hall, wasting no time before pushing to the ground what they held by the elbows —a girl with long hair as red as fire. I only see her face when she lifts her head —she looks younger than Hobi, but older than Yoongi and me— and I can’t look away.

Her hair is red, her skin golden. I don’t leave the castle often, but I’ve been to parties and receptions, and I’ve never seen anyone like her. I thought everyone had dark hair and nearly white skin.

I vaguely hear shouting, screaming even. Yoongi has frozen beside me, eyes fixed on the high table. Father and Hobi are yelling at each other.

Next to them, Mother has risen, a hand covering her mouth in horror as she watches the girl on the ground, barely moving. The words Usuryn princess and Hestidia are shouted, but I have no idea what they mean.

All I know is that one second, it’s a celebration.

The next second, Hoseok lunges at Father, hands on his neck to strangle him, and chaos erupts.

Everyone rises, runs, screams. Tables fly as the purple figures surge, spears threatening everyone. I crane my neck to see the high table, where I no longer see Hoseok —but Yoongi pulls me back to keep me from moving forward.

Panic rises in me. I don’t see Hoseok. I don’t see Mother. And I am terrified the purple monsters will kill us.

When Yoongi tugs harder on my hand and I let myself be dragged along, I catch a glimpse under the table —Father lying flat on his back.

I barely have time to note how strange it is to lie down at a moment like this before I see the silver crown of thorns planted under his throat.

Before I can even process what that means, the hunting horns echo throughout the castle.

Yoongi and I don’t need words —barely need to look at each other. Even without the reminder from a few minutes ago, we wouldn’t have forgotten.

“If you hear the hunting horns, run with all your strength.”

So we run.

We run without stopping, crushing each other’s fingers in our tight grip as we flee. We dodge the purple figures as best we can, take crooked little staircases to lose those chasing us. When we finally exit the building, Yoongi grabs an abandoned spear from the ground, and we run even faster.

We run. Even when we’re out of breath, even when our legs shake from weakness, we run.

Until we’re away from the castle. Until we reach the edge of the dark forest. Until we stand before the massive hollow tree.

We hide inside the trunk, out of sight, panting in silence, huddled together, trembling with fear. For a long time. A very long time.

Footsteps finally sound, loud. So loud we know they’re approaching. We exchange panicked glances, thinking it could be one of the purple monsters —the steps are fast enough— but before we can decide what to do, a hand slips through the opening, and Hoseok’s head appears, his eyes glowing golden.

Seeing him, I feel like I can move again.

We throw ourselves at him, letting the tears finally flow, and he sighs, holding us close, murmuring “thank you” over and over. When he finally releases us, he pulls us from the trunk, and this time he doesn’t bother wiping our tears.

“We need to hurry, kids, there’s not much time,” he mutters, pulling us along, running so fast it’s hard to keep up. At the forest’s edge, we leap for joy —Mother is there, holding the reins of two horses. It’s only then, thinking we might actually make it, that I notice Mother’s and Hobi’s clothes are torn, and Hobi has blood on his temple.

They don’t give us time to question it, hoisting each of us onto a horse. Yoongi clutches his spear tightly against himself, hanging onto Mother’s waist, seated ahead of him, while Hobi slides behind me and grabs the reins.

In the distance, the hunting horns still echo through the palace as the horses gallop, the icy wind hitting us full on. We’re going so fast, I’m a little scared, but I don’t dare say it.

Hobi is with us. Mother is with us. Everything will be fine, right?

“Hobi? Where are we going?” I ask after a few minutes, unable to recognize the landscape.

Seconds pass before he answers. “We’re leaving, Harin. Like I promised.”

*

Never did I think I’d be back in a castle with purple drapes. Never did I think I’d wear a dress of the same color again, or braid my hair with thin silver threads like before.

Yet often, I feared it would happen. Perhaps I shouldn’t have —Mother always said the more afraid you are of something, the more certain it will come, and now I think she was right.

She also said that no matter what happens, the stars always shine above us. Yet when I look up, I see no stars —only heavy purple drapes stretched to keep a semblance of warmth, and a silver-embroidered fox staring at me, ready to pounce.

I flinch when a Borenar suddenly places a plate in front of me, snapping me out of my thoughts. He leaves quickly, leaving me alone with a bowl of brown porridge and a wooden spoon. I had tried to forget the details of my childhood —but I remember this well. This is what they served to prisoners. And more than once, this kind of porridge was poisoned to get rid of inconvenient people faster.

I imagine my existence must annoy Eosu.

“Eat, child,” he thunders, slouching on his ridiculous throne, one knee folded over the armrest. He would never have dared this at Father’s court. He throws me one of those looks I hate, falsely warm and benevolent. “You need strength, after all these useless efforts for the crown prince.”

I grit my teeth but say nothing. I don’t touch the spoon, refusing to eat the horror they’ve served me, because I’m not that stupid.

He glares at me, and I meet his gaze. I see his features harden as he absentmindedly plays with his goatee, and I know that look. The look of a manipulator willing to do anything to get what he wants.

“Very well,” he finally says when he realizes I won’t give in. In mock-lazy movements, he rises and approaches the table where I’m seated. I try to stay focused on him and on all the shadows I know are lurking behind me, but it’s harder than it seems —and on edge, I flinch violently when Eosu snatches my bowl and hurls it against the wall with a crash.

I owe my stone-cold silence only to clenching the inside of my cheek with my teeth to bite back the scream threatening to escape.

“If I can praise the two allied Kingdoms for anything, my dear niece, it’s that at least they’ve hardened you,” his cutting tone affects me less than I thought it would, even though his mere presence terrifies me. Perhaps because I hold back from yelling that it was the memory of Bruria that “hardened” me.

I settle back almost comfortably on the old wooden chair provided, chin high, meeting his gaze without flinching for a single second.

You don’t scare me, my eyes say, even though my whole body screams mercy, let me go.

“Good, since you seem ready for business,” he growls, this time his usually falsely pleasant voice taking a low, impatient edge, “Let’s get serious.”

He barely needs to snap his fingers for the Borenars to spring into action. I don’t have time to react before the table is thrown across the room against the wall, and a scream escapes me as a thin hand wraps around my neck —cold and crushing.

Instinctively, I turn my head and tuck my chin to protect my arteries, but it’s too late —the skeletal fingers are perfectly positioned to snap my neck in a second if they wish.

I’m lifted into the air, and while panic seizes me under Eosu’s satisfied gaze, I kick and flail, trying in vain to destabilize the purple monster and make it release my neck —useless.

Soon another hand appears, and it takes me several seconds to realize it’s tying my legs with a rope, literally stopping me from moving. I try to fight, but it’s skilled, and a firmer grip on my neck makes black spots appear in my vision and my strength fade.

When I summon the courage to open my eyes, I meet my uncle’s furious gaze, eyes glinting malevolently.

“Now, let’s make this clear, little Ina,” he says almost softly, but the venom in his words is palpable. “You will answer my question… and maybe I won’t kill you.”

I close my eyes, pulling with all my strength against the fingers around my throat, to no avail, and soon a third hand appears from nowhere, grabbing the back of my head to force me to face him.

He is so close I can feel his breath on my face as he whispers the words like a secret.

“Where. Is. Hoseok?”

His voice, and the warmth of his breath on my cheeks, sends chills through me —but worse is the meaning of his question, sliding into me —part hope, part panic. He doesn’t know where Hoseok is —it’s both a relief, because without Hoseok he can’t claim the throne, and a burden, because I know he’ll do anything to find him.

And by anything, I’m sure he means kill me to get an answer. I won’t give him one.

Somehow, I manage to move under the hand choking me just enough to gather some saliva and spit it in his face. Yoongi always says it’s the only thing to do with fools who refuse to listen. It hits his cheek, but he makes no move to wipe it off.

No, he just shakes his head, disappointed.

“Very well,” he breathes, lowering his gaze. “As you wish.”

The next second, he snaps his fingers —and I’m thrown against a wall, landing on the floor with my feet tied as a dozen purple shadows descend on me.

*

The purple shadows didn’t catch up to us until the next day. Overnight, we only stopped once —at a strange little house where Hobi went to pay a few silver coins to get us new horses.

By the time we were caught, the forest had thinned, and we could see water stretching to the horizon. Mother said it was called the sea —but I had never seen it before. I find it as beautiful as it is terrifying.

“They’re here,” Mother says suddenly after several minutes of watching behind us. Hobi barely flinches, too focused on urging the horse faster —but barely. We’re moving so fast, Yoongi has already thrown up three times.

“Hoseok,” Mother insists after a moment, voice a little panicked. Hobi still doesn’t look at her. “We’re almost there.”

I see Yoongi looking up, so I do the same. Ahead of us, rising into the sky, is a tall tower with a light at the top. Mother called it a lighthouse —but I don’t understand what it’s for.

“We’re almost there,” Hobi repeats, panting. “We just need to—”

He doesn’t finish —because a violent gust of wind brings a hooded purple figure out of nowhere, right in front of us.

Mother screams. Hoseok curses, trying to avoid it, but it’s too late. Holding his spear horizontally, the figure lunges at us, severing the horses’ tendons in one blow.

We crash to the ground, clouds of dust rising in our fall. I cough, spitting, wincing at the taste of dirt in my mouth, but barely have time to complain before I’m yanked to my feet and dragged along.

Seeing Mother panic tells me everything —I run without letting go of Hobi’s hand, and when Yoongi reaches out to help, I cling to it as hard as I can.

Something slices through the air, a spear plants into the ground just to my right, making me scream and let go of Hobi’s hand. He shouts our names, slowing to catch us before pulling us along again —and this time, when he looks behind, his eyes are golden.

I can’t help it —I turn my head to look. I immediately regret it. They are dozens.

I barely have time to hiss in pain —I’ve hit the wall full force, my back took it all— before the Borenars charge, and I almost fall when I rise too quickly, forgetting my bound feet, catching only on the edge of a wall.

I curse under my breath, searching for a way to free the ropes —but it’s too late. A first purple shadow charges, rushing at me with a scythe in each hand. I dodge, rolling to hide behind a piece of furniture —and, curled up, I inspect the rope around my ankles.

A single touch tells me I’ll never undo this knot by myself —it’s far too tight. I barely have time to panic —because damn it, I’m in a dress, feet tied, facing dozens of armed monsters, and I didn’t even think to grab the spoon for defense— when the piece of furniture I was hiding behind is suddenly crushed under the weight of a Borenar. The creature remains, motionless, before my wide eyes, and only when I start inching back —still on my butt, unable to walk— does it tilt its head, as if analyzing me. I hate when they do that.

It’s like it reads my thoughts —because the second I think run! it charges, forcing me to roll aside— but a scream escapes as a claw scrapes along my arm.

Panting, I jump to my feet, ripping the torch from the wall —one end pointed, the other aflame. Not optimal, but better than nothing.

I hold it firmly, facing the purple monsters —and I think I’ve never seen so many at once. As if Eosu had gathered all the troops.

When one of them lunges at me, I dodge by leaping to the side, then, using my momentum, I only need a small bend in my knees to crash headfirst into another. I grab onto the long purple garment, holding its head with both hands and using it as a shield, braced against its back with the strength of my arms. Another approaches from behind, and I turn just in time to see the spear coming —by some miracle, I reflexively pull my legs toward me, and it misses completely. But in its wake, the spear’s blade slips right between my knees, slicing the rope as it falls.

Fueled by a sudden surge of hope, I let myself drop to the ground, my legs now free, and tear my dress to move more easily. All I have to do is extend my arm to set one of the purple coats on fire with the torch, and I barely have time to step back and take cover before chaos erupts.

One of the Borenars burns, clearly unaccustomed to this kind of situation. The others lunge at me —I dodge one, shove another against the wall, and duck just in time to avoid the blade of a third. My torch follows every move, keeping them at a distance —until one of them extends a skeletal hand and grabs my hair, yanking harshly at the strands.

I’m pulled backward with a cry of pain, and the monster doesn’t release my hair until I hit the floor flat on my back, the impact stealing my breath. I roll to the side to avoid another, only to find myself cornered by yet another; I try to stand and run, but a plum-colored wall blocks me. My arm is grabbed, and when I swing the other, my leg is swept from under me. I try to strike with my torch, but again a hand wraps around my neck, and this time they don’t stop there —a stone-hard fist slams into my temple, and I’m thrown backward by the momentum of the blow.

I can’t move. The force of the strike has stunned me, and I’m sure I felt something crack in my neck. Even when I see one of them approaching, while my entire body screams at me to flee, I can’t manage the slightest movement, and soon I’m dragged, forced onto my knees with yet another icy hand clamped around my throat.

It’s only when Eosu approaches me and I try to swallow that I realize my mouth is full of blood. I try to swallow it, but it’s useless —and suddenly I’m terrified of choking on it by accident.

“I’ll repeat my question, Ina,” Eosu thunders, his face still as marble while I teeter on the edge of exhaustion. “And I will only do this once. Where is your brother?”

This time he dodges when I spit in his face, and the large hand tightens around my throat, cutting off my breath. My vision blurs to the point that I can barely make out my uncle’s face, and I start to tremble. I won’t last long like this.

“I won’t tell you,” I spit, a bit of blood staining the stone floor. “Kill me —it’ll be faster.”

My voice fades at the end, suffocated by the hand tightening even more, as if the thought greatly tempts the Borenar holding me. Maybe if I ordered him, he’d let go —but I doubt I have the strength.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Princess,” he sighs, flicking his tongue, the hidden meaning in his words chilling me to the bone. “I’ve already waited over ten years. What’s a few more days, hmm?”

I writhe, eyes wide, fingers clutching the hand around my neck, unable to make a sound. Only the thought surfaces that I wish Yoongi were here, right now.

“You will tell me where he is,” Eosu continues as if nothing has happened. “Even if I have to ask for weeks, you will answer.”

As in all my nightmares, the animals in coats chase us, stretching out wherever I look. Each wields a scythe or spear, and as terror freezes me, I swear I hear their voices in my head.

It whispers to slow down, to wait for them, to be good and obey. But on the other side, Hoseok and Mother are shouting at me to look at them, to just run to the lighthouse, and their voices reassure me far more, so I listen. I run with them, even for several long, exhausting minutes that make me cry.

We barely reach the lighthouse, taking refuge behind a rock, when Hobi lets go of my hand and starts frantically rummaging through the bag he carried. Mother collapses, panting, and I don’t immediately notice the red liquid spilling from her mouth. Yoongi doesn’t either —because we’re both too entranced by the vast water before us— the sea.

“Mother, what is that?” Yoongi asks, pointing to the two shell-like things on the water, motionless near the shore.

“Boats, my dear,” Mother replies, her voice strangled. “They’re used to move across the water.”

At the sound of her suddenly strange voice, we all look up. I freeze at her suddenly waxy complexion, her yellowed eyes, and the blood dripping from her lips. Hobi swears —and it’s the first time I see him like this.

“What the hell happened?!” He grabs her shoulders to inspect her, completely forgetting the big bag he had been searching.

I can’t move —even when I feel Yoongi tug at my dress, which he only does when he’s truly terrified.

Hobi grabs Mother’s wrists, examines everything —her hands, arms, neck— before freezing when he finds a fine red line on her ankle.

“How did they…” She smiles sadly. 

“The blade didn’t just hit the horse.”

He steps back, proud of himself, and the hand lifts me again until my feet dangle freely. My vision is so blurred I can’t anticipate the few blows to my stomach and shoulders, nor feel the pain —they’re real enough— but what I am acutely aware of is my uncle’s voice fading into the distance.

“If only you knew how eager I am for your brother to arrive…” he hums, suddenly cheerful.

“What?” I mumble between blows, though I doubt he hears me.

“Dear Ino,” he breathes, almost joyfully, grabbing a bottle to pour himself a glass of golden liquid. “It’s been ages since I last saw him. How grown he must be! I imagine he’s quite broad now… Oh, I can hardly wait.”

He notices me staring at him, eyebrows furrowed, face twisted in horror. That only widens his smile.

“The Borenars saw him leave your dear prince’s home. Wonderful, isn’t it?” He explains, raising his glass as if to toast before downing half of it. “The whole family, reunited after so many years! Well, not the whole family —for that, you’d have to tell me where dear Eoso hides.”

“His name is Hoseok,” I growl, teeth clenched, and he nods calmly.

“I’ve been told as much. I thought by playing along and using that ridiculous nickname, you’d help me, but evidently not. I’m sorry.” He sighs, setting his glass down with a snap. I barely notice the monsters have stopped beating me, content now to just hold me in place.

“Anyway, all that to say, I’m dying to see dear Ino again. He’s about as stubborn as you, so he’ll surely refuse to tell me where your brother hides… But he’s always been stronger than you, so we’ll have more fun.”

“The blade didn’t just hit the horse,” Mom explains hastily, grabbing him by the shoulders. “It’s just a scratch, it’s nothing, hurry!”

“It’s not just a scratch, damn it! You’re going to…” “Hoseok!” she nearly screams, and he freezes, broken.

He swallows. Then the sound of a hunting horn echoes from the forest, and he snaps into action.

Rummaging through his bag, he hands me a white handkerchief. “Harin, Yoongi, clean the wound —and you, stay with us!” he hurls the last words at Mother in a threatening tone, though his voice sounds more terrified than commanding.

He resumes searching his bag as Yoongi and I bend over Mother, tears blurring our eyes. When Yoongi gently presses the handkerchief against the fine wound above her ankle, we all notice a strange green fluid mixing with the blood.

Mother gives us a big smile. “It’s okay, children. Everything will be fine.”

Yet her leg and chest twitch strangely.

The sound of horns grows closer, and Hoseok swears until, finally finding what he’s looking for, he pulls out red sticks tied with string. Mother starts coughing, spitting blood while trembling, and soon collapses, unable to stay upright. Yoongi and I cry as we try to support her, but Hoseok quickly pulls us back —and his face is even more streaked with tears than ours.

“It’s okay, children,” Mother manages to mumble, mouth bright red, trembling violently. Why does smiling seem to hurt her? “Everything is fine. The stars are always shining above us.”

I cry, cry, cry, cry. I try to hold her hand, but it’s ice-cold in mine. The string connecting the sticks crackles after Hobi lights it, and he keeps repeating ‘I’m sorry’ over and over as he drags us —Yoongi and me— farther from her each second.

I cry, cry, cry, and Mother smiles. She smiles even as Hobi finally carries us, Yoongi and me, each under an arm, to stand and run in the opposite direction. She smiles even as we get farther and smaller. She smiles even as the red sticks explode and the lighthouse collapses. And in her last smile, her lips form an inaudible “I love you.”

I can feel my blood run ice-cold —because suddenly, I am cold all over, and it has nothing to do with the ruined walls. It has, otherwise, everything to do with the realization of where Eosu wants to go with this sick plan.

He wants to torture Yoongi and force me to watch until I confess, because he knows we’ll never speak without it.

“No…” I whisper, gasping for air. My uncle pays no attention to me, already issuing orders to the purple monsters —where to position, how to attack, what condition to bring them back in…

“At the speed he’s moving, he should arrive within a few hours,” he accompanies his words with dismissive hand gestures, the scant interest he has in the situation palpable. “Intercept him as soon as he enters the Lands; we can’t risk him pulling a stunt like the young lady did.”

I barely react to his contemptuous gesture, too disoriented. For pity’s sake, no, no, no…

“We’ll send him to the dark room first, to calm him, then bring him to his sister after an hour or two.”

“Don’t do that…”

“Oh, and ready your scythes, children, I recall our young prince adored them—”

“STOP! We won’t say anything!” I suddenly scream, surprising myself with the volume I manage.

A flat silence falls over the room, every gaze —even the empty ones of the Borenars— turning to me. I stay slumped on the floor, out of breath, ignoring the lone tear rolling down my cheek.

Eosu raises an eyebrow, and I see the perfidious mischief in his eye, enough to turn my stomach.

I can’t. It’s stronger than me. I couldn’t watch Yoongi get tortured —so if I’m going to speak, it might as well be now to spare him this nightmare.

“We won’t say anything… Because we don’t know anything.” I manage to utter after a moment, my voice trembling with a sob.

Across from me, Eosu crumbles.

The lighthouse collapses with a massive boom, kicking up dust that masks our cries. Hobi runs, runs, runs, pressing ever closer to the sea, and I hear his sobs mingling with ours.

He sets us down at the edge, pulling us to run with him, breathless. He keeps glancing back but doesn’t stop.

“We’ll get on the boat, okay? And then it’ll be over, I pro—”

“HOBI!” He doesn’t have time to turn before taking a hard blow to the jaw and collapsing, stunned. I throw myself on him to wake him, crying, and Yoongi steps in front of us, spear pointed at the violet figure looming above. I recognize his stance —he’s ready to charge. But he does nothing —because the monster doesn’t move.

It simply watches us, silent —and when the wind picks up, its hood falls back, revealing a stone bear skull. My bear.

“Please,” I cry, holding Hobi tightly as he rises, his lip bleeding. “Please.”

The bear tilts its head, as if thinking. I see it lift a hand through my tears, as if grabbing something —but it does nothing.

All it does is slowly shift to the side. Just enough for us to pass.

I can’t believe my eyes. Neither can Yoongi, who lowers his leash, stunned. Hobi wastes no time. Furious, he hauls us along as we pass the bear toward the boats.

Leaning over the edges, two men watch us, one in each boat. We barely reach them when Hobi grabs me, and one man helps hoist me aboard before doing the same for Yoongi.

“They were supposed to be three,” the man mutters, just as the horns draw closer and I see violet figures approaching furiously fast.

I frown. Yoongi, Hobi, and I —that’s three, right? Why is he complaining?

“I’ll pay you the same amount,” Hobi simply replies, and the man nods before walking toward a thick rope.

Yoongi realizes before I do.

“…You’re not coming with us?”

I freeze, eyes locked on Hobi. What?

He looks at us, twisting his mouth as he searches for words, then tries a smile.

“If you don’t want them to catch you, we’ll have to go now,” the other man, on the second boat, says, and Hoseok flinches.

He moistens his lips before turning to us, his smile gone. “We’ll meet on the other side, okay? I just…”

“I don’t want to!” I cut in, tears swallowing my voice. He strokes my hair affectionately, his own tears streaking his cheeks.

“It’s necessary, Angel. I’d rather you be safe while I deal with them.”

“We’ll be safer with you!”

“I’ll meet you on the other side, I promise,” Hobi says with a small smile, tugging us one last time to hold us close. We cling to him, but it’s useless. “No sea is uncrossable. We’ll meet very soon, and the three of us can live in a beautiful house with lots of cats!”

“What’s a cat?” Yoongi whines, and it makes Hobi laugh.

“Like a little deer, Yoon,” he explains, then steps back to look at both of us, eyes shining with tears and affection. “I’m so proud of you, if you only knew. You’re the two bravest children I know.”

He kisses both our cheeks before standing. Despite our protests, pleading for him to stay, he steps back.

“We’ll meet on the other side, okay? Take care of each other.”

We barely have time to reply before the man pulls a rope and pushes a plank, and suddenly the boat moves. I cling to Yoongi instinctively as it quickly drifts from land, the wind pushing us far out, and we hold onto each other, watching Hobi wave one last time before boarding his own boat, which also speeds away —but not in the same direction.

Soon, we can no longer see the boat Hobi is on. But what we do see clearly, as we disappear into the mist over the vast, terrifying sea, are the violet shadows lined along the shore, eyes fixed on us. But they don’t come. They never do.

And when I turn my head again, Hobi’s boat is gone, and Yoongi and I are utterly alone in the water.

“What? What does that mean?!”

“I don’t know where Hoseok is. Yoongi doesn’t either,” I whisper. “We split up to lose you, he said we’d meet again—”

Eosu goes pale, and I can tell just by looking at him that he’s piecing everything together, realizing it makes sense. Because it’s the truth. “It’s been twelve years… you’re not trying to tell me—”

“I don’t know where he is. Until yesterday, the possibility that you killed him long ago still seemed very likely.”

He studies me with his gaze, as if trying to determine if I’m telling the truth —and just by seeing the rage that soon fills his dark eyes, I know he believes me.

He turns his head, his gaze lost in the void as he thinks —his entire plan has just fallen apart, without a doubt. If Hoseok is alive, he cannot claim the throne —and he had planned to use us to find him.

I feel a sudden wave of nausea. I feel nothing but disgust, contempt, hatred —for him, but also for myself, for confessing everything so easily.

For a moment, I think I see my uncle’s shoulders slump, as if discouraged. The next second, he lifts his head, and that awful smile I hate is back.

“You know what, children?” he says, all smiles, clapping his hands. “Forget Ino. That boy is just a stubborn mule anyway. Let’s change plans, hmm? I want everyone ready; first thing tomorrow, we’ll attack the princes’ manor.”

I sit up straight, struck like lightning. What? “What?”

“They’ve hidden there too long. That cursed building feels like a provocation. We’ll raze it, take those barely-crowned heads, and then—”

“Why are you doing this? They don’t know anything, for God’s sake, they don’t even know about—”

“ENOUGH!” he screams, and all the rage he tried to mask with a smile bursts forth. “Shut up, you worthless vermin! If I can’t take my crown, I’ll take theirs! These kingdoms rightfully belong to me, and I’ve waited long enough!”

I freeze, petrified. “Send the message to the troops in the South. I want the Kings dead by tomorrow at the latest. Have their heads delivered to me.”

“No,” is all I manage to whisper, trembling.

He’s going to send the shadows to Ebonwick to kill Jimin and Taehyung.

Something inside me breaks. Taehyung. Oh my God, Taehyung.

Yoongi was supposed to stay and protect him. But the Borenars saw him approach —that means he left Ebonwick. He must have seen Jimin come back alone and, understanding the situation, rushed to help. Has it already been two days? I’m sure it’s been longer.

Damn it. Taehyung. They won’t be able to do anything against the shadows, not even with the special guard. They’re going to kill him, they’re really—

I see his peaceful face in sleep, curled against me. Suddenly, I can’t remember the last words I said to him —I only remember running away like a thief, without a goodbye.

And now, he’s going to die because of me.

“W-wait,” I stammer, crawling almost on the ground, reaching out to Eosu. He barely looks at me.

“No, don’t keep them alive, I want it quick. Our guest is supposed to arrive tomorrow, and I want a nice gift for him.”

No no no no no. “Don’t… don’t do this…” I say this time a little louder, and only then do I realize I’m crying. “I beg you, don’t do this.”

When he finally turns to me, it’s with that purely self-interested gleam in his eyes that he always had when around my older brother, and I hiccup in horror.

He crouches down to be at my level, as one would for a child. “Or what, little Ina?”

I freeze.

Or nothing. I have no threat to give him. I have no idea where the man he desperately seeks is, and even at my best, I couldn’t do anything against the Borenars.

I think of Taehyung, the gentleness of his gestures every time he looks at me, his wide smile whenever he laughs. His unwavering determination when it comes to those he loves.

I have nothing to offer Eosu. Or… just—

“I’ll help you.”

The words leave my mouth before I can think twice, and I lift my head toward him, eyes full of hope. His narrow eyes squint as he considers my words, smoothing his goatee with one hand. “You’ll help me?”

“To find Hoseok,” I breathe. My tongue burns; I hate myself for saying it, but I have no other choice. This way, maybe I’ll have enough time to find a way out, while also saving Taehyung.

“I thought you didn’t know where he was?” Eosu presses, one eyebrow raised.

“He’s not in Irinian,” I hurry to say, voice so weak it’s barely audible. “Nor in Hestidia. I would know, or you would have found him by now. That leaves only two Kingdoms. And if no one’s found him, it means he’s hiding —otherwise we’d have found his body.”

His brows furrow, and I can see he’s listening carefully. I hate myself, I hate myself, but with every word, Taehyung’s face is all I see, so I continue.

“If he learns you’re coming, he’ll run again. But if I go to find him… he will come to me. And then he’ll be yours.”

Eosu stares at me, eyes shining with a golden gleam —but he says nothing. He just watches me, thinking.

I recall the softness in Taehyung’s eyes, the scent of his hair enveloping me whenever he takes me in his arms.

“You’d do that?” My uncle finally mutters, almost surprised.

My heart skips a beat. Then another. I wish it would skip them all.

“Promise me you won’t harm the Princes, and I’ll commit to finding Hoseok for you.”

Slowly, painfully slowly, his lips stretch, each inch of skin pulled until his smile stretches across his face, reaching his ears. He lets out a tiny laugh —a tiny one— like a crow’s cry, enough to freeze my blood.

When he looks at me again, his eyes are no longer just gleaming gold. They are gold.

I hold my breath. For Taehyung.

“Deal, Princess.”

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An2 : The big parts in italics are flashback that are told as memories. I tried to make it the clearest I could but I'm sorry if sometimes it's a bit confusing :/

Gentle reminder that all rights are reserved, so please do not copy, translate or repost my stories. Also I do not own BTS or their actions, the stories are entirely fictionnal and does not depict real-life events or involve any actual member of BTS.

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“Harder.” The voice growls, sharp and unforgiving in the silence of the back courtyard.

Yoongi exhales, exhausted, but doesn’t let it show as he lunges forward, muscles taut, arm extended, trying to graze his opponent with the tip of his spear.

Their weapons collide. Metal cracks and rings again and again as they fight, but no matter how much strength Yoongi pours into it, his opponent merely deflects the blows, striking back here and there —as if almost bored.

And yet, Yoongi is one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen. At court, everyone sings his praises, betting that one day he’ll be even stronger than our brother. Watching him train, usually, there’s no reason to doubt it.

But today, his mind seems elsewhere.

Perched on the tree trunk they cut down so I could sit, I squirm, trying to find a better position. My butt is freezing, damn it. The air bites at my skin, sharp and icy, and even though it doesn’t snow much this time of year, the sun has been shy lately, barely lighting the gray landscape and the half-dead trees.

I’m not supposed to be outside. Mother will scold me if she finds out —but I don’t care. For the past few days, I’ve been too nervous to stay alone in a room. And even if he doesn’t show it, I know Yoongi feels the same.

Something has shifted recently. Ever since the announcement of Hobi’s coronation, really. When Father made it public, during the annual summer gala, everyone cheered —but it sounded fake. I remember Mother turning pale, and neither she nor Hobi said a word for the rest of the evening.

Since then, everything has been preparation and excitement —but mostly pressure, coming from every direction. Everything has to be perfect, down to the smallest detail. As a result, I haven’t really seen them in days. And it doesn’t help that the purple bear hasn’t left my side for a second.

Because of the coronation preparations, Yoongi was asked to prepare a proper duel, with spears —and to be sure he could win against anyone. We all know he’d win against one of the purple monsters. What frightens us is the idea that he might have to fight someone else.

As for me, I was asked to weave our crest, to sew it onto Hobi’s ceremonial outfit. The bear growled when I snapped back that I was better with pistols than needles, but he didn’t force me to weave either. I just hope he doesn’t tell Father.

Behind me, a few steps away from the fallen trunk, I can hear him move. Without looking, I know that the scraping sound is the pommel of his spear rubbing against the dirt as he draws small circles in the dust. He does that all the time, and I don’t know why. The most terrifying part is when he does it at night, standing in front of my bedroom door, the metal pommel screeching against the marble tiles. I have nightmares about that sound alone.

Yoongi throws himself fully into preparing for his duel. Hobi certainly wouldn’t want Yoongi to fight to celebrate his coronation, so I think he’s doing it more out of obligation than anything else. When I told him how ridiculous I thought it all was, he answered that maybe one day I’d have to learn to take things seriously.

It made my teeth grind —because I am serious. If they let me train, I’m sure I’d be just as good as Yoongi. When I practice in secret in the forest, I never miss my target with a pistol. And Yoongi may know how to fight, but I can hide in the trees faster than anyone. Why does he get duels, and I get stuck with weaving?

A shrill sound makes me flinch, goosebumps racing up my spine. I’d recognize that sound anywhere. I’ve heard it every week since I was born.

It’s the horn of the purple shadows.

In front of me, Yoongi and his opponent —a wolf whose snout sticks out from beneath his hood— freeze mid-movement, turning toward the sound. Yoongi stiffens instantly, jaw tight, and if we were still six, he would probably have come to hide against me.

The bear steps closer; I can feel him just behind me. I don’t move. Partly because I don’t want to. Partly because I can’t.

I want to run. I want to bolt —but I’m terrified the shadows would catch me, and that I’d be next on the list.

As if to prove the thought right, the bear places a skeletal, iron grip on my shoulder the second I try to stand, stopping me from moving at all. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Yoongi shout something at him as he steps toward me, spear clenched tightly in his hands.

He barely moves before the wolf’s spear slides under his chin, ready to strike.

I start gasping without meaning to, locking eyes with my brother. His brows are drawn together now, his expression more than annoyed. A small, pathetic cry slips from me when he keeps moving and a thin red line blooms across his neck where the blade presses. I shake my head frantically.

His eyes darken —the color they always take when I contradict him. But also when he’s afraid. And after all this time, he knows as well as I do that it’s too dangerous. Better to wait patiently until it’s over, then hide in our beds and cry in silence.

More shadows quickly flood the courtyard, all armed with spears. When I was little, I used to distract myself by trying to recognize each animal. I don’t bother anymore. The longer you look at them, the less they resemble animals. They’re just twisted faces carved straight from stone, without eyes or souls —and their lack of humanity is somehow more terrifying than their actions.

Each of them seems to be holding someone by the arm, the victims’ hands bound tightly behind their backs, so tight I know they can’t do anything but walk.

It feels like I’m trapped in the same nightmare, over and over. The shadows arrange themselves in a semicircle at the center of the courtyard, forcing the condemned to their knees, and the horn sounds again —distant, insidious.

Once. The shadows step to the left of their victims. Usually, there are only two or three. Today, there are more than twenty.

A second time. The shadows raise their spears, ready to strike. I’ve heard that with the coronation approaching, the sacrifices are becoming more frequent —to bring more luck to the heir. The thought froze my blood. And there was no one for me to cling to then.

If I turned my head just a little, I could see the dark façade of the palace behind me, its tall windows reflecting no light. And at the very top, on the fourth-floor balcony, I know I would see a man standing proudly, watching the scene with a satisfied smile.

But I have no desire to meet my father’s sly, skin-crawling gaze. So I stay still, eyes fixed on the horror unfolding in front of me.

In the distance, I see the plum-colored shadow holding the horn lift it again —but the great doors burst open, and a richly dressed woman storms out in fury.

Her long dark hair is swept into an elegant bun atop her head, and the violet jewels of her regalia gleam faintly in the weak sunlight. I know —because I’ve heard it said many times— that I have the same face as her, even if the comment is often followed by how my eyes resemble my father’s more. A detail I hate with all my being.

My mother’s face softens the instant her gaze lands on me, and she rushes forward without bothering to lift her skirt from the dust. Something loosens in my chest as she comes closer —the unshakable certainty that if Mom is here, everything will be okay.

“Harin. Thank God, I thought—” she whispers when she reaches me. Then her pale green eyes —so light they almost look gray— fall on the bear’s hand still gripping my shoulder, and she stiffens.

I’m about to reassure her, to tell her everything is fine even though we both know it’s not and she can clearly see the tears pooling in my eyes, but she doesn’t give me the chance. Her gaze snaps to Yoongi, to the blade at his throat now stained red from the blood seeping from the cut. “What is wrong with you? Let him go!”

Her scream shatters the cold silence as she throws herself forward, trying to push the spear away from Yoongi’s neck. It only presses harder, blood trickling down my brother’s throat.

Mother keeps shouting, her voice growing more frantic as none of the shadows move to obey —until another voice cuts through, much calmer, but no less tense.

“She told you to let them go.”

Half a second. That’s all it takes for the two plum shadows to release us —Yoongi and me— after Hoseok’s voice snaps through the air.

Immediately, Mother pulls Yoongi into her arms, one hand pressed to his neck as if it might close the wound and stop the blood from staining his violet clothes. Hoseok, instead, comes toward me, his dark gaze never leaving mine.

‘Are you okay?’ his eyes seem to ask when he reaches me. I nod, rubbing my shoulder, just as Yoongi mutters, “I’m fine, Mom. It’s nothing.”

At eighteen, Hoseok is sharper than most —and he knows us better than anyone. That probably explains why, every time I say I’m fine, he sees straight through my fake smile and the tears I try to hide.

He pulls me into his arms, gently, tucking my head against his shoulder so no one can see me cry. No one is allowed to cry in Bruria. Crying is for the weak.

I let myself sink into my brother’s embrace for a few seconds. Hobi gives the best hugs. But today, even his feel cold. As if the closer the coronation gets, the more his body turns to ice.

The horn sounds again. Once —shadows shifting into position. On the second blast, I pull away from Hoseok, still holding his hand as I straighten to watch.

His cold fingers tighten around mine as the spears rise against the white sky. Maybe I should weave that crest, after all.

“You don’t have to look,” he whispers softly, just loud enough for me to hear.

“Why should I be spared, if you’re forced to endure it?” I whisper back, eyes fixed on the blades glinting faintly.

His grip tightens. “Because I’m the heir.”

“That’s not fair.”

From the corner of my eye, I see him smile at the small pout forming on my lips. He lifts his hand and gently wipes the tear sliding down my cheek with his thumb.

He catches my gaze just as the third horn blast sounds. “It’ll be over soon. I promise.”

His voice drowns out the awful sound of blades crashing down on bare necks.

“It’s only a matter of time.”

*

“Well, well. I have to admit, I’m impressed.”

Eosu looks me over without the slightest shame, pacing slow circles around me while twirling his goatee between his fingers.

I say nothing, simply tracking his movements, on my guard. The Silhouettes may be behaving themselves, posted along the wall and perfectly still since I ordered them to stand down, but I know very well that if they had to choose, they would obey Eosu before they ever listened to me.

And on top of that, I have no idea where they took Jimin.

Eosu struck him hard at the back of the head, knocking him unconscious the second I arrived. Deep down, I’m not even sure Jimin saw me —though there’s little chance he didn’t.

Two silhouettes carried his limp body off somewhere I can’t see, far from me. And I can’t afford to take any risks until I find him.

Eosu stops in front of me, a predatory smile curling his lips. “I never thought you’d do anything that would drag you out of that little hole you crawled into like a rat,” he spits, his tone venomous enough to turn every word into an insult —yet paired with a broad, disarming smile. “I seriously underestimated you, my dear Ina.”

His smile widens, and a violent wave of nausea rolls through me.

As a child, Eosu barely looked at me. I was the youngest, the insignificant little girl, overly coddled by her older brothers. He must have known I had no chance of ever reaching the throne, which would explain why he cared so much more about Hoseok.

Hobi.

Just thinking his name tightens something painful in my chest. All of this effort, only for me to throw myself back into the wolf’s jaws like a fool.

Maybe I should have listened to Yoongi. Sent Taehyung’s guard instead of coming alone. But that would have meant hundreds of unnecessary deaths —and anyway, it’s far too late to worry about that now.

“You look well, Uncle,” I say lightly, betraying none of the turmoil churning inside me.

I have no business being here. I panicked when I saw Jimin on the ground beneath their scythes —too many memories from my childhood came rushing back at the sight. And now, I regret it bitterly. I never should have come.

Eosu laughs —a low, guttural sound that would make my skin crawl if I hadn’t grown up surrounded by noises just like it.

“And you’re far from dead,” he rasps, resentment thick in his voice.

I smile despite myself. I hate this man so deeply that seeing him like this almost gives me satisfaction.

“Would you have preferred it that way?”

“I’ll admit, I believed it for a long time. Even if it wasn’t convenient for me —but you can imagine that much.” His gaze drifts, as if lost in thought, before he shakes his head. “You did an excellent job staying in the shadows. That’s why, when I learned you were the prince’s official bodyguard, I found myself almost… disappointed.”

I clench my jaw, but I don’t react. This snake will get nothing out of me about Taehyung.

“No, truly,” he booms, clicking his tongue as he resumes pacing in front of me. “I expected more from you, Princess.”

The word makes me tense before I can stop myself. I trap my tongue between my teeth to keep anything from slipping out. It’s been an eternity since anyone called me that.

Eosu studies me, eyes narrowed, unmoving for long seconds.

When he finally moves, it’s only to snap his fingers. I stiffen instantly. Even without seeing them, I can feel the silhouettes behind me.

“Children, say hello to our dear Princess,” he announces with a sweeping gesture. “Show her how happy you are to finally see her again, after all these years.”

Then his gaze settles back on me, a veil of darkness sliding over his eyes. “Ina, I assume you remember the Borenars. You loved them so much, as a child.”

He barely finishes speaking before a firm hand clamps down on my shoulder, pressing hard enough that if I hadn’t been braced for it, I would have been forced to my knees.

Still, I remain upright —every muscle locked tight, but standing— ignoring the searing pain in my shoulder as I glare at my uncle.

Of course he knows how terrified those creatures made me. He would probably laugh if he knew I still have nightmares about them. Right now, the only thing keeping me from collapsing in place is Jimin.

I can’t afford to be weak until he’s safe.

Refusing to lower my gaze or swallow, I lift my chin instead, meeting the stare that haunted me for so many years, among dozens of others. “Let me leave with the Prince.”

My voice comes out steadier, stronger than I feel —and for a fleeting second, I’m proud of it. Until Eosu laughs in my face, utterly unimpressed.

“Of course, Your Highness. Your wishes are commands,” he sneers, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, his eyes darker than ever.

I grit my teeth. “I’m serious. If you don’t want to start a war—”

“Oh, but that’s exactly what I want,” he cuts in cheerfully.

I shake my head, stunned. “You don’t realize—”

He doesn’t even let me finish. His voice echoes off the stone walls as he looms over me, his smile long gone.

“I have a better idea. Tell me where your brother is, and maybe I won’t kill you.”

I freeze.

He just stares at me, leaning down slightly to bring his face level with mine. The hand on my shoulder doesn’t loosen for a second —I swear it grows heavier by the moment.

“You don’t know?” I finally ask, incredulous. “You managed to find me, but not him? You’re even more stupid than I thought, Uncle.”

His features harden at the mockery, but to my surprise, he doesn’t react. In my memories, Eosu never tolerated being laughed at.

“I’m not talking about that brother, Ina.”

I wish I could say I stay as impassive as he does. That I give nothing away. That I keep laughing in his face.

The truth is, something collapses inside me.

I should have known he wouldn’t resurface for no reason. Without realizing it, my breathing grows harsher, my fists clench, and even though I don’t break eye contact, we both feel the shift in the air.

Before I can stop it, the panic is back.

“Let go of me,” I snap suddenly —but the hand on my shoulder barely twitches. My voice is almost shaking when I turn my head to glare at the purple shadow. “I said: let go.”

I clench my teeth so hard it looks like I might lunge at him. Inside, all I want is to run. If I’m fast enough, maybe I can find Jimin before they catch me.

The shadow hesitates, then finally releases me and steps back. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Eosu frown, then grind his teeth. He may be their commander, but the Borenars are still under orders to obey the royal family —whether I like it or not.

Eosu doesn’t even have time to speak before I’ve drawn the dagger from my boot and pressed it beneath his throat.

He doesn’t flinch. Still impassive.

“Tell me where Jimin is,” I growl, teeth clenched as every instinct in my body screams at me to flee.

Eosu shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “I truly expected better from you, my little Ina.” If I didn’t know him better, I’d swear he looks almost regretful as he meets my gaze. “Do you really think the Prince of Hestidia will want your help after seeing you present yourself as his enemy?”

My eyes widen in horror, my grip on the dagger loosening.

I don’t have time to make sense of his words —because in the next instant, a brutal blow strikes the back of my skull, and everything goes black.

With no real purpose, I wander through the aisles of the library. I don’t come here often, and that’s probably why it makes me feel so small every single time. Ebonwick Manor may be nowhere near as vast as the Capital Palace, but it’s hardly lacking —its grand, lavish rooms are proof enough, and the library is the clearest example of all.

The aisles stretch on for dozens of meters, the shelves climbing all the way up to the ceiling, forcing the use of towering wooden ladders to reach the highest ones. Hundreds —thousands— of grimoires, each more beautiful than the last, just waiting to be taken down and read. And yet, in the middle of all that, I only see her.

She accompanies me here every day —I’m meant to constantly refine my education, even at Ebonwick— but the more time passes, the more convinced I am that she enjoys these moments more than she enjoys me.

She’s there, her back to me, long hair gathered into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, head tilted back to better study the spines of the heavy volumes lined up before her.

Every day, she comes here with me, chooses one, and spends hours buried in it —usually until I start complaining, bored out of my mind, just to make us leave and do something else.

A sigh escapes me. I cross my arms over my chest and lean against a shelf, watching her. A few strands have slipped free from her hairstyle, swaying gently, and my fingers itch with the urge to catch them. I stay, admiring the perfect curve of her nose. Her high cheekbones. Her eyes —narrow and wide all at once, like a cat’s. Stunning enough to knock the breath out of you, yet sharp enough to read you like an open book.

Then, slowly, she leans forward. Rises onto the tips of her toes, stretching to reach a book above her head —and when I see her try again and again, it’s stronger than me.

I step closer, silent, slipping in behind her without a word. She only notices me when my fingers close around the book she’s been struggling to grab and I pull it down toward us. She startles, elbow knocking into the shelf, and instinctively my free hand settles at her waist to steady her.

When she turns, it isn’t —much to my delight— to shove my hand away. It’s to glare at me as I hand her the grimoire.

“I could’ve managed on my own,” she grumbles, though she still murmurs a very small thank you as she takes it from me.

“I don’t doubt it for a second, Darling,” I reply easily, not bothering to hide my smile when a soft pink blooms across her cheeks.

She rolls her eyes and walks away, and an incredulous laugh slips out of me. With each passing day, she cares less and less about politeness —and I love it.

Grabbing a random book, I follow her as she settles onto one of the many couches arranged in the center of the room. She makes herself comfortable, opening the heavy book on her lap with delicate care.

“What are you reading today?” I ask quietly, sitting beside her.

When I do, we end up close enough that my thigh brushes hers before settling, leaving only a few centimeters between us. If she notices, she does nothing to put distance between us.

“A collection on sewing and embroidery of all kinds,” she answers simply, flipping eagerly through the pages.

When no response comes, she looks up at me, her beautiful hazel eyes meeting mine, frozen in disbelief. “What?” she asks. “What’s with that face?”

The hint of a smile curves my lips. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t have pictured you as an admirer of that kind of… craft,” I murmur after a moment, a soft laugh escaping me.

She narrows her catlike eyes. “And what is that supposed to mean?” she challenges, one brow arched. “That I’m incapable of doing anything that doesn’t involve exercise or fighting?”

Another laugh slips out of me, and I shake my head quickly. “Not at all. But you…” I take my time choosing my words, enjoying myself far too much as I stretch my arm along the back of the couch, behind her head, while she waits, eyebrow still raised. “You like simple things. Dancing to the rhythm of your own heart. Riding or walking for hours without a destination. Sitting still just to listen to birdsong. Getting on my nerves, too,” I add when she looks away just a second too late for me to miss the red tint spreading across her cheeks. I try to ignore the ridiculously pleasant wave of warmth tightening in my chest. “Embroidery… It feels both too calm and not peaceful enough for you. I’d bet you’d be bored of it within a day.”

She weighs my words for a few seconds, giving me free rein to admire the little pout forming on her lips. I could do that for hours. She’s far too beautiful for my own good.

“I used to do it as a child,” she finally mutters, something conflicted flickering across her face before a smile takes over. “I hated it. Haven’t tried again since, though.”

“Don’t,” I beg theatrically, opening my own book with one hand. “I’d be far too afraid you’d get irritated and try to slit my throat with your needles.”

And then —what she does next makes my heart stop.

She laughs.

A soft, beautiful sound that spills straight from her chest before fading into something quieter, almost shy. Her smile grows, her eyes crinkling slightly, lighting up her face with that spark that makes them shine.

My poor heart takes its time starting again. When it does, it skips a beat —then another— because the smile that lingers on her face is even more beautiful than any I’ve ever seen on her.

God help me. She’s going to kill me.

“Min Harin,” I say lightly, because I can’t let her see just how pathetically gone I am for her, “did you just laugh at one of my jokes?”

She freezes, the red on her cheeks deepening. “Absolutely not.”

“I heard it,” I insist, leaning a little closer.

“You must be mistaken,” she denies, chin lifted.

I smile, far too soft whenever it comes to her. “You should do it more often.” Then, remembering what it did to my heart, I murmur, “Or maybe not.”

Of course —Harin being Harin— she hears me. “And why not?” she asks, leaning in as well, leaving only the barest distance between our faces.

Because it makes me want to kiss you, I want to scream —but I don’t. Even with the golden glint in her eyes that seems to whisper then do it.

I should. I seriously consider it. And when I finally gather the courage and lean in —just a little— to close the distance, my lips don’t have time to reach hers.

Because I wake up.

Alone, in my enormous bed.

I turn toward her side, already thinking of rewriting the ending of this memory tangled with my dreams —but I’m met with cold, unmistakably abandoned sheets.

“Harin?” I call out blindly, hoping to see her rise from the large armchair by the fireplace, where she always curls up.

But only silence answers me. Silence —and moonlight slipping through the window at the far end of the room, where the curtain wasn’t properly drawn. That same light barely reveals two small gouges in the wood of the nearby furniture —exactly the size of a falcon’s talons.

This is the fourth time Cat-Eyes clicks his tongue because my heel keeps hammering against the floor at full speed. Each time, I let it go —I lower my heel back down until the pressure becomes unbearable and I start again. Four times.

If there’s a fifth, I think I might just jump at his throat and rip him open. Not that it would scare him, judging by the size of the man.

One single day was enough for me to decide that I truly, deeply hate afternoons in the library when Harin isn’t here. Her brother might not be the most unpleasant person I know, but it’s obvious this has nothing to do with that.

For starters, he’s told me to relax at least seven times in the span of thirty minutes —which, naturally, had the exact opposite effect. And to top it all off, shortly after that, some servants had the brilliant idea of bringing in violinists to, and I quote, “help His Majesty enjoy himself.”

Now, I have no proof that this idea came from the lieutenant —but I have some very strong suspicions.

“Stop that, Your Highness. You’re going to hurt yourself,” he suddenly says from his armchair without even bothering to look up from his book, looking more bored than ever, cheek resting against his closed fist.

That’s it. The thin thread of my patience snaps completely.

“That’s enough,” I growl, dropping the book I’d been holding without reading onto the couch beside me before standing up and advancing toward him, threatening. “Now you’re going to stop your bullshit and tell me where she is.”

That, at least, makes him look up at me —his mask of indifference not cracking for even a second as he arches an eyebrow, and I suddenly get the very clear impression that he’s thinking, oh, look at that, he barks now?

He ignores me outright, his attention returning to his book as he delicately turns the page, despite my voice shaking with tension and bottled-up anger.

It feels like my skull is boiling.

I will never find the words to describe the distress that flooded me when I woke up this morning and realized she wasn’t there anymore. I swear I felt something stop inside me —my heart, probably.

It got worse when I questioned the lieutenant —not only because I had to push so hard just to get a reason that I could’ve killed him four times over with the anger burning through me, but mostly because that distress turned into pure, petrifying fear.

She left to “take care of something,” according to him —and I’m not stupid. Knowing Harin, she found out where Jimin was and charged straight there without a second thought. I don’t know whether I’m more hurt that she didn’t tell me, or terrified that something might happen to her.

Given that I can’t breathe calmly or stop shaking, it’s mostly the second option. It’s killing me to know she’s out there alone and that I can’t do a damn thing about it.

“Listen to me, you filthy little—”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

I stop short, startled, while he remains just as weary as ever. “What, listening to me?”

The look he gives me over the top of his book makes me want to slap myself, but I shake my head and refocus.

“Tell me where she went, or I swear I’ll have your head cut off,” I snap, pointing a finger at him, teeth clenched, fully prepared to follow through —even if Harin would probably kill me for it. I don’t care. I just want to find her. Fuck.

“Go right ahead. It might spare me the headache you’re currently giving me,” he replies without batting an eye, stifling a yawn.

I let my arm fall back down, defeated. I guess threats don’t work on him. This jerk will take whatever he knows in the grave with him.

Keep calm, Taehyung. Harin is unbeatable —it’s only a matter of time, and she’ll come back. With Jimin, on top of that. Perfect.

Yes. Perfect —except patience has never been one of my strengths.

“Why didn’t she tell me, huh?!” I explode, practically screaming, my voice echoing up into the high ceiling. “What the fuck are you hiding from me?!”

Cat-Eyes sighs as he sets his book aside and rubs his eyes. He stays like that for a long moment, as if hesitating between continuing to ignore me and ripping my throat out.

Personally, I’d prefer the second option. At least it would take my mind off things.

“She went alone to avoid moving dozens of men, that’s all,” he finally mutters —and I freeze. Why doesn’t that reassure me at all?

“Do I look like I give a shit?” I snap back, on the verge of losing it. “Tell me where she is, right now, or I—”

He stands up suddenly, cutting me off. “Listen, Your Highness. Believe it or not, the only reason I’m here with you is because my idiot sister asked me to keep an eye on you while she’s gone. So for once, stop behaving like a spoiled child and kindly go back to waiting in your chair until I tell you to stand up.”

The last words are almost spat in my face —but I don’t hold it against him. Between what he’s just admitted and the idea that Harin went alone toward our enemies, it’s not hard to guess that he’s just as tense as I am.

Still, one part sticks.

Harin asked him to watch over me…?

“Why is it her who went? You’re Jimin’s bodyguar—”

“Your Highness, go sit down before I lose my temper.”

“Lose it. I want to know where she is. That’s an order.”

He glares at me, brow furrowed. “As you just so kindly reminded me, I am Jimin’s bodyguard. I owe you no obedience —only respect.” His eyes darken then, sharpening. “So with all due respect, Your Highness, go fuck yourself.”

And with that, he doesn’t wait for my reaction before turning away, barely sparing me a glance as he picks up his book and resumes where he left off, cheek resting against his fist.

I stay there, standing in front of him, just as tense despite his endless calm, my breathing the only sound breaking the heavy silence.

Until finally —after long, silent minutes— I speak again, my voice trembling so badly it nearly gives out.

“And if she doesn’t come back?”

At first, I think he hasn’t heard me, judging by his unchanged stillness. But he proves me wrong when, slowly —very slowly— his right eyebrow lifts, stretching the scar that cuts across his eye as he presses his tongue into his cheek, forming a small bulge that alone is enough to show just how much anger he’s keeping buried inside.

The look he gives me then would send chills down anyone’s spine.

“If she doesn’t come back, I’ll go deal with those bastards myself. And after that, you’re free to follow me —if you want. For all I care.”

Even the celebrations in Bruria feel cold —like everything else.

An orchestra may be playing, but a tight silence hangs in the air, and except for Father, everyone looks like they’d rather be anywhere else.

I’ve never seen the great cathedral this full. I don’t go there very often, to be honest —the old building scares me so much that I usually do everything I can to avoid it. This time, there’s no way out.

The frilly dress Mother told me to wear itches horribly. She said it looked good on me —even Hoseok complimented it, with a stiff smile— but I think it’s awful.

Yoongi didn’t escape the reception outfit either. He looks more tense than ever, trapped in his shirt and tailored jacket. His hair has been tied into a bun at the back of his head, with only the longest strands falling down his neck —the hairstyle of troop commanders. Everyone was delighted to see him like that.

Me, I grimaced. It suits him perfectly, but I don’t like what it means. And I thought Mother was going to faint when she saw him.

He nudges me lightly with his elbow when he notices I’m paying more attention to him than to the stage in front of us, and I straighten up immediately, called back to order. Mother spent all of yesterday repeating the same things to us over and over.

That today was very important. That we had to be flawless. That we must not draw attention to ourselves. That everything had to be perfect.

Standing off to the side, she holds herself straight, chin raised like always. She’s more beautiful than ever, dressed to the nines in a gown I’ve never seen her wear before—but it’s definitely better than mine.

I really hate this dress.

As the King’s second wife, she’s always had more pressure on her shoulders —she always had to be perfect, or she would shame her husband. As far as I know, the only thing the court ever reproached her for was being too much of a mother hen with Yoongi and me —and if she hadn’t been, I don’t know how we would have survived.

In the middle of the platform, facing the crowd, Hoseok stands in his ceremonial clothes, the small crest I eventually finished embroidering stitched onto his shoulder.

Father stands farther away, his silver crown gleaming under the chandelier light, and nothing will ever hide the barely contained satisfaction in his sly gaze.

Without meaning to, I clench my fists, a shiver running through me. I hate that look.

Beside him stands Uncle Eonu, his brother and royal advisor. The rest of the royal family is positioned behind Yoongi and me, along with a few courtiers. Most of the other people in the crowd are members of high society —but they’re so few you’d think they were just peasants picked up along the road.

The country has seen better days. That’s probably why everyone was waiting so desperately for the coronation. The promise of new days.

In front of Hoseok, his back to us, an old man recites the coronation speech, quoting one by one all the lines from the great texts about regency and the transfer of power in Bruria. Texts Yoongi and I were made to study a few months ago, without finding the slightest interest in them—they’re just incomprehensible poems.

We might still be small, but that doesn’t mean we’re stupid.

I’ve noticed, for several weeks now, that Hobi isn’t the same anymore. He doesn’t play with us. He doesn’t eat with us. In fact, we barely see him at all now. Every time we do get to spend time with him, he looks constantly stressed, on edge —and he looks at the purple shadows with even more hatred and fear than before.

Yoongi said he probably knows something we don’t —and ever since, I’ve been dying to know what. And at the same time, the constantly terrified look on my big brother’s face stops me from asking.

“Today is a great day,” the old man continues, his trembling voice growing louder, and I see Hoseok hide a grimace. “The day when, at last, our king is no longer alone. The day when, like the sun finally reaching us, our heir will gain access to the ultimate treasure and aid our King in his quest. May he be all-powerful, and restore Bruria to its former greatness.”

I don’t understand any of it —and judging by the boredom painted on Yoongi’s face, neither does he. At least he’s making an effort to stay awake. Mother would kill us if something like that happened, especially after how much she insisted. We have to be impeccable.

“I swear it.” Hobi murmurs, in a tone I might have thought solemn if I didn’t know him so well. The truth is, I can see how tight his features are from here, and I’m ready to bet he’s squirming with discomfort.

I can’t wait for this moment to be over.

The orchestra changes tune, something colder, even more frightening, the sound of the choirs making the stone walls vibrate as Hoseok lowers his head so the old man can place what he’s holding with both hands —a thin crown of thorns, made of silver. It settles perfectly into his brown hair, as if it were made just for him.

I’ve seen that crown in paintings before —but apart from the fact that it’s worn by the prince who will take the throne when the King dies, I have no idea what it means. Maybe I should’ve listened better when the tutor talked…?

Some people in the assembly start to straighten up, thinking the ceremony is over. Yoongi and I exchange a look, unsure whether to do the same, but the orchestra suddenly stops playing, and monsters in purple cloaks climb onto the platform, carrying together a wide bowl at least as big as my arm, filled with a thick golden liquid.

A murmur runs through the crowd. Yoongi and I crane our necks to see better, confused.

“And now,” the old man continues, taking the bowl in his shaking hands, “I, proud servant of the Jung family for nearly three generations, will make you, Jung Eoso, twenty-seventh heir of the Jung line, the man worthy of the power and responsibilities we already see in you.”

His voice booms, barely drowning out the confused whispers growing louder. I glance at Mother, puzzled, but her eyes are locked on Hobi, fingers clenched in the folds of her dress.  Yoongi places his hand on my thigh and draws my attention to the crowd behind us —monsters in purple cloaks are moving silently, trying to restore order. We look at each other without saying anything, knowing exactly what it means.

Something is wrong.

“Now drink, young heir! Drink, so you may become the honorable warrior we see in you! Drink the sacred mead of the Borenars —drink, and show us the way!”

People shift restlessly. The crowd almost growls, held back by the few purple monsters. On the platform, Father shoots them a dark look, and as my uncle makes a small gesture with his hand, something I can’t see happens —and suddenly, silence falls.

Right as Hoseok’s lips touch the rim of the bowl.

We expect him to take just one sip —but no. The old man tilts the bowl without giving him any respite, and soon it’s empty and Hobi straightens up.

He opens his eyes again, his face more closed off than ever. And when his gaze meets mine, I swear his pupils are golden —but a second later, they’re their usual black again, and I think I must have imagined it.

The old man shows the empty bowl to Father, who nods, satisfied. Hobi stands tall, his silver crown sitting straight on his head, and the orchestra begins to play again, people cheering this time.

As if nothing happened.

For the rest of the ceremony, Hoseok’s eyes never meet mine —or Yoongi’s, or Mother’s.

And the whole time, I carry this awful certainty that something is very, very wrong.

*

Above my head, a silver fox stares at me without blinking.

Not a real fox. A fox made of fabric, embroidered into one of those horrible tapestries they hang from the ceiling —both to decorate these awful stone walls and to make the cold bearable.

When I was little, I remember servants dying of cold because the tapestries weren’t thick enough. The weather there was no joke.

I want to tear the fox apart. I want it to stop staring at me. Its eyes —tiny violet gemstones— do nothing but drag bad memories back to the surface. Memories I would rather forget. Memories that would keep me from ever sleeping again if I linger on them too long.

Maybe if I climb onto the bed, I could reach it.

No. That’s stupid. It would make noise, and anyway, they took my daggers. No way I’m touching that thing with my bare hands.

And I need to save my strength for Jimin. I don’t have much time left. The tiny window —the only opening in the room they locked me in— barely lets me see the changing landscape outside.

Night is falling.

I don’t know how long he’s been there, but one thing I’m sure of is that they didn’t lock Jimin in a room with as many tapestries as mine. Eosu wants to keep me alive. I doubt he’s showing Jimin the same kindness.

He’ll freeze to death if we don’t get him out quickly.

So I move.

I’d rather die trying to save him than spend one more second here anyway. Eosu decorated everything like the castle of Bruria, down to the smallest detail —like those awful chandeliers that barely light the rooms, casting shadows you swear are moving along the walls.

I expect a violet silhouette to jump out at me any second, and I’ve never regretted not having a weapon this much. I feel naked. I hate it.

My nightmares made sure I never forgot the horrors that happened within the castle walls. But they never did justice to the sickness that crawls inside me just from being here.

One sharp elbow strike is enough to shatter the small pane of glass, thinned by the biting heat of the Fire Plains. A violent pain shoots through my elbow —I think a shard of glass lodged itself inside— but for a moment, it pulls my mind away from the panic that hasn’t left me for hours, so I let it be. Anything, as long as I think of something else.

I have to twist and wriggle to squeeze through the opening, only to catch myself just in time when my foot nearly misses the ledge. I don’t breathe properly until I’m outside —and even then, barely.

I remember the sound of horns blown in the middle of the night. The screams of agony coming from the basements. Footsteps outside my bedroom door, like someone hesitating to enter. Blades coming down, day after day. Hands forcing us to watch.

One foot, then the other.

I hit the ground in less than three seconds, then bolt around the building, hiding in the shadows the very young night creates. I spot violet silhouettes stationed here and there, but I’m so terrified I avoid them without even thinking.

I find the improvised dungeons easily —a small tower attached to the massive one I just escaped, even more ruined than the main structure. Without wasting any time, I find a broken section of wall and climb inside, just as silent as before.

I bitterly regret that not-so-distant time when I could have curled up in Taehyung’s arms as if nothing were wrong.

A shrill sound suddenly cuts through the air, yanking me out of my thoughts, and my blood runs cold.

A horn just sounded.

It’s over for me. Someone must have seen me escape. They’re going to chase me down, catch me, lock me up again before—

The horn sounds again —three times— and I can breathe again.

Four horn blasts. The shift.

The silhouettes that roam at night aren’t the same as the ones during the day —I know that, because the ones that moved in the dark terrified me even more when I was a child.

Which means not only that I’d better hurry —but also, more importantly, that I have an opening.

So I don’t waste a single second. With a quick movement, I grab the two hooks hidden in my boot —the ones they didn’t find when they searched me— and I quicken my pace, constantly glancing back over my shoulder.

I freeze, melting into the shadows and holding my breath when I spot a Silhouette moving a few meters ahead of me. It doesn’t notice me, continuing toward the main tower where Eosu is probably waiting. I breathe a little easier when it leaves my field of vision.

My breath catches even harder, though, when I turn my head and see what it was guarding.

A small black door, fitted with a heavy padlock.

I sigh, a rush of hope suddenly filling my chest —it almost feels too easy.

And that’s when my uncle’s words come back to me.

“Do you really think the prince of Hestidia will want your help, after seeing you present yourself as his enemy?”

I freeze, breath caught—

and something inside me breaks.

There is, quite frankly, something seriously wrong with Jimin’s skull. Why the hell does it hurt this much?!

On top of that, the damn pain is making him hallucinate. Otherwise, why would he have seen Harin— Ina? Princess of Bruria?

Plunged back into darkness, Jimin rubs his head, swearing under his breath. What kind of mess has he gotten himself into this time…?

He must have dreamed it. There’s no other explanation. There’s simply no way —after everything Harin has done for them, all the times they trusted her, she can’t—

This time, Jimin doesn’t even try to hold back the tears spilling down his cheeks. It’s been at least two hours since they dragged him back into his cell —more than enough time to think. And Jimin knows that even completely out of his mind, he couldn’t have imagined that.

Harin betrayed them.

And damn it —why does admitting it silently hurt this much?

In a way, it makes sense. She infiltrated their group —her position as Taehyung’s bodyguard giving her the perfect cover— earned their trust by helping them in Ironshell, then handed them over to their enemies on a silver platter. Maybe she even used Taehyung to extract information from him.

Wordlessly, Jimin lets his head fall back against the wall and allows the tears to flow freely. She really played them all.

Now those monsters from Bruria will probably kill him —before going after Taehyung. Then, without a doubt, they’ll deal with the Kings and seize control of the Realms, just like that man —Jung— seemed to suggest. It’s over.

Jimin would like to say the pain tearing through his chest comes from the thought of his own imminent death. The truth is, his tears have nothing to do with that. He can’t believe she did this to them.

After all those moments together. Long mornings talking on the stone bench while Yoongi and Taehyung trained in the underground hall. Meals filled with laughter and warmth. Confessions. Shared emotions.

All of it —for nothing.

All of it, just for her to use them without hesitation.

Taehyung was right —Jimin trusts too easily. And now he’s cursing himself for not listening, because that trust might be what gets his friend killed.

Through his tears, he swears again —louder this time, as his sobs intensify, fueled by the tearing pain in his chest.

He can still see the gentle smile she wore when they talked quietly in the cold. The emotion in her eyes every time Taehyung looked her way.

Why does it hurt so much —to think it was all just a game to her?!

If she were in front of him right now, he would—

A harsh metallic scrape echoes through the air, and Jimin freezes as the door of his cell opens a few inches, letting a blinding beam of light spill inside.

Suddenly blinded, Jimin raises a hand to shield his eyes, curling in on himself against the wall. That’s it. They’ve come for him. They’re going to kill him. This is—

“Psst.”

A hand appears in the narrow opening —a slender hand, almost translucent in the harsh light. Jimin goes rigid, breath caught. What the hell is this?!

“Psst!” he hears again, louder this time, and though he can barely see, Jimin swears the hand is motioning for him to come closer.

His head hurts worse than ever —between that and the light nearly blinding him, he’s on the verge of short-circuiting. But he’s convinced he’s going to die soon anyway, so he figures he might as well take a risk. What does he have to lose?

With part of his mind vaguely noting that he’s never heard the violet silhouettes speak before, he wipes the tears from his cheeks and crawls forward on all fours, still struggling to release the breath he’s holding.

The moment he touches the door, the hand suddenly grabs him by the collar and yanks him violently out of his cell.

A cry of pain escapes him as he finds himself —again, for the second time today— engulfed in that overwhelming light his eyes can no longer tolerate, forcing him to squeeze them shut until he sees nothing at all.

He doesn’t even have time to scream again —a hand clamps over his mouth, preventing him from making a sound. Panic surges. He tries to open his eyes, to reach out and grab his attacker, but the pain in his head and eyes is unbearable the moment he parts his lids, and his hands close on empty air as he’s gently pressed back against the wall, pinned in place.

His ears start ringing, and fresh tears sting his eyes, still far too sensitive to handle the light.

It’s over. This person is going to kill him. Jimin is going to die —and he won’t even get to see Taehyung one last time.

“Calm down, for god’s sake,” a voice suddenly says, and Jimin’s heart stutters, because he knows that voice. But in his panic, he can’t tell whether he actually heard it —or imagined it.

The pressure on his mouth eases slightly, and Jimin takes the chance to shove the hand away, immediately coughing and sputtering, his eyes still barely open.

“Take this,” the voice continues, utterly unconcerned with his current state. Something is tossed at him, and his fingers close around warm fabric —a long coat, maybe, or a cloak. “Run east and don’t stop.” Through the blinding white haze, he vaguely makes out an arm pointing in a direction. “About a hundred meters out, you’ll find a horse tied to a tree. Take it. Go home —and don’t come back. Is that clear?”

With great effort, Jimin lifts his head. He sees only a dark shape looming over him, with strands —vines, or maybe hair— spilling down above his face. He opens his mouth to respond, tongue thick—

—but he doesn’t get the chance.

“Never come back,” the voice says, thick with emotion. “I’m begging you.”

The next second, the shadow is gone —and Jimin is alone again, surrounded by an endless white that keeps blinding him.

He’s unable to move, too stunned. As his eyes slowly adjust to the sudden brightness, enough for him to make out his surroundings, he tries to understand what just happened —and fails.

Did one of the monsters really just help him…? Or was it…?

He doesn’t find an answer —only the sound of approaching footsteps, echoing somewhere in the distance.

So Jimin doesn’t think. He reacts on pure survival instinct, his breath lodged in his throat. Clutching the fabric he was given as if it could save him, he runs. Following the vague direction he was shown, he runs as fast as he can, ignoring the burning in his legs —thinking only of running, running, for as long as it takes to put distance between himself and that madhouse.

When he finally spots a tree, he’s completely out of breath. By the time he reaches it, his limbs give out, and he collapses into a cloud of dust.

His arms shake as he tries to push himself up, but after three attempts, he manages. He lifts his head —and this time, the shadow towering over him isn’t one of those horrible violet monsters.

It’s a tall horse with a cream-colored coat, wearing nothing but a bridle that tethers it to the tree, watching him with quiet curiosity.

Jimin could cry.

The horse is really there. Just like promised. …He can leave.

With a sudden burst of strength, he stands, grabs the horse’s bridle, and fumbles frantically at the knot. He doesn’t know if he’s dreaming, but he swears he hears the sounds of chaos behind him, back in the nightmare he barely escaped. And if there’s one thing he knows right now, it’s that he has no desire to return.

When his trembling, exhausted fingers struggle to undo the knot, the stallion almost seems to help, pulling its massive head back to tug on the reins. A choked cry of victory escapes Jimin, and in no time at all, he grabs the reins and hauls himself onto the horse’s back —burning muscles and shaking legs be damned.

The horse needs only a light kick of the heel to understand. Jimin barely has time to hold on before it takes off at full speed, heading east.

As the wild gallop leaves a trail of dust and churned earth behind them, Jimin looks back one last time over his shoulder, toward the austere tower.

He casts it a final glance —but his eyes are still too sensitive to notice the figure standing at the base of the tower, watching him flee.

And even if his vision had been clear, he is already far, far too distant to make out the brown strands whipping in the wind, or to recognize the hazel eyes following him as he disappears.

“She’ll be here tomorrow.”

Those were the words Cat-Eyes spoke the night before, when dusk began to fall. A simple sentence, delivered like a promise —no need to add anything else.

Then he went to bed with a dark look in his eyes, leaving me alone with that hollow fear gnawing at my gut.

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep a wink.

I spent every minute waiting for her —straining to catch the sound of hooves tearing into the estate at full speed. I even went to her room, hoping —maybe— she might have left something behind. A clue. A note. Anything at all.

But no. Nothing.

When the sun finally rose, she wasn’t there. Not when the servants brought me breakfast. Not when Cat-Eyes joined me, looking like he hadn’t slept either. And even now, with the day well underway, there’s still no word from Harin.

I don’t know whether I want to curl up in a corner and cry, or punch someone just to take the edge off —even if only for a few minutes. Or saddle a horse and go looking for her, no matter where it takes me.

The only thing stopping me is Cat-Eyes’s expression —because he looks like he wants to do all of that three times harder than I do, and I have no desire to be the unfortunate target if he snaps.

Every second —right now included, as we sit aimlessly in the library without even pretending to read, just holding books— the words are dying to spill off my tongue.

Where is she?

My fingers itch with the urge to grab the Lieutenant by the shoulders and shake him until he finally answers me, until he stops playing dead and tells me where Harin has gone. Because I won’t last another day without her. Without knowing whether she’s alive or not.

Today, Cat-Eyes doesn’t click his tongue when my heel taps the floor again and again. Maybe because his own fingers are making the same restless motion against his thigh.

The manor is completely silent, which only makes it heavier —as if not just the servants, but the walls themselves have sensed the tension coiled inside.

Until, suddenly, footsteps echo overhead —on the floor above.

Cat-Eyes and I lift our heads in perfect sync, as if the ceiling might split open and Harin will fall straight through it.

But no. Just footsteps —hurried ones, and many of them, as though several people are moving quickly through the corridor.

I sigh and lower my gaze back to my book. I don’t even get the chance to read a single word—

The library doors burst open with a sharp crack.

“Y-Your Highness!”

A small servant rushes in, breathless, panic written all over her face as her eyes latch onto mine. I stand on instinct, stepping toward her to calm her down, but she shakes her head.

“What’s going on?” The Lieutenant rises and positions himself behind me, and the servant’s gaze ricochets between the two of us.

“The guards,” she begins, then swallows hard. “Th-They saw a rider enter the estate. They told me to warn you—”

“A man or a woman?” Cat-Eyes cuts in, one hand landing on my shoulder, his voice thick with hope.

She turns toward me, as if asking permission to answer. I nod eagerly, hanging on her words just as much as the Lieutenant is.

Please let it be her…

Slowly, the servant shakes her head. “They couldn’t tell. The western entrance is too far to see clearly from the windows—”

We barely hear the rest.

After a rushed mutter of “shit,” Cat-Eyes and I move as one, brushing past her and sprinting into the corridor. Our footsteps thunder against the marble tiles as we tear down the grand staircase. The Lieutenant is faster than I’ve ever seen him, beating me by seconds as he throws open the main doors with his shoulder and storms into the courtyard.

By the time I reach him, guards dressed in black are already in position, ready to receive our guest—

And my heart stutters when I see them.

From where we stand, the horse is coming straight toward us, but the rider is slumped too low for us to recognize. All we can make out is a brown coat clinging to the horse’s neck like their life depends on it.

“I know that horse,” I murmur without thinking, staring at its coat gleaming cream in the sunlight.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Lieutenant release what very much resembles a sigh. He recognizes it too.

It’s Lexi. The stallion of—

“Your Highness, watch out!”

A guard barely has time to shout before someone suddenly shoves me aside, sparing me from colliding head-on with the horse as it comes to an abrupt stop. With practiced ease, Cat-Eyes grabs the reins, trying to steady the animal.

“Easy, easy, big guy,” he murmurs, gently stroking the space between its eyes.

The horse snorts, stamping the ground —and it doesn’t take a genius to see how exhausted it is. The same seems to be true of the rider, still curled in on themselves.

I don’t even have time to speak —or comment on the lack of saddle or gear— when the rider suddenly tips backward, nearly collapsing to the ground if I and a few men hadn’t reacted fast enough to catch them.

And the moment I grab that weakened body, it takes me less than a second to understand.

It’s not Harin.

The pain that crashes into my chest at that realization is unbearable —but it’s nothing compared to what floods my entire body when the rider grips my shoulder with a trembling hand and speaks.

Because I’d recognize that voice anywhere. And it has never sounded so fragile.

“Taehyung… we need to—”

He chokes on his own saliva, fingers clutching frantically at my jacket, trying —and failing— to say more. Tears well in his swollen, bloodshot eyes.

“Hey—hey, calm down. Someone help me,” I signal to a few guards, who quickly assist me in easing Jimin down onto the ground. Cat-Eyes still holds tight to Lexi.

“No, you don’t understand, we have to—”

“Breathe. Breathe. Can someone bring him water?”

A guard takes off at once, vanishing into the manor. Lexi paws the ground, nervous, and Jimin still refuses to let go of me.

I’ve never seen him like this.

Even when his entire family was slaughtered and he had to flee his kingdom alone, he came back to me spotless, that infuriating smile still tugging at his lips. Now—

Now he looks like he’s crawled straight out of hell.

Someone brings water. He drains it at an alarming speed —as if he hasn’t had a drop in days— then looks around, blinking again and again, as though he can’t quite believe he’s here. With us.

Cat-Eyes doesn’t let go of Lexi for a second, his hand still resting protectively between the horse’s eyes. But his gaze is locked on the entrance to the estate, every line of his face drawn tight.

And he does not look pleased.

“Taehyung,” Jimin finally manages, dragging my attention back to him.

My teeth clench at the sight of his hollow cheeks and the burst vessels in his eyes. I’m going to kill the bastard who did this to him.

“We have to hurry. They… They’re going to attack. The purple monsters, they—”

“Where is Harin?”

The Lieutenant’s voice cuts through the air, sending a chill straight down my spine.

It no longer carries that quiet warmth —the subtle softness that usually lingers beneath his words, that makes him so easy to trust once you know him. No.

Right now, his voice is nothing but a threat. A warning to anyone foolish enough to contradict him. Rough. Final. Carried by the wind like a blade.

I turn to Jimin, waiting —because if I’m too afraid to ask, I need the answer just as badly—

But Jimin doesn’t look at me.

Instead, he turns toward Cat-Eyes. And suddenly, despite how weak he looks, his gaze hardens.

“Where do you think she is?” he snaps. “She stayed behind.”

That’s enough to draw the Lieutenant’s full attention, his thick brows knitting together. I don’t like the sharp glint in his eyes —though I think I like Jimin’s tone even less.

Accusatory. Bitter.

A weight drops straight into my stomach. Now it’s my turn to cling to him.

“What —what are you talking about? Why would Harin—”

“She betrayed us, Taehyung,” Jimin says suddenly, locking eyes with me. “She’s with them. She betrayed us.”

Yoongi doesn’t like what he’s hearing. Not one bit. Not at all. Not even remotely.

This was never supposed to happen like this. None of this was.

He doesn’t understand how he let things spiral so far out of control. He’d truly believed he had a handle on the situation —and until recently, he had. But ever since the assassination attempt on Taehyung, it’s been as if everything has slipped through his fingers. Part of him can’t help thinking this is his fault —he never should have let them take Jimin— but another part knows that thought is useless. There was nothing he could have done against them. Not alone. He would’ve needed his sister, or maybe even his brother, to stand a chance.

Now everything is unraveling. Whatever grip he once had on the course of events has been violently ripped away, leaving him powerless —and he hates that more than anything.

All he knows is that he has to go get Harin —because there is no world in which he leaves her there, in their hands. If they have to relive that nightmare, then they’ll do it together. And Yoongi has already left his sister alone in that hell for far too long.

But the plan has gone to shit.

Now, if he leaves, it’ll look like a—“What did they lock you in?”

“I don’t know,” Jimin mutters weakly, clutching the blanket around his shoulders like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart. He’s on his third bowl of broth. “Some kind of tiny room, no openings at all. Pitch black —and I couldn’t move. And on top of that, I kept hearing these… screams…”

Yoongi clenches his jaw to hide the shiver crawling up his spine.

Oh, he remembers the black rooms. They’re the worst of them all. Spend even a few minutes in total darkness, cut off from any light, and when you’re finally dragged back out, you’re blind for hours —days, if you’re fragile enough. He still remembers the plum-colored shadows carefully preparing the herbs. The ones they burned afterward, whose fumes made you black out. The perfect destabilization method.

He swallows hard at the thought of Harin enduring that right now.

He really needs to go get her. Now.

The Plains of Fire aren’t that far, are they? Maybe if he cuts through the northern mountain pass, near the sea, he could reach it faster—

“And Harin?”

Taehyung’s voice cuts in suddenly, slightly unsteady, and Yoongi is surprised by the tremor in it. He knows the prince grew attached to his sister  —but not to this extent.

Jimin has repeated it hundreds of times since arriving —so often Yoongi’s ears are practically bleeding from it— yet the prince refuses to accept it. Yoongi isn’t sure whether that’s a good sign or a bad one.

“She betrayed us, Taehyung,” Jimin almost spits, his exhausted face twisting with contempt.

Yoongi clenches his teeth and fists to keep from hitting him.

He cannot stand that word.

“That’s impossible,” the Irinian protests, shaking his head vehemently.

For a fleeting second, Yoongi thinks he looks like a child throwing a tantrum. He hides it well, but Yoongi can see the tears beginning to pool in his eyes. The prince hasn’t slept in days —Yoongi’s surprised he’s still standing at all. Expecting him to stay composed in the face of this…

“I saw her, Taehyung. Yesterday —or before, I don’t know. I was pinned to the floor, I could feel their blades on my neck —their blades, Tae, they were going to kill me— and then she walked in, firing her gun, yelling ‘I am Princess Jung Ina, daughter of I-don’t-know-who—’”

“No, that’s not—” the prince chokes, swallowing a sob.

“And right after that, suddenly no one around me. No blades on my neck,” Jimin continues, gesturing wildly. “I heard it, Tae. Jung Ina.”

Yoongi can’t breathe.

Under other circumstances, he might’ve been proud of himself for not breaking down like Taehyung clearly is. But right now, he can’t move at all.

She didn’t do that. Impossible. She couldn’t have taken that risk… She —who was so deeply haunted by those memories— she couldn’t have… willingly…?

Yes. Yes, damn it.

Yoongi has no choice but to accept it.

He knows his sister. She gets attached too easily. And getting attached to the two princes —he knew it was a terrible idea. He can’t even blame her. He himself had grown attached to Jimin, enough that watching him get taken had filled him with genuine regret —if not outright worry.

Harin would’ve done anything to save him.

Now, Yoongi feels no regret. No worry. Only contempt for the man standing in front of him.

Harin sacrificed herself for him —and this is how he repays her? Calling her a traitor at the first opportunity. Yoongi has no business being here.

He should’ve left long ago. In fact, he should’ve left with Harin the moment the shadows reappeared —princes be damned.

“She —she must’ve lied, made something up to get you released, it’s not—” Taehyung stammers, looking around as if the answer might appear out of thin air. The color drains from his face. He looks on the verge of fainting.

“They obeyed her immediately, Taehyung. She wasn’t lying,” Jimin snaps, unflinching.

“Y-you must be mistaken, it’s not pos—”

“I saw her, Taehyung,” the blond growls.

A small, broken sound escapes the prince’s throat —something disturbingly close to a whimper. His face twists, and he collapses into a chair, head buried in his hands.

When Jimin continues, his voice is marginally softer —but only just.

“She had a ring, Tae. A ring I’d never seen on her before. This huge violet stone with a fox engraved on it. And guess what —there were foxes drawn all over that mad tower. And now that I think about it, the lunatic who greeted me, Jung… Eosu, or whatever —he looked just like her. Like two drops of water.”

Yoongi clenches his jaw so hard he fears it might crack.

It’s his turn to look away, to keep from making a strangled sound —because if he does, this will end badly. His fists are so tight his nails must be cutting into his skin.

Eosu.

Fuck. That bastard is still alive?

Beyond the boiling urge to hit Jimin as hard as he can for what he just said —because if there’s one person Harin doesn’t resemble, it’s that piece of shit Eosu— Yoongi mostly wants to leave. Now.

If Eosu is hunting them, he’ll know exactly how to draw Yoongi out: hurt Harin. And he won’t hesitate to do it.

Yoongi doesn’t have a second to lose.

He’ll deal with Jimin and his disgusting conclusions later. Right now, he needs to saddle Holly and get out —showing his lieutenant’s insignia, he might be able to cross the border without questions. Once there, he’ll get his sister, and they’ll disappear far from these deranged kingdoms.

Jimin can deal with the purple shadows and Eosu on his own, if he hates them so much. All Yoongi wants is his sister.

Lost in his thoughts, he only notices the silence when Jimin speaks again, more quietly.

“Listen,” the blond begins, resting a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder. Only then does Yoongi notice the brunet is shaking from head to toe —he doesn’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad one. “I’m sorry, but… we need to face the truth, Tae. We were played. And now this unknown king —this… Jung —he wants our kingdoms.”

From his corner of the room, Yoongi barely restrains himself from shouting that Eosu was never a king, and never will be.

But he stays silent. It’s too late for explanations.

“So we have to go. Stop them. If we get our hands on this guy, we’ll control all the purple monsters —I know we can do it.”

Yoongi nearly laughs in their faces. He can’t remember the last time he’d been so naïve.

“You know where they are?” Taehyung’s voice is hollow, stripped of all emotion when he finally speaks again after what feels like an eternity. When he lifts his head, his face is just as empty —except he looks utterly broken. Like a stone eroded by too many storms.

Almost solemnly, Jimin nods, unaware of Yoongi’s flaring nostrils. “An abandoned tower in the Plains of Fire. I should be able to lead us there.”

Slowly, Taehyung nods, gaze unfocused. “Then we warn the men —we leave tomorrow, and we wipe that nest of bastards off the map.”

They stand together.

“Tomorrow, Jung Eosu and Jung Ina will be nothing but bad memories.”

Yoongi doesn’t hear the dull crack of splintering wood.

He only hears his anger —red, roaring— buzzing in his ears as he grips something with all his strength, unaware that it’s the fireplace mantel he’s just broken in half.

When the two princes turn toward him, a golden flash passes through his eyes —but he’s far too furious to notice. The atmosphere shifts.

It’s as if they’re only just remembering he’s there.

The trust that once filled their gazes is gone —replaced by something distant, almost hostile. Two hunters eyeing the great stag they’re about to bring down.

Yoongi glares back, too consumed by rage to trust himself to speak. He knew this would happen. And still, he let it.

Maybe that’s what he should hate himself for.

Harin chose to trust them. He chose to believe they couldn’t hurt them if things went wrong. In the end, he remembers the last time he was this naïve.

“Is there a problem, Lieutenant?” Jimin is the first to speak, his tone cold and cutting as he approaches, leaving a frozen Taehyung behind him.

Yoongi doesn’t move. Doesn’t answer. He doesn’t trust himself to. He just stares him down.

Her name is Harin, he wants to scream —but he doesn’t. It’s not worth it anymore. Min Harin. Not that pathetic excuse for a name they loathed their entire childhood.

“I suppose this is the moment you tell us you’re on their side,” Jimin continues, stepping close enough for them to glare at each other. “That you’re planning to kill us in our sleep to stop tomorrow’s battle, hmm? Because really, Lieutenant —you were never with us, were you?”

Slowly, Yoongi tightens his fists.

His face remains impassive, as always. “I admit, I have very little admiration for men who jump to conclusions with such arrogance.”

Jimin’s face hardens —and Yoongi has never seen such hatred in eyes that are usually so gentle.

Behind Jimin, Taehyung moves closer —and it takes Yoongi a few seconds to recognize the object in his hand as a small black dagger. One of Harin’s.

His anger spikes.

“So you are with them,” the prince says, his deep voice so empty Yoongi isn’t even sure he’s truly looking at him. Yoongi doesn’t answer.

They take his silence as confirmation.

Jimin exhales —once, twice— shaking his head. “I never would’ve believed this of you, Lieutenant. You’re impressive. I suppose this little plan —becoming our bodyguard, earning our trust— you must’ve thought it through for a long time, right? Because if she’s a Jung, then so are you. What’s your real name? Yi—”

He doesn’t finish. Because Yoongi spits in his face.

Right on his cheek, just beneath his eye.

Never breaking eye contact, Yoongi wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Later, he’ll think he really should’ve aimed for the eye.

“You know nothing,” he growls through clenched teeth, every ounce of his rage vibrating in his voice.

Jimin flinches —just slightly.

Yoongi is already turning away, toward Taehyung.

“And you,” he begins, pointing an accusing finger. “You —I thought you’d think twice before disappointing me this easily. But deep down, I expected it. I chose to believe you truly loved her rather than admit you’re just a—”

He doesn’t finish. Taehyung’s fist slams into his jaw.

Yoongi’s head snaps to the side, blood and spit flying.

When he meets Taehyung’s gaze again, his whole body is shaking with rage, his eyes burning with something lethal. He should’ve known this would end badly.

No more words are exchanged. Yoongi has nothing left to say anyway.

The only sound breaking the charged silence is Taehyung snapping his fingers —followed immediately by the creak of a door opening, and two soldiers entering.

They’re not dressed in black. They wear the royal guard’s uniform —Taehyung’s men, recalled for the search.

“Gentlemen,” Taehyung thunders, his voice rattling Yoongi’s ears, “do me a favor and give this man a tour of the dungeons.”

From the corner of his eye, Yoongi sees the soldiers pale. “But, Your Highness —that’s the lieutenant, we can’t—”

“No,” Taehyung cuts in, throwing Yoongi one last murderous glance before turning away. “He’s a traitor to the kingdom, to be executed tomorrow. Lock him up tight. And if his black uniform bothers you, take it off him —he doesn’t deserve it.”

“ ‘Rin, this isn’t a good idea,” Yoongi grumbles, still holding my hand.

I turn to him, no longer trying to hide the tears in my eyes. “I just… want to go to bed,” I whisper —not to be quiet, but because I can’t manage any louder.

Yoongi softens at the sight, but he hesitates. He hates these big parties as much as I do, and he wants to leave just as badly —especially since he saw it happen, when one of the dukes tried to slip his hand under my dress. Yoongi was the one who shoved him away. I want to cry so badly that it aches through my whole body.

But Mother insisted. Tonight, we must be perfect.

So Yoongi is going to try to convince me to go back, promising never to leave my side. It won’t help —there will always be something else waiting to scare me.

“Please,” I whisper, almost begging. I managed to lose my bear, I’m not going to be stopped by my own brother.

Yoongi doesn’t have time to respond, though —a low, cold voice cuts through the air and freezes our blood.

“Prince Ino. Princess Ina. You should be at the party.”

We spin around at the same time —face to face with a purple monster looming over us, leaving us no choice but to go back into the great hall.

Yoongi freezes, clutching my hand —but barely has time to stammer when Hobi suddenly appears from behind the figure, making it jump back.

“I’ve got this, it’s fine.”

The monster seems to nod, then vanishes. Hardly gone, and Yoongi and I rush into Hobi’s arms. He holds us without flinching. Yoongi has grown so much he’s almost shoulder-height to him —I can barely rest my head on his chest, but it doesn’t stop Hobi from holding us tight, tight, tight. After a moment, he straightens and kisses our hair gently.

“Are you both alright?” he asks simply.

We shake our heads together. Yoongi even holds out his hand to show him my tears, but I smack his fingers away. Babies cry. I’m not a baby.

Hoseok smiles softly, lifting a hand to brush my tears gently. I love it when he does that —I feel like I’m five again, when he held me in his arms to tell me stories all night.

“Hobi?” I finally whisper, almost shy. He smiles, eyes squinting a little.

“Yes, Angel?”

I swallow. Yoongi does too. He knows this is the only time we can really ask.

“Why were your eyes golden?” “What was happening earlier?”

His smile doesn’t change, but something in his gaze shifts. He strokes our hair gently, biting his lower lip as if thinking.

When he finally speaks, his voice is so low it’s almost impossible to hear.

“Nothing you need to worry about.” Then, after a pause: “You should go back to the table. Father won’t be happy if you don’t finish your plate.”

I can feel tears already forming under my eyes.

“I don’t want to,” I whisper, just as Yoongi mutters, “I want to leave.”

Again, he smiles sadly. “Soon. I promise.”

He kisses each of our cheeks before letting us go gently, standing up. “Remember what I always told you when you were little?”

Yoongi and I exchange uncertain looks. Of course we remember.

At our silence, Hobi raises an eyebrow, so I answer, “If you hear footsteps in the hall, hide in the hole under the mattress.”

“If you hear the scythes, close your eyes until someone tells you to open them,” Yoongi continues, reciting the lines we know by heart.

“And if you hear the hunting horns, run with all your strength,” we finish together, in one voice.

Hobi nods, adding only, “Run where?”

We answer without hesitation. “The hollow tree behind the castle.”

I’ve always thought Harin’s horse was a little frightening.

No, not Harin —I remember suddenly, and my chest tightens so hard that my whole body stiffens. Ina.

Ina. Jung Ina. Princess of the Kingdom that just swore the ruin of mine.

I grip the glass in my hand harder, until it shatters into pieces. Across from me, tied so tightly to a ring he can barely move, Lexi —Har–Ina’s horse —stares at me with a dark, judging eye, pawing the ground. I’ve only been sitting here a few minutes, and he’s been staring like he’s calculating the perfect angle to charge at me.

I should move. Stand up, do something, at least go to sleep —the troops are organized for tomorrow. All I need now is rest.

But I know I won’t be able to find it. In fact, I can’t even find the strength to lift myself from this wooden chair.

Only the strength, in silence, hands and arms trembling uncontrollably, to look at the emerald carved like a flower, split down the middle. To admire the ring that’s been turned into a signet, hanging on a silver chain. A silver chain that I found dangling from the bridle of this cursed horse.

I can still see myself giving it to her. I want to vomit.

To scream, hit something —better yet, someone— to shout until I collapse from exhaustion. Instead, all I can do is sit there, watching how that half-stone glimmers in the torchlight, under the judging gaze of a stallion.

That single blue-green stone seems to hypnotize me, making it impossible to look away. Impossible to feel the time passing silently around me. Until someone enters the stable, their footsteps drawing closer until they stop in front of the stall where I’m sitting.

“Your Highness,” one of my men thunders, tense, but I keep turning the half-flower in my palm. “You must come, the—”

“I asked to be left alone,” I cut him off, tracing the clean split in the flower with my thumb.

I hear him swallow distinctly, which annoys me. “It’s urgent, Your Highness. It’s the Lieutenant.”

I’m about to yell at him to leave, but his last words freeze me, instantly snapping my attention. I lift my head, sitting up enough to see him over the stall door.

“Well? What about him?”

He swallows again, gripping the pommel of his sword tighter. “He’s escaped, Your Highness. And the entire special guard has disappeared.”

I hate the great hall. I decided that when I was eight, and Father forced me to dance in front of everyone with the son of a duke.

Today, I hate it even more. Everyone is celebrating, laughing, singing, dancing—but it’s all just to hide the tension we can all feel.

There are purple monsters everywhere—pinned against the walls, posted beside the tables, near the windows. All of them wield those horrible long spears.

I’m terrified that one of them will attack and kill us all. Yoongi too, given how little he eats.

At the high table, slightly elevated above the others, sit Father, Uncle Eosu on one side, Hoseok on the other, and Mother just beside him. We’re not old enough to sit there yet. And that’s probably for the best. Father terrifies me.

He snaps his fingers. Four purple figures appear before him, so fast that my blood runs cold. “Bring me the gift for my son.”

Hoseok lifts his head, expression unreadable. “A gift, Father?”

Father smiles with all his teeth as the doors of the great hall slam open. “It is my duty to make you the greatest of Kings. And every king must prepare his heir…”

Two purple figures enter the hall, wasting no time before pushing to the ground what they held by the elbows —a girl with long hair as red as fire. I only see her face when she lifts her head —she looks younger than Hobi, but older than Yoongi and me— and I can’t look away.

Her hair is red, her skin golden. I don’t leave the castle often, but I’ve been to parties and receptions, and I’ve never seen anyone like her. I thought everyone had dark hair and nearly white skin.

I vaguely hear shouting, screaming even. Yoongi has frozen beside me, eyes fixed on the high table. Father and Hobi are yelling at each other.

Next to them, Mother has risen, a hand covering her mouth in horror as she watches the girl on the ground, barely moving. The words Usuryn princess and Hestidia are shouted, but I have no idea what they mean.

All I know is that one second, it’s a celebration.

The next second, Hoseok lunges at Father, hands on his neck to strangle him, and chaos erupts.

Everyone rises, runs, screams. Tables fly as the purple figures surge, spears threatening everyone. I crane my neck to see the high table, where I no longer see Hoseok —but Yoongi pulls me back to keep me from moving forward.

Panic rises in me. I don’t see Hoseok. I don’t see Mother. And I am terrified the purple monsters will kill us.

When Yoongi tugs harder on my hand and I let myself be dragged along, I catch a glimpse under the table —Father lying flat on his back.

I barely have time to note how strange it is to lie down at a moment like this before I see the silver crown of thorns planted under his throat.

Before I can even process what that means, the hunting horns echo throughout the castle.

Yoongi and I don’t need words —barely need to look at each other. Even without the reminder from a few minutes ago, we wouldn’t have forgotten.

“If you hear the hunting horns, run with all your strength.”

So we run.

We run without stopping, crushing each other’s fingers in our tight grip as we flee. We dodge the purple figures as best we can, take crooked little staircases to lose those chasing us. When we finally exit the building, Yoongi grabs an abandoned spear from the ground, and we run even faster.

We run. Even when we’re out of breath, even when our legs shake from weakness, we run.

Until we’re away from the castle. Until we reach the edge of the dark forest. Until we stand before the massive hollow tree.

We hide inside the trunk, out of sight, panting in silence, huddled together, trembling with fear. For a long time. A very long time.

Footsteps finally sound, loud. So loud we know they’re approaching. We exchange panicked glances, thinking it could be one of the purple monsters —the steps are fast enough— but before we can decide what to do, a hand slips through the opening, and Hoseok’s head appears, his eyes glowing golden.

Seeing him, I feel like I can move again.

We throw ourselves at him, letting the tears finally flow, and he sighs, holding us close, murmuring “thank you” over and over. When he finally releases us, he pulls us from the trunk, and this time he doesn’t bother wiping our tears.

“We need to hurry, kids, there’s not much time,” he mutters, pulling us along, running so fast it’s hard to keep up. At the forest’s edge, we leap for joy —Mother is there, holding the reins of two horses. It’s only then, thinking we might actually make it, that I notice Mother’s and Hobi’s clothes are torn, and Hobi has blood on his temple.

They don’t give us time to question it, hoisting each of us onto a horse. Yoongi clutches his spear tightly against himself, hanging onto Mother’s waist, seated ahead of him, while Hobi slides behind me and grabs the reins.

In the distance, the hunting horns still echo through the palace as the horses gallop, the icy wind hitting us full on. We’re going so fast, I’m a little scared, but I don’t dare say it.

Hobi is with us. Mother is with us. Everything will be fine, right?

“Hobi? Where are we going?” I ask after a few minutes, unable to recognize the landscape.

Seconds pass before he answers. “We’re leaving, Harin. Like I promised.”

*

Never did I think I’d be back in a castle with purple drapes. Never did I think I’d wear a dress of the same color again, or braid my hair with thin silver threads like before.

Yet often, I feared it would happen. Perhaps I shouldn’t have —Mother always said the more afraid you are of something, the more certain it will come, and now I think she was right.

She also said that no matter what happens, the stars always shine above us. Yet when I look up, I see no stars —only heavy purple drapes stretched to keep a semblance of warmth, and a silver-embroidered fox staring at me, ready to pounce.

I flinch when a Borenar suddenly places a plate in front of me, snapping me out of my thoughts. He leaves quickly, leaving me alone with a bowl of brown porridge and a wooden spoon. I had tried to forget the details of my childhood —but I remember this well. This is what they served to prisoners. And more than once, this kind of porridge was poisoned to get rid of inconvenient people faster.

I imagine my existence must annoy Eosu.

“Eat, child,” he thunders, slouching on his ridiculous throne, one knee folded over the armrest. He would never have dared this at Father’s court. He throws me one of those looks I hate, falsely warm and benevolent. “You need strength, after all these useless efforts for the crown prince.”

I grit my teeth but say nothing. I don’t touch the spoon, refusing to eat the horror they’ve served me, because I’m not that stupid.

He glares at me, and I meet his gaze. I see his features harden as he absentmindedly plays with his goatee, and I know that look. The look of a manipulator willing to do anything to get what he wants.

“Very well,” he finally says when he realizes I won’t give in. In mock-lazy movements, he rises and approaches the table where I’m seated. I try to stay focused on him and on all the shadows I know are lurking behind me, but it’s harder than it seems —and on edge, I flinch violently when Eosu snatches my bowl and hurls it against the wall with a crash.

I owe my stone-cold silence only to clenching the inside of my cheek with my teeth to bite back the scream threatening to escape.

“If I can praise the two allied Kingdoms for anything, my dear niece, it’s that at least they’ve hardened you,” his cutting tone affects me less than I thought it would, even though his mere presence terrifies me. Perhaps because I hold back from yelling that it was the memory of Bruria that “hardened” me.

I settle back almost comfortably on the old wooden chair provided, chin high, meeting his gaze without flinching for a single second.

You don’t scare me, my eyes say, even though my whole body screams mercy, let me go.

“Good, since you seem ready for business,” he growls, this time his usually falsely pleasant voice taking a low, impatient edge, “Let’s get serious.”

He barely needs to snap his fingers for the Borenars to spring into action. I don’t have time to react before the table is thrown across the room against the wall, and a scream escapes me as a thin hand wraps around my neck —cold and crushing.