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A/N: Guys, if you want me to tag you, comment :) Also, drop your thoughts! Chapter 3 will be uploaded soon!!
Summary: He was a commoner, a blacksmith in the palace, unnoticed by most, yet completely devoted to her her beauty, kindness, and heart a guiding light. Every action he took, every subtle move, was for her safety, respect, and well-being. Love made him cunning, precise, and dangerous. In a palace full of whispers and cruelty, his quiet, hidden fury was about to rise, proving that even someone without title could strike with unstoppable force when driven by love and obsession.
Word Count: 8934
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The night was thick and windless when Jungkook returned home. The lantern outside their small house had long burned out. The door creaked open quietly.
Jungkook entered, bringing with him the chill and the metallic scent of the palace.
Y/N stirred from the bedding, her hair tousled, eyes heavy with sleep and worry. “You’re late,” she murmured, voice soft but threaded with concern.
He slid his hands around her waist, pulling her close, resting his forehead against hers. "There were things I had to finish," he admitted, his voice low and ragged. "Things that couldn't wait."
She reached up, cupping his jaw. "You look like you haven't slept in a week. Did they keep you busy with the new orders?"
Jungkook looked at her then, his gaze heavy and unwavering, and she saw the vast, dark chasm of what he had endured. He did not answer with words. He crushed his mouth against hers, a kiss of desperate need, not gentleness.
His hands moved to her cloak, peeling it away, then swiftly to the lacings of her tunic. This was not the tender, lingering comfort of their earlier intimacy; this was fierce, urgent, an act of staking a claim on the only pure thing left in his life. Every touch was a silent promise, every movement a declaration that he had survived the darkness to return to her.
She gasped, startled by the intensity, but she clung to him, meeting his demand with her own desperate relief. His lips trailed down her throat, settling where the pulse hammered fast against her skin.
"I need you," he muttered against her skin, the words thick with exhaustion and release.
"I am here" she breathed, her fingers threading through his dark hair.
He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed, the rough wool of his uniform scratching against her soft skin. He pulled the blanket over them, closing out the quiet darkness of the room. The only sound was the low, intimate rhythm of their breathing, the silent confession of two souls clinging to sanity at the edge of chaos.
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From the upper hall, the King watched through narrowed eyes, his expression carved from stone and contempt. King Kim Jaewon a ruler whose reign was older than most of his soldiers had long shed the burden of conscience. Power had hardened him, stripped him of mercy until only cruelty remained a tool he wielded with precision.
The commotion below amused him more than it alarmed. General Seo-jun’s death was not tragedy it was opportunity. “How poetic,” he murmured, voice like the scrape of metal, “a wolf devoured in his own den.” His thin smile deepened, cruel and deliberate. “Find me the one who slit his throat. I want his name, his bloodline, and his ashes by dawn.”
The courtiers bowed low, too afraid to meet his eyes. Even the guards standing near the pillars seemed to shrink into their armor.
Beside him stood his son, Prince Kim Taehyung, twenty and restless, his youth still carrying the naive belief that kings ruled for justice. But King Kim Jaewon kingdom did not know justice it knew control. He glanced at his son, voice low, dangerous.
“Remember this, Taehyung,” the King said, turning toward the window where the palace torches burned like veins of fire. “A man dies, and the court trembles. But if the King bleeds, the kingdom burns. Fear is the only wall that stands between a throne and ruin.”
Taehyung did not answer. His jaw clenched, eyes dark with something unreadable disgust, perhaps, or awakening defiance.
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The morning was still half-asleep. A thin fog clung to the fields outside. In the kitchen, Jungkook stood by the low counter, one hand braced against the wood, the other holding a steaming cup of tea.
He had been awake for hours. He stared at nothing, the tea cooling in his hand, the taste of it bitter on his tongue.
Behind him, from the other room, came the rustle of blankets and the soft sigh of Y/N waking. He didn’t turn immediately he could picture her perfectly: the tousled hair falling over her face, the way her hand would reach for the space beside her, now empty.
“Jungkook?” Her voice floated from the bedroom, still thick with sleep. “You’re up already?”
He hummed in reply, just a quiet sound in his throat. “Go back to sleep,” he said, voice low, steady. “It’s still early.”
But she never listened when he said that. She always came to him.
Moments later, Y/N appeared in the doorway, the blanket draped around her shoulders like a shawl. Her eyes found him first, then the untouched tea, then the distant look on his face. “You didn’t come to bed after…” she began softly, but the sentence fell apart.
He finally looked at her, and though his face was calm, his eyes betrayed the sleepless night. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
She walked closer, the floor cool beneath her feet. “You always say that,” she murmured, standing beside him now. “But you look like the one who needs rest.”
Jungkook gave a small smile, faint but real. “Rest doesn’t listen when I call it.”
Y/N tilted her head, searching his face. “Something happened, didn’t it?”
He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingered on the window, where morning light was slowly cutting through the mist. Then he set the cup down with deliberate care, as if the movement itself steadied him. “Just… the usual things. Palace work. Orders. Nothing worth your worry.”
Her brow furrowed. “You always say that too.”
“I do.” He turned toward her now, his voice softening. “Because I don’t want your mornings to start with the same shadows mine do.”
For a long moment, they sat in silence. The kettle hissed softly on the dying fire, and outside, birds began to stir in the trees. Y/N reached for his hand, her fingers brushing his knuckles, tracing idle circles there.
“You can tell me, you know,” she said quietly. “Whatever it is. You don’t have to carry it alone.”
He looked at her then, really looked. Her eyes were steady, her expression open and patient in that way that always disarmed him. For a heartbeat, he considered telling her everything. But instead, he just smiled, small and sad.
“If I told you,” He murmured, “you’d start worrying, and I can’t bear that.”
She shook her head with a faint smile. “You don’t get to decide what I worry about.”
He laughed softly at that, the sound low and warm. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love that about me,” she said easily, reaching to steal his tea and take a sip.
He leaned back, watching her with quiet amusement. “You don’t even like tea.”
“I like yours,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the bitterness but drinking anyway.
The simplicity of it their easy back-and-forth, the warmth between them pulled him in. Without thinking, he reached up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb lingered at her cheekbone, the touch light but reverent.
Her breath hitched just a little. “You’re doing it again,” she murmured.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
Jungkook tilted his head with confusion. “Like what?”
“Like I’m something fragile.”
He smiled faintly. “You are.”
She huffed, pretending annoyance, but her heart fluttered all the same.
He stood then, setting his cup aside, and stepped closer until the space between them was barely there. The faint smell of tea clung to him, mixing with the warmth of his skin. His voice dropped, low and gentle.
“You make it too easy to forget the world outside this house.”
Her eyes softened. “Then forget it for a while,” she whispered.
He brushed his forehead against hers, the moment quiet and unhurried. “If I could, I’d never remember it again.”
Her hands found his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Then don’t,” she murmured.
For a long time, they stayed like that. The world outside could wait; the palace, the king, the rest it all felt impossibly far away.
And for that fleeting hour, Jungkook let himself believe that peace could last.
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He shouldn’t have been there again so soon after what he’d done. But morning duties waited for no man, not even one with blood on his hands. And as he moved through the hall, boots echoing faintly on stone, the murmurs around him had already begun soft, curious, terrified.
“The general… dead?”
“They found him at dawn.”
“No sound. No struggle.”
Jungkook didn’t turn. Didn’t blink. But the words followed him like ghosts.
He reached the courtyard steps. The memory tugged at him, slow and relentless, dragging him backward into the storm.
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It had started the night before.
He’d waited long enough to be sure no one else was there. Then he moved quiet, deliberate, his boots barely whispering against the floor.
The door wasn’t locked. It never was. The captain trusted his walls too much.
Inside, the room smelled of tobacco and sweat. Papers were strewn across the desk, maps half rolled, a half-finished bottle glinting in the candlelight. The captain sat in his chair, head tilted back, eyes closed, as if he’d simply dozed off mid-command. His chest rose and fell slowly, the kind of sleep that only arrogance could afford.
The moment was perfect. No struggle, no witnesses, only silence.
Jungkook slipped a thin, foot-long spike a tool he had forged for scoring armor plate from his sleeve. It wasn't a sword; it was too simple to be traced, too quiet to make a scene.
He moved to the door and, with a subtle shift of weight. The sound was barely audible, but to Jungkook, it was the sound of the world ending and beginning all over again.
He walked up behind the General, placing the cool, razor-sharp point of the spike against the soft, vulnerable skin just beneath Seo-jun's jawline. The pressure was firm, demanding, yet utterly controlled.
Seo-jun's eyes snapped open. He didn't move a muscle, the years of military discipline holding his panic at bay, but his breath hitched a small, liquid sound of realization.
"Jungkook," the General whispered, his voice thin, recognizing the soundless entrance and the cold press of the metal. His eyes darted to the clock, then to the locked door. "So You chose rebellion over obedience. A pity. Such talent wasted."
Jungkook leaned in, his voice a low, smooth resonance that was far more dangerous than any shout. His breath was cool against the General's ear.
"I chose neither, General," Jungkook murmured. "I chose clarity. And I chose to settle a debt."
Seo-jun attempted a confident sneer. "A debt? You murdered Lord Seo. I gave you the rank of Captain. Your life was bought. My proposal regarding your wife—"
Jungkook pressed the spike deeper, drawing the faintest trickle of blood. The General winced.
"My wife," Jungkook repeated, his voice dropping, becoming dangerously intimate. "You spoke of my wife as a thing to be warmed by. You spoke of her beauty as a flame you intended to consume. You looked at my woman and saw only a body you could claim."
He let the words hang, his control absolute. He was enjoying this moment, savoring the General's rapidly dissolving composure.
"You misunderstand my nature, General," Jungkook continued, speaking as if discussing the weather. "I am not a noble. I don't engage in political coups. I am a blacksmith. My job is to recognize flaws and to eliminate them with precision. Your flaw, General, is that you believe titles shield you from consequence."
Seo-jun’s breathing became rapid. "You fool. You think killing me will save her? I have protocols, commoner! If I don't report by dawn, my men—"
"Your men are loyal to the man who trained them to survive," Jungkook cut in, his voice unwavering. "Not the one who signed the papers. They are loyal to the Captain. The man who makes them strong. The Captain, who, tragically, will be the first to mourn the 'political assassination' of his General."
General Seo-jun’s eyes were wide, fixed on the thin line of blood blooming from the puncture wound beneath his jaw. He was a cornered beast, but his words still carried the spite of a noble.
"You should have been satisfied with the death of Lord Seo," Seo-jun spat, trying to salvage some authority, his voice a strained whisper. "You should have kept your head down. I offered you protection. I offered you life!"
Jungkook did not flinch, his grip on the spike absolute. He leaned closer, his voice hardening, losing every trace of its conversational chill.
"You offered me a cage, General," Jungkook corrected, the words delivered with the cold authority of a death sentence. "You offered me the chance to live as a dog, while you defiled the only thing in this miserable world that belongs to me. That is not protection. That is damnation."
Seo-jun scoffed, a wet, rattling sound. "She is a common seamstress! A convenience! You risk your rank, your life, for a woman who will age and fade? You must be mad."
Jungkook’s eyes, dark and heavy, lowered slightly, focusing on the General with an expression so cold it stole the heat from the room.
"You talk about things you don't understand," Jungkook murmured, his voice now lower, a dangerous, velvet purr. "You look at Y/N and see property. You see a piece of flesh to take and discard. But I look at her and I see the reason the sun rises."
He paused, letting the raw intimacy of the confession hang in the air.
"Do you know what it is to truly love someone, General? Not to possess, but to worship? Every night I came home from the grime of the forge, she was the only clean, true thing I found. Her hands, which you wished to soil, comforted me. Her voice, which you wished to hear beg, was the only music I needed. She is the fragile, pure core of my existence. She is my fire, my rest, my entire peace."
The General stared, baffled by the commoner's intensity. "Sentimental nonsense. A man like you should be ambitious, not obsessed with a wife."
"And my child," Jungkook pressed, his tone finally cracking with the suppressed grief and fury. "You knew what Lady Choi did to us. You knew the torment. And yet you came to me, to me, and used that very grief as leverage. You proposed to finish the job to break the last part of her soul that the palace hadn't already stolen. You wanted her to watch me die, and then you wanted her to come to your bed, utterly alone, begging for the kindness of her tormentor."
His grip tightened, drawing another fine line of blood.
"That is where you made your fatal mistake, General. When you spoke of her body, that was an insult. But when you spoke of breaking her spirit, that was an act of war against my very heart. I can live without my rank. I can live without my life. But I cannot, and will not, live in a world where Y/N is touched by your cruelty."
Jungkook’s control was chilling. He wasn't yelling; he was articulating a clear, unbreakable philosophy. He leaned back, his eyes dark with satisfaction as the General's face paled further.
"You offered me a choice between my life and my wife. That is not an offer, General. That is a threat." Jungkook paused, his gaze locking with Seo-jun’s, the intensity of his love chilling in its focus. "Your mistake wasn't underestimating a commoner's ambition; your mistake was speaking my wife's name with disrespect."
He let the silence hang, then delivered the final, unwavering sentence.
"The palace has laws for status, but I have only one law for Y/N. And I swear this to you, General: no person, highborn or low, will ever violate her peace and live to draw another breath. You are simply the first one to find that out."
General Seo-jun’s face contorted in a final, frantic surge of terror, his breath catching in a choked sound. "No! No—"
With a single, final, decisive motion, Jungkook pressed the spike home, silencing the threat forever. The sound was swallowed by the heavy silence of the cabin. The General’s eyes widened, a look of shocked comprehension passing over them the final, devastating realization that he had fatally misjudged the limits of a man's love.
He then walked to the locked door, unsealed the lock, and stepped out into the night, leaving the General to his fate.
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The palace that morning was nothing like itself.
The echo of voices struck the marble like waves. Servants hurried through the halls, whispers trailing behind them like smoke. Ministers gathered in clusters near the great court, speaking too loudly and too quickly, their faces pale beneath their official hats. The scent of incense had been replaced by sweat and fear.
The captain’s death had turned the palace into a hive of noise.
Jungkook walked through it, steady as ever, though the air itself felt heavier around him. He could feel their eyes officials glancing, guards murmuring, women clutching their ledgers close when he passed. The whispers followed him like a shadow he couldn’t shake.
“Have you heard? They say the general’s neck—”
“Shh! Don’t say that here.”
“They say Captain Jungkook was the last—”
“Quiet, for the gods’ sake.”
He didn’t react. Not even a flicker. His boots made a low sound against the stone floor — tap, tap, tap — the rhythm of a man trying to drown the noise around him with the sound of his own calm.
And then, over the low hum of chaos, a sharp voice cut through.
“Captain Jeon.”
Jungkook turned.
It was Minister Hwang — the Minister of Defence, a man whose face always looked as though he were smelling something faintly unpleasant. Broad-shouldered, with silver streaks cutting through his black hair and a golden ring glinting on every finger. His smile was never warm; it was calculated, like everything about him.
“Walk with me,” Hwang said, not waiting for an answer.
Jungkook followed, silent, as the older man led him down the narrow hallway that branched off from the council court the kind of hall where echoes died quickly and secrets could survive.
They stopped at a door engraved with a phoenix sigil. The Minister’s chamber. Hwang opened it himself, stepping inside first.
“Sit,” Hwang said, gesturing to a low chair across from his desk.
Jungkook remained standing for a moment, then slowly sat, his expression calm, unreadable.
Hwang studied him for a while long enough to make silence feel like a question. Finally, he spoke, voice measured, casual almost.
“You were the last man seen with General Seo-jun last night.”
Jungkook’s eyes didn’t flinch. “I was called to him, yes. Briefly.”
“Briefly.” Hwang leaned back, fingers steepled. “And what did the two of you discuss?”
“The patrol schedule. He wanted my report on the western watch post.”
A slow smile curved the Minister’s lips. “That all?”
Jungkook met his gaze. “That all.”
The silence stretched thin. Hwang drummed his fingers lightly against the wood, a quiet rhythm that matched the tension between them. Then, leaning forward, his voice dropped low, almost amused.
“You’re a terrible liar, Captain.”
Jungkook didn’t move, didn’t blink.
“I admire your calm,” Hwang continued, “but the palace is not kind to men who hold their breath for too long. Eventually, someone forces the air out of them. And the King…” his smile thinned “does not ask for evidence before passing judgment.”
The words settled like dust in the room.
Jungkook’s jaw tensed. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” the Minister said, drawing out each word, “that even if you had nothing to do with Seo-jun’s death, the King will still find it convenient to make an example out of you. Suspicion is reason enough for exile in this palace.”
Jungkook’s eyes flickered, just for a moment. “You speak as though you’re doing me a favor.”
“Perhaps I am.” Hwang smiled, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m offering you a way to stay alive.”
Jungkook leaned back in the chair, folding his arms loosely. “And what would that cost me?”
“Nothing,” Hwang said, tone dripping with false innocence. “Just a small correction to the truth.”
Jungkook raised a brow. “Correction?”
“Yes,” the Minister said, voice lowering. “You see, my son Hwang Do-hyun is a promising man. Ambitious. Sharp. But with Seo-jun gone, the position of General must be filled quickly. The palace cannot run without its blade.”
He leaned closer, his eyes glinting. “If my son takes his place, he will testify that Seo-jun was not murdered in cold blood… but silenced for treason.”
“Treason?” Jungkook repeated, quietly.
Hwang nodded, smiling. “A story the King will like. A story that ends cleanly. The general was working with the northern borders, trading palace routes and defense maps for gold. You, Captain Jeon, happened to overhear this when you were summoned to his office. Simple, believable. The King will commend your loyalty instead of condemning your silence.”
Jungkook stared at him for a long moment. The room felt smaller suddenly, the air thicker. “And all I need to do is lie,” he said.
Hwang’s smile didn’t fade. “Lie? Such a strong word. I prefer… protect the kingdom.”
Jungkook’s tone dropped, quiet, measured. “And if I refuse?”
“Then,” the Minister said softly, “you’ll be branded as the man who killed a general and betrayed his oath. You’ll be stripped of your title, exiled from the palace if you’re lucky. Or executed if the King decides to start his morning with something dramatic.”
Silence again.
The minister’s voice hung in the still air of the cabin, smooth and deliberate, but Jungkook didn’t speak right away. He leaned back slightly, gaze fixed on the man across from him, every inch of his posture calm almost lazy but his eyes held that same quiet sharpness that made people nervous.
After a moment, he finally spoke, his tone casual yet cutting. “You really think the King and his council will just… believe your story? You toss a few words around and suddenly everyone bows to your version of the truth minister?”
Minister Hwan gave a soft, humourless chuckle. “You underestimate me, Jungkook. I don’t rely on words alone.”
Jungkook tilted his head slightly. “No?”
The minister’s smile spread, all pride and cool assurance. “Do you think I would stake my name and my son’s future on mere rumour?” he asked, as if the notion were absurd. “No I do not trust whispers. I prepare proof. There are letters tucked into false bottoms, coded notes hidden among his ledgers, and foreign coin slipped into places only a careful eye would find. I have laid each piece in Seo-jun’s cabin so neatly that no honest investigator could fail to see the pattern.”
He tapped the desk once, slow and deliberate. “The King has already ordered that no one enter the room until the Investigation Division arrives. They will open the door to the story I have arranged. My son will then present a witness, a man placed where he needs to be and the case will fold perfectly around the narrative we want. The King only needs a nudge from the right voices; with a little pressure from me and a handful of willing ministers, the throne will demand change. When that moment comes, the post will be vacant, the court will applaud the right hand, and my son will take the general’s seat.”
Jungkook’s lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile just the ghost of one. “You’ve been busy.”
The minister smirked. “I’ve been thorough. That’s how you survive here.”
Jungkook gave a soft hum, his gaze dropping to the grain of the wooden table, tracing invisible patterns with his thumb. “So, you’ve arranged every piece on the board,” he murmured. Then he looked up again, eyes glinting under the faint light. “But you haven’t told me what happens to me.”
The minister blinked, his expression tightening slightly. “You? I’m saving you, Jungkook. You’ll be cleared once the blame lands on the general. Your name stays intact. That’s more than most get.”
Jungkook chuckled quietly low, rough, and somehow both amused and unimpressed. “You think I’m naïve enough to take that as a favor?”
“Excuse me?”
Jungkook leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice calm but edged with quiet steel. “If I were truly under suspicion, the King would have already sent for me. He doesn’t wait for evidence he never has. Yet here I am, standing in front of you, not exiled, not beheaded. So don’t mistake your manipulation for mercy.”
The minister’s eyes narrowed. “Careful with your words.”
Jungkook met his stare without flinching. “I’m only careful when I need to be. But right now…” His tone dropped, smooth as smoke. “I’m just being honest.”
A long silence stretched between them, the flickering candlelight throwing shifting shadows across Jungkook’s face. The minister drummed his fingers on the desk, his calculating expression returning. “Then tell me,” He said finally. “What do you want, Jungkook? You already have something in mind, don’t you?”
Jungkook smiled faintly, the kind that didn’t soften his face but sharpened it. “I do.”
The minister leaned back, studying him. “Speak, then.”
“I want to work under your son,” Jungkook said simply, his tone quiet but unwavering.
The minister’s brow furrowed. “Under him?”
“Yes,” Jungkook replied, his gaze unwavering. “When your son takes the general’s post, I want to be placed directly under his command. Let everyone see me as his shadow. His right hand. Lieutenant General”
The minister’s lips twitched upward, amused. “You want to secure your position through him?”
Jungkook’s expression didn’t change. “No. I want to make sure he earns the power you’re handing him. If he’s to command men, I’ll make him worthy of it. And if he fails…” His voice trailed off, but the silence said what his words didn’t.
The minister’s smile faltered for just a breath, before returning smoother than before. “You have a sharp tongue, Jungkook.”
“And you have a sharper ambition,” Jungkook replied evenly. “That’s why this will work.”
The minister exhaled through his nose, studying him once more, as if trying to read the spaces between his words. Finally, he nodded slowly. “Very well. You’ll have your position. When my son General Do-hyun takes the post, I’ll see to it that you’re assigned to directly beneath him.”
Jungkook stood, fixing his cloak with slow precision, the fabric whispering against the floor. “Then we have an understanding.”
Minister Hwan offered a thin smile. “We do. But remember, Jungkook once you’re in, you’re bound to my house.”
Jungkook paused at the door.
Then the door shut behind him with a muted click, leaving the minister staring at the flame on his desk watching it flicker and twist like a warning he couldn’t quite name.
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The sun was still high when Jungkook finally stepped out of the palace gates. The courtyard behind him was restless messengers darting back and forth, officials murmuring with tight expressions, the faint ring of armor in the distance. But his part was done. He’d given his statement to the Investigation Division, said only what was necessary, no more, no less.
The rest the lies, the performances, the neatly arranged evidence belonged now to the minister and his companions.
He walked the path home in silence, his boots stirring dust along the worn stones. By the time the small cluster of houses came into view the ones built for captains and their families he could already hear soft laughter, the murmur of women’s voices carried by the evening wind.
Y/N stood near the gate, her shawl draped over her shoulders, talking to two other women wives of fellow captains. They were smiling, trading small gossip, their words light despite the shadow that hung over the palace. But when she saw Jungkook approaching, her laughter faded, replaced by a gentle, knowing smile.
“You should go,” she told the women softly. “My husband’s back early today.”
They giggled, whispering something teasing as they left, their footsteps echoing faintly down the narrow path.
Y/N waited by the doorway as Jungkook stepped inside. The faint scent of oil and smoke still clung to his jacket as she helped him slip it off.
“You’re early,” she said, glancing up at him. “That doesn’t happen often.”
Jungkook hummed, his tone quiet. “Work ended sooner than expected.”
“That’s surprising,” she said, folding his jacket neatly. “After what happened… I thought the palace would be in chaos.”
“It is,” he replied simply.
She turned to face him fully now, eyes studying his expression. “They say the general was killed in his office. And that you were the last person to speak with him before his death.”
Jungkook’s jaw flexed slightly, but his face remained calm. “That’s what they’re saying.”
Her brows knit. “And? What did you tell them?”
He leaned against the wooden table; eyes fixed on the pale light at the window. When he spoke, his voice was flat, the words worn by the memory.
“I went to the General’s office to discuss the western watch post, but the Minister of Defense came instead. He handed me a script and told me what to say to make his son the new General.” Jungkook said. “He told me exactly what to say.” He paused, and the room shrank around the weight of it. “ ‘You’ll tell them you overheard him. That he was speaking with someone he shouldn’t a foreign agent, a courier, a man with no right to our maps and our patrol lists. You’ll say you heard talk of payments, routes, and names. You’ll say you caught it by accident, standing just outside the door. Make it sound accidental. Make it sound impossible to doubt.’ ”
Jungkook’s jaw tightened as if the words had scraped him. “Then he smiled and told me the bargain. The court will have its traitor and your name will not be stained. Say the words, and when the dust settles, I’ll see that you are made lieutenant a cleaner title, closer to command.’”
He let out a short, humorless breath. “He made it an offer and a warning in the same sentence. Protection for the lie, and a ladder if I climbed it just so. He said the rest would be handled.”
Y/N blinked, lowering her voice. “Handled?”
He nodded once. “They’ll find what they want to find.”
The silence stretched between them, heavy, alive. She searched his face the calmness, the restraint that had settled there since last night. There was something in his eyes she couldn’t quite name.
Finally, she asked quietly, “And are you… involved in this?”
Her tone wasn’t accusing. It was soft, almost fearful. A whisper meant only for the space between them.
Jungkook looked at her then, really looked his gaze unreadable, steady as a blade balanced on its edge. He didn’t speak. Didn’t confirm, didn’t deny.
Instead, he reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek, his thumb lingering for a breath too long. “It’s over now,” he said finally, his voice low. “You don’t have to think about it.”
She stared at him, unsure if that was comfort or warning.
He stepped past her, untying the leather bracer from his wrist, his movements deliberate, slow. Then, as though cutting through the weight of the silence, he said softly, “Get dressed.”
She blinked. “For what?”
He looked over his shoulder, and for the first time that day, a faint smile ghosted his lips. “Let’s go out. Just us. The town’s quieter in the evenings no guards, no whispers. We haven’t had a walk together.”
Y/N hesitated. “Now? With everything happening?”
“Especially now,” he said. His tone was calm, but there was something in it a need, a quiet urgency she couldn’t quite name. “I just want a few hours with you. No palace. No noise. Just us.”
Her eyes softened. “Alright,” she murmured. “I’ll get ready.”
As she disappeared into the other room, Jungkook exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face. For a moment, the ghost of a smile touching his lips again, colder this time.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
The evening air was soft, the kind that carried a trace of warmth even after the sun had dipped behind the hills. The path from the palace led to the open meadows untouched, calm, kissed by the faint glow of fireflies that danced along the tall grass.
He brought Y/N far from the palace gates, past the outer farming villages, until they reached a high ridge they hadn't visited since before their loss.
The spot overlooked the place, but up here, the sound of the wind through the pines drowned out the distant clamor of the bells.
Y/N sighed, leaning against Jungkook as they sat together, watching the late afternoon sun cast long shadows.
"It's quiet," she whispered, the word sounding fragile on her lips. "Truly quiet."
Jungkook turned, pulling her into his lap and resting his chin on the crown of her head. He inhaled the scent of her hair, closing his eyes for a moment, letting the simple fact of her presence wash away the memory of blood and steel.
"I know," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "The palace is a metal cage full of screaming birds. We needed this."
Y/N shifted, looking up at him, her eyes searching. "You look tired, Kook. Even now. Are you safe? After... after all that chaos this morning?"
He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of her ear. "I'm safer now than I was two nights ago," he reassured her, choosing his words with care. "I told you, I’m playing a game. I just secured an extremely powerful new ally. The palace is busy chasing phantoms. They won't look at a blacksmith-turned-Captain who is openly cooperating with the investigation."
"And the price?" she asked, her voice tight with familiar worry.
Jungkook smiled, a genuine, soft curve of his lips reserved only for her. "He demanded exactly what I expected: my silence, and my competence. He wants to use my skill, Y/N. That's all. He thinks he owns me. Let him believe it. I own my hands, I own my mind, and I own my heart. And as long as I do, no one owns you."
He gently tilted her head back and kissed her, a deep, slow kiss that was meant to convey everything he couldn't speak the terror of the past night, the unwavering commitment of his love, and the sacred promise that she was the ultimate reason for every single risk he took.
When they parted, her cheeks were flushed.
"I don't need the grand titles or the political games, Jungkook," she said softly, resting her hand on his chest, right over the steady thump of his heart. "I just need you to come home. That is the only victory that matters to me."
"Then you will have it," he promised, his fingers tracing the lines of her hand. "Always. The games I play are only to ensure that 'coming home' remains a simple truth, not a stolen moment."
He then stood up, extending his hand to her. "Come before the sun fully dips."
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
On the way back through the narrow village street, warm lamplight spilling from the small shops, Y/N caught sight of a display a deep blue dress, silk that shimmered faintly even under the weak lantern glow. She paused, fingertips brushing the glass unconsciously, mesmerized.
Jungkook noticed the small hitch in her breath. “You like it?” he asked, voice low, teasing.
She blinked, flustered. “It’s… beautiful. But… it looks expensive.”
“Then it’s perfect,” he said, smirking just a little.
“Jungkook—no, you don’t have to—”
He turned to her, his eyes gleaming with quiet mischief. “I want to.”
“But it’s just a dress,” she whispered, cheeks warming. “We should save money.”
“Save it?” he echoed, mock outrage lacing his tone. “And miss a chance to see you in silk that rivals the moonlight? Never.”
Her lips curved into a reluctant smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you love it,” he said, leaning closer, lowering his voice. “Admit it.”
She nudged him playfully with her shoulder. “Maybe I do… a little.”
“Just a little?” he teased, “I think you mean a lot.”
Before she could argue further, he pushed open the shop door. The bell jingled softly, the owner bowing quickly. Jungkook moved with calm precision, pointing to the dress with a decisive nod. The owner quickly wrapped it.
When he stepped back onto the street, he held the package out for her. “Here,” he said softly, almost conspiratorially.
“Jungkook…” she breathed, shaking her head.
“Don’t,” he interrupted, voice gentle but firm. “It’s not about cost. It’s about… this moment.”
Her eyes met his, full of warmth, wonder, and a flicker of amusement. “This moment?” she echoed, letting the corner of her lips twitch in a smile.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice until only she could hear, playful glint in his dark eyes. “Yes. This moment. You and me, under lanterns, silk between your fingers.”
She laughed softly, the sound like wind chimes in the cool night. “You really make this feel dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” he asked, mock offense in his tone. “For trying to spoil you?”
She poked him in the chest. “Exactly.”
Jungkook’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile as his thumb traced a lazy path over her wrist. “Then I suppose I must plead guilty,” he murmured, voice low, deliberate.
Her gaze softened, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “You always know how to make me feel… everything at once.”
He smiled, that small, quiet curve of lips that always reached his eyes. “Good. Because you deserve that.”
Her throat tightened, heart fluttering as he stepped just a little closer, the night wrapping them in a cocoon of soft lamplight and warmth. “You make it all bearable,” she murmured.
He brushed a strand of hair from her face, letting his fingers linger just a moment longer than necessary. “Then wear the dress. Just for me,” he whispered into her ear, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Y/N felt her cheeks warm, a flutter rising in her chest at his words. She gave a small, exasperated laugh and lightly pushed his chest. “Stop it, Jungkook,” she murmured, pretending annoyance as she stepped forward, trying to escape his teasing gaze.
But Jungkook only grinned wider, the mischievous glint in his eyes matching her own racing heart. He caught her wrist gently, stopping her mid-step. “I’m not letting you go that easily,” he teased, voice low and playful. “You promised.”
She tugged her hand back, laughing softly. “I didn’t promise anything!”
“You did,” he countered, still holding her gaze, his thumb brushing her wrist again. “Just now. For me.”
Her laughter turned into a soft sigh, a mixture of shyness and amusement. With a small, reluctant nod, she let him guide her, their hands brushing and fingers intertwining as they walked together toward home, the air between them charged with warmth and quiet excitement.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷
The walk home was slow, punctuated by their easy laughter and the soft, comfortable weight of their joined hands. The lantern light faded as they reached the familiar, darkened lane leading to their small house.
Jungkook opened the door, letting the package of blue silk fall gently onto the small table. He turned, leaning against the doorframe, watching Y/N remove her shawl. The mischievous grin he’d worn in the marketplace was back, now softer, infused with pure, consuming anticipation.
"The night is still young, and the house is quiet," he murmured, his gaze warm and fixed on her. "It would be a pity to leave that beautiful silk sitting wrapped up until morning."
Y/N felt her cheeks flush again. She knew exactly what he was asking. "Jungkook, it's just a dress," she said, her voice a little breathless, her fingers nervously smoothing the fabric of her simple tunic. "It feels... grand. And I feel strange wearing something so fine, alone, just for you."
"That's exactly why," he whispered, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register that vibrated with deep possession. "Because it is beautiful. And because you should never feel anything less than magnificent in my presence."
He reached out slowly, his fingertips brushing the collar of her tunic, tracing the delicate curve of her neck. His eyes dropped to the thin fabric covering her chest. "I bought it so you would feel cherished. But I want to see it on you because it will be the only thing separating me from you tonight."
He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "I want to strip it off of you," he confessed, the words rough and hot against her skin. "But I want to see you wear it first. Just for a moment. To see you shine."
His honesty stole her breath. With that single, potent admission, the room felt impossibly small.
She couldn't deny him. Not when his eyes held that much sincere devotion, laced with a dominant need. With a shy, quick breath, she picked up the package. "Don't stare," she warned, a soft laugh escaping her as she turned and slipped into their bedroom.
Y/N stood in the shadows of the living space; the package of silk clutched in her hand. The bedroom doorway was covered by a fine linen hanging, a screen against the cold and a common feature in homes that lacked solid inner doors. The material was delicate and thin, made translucent by the single oil lamp flickering softly on the table nearby.
Jungkook was still leaning against the doorframe, his gaze hot and fixed. She could feel the weight of his anticipation, the unspoken need that filled the quiet room.
She didn't move directly into the bedroom. Instead, she paused precisely in front of the linen hanging, allowing the soft, warm glow of the lantern to silhouette her figure against the thin fabric.
With a deep breath, she dropped the silk package onto the floor and reached for the laces of her simple, homespun tunic. Her movements were slow, deliberate no longer nervous, but filled with a bold, teasing confidence she rarely displayed.
"You promised not to stare," she murmured, her voice low and husky, directed at the motionless shadow she knew was Jungkook.
"I lied," he confessed instantly, his voice a strained, low gravel, the sound thick with desire.
A small, triumphant smile touched Y/N's lips. She pulled the laces free, the tunic falling open. She let the simple garment drop to the floor, stepping out of it slowly.
Now, only the thin chemise remained. The delicate linen was no match for the lantern light. Through the hanging, Jungkook could see the curves of her body, the gentle outline of her waist and hips, rendered soft and mesmerizing by the light.
She reached behind her neck for the tie of the chemise. She took her time, letting her fingers fumble slightly, drawing out the moment.
"You should come in here and help me," she teased, knowing full well he couldn't move.
"If I move," Jungkook whispered, the sound tight, "I won't stop at helping you with a dress, Y/N."
"Is that a threat, Captain?" she challenged softly, her body language inviting and bold.
She finally pulled the string free. The chemise slid down her arms, pooling at her feet. She stood naked against the light, the soft linen hanging creating a breathtaking, intimate portrait of her form. Her hands went up, covering herself in a gesture that was more suggestion than modesty.
She didn't rush to grab the silk. Instead, she let herself be seen, let the full weight of her beauty and desire settle upon him.
Then, with one final, slow, graceful movement, Y/N bent to retrieve the gown. She picked up the deep blue silk, its iridescent fabric catching the light, and began to slide it up her legs. The silk shimmered as it enveloped her, covering her body slowly, agonizingly, until she was finally dressed in the magnificent, shimmering dress he had bought her.
She smoothed the silk over her hips and finally stepped into the room's true shadow, turning her back to the hanging.
"Now," she whispered, her voice husky, "you may come in."
Jungkook did not hesitate. The sound of his approach was quick and absolute.He tore the linen hanging aside, his eyes locking onto Y/N where she stood in the dim light of the bedroom, enveloped in the iridescent blue silk.
He was starstruck.
The dress was a masterpiece of elegance, but it was the woman inside it that rendered him speechless. The deep blue shimmered like captured starlight, clinging to the curves of her body, turning her into a vision of untouchable beauty and profound desire. For a long, silent moment, he couldn't move, only allowing his gaze to feast on her.
"Y/N," he breathed, the sound torn from his chest, her name a profound confession. He crossed the threshold in two long strides, his hands reaching up slowly, reverently, to cup her face. "You are... magnificent. Absolutely breathtaking."
He leaned in, his voice thick with devotion. "The palace can have its jewels and its crowns. They have never seen a beauty like this. This is the only treasure I will ever claim."
He kissed her then, not with the brutal urgency of the night before, but with a lingering, worshipful tenderness. His mouth moved over hers, conveying silent praise for her courage, her love, and her stunning, defiant beauty.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark and heavy, burning with intent.
He found the delicate silver fastenings of the gown, his fingers working with slow, meticulous care. He was savouring the destruction of the clothing, making the removal an act of heightened intimacy. He pushed the silk off her shoulders.
Jungkook did not rush. He took his time, allowing the silk to slide slowly down her body, inch by agonizing inch, revealing the smooth skin beneath. He captured her lips in a deep, consuming kiss.
He broke the kiss only to travel his mouth along the sharp line of her jaw, down the sensitive column of her neck, tasting her skin, drawing a shiver from her that had nothing to do with the cool air. The dress fell away entirely, leaving her magnificent and exposed in the faint light.
With a low, possessive sound, he lifted her into his arms, carrying her the few steps to their bed and placing her gently onto the cool linen sheets. He remained above her, bracing himself with one hand, his gaze sweeping over her body with an intensity that felt like a tangible touch.
He took his time, visually tracing every curve, every shadow, from the slope of her shoulders to the delicate arch of her foot. His eyes were dark, reverent, and heavy with devotion. He wasn't just looking at her; he was absorbing the sight of her, committing it to memory the precious, undeniable truth that no one in the palace could ever claim.
Y/N felt the heat of his gaze, the thoroughness of his silent worship. It was too much; too vulnerable, too exposed, yet thrillingly intimate.
"Kook," she murmured, her voice husky, a plea mixed with rising desire. "Stop doing that."
He didn't move his eyes, only smiled a slow, tender curve of his lips. "I can't," he confessed, his voice rough. "You're too beautiful. Let me look. Just a little longer."
"No," she insisted, her hands shooting up to grip the back of his neck, pulling him down, closing the small, agonizing distance between their faces. "Don't look anymore. Kiss me."
He needed no further command. He crushed his mouth to hers, all reverence dissolving into raw, potent desire. The urgency returned, magnified by the intimacy of his gaze.
The fierce press of their kiss broke, their breaths mingling, ragged and hot.
Between heavy breaths, Y/N murmured against his lips, "Your turn" Her hands moved immediately to the edges of his tunic, pulling at the rough fabric. "Get rid of these. All of them."
Jungkook gave a low, rumbling chuckle, pulling back just enough to obey. He ripped off his tunic and boots with impatient speed, shedding the last vestiges of the palace. He stood before her, raw and powerfully built, his body etched with the hard lines of the forge.
Y/N didn't immediately move to touch him. She simply stared, her eyes wide with open, appreciative desire, drinking in the sight of her man.
"Well now," Jungkook teased, a playful smirk touching his lips as he saw her unwavering gaze. "Who's staring now?"
Y/N rolled her eyes, but the movement was slow, lazy, weighted by lust. "You’re too beautiful for your own good," she retorted, her voice husky. Her hands clenched on the sheets. "Hurry up, Kook. I don't have all night."
"Impatient, aren't we?" he challenged softly, but the question was pure delight. He didn't wait for her reply, diving down to the soft, sensitive skin of her neck.
He claimed a long, hot strip of her throat, his tongue trailing down her skin with deliberate, agonizing slowness. Y/N gasped, her head falling back into the pillows, the small, vulnerable sound urging him on. He followed the line of her collarbone, his kisses becoming rougher, more demanding, until he reached her breast.
With a low groan, he settled over her. One large hand cupped the full weight of her breast, his thumb circling the peak while his mouth claimed the other, sucking and teasing with intense focus. Y/N cried out, a sound that was pure, unrestricted pleasure. Her fingers immediately shot up, gripping the back of his dark hair, urging him deeper, closer, demanding that he take everything she offered. The rhythm they found was deep and consuming, a physical devotion that left no room for shadows.
He didn't lift his head, letting his lips and tongue travel a path of fire down her torso. He kissed the flat plane of her stomach, his breath hot, tracing circles around her naval. His hand followed the trail, sliding down her side to cup her waist, his thumb tracing the delicate curve of her hip.
Then, with a low groan that was swallowed by the intimacy of the bedroom, he moved lower. He placed a final, lingering kiss just below her belly, on the soft skin where her thighs met. He parted her with his hand, his touch firm and possessive, and lowered his head fully, claiming the most intimate part of her.
Y/N gasped, the sound a raw, surprised delight. She clenched her hands in the sheets, her back arching instinctively off the bed. His tongue was insistent, warm, and utterly skilled, dedicating himself entirely to her pleasure.
“Jungkook!!” She cried out his name, a desperate, loving sound of surrender as he drove her toward a new, staggering height of sensation.
He stayed there, devoted entirely to her pleasure, refusing to move, letting the current build, pull, and break over her again and again. Y/N's hands moved from the sheets to his shoulders, gripping him, her fingers flexing against his warm skin. She was lost in the sensation, a mixture of intense vulnerability and absolute command, her throat open with soft, loving cries that were the only sound in the small, silent room.
Finally, with a soft, shuddering cry, she reached her peak again a wave that left her breathless, exquisitely tender, and desperate for him.
Jungkook raised his head, his eyes dark with satisfaction and thick desire. He moved up her body, his gaze sweeping over her flushed skin. He paused only long enough to press a fierce, proprietary kiss to her lips, drawing a last, ragged moan of pleasure from her.
He then shifted, moving between her legs, positioning his body. He braced himself above her, his eyes locked on hers, a final, wordless question passing between them a question of intent, of safety, of love.
Y/N answered with a vigorous pull, wrapping her legs around his waist, guiding him home.
He entered her slowly, smoothly. He paused once joined, allowing their bodies to settle into the deep, familiar comfort of absolute connection.
Then he began to move, his rhythm deep and commanding, a powerful, steady tempo that drove them both to the very edge. Each thrust was a physical vow, a defiant declaration that she belonged to him, untouchable and wholly cherished.
Y/N met his intensity, wrapping her arms around his back, demanding more, absorbing all the fear and pressure he carried and dissolving it in the heat of their shared love. She cried out his name a sound filled with both passion and relief.
The final climax hit them simultaneously a profound, staggering wave of ecstasy and emotional clarity. Jungkook pressed a final kiss to her lips as he shuddered above her, his body heavy and secure, their world contracting to the simple, perfect truth of their intertwined bodies.
He held her tightly, unwilling to let go, his breathing slow and rough against her neck. "You are my world," he whispered, the exhaustion finally pulling at him. "I love you."
He pulled the blanket up over them, wrapping them into a single, secure unit. He was home.
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