Chapter Text
It was the day of the wedding. The day Jungkook was supposed to sell his heart and soul for the good of his country. Everything passed by in a blur—silk brushing against his skin as a flock of attendants dressed him in the finest clothes money could buy; a dull pain in his scalp as they wrestled his hair into submission; droning voices showering him in false praise. It meant nothing to him. He felt numb.
Jimin was nowhere to be seen. He’d run off sometime in the early morning, leaving Jungkook to wake up to a cold bed with only regrets and missed chances for company. Perhaps it was for the best. After all, Jungkook didn’t know if he could stomach the sight of Jimin’s sad eyes today.
A small commotion pulled him from his dark thoughts. In the corner of his dressing chamber, Taehyung was making an absolute fuss. “You will let me see him. I am his brother!” The poor attendants flitted around awkwardly, trying to bar his entrance with flapping hands and soft words Jungkook couldn’t catch. “I don’t care about tradition!” Taehyung growled. One of Jungkook’s favorite maids planted herself in his path with hands on her hips and absolutely refused to move. On another day, the scene of the tiny woman taking on his big brother would have made Jungkook laugh, but he simply didn’t have the energy for it today.
“It’s alright, Joohyun. Let him pass.”
Taehyung brushed off the tiny maid and stormed over to where Jungkook lounged on a mountain of pillows. “Tell them all to leave. I need to talk to you in private,” he demanded.
Sighing, Jungkook waved his entourage away. A couple looked as though they might protest, but eventually shuffled out with nothing more than suspicious looks, too respectful to disobey a direct order from their king. “What is it, Taehyung? As you can see, I’m terribly busy.” Jungkook gestured mockingly to himself amidst the pillows.
For a moment, Taehyung just stood there. His gaze was shrewd and Jungkook, unused to being on the receiving end of it, felt entirely too vulnerable. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you? You’re in love with him and he has no idea.”
All the air in Jungkook’s body left with a whoosh. “What?” he breathed, uncomprehending. “What?!” he demanded again, louder and with force. Taehyung had always been bold but this was borderline treasonous. Floundering a little in the pillows, Jungkook stood. Of all the days for Taehyung to go off on one of his odd, tangential fantasies… “Who? Why would you say that?”
“Jimin, of course.”
Oh. Oh, this wasn’t one of Taehyung’s funny games. This was real.
Taehyung shrugged as if the answer was obvious. “It’s the way you look at him. Like he hung the moon and the stars just of you. Like his every breath is as important as life itself.” Either Taehyung couldn’t see the panic written all over Jungkook’s face or he simply didn’t care, because he plowed on. “I’ve never seen a person look at another person like that.”
Jungkook felt flayed wide open, bare before his brother as the words sank in. Was he really so obvious? Were his feelings really so clear to all who cared to look? It was impossible, wasn’t it? After all, he’d been harboring feelings for Jimin since before he even knew what love was and no one had acted suspicious. But here Taehyung was, putting into words what Jungkook had been too afraid to even admit to himself for so long. I love Jimin, he thought. He liked the sound of it, wanted to say it out loud so badly, to savor every syllable. Once the thought took him, the words and feelings were hard to stop. After all, only Taehyung would hear. "I want him so much,” Jungkook choked out. The relief was instant and all encompassing, like the floodgates inside him had exploded and the unbearable pressure released. “All the time. I fucking miss him even when he is standing right next to me and I don’t know what to do.” Jungkook blinked back tears, overwhelmed. “I don’t know how to—fuck, I just want to be with him."
Taehyung took a step forward, more serious than Jungkook had ever seen him. He reached out, placing a heavy hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Don’t marry Jinri. If you really feel like that, please don’t marry someone else.”
Gods above, he made it sound so easy. How many times had Jungkook imagined a life with Jimin? Sometimes, in his fantasies, they ran away and lived alone in a cottage by the sea, surrounded by rolling hills dotted with purple heather. In others, they stayed and ruled Goréo together after Jinri’s death, two kings who served with honor and integrity, loved by their people to a ripe old age. And in his wildest dreams, Jungkook imagined the exact picture picture Taehyung painted: throwing his honor and responsibilities aside, declaring his love for Jimin in front of the whole court and country, and then sweeping him off his feet right then and there. But those were just fantasies, just dreams to keep Jungkook sane when everything felt like too much. They couldn’t be anything more… right? “That’s not my decision to make,” he said carefully. “I’m so sorry. If it’s any consolation, I’ll always treat her well.”
“But it is your decision. You’re King now!” Taehyung huffed, frustrated. “Your mother doesn’t decide what is best for this country. You do.” He emphasized each word with a jab to Jungkook’s chest. “You decide which alliances to forge and which to break. There are other ways to bring peace that don’t involve your eternal unhappiness. This isn’t the only way to save Goréo.”
Fed up with Taehyung’s temptations, Jungkook began to pace. He let his fingers trail along the lacquered edge of a jewelry box and the rough cotton of a curtain just to keep himself grounded in reality instead whatever cloud Taehyung lived on. “What kind of king would I be if I put myself first?”
“If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for Jimin.”
Jungkook whipped around, frowning at his brother. Clearly Taehyung didn’t know Jimin at all. “Jimin would be angry with me if I did such a thing.”
Jungkook watched as Taehyung’s adam’s apple bobbed with a gulp. It made him irrationally angry. What did Taehyung even have to be nervous about anyway? He wasn’t the one getting married.
“Then do it for me,” Taehyung said, his voice low and intense as he stepped forward. The two brothers locked eyes. “Do it for Jinri and me. I’m in love with her, Jungkook. I’ll do anything.”
---
“Ladies and gentlemen of the court and honored guests,” the herald cried. “His Royal Majesty, King Jungkook of Goréo has an announcement.”
Jungkook’s hands shook as he climbed the stairs to the dais, his mind full of static. Murmurs spread across the throne room in waves, little titters of confusion and the whisper of silk on flagstone as the court turned as one to face him. Desperately, he wished for a glass of water to clear his bone-dry throat.
In a gesture too natural to be anything but habit, Jungkook scanned the crowd of faces, each one staring back at him. Yet none of them was the one he wanted. Jimin was nowhere to be seen—not hidden in the shadows or pacing the aisle restlessly, not laughing with Hoseok, and certainly not where he belonged at Jungkook’s side.
Behind him, Taehyung coughed, breaking the odd stillness of the room.
Jungkook took a deep breath, preparing himself to be torn to shreds. “Friends and family, new and old, thank you for coming today. This union was meant to symbolize the joining of two great nations, Goréo and Izedour. It was a bargain for peace and stability in the region during a time of great tumult. I thank each and every one of you for your fervent support.”
A cheer went up in the crowd, spurred on by a group of courtiers who were already rosy in the face with Goréo’s finest liquor. Jungkook’s mother beamed at him from the front row, hands clasped in front of her chest, eyes already misty with tears. His resolve faltered. Was this really the best decision for his people or was he letting his personal feelings cloud his judgment? Was this the decision his father would have made were he still alive? The glossy raven feathers decorating the collar of his cloak were suddenly smothering, the air too thick to breath.
In that moment, a slim figure slipped through the side entrance, blending in seamlessly with the familiar shadows. Jimin. Their eyes caught, holding steady until a lady dressed in exotic feather plumes shifted to block the view. A fierce longing pulled tight in Jungkook’s belly. Why couldn’t he have this one thing? Why couldn’t he and Jimin be happy while Taehyung and Jinri gave Goréo strong, healthy heirs?
“I know you are all expecting a wedding. So was I.” Jungkook allowed himself a wry smile. “And a wedding you shall get. Eventually.” Here came the hard part. “It has come to my attention that this wedding between Princess Jinri and I would harm more people than I imagined.” Jungkook very carefully avoided eye contact with his mother, letting his vision blur out until the court was nothing but an indistinct wash of color. “It was meant as a token of friendship, but in the process became a prison.”
The buzz of the court was deafening, people turning to their neighbors in disbelief. Jungkook pushed on, knowing he would never finish if he stopped for questions now. “Princess Jinri and I have become friends in the brief time we have known each other. And it is because of this friendship that I have decided to call off our engagement so that we may both be with the people we truly love.” The buzz turned to a roar, forcing Jungkook to raise his voice to be heard. “This bares no impact on the relationship between Goréo and Izedour. We continue as partners and friends. A martial tie will soon be made between our two great nations, but it is not my place—”
“Jungkook!” His mother’s voice rang out above the general mayhem. “What do you think you are doing?” Her face was flush with anger, her fists clenched tight in the heavy brocade of her dress.
“Mother, I—” he began, but a familiar hand clamped down hard on his shoulder.
“Jungkook,” Jimin hissed, eyes blazing with something Jungkook couldn’t name. For a moment, he had the crazy thought that Jimin might kiss him there in front of the whole court, but instead he whipped Jungkook around to face him. “What the hell is this? How could you—”
“Gods above,” Jungkook muttered, sick of everyone questioning his every move. “I did it for you, asshole!” he burst out. To hear such words from Jimin of all people hurt more than anything. Tears welled up in his eyes even as he wiped them away with an angry fist. “I’m in love with you. Sorry if that makes me a fucked up king.”
Jimin’s face crumpled in confusion, his perfect mouth wilting down in a frown. “You… wait, you’re in love with me?”
He didn’t know.
“Gods above,” Jungkook murmured again, pulling Jimin in with a hand around his waist until they were chest to chest, the rest of the world fading away. Jimin blinked up at him. His eyes were wide and bright with shock, maybe even a little bit of hope. “How could you not know? Even Taehyung knew, of all people.”
“Jungkook, I—”
“Now is not the time for love confessions!” Crown Prince Seokjin’s voice cut through the moment like a cold dagger. Jimin pulled away, stumbling backwards in a daze as Seokjin rushed up the dais stairs. “King Jungkook, you are in mortal danger!”
Jungkook grimaced, so fed up with the way Crown Prince Seokjin had to interrupt every time Ji—
Wait.
Mortal danger?
“Explain,” Jungkook growled, tearing his eyes away from Jimin in order to stare Seokjin down.
“The King and Queen of Izedour,” the Crown Prince panted, “Mother and Father, they were plotting to poison you as soon as you had an heir with Jinri, but now that you’ve called the wedding off, they have no use for you alive. They want Goréo all for themselves.”
That was a lot to take in. Izedour planned to stage a violent coup? Jinri had known? Did Taehyung know? Was any of this true? Could Seokjin be trusted? Jungkook had had his suspicions about Seokjin for some time, what with the way he’d done everything in his power to get closer to Jimin. Jungkook narrowed his eyes, giving Seokjin a once over. “How do you know this? Where is your proof?”
“I have proof.”
Jungkook blinked. He saw Jimin’s lips move and heard his voice but the words didn’t match up. “What?” he breathed. “You, Jimin? You knew of this?”
Jimin gulped, fidgeting a bit. Slowly, he nodded. “I have months worth of correspondence between the Queen of Izedour and Councilor Baek.”
At that, Seokjin’s eyes grew wide and excited. “You do? You found evidence?”
Again Jimin nodded hesitantly, keeping a careful watch on Jungkook’s face. “I came as soon as I finished decoding it. The Queen guaranteed Councilor Baek a dukedom if he assisted with the coup.”
The numbness from earlier in the morning returned. Nothing felt real. “How could you keep this from me?” Jungkook asked.
“Jungkook, I swear I never wanted to, but it was for your own safety.” Jimin sounded panicky, his hands reaching out, but Jungkook stepped away before they could touch. “Please, please understand. No one could know until we had evidence to convict the Izedourians. If you knew, you would have been in danger, you would have been a target and I couldn’t—”
“You lied to me,” Jungkook interrupted flatly, uninterested in excuses. In his periphery, he could see the courtiers watching with rapt interest, murmuring to each other. There in the front stood his mother, one hand over her heart and the other covering her open mouth.
“Please, Jungkook—I didn’t! I—”
“We don’t have time for this!” Seokjin bellowed. He threw his hands up in frustration. “We need to find my mother and father before they do something rash!”
As if summoned by the gods themselves, Jimin’s second in command Minsoo came careening into the throne room. He sprinted up the aisle, almost tripping on the stairs before falling to one knee before his commander, gasping for breath. The other courtiers rumbled with unease.
“Captain Park! The King and Queen of Izedour have been spotted attempting to leave the palace! They are in the main garden in the west wing.”
With one last pleading glance in Jungkook’s direction, Jimin seemed to collect himself, turning his full attention to Minsoo. “This is our chance. I will lead a company of knights to the gardens and cut them off. Minsoo, you take another group and head to the palace’s west entrance in case any Izedourians slip past. Jungkook…” he trailed off, looking uncertain. “Your Majesty, please stay here with the remaining knights and courtiers to wait until everything is secure.”
Normally, Jungkook would protest, he would insist on leading the charge himself, but he was still reeling from the whole revelation and didn’t think he could even hold a sword, let alone use one.
“Go,” was all he said.
---
Jimin’s boots pounded along the cobble stone path, a heavy thump thump thump in time with his racing heart. He had to get to the Izedourians before they got away. By the gods, he would catch them and he would make them pay for every tear Jungkook shed over his father’s grave, every frown and every sleepless night filled with worry and anguish. Jimin wanted them to hurt. He wanted them terrified in their final breaths the way he had been when their archer shot an arrow straight at Jungkook’s heart.
“Spread out. Surround the garden and wait for my signal,” he barked at the band of knights trailing behind him. “They’ll likely try to run, so we must capture them immediately. Use force if you have to, but make sure you take them alive. A simple death is too good for them.”
With a nod, his knights darted off down the various twists and turns of the palace’s vast west wing, circling around to bar any possible escape. A thrill of viscous determination ran through Jimin as he raced down the main corridor, hot on the heels of vengeance. Goréo’s tormenters were finally within his grasp.
The beautiful main archway to the garden was finally in site, elegant vines of roses carved into its façade. Jimin darted to one side, back against the cold stone as he motioned his knights into position. With a deep breath to steady himself, Jimin began a silent countdown, locking eyes with the men and women who served him.
Three. They got in formation.
Two. They drew their weapons.
One. They sent a final prayer heavenward to the gods.
On the last count, Jimin’s fist clenched tight in the air. His shadow knights began to move, seeping out into the thick maze of the palace’s most beautiful garden. Not a single twig snapped beneath their boots; not one songbird sang of their presence. They moved as all night creatures move, in deadly silence. The King and Queen of Izedour would never know they were coming.
In hindsight, Jimin should have known.
But Jimin didn’t know.
One moment he and his knights were slipping through the undergrowth, no one in sight, and the next there was chaos. The whistle of arrows, the shouts of men, the shriek of steel on steel—Jimin was suddenly surrounded by noise. Gone was the silence; gone was the certain victory.
All the oxygen froze in Jimin’s chest, swelling up until he couldn’t breath. How could he be so naïve?
It was an ambush.
Men and women dressed in the vibrant blue of Izedour filled the garden, swords already in motion. Jimin’s knights struggled blow for blow, desperately trying to recalibrate. He saw the looks of fear on their faces, the confusion in their eyes. Jimin led them into this mayhem, him and his foolish haste.
“Hold your ground!” he called to his knights. “Aim to kill!”
Flashing steel caught his eye. He barely managed to raise his sword in time to parry the attack aimed at his vulnerable neck. Another sword came down in a sweeping arch meant to crush his skull. Jimin dodged, wincing as the stretch pulled painfully at an old wound. Righting himself, Jimin lunged for the nearest Izedourian, sword sliding expertly right between her ribs for a clean kill. Someone’s cross-guard caught him under the jaw, leaving him reeling for several precious seconds, which in battle often spelled death. Jimin sluggishly fended off a flurry of blows, the world still spinning around him.
He found himself face to face with an Izedourian. The man had a dagger in one hand and a sword in the other, his face pulled back in a wicked snarl.
“Where are your rulers?” Jimin demanded, sidestepping swiftly as the man charged him.
The Izedourian laughed, half manic as they circled each other. “Not here,” he said simply, darting in again.
This time Jimin let him get close, their swords squealing as they crashed together. Jimin felt the strain in his muscles, felt the burn of it. With one last shove, he grabbed the Izedourian’s wrist, squeezing until the other man was forced to drop the dagger. Jimin brought his knee up into the knight’s stomach ruthlessly until the man doubled over. From there, he let gravity do its work, watching in sick satisfaction as the man impaled himself on Jimin’s sword.
Stepping back as the body slumped to the floor, he surveyed the battle. The King and Queen of Izedour were nowhere in sight, which meant…
Jungkook.
He had to get back to Jungkook.
Jimin cut a path through the mayhem, yelling at his soldiers to hold the line, to avenge their kingdom’s honor. Jimin had two goals and two goals only: to get to Jungkook and to keep him safe.
Shoving knights aside, he finally made it back to the main entrance. For the second time that day, his boots echoed through the hall as he sprinted full speed towards the throne room, yet all he heard was Jungkook Jungkook Jungkook like a mantra in the back of his mind.
When he reached the heavy doors of the throne room, Jimin flung them open with all the force he could muster, bursting in on a scene he would never forget.
There, just as he had dreaded, stood the Queen of Izedour, the tip of her sword resting ever so gently against Jungkook’s pale neck. Bodies of knights and courtiers littered the aisle, their blood seeping out onto the carpet.
Without thought of the consequences, Jimin launched himself at the Queen, vision red with fury. They collided—smack—forcefully. The sharp blade of her weapon cut through Jimin’s jerkin and the delicate skin beneath with a searing pain. An animalistic roar tore from his throat as they toppled to the ground, a mess of limbs, steel and adrenalin. Gods, he wanted this woman dead.
Jimin managed to pin the Queen to the ground even as she fought tooth and nail. The woman spat at him, her face twisted up in a wretched sneer, her hair matted with blood from gods knew where. She thrashed about, trying to break free from his tight hold on her arms. One of her knees collided with Jimin’s injured side. He gasped out in pain, almost loosing his grip on her when his vision went spotty. She only struggled harder.
Driven by bloodlust and a burning hatred, Jimin reared back before he drove his dagger down hard into her chest with a sick thud. Her cry of pain was cut short, choking on a gurgle of blood.
Rolling off the body, Jimin sprang back to his feet, eyes immediately searching for his king and lover. Jungkook looked dazed but determined, a purple bruise already blooming on the swell of his cheek. He’d somehow managed to disarm the King of Izedour while Jimin had wrestled with the Queen, and had the man cowering at the tip of a sword while the last of the Goréan courtiers and servants corralled the Izedourian knights into a corner, holding them at bay.
Gods, Jimin loved him.
“Jungkook,” he tried to say, but nothing came out. Jimin felt dizzy, woozy, and his side throbbed with excruciating pain now that the adrenalin had left him. He pressed a hand to the tear in his jerkin where the Queen’s sword had cut him. It felt sticky and wet. When he pulled his hand away, it was covered in thick, red blood.
Darkness closed in as Jimin fell.
---
Jimin woke to a world doused in hazy light, the sky bruised a pretty purple when he finally blinked his eyes open. It was the softness of dawn. Or dusk. He didn’t know which.
Slowly, as his mind settled back into his body, reclaimed from the land of dreams and sleep, Jimin became aware of hair tickling his nose and a dull pain in his side, a warm body tucked in close and comforting.
“We really have to stop meeting like this.”
Jimin felt Jungkook tense against him.
“I hate when you play hero,” Jungkook rasped, his voice raw from troubles and tears.
“I do it for you,” Jimin said simply, too tired to fight.
“I know. I hate that too.”
“I know.”
“Never lie to me again, Jimin. And never ever die. Please.”
---
Two weeks after the Wedding Massacre, as people called it, the halls of the palace finally came back to life. Blood had been scrubbed from the flagstone, flowers in the garden replanted. People mourned the dead but cheered for the living, calling out wishes of long life and prosperity for their King. Jungkook, for his part, played the perfect ruler, reassuring his people and quieting those who lusted for war, organizing pensions for families of lost knights and securing his chain of command. As soon as his body would allow, Jimin joined him, no longer hiding in the shadows but standing by Jungkook’s side. And yet, he felt so far out of reach. Things were so busy; they didn’t talk about Jungkook’s love confession or Jimin’s deception. They didn’t talk about the way Jimin had woken to Jungkook curled up in his infirmary bed, looking so perfect, as if he was meant to be there. Jimin still thought about it though, almost every night as he fell asleep. The timing just wasn’t right to bring it up.
Crown Prince Seokjin and Princess Jinri apologized profusely for their parts in the Izedourian coup, offering up assistance both in material goods to rebuild Goréo and troops in any future conflict with Tennifeara. Jinri asked hesitantly if Jungkook meant what he said about calling the wedding off. He blushed but nodded decisively, mumbling something about Taehyung under his breath. Jimin felt intense satisfaction knowing Jinri would never be the one to wake up next to Jungkook, never see his sweet, sleepy smiles or hear his scratchy morning voice. She would never hear his fears or secrets, and never get the privilege of loving him.
As Izedour’s new king, Seokjin’s first proclamation was an overture of friendship with Goréo, which Jungkook quickly accepted. Jimin didn’t think Jungkook would ever fully forgive them, but he would never let his pride get in the way of Goréo’s prosperity.
So that left Jimin.
Sometimes he caught Jungkook staring at him, a furrow between his brows, but then he’d look away and Jimin was left hanging. Jungkook never came to his room late at night like he used to, never let his hand linger too long on Jimin’s shoulder. It was maddening. They needed to talk.
The chance came one day when Jungkook and his entourage took a rare moment to stroll through one of the palace gardens. Since the battle, the main garden in the west wing had become a memorial for the brave knights who had sacrificed everything for their country, so Jungkook decided on the smaller, more intimate gardens near his chambers. The palace was quiet, people still recovering from the chaos. Jungkook asked the rest of his guards to hang back in a semblance of privacy.
“Jimin,” Jungkook said, a little stiff. “I want you to know something.” He looked nervous, hand combing through his hair the way he always did when something set him off balance. “About what I said the day of the wedding… I don’t want you to feel any kind of pressure to be with me just because I’m a king or because you feel some sense of—”
“Jungkook,” Jimin cut in incredulously. “Are you seriously telling me you don’t know?” They stopped walking, turning to face each other beneath the boughs of a willow. Something like hope stirred inside Jimin. “I’m in love with you,” he whispered through a wide smile. “I’m so, so in love with you.” He’d been saying it for so long that finally telling Jungkook himself felt like the most natural thing in the world. “Sorry if that makes me a fucked up knight,” he tacked on just to be cheeky.
Eyes wide in disbelief, Jungkook cocked his head like he couldn’t believe it. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Laughing, Jimin reached up to ruffle Jungkook’s hair fondly. “I have told you. So many times in so many ways. But you were never listening, baby.”
“I…” Jungkook stuttered, rushing to get too many words out all at once. “I love you too! Jimin, I do—I’m in love with you and—”
Jimin wasn’t exactly sure what happened after that or who moved first, but he did feel something tight in his chest with Jungkook standing right there in front of him, so terribly beautiful, so regal. Jimin reached out, his hand closing over the delicate bones of Jungkook’s wrist, pulled him in and kissed him; reached his other hand up to tangle in Jungkook’s hair and kissed him; pressed in so close until Jungkook was wild-eyed and breathless and kissed him; and kissed him and kissed him and kissed him.