Chapter Text
The rivalry between the Park Clan and the Min Kingdom was older than memory itself. It lived in songs sung to scare children, in stories whispered around dying fires, in the way elders spat on ground whenever the other kingdom’s name was spoken. It lived in blood-stained soil and broken treaties, in borders drawn and redrawn with swords instead of ink.
Jimin had grown up with these stories like one grows up with air– ever present, unquestioned.
“Never trust a Min,” his tutors had said, voices low and stern.
“Never turn your back on them,” the generals warned.
“They smile with daggers behind their teeth,” the court gossip whispered.
And so Jimin learned.
He learned to nod politely when diplomats from the Min Kingdom visited, keep his spine straight and his heart guarded. He learned that history was not something written in books– it was something that shapes the way people look at you, the way people expect you to behave. He learned that being a Park meant inheriting both pride and fear.
The Park Clan had once been mighty. Their banners had stretched across valleys, their armies feared and respected. But wars were greedy things. They took everything until only the stories of what once remained. Years of conflict drained them. Soldiers lost. Supplies scarce. Borders threatened.
Jimin stood by the tall arched window of his chambers, looking out to the Park Kingdom spread beneath him. The banners fluttered lazily in the breeze. Soldiers moved in the courtyard below– too few and scattered. Even from this height, without even counting he could see it. His fingers curled around the edge of the stone sill, nails biting into the cold marble.
They were lacking.
They were not weak.
But they were vulnerable. And vulnerability is what the world strikes first.
Behind him, the doors opened quietly. “Jimin,” his father’s voice echoed , gentle but heavy. King Park rarely raised his voice anymore. He didn't need to. Authority clung to him, worn thin with time but still very much present.
Jimin turned, schooling his expression into calm obedience. “Father.”
The king looked older. His hair, once dark, was now streaked with silver. His shoulders sagged slightly, burdened not just by age but by knowledge and troop counts that didn't lie.
“We’ve received word from the council,” his father said. “And from the Min Kingdom.”
Jimin stiffened before he could stop himself.
“About what?” he asked, already knowing the answer would be something he wouldn't like.
His father hesitated. Long enough for Jimin to notice the tension.
“A proposal,” King park said finally.
The word settled between them like an open blade.
Jimin let out a slow breath. “A trade agreement?”
“No.”
“An alliance?”
“Yes,” his father said, and then corrected himself quietly, “of sorts.”
Jimin's jaw tightened. He had known this was coming. He had felt in the way ministers whispered, in the way maps were being studied longer than before, in the way his name had started appearing more often in discussions that had nothing to do with diplomacy.
He just didn't expect it to feel like this.
“And that does the Min Kingdom want in return?” Jimin asked, holding his breath without meaning to.
King Park looked at his son. Really looked at him. He looked at the grace in his posture, the intelligence in his eyes, the softness that had survived despite being raised in a cruel world.
“They accepted our proposal,” he said.
Jimin blinked. “Accepted?”
“Yes.”
The word echoed in his ears. “So…it was us,” Jimin said slowly. “We proposed this.”
His father did not correct himself.
Jimin looked away, back out of the window, looking at the grounds he grew up in, reminiscing about everything good. “And what exactly did we offer that was worth their acceptance?”
The silence that stretched between them answered him.
“No,” Jimin said, turning sharply. “No. you can't mean–”
“You are to marry King Min Yoongi,” his father said, his voice steady despite the weight of the sentences.
Jimin laughed softly, but the sound was scary, brittle around the edges. “Min Yoongi,” he repeated, saying the name like it's something bitter. “The butcher king. The man with a harem the size of a small city. The one who conquered half of the eastern territories without mercy."
Jimin swallowed. His mind raced, images flashing involuntarily–stories whispered by courtiers, exaggerated tales of cruelty, of bloodshed, of a king who smiled only when something tragic happened.
“And this is meant to strengthen us?” Jimin asked. “Tying me to a man like that?”
“It is meant to protect our people.”
Jimin nodded slowly, because that was what princes did.
They nodded.
They accepted.
They folded themselves into duty until nothing else was left.
“I understand,” he said quietly.
🤍✨🖤
Miles away, in the Min Kingdom, King Min Yoongi stood alone in his study, staring down at a map spread across his table.
He knew the Park Clan was weakening.
Not because the spies whispered secrets– though they did– but also because the trade slowed. Border presence thinned. The Park Clan was pulling inward, conserving what little strength it had left.
Yoongi’s fingers hovered over the map once again.
“They’re stretched thin,” Jungkook, his cousin, said from across the room, arms crossed. “Anyone with eyes can see it.”
“That’s exactly why they're in danger,” Yoongi replied.
His voice was low. It always was. Emotions rarely touched it, not because he didn’t feel, but because he had learned long ago that for a King emotions were something luxurious.
Hoseok, his best friend and minister, leaned against the bookshelf, expression thoughtful. “If another kingdom moves before we do–”
“They’ll be swallowed,” Yoongi finished.
Jungkook frowned. “So we save them by… marrying into them?”
Yoongi’s jaw tightened. “We save them by making them untouchable.”
The room fell silent.
Yoongi straightened, folding his hands behind his back, looking outside the window.
The Min Kingdom was strong.
His troops were disciplined. His people were fed. His borders were secured.
And yet— he knew that another war would not be glorious. It would be catastrophic.
The Park Clan had once been his enemy. But their people were not.
This decision that he made was his alone.
An alliance.
Through marriage.
An offer he knew how it would be received— first with suspicion, outrage, quiet consideration. He knew the rumours about him would colour every discussion.
Cruel King Min Yoongi.
The tyrant.
The warmonger.
Let them think that.
The proposal was not sent to benefit him. It was sent to prevent bloodshed.
At the heart of it was a name that he was not able to forget after so many years.
Park Jimin.
Yoongi had seen him once before–years ago, during a diplomatic gathering that had ended in nothing but thin smiles and political tension. The prince had been young then, and so was Yoongi. Jimin’s posture was too rigid for someone barely grown, still, his eyes were sharp, observant.
Yoongi remembered that. He knows what it feels like to grow up in such surroundings.
“The proposal was sent,” Yoongi said. “And today, it was accepted.”
Hoseok’s eyes widened slightly. “So it’s done.”
Yoongi nodded slowly.
Jungkook studied him. “And the prince? Does he know this came from you?”
Yoongi shook his head. “No.”
“Why?”
“Because if he believes this is charity,” Yoongi said quietly, “he will never forgive it.”
He turned his back to the map, fingers brushing the outline yet once again.
“I don't need his gratitude,” Yoongi continued. “I just don't want more bloodshed.”
Two kingdoms stood on the edge of something new— not peace yet, nor war either. Just a fragile pause, held together by a proposal. Neither the Prince nor the King knew how deeply it would cost them.