Chapter Text
Jungkook had been terrified when they caught him. He’d been traveling with a good few attendants—less than the Princes and Princesses born before him traveled with, sure, but enough that they had to plan. He was the seventh son of the King, one who was so ineffective and caught up in the court and appearances that he practically didn’t matter, but he was also one with deep coffers that Bangtan fully planned on extorting.
The Prince screamed and flailed and tried to get out of their hold, even tried to bite them when his arms had been roughly tied behind them. It said something, Yoongi thought, that at just one harsh slap to his face and hissed “Be quiet,” he fell silent.
Is that how royal doms were raised? To expect no one to fight back or resist his demands? Pathetic. He wasn’t sure it would be any better to be a royal sub, though he wasn’t sure how they were raised, either, though he had heard of only one in the family, the third daughter. But this little Prince Jungkook was a dom and a son and for how thoroughly his King father was invested in appearances, he would surely fetch a pretty penny in exchange for his return.
Jungkook was silent as they pushed him into the basement, securing the ropes around his arms and legs and chaining him to the wall. They left the coarse blindfold on and didn’t speak to him, slamming the door behind them as they left him alone. They wouldn’t harm him, they’d decided—at least until the King needed proof he was there or until the Prince pissed them off enough to do so. But there wasn’t much harm in leaving a spoiled rich boy hungry and scared for a day or two. Or three.
If he was even there that long. Namjoon wrote the ransom letter to their dear King, Taehyung sent it off, Hoseok made sure it was delivered, and they all waited for the response. And waited. And waited.
They made sure the Prince was still alive, of course, peeking through the sliding window they’d made specifically for kidnapping purposes, and Jin had even gone down on the second day to roughly tighten the ropes that didn’t need tightening, making sure to really sneer out a “Pathetic” at the piss the Prince had no choice but to sit in. He’d wriggled as far away as he could, but there was no escaping his pants.
“Surprised the rats haven’t found you,” Jin added, and the Prince froze and looked so clearly terrified that it almost made them almost feel sorry for him. Almost.
The Prince didn’t beg to be freed, he didn’t threaten them or their lives; he just sat there, tied and pathetic, completely silent.
On the fourth day without a response, Yoongi heaved a sigh and made his way to the basement with a chunk of stale bread and water. He only hesitated a moment before grabbing one of the blankets they kept stored away for winter, heavy and uncomfortable but better than piss-wet pants, surely. He didn’t want anyone festering in some infection in his home, though more for his own benefit than theirs.
Jungkook gasped when Yoongi roughly tore the blindfold off. He didn’t meet Yoongi’s eyes for more than a confused, bleary moment before catching sight of the bread. His dry lips parted slightly, but still, he didn’t beg or demand or speak. He didn’t even attempt to reach for it.
Yoongi sighed, tossing the bread in the air, catching it, repeating. “If you’re a very good little prince and answer my questions, perhaps I’ll let you have a bite.”
Jungkook watched the bread, swallowing thickly.
“Do you understand?”
Jungkook nodded after a moment, distracted by hunger. Yoongi let it go, at least for now.
“We haven’t heard back from your dear father,” he said, quirking a brow at him. Jungkook flinched and glanced at him again, but he didn’t necessarily seem surprised. “Why might that be?”
Jungkook didn’t answer. He was either incredibly stupid or incredibly prideful, and Yoongi wasn’t yet sure which one. Yoongi scowled and took a bite of the bread, chewing it a few times before spitting it out. It was verging on moldy, why would he force himself to eat it? Jungkook licked his lips even looking at the chewed blob on the ground.
“We didn’t ask for a high ransom. You’re hardly a consequential heir, but you are a Prince. And yet—why would the King ignore our demands?” When Jungkook stayed silent, Yoongi’s patience gave out. “Answer me.”
Immediately, Jungkook spoke, voice hoarse and dry and quiet. “Father doesn’t want me.”
Yoongi stared at him. “And why is that?”
“He hates me,” Jungkook said, eyes on the bread in his hands. “H-he hates me. Please, may I—please—”
Yoongi stared at him for a moment before ripping a piece off, holding it to his mouth, prepared to strike if the Prince was stupid enough to try to bite. Jungkook just took the bread, chewing just long enough to be able to force it down. It must have been difficult after so long without water. Yoongi was going to hold out for a bit longer, but he offered the cup against his lips. Jungkook drank greedily, drops running down his chin where they spilled. Jungkook watched morosely when Yoongi pulled the cup away.
“Why does he hate you?” Yoongi asked.
Jungkook furrowed his brows, licking his lips. He glanced at Yoongi for just a moment. “N-not allowed to say.”
“You—” Yoongi laughed. “Your party was on the way to the farthest county. Are you such a rebel in the court you’re being sent away?”
Jungkook’s lip wobbled.
Yoongi raised his brows, grinning. “Seriously? Ha, what have you done? Spat on his robes? Fucked a maid? Taken an interest in patricide?”
Jungkook stared at the bread, or at least did not stare at Yoongi himself.
“Speak, or I’ll leave you to starve a few more days—”
“F-father forbade m-me from speaking it, pl-please, please, I cannot—”
“Loyal even as he looks at you in hatred? He seems to have decided you’re as good off here as you would be on some storm-ravaged island.”
“I can’t,” Jungkook said desperately, finally looking at him. There was a fervor there, desperate and pained.
Yoongi stared back, crouching in front of him. “It is not your father you need to fear, Prince. I would be much more afraid of disobeying me.”
Jungkook’s lips moved like they were trying to figure out what words they could actually speak, but none came out.
Very deliberately, Yoongi set the bread and water just out of reach, put the blanket at the foot of the stairs, and left the prince alone in the darkness once again.
They sent a second letter that night, asking for the same ransom as before. They were not up for negotiation. When no letter came the next day, Jimin went down to feed him. They did need to keep him alive. He stripped the Prince bare and left him with a bucket and the blanket and with exactly the same answers as Yoongi had gotten.
There was no word the next day, and Jungkook thanked Yoongi when he brought him water.
On the seventh day of Jungkook’s imprisonment—
A letter was left at the specified drop point for the ransom. There were no guards ready to capture them, they made sure of that before they fetched the letter in the pitch black of night. No surprise attacks, no retribution. Just a letter with the royal seal.
You are mistaken. You have no child of mine. Do with him as you will. His Royal Highness.
There was no coin enclosed, nothing but that.
They read it over and over, all of them. They knew Jungkook was a Prince, knew he was one of the King’s own, not even bastard born. And yet, Jungkook seemed to hold immense loyalty to a father and king who had sent him away and denied his birthright altogether.
Yoongi untied Jungkook that night with serious threats to not try anything, letting him bathe in a basin of cold water and a bar of soap he had brought down. Jungkook stood on shaky legs and did so quickly and eagerly, though he seemed shy to show himself, the stupid thing. Yoongi snorted when he saw his small cock.
“Is that why your dear father says you are no son of his?”
Jungkook froze, looking up at him.
“Oh, poor Prince. Did I offend your sensibilities?”
Jungkook just stared for a long moment before swallowing, bathing himself with shaking hands.
Yoongi took the basin and replaced it with a plate of food, something more filling than the bread they’d been feeding him. He took the letter from his pocket and threw it at him before he left.
Yoongi didn't look to see if he picked it up before he closed the door behind him.
Jungkook must have been able to read in the dark room, though, even without candlelight to aid him. He was wrapped around himself when Yoongi came down the next day, the blanket over his shoulders and pulled tight around his chest. He was resting his cheek on his knee, black hair dull as it fell over his face. The letter was unfolded in front of him.
Like this, he looked small. Not the haughty Prince Yoongi knew he surely must be.
“Are you going to kill me?” Prince Jungkook asked quietly, hollow and nearly emotionless, not moving.
Yoongi snorted. “We don’t make money killing. Usually.”
Jungkook didn’t startle. He just wrapped his blanket around himself more tightly.
“Why does he hate you, Prince Jungkook?” Yoongi asked, grabbing the chair he’d brought down a few days ago, sitting in front of him. He didn’t want to dirty his pants sitting on the floor.
Jungkook didn’t look at him. His eyes were closed, the shadows under them even darker than usual. “I don’t want to say,” he whispered.
“Was it egregious enough that we’ll want to kill you? We very well might not, our politics hardly align with the monarchy’s on the best of days.”
“I don’t know,” Jungkook admitted.
Yoongi sighed, leaning back in his chair. He looked at Jungkook for a long moment before clearing his throat. Dom or not, Jungkook was weak and exhausted, and he clearly didn’t have much fight left in him. Putting as much dominance in his voice as he could manage, he commanded, “Tell me, Jungkook.”
“I’m a sub,” he choked out, sounding strangled and compelled.
That—
Yoongi blinked. “So?”
“S-so—” Jungkook frowned before snapping to look at him all at once, frustration in his brows and anger in his eyes. “So I’m a submissive. That’s why he hates me. That’s why—that’s why I am no longer his. He sent me away because I couldn’t hide it well enough and it could be used against him, as it so clearly can be, considering I’m here, with you, and not with the dom lord he chose for me. I am a shameful, shameless creature and I don’t deserve anything but condemnation and I am sure I will receive it now. I would rather you kill me than—”
“Stop,” Yoongi said, and Jungkook immediately obeyed.
He stared at Jungkook until the Prince—the submissive—looked away, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face in his knees, squeezing himself as tightly as he could.
“What do you expect us to do, Prince?” Yoongi asked. “Answer.”
“U-use me. Use me the way submissives are meant to be.”
Yoongi made sure his deep, steadying breath was silent. He knew what many, many dominants thought of submissives, both the ones they ‘owned’ and those they simply came across. He knew royal submissives were married off rather than the other way around, usually being sent to any manner of places instead of being bonded in their kingdom of birth. He’d heard rumors, he’d read books, he’d seen it happen himself—
“I now know something about you,” he said slowly, considering as he spoke. “I believe it is fair to tell you something about us, as well.”
Jungkook didn’t look at him, and Yoongi didn’t order him to.
“Bangtan is an eros. There are two submissives among us, as well as one switch. You’ve met both subs, though our switch has stayed away. He has a tender heart, you see. You would have been too well-fed if we allowed him to see you. Out of the five you have met, could you pick out the submissives?”
Jungkook swallowed and shook his head after a moment.
“It might be easier if I asked you to pick out the doms,” he huffed a laugh to himself. “But that is not the point I wish to make. Out of the five of us you have met, do you believe any of us are used the way you've been taught submissives are meant to be?”
“I—” Jungkook gripped himself nervously. “I don’t know.”
Yoongi hummed. “Well. The answer is no. We take care of our submissives, and our switch, as they do for us. They are not used, nor are they lesser than their dominants. Though we tend to coddle them, sure—and usually they allow us, but both of them have a mind of their own, and a temper to match. Have you met the lord your dear father picked for you?”
“O-once,” Jungkook whispered. “When I was a child. He—”
“Yes?”
“He—I hadn’t—I hadn’t been tested yet. I had just tripped i-in the hall and was crying.” Yoongi made a prompting hum. “He s-said I would surely be a submissive, because I-I was pretty when I cried.”
“Did you tell anyone about this?”
Jungkook nodded. “My mother. Sh-she just—she chided me for crying and said it was rude of him to curse us like that. She didn’t have hopes of me being a dom even then, but—but she hoped I would be a switch. It’s easier to hide it that way.”
Yoongi stared at him for a long moment before sighing, going to crouch closer than he had yet been. Jungkook froze even more than he had before, squeezing his eyes shut. If Yoongi listened, he was sure he would hear his fearful heart. He ignored it all as he took out his pocketknife, making quick work of the ropes and uncuffing the chain. He had to move the blanket from Jungkook to do so, but he readjusted it afterwards, covering him once more.
“If there is one thing you don’t have to worry about, Jungkook, it is us harming you for being a submissive. If you try to run before we figure out what to do with you, there will be consequences, of course, but you won’t do that. Isn’t that right?”
Jungkook met his eyes. “I won’t run.”
“And you’ll listen to me? Do what I say?”
“Yes,” he said quickly. “I—yes.”
“Good. Come.”
He stood and didn’t wait for Jungkook to do the same, making his way up the stairs slowly enough that Jungkook could keep up with his weakened legs. His steps were so light Yoongi had to glance back to make sure he was following.
Jungkook cringed when they emerged from the basement, the afternoon light coming through the windows seeming even brighter after the darkness he had been living in for the past week. Yoongi huffed a laugh when Jungkook came to a stop as close to him as he could manage without touching. He was stupid, to consider a captor safety. But then again—it seemed that Yoongi provided as much safety as his king father did, if not more.
“Yoongi-yah,” Jin called out from the kitchen. “Is the little princeling still alive?”
“Yes,” Yoongi said. He looked back at Jungkook, looking him over. “Are you done slaving over the fire, hyung? I want to heat water for a bath.”
“So early in the day?”
“Early for me. For the little princeling? I think he would take an early bath over none at all.”
Jin was quiet for a moment before he came out of the kitchen, as beautiful as ever, apron around his waist. He stared at Jungkook for a long moment before moving his gaze to Yoongi, quirking a brow.
“The King would have us believe he’s not a prince at all, would he not? A simple commoner deserves cleanliness more than the rotten people of the court.”
Jin snorted, giving Yoongi a skeptical look and Jungkook a hard one, though it went unseen with his head ducked, hiding half behind Yoongi. “Even if he’s not a prince, he was still raised as one. I’m sure he’s enjoyed enough warm baths with the rotten court for his lifetime. If you insist on bathing him, dump a few buckets over his head. It’s not too cold outside for it to kill him.”
Perhaps Jungkook had been spoiled with warmth and comfort, but Yoongi honestly wasn’t sure he had. Either way, “I’ll heat up the water. I’ll keep it tepid if it would make you more agreeable.”
“Agree—” Jin threw his hands up and Jungkook visibly flinched. “I’ll show you agreeable, Yoongi. Fine, clean up your little pet, see if I warm your cock anytime soon—”
Yoongi waved him off. It was not the first threat of its kind Jin had made, and it surely wouldn’t be the last. Like the ones before, though, he was rather sure it would last a week at most. Jin liked choking himself too much to keep it up longer than that. Jin stood at the door as he took Jungkook into the kitchen, pushing him down onto one of the chairs around the table.
“Shall I bind him?” Jin asked. He perked up. “You know, we can take this opportunity to waterboard him—”
Yoongi snorted. “To what end? He doesn’t know anything.”
“I think a good little hour of torture might jog his memory.”
“He doesn’t know anything,” Yoongi repeated. “Do you, Jungkook?”
Jungkook jumped, looking up at him with wide eyes, shocked at being addressed. It took him a moment process the question. “N-no, sir.”
“See?”
“No, I don’t see. And even if he doesn’t know anything—which he surely does—he’s sitting here, unbound, at our table—”
“Seokjin,” Yoongi interrupted. He kept dominance out of his voice, but made his earnest seriousness heard. It was apparently unexpected enough to grab Jin’s attention. “I need you to trust me on this. Please.”
Jin searched his face for a moment, pursing his lips. “Fine,” he gritted out. “But if he runs—”
“He won’t run. Will you, Jungkook?”
Jungkook shook his head quickly. “No, sir. I won’t run.”
“Good.” Yoongi did not miss the way Jungkook practically swayed in his chair, the minimal praise getting to him so deeply that his eyes had already slightly glazed over. He’d have to be careful, he thought. Even if Jungkook had admittedly begun to catch his sympathies, he didn’t want a simpering sub in his care. Jin and Jimin were enough to handle.
Jin did not look convinced. He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at Yoongi. Yoongi did his best to ignore him as he filled a bucket from the pump over the sink and propped it over the fire, but at the same time—
When Yoongi met Jin, he very much thought he would never earn the sub’s true affections. Jin very vehemently said he had zero interests in any dom, and even switches earned his suspicion. It took working together for years without any attempt to dominate him—even when Jin did his best to goad him into doing so, if only to prove Yoongi (and Namjoon and Hoseok beside him) was as much of a bastard as all the other doms he had met—for Jin to truly trust him. They had fallen in love, all six of them, slowly and thoroughly, intertwining into something more perfect than any of them had ever dreamed of. Even still, Jin tended to give Jimin his immediate allegiance in every true conflict, and in most of the not quite so serious ones. He was a sub’s sub, he said, and he proved it every day. Perhaps he shouldn’t betray Jungkook’s confidence, but—he was their captive, even if his ransom had not panned out quite the way they anticipated.
“Jungkook is a sub,” Yoongi told him.
Jungkook flinched enough that the chair creaked, his face going pale. Yoongi could see some sort of hurt in his wide, fearful eyes, but it was hardly his fault that the stupid thing decided to trust him.
Jin’s stare had already shifted from skeptical to suspicious but curious. “So?”
“So,” Yoongi said, pushing past him to drag the bathing basin stored in the hallway closet to the kitchen. “I suppose that isn’t here nor there.”
Jin glared at him for only a moment before turning his eyes back to Jungkook, looking at him shrewdly. “Does he speak the truth, little princeling?”
“I—” Jungkook swallowed, hands clutching the blanket tightly enough that his knuckles turned white. “I—I am. Yes.”
“Are you?” Jin huffed. “You don’t sound sure of that fact.”
“I-I’m not supposed to tell anyone,” he said, “and I-I have told two people now.”
“You’re not supposed to tell anyone? That’s—” Jin paused and considered before nodding. “Well, it’s understandable that you wouldn’t want to. There are too many horrid people in the world. Horrid doms, at least. And there are plenty of horrid switches, too.”
Jungkook stared at him, aghast.
“But to not be allowed?” Jin narrowed his eyes. “What idiot dom gave you that order, hm?”
Yoongi snorted, taking the bucket off the fire and dumping it into the tub, going to refill it again. “Take a guess.”
Jin’s silence was enough to convince Yoongi that telling him had been the right move. “I’ll hunt you down if you run, little prince. You won’t be spoiled like this when I catch you.”
“I-I won’t run,” Jungkook said quietly. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“He doesn’t,” Yoongi confirmed. He didn’t expand on that. Perhaps Jungkook could if he wanted to. He didn’t, of course.
Jin looked him over for a moment before clicking his tongue. He left the room abruptly, but Yoongi wasn’t surprised when he came back just a moment later, arms laden with a towel and washcloth and the soap Jin preferred to use. He didn’t say anything about it as he set it all by the tub, and Yoongi didn’t say anything either. Nor did Jungkook, though that wasn’t a surprise—he was sitting as still as he could, watching them without drawing attention to himself. It seemed practiced.
Yoongi didn’t fill it quite as much as he liked to, and he waved Jungkook over when he was satisfied. “Get in.”
Jungkook hesitated for just long enough for Yoongi to snap his fingers impatiently.
“In, or I’ll change my mind.”
Jungkook heard the viable threat and dropped the blanket, picking it up off the floor and draping it over the back of the chair neatly. He climbed into the tub clumsily, eyes fluttering as he sank into the warm water as low as he could.
Yoongi sighed. He should have listened to Jin and dumped water on his head before putting him in the bath, if only to minimize the grime. He wasn’t as grubby as he could have been after being locked up underground for a week, at least; perhaps spoiled little princes had a natural dirt repellant. Still, though—
Jungkook yelped when Yoongi dipped a cup into the water and poured it unceremoniously over his hair. “Wash. Here.” Jungkook took the cloth and soap he was offered, and didn’t test Yoongi’s patience any more. It seemed he knew how to wash himself, at least, and made quick but thorough work of scrubbing himself nearly raw, from his face to his feet.
He waited for Jungkook to wash his hair and dunk his head before humming. Jungkook glanced at him.
“What are we to do with you, hm?”
He knew Jungkook knew it wasn’t a question for him to answer, but still, he offered, “You could drop me in the middle of the woods, perhaps?”
Yoongi snorted. “You think you could survive the wolves?”
Jungkook paled slightly. “Oh. Perhaps dropping me in another country would be preferable.”
“You would prefer a life you’re likely unsuited and unprepared for over being sent back to your dear father? Or being sent to your dear lord dom?”
“I would,” Jungkook said immediately. “I would prefer to starve, sir. But I’m a quick learner, and I’m not afraid of hard work. I could make myself useful to someone, I’m sure—”
“Make yourself useful to us, then,” Yoongi said. Jungkook fell quiet and stared at him. “While we figure out what to do with you. If we are to feed and house you, you are to earn it.”
“Y-yes, sir,” Jungkook said. There was nervousness in his voice and worry in his posture, but there was no actual hesitation.
And he might be a sub, and Yoongi did hold an undeniable fondness for subs, but he would put Jungkook’s belief he could do ‘hard work’ to the test. He would have to discuss it all with his eros, of course, and he knew he was taking liberties, making this decision without them, but—what other options were there for the time being? Yoongi didn’t feel like throwing this sub back into the now-odorous basement, as princely as he may be. At least they could get a scullery maid out of it.
Yoongi looked him over and judged him clean enough, grabbing the towel and gesturing at him with it. “Out.”
Jungkook obeyed quickly, standing and taking it from him, drying himself off as much as he could before stepping out, drying off his legs to keep from dripping on the floor. It was almost endearing, his attention to his surroundings.
No time like the present for the first test, Yoongi supposed. “Stay.”
He left Jungkook without a glance over his shoulder, going up the stairs to forage for clothes that might fit. He was slim but tall; Yoongi’s own wouldn’t fit him, nor would Jimin’s. He grabbed a few pieces from their various wardrobes with plans to apologize later should they say anything about it. He gave it a few more moments, even though his task was done—might as well give Jungkook the time to slip out of the window or through the door, but nude and with bare feet, he wouldn’t get far. Jin probably would enjoy catching him.
But when he went back downstairs, Jungkook was standing right where he had been told, the towel wrapped around him, eyes wider than Yoongi knew was possible as they stared at Namjoon.
Their leader tended to be more logistics-focused than a hands-on participant with their ransoms, but he had visited the Prince more than once to interrogate and intimidate. Jungkook clearly remembered this, shrinking under his glare, and Namjoon loomed above him with a menacing threat.
“Care to explain this?” Namjoon asked, voice low, not looking away from Jungkook.
“I feel like testing fate,” Yoongi said wryly. And like it explained anything at all, “I told him to stay.”
Namjoon did look away from Jungkook at that, though Yoongi pouted when he clearly thought he was crazy.
Yoongi handed Jungkook the bundle of clothes. “Get dressed.” He glanced at Namjoon. “Thank you for lending your shirt. It’s very much appreciated.”
Namjoon stared at him for a moment longer before gritting his teeth and sitting at the table, cringing at the blanket left on one of the chairs and taking another. “If this goes wrong, Yoongi—”
Yoongi snorted. “Then what?” He knew there wasn’t a then, and though he had become Jungkook’s defender in the moment, he didn’t want the prince to get any sense of instability from Namjoon’s silence. “It won’t go wrong, Namjoon-ah. I’ll keep an eye on him. Two, even, if that would make you feel better.”
“It would,” Namjoon said tightly. He gave Jungkook a long, cold look. “Listen to me, little prince. If you attempt anything—if you try to run or to injure anyone or to breathe anywhere you are not permitted to—I will kill you. You are alive on the hope that your father will rethink your worthiness enough to dig into his pockets. If you press your luck—”
“I-I won’t, sir. I swear.”
“The swears of a prince are not something I have ever relied on.” Namjoon looked back to Yoongi, rapping his knuckles on the table. “He’s your responsibility. Throw him back in the basement when you tire of him. Make sure you tighten his chains when you do.”
Yoongi didn’t answer, only glanced at him as he left. He frowned at Jungkook, pointing at the bundle in his hands. “Dress. Don’t make me ask again.”
Jungkook quickly obeyed, putting his towel beside the blanket and tugging on the underwear and pants as quickly as he could, hiding his little cock once again.
A pity, Yoongi thought, unbidden. He nearly cringed at himself, shaking the thought away. When Jungkook pulled on Namjoon’s shirt, Yoongi cleared his throat. “You’ll start earning your keep now. I won’t be cleaning up after a spoiled brat, prince or not. Take the bucket, dump the water outside. If you run—”
“I won’t, sir. I already promised.”
“Forgive me if I am not quite convinced. Go.”
He expected Jungkook to put up a fight, sub or not. But he merely took the bucket, carried heavy pailful by heavy pailful outside, dumped it where he was told, and only stopped when there wasn’t enough to scoop any more. The tub was heavier to carry, even empty, but—Yoongi was curious to see what he would do when he failed. But when he gestured for him to do the same, Jungkook struggled, arms shaking, walking slowly, but he succeeded. He brought it back in, looking to Yoongi for directions of where to set it, and followed them right away.
Yoongi didn’t praise him, that would be foolish, and he hadn’t really done anything worthy of praise. He pursed his lips and gestured to the fire. “Stoke it.”
Jungkook obeyed that, too, kneeling by the fire and poking at it a little too unsurely.
Yoongi huffed a laugh. “Little prince has never had to do that on his own, has he?”
Jungkook glanced back before shaking his head.
“There must be a long, long list of tasks spoiled royals never touch in their lives. I suppose you’re not given chores at all, hm? Just servants who do each and every thing for you.”
Jungkook bit his lip and nodded again, turning back to the fire.
“Don’t worry, little prince. We’ll be sure to give you plenty of firsts before sending you into the woods.” Jungkook’s clear, immediate fear gave Yoongi a bit of guilty pause. “Or across the border. It depends on how good you are for us.”
“I’ll be good,” Jungkook promised quietly. “I promise.”
There was a snide comment on the very tip of his tongue about royal promises and royal swears, but—promises seemed a little nicer coming from Jungkook’s mouth, royal or not.