Chapter Text
"Love is a luxury. We have only duties."
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
Lumeria flourished beneath the dual grace of the sun god and the goddess of the wild earth. The blessing showed in every detail: in the brightly painted timbers of humble homes and the sun-gilded cornices of noble halls. Color did not merely adorn the kingdom—it lived there, as though it had taken root in the very stones and wood.
In Lumeria, life was generous to all. The sun lingered long in the sky, reluctant to depart, and the soil answered with lavish abundance. Herbs grew bold and unruly, fruits swelled heavy on the branch with no need for coaxing, and flowers bloomed whether lovingly tended or left to the mercy of the wind.
“Even the wild things flourish here,” a court lady once whispered, watching ivy climb the palace walls in defiant spirals. “It is as if the land itself refuses to refuse life to anything.”
This was the southern kingdom of Lumeria, ruled by two queens—one alpha, one omega. Their only child, Prince Jimin, arrived after years that had nearly stolen all hope. Twice the court had dressed in mourning. On the third, the heavens finally yielded.
“A child,” the omega queen had breathed, voice trembling as she cradled the newborn against her chest. “At last.”
The alpha queen had pressed her forehead gently to both of theirs. “Not merely a child,” she murmured. “Ours.”
To the people, he was a gift long withheld and finally granted.
Jimin grew surrounded by that belief. He possessed a beauty reminiscent of spring’s first blossom—soft, luminous, impossible to overlook—and a warmth that settled upon the skin like gentle sunlight, steady and kind. Wherever he walked, kindness seemed to follow as naturally as his shadow.
“Your Highness, there is no need—” a merchant would stammer, hands shaking as Jimin reached for a simple woven bracelet.
“But I wish to,” Jimin would answer, his smile soft yet unwavering, pressing coins into the man’s palm. “If it holds value to you, then it deserves to be honored as such.”
From childhood, he carried his station with quiet certainty—not born of arrogance, but of something deeper, rooted like the ancient trees of the royal gardens. The people loved him too openly for doubt to ever take root. In the markets, small hands would tug at his sleeves, and laughter trailed behind him like scattered petals.
On his fifth birthday, he was presented to the kingdom.
The palace balcony overlooked a vast sea of faces turned upward in reverent silence.
There, beneath the open sky, he was to receive the sun’s blessing. The young prince was lifted onto the raised dais, small and radiant against the endless blue.
“Do not be afraid,” the omega queen whispered, gently smoothing his dark hair.
“I am not,” Jimin replied, though his small fingers curled tightly into her sleeve. “Will it hurt?”
The alpha queen’s stern mouth softened. “No, my light. Only the sun will touch you.”
And the sun answered.
Golden light poured over him, warm and unrelenting. Below, the flowers in the courtyard seemed to lift their faces, their colors deepening as though stirred from sleep. A profound hush fell across the crowd. Then, one by one, the people of Lumeria knelt.
“Bless the prince,” the voices rose like a prayer. “Grant him health… grant him light…”
Jimin stood very still beneath the radiance, eyes wide, his small chest rising and falling with something between awe and quiet wonder.
The years that followed only deepened what had begun. He remained gracious and attentive, never careless with the gifts bestowed upon him. He moved among his people with ease, playing with children without regard for rank, listening far more than he spoke.
At fourteen, he stood before them once again—not as a cherished child, but as a living promise.
“I wish,” Jimin declared, his voice clear and steady despite the immense crowd, “to lead in a manner that honors all we have been given. Not only to preserve Lumeria’s light, but to let it reach even those who dwell beyond our borders.”
“You speak as though you are already king,” a noble remarked afterward with a faint smile.
Jimin returned the smile, quiet and resolute. “Not yet. But I will become worthy of it.”
Few doubted him. He was expected to grow into a fine alpha—a steady, just ruler who would carry forward everything Lumeria had ever been.
But the body does not always bend to expectation.
At fifteen, his health began to falter. At first it was subtle—lingering fatigue, moments of sudden weakness. “You exhaust yourself, my heart,” the omega queen chided softly, brushing cool fingers across his brow.
“I am only tired,” Jimin insisted, leaning into her touch. “It will pass.”
“It should,” the alpha queen added, though her voice carried a measured caution. “Such things are not uncommon before one comes of age.”
Jimin accepted their words and buried himself deeper in his studies—languages, diplomacy, the long histories of their realm—determined to shape himself into the ruler they all believed he would become.
Until the day it shattered.
It struck without warning during a lesson.
The words on the parchment blurred and swam. A sudden, vicious pain seized his core, stealing the breath from his lungs.
“Your Highness?” his tutor’s voice sharpened with alarm.
Jimin tried to speak, but the pain coiled tighter, low and searing. His hand slipped from the desk as his body crumpled inward.
“Guards!” the tutor shouted. “Now!”
By the time they reached him, Jimin’s vision had begun to fracture. Sounds came in broken fragments—rushing footsteps, urgent commands, the rising tide of panic.
“It hurts,” he gasped, his voice thin and unfamiliar. “Something… inside—”
“Easy, Your Highness,” one guard murmured, already lifting him with careful strength. “We have you.”
When his mothers arrived, he was barely conscious, slipping in and out like a candle in the wind.
“Jimin,” the omega queen whispered, reaching desperately for him. “Stay with us—”
Heat surged through his body, fierce and consuming. His skin burned, slick with sweat, and the air around him shifted—his scent no longer faint and boyish, but blooming into something richer, sweeter.
Milky sweetness, soft and intoxicating, unfurled like night-blooming jasmine.
The alpha queen went utterly still.
“…It has come,” she said quietly.
Everything they had once been certain of tilted in that single moment. Yet nothing mattered more than the sight of their son. He was swiftly carried to his chambers, laid upon silk sheets, tended with cool cloths and gentle hands. The queens stayed by his side, voices low and tight with worry.
“We prepared for this,” the omega queen said, though her fingers trembled as she stroked his damp hair. “Just… not so soon. Not like this.”
The alpha queen’s jaw tightened. “No. Not like this.”
A heavy silence fell.
“The attendant—”
“Will not do,” the alpha queen cut in, her decision swift and final.
Beyond the chamber doors, anxious footsteps echoed in the corridor. She turned to the waiting guard, voice steady once more, carved from royal iron.
“Send for the Kim family’s eldest son.”
︎.
“Seokjin-oppa!”
The call rang out bright and untroubled, chased by light laughter.
Seokjin glanced up from the table, sleeves rolled to his elbows as he set down the last dish. A small, fond smile curved his lips. “You’re early,” he said, watching his younger sister slip into her seat with practiced ease. “Or simply starving.”
“Both,” Yeon answered shamelessly.
He huffed a quiet laugh and nudged a bowl toward her. “Then make yourself useful and fetch the utensils instead of waiting to be served like a little princess.”
“Yes, oppa,” she grinned, already moving.
Their home was modest, like most homes in Lumeria, yet touched with a quiet comfort few others enjoyed. Wooden beams warmed by years of sunlight, wide windows that invited the breeze, and the ever-present scent of freshly cooked rice. A distant tie to a minor count had eased their circumstances just enough that hunger and hardship did not haunt them as they did so many others.
By the time Seokjin finished arranging the dishes, their parents had joined them.
“You’ve done well,” his mother said softly, taking her place at the table.
His father offered only a short nod. “At least something in this house is done properly.”
Seokjin said nothing. He simply took his seat as Yeon returned with the utensils, placing them one by one with careful hands. For a time, dinner unfolded in familiar rhythm—talk of work, small daily matters, the ordinary cadence of family life.
Until it wasn’t.
“Yeon has been selected.”
The words fell plainly, yet they changed the air at once. Seokjin’s hand stilled above his bowl. “Selected… for what?”
His father did not meet his eyes. “To serve in the palace. As the prince’s personal attendant.”
Silence swallowed the room.
Then, quiet but firm—“No.”
The refusal slipped out before Seokjin could cage it.
His father’s gaze snapped up, sharp as a blade. “What did you say?”
Seokjin met it without flinching, though something tight and painful coiled in his chest. “She is not going.”
“Seokjin—” his mother began gently.
“She has her own life,” he pressed on, voice gaining strength. “Her own dreams. You cannot simply hand her over as if she were—”
A heavy pressure crashed over him.
“Enough.”
The alpha command cut through the air like a whip, pressing against Seokjin’s ribs and forcing the rest of his words back down his throat. His jaw clenched hard. Beneath the table, his nails dug into his palms.
“You speak as though you hold any authority here,” his father continued, dangerously calm. “You do not.”
“She is my sister.”
“And she is an omega,” his father replied coldly. “Do not forget your place—or hers.”
His mother reached out halfway across the table. “We should not turn this into—”
“It already is,” Seokjin said, quieter now, but no less resolute.
His father’s expression hardened like stone.
“Yeon will elevate this family,” he stated. “This is not a loss. It is an honor.”
Seokjin exhaled shakily. “At the cost of her entire future being decided for her?”
“At the benefit of us all.”
The words landed heavy and final.
A thin, stretched silence followed.
Then, almost idly, his father added, “If you truly wished to be useful, you would understand that.”
Something inside Seokjin sank.
“You were such a promising child,” his father continued, studying him with cool detachment. “Your build… I truly believed you would present as an alpha.”
Seokjin remained silent.
A low, bitter chuckle escaped his father. “I should have known better than to trust the heavens with my hopes.” Across the table, his mother’s eyes softened with something too close to pity.
“You are a beta,” his father said at last. “So learn to act like one.”
Stay quiet.
Stay in your place.
Be nothing more than what the world allows you to be.
Dinner ended in heavy silence.
.
Later, when the house had fallen quiet and the evening insects began their soft chorus, Seokjin found Yeon standing by the open window.
The sun was setting, bleeding molten gold and rose across the horizon. A warm breeze drifted in, carrying the rich scent of turned earth and blooming greenery—familiar, almost comforting. Yeon gazed outward as though trying to memorize every hue, every shifting light.
Seokjin lingered in the doorway for a moment before speaking.
“…What do you think?” he asked gently.
She did not turn at once. “I think this must be my fate, oppa.”
The words came too lightly, too easily.
Seokjin’s brow furrowed. He stepped closer, the wooden floor creaking softly beneath his feet. “That’s all? After all these years of painting until your fingers cramped, dreaming of colors and canvases—you would set it all aside so quickly? Just to live your life in service to someone else?”
There was a raw edge of desperation in his voice now.
“Say the word,” he added, quieter, urgent. “We can leave tonight. We don’t have to stay here and accept this.”
Yeon’s expression softened, but she shook her head, eyes still fixed on the dying light.
“I am an omega,” she said simply. “This is my duty.”
“Duty,” Seokjin echoed. The word sat bitter on his tongue.
“It is an honor,” she continued, her voice dropping to something softer, almost wistful. “To serve the prince of Lumeria.”
A faint smile touched her lips, small and resigned.
“They say he is kind. I have seen it myself during the festivals and processions—he is gentle, even from afar. He will not be cruel to me… and at least my life will have purpose.”
Seokjin let out a slow, heavy breath.
That much, he could not deny. In the rare moments he had glimpsed Prince Jimin—at grand ceremonies, riding through the streets in golden light, or waving from the palace balcony—the prince had always seemed luminous and kind, like sunlight given human form.
His anger was not for his sister.
It burned instead for their father, for the invisible chains woven into the laws of their world, for the way true choice always seemed granted only to the highest born. And perhaps, if he was honest, a little for the gods who had shaped their fates so unevenly.
If only he had been born an alpha—
Seokjin swallowed the thought before it could fully form, before it could cut any deeper. Instead, he closed the distance between them and pulled Yeon into his arms.
She returned the embrace without hesitation, her cheek resting against his shoulder.
No more words passed between them, yet the silence spoke clearly enough.
I’m here.
Always.
For all the lingering warmth of the evening breeze, the air around them felt suddenly, painfully cold.
.
The day the decree arrived, it offered no mercy for readiness.
Seokjin was deep in the fields, hands rough and darkened with soil, when frantic footsteps pounded toward him.
“Seokjin—!”
He barely had time to turn before his coworker seized his shoulders, chest heaving, words spilling out in gasps. “The imperial decree—it’s being announced at your house right now.”
Everything inside Seokjin went deathly still.
“…What?”
“You need to go. Now.”
The rake slipped from his fingers and fell forgotten into the dirt.
Then he was running.
The path blurred beneath his pounding feet. His breath tore from his lungs in ragged bursts as frantic thoughts collided: No. Not yet. Not like this.
He nearly collided with a passing carriage, the heavy wheel grazing dangerously close to his leg. Pain flared as he stumbled and crashed hard into the ground, something sharp slicing across his cheek. Blood welled hot against his skin, but he barely felt it.
It didn’t matter.
He pushed himself up and ran harder, heart hammering against his ribs.
By the time he burst through the open doors of his home, the hall was steeped in rigid, suffocating silence. His father knelt at the center, head bowed low in deference. The royal announcer stood before him, parchment unrolled in steady hands, voice ringing with formal authority.
Seokjin stepped inside just as the final words echoed through the room.
“—by order of the crown, Kim Seokjin shall be brought at once to the imperial palace to serve as personal attendant to His Highness, the Prince of Lumeria.”
The world narrowed to a pinprick.
“…Me?”
His voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper.
His father’s head lifted slowly. For the briefest moment, surprise flickered across his face—then it melted into sharp, open delight. “An honor,” he declared at once, bowing even deeper. “Our family accepts with deepest gratitude.”
Seokjin stared at him, stunned into silence. No hesitation. No questions asked. His father saw only opportunity, gleaming bright before him.
“Prepare him,” his father ordered, already rising to his feet. “He will not present himself before the palace in such a state.
Hands were on Seokjin before he could protest—servants gripping his arms, pulling him away as voices blurred into a rush of instructions and commands.
“Wait—” Seokjin twisted, eyes darting desperately toward the hallway. “Yeon—”
“She will remain where she is,” his mother’s voice cut in, strained but unyielding. “Do not make this any harder than it must be.”
Somewhere deeper in the house, a door closed with quiet finality.
Seokjin never saw his sister again before he was taken.
.
The bathwater was too warm.
Or perhaps it was only him—his skin burning from within, fevered by the sudden upheaval of his life.
Seokjin could not tell anymore. His heartbeat thundered so loudly in his ears that it drowned out the voices of the servants scrubbing the field dirt from his skin, the rustle of fine cloth being pressed into his hands, the hurried instructions murmured around him.
So this was the answer.
Not Yeon.
Him.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, breath shaky and shallow.
“…Thank you,” he whispered under his breath, though he hardly knew to whom he spoke. To the sun god. To the goddess of the wild earth. To whatever power might be listening in the silence between heartbeats.
If a place had to be taken in the palace, let it be his. Better him than her. He would bear it—whatever waited for him there, however heavy or strange it proved to be.
For Yeon.
When the servants finally deemed him presentable, they led him outside. The royal carriage was already waiting in the courtyard, its lacquered sides gleaming under the late afternoon light. The guard stood at attention, impatient. The royal announcer offered no farewell. Only his father remained by the steps, satisfaction carved clearly into his features, the imperial decree still clutched tightly in his hand like a trophy.
“Do not embarrass us,” his father said curtly.
His mother said nothing at all, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond him.
Seokjin stepped into the carriage without a word. Just before the door swung shut, something hot burned behind his eyes. One single tear escaped. He wiped it away quickly, angrily, before anyone could see.
The door closed with a heavy, final sound.
And without ceremony, without farewell, the carriage began to move, carrying him away from everything he had ever known.
.
The heavy oak doors of the royal chambers groaned shut, cutting off the cool night air of the corridor and sealing Seokjin within the suffocating stillness of the prince’s private quarters. He hadn’t been given time to steady his breath, his pulse hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs as the King and Queen of Lumeria turned their attention upon him.
Eighteen years old, unmarked, unformed—yet he understood the weight of the scrutiny that pinned him to the floor. He knelt without a word, fixing his gaze on the heavy, embroidered tapestry behind the royal couple’s heads.
They spoke of duty and ownership with the crisp precision of statecraft, their voices devoid of warmth. They explained that Seokjin was no longer a free man; he was a vessel, an extension of the heir. They spoke of Prince Jimin, sixteen and already poised to define the prosperity of the nation. They told Seokjin that his existence was to be nothing more than a shadow, a calm anchor for a prince who carried the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders.
Your loyalty is to the Prince, the Queen’s voice had lingered, laced with command. Your life belongs to him.
Seokjin nodded, a mute agreement, his throat tight. When the King’s hand settled briefly on Jimin’s shoulder and the Queen pressed a kiss to the boy’s forehead, Seokjin watched the exchange like a stranger. He didn’t feel resentment; he only felt the hollow quiet of his own purposelessness.
The descent into full heat was swift and merciless.
One moment Jimin was still half-lucid, trembling on the silk sheets. The next, the omega inside him shattered.
Lavender flooded the chamber in heavy, intoxicating waves as his body surrendered completely. He lay sprawled across the bed, naked and glistening, thighs shaking violently. Slick poured from his swollen, puffy hole in thick, shiny rivulets, soaking the sheets beneath him. His lips were bitten red and swollen, saliva dripping from the corner of his open mouth. His eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide with raw need. Soft, broken whimpers spilled endlessly from him, rising into desperate keening cries every time a cramp twisted deep in his belly.
“Beta…” the omega whined, voice cracking, hips twitching helplessly. “Please… it hurts… need—”
Seokjin moved without hesitation.
He pushed Jimin’s trembling legs apart, exposing the slick-drenched mess between them. The prince’s hole twitched visibly, clenching and fluttering around nothing, leaking fresh waves of glossy slick that dripped down his perineum in messy strands.
Seokjin pressed two thick fingers against the dripping entrance and sank them in deep. Jimin arched off the bed with a broken cry, hips bucking wildly to chase the stretch. Seokjin curled his fingers, searching until he found the swollen, sensitive spot inside that made the omega sob with pleasure. He rubbed it firmly while his other hand wrapped around Jimin’s leaking cock, stroking him in tight, wet pulls.
Slick coated his fingers and wrist, dripping down his forearm in warm, sticky trails.
“More—beta, more—” Jimin babbled, tears slipping from his eyes as his body thrashed.
Seokjin added a third finger, then a fourth, stretching the tight heat open with wet, obscene squelching sounds. He fucked him steadily, scissoring and thrusting deep while his thumb circled the head of Jimin’s cock. The omega’s hole greedily sucked his fingers deeper, clenching and pulsing around them, pushing out fresh gushes of slick with every plunge.
When Jimin’s cries grew too frantic, Seokjin lowered his head and replaced his fingers with his mouth.
His tongue dragged hot and flat over the swollen, dripping hole, licking up the sweet lavender-scented slick before pushing inside. Jimin wailed, hands flying to Seokjin’s hair, tugging hard as his hips jerked against the beta’s face. Seokjin gripped the omega’s thighs, spreading him wider, and devoured him—tongue fucking deep into the fluttering heat, sucking noisily on the sensitive rim, lapping broad, messy stripes from hole to cock and back again.
The sounds were filthy. Wet slurping and sucking filled the chamber as Seokjin drank down every gush of slick. His chin, lips, and jaw glistened with it, the sweet lavender taste coating his tongue. He buried his face deeper, tongue curling and thrusting relentlessly against that sensitive inner spot until Jimin screamed, body convulsing.
The omega came hard—back bowing sharply, thighs trembling violently around Seokjin’s head, cock spurting untouched across his own stomach while his hole clenched and pulsed around the beta’s tongue. Fresh slick flooded Seokjin’s mouth in hot, sweet waves. He swallowed what he could, the rest dripping down his chin and neck in shiny trails.
But the heat was far from satisfied.
Seokjin barely let him catch his breath before he was pushing four fingers back into the sloppy, gaping hole, stretching him even wider. He fucked him through the aftershocks, curling and scissoring ruthlessly while his mouth latched onto Jimin’s spent cock, sucking him deep into wet heat.
Jimin was a complete wreck—drooling, sobbing, babbling incoherent pleas, hips jerking erratically between Seokjin’s mouth and hand. His hole made constant wet, squelching noises around the beta’s thrusting fingers. Slick kept pouring out in messy floods, coating Seokjin’s hand, wrist, forearm, and the ruined sheets in a sticky, lavender-scented mess.
Seokjin alternated between tongue and fingers without mercy.
Sometimes he spread Jimin open with two fingers while his tongue licked relentlessly at the stretched rim and sensitive walls. Other times he fucked him deep with three or four fingers while sucking marks into the soft skin of his inner thighs and the swollen lips of his hole. He bit gently, then soothed the sting with long, slow, filthy licks.
By the third day, the once-pristine royal bed was utterly destroyed—a soaked battlefield of slick, sweat, tears, and cum. Jimin’s body was flushed deep pink, covered in fingerprints, bite marks, and glistening trails of his own mess. His hole was puffy, red, and slightly gaping, still twitching and leaking even when Seokjin pulled back for a moment.
Yet the omega still whined pitifully, hips rolling weakly, seeking more.
Seokjin’s own clothes were ruined, soaked through with lavender-scented slick and his own sweat. His jaw ached, his tongue felt raw, his fingers cramped and glossy with mess. Still, he leaned close, his cool balm-like scent cutting gently through the heavy lavender haze as he pressed a surprisingly tender kiss to the omega’s sweat-damp temple.
“You’re doing so well,” the beta murmured, voice low and rough. “Such a good omega… just a little more. Let me take care of you.”
He slid three fingers back into the messy, fluttering heat, curling them perfectly against that sensitive spot while his thumb stroked slow circles over Jimin’s oversensitive cock. His mouth followed, tongue lapping lazily yet insistently at the slick still dripping around his fingers, drinking down the sweet lavender taste of the prince’s need.
Jimin’s broken, keening moan echoed through the royal chambers like both prayer and desperate plea.
.
The room had finally fallen quiet.
The heavy lavender scent of heat still lingered in the air, though it had softened into something almost melancholic — like blossoms left too long beneath the sun, sweet and faintly wistful. The curtains were drawn, allowing only a muted glow of evening light to spill across the floor and brush the edge of the grand bed.
Seokjin remained exactly where he had been for hours.
Kneeling.
Not because any command held him there, but because it felt like the only position his body still understood. His hands rested loosely on his thighs, damp strands of hair falling over his forehead, his breathing at last steady after the long, blurring storm.
On the bed, Prince Jimin lay turned slightly onto his side, the silk sheets tangled carelessly around his waist. The fever had broken, leaving behind a fragile, exhausted stillness. His lashes rested dark against flushed cheeks, his expression unguarded in a way Seokjin had never witnessed before — soft, almost heartbreakingly young for someone who carried the weight of a kingdom in his blood.
For a long moment, Seokjin simply watched him. Making certain he breathed evenly. Making certain the worst had truly passed.
“…Your Highness,” he said at last, voice low and careful, as though even sound might bruise the quiet.
Jimin stirred.
It began with a small shift, a faint hitch of breath, before his eyes fluttered open. They were unfocused at first, drifting slowly across the room before settling somewhere past Seokjin. Confusion clouded the omega’s gaze.
“…Mm,” Jimin murmured, the sound barely formed.
His eyes eventually found Seokjin. There was no spark of recognition in them — only a distant, hazy searching. As though everything that had passed between them in the heat had happened to another person entirely.
Jimin’s brows drew together faintly. “You…” His voice came out hoarse, raw from hours of crying out. “Who…?”
The question dissolved before it could fully take shape.
Seokjin lowered his gaze, steady and unhurried.
Of course.
Heat stole more than it gave. It left behind fragments at best — sensations without names, closeness without memory.
“My name is Kim Seokjin,” he said quietly, still kneeling. “I was assigned to you as your personal attendant.”
Jimin watched him in silence, fingers curling weakly against the sheets as though trying to grasp at something just beyond reach.
“…I don’t…” he whispered, then stopped.
Seokjin shook his head once, gently. “You don’t need to remember, Your Highness.”
He adjusted his posture — not rising, but settling more deliberately onto his knees — and bowed his head fully. Then, with slow reverence, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the top of Jimin’s bare foot in a lingering kiss.
The gesture was deliberate. Humble. A silent vow.
Even if the prince was no longer the crown heir, he remained a prince of Lumeria. And Seokjin would stay beneath him — always.
When he spoke again, his voice was firm, though soft as velvet.
“My life, from this moment onward, belongs to you. I will walk beneath your shadow and at your feet. In service, in silence, in loyalty unbroken. Whether the sun still favors you as heir or not, I will remain. I will not leave you.”
The words settled into the hushed chamber like an oath carved in stone.
Jimin’s gaze lingered on him, still clouded, still searching. Yet something gentler flickered through the confusion — not full recognition, but the fragile beginning of trust.
“…Seokjin,” the omega repeated faintly, testing the name on his tongue.
Seokjin lifted his head just enough to meet those tired eyes, lips still close to the prince’s foot.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
A long pause stretched between them.
Then, barely more than a breath — soft, uncertain — Jimin whispered, “Stay.”
It was not a command.
Seokjin bowed once more, deeper this time, and pressed another gentle kiss to the same spot.
“I will,” he answered, voice steady and sure. “Always.”
.
Four years had passed.
Yet some mornings Seokjin still woke wondering if time had only just begun to breathe again.
“Too tight?” he asked, fingers moving with practiced care as he adjusted the delicate fabric at Jimin’s waist.
Jimin turned slowly before the tall mirror, studying the way the foreign dress moved with him. The garment clung and flowed in ways Lumeria’s modest fashions rarely permitted — light silk with daring slits that revealed flashes of thigh, the fabric whispering against his skin like a secret.
“…No,” Jimin answered after a moment, a small smile curving his plump lips. “Just different.”
Different, but not unwelcome.
He tilted his head, and the soft evening light caught on his fair skin, making it glow like polished ivory. His figure was a study in delicate contrast — petite and slender, with gentle, alluring curves that spoke of both fragility and quiet seduction. Narrow waist flaring into soft hips, thin limbs that moved with effortless grace. His seductive eyes, dark and slightly upturned, held a natural depth that could quiet an entire room without effort.
Seokjin stepped back, arms loosely crossed, drinking in the sight.
“You look beautiful,” he said simply. “Though I would advise keeping it indoors… unless you truly wish to scandalize the entire court.”
Jimin laughed, soft and melodic, the sound bright against the quiet chamber. “They would probably faint before I even reached the hall.”
“Most likely.”
The dress belonged to a distant land, one far less restrained than Lumeria. Even this piece — one of the more modest gifts — revealed more skin than their traditions allowed. It honored the body rather than concealed it.
Jimin exhaled lightly, fingers brushing over the fabric one final time before he slipped out of it and into the familiar comfort of his white silk robe. He sat at the edge of the bed, allowing Seokjin to assist without hesitation. What had once required patience and quiet insistence was now effortless between them.
Seokjin adjusted the collar with gentle hands, smoothing the fabric over Jimin’s narrow shoulders and delicate collarbones.
“What do you think tonight will be about?” Jimin asked, glancing at him through the mirror’s reflection. “The ball.”
Seokjin let out a quiet breath, half scoff, half sigh. “If I had to guess? Your adoptive brother’s triumphs will be repeated until even the stones grow weary of hearing it.”
Jimin’s plump lips curved in amusement despite himself. “You’re still not over it, hyung?”
Seokjin’s expression remained unimpressed. “I see no reason to be.”
Jimin shook his head lightly, the motion sending his shoulder-length blond hair shifting like strands of pale sunlight across his fair skin. “Jihyun earned his place. You know that.”
And he had.
The year-long selection had been brutal — trials of strength, wit, judgment, and endurance. Jimin had once stood in those same halls, trained in the same disciplines, before fate had redirected his path entirely.
Jihyun had endured it all and emerged victorious.
Their first meeting after the announcement had been… awkward, to say the least.
Jimin let out a small laugh at the memory. “He wouldn’t stop bowing.”
“As he should,” Seokjin huffed.
“Hyung.”
“He outranks you now,” Seokjin added dryly.
“And yet he still looked like he might apologize for breathing in my presence,” Jimin said, fondness threading through his voice. “He’s… good.”
They were not close in the way Jimin and Seokjin were, but there was no resentment between them — only the natural distance of lives shaped by different destinies. Jimin had chosen not to force closeness. There was little point.
Seokjin, however, remained unconvinced.
“Good or not,” he muttered, “you are still far too good for this kingdom.”
Jimin turned, reaching out to tap Seokjin’s arm lightly. “Hyung.”
“I mean it.”
“And I don’t agree,” Jimin replied, softer now. “Jihyun risked his life for Lumeria. That alone deserves recognition.”
Seokjin’s gaze drifted toward the window for a moment. “It came dangerously close to disaster. If the eastern prince hadn’t intervened, there would be nothing to celebrate tonight.”
Jimin’s expression faltered — just briefly.
He had known that truth the moment word of the expedition reached him. He had waited on the sidelines then, just as he remained there now.
Still, he only said, “The gods do not grant fate without reason.”
Seokjin glanced back at him, something quieter settling in his eyes.
“…No,” he agreed after a pause. “I suppose they don’t.”
Their eyes met, and for a fleeting second the weight of that truth lingered between them — not in grand words, but in something gentler, deeper. They had been placed in each other’s paths. Neither had questioned it since.
Jimin’s smile returned, light and easy. “We should hurry. I would hate to be late to my own celebration.”
Seokjin arched a brow. “Of course. The embodiment of the sun must never keep the world waiting.”
“Hyung,” Jimin laughed, swatting his arm again.
Seokjin only smiled.
When Jimin stood, Seokjin finished the final adjustments to his attire.
The white silk robe was deceptively simple — flowing in soft, layered folds from collar to hem. Sheer in places where light touched it, more opaque where it draped lovingly over his petite frame. It clung gently at the narrow waist before loosening to skim the gentle curve of his hips and thighs. Long, airy sleeves shifted with every movement, embroidered with faint gold thread that shimmered only when the light kissed it just right. The neckline dipped slightly at the shoulders, revealing the elegant line of his delicate collarbones and the smooth, fair expanse of skin above.
His blond hair, soft and luminous, fell in gentle waves to his shoulders, catching the light like threads of warm sunlight against snow. It framed a face of breathtaking beauty — seductive eyes that held both innocence and quiet allure, plump lips naturally rosy and inviting, all set against porcelain-fair skin that seemed almost too delicate for the weight of royalty.
Seokjin paused longer than necessary, drinking in the sight.
“…You look like something they would build temples for,” he murmured under his breath.
Jimin glanced at him through the mirror, amused. “That sounds exhausting.”
“It would be,” Seokjin replied. “For everyone else.”
He stepped closer then, beginning the final touches — light, deliberate makeup that enhanced rather than concealed. A soft shimmer across the lids to deepen the seductive tilt of his eyes, a touch of rose to accentuate the fullness of his lips, subtle gold dust along the high points of his cheeks that made his fair skin glow even more ethereally.
Jimin watched him work through the reflection. “You always take your time with this,” he murmured.
Seokjin didn’t look away from his task. “You deserve it.”
When it was finished, Seokjin stepped back.
Jimin’s shoulder-length blond hair fell freely, luminous against the white silk. Gold adorned him subtly — thin rings, delicate bracelets, and a fine chain resting just above his collarbones, all catching the light like whispered blessings.
He looked luminous.
Delicate yet seductive.
Petite and perfectly curved, like a living statue carved from moonlight and spring blossoms.
Seokjin exhaled slowly.
“…Perfect,” he said, almost too quiet to hear.
Jimin met his gaze in the mirror, warmth flickering in those seductive eyes. “Thank you, hyung.”
.
The corridor stretched long and quiet before them, the hush broken only by the soft echo of footsteps on polished stone.
Jimin walked ahead.
Measured. Poised. Every step deliberate, shoulders relaxed, chin lifted just enough to carry the quiet authority he had been taught since childhood. Behind him, guards fell seamlessly into formation the moment his chamber doors opened.
Seokjin followed a few steps back — close enough to reach him in an instant, far enough to remember his place.
They moved as they always did.
When the grand gilded doors of the Helios Hall came into view, humming with life beyond them, the guards announced him with formal resonance.
“The Prince of Lumeria — His Highness, Park Jimin — now enters the Helios Hall.”
The doors swung open.
Light and sound spilled outward — laughter, conversation, the low murmur of nobility and foreign delegates. The noise dipped slightly as Jimin stepped inside, his presence alone enough to draw every eye.
Some gazes held admiration. Others, quiet envy. A few lingered too long — indulgent, speculative.
Jimin did not falter. His expression remained perfectly composed, unreadable in the way only years of training could achieve. Seokjin stayed at his side like a silent shadow as the doors closed behind them with a softened finality.
He had taken only a few steps when the Aridian delegates approached, their warm, sun-kissed presence unmistakable. Their skin glowed in deep mocha and caramel tones beneath the hall’s golden light. Their clothing — loose, draped fabrics that bared skin freely — shimmered with abundant gold chains and cuffs.
Jimin inclined his head gracefully and greeted them in their own tongue.
“Sa’iren valeth, Aridian. Thar en’kai solume.”
(Peace upon you, Aridian. Your presence honors our sun.)
Surprise flickered across their faces, quickly melting into delight.
One stepped forward with a broad smile. “Ah — solari speaks our breath. Rare in these walls.”
Jimin’s plump lips curved into a small, genuine smile. “I would not welcome guests without first understanding them. That would be poor hospitality.”
Soft laughter passed between them, and the conversation flowed easily after that — warm, respectful, filled with light teasing and mutual admiration.
Seokjin watched quietly from behind, as he always did.
Jimin moved through the hall with effortless grace, engaging one group after another until the room’s attention began to shift. The newly appointed heir, Crown Prince Jihyun, drew people like moths to flame. Power commanded interest, as it always had.
Jimin noticed, of course. He excused himself with a faint smile and made his way toward the long refreshment table, the constant murmur of voices pressing faintly against his temples.
He lifted a glass of wine and drained half of it in one steady breath.
Seokjin stepped closer, his cool balm-like scent cutting gently through the heavier perfumes in the air. His hand rested briefly against the small of Jimin’s back — grounding, steady.
Jimin exhaled, offering him a small, grateful smile. “I’m fine.”
Seokjin didn’t reply, but he didn’t move away either.
Then the royal announcement rang out.
“Their Majesties — Her Radiance, Sovereign of the Sun, and Her Grace, Keeper of the Verdant Crown.”
The hall fell into respectful silence as the two queens entered. Jimin took his place beside them, posture straight, expression softened into perfect graciousness.
The alpha queen spoke first, her voice carrying effortless authority.
“Tonight we gather not only in celebration, but in recognition. Our kingdom endures because those who serve it do so with strength, discernment, and unwavering loyalty.”
Her gaze settled on Jihyun.
“Our son, Crown Prince Park Jihyun, has proven himself worthy.”
A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd.
The omega queen continued, her tone softer yet no less commanding.
“The expedition was not without grave danger. What awaited could have undone us. Yet through resilience — and through the bonds we have forged beyond our borders — disaster was averted.”
Her eyes turned toward the eastern delegation.
“We extend our deepest gratitude to His Highness, Prince Kang Minsoo of the East, for his timely intervention and the strength he lent our crown.”
All attention shifted.
Jimin remained perfectly still.
The omega queen’s voice warmed with calculated grace.
“Such alliances are not born of convenience, but of trust and shared strength. And it is in that spirit that we choose to honor both victory and unity.”
Jimin’s chest tightened.
“Our son, Park Jimin,” the alpha queen continued, “has long stood as a living symbol of Lumeria’s grace and prosperity.”
Jimin’s breath grew shallow.
“He has been cherished — not only within these walls, but beyond them.”
The words pressed heavier than they should have.
“And so,” the omega queen finished, “we offer what is most precious to us — not as loss, but as a bond that will endure.”
No.
Jimin felt the shift before the words fully landed.
“In gratitude for the life preserved, for the strength given, and for the future we seek to secure — we bestow our beloved son as an offering of alliance.”
The hall held its breath.
“To His Highness, Prince Kang Minsoo of the East.”
Silence.
“He shall stand as his betrothed.”
The final words landed like a closing door.
“An omega of Lumeria, joined to the East, that our kingdoms may remain as one — steadfast and unbroken.”
Jimin’s eyes widened for the briefest moment before he forced his expression back into composure. His pulse hammered wildly. The air suddenly felt too thick, too heavy, pressing in from all sides.
He did not look toward the eastern delegation.
He refused.
But he could feel it anyway — the weight of a single stare burning into him from across the hall.
Prince Kang Minsoo.
The eastern prince’s gaze was blatant, undisguised, and filthy. His dark eyes raked slowly over Jimin’s body with open hunger — lingering shamelessly on the delicate curve of his waist, the gentle swell of his hips beneath the white silk, the soft line of his collarbones, the way his shoulder-length blond hair brushed fair skin. There was nothing polite in that stare. It was raw, possessive, and disrespectful, as though Minsoo was already imagining stripping the silk away and taking him right there on the marble floor in front of the entire court.
The stare felt prickly. Invasive. Like invisible hands crawling over every inch of exposed skin.
Jimin’s stomach twisted with discomfort. His fair skin prickled hotly under the intensity of it. He felt suddenly small — too delicate, too exposed — despite the layers of silk and gold.
The suffocation deepened the moment the betrothal was spoken aloud.
His breath caught, trapped somewhere in his throat. The grand hall, once merely warm with celebration, now felt like a cage closing in. The applause that erupted around him sounded distant, muffled, as though underwater. His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly against the fabric of his sleeves, the only outward sign of the storm beneath his composed surface.
Beside him, Jihyun’s face flashed with clear shock, mouth parting as if to protest — but the alpha queen’s sharp glance silenced him instantly.
Jimin forced himself to step forward just enough to bow his head with perfect grace.
“Your Majesties,” he said, voice steady — too steady, almost brittle. “If you will excuse me… I find myself somewhat unwell.”
The omega queen nodded, her expression unchanged. “Of course.”
Seokjin was already at his side before the words had fully left his lips.
They left the hall without ceremony, the heavy doors closing behind them like a final seal.
.
The air outside the hall was cooler. Quieter.
It met Jimin all at once as they stepped into the moonlit garden — the hush of trimmed hedges, the gentle murmur of the fountain threading through the night like a distant lullaby. For one fleeting second, it should have felt like relief.
But his scent betrayed him.
Lavender rose too quickly, no longer soft or gentle. It bloomed sharp and uneven, heavy and bruised, spilling into the night air like petals crushed underfoot. The sweet floral note turned bitter at the edges, carrying the unmistakable sting of shock and rising panic.
Jimin stopped abruptly.
Then he laughed.
The sound slipped out — soft at first, disbelieving — before it cracked and splintered into something louder, more unsteady. He tipped his head back, shoulder-length blond hair catching the moonlight like strands of pale gold against his fair skin. The laughter echoed faintly across the garden, and with it, the lavender grew even more jagged, fractured with hurt.
Seokjin remained silent behind him.
But his own scent stirred in response — cool, herbal balm, grounding and steady. It spread slowly through the air, warm and soothing, instinctively trying to gather the sharp edges of lavender without smothering them.
“You were right—” Jimin began, the words catching in his throat. He let out a trembling breath, caught somewhere between laughter and breaking. “It was bound to happen.”
The lavender wavered, restless and uneven.
Silence stretched between them.
“I thought…” Jimin continued, his voice growing quieter, thinner. “I thought they would be different. That I would be different.”
The laughter faded completely. His plump lips pressed together as another tear slipped free, trailing down his porcelain-fair cheek. “…You were right all along, hyung.”
Seokjin moved the instant it shattered.
The first tear became two, then more. He pulled the smaller omega into his arms without hesitation. His balm scent deepened instantly — warmer, firmer, wrapping carefully around the fractured lavender like a protective veil. It held without demanding, steady against the storm.
Jimin clung to him tightly, petite frame trembling as delicate curves pressed against Seokjin’s chest. His thin, graceful body shook with silent sobs, fair skin flushed hot beneath the tears. The seductive tilt of his eyes was lost now, lashes clumped together, seductive eyes red-rimmed and glassy.
“They didn’t even ask—” Jimin’s breath hitched violently, words breaking apart as fresh tears soaked into Seokjin’s shoulder. The lavender flickered wildly, thick with raw pain. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know it would be me.”
His grip tightened desperately, small hands fisting into the fabric of Seokjin’s clothes. “I thought… I thought I still had a choice.”
Seokjin’s arms locked around him, one hand gently cradling the back of Jimin’s head, fingers threading carefully through soft blond strands. His balm scent pressed closer, deeper now — an unwavering anchor, cool and medicinal, trying to soothe the bruised edges of lavender that refused to settle.
“You still do,” Seokjin murmured, voice low and rough with quiet conviction. “It’ll be fine, Jimin-ah. We’ll be fine.”
The words felt fragile, uncertain in the night air, but he said them anyway.
Jimin’s breathing stuttered, never quite steadying. The lavender did not calm. It only shifted, deepening into something heavier — grief-laden, thick, and clinging to every shaky inhale. Tears continued to fall silently, constant and warm, soaking through Seokjin’s shoulder as the petite omega held on as if Seokjin were the only solid thing left in his world.
For a long while, they remained like that in the garden’s hush — one unraveling, the other holding on with everything he had.
Until Jimin finally pulled back. Not far. Just enough to look up.
His seductive eyes were wet and swollen, plump lips trembling, fair cheeks streaked with tear tracks. The delicate curves of his petite frame still shook faintly. Yet beneath the heartbreak, something else flickered in those eyes.
The lavender shifted again.
Not gentle. Not soft.
It steadied into something deeper — wounded, yes, but rooted. Quietly furious. Unwilling.
“I refuse to yield,” Jimin whispered. His voice still trembled, raw and cracked.
But the words themselves did not.
.
On the other side of warmth, cold ruled without mercy.
Snow stretched endlessly under the blood-red moon, bright and untouched until steel and flesh rewrote it. The forest no longer looked like a place — it had become a silent witness, watching as violence carved fresh meaning into the white ground.
“Your Grace — duck!”
Steel hissed through the freezing air.
Jeongguk did not hesitate.
He shifted with lethal economy — one step, a half-turn — and the blade sliced through the space where his neck had been a heartbeat earlier. His own counterstrike followed instantly: a clean, brutal arc that opened the attacker’s throat in a single motion. Blood sprayed in a hot, dark arc, splattering across the snow before the man collapsed without a sound.
Jeongguk was already moving on.
His sword did not swing wildly. It arrived. Each strike was precise, final. A slash across the ribs parted armor like wet paper, revealing pale flesh that parted with a wet rip.
Blood welled up thick and dark, oozing slowly from the deep gash before spilling faster, painting the snow in heavy crimson blooms that sank deep into the white.
Then the formation shattered.
A cry tore through the wind.
One of their own fell — head separating from shoulders with a sickening, wet thunk. The body hit the snow heavily. Red poured from the severed neck in thick, pulsing streams, spreading rapidly across the frozen ground as though the snow itself were thirsty.
The masked attackers surged forward.
Jeongguk turned.
The next man came at him in a blur of feints and hidden angles. Poison dust flicked from a sleeve, glittering faintly like ash in the moonlight. It brushed Jeongguk’s cheek and collar, settling against his skin.
He walked straight through it.
Steel clashed violently. The impact rang out sharp and ugly. The masked man pressed in hard, trying to drag the fight into something chaotic and dirty.
Jeongguk refused.
He redirected every blow with minimal movement, letting the enemy tire himself. When the blade came too high, Jeongguk slipped inside its arc. When it came low, he twisted it away with controlled precision.
Then the man switched tactics — a hidden dagger flashing forward.
It sank deep into Jeongguk’s side with a brief, sickening resistance of metal piercing flesh. Blood welled instantly — hot, dark, and heavy — soaking through fabric in a thick, spreading stain. Black veins of poison began to spider outward beneath his skin, crawling visibly along his ribs.
Jeongguk did not flinch.
His grip tightened. His sword came down in one exact, merciless motion.
It cut clean through the man’s arm — flesh parting with a wet, slicing sound, muscle and tendon separating smoothly before the blade met bone. The limb fell away with a dull thud into the snow. Blood sprayed in a fine, arterial arc, then poured heavily from the stump in rhythmic gushes, soaking the white ground in dark, glistening pools.
The man screamed.
Jeongguk did not look at him.
“Jeongguk!” Namjoon’s voice cut through the chaos — sharper now.
Still, Jeongguk did not react.
The attacker collapsed, clutching the ragged stump, dragging himself backward through snow already turning into slushy red mud. Desperation made him reach for something hidden.
Jeongguk stepped forward and brought his boot down hard. The crack of bone was loud and wet, followed by a strangled scream. He drove his sword downward next.
The blade punched through armor, through flesh, and deep into the frozen ground beneath with brutal finality. It pinned the man there like an offering to the earth. Blood bubbled up around the steel in thick, slow waves, spreading outward in dark blossoms that sank deeper into the snow with every heartbeat.
The forest fell quiet.
The remaining masked men hesitated — then broke and fled into the trees.
Jeongguk did not chase.
“Namjoon-hyung.” A single command, accompanied by a small tilt of his hand.
Namjoon moved immediately, pine scent sharp and crisp in the cold air as he took soldiers in pursuit. Jeongguk looked down at the dying man still impaled beneath him. The attacker coughed wetly. Thick, dark blood spilled from his mouth in uneven streams, splattering across the snow beside his cheek and mixing with the growing pool beneath his body.
“You’re… nothing,” he rasped, voice bubbling. “A mistake—”
Jeongguk pressed his boot down harder. The words dissolved into a wet, choking gurgle.
“This life is mine,” Jeongguk said quietly, his own sandalwood scent steady and intense beneath the metallic reek of blood. “I do not yield to command.”
He pulled the sword free.
The wet, sucking sound it made leaving the body was obscene — flesh and snow reluctantly releasing the steel. Blood immediately welled up from the deep puncture, thick and dark, pouring out in heavy pulses.
The final strike was clean and decisive. One swift motion that ended everything.
Silence returned.
Light snow began to fall again, delicate flakes trying to cover the carnage. Jeongguk straightened. Blood dripped steadily from the tip of his blade — slow, rhythmic drops that hit the snow and spread like ink bleeding into parchment. His side continued to bleed freely, the wound oozing dark blood mixed with the black threads of poison crawling beneath his skin.
He did not falter.
When Namjoon returned, pine scent cutting through the smoke and blood, Jeongguk was already turning away.
“We return to the fief,” he said calmly.
He walked forward, leaving behind snow stained deep red — a color the night could not fully hide.
The soldiers worked without pause.
Bodies were dragged through the snow in heavy, uneven pulls — armor scraping, fabric tearing, limbs leaving long, bloody grooves in the white. They piled the corpses near the edge of the camp where the wind was weakest.
Then came the fire.
It started reluctant, almost hesitant in the bitter cold, but soon roared to life. Orange flames swallowed red-soaked cloth and flesh. Thick black smoke curled upward, carrying the heavy stench of iron, charred meat, and burned hair. The scent of death rose with it, bitter and cloying.
It was necessary. Not for them — but for the commoners beyond the border who should never have to see what the snow had hidden.
They were still in the blurred stretch of land between North and East — a forgotten territory where blame passed like currency.
Jeongguk watched the pyre from a distance, sandalwood scent steady and unmoved beneath the smoke. He did not step closer. He did not stare for long.
The East was closer.
Kang Minsoo was closer.
And from what Jeongguk had seen before, the eastern prince was capable enough with a blade. But these attackers had not been ordinary. Their strikes were trained, their poison refined, their coordination practiced and layered with deception.
If Kang Minsoo had faced them alone, he would have lost more than an arm.
Jeongguk exhaled once, quietly.
Still, orders were orders. He never questioned them aloud.
Behind him, Namjoon’s heavy boots crunched through the snow, pine scent arriving sharp and grounding before his voice did.
“Will you really not stop by the palace?”
Jeongguk did not look up. He dipped his hands into water from a flask, washing away the dried blood. It ran off in thin red streams, diluting into pink as it hit the snow.
“No.”
Namjoon shifted his weight. “The king needs to know of this victory, Jeongguk-ah. It’s also the right time to request supplies. We’re running low again.”
Jeongguk’s hand paused briefly on the cloth he was using to clean his sword. Then he continued, wiping the blade with slow, methodical strokes until the steel gleamed once more, reflecting only firelight.
“We are always running low,” he said evenly. “That is not new.”
He sheathed the sword with a soft, final click.
“Those handouts were never rewards. Only obligations disguised as generosity.”
He stood.
“We return to the fief.”
Namjoon nodded once. “Understood, Your Grace.”
As soldiers prepared to move and the fire continued devouring what remained, Jeongguk remained still for a moment longer. The red moon burned overhead, staining the world without warming it.
If the Moon Goddess was watching, she gave no sign.
He thought, not unkindly, that this was simply what it took to keep her world intact. Then he turned and walked toward the horses without looking back.
.
When they reached the estate, the gates stood already open.
Snow had been cleared in hurried, uneven lines, fresh footprints layered over older ones. Servants stood in neat formation along the path, torches burning brightly on either side of the entrance, their light flickering against cold iron and stone.
Yoongi and Hoseok waited at the front. They did not bow at once. They simply watched him arrive — alive, bloodied but whole enough — before moving forward.
“Welcome back, Your Grace.”
Their voices overlapped with the servants’, softer with relief than formality. Jeongguk gave a small nod. That was enough.
Hoseok stepped forward first. His warm apricot scent, layered with wood-smoked grounding notes, reached Jeongguk before the embrace did. He pulled the alpha into a brief, firm hug. Jeongguk allowed it without resistance, exhaling once as the tension of the long ride finally loosened by a fraction.
“Messy again,” Hoseok murmured.
“Always,” Jeongguk replied.
Yoongi approached next. He had never liked full contact, but he still reached out — brief and familiar — pulling Jeongguk into something halfway between a hug and a quiet inspection. His cool mint scent cut cleanly through the lingering iron and blood still clinging to Jeongguk’s skin.
“You’re late,” Yoongi said.
“I’m alive,” Jeongguk answered.
“That’s not the standard I asked for.”
A faint pause.
Yoongi sighed, accepting it anyway. Hoseok ushered them inside. The warmth of the estate swallowed them immediately — fireplaces already lit, halls prepared in quiet anticipation.
Jeongguk barely crossed the threshold before they guided him upstairs. He let them without argument.
The bedroom was ready. Clean clothes laid out. Bath drawn. Steam rose faintly against the doorframe. Yoongi followed him in without ceremony.
Servants assisted only when needed — passing towels, fresh water, ointments — then quietly left. There was no awkwardness. Only routine built over years of returns exactly like this: broken, stained, still standing.
Jeongguk sat at the edge of the large wooden tub as Yoongi worked.
Warm water loosened the crusted blood. Dark stains came off in layers — first bright red, then the stubborn blackened traces of poison that clung to his skin before slowly dissolving. Yoongi’s mint scent stayed steady through the steam, cool and clean, anchoring the space.
Jeongguk closed his eyes. Not from pain. From long habit.
Yoongi’s fingers moved methodically. He first tended the wound on Jeongguk’s arm — raw and angry where the poison had eaten deepest. He cleaned it thoroughly, then applied a thick layer of ointment before wrapping it with precise, practiced bandages. His mint scent deepened slightly with focus.
Then he turned to the worse injury — the deep gash on Jeongguk’s side from the masked attacker’s dagger.
The wound was ugly. A long, jagged slice that had torn through muscle. Blood still oozed slowly from the edges, dark and thick, mixed with the lingering black threads of poison that spidered outward beneath the skin. The flesh around it was swollen and inflamed, the cut deep enough to reveal the raw red beneath.
Yoongi’s brow tightened.
“It’s nothing serious,” Jeongguk said without opening his eyes.
“I know,” Yoongi replied calmly.
He dipped a clean cloth into the warm water and pressed it firmly against the gash. Jeongguk didn’t flinch as Yoongi wiped away fresh blood and crusted residue. The omega worked carefully but without hesitation, his cool mint scent curling around them both in the steam-filled room.
Once the wound was clean, Yoongi scooped a generous amount of healing ointment onto his fingers and began to spread it directly into the deep gash. His touch was firm, sliding the salve deep into the torn flesh to coat every inch of the raw muscle. The ointment stung where it met open tissue, but Jeongguk remained still, only the faint tightening of his jaw betraying the burn.
Yoongi’s fingers moved along the length of the wound, pressing the ointment in thoroughly, ensuring it reached the deepest parts of the slice. Blood and salve mixed into a glossy sheen along the edges. When he was satisfied, he wrapped the entire area with clean bandages, binding it tightly to stem the slow oozing.
The entire process was intimate in the most practical way — bare skin, careful hands, familiar silence. They had done far more than this during ruts and heats. Touch like this carried no weight between them. It simply existed.
When it was finished, Yoongi helped Jeongguk out of the bath and draped a loose robe around his shoulders.
By the time they stepped back into the main room, the fireplace burned bright. A cup of coffee waited on the table — Hoseok’s quiet contribution.
Yoongi wiped his hands on a towel. “The papers and ink are on the desk,” he said. “Call for me when you’re done.”
Jeongguk glanced at him.
Yoongi met his gaze, unbothered. “You act like I haven’t known you for years, Jeongguk-ah.”
A pause.
Then Yoongi opened the door. “The letter will be sent immediately after… Your Grace.”
He left with that.
Silence returned.
Jeongguk sat at the desk and wrote without hesitation.
To His Majesty, King of the North,
Border incursion resolved. All hostile masked units eliminated.
Engagement confirmed organized and trained; coordinated tactics and refined poison observed. Threat level exceeded prior intelligence.
Northern forces sustained minimal injury. One confirmed poisoning, now stabilized.
Operation concluded without need for reinforcement.
—Jeon Jeongguk, Duke of the Northern March
He set the pen down and called for Yoongi. No extra words passed between them. The letter was sealed and sent without delay.
That night, Jeongguk remained on the sofa. Firelight crackled softly, casting slow shadows. The faint scent of mint still lingered from Yoongi’s presence, mixing with the smoke and the distant warmth of apricot from Hoseok earlier.
He did not move again. Coffee cooled untouched beside him. At some point his eyes closed. He stayed dressed and seated, as if rest was simply another state he could enter without permission.
.
Days later, the estate had settled into its quiet rhythm whenever Jeongguk remained for any length of time. The office was once again buried under stacks of paper — reports, ledgers, petitions, border requests, and tax adjustments deliberately delayed until his return.
Jeongguk worked through them steadily.
Yoongi stood beside the desk, leaning lightly against it as he guided him through each document with calm precision. His mint scent remained cool and steady in the room.
“This one affects supply allocation to the western villages,” Yoongi said, tapping the page. “Approve if you want to maintain current distribution. Reject if you want redistribution based on last quarter’s harvest data.”
Jeongguk marked it without looking up.
“This is a delayed taxation appeal,” Yoongi continued. “Third time this month.”
“Denied,” Jeongguk said flatly.
Yoongi hummed in acknowledgment.
The rhythm continued — methodical, repetitive, controlled.
Until a sharp knock cut through the air.
Not the usual courteous tap of servants. This was hurried, almost frantic. Yoongi straightened at once and moved to the door.
A young messenger stood there, breathless, face flushed from running. “The letter — from the palace — His Majesty wrote back personally—”
Yoongi’s brow lifted slightly. He took the letter without a word, dismissed the boy, and closed the door.
“Well,” he said mildly as he walked back to the desk, “either you did something very important… or very inconvenient.”
Jeongguk took the heavier parchment and ripped open the seal.
His eyes scanned the page once. Then again.
And stopped.
To Jeon Jeongguk, Duke of the Northern March,
Your service at the border is acknowledged.
In recognition of your continued loyalty and effectiveness in maintaining Northern stability, the Crown issues a formal reward.
You are hereby granted a political union.
The omega son of the Park royal line of the South — Park Jimin — is assigned as your betrothed.
This arrangement is established under royal directive for the strengthening of alliances between territories and is not subject to refusal.
Refusal will be interpreted as an act of disloyalty to the Crown.
—By order of His Majesty, King of the North
Silence settled heavily.
Jeongguk lowered the letter slowly back onto the desk. His expression remained unchanged. Only his fingers tightened once around the edge of the paper before releasing it.
“…How generous of them,” he muttered.
Flat. Almost uninterested.
He leaned back in his chair, gaze already drifting away from the letter as though it had never truly mattered.