Frozen Throne, Burning Heart
Beneath the King's Gaze
The melody swirled through the throne room like a whispered secret. Slow, haunting, laced with an unspoken tension.
Taehyung let himself sink into the music. His body moved like silk in the wind—each step measured, each turn controlled, every flick of his sleeve a deliberate stroke on an unseen canvas.
But unlike the festival, where he had danced for a cheering crowd, this performance was different.
The only audience that mattered now was the man seated on the golden throne.
Even as Taehyung twirled, the flowing sleeves of his white hanbok tracing elegant arcs in the air, he could feel it—a weight heavier than the crown itself.
Cold. Calculating. Unmoved.
Most men would have been entranced, if not by the dance, then by the dancer himself. Taehyung had seen it before—how people watched him, their eyes filled with awe or longing.
Not a flicker of admiration. Not a hint of indulgence. Only a silent, merciless judgment.
Taehyung’s chest tightened.
What does he want from me?
The music slowed, signaling the end. He lowered himself into a deep bow, hands gracefully spread, breath steady despite the tension twisting inside him.
For a moment, the room held its breath.
Jeon jungkook
That is enough
Jungkook’s voice cut through the silence.
Taehyung lifted his head slightly, waiting for the king’s next words.
Jungkook leaned forward, resting his chin against his hand. His dark robes, lined with gold embroidery, pooled around him like shadows.
Jeon jungkook
You will dance when I command it. Nothing more.
A statement. Not a compliment, not even an acknowledgment of skill—just an order.
Taehyung lowered his gaze again, hiding the flicker of something—resentment? disappointment?—that briefly crossed his face.
Kim taehyung
Yes, Your Majesty.
The moment he was dismissed, Taehyung turned to leave, careful not to let his steps falter under the weight of Jungkook’s presence.
But as he walked through the long corridors of the palace, he felt something just as dangerous.
Not the king’s, but those of the courtiers, the ministers, the concubines and servants who had witnessed the scene.
Whispers followed him like ghosts.
? ? ?
He caught the king’s attention, but for how long?
？？？
The king is not one to be swayed by beauty alone.
？？？
A mere performer… what place does he have here?
Taehyung kept walking. He had spent years performing before powerful men, enduring their scrutiny. But something about this court—this palace—felt different.
Here, every glance held hidden meanings. Every whispered word carried a hidden threat.
And in the center of it all sat a king without warmth, a ruler without mercy.
Taehyung clenched his fists inside the loose sleeves of his robe.
He had thought his fate was sealed the moment the king chose him.
But perhaps—he had only just entered the game.
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