3
The streets of Kim Kingdom buzzed under the soft golden light of lanterns, their glow swaying with the night breeze. Tae had covered her face with a sheer scarf, her royal robes replaced with a plain linen tunic and deep brown cloak. She moved through the market alone, silently, unnoticed — just the way she wanted it.
She needed to see.
Not from a throne, not through reports or polished words, but through her people’s laughter, their voices, their lives. She wanted to know if they were happy. If she was truly building a kingdom worth the price they had all paid.
The scent of roasted chestnuts, fresh herbs, and night blossoms mixed in the air. Children ran past her feet. Couples shared warm food and soft glances. Laughter rose like music.
kim taehyung ( tae)
💭this is what I fought for.
But then—
A crowd burst from one of the nearby taverns, spilling into the market street with drunken joy and chaos. Tae tried to step back, but the sudden motion of bodies caught her in a wave she couldn’t control.
She stumbled.
Feet tangled, balance lost—until her hands collided with a warm, solid chest.
Her breath caught.
A hand reached out instantly, steadying her, fingers brushing her face gently. Her scarf had slipped just enough to expose the edge of her cheek, and a lock of hair had fallen forward.
The man’s fingers — calloused but careful — tucked it behind her ear with a gentleness that froze her.
And then... she smelled it.
That familiar scent.
Sandalwood. Ink. Blossoms. The scent that lived in her chambers long after someone had left.
Her heart stilled.
kim taehyung ( tae)
💭Jungkook.
Her eyes darted up, wide and searching — but the man was already gone.
Gone like mist.
She turned frantically, eyes scanning every shadow, every alley, every lantern-lit corner. But he wasn’t there. As if he had never been.
Only the echo of his touch remained. And that scent. That aching, lingering scent.
He didn’t expect to see her.
He had just returned from the eastern village, where he’d helped rebuild a crumbled wall and left quietly before anyone could thank him. That had become his routine. Serve. Protect. Leave. Stay in the background.
But fate had a cruel sense of timing.
He turned the corner of the lantern-lit street and suddenly—there she was.
Disguised, cloaked, moving like a shadow through her own kingdom. He knew it instantly — the shape of her shoulders, the weight in her steps, the quiet grace in her stillness. Even in the crowd, he could feel her like a pull in his chest.
He barely had time to move before the crowd surged, shoving her into him.
And then—
She was in his arms.
Even if just for seconds.
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t dare.
But his fingers lifted, almost without thought, brushing the hair from her face like he had done so many times before. And when he saw her eyes—those eyes that once looked at him like he was her world—it nearly broke him.
He let the moment pass. He let it die.
Because he couldn’t stay.
He slipped into the crowd before she could speak, before she could look closer. But his heart—
His heart was still there.
Still in her hands.
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