Chapter 1

The palace courtyard was bathed in the dying light of a crimson sun. Gold-threaded banners fluttered in the evening wind, and the sound of clashing blades rang like bells of war.

Taehyung moved with the grace of a feline and the precision of a killer. Every step was calculated, every flick of his wrist precise, arrogant. He smiled like a man who knew his beauty could wound deeper than his sword.

Jungkook hated that smile.

“Your stance is sloppy,” Taehyung purred, circling him.

“And yours is as pretentious as your voice,” Jungkook growled back, parrying with a strike that barely missed Taehyung’s cheek.

The crowd watched from the shadows—courtiers, guards, maybe even spies. But the world narrowed to two hearts racing in rhythm. Blades kissed again, and the moment stretched—charged, trembling with something unspoken.

They were enemies. Bound by bloodlines soaked in resentment.

And yet…

Their eyes locked. Breathless. Close. Too close Taehyung's voice dropped to a whisper. “Tell me, Jeon Jungkook… when you dream, is it of killing me… or something else entirely?”

Jungkook shoved him back hard.

“I don’t waste my dreams on you.”

But he did.

And that night, lying in the barracks with his hand fisted beneath the covers, he dreamt of that smirk and the taste

of skin beneath silk robes.

...----------------...

Jungkook hated court banquets. The air always felt too perfumed, the smiles too sharp. And yet, here he stood—sheathed in stiff ceremonial silk, hair tied high, jaw clenched as nobles paraded past him like peacocks in heat.

He should’ve been focused on his mission. The Crown Prince’s security came first. Always.

But his eyes kept wandering.

To him.

Kim Taehyung, draped in deep blue robes embroidered with golden dragons, lounged against a lacquered column like he owned the night. He was laughing—genuinely, gorgeously—with Lady Miyoung, the Minister of War’s daughter. She leaned in closer, fingers brushing his sleeve as if by accident. Her laugh, all breath and promise, grated against Jungkook’s nerves like a rusted blade.

Taehyung didn’t pull away. In fact, he smiled wider.

Jungkook’s fist tightened around the hilt at his waist.

“You’re scowling,” came a voice to his left. It was Seokjin, elegantly bored, sipping plum wine like it offended him.

“She’s making a fool of herself.”

“She’s trying to secure a marriage alliance,” Seokjin corrected. “As she should. Taehyung’s family name still means something.”

Jungkook’s jaw twitched. “He’s a reckless showoff with a pretty face.”

“And yet you haven’t stopped watching that face all night.”

Jungkook didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. His silence was a confession.

Across the courtyard, Taehyung caught his gaze—and winked.

The bastard.

Later, under moonlight thick with humidity and hidden desires, Jungkook found himself in the training hall, slicing at shadows. His sword sang through the air in a blur of frustration and fire. Every move, every breath, was an attempt to forget the way Taehyung had smiled at her. Had smiled at him.

“Jealousy makes you sloppy.”

Jungkook spun. Taehyung was there—of course he was—leaning in the doorway with that same insufferable smirk.

“You followed me?”

“You looked like you needed someone to remind you where your eyes belong.”

“I don’t have time for your games.”

“Don’t lie to me, Jungkook. You want this as much as I do.”

Taehyung stepped into the room, slow and deliberate. Their eyes locked again, just like they had on the sparring grounds.

“You can flirt with nobles all you want,” Jungkook muttered, “but it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh?” Taehyung’s voice dropped. “Then why did you storm out like a jilted lover?”

Jungkook didn’t answer. Instead, he pressed the tip of his blade to Taehyung’s throat, just enough to feel the hitch in his breath.

Taehyung’s lips curved. “Careful, Jeon. I might start thinking you enjoy putting me on my knees.”

Jungkook’s voice was low. Dangerous. “Don’t tempt me.”