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sugaxjpg · 7 years ago

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the lionheart’s oath; m

⤷ “There was no happy ending, no dragon slayer to save the kingdom and get the princess — there was only him: Jungkook. A simple orphan that was lucky enough to be invited into the castle, a former homeless thief that had found shelter in the form of an elysian heir.

Now, after twelve years by your side, he was about to lose you to the world you sought to explore.”

✓ Couple: Jungkook x Reader | Knight!AU and Princess!AU

✓ Filed under: angst, fluff, smut, fantasy

✓ Look out for: violence, death

✓ Words: 36, 772

Author’s Note: Recommended song [x] | The poem she reads is this one: [x] | MAP OF REPHYC | I decided to join the two parts, and now the monster is back together. I’m sorry in advance for this.

“And while we're in our laughing, weeping fit,

Hurl helmets, crowns, and swords into the pit.

But, dear, cling close to me; since you were gone,

My barren thoughts have chilled me to the bone.”

— William Butler Yeats

The amber-bathed trees stood out against the turquoise sky, its leaves patiently dancing to the sound of the cool autumn breeze. As the night slowly approached in the skyline, the passing clouds were tinged in coral and lavender; gracefully reflecting its luminescence onto the sea. The everlasting waters were surprisingly calm that day, kindly embracing the sand before leaving the coast behind; the soft sound of the waves turning into a peaceful melody to the ears of lonely sailors.

For a traveler, the sight of those immaculate lands could be considered a mystical landscape, for the simple way they so ethereally combined: a perfect harmony only nature could achieve, waltzing to form the beautiful kingdom of Ceres. If such adventurer were to walk beyond the docks and into the village, there might be a chance to catch its residents as they ever so gradually retrieved back to their homes, candles lighting up as the star-encrusted darkness covered the place with delicacy. Exploring beyond the humble residencies, a street market would welcome the visitor with open arms, its quietness contrasting with the usual effervescent buzz that filled the crowded streets; and, at last, the chapel awaited right besides the beige library, its doors always open for late visitors.

Still, the true focus would reside on top of a hill: a monochromatic construction that stood out in the midst of an ocean of trees — the castle. From the lower of servants to the highest of monarchy, the ones living inside of it would be deeply asleep by the time a special door opened with a faint creek. Inside the now empty chambers, the clear curtains swinged in the wind, bringing along the vague smell of the sea; a pleasant scent that would not reach the Princess’ senses, for she was long gone.

Your rushed footsteps did not make a sound against the marble staircase, your cloak-covered body no more than a silhouette in a gargantuan cosmos wrapped in ebony. The pearly tone of the moon passed through the massive, dusty window behind you, dripping over the unoccupied Great Halls of the castle in the form of a phantasmagorical light.

However, you could not pay attention to any of those factors — you were late.

The paintings of angels and fantastic creatures stared down at you, impassive eyes forever eternalized on the castle’s ceiling. As much as you did not believe in the myths that whispered throughout the hyperborean corridors of your home, those figures were still as eerie as the spectral connotations they brought along; perfectly portrayed in fine oil strokes, their smooth skin shining against the moonlight — just as pallid; just as cadaverous.

You did not know where you heard those legends for the first time, but they were always present as you grew old. Myths of vengeful ghosts, bloodthirsty monsters and immortal warlocks; beasts that lived in the shadows, searching for desperate spirits as their source of vitality. One of the most infamous was regarding the genesis of those same artworks, for they almost seemed to be in constant change: deviations in poses; volatile expressions; or even new beings appearing out of the blue. Some even believed that the castle itself was one of such horrible beasts, sucking in the souls of the ones who died within those walls, trapping them for eternity.

Regardless of what most tales would claim, the figures remained there, unmoving, as you passed by.

Upon arriving at the obscure kitchen, you started looking around for any signs that you were not alone. Amongst the quietness of the night, your eyes traveled from the now empty wooden table to the dirty windows above the long counters. Against the diffuse luminescence, dust particles floated like pale fireflies, its calmness contrasting with the heavy beating of your heart — no matter how many times you sneaked out, you could never quite shake the feeling that you were being watched; the apprehension surrounding your head like insects to a flame.

Those nocturnal escapades were one of the few elements able to hold you to the remnants of your patience, appearing like a glow of freedom after endless days of boring chores. That being said, no matter how concerned you felt, there was nothing in that motionless night that would make you head back to your chambers; no incertain punishment that could take away the nectarous taste of that ephemeral freedom. It was always worth it.

With feather-like movements, you found your way towards a small door hidden near the corner of the room, suffocated by its shadows — your passageway to the back gardens, which would finally welcome you to the outsides of the castle. Patiently and carefully, one of your hands found the rusty handle as the other placed the key in the hole and twisted it, careful not to make any sou—

“—Where do you think you’re going, young lady?”

The universe came to a brusque stop. The hoarse, male voice echoed through the room as a panic-stricken euphoria took over your senses, drying your throat and paralyzing your muscles as if you were a deer in front of a starving lion; and, depending on the person behind you, it could be even worse.

You took the key out of the lock, hiding it on the palm of your closed hand as you cautiously turned around to meet your new companion. The silhouette was standing underneath the doorframe, observant to every move of your body.

“I am not— I’m—” you rambled, unable to form a coherent sentence. The stranger’s face was unrecognizable in the twilight, features blurring as he slowly walked towards you, his long cloak almost caressing the asperous stone floor. The sounds of his approaching presence seemed muffled to your years, the arrhythmic progression in your chest booming inside your head. It was only when the person passed in front of the square-shaped windows that you had a flash of his curious expression shimmering in the moonlight, lips curving up in a slight smile, attempting not to laugh at your distress, “Jungkook?” you questioned.

At last, a muffled laugh from his part ruptured the thickness of your exasperation, “You look completely terrified,” the man smiled, playfulness returning to monopolize his tone. That simple action was enough for the previous fear to morph into anger; bubbling inside your stomach, spreading across your arms and exploding in a punch against his shoulder, “Ouch! What was the need of that?” he exclaimed.

“Gods, you scared me!” you exclaimed, desperately attempting to keep your voice low. The boy took a hand to the place you had hit, rubbing it as he pretended to feel pain, “I thought it was someone else — and don’t even try to act as if I hurt you, I have seen you get stabbed at least eight times before.” quickly, you censored him.

Jungkook seemed to grow even more amused at your reaction — you could see his infantile excitement coruscating within his stygian irises like it carried a purity of its own, “After twelve years, you are continue to be scared of me,” he teased, letting his arm fall back to his side. His smile did not subside, a spark of affection flashing in his rose-colored lips as he started at you, lost in the way your cheeks were tinged with coral, “I must say, that is quite adorable of you, Princess.” he said.

With a whisper, you cut his reveries short, “Quiet,” you hissed, a bit irritated at how casual he was acting — your friend had truly gotten used to those adventures, and that was not a good characteristic for you: it often instigated careless mistakes, “we are already late, we will be lucky if the guards are still away from the gate.” you elucidated.

Jungkook, asymmetrically to you, remained unbothered by such hypothesis, “Please, refresh my memory,” he asked as you faced the door once again, now quicker to unlock it. It got stuck, but that was turning into a mundane aspect of your late night adventures. The boy stretched his arm in a natural reflection and, with a firm pull, opened it,“when was the last time they weren’t?”

The image of the garden was serene, the polychromatic flowers oscillating in the faint melody of a lackadaisical midnight wind. Your answer came right after, floating in the space in between the two of you as you felt the embrace of the cool breeze covering every centimeter of your body, “Two months ago,” you told the boy without a trace of hesitation. Jungkook followed you soon after, closing the passage behind him with an small click! “when you fell asleep.” you concluded.

He cleared his throat, “I was tired—”

“—Last week,” you continued, “when you forgot.”

Hesitating, he battled to construct a response, “It was a hard day, there were th—”

“—Yesterday,” you finished, turning around. Jungkook abruptly stopped, wide-eyed, “when you got distracted by an owl.”

Clearly accepting his defeat, you watched as his shoulders fell in hopelessness, “It had purple feathers,” Jungkook counterclaimed in a child-like mumble. Disregarding his odd explanation instantaneously, you rolled your eyes at that, going back to your original track. You fought back a smile as you heard the sounds of his rushed footsteps following you close behind, mingling with the vague rustle of the golden-painted leaves, “Tell me, Princess, how often do we see that?” he inquired.

Now reaching the borders of the garden area, your movements got a bit more lethargic, yet attentive; the cloak covering your head now seeming much more claustrophobic than before, heating your senses into absolute vigilance, “No it had not,” your voice sounded rispid, but certain. Underneath your shoe, a leaf cracked.

You were about to say something else, perhaps comment on his vivid imagination, when something caught your attention — two guards. Like a lightning bolt that struck your body, you crouched down behind the stone walls that margined the place, breath caught in your throat. Jungkook, being known for his immediate responses, did not waste a second before doing the same, moving to your side and resting his back against the grey surface. For a moment, only silence lingered. Had they seen you? Heard you, perhaps?

“I swear by my life, it did,” he whispered, still regarding what your previous topic. Jungkook pressed his lips together as you did not respond — instead censoring his demeanor with a fulminating stare — and breathed out, “Oh dear, it seems like we did arrive late, haven’t we?” the boy lamented.

Taking a brave shot, you looked above the pile of rocks, your cimmerian cloak mingling perfectly with the tenebrosity of night. Promptly, you saw that the King’s loyal scouts skirted the gates with long swords hanging from their waistlines, their silver armor trapped in the porcelain haze of the moon. Comparing their presence with the vivacious garden that mushroomed all around you two, those faceless men appeared to morph into the very image of punishment; always ready to follow orders — slay the ones who dared to enter the realms of the castle. It was too much of risk: if they did not wound you, they would certainly tell of your adventures to your parents.

Moving back to your previous position — with your back against the wall — you turned to your companion, “This is all your fault,” you threw back in an astringent mumble, slightly angry at his characteristic tranquility. You knew that Jungkook was used to situations where his body was drowning in adrenaline, but it still frustrated you that he seemed so impassive being presented with those altitudinous, phlegmatic figures, “I cannot believe that I will have to spend another night in the castle.” you complained.

Jungkook’s speech vacillated for a second, his mercurial mind seeming to dive into the profound seas of thought. That was never a good sign, “Tell me, Princess, how badly do you want to go out?” he inquired, voice lacking any sort of sentiment.

You frowned, confused at his unexpected inquiry, “What was that supposed to—”

“—Answer the question, (y/n),” he interrupted.

Falling into reticence, your lips closed. Jungkook was correct — after all those years, there were still some fragments of his personality that you could never grow accustomed to, and him saying your name so comfortably — so unexpectedly — was one of them. There was no “Princess”, no “Highness”; no fake sense of superiority that seemed to surround you ever since the moment you were born. It was only you, his friend. And that was the best you could have ever wished for.

Jeon Jungkook was, as you came to realize, as volatile as the colors that bathed the sky, changing and adjusting to every new situation with flawless grace. When he was only a lost kid, he was weak and wandering as a pale sunrise — roaming the streets as a vagabond, blending in the crowds like a disoriented phantasm. The orphan was just a speck of dust within the cosmos that was the village, his primordial need to survive being the only aspect that kept him moving throughout those infinite days, stealing one meal at a time. It were those combined elements, however, that caused for him to cultivate exceptional fighting skills.

So outstanding, in fact, that it caught the Queen’s attention.

It was winter when she decided to visit the chapel; a frigid, cloudy atmosphere that almost kept her inside the warm castle walls. The trees were completely still at that windless day, their naked branches resembling claws, faithlessly stretching out upwards to touch the achromatic horizon. As the sovereign was escorted towards her destination, a distant — imprecise — glimpse of a commotion found its way inside her thoughts, making her forget the primordial intent of her travel. The sounds of combat grew louder as she moved closer, the knights by her side making sure she would not get near danger. Even years later — when she would find herself falling into the details of that peculiar tale — she would claim that something was calling for her; a force she could not quite explain that pulled her with insubstantial strings. And she obeyed, naive.

What the monarch found was not like anything she had ever experienced before: it was a kid, no more than twelve years old, holding to a blood-covered dagger like it was the only thing keeping him chained to the bitterness of substantiality. Shock was dripping from his black irises, a clear curtain of tears starting to accumulate over his eyes, blurring the details of the two, heavy-breathing bodies on the ground around him. Bathed by sanguine, the sand beneath his feet appeared to be alive.

The Queen did not know what induced her to take Jeon Jungkook under royal protection. Maybe it was the innocence in his eyes, maybe it was her surprise when she discovered that the boy was capable to unarm and defeat two grown men. Whatever it had been, she had seen something in him, a sense of predestined encounters that she could not bare to neglect. It was almost too perfectly architectured that such thieves would select the only person that would not grow coward when faced with their empty threats, that would not shake in fear at the sight of their morbid blade; and then do it at the very same day that the Queen herself walked those dirty market streets.

That was the moment the pale sunrise morphed into a rising star, burning the sky in apricot and shining in the cyan ocean of ivory clouds. As the years moved forward, the orphan grew into a talented young warrior, serving as a loyal scout to his masters and learning at every opportunity they could offer. It did not take long for his abilities to drip through the cracks and, soon, Jeon Jungkook had become part of the kingdom’s whispers, sculpted into the image of Hercules himself. He was invincible, some dared to say. Never lost one fight, never bathed a sword with his own blood.

Inside the castle gates, nonetheless, things were a bit different.

As much as he did win against other young — experienceless — trainees, his teachers were not so easy to go against. He had lost count of how many times he fell to the mud, being kicked by a man twice his size as he pleaded for mercy. “Knights don’t beg,” it was all that he would get in return, along with another strong hit that would cause him to cringe in agony.

By the time nightfall came and the boy returned to his quarters, he was furious; flaming in frustration. Cursed by sore muscles, thin crimson cuts, excruciating headache, and broken breaths — in such deplorable state, Jungkook could only fall on his bed, pondering on about escaping that small fragment of hell he dwelled in. Only hypothesis, though. Soon after, he was being immersed by a world of dreamless sleep. The days kept blooming and withering — gradually, the idea of running away became less and less seductive.

Jungkook was coming down into a faithless sunset when he first met you.

“You are bending your knees too much,” your voice resounded as he walked towards the bathing rooms, making him stop right away. His shoulders grew rigid as he turned to find the source of that melodious tone, surprised to see that it was the Princess herself, “I think Sir Aksel is waiting for you to notice, but I have far less faith in you.” you spoke further.

“What do you know?” he questioned, stubborn. The last thing he needed was for a silly, sheltered heir to tell him how to defend himself, “Last time I checked, I was the—”

“—You talk a lot for someone who bends their knees when attacking,” you interrupted his heroic speech before it even commenced. Being the only ones at the silver-toned halls, your posture was notoriously different from how he typically saw you: more relaxed, tired even. Perhaps he was not the only one under exhaustive training, after all, “I know you do not wish for my advice, but do not be so proud, Sir Jeon, you still have a lot to learn.” you said.

He had the vague impression that your bottomless eyes saw beyond his harsh expression and into his vulnerable spirit. He absolutely despised that sensation; hated how right you might have been,“I’m no Sir,” Jungkook corrected promptly, barely aware that he had done so. It had become so natural. It never truly wore away.

With a suspire, you placed your hands before your dress, slowly moving forward with your previous destination, “Not yet. And you won’t be if you keep disregarding the truth,” you counterclaimed as you walked past his petrified figure. The young orphan only followed you with his gaze. Jeon was about to reply when you gave him a last look, making his lips fall shut at the sudden beauty he found within your features,“Don’t bend your knees.” anew, you warned.

His subsequent battle took place the very next day. Even without realizing, he fixed the position of his legs and, when he attacked, his knees did not angle one bit. His master fell to the ground with a groan muffled by his helmet, and the apprentice could not hold back a victorious smile. Jungkook was so flabbergasted, in fact, that he barely perceived the way his colleagues exploded in a storm of admired sighs and shocked exclamations; or the vague contour of a clear beige dress as one hidden spectator walked back inside the castle, happy that their advice had been heard.

Jungkook was coming down into a faithless sunset when he first met you. Many years later, right in front of your crouched shape, he was as atramentous as the glacial night surrounding you; tiny specks of leviancy scintillating like quivering stars in the universe of his onyx eyes. You swore you could outline constellations inside them, point out the marvelous contours of a dim, whiling galaxy.

“How badly do you want to go out?”

“More than anything,” you finally answered, waking up from your brief reveries. Maybe it was the affection in his eyes or the comforting smile on his pink, flower-shaped lips, but the nostalgia of his aura seemed to overlap your mind, the heaviness of your heart making you want to reply otherwise. “Why?”

“Oh, I’m not quite sure...” he trailed off with certain amusement. “I might have seen something move on the other side of the garden.”

“Jungkook...” you started, apprehensive. The knight looked attentively at you, raven hair trapping the lambency of the moon above, shining in an almost sanctified form, “What are you planning?” you inquired, not certain you wanted to discover his miraculous plan.

He presented you with a beautiful smile before pulling up his hood, hiding his own features with the penumbra of its shadows. Darkness fell over his sculptural features, but you could still perceive the unmistakable enthusiasm within his stare, “Do you trust me?” Jungkook questioned back.

“Never did,” you responded within a heartbeat, a bit worried about the way he turned around, searching for something. You used that moment to peek behind the rock walls, biting your lip at the vision of those armored figures as they skirted the place, impassive helmets making your stomach turn in sheer nervousness — one arch-shaped movement of those swords and you would be split in half. There was too much at stake, maybe it would be wiser to go back to yo—

You did not see it, but you heard it — the ruffle of Jungkook’s clothes as he, with all the force he had, threw an object all across the yard. You could only look up, stupefied, as a rock seemed to float in slow motion, eyes widening as the realization of his action hit you like a gigantic wave. He is insane, was all that you managed to think before the rock found the vegetation, passing through flowers and exploding against a tree in a dry exclamation.

The guards immediately turned their heads towards the source of the commotion, and wasted no time in moving quickly in such direction, the metallic echoes of their steps seeming to be the only thing able to overlap the immersive sound of your pulse. “In the name of the King, stop where you are!” one of them warned with a thunder-like voice, passing right beside the place you two were hiding. So close, in fact, that you flinched when his foot met the ground mere centimeters away from your pinky finger.

“(y/n),” Jeon whispered your name, making you look back at him again. The boy took your hand in his, the warm and inviting contact of his palm against yours dragging you back to your senses. His fingers filled the gaps of your own, and you were far too astonished by his previous action to even notice the way your chest tingled with infatuation, “We need to run. Now.” he urged.

And so you did.

The village was drowning in profound slumber by the time you two reached its primordial residencies. From humble to ostentatious, houses were covered by the touch of twilight, serving as the solace for its terrified inhabitants — curtains were pulled shut, no flame left to illuminate its interiors. In fact, it seemed like you and Jungkook were the two only living beings in a gelid, cadaverous cosmos of quietness and static; your reticent steps and mute shuffle of clothes being the only perturbations that filled such chimerical land.

As the two of you walked side by side, his hand was still intertwined in yours. You did not question the reason why his caresses still lingered, nor did you move away from his comforting touch, taking into consideration that you did not exactly despise such contact.

In fact, you enjoyed it quite a bit.

Alluring. That was the word that you better found to characterize your companion. Every little detail about him was absolutely mesmerizing, from his obsidian hair to his russet irises; soft, caramel skin to coral-painted lips, so delicate that seemed like two petals of a rose. The contours of his face had been carved with so much perfection that the young knight bordered on the image of a marble statue, a god-made beauty that contrasted the delicacy of his appearance with the harshness of his precise movements; the lack of hesitation during battle. His charisma, his courage, stamina, and the ability to be so volatile with every presented situation: that was what had caused for Jeon Jungkook to shine bright and fall back into ashes multiple times before. It was all those traits, physical or not, that waltzed in a single, prismatic personality that called you into one of the most fascinating beings you have ever encountered.

“What are you thinking about?” his voice shook you from your reveries, making a shameful warmth spread across your cheeks.

Used to masking your nervousness around him, your response came out promptly, “I cannot believe you did that, Jungkook,” you whispered, aggressiveness showing clearly on the depths of your rushed words. Internally, you thanked yourself for being able to keep your composure or, at least pretend to do so. “What if they saw us? Father would never let me step away from my chambers again.”

“They did not see us,” Jeon corrected, seeming even a bit prideful of his previous actions. “And, now, we have the night to ourselves, Princess. You should be thankful to have me by your side.”

“Most certainly,” you rolled your eyes, irony pulsating in your timbre, “who would throw rocks for me, if not the almighty Lionheart?” you sarcastically inquired.

You perceived as his shoulders tensed up at the mere verbalization of such title, “Do not use that against me,” the young man pouted, “you know I despise that name.”

As the calm breeze of the sea brought along its characteristic salty scent, you inhaled deeply, finding delight in such simple — yet liberating — action, “I like it,” you were honest when you spoke back, receiving an accusatory look in return, “truly, I think it fits you very well.” you spoke further.

He smiled at that idea, almost wickedly, “How so?”

But of course, you knew where his intentions dwelled, “You will not get me to inflate your ego, Sir Jeon,” you could not help but smile back, feeling his fingers squeeze yours. It was so subtle you almost did not notice, eyes lost in the deep sea that slowly welcomed you, surging in the horizon. “You shall look for it somewhere else.”

“Oh, pardon me, Your Highness,” Jungkook teased, playfully pressing his shoulder against your own, “How is your day moving along, Princess? How are you feeling in this lovely afternoon, Princess? Is there something I can assist you with, Princess?” he laughed.

It was profoundly irritating how flawlessly your mind recalled the vexious timbre of those lower class servants, echoing those sentences at the back of your mind — as much as you were truly grateful for their loyalty and assistance, the constant bickering could be extremely invasive to endure, “The gods continuously play games with my patience,” you took a deep breath, pretending to be more bothered than you actually felt. “How dare you use that against me?”

“Those people play games with mine. I do not know how you can take it every day,” the man confessed, seeming a bit exasperated at the idea of being in your position. There was no reason to blame him, though, you could not take it yourself at times, “The constant bickering, the questions, the privacy invasion… I would be incapable to be part of monarchy for one single day, imagine years.”

“Really, you encourage me,” you lightheartedly answered, voice sounding a bit weaker than before. Now, you could see the docks as they stretched into the infinity of indigo waters, awaiting your arrival with eternal patience — and the sound of the waves! Dear Gods, what a mellifluous symphony to your ears, “Thank you. It’s good to know I can always count with your emotional support.” you said.

“Always a pleasure,” Jungkook responded, choosing not to point out the sudden shift on the atmosphere. He noticed melancholy clawing its ways through your thoughts, and realized it would be wiser to change the subject before your discomfort grew further: as much as you masked it quite well, he knew you better than to believe you were not frequently haunted by the pressure, “Where are we heading today, Your Highness?” he then questioned.

As if you had been expecting that inquiry, your voice promptly permeated the nocturnal air, “The docks,” you told him. By the mere mention of those words, vitality returned to your body once more in the form of an infatuated gaze towards the young knight — Jungkook swore he could see the same child you once was, infantile reveries dancing just at the bottom of your pupils, “I want to see the ocean.” you spoke further.

Jungkook’s stare lasted a few seconds too long, and he saw himself unable to ignore the way the night celestially embraced your features; shadows of midnight casted just at the right places to turn your image into the very mirage of his daydreams, “As you wish,” he smirked, speaking up at last.

Back then, he could not tell what it was that induced him to fall into the whimsical lands of his past memories, the ones ornamented by your elegant presence. Before he could stop his own mind from drowning in those profound waters, the progression of your footsteps had already morphed into a muffled perturbation; the coldness of night was not felt as clearly as before. Then and there, as the two friends ruptured the darkness and moved towards a scintillating horizon, the knight discovered himself being transported to the sensations of his recallings.

Destiny had always been by his side. As the cruel passage of years moved forward, the castle walls narrowed, pushing you two together constantly. Jungkook would see the lovely — yet solitary — princess when he was about to join his masters in another exhaustive training; would see you as you were returning from your daily studies, heavy books in hand and a deep, exhausted frown covering your features. He would see you tracing pathless movements around the gardens, hair gleaming underneath the auriferous sunlight; or perhaps tugged in some hidden room, completely immersed in the inky pages of a book.

Regardless, time and time again, he would see you.

It took some time for the conversations to ease in, and even longer to have either of you to put down the walls you had built, reluctantly opening up to each other’s kindness. In the end, something other than a friendship started to bloom inside of him, a sense of deep fascination towards the person you were metamorphosing into. Instead of the image he had so naively projected of you — of a spoiled monarch, or perhaps a machiavellian ruler in the making — the trainee had found himself in front of a captive artist, a compassionate princess trapped inside the very own fortress that was supposed to protect her from the world.

That took him to his subsequent realization: above all, he shared your agony. The same pain responsible to tie your newborn friendship with divine force; the same anguish that caused for him to, instead of telling your parents about your nighttime escapades, accompany you into the veils of tenebrosity. You desired to have a taste of the world beyond the castle walls, and he felt the same.

The young knight did not know precisely when — how or even why — it happened, but Jeon seemed to have fallen in love with the one person he shall never have. Realization did not have a dramatic cue, did not have an abrupt entrance. Progressively, one adventure at a time, your eyes seemed to glow brighter, your smile capable to illuminate his entire universe. Jungkook dove deeper into your enchanting presence, shared his foolish dreams with someone who did not cut its wings. He felt like his very spirit was on fire when he saw you: heated cheeks and dry throat, shaky fingers and rambled speech. You were as incandescent as a flame — but you did not burn him, no: it felt deliciously warm. It felt like home.

And also felt like hell.

There was no chance, no future between you two, and he knew that like it was written on the stars.

At that epiphany, the heaviness that he held within his chest crushed him, consuming him like no tomorrow. It was agonizing, asphyxiating: to profoundly love someone, but be prohibited to fully do so. To be so close, but also separated by a complete stranger from a faraway, frigid land. There was no happy ending, no dragon slayer to save the kingdom and get the princess — there was only him: Jungkook. A simple orphan that was lucky enough to be invited into the castle, a former homeless thief that had found shelter in the form of an elysian heir.

So, when loving you morphed from paradise to purgatory, he just covered it all up, hoping you would never notice; praying to all the merciful gods above that you would not be as attentive as he was.

Crashing against the smooth sand, the sound of a wave brought him back into substantiality. The salty aroma of the sea was comforting to both of you, able to wipe your souls clean of every vestige of mundane preoccupations. As you finally reached the pier, his voice reverberated in between your bodies, rupturing his delusional feelings, “Any special motive for our visit to the bay?” the knight asked, slowly easing into his conclusion, “If I may be honest, you look quite different tonight.” he said.

Confusion overlapped your dreamy features as you received his constatation, eyes blinking a couple times as his words eased into your own ponderations. However, you did not move to look at him, but at the infinite waters ahead, “Do I?” absentmindedly, you inquired.

“Yes, a bit distracted, I would say,” he nodded. His hand was still holding dearly to yours, and he wished he never had to let it go, “Is there something bothering you?” Jungkook questioned.

Your speech vacillated underneath the arrival of trepidation, mind taking a moment to arrange the words you have been chewing on for the last couple of weeks. You could feel their claws as they found their way through your body and up your arid throat, finally being set free after so long trapped in your consciousness, “I have made a decision,” you begun, swallowing dry.

Clearly oblivious to the weight in your chest, the knight followed the movement of the caressing waves, relaxed features mingling perfectly with the pallid brushstrokes of moonlight, “What decision?” he questioned, interested.

Mayhaps, because of the peculiar manner you avoided to meet his gaze, Jungkook already knew that there was something wrong. Perhaps he had been subconsciously aware of it since the instant he first saw you that night, known that there was a cloud of reluctancy keeping you from relaxing your posture like you always did in his presence; a vague hesitation that quivered just at the back of your every movement; a secret aspect that covered your expectant gaze with a curtain of fear — apprehension; panic even.

Nevertheless, if he did know, he would never be ready to hear your subsequent confession.

“I am leaving.”

When he looked at you, slightly wide-eyed, the knight swore he forgot how to breathe for a second. You were magnificent, he thought, more sublime than all the masterpieces he had ever had the privilege of seeing. With your soft skin contoured by the silver moonlight and attention lost in the horizon, he could only take in every detail of your immaculate form — from the way your lips resembled pale petals to your curious eyes; glowing hair and magnetic aura.

Continuously, those details defined and revived the sentiment that lingered within his chest; called for the ghost of your presence, the phantasm that haunted him in the midst of his cloudy thoughts — right before he fell asleep; and then the first thing that crossed his mind as the morning sun shone inside his solitary chambers. Now, with those three words, every fantasy he once constructed came crumbling down, almost as if your spirit itself was dissipating before his eyes.

"Leaving?" Jungkook echoed, incredulous. That simple word seemed to rip through his chest, tearing his heart into little shreds, it was alien to him: it did not belong amongst the two of you, "What are you saying?" he inquired further, almost desperately so.

Following a fragile suspire, your lips moved as you constructed your answer, “I want to travel,” you pointed at the skyline, but he could not take his gaze away from your impassive features. His body was frozen, “I want to go where the ocean meets the sea, where no one knows who am I. Where I own nothing to the world, and the world owes me nothing in return...” you trailed off.

“You cannot simply leave,” Jungkook spat those words, shaking his head as if attempting to awaken from a bad dream. It was simply absurd, he thought. It was so uncharacteristic of you to put carelessness and impulsiveness before anything else, it did not make sense, “You have responsibilities to be fulfilled, you have… an entire kingdom, (y/n).” he said.

The mention of your name made your heart throb in sorrow. You absolutely despised how casual it sounded, how it held such a personal connotation. Jungkook was the only one, besides your parents, to call you that; to hold the key for the real person that lived inside the Princess’ hollow mask. — it was so, so unfair that he would use it against you in such a vulnerable position. It felt excruciating.

You felt like screaming, felt like falling to your knees and crying for the clemency of unseen gods and goddesses. It was all consuming you inside, an invisible poison that burned your flesh since the day a crown had been placed on top of your head, “I am not ready to rule,” you answered with artificial tranquility. Slowly and agonizingly, such confession healed your body, removing the weight of your life by offering verisimilar opportunities to escape it all,“and I am not sure I will ever be.” you added.

“I cannot see where that would come from, especially so suddenly,” at this point, your friend’s voice bordered on bargain, a faithless request for mercy. You wanted to look at him, but you were sure you would come crashing down if you did so, “perhaps you should reconsider.” he pressed on.

You cleared your throat — you would not cry, “Mother came to talk to me today,” you said, ignoring his last sentence. The events of early morning flooded your brain, bringing with it the torment they first provided: those same dusty shelves, the fancy tapestry ornamented by Nur’s gold, “She told me how my marriage will happen sooner than expected, considering how my father’s health has not been improving in the slightest.” you disclosed.

If he though his sadness could not grow deeper, those sentences dug the knife of anguish even deeper inside his pride and love, “How soon?” he asked, worried.

“Within a month,” you sighed, eyes still locked on the deep blue waves. They crashed all around you, their faint sounds unable to overlap the lassitude in your voice. “If everything goes as planned, I will meet my husband in the weeks to come.”

His fingers trembled slightly in between yours, but you did not notice. In fact, you barely felt that his hand was still there, holding tightly to his best friend’s presence, “I understand why you would not want to get married, but—”

“—It is more than that, Jeon,” you snapped your head at the boy, finally meeting his eyes. They were utterly covered by despair, you realised. So deep you could immerse yourself in them, so full of sorrow and solitude that you wished never to do so, “I was not born to be a queen, I can not take the constant pressure, or even the idea of taking care of an entire land. All of this? Is not made for me.” you said, fighting back on your aggressive impulses.

“You know I cannot let you do that, Princess,” he took a step towards you, making you turn your body to face him. It was unfair for you to move away from him just as simply, away from someone who had already walked this world alone. “It is my duty as the King’s knight to protect you, I have made an oath.”

“Jeon, this is more than us as royalty and protectors,” you pressured on, trying your best to make him see that your decision was not as ridiculous and infantile as it seemed. Maybe he thought you were a coward, you realized, a stupid little princess that could not fulfill her only duty in life — it did not matter, for that was the exact reason why you decided to flee, “We are friends, and I trust you with this information. If you tell someone, I will never forgive you for as long as I live.”

“You are right, this is beyond our roles,” Jeon accepted, but the harshness of his gaze did not subside. “And that is the reason why I cannot stand the idea of living in that forsaken castle without you by my side. Maybe this is me being egotistical, but you cannot leave me behind in such way. I will not be able to take it.”

Neither will I, you thought.

“Come with me, then,” you proposed after a short moment of placidity. His shoulders fell at that, perplexed at your sudden idea. At his eyes, the image of a rebel monarch and the girl he had fallen for danced in one meaningful gaze, falling into a totally new persona. The switch was so fluid, in fact, that the knight was left speechless at your request, “Let’s run away together, Jungkook.” you tried again.

The young boy swallowed his fear dry, “Princess—”

“—We can leave during the festival,” you continued, not bothering to pay attention to his defeated posture, “I am certain that it is our perfect chance. No one will notice if we find our ways inside a ship, the castle will be a chaos with all the preparations,” hesitancy hoovered between you too, making you add in a weak beg in one last attempt at his company. “Please, I also don’t want to go alone.”

Jungkook let out a shaky breath, irises quivering as his eyes attempted their best to decipher the sentiment that had been casted within the penumbra of your features, “I… I am sorry, Princess,” he looked down at the ground. In the middle of the wooden boards, the indigo waves came and went with every broken beating of his heart. His fingers let yours go and his hand fell back to his side. Instantly, you felt the coldness of such absence. “I cannot.”

The walk back to the castle was silent, suffocating. You could feel as the weight of you confession made the atmosphere around you two grow denser, his hand no longer touching yours; gazes no longer interlaced in hidden infatuation. Jungkook was immersed in tempestuous preoccupations, you could perceive that as clear as the stars that shone above: it was present within his rigid movements, his hanging head. It was the same posture he offered you when he lost a fight, the same sense of dishonor and complete shame that he so abominated.

You just never thought he would feel it towards you.

When you arrived at the gates, they were unguarded. Opaque and anemic clouds now covered the tenebrous sky, holding back the spectral glow of the moon and masking the attentive stars as they accompanied your quick steps towards the abandoned kitchen. The wind was gone, the garden was static; it seemed as if the night itself had adopted a different demeanor, adapting to the sorrow that grew within your intertwined hearts.

At last, the knight accompanied you to your chambers. Jungkook was still terribly reserved as he walked by your side up the long marble stairway, and then as he guided you throughout the moon-bathed corridors. Lost amidst that nocturnal obscurity, your best friend appeared like a lost phantasm — felt like one.

It was only when you reached the door to your room that you finally decided to rupture the quiescence with your timid tone, “Jungkook,” you called, leaning against the closed entrance with care. Underneath the palm of your hands, the wood felt dry and asperous, “thank you for helping me tonight.” you said.

“It was no problem,” he smiled at that, but sadness was still present within the corners of his timbre — it was lower than usual, dragged even. You could tell that your best friend was taking his time to digest everything you had disclosed aforetime, attempting his very best to fight past the storm of his overwhelming sadness, “If you permit an inquiry from my part, will we be going out tomorrow as well?” the knight questioned.

“So I hoped,” you confessed. “I want to see you again.”

Jungkook chuckled lightly. Even immersed in the darkness of the corridors, his beauty still bordered on one of a celestial being, mesmerizing even in its rawest form — the coldness of the moonlight reflected upon his lineaments like fine white lines, contouring his features and shining within his raven-like eyes. Once again, he appeared to be a phantasm, “You see me daily.” he claimed.

“You know that is not what I meant,” you spoke back, smiling just as timidly — it had become a mirrored, natural response to his own bliss. The tension between your bodies subsided at that, and you could not be more relieved, “You’re not the same when you’re in an armor.” you said.

He raised one eyebrow at your constatation, “Is that bad?”

“Not at all,” you denied softly. Palms resting against the wooden door, you experienced as the sensation of the surface almost disappeared to your perceptions, all senses focusing on the man instead, “I like to have this version of you to myself.” you told him.

He took a step closer, the ruffling sound being the singular noise that shattered the tension of the night, “Who said that you are the only one that sees me this way?” Jungkook inquired.

“You did,” another step from his part, “Countless times, in fact.” you added.

The knight shook his head in silent denial — provocation, even, “I have no memory of that.”

Of course he would push you into verbalizing those past occurrences, you realized. But then again, you always found pleasure in his annoyance, “I feel like I can be myself with you, (y/n),” you recited, impregnating your voice with an artificial, dreamy tone, “I love spending time with you, (y/n), you’re the one true fr—”

“—How low of you to use a man’s own words against him,” he interrupted. She is absurdly beautiful tonight, that thought ruptured his contemplation like an arrow slicing the air and, at that realization, he was deeply terrified to lose you. “but I will admit, you are correct. I’m all yours, Princess — or, at the very least, this version of me is.”

Moving swiftly as a river, Jungkook rested one hand on the surface, right besides your head — the proximity was intoxicating; the heat of his figured emanated in between your bodies and was able to set your soul aflame. With quivering pulse, you concentrated on keeping your voice underneath the ties of your control, “I feel honored,” you rolled your eyes, allowing for sarcasm to drip from your lips like venom,“the great knight Jeon Jungkook under my spell, what should I do with him first?” you inquired.

He was aware that you would go — with or without him, you would go; but he had not actually felt it until that very moment. Until he was lost in the empyrean pigmentation of your fascinating eyes, immersed in the magnetic way you seemed to lure him into the enchantment of your presence. Even your voice seemed as hypnotic as a mermaid’s melody, seducing him to dive deep into the ocean that was you, deep into his own downfall. Nevertheless, at that instant, he did not care if his fate was to drown. All he wanted was to follow your song.

Sir Jeon tilted his head to the side, interest sparking within him. When he spoke again, his voice was much lower, hoarse. “Who says I am under your spell?”

“You do,” you told him without hesitation, examining the way his gaze had fallen to the diaphanous delineation of your parted mouth. Once again, the tension grew thick around you two, but now with an entire new purpose, “you cannot even look me in the eyes.” you spoke further.

And, in fact, he could not. Jungkook was afraid that, if the did, he would lose the remnants of self control he still had, “That means nothing,” the young knight proclaimed as he leaned in, moving as swiftly as if all he wished for was to simply get closer to you; observe the smoothness of your skin, or perhaps the perfectly sculpted contours of your flushed lips. You felt as his hair strands touched your forehead, and your pulse skipped a beat.

For a breviloquent instant, you two only stood there — paralyzed in the ebony hallway, mingled breaths and muffled thoughts. Unable to hold back the currents of your own hidden desire, you then looked down at his mouth; a small tingling sensation spreading across your chest when you felt his nose brush gently against your own. You wanted him. Dear gods, how badly you wanted him.

“Jungkook,” you called his name once again. What was supposed to sound as a warning came out as a weak, faithless request. The cold wooden door behind you was the only thing holding you down to reality, to the frantic beating of your arrhythmic heart. When you spoke out, you felt the feather-like touch of his mouth against yours, now so unbearably close — the caresses of a phantasm, “I suppose it does.” you whispered.

Fragmented pieces of his breath had resumed as his eyelashes fluttered shut, cheeks burning up in the expectation of what was to come, “Princess...” Jungkook’s velvety voice trailed off into the warm atmosphere, no more than a mumble in the midst of the solitary night.

At the mention of that title, however, something flashed inside his dark gaze, and he seemed to come back to his senses, taking an abrupt step away from you. The massiveness of the universe embraced your bodies at that unpremeditated separation, the quietude of your interrupted actions bringing with it the danger they could instigate. Momentaneously, he simply stood there, taking in what had — almost — occurred, and what he just backed away from, “I’m— You… have a good night—” he stuttered.

Panic was present in the cacophonous progression of your fast-beating heart; reflecting itself in the rapid movement of his lost eyes as he stepped away once more, “—What? What happened?” you attempted to inquire, utterly lost at the abruptness of his acts. Jungkook, however, had already started to walk away from you when your question reverberated in the hallway, shaking his head as his silhouette morphed with the darkness of those endless corridors.

You were not sure if he ignored you or if he simply did not listen, but you never got a reply.

That night, the castle was sound asleep when its last awaken inhabitants laid on their beds. From opposite sides of the construction, they felt the same loneliness within their heavy hearts; the absence of a warmth to hold them close, the space between their fingers seeming to be so much more latent. If a traveler visited those lands then, they would never be aware of the forbidden lovers that were separated by gelid brick walls, pushed away by a forced marriage. The adventurer would simply look at the castle, take in its beauty and magnificence, and walk away; oblivious to the curse that resided within.

And, if such traveler was smart enough, they would never return to such forsaken lands.

Jungkook once told you that, as a knight, he dies at every exhale, and comes back to life with every inhale. He said that, when you are holding a sword in front of an enemy, every movement can be your last; every attack your downfall. There is no right or wrong; no fast or slow, there is only you. You, and the thin line that separates one eternal exhale from other, countless ones.

Perhaps that’s the reason he was called the Lionheart, after all: his energy, his unshakable confidence and prideful nature; but also the experience and wisdom only the merciless streets could provide. Jungkook had the eyes of a hunter, the reflexes of a feline; a heart that burned in passion and a lively soul that saw no evil — but also knew how to defeat it, if told to do so. Sir Jeon, The Lionheart — as he was known around the kingdom — was the perfect knight. He had the obedience, but he also had the individuality. Had the muscles, but also the intelligence. He was quiet and then loud, patient and then immediatist. He was fluid as a river, laughing at the face of entropy and surprising his enemies at every new battle. He was inconstant, he was unpredictable. He was feared. Respected.

But that, of course, was merely the image commoners and fellow knights had of him. To you, Jeon was far more complex — much more damaged — than that. Beyond the spark of innocence within his eyes, there was the lost, lonely soul of a forgotten child; of a boy who had to fight to survive, who found himself holding the sword he once ran from. The image of the Lionheart was forged in the fear he now cultivated in the hearts of his enemies — and that was the reason why he despised such presumptuous title.

“I'm no hero,” he once told you. Like many times before, the boy had snug into your chambers after your failed attempt at visiting the village ended with the presence of the guards. In the thick of the wintery night, the mere verbalization of his tone appeared to bring heat to your soul, “anyone could have been through what I did, anyone could've been standing at my place when your mother showed up.” Jungkook spoke further, constructing hollow explanations in an attempt to disregard his natural talents.

“It was no one else, Jeon,” you said slowly, as if explaining a concept as easy as the colors of the sky. For you, at least, it was — to the boy, it was an alien truth. “It was only you.”

In fact, it had always been only him.

You were about seven years old when the promise of a marriage was first presented to you. Even a bit reluctant — scared, even —, you were told to simply take it as your destiny, to lower your voice and behave like the good princess you were taught to be. Quiet and naive, you had to ignore that your future husband was from a desolated place you never went to, act as if his heart was not far too weak to rule like a true king — he was the hope of your kingdom, the last speck of a bright future you could ever perceive. Who were you to turn such miraculous salvation down for your own, egotistical desires?

The war against Yukinia was brief, but devastating. Brave men died in the name of their patrida, families were broken, and the forest of Arcadia, annihilated. Your kingdom, being known for its agriculture and vast font of knowledge, had its harvest burnt, important works of science and literature stolen. More than the physical impact it had, the spirits of the citizens of Ceres had been torn to shreds, the very essence of the village hanging weak. There were no winners in a war like that, your father once said. Both sides were losers.

Then, the King got sick. When he was caught in the crossfire, falling victim to a unscrupulous disease, you could not help but think that the combat had been truly lost. The best healers of the country were called in one by one, each leaving with more questions than answers. The days morphed into nights, weeks into months, but nothing seemed to be improving — if anything, the King’s dark circles seemed to grow more crepuscular as the morning sun sprouted behind the green-bathed mountains, his movements becoming shaky, weaker by the hour. It was only when small dots of blood appeared in between his coughs, though, that you finally understood the magnitude of his position: your father was dying.

With him, the kingdom.

The day after your visit to the docks, as you slowly emerged from a world of dreams, that was the thought that hovered over your cloudy mind; which soon fluctuated towards another frequent preoccupation. Truly, your father was terribly sick — but you simply could not comprehend why your mother had used such reason as a justificative for your abrupt marriage, specially during such fragile and volatile times. It was far too risky, if you dared to think so, that she would give up on him so quickly, instead throwing the responsibility of a wounded land on your inexperienced shoulders.

Of course, the Queen was no fool — if anything, she was the polar opposite. Tales and rumors reverberated through the castle walls, telling the stories of how your mother, the simple daughter of a commoner, managed to climb her way towards the highest of monarchy. It went from simple explanations — of how her father knew the King’s family from years prior, and had the marriage arranged as a paid favor — to miraculous claims that she had sold her soul to an evil witch. Whatever it might have been, she conquered her throne with impeccable strategy, and that only made mistrust dug its claws even deeper inside your brain.

Your mother had raised you to be a unbreakable, intelligent ruler one day. She had constructed you in her very image, contoured the archaic values of your land to teach you how to have a strong mind and charming tactics — something a queen would never be allowed to achieve, for her role was solely decorative: the mere shadow of a king.

Furthermore, it was that — almost — forbidden search for information that morphed into the matrix of your adoration for books. It did not take long for the works she presented you to become massacrating to endure, their sentences only englobing subjects as monotonous as the art of battle or the history of Ceres — something you already knew by heart at that point. Soon, you needed something else, you seeked for a new universe to drag you away from your lonely days. And that was where your best friend came in.

Jeon Jungkook, the Lionheart, passed a horrible amount of time skirting and watching over the village. So long, in fact, that very few were the commoners that noticed his quick passages by the tranquil library, often leaving its premise with a dusty novel under his arms. Once he arrived at the castle, he would take it directly to your studies room and would hide it amidst the other works, where it waited for you until the horizon morphed into darkness and you were free to walk the corridors of your home. For that, you were deeply thankful.

Back to the present, you sat on your bed, patiently waiting for your servants to come to assist you with your wardrobe. Those were the brief minutes you had until your overwhelming routine came crashing down on top of you anew, before the shallow compliments of artificial personalities filled your thoughts and muffled your voice. Those were the ephemeral seconds you had to reflect on your worries, think deeply about your plan to escape and, more than that, what had so abruptly instigated it.

Why now? you thought, fingers digging deep into your roseate, silky sheets. You could hear birds chirping to the faint harmony of a new day, trees swinging in the light breeze — still, no sound in the hallways. What happened to force me to get married now? Now: months, if not years, before the planned date?

Little did you know that your answer would come that very afternoon.

The skyline was bleeding in pale amethyst when you found your way into the studies room. It was a comfortable, oval-shaped facility in the corners of the castle — an island of quietness in an ocean of constant buzzes and empty prayers towards the decaying monarchy. There, you were able to let your worries dissipate amidst the humble amount of books that were compiled in two, medium-sized shelves. Its dark wood allowed for the golden and silver covers of the most various literary works to stand out like lost stars in a private universe; and that was usually all it was: personal.

Yet, that day, it was not uninhabited.

Alarmed by the unforeseen interruption, your movements ceased as you walked through the half open door, feet freezing in place as your eyes met the other person’s figure — standing right in front of the shelves, completely immersed in thought, “Mother?” you called out, surprised. Mindlessly, your fingers held the cold rusty handle with more force than necessary, eyes falling to the unbelonging turquoise-covered book in her hands. “What are you doing here?”

The Queen raised her eyebrows at the rude intrusion, gaze traveling gradually to your direction. As she saw you, a faint smile effloresced upon her features, causing for wrinkles to accumulate on the sides her tired eyelids, “This is a lovely environment to think, I suppose that is why you come here so often,” she answered with simplicity, closing the object in her hands with a muffled sound. “I am glad I could find you today, though, we need to start thinking about your wedding arrangements.”

You were taken aback by her sudden sentence, the only thing you were able to do was to repeat her claim with incredulity, “My wedding arrangements?” you echoed.

“Yes, dear, I am afraid that the ceremony is horribly close,” she nodded, and you heard something other than calmness in her tone. There was a hidden prospect in her stance, a mysterious reason for her presence in such place, “Can you please shut the door so we can discuss it? We can think about your dress after the festival,” your mother suggested as the passageway closed behind you. Oblivious to your own actions, you stood in place, rigid. “Perhaps you’d like white lilies to match the fabric? They would look marvelous decorating your hair, and I do believe they are in season! Sure, the celebration will occur later this month, but I suppose we can find a way to—”

Following a chaotic symphony, your heart started to beat hard against your chest in a mixture of anger and anguish — your future was being decided in front of you like it was nothing more than obligation, consequently trapping even further inside the cell of your position. And, above all, you could notice the way that your mother ever so carefully chose her words, almost as if skirting an uncomfortable subject — in that case, your fiancé.

As she kept talking, filling your head with future preparations and repetitive requests, the frustration you endured for so long bubbled fervently inside of your stomach. Before you could censor yourself, all that exploded on your lips in the form of a simple question: “Why?”

Your mother blinked, shaking her head slightly at the disruption. “I’m sorry, love?”

“Why now?” you clarified. “I’ve known about my marriage since I was seven, and I have been of age for a couple of years. Why is my union with the Prince only happening now?”

She sighed, disappointed at your stubbornness. “My dear, I told you, your father’s health—”

“—Father’s health has nothing to do with this decision,” you cut her excuse short, seeing the omission gleam in her eyes. Sculpted by the evening lights that came from the window, her features were immersed in scalding hues, burning in amber and gold, “we both know that, if something came to happen, you could be the Regent Queen for as long as Ceres were to need.” you explained.

“Ceres does not need me,” your mother smiled, placing her hands in front of her scarlet dress — deep as blood. “They need you, love. They want hope, not the same old—”

“—Mother, stop,” deep inside your mind, you could not believe that you were talking back to your family member like that, interrupting the Queen like she was nothing above a irritating maid. “Please, do not take me as a fool. Answer my question.”

You could see as her superior posture slowly broke underneath the harshness of your gaze. The Queen, facing your moral judgment, saw in your eyes that you understood more than the untruths dripping from her mouth — she had raised you for that, after all. You would be a marvelous ruler one day, “Dear, your...” she started, taking that battle as lost. “Your future husband is… fragile.”

“Fragile?” you repeated, confused. “How… how so?”

“His health has been deteriorating faster than we expected,” your mother answered, hands traveling to her back and hiding the unrecognizable book behind her figure. Your gaze followed her movements, noticing the defensiveness of her body language. Your throat grew tight as the thought of such work being from the library sprouted amidst your previous worries. “I believe you remember what I told you. About his heart.”

You shook your head, forcing yourself to stay focused on the conversation. “Yes.”

“As he grows older, his condition seems to aggravate. According to the informants we have in Iyesgarth, he never…” she paused, reformulating her previous thought. “He never leaves the castle.”

You scoffed. “That means nothing, neither do I.”

“The Prince cannot leave, darling,” the Queen stretched that word, making your brain click in sudden understanding. Of course, you thought, the frigid lands that encompassed his existence could never allow such delicate boy to walk out of those walls, even less alive. “The coldness will kill him.”

You moved closer to her, hurried footsteps sounding muffled against Nur’s golden tapestry, “So how do you expect us to get married?” you questioned, exasperated. “To have children, rule a kin— Oh,” you paused once you found her sarcastic expression, something you had experienced many times before. Your shoulders fell as the realization struck your mind, sending morbid shivers down your spine. “You do not.”

She confirmed with a nod, apathetic, “It is the best way to guarantee the survival of our people,” your mother took one of her hands to your shoulder, and her warm touch against the fabric of your dress never felt so disgusting, running through your veins like poison, “All you have to do, my dear, is to make sure you have an heir in your womb before he meets the gods. After death takes away your husband, I will rule Ceres and you will take over Iyesgarth. The two kingdoms—”

“—Mother,” your oscillating voice fluctuated through the consolidated air. Even against the strong winds of your boiling temperament, you tried your best to make your words remain as firm as the sense of injustice within you. “I cannot believe you are using the poor prince to—”

“—Save Ceres,” she completed, roughly. You could perceive as her patience grew thin under your subtle accusations; the unspoken manner you rebelled against her best judgement. “Save the people. Your people.”

“I have no people,” you spat that claim without hesitation.

If any shadows of horror were casted over her features, your mother managed to disguise them well, “Not yet,” the Queen made sure to say, irises gleaming in a silent threat for you to not go against her words. “But you soon will. In a month from now, all these lands will be yours, love, whether you like it or not. This is what I raised you for.”

“To be a heartless queen, I see,” you took a step away from her — too fluid to be considered rude, but quick enough for her hand to leave your body, falling back to her side. “In your image.”

“If that suits you, then yes,” she sighed, taking her other arm from behind her back. Oblivious, you looked at the work in her hands, and instantly cursed yourself for doing so — as recognizement found its way past your features, its known title echoed inside your head like a terrible forewarning, “Anything else?” the Queen inquired, lacking patience.

“No, mother,” your eyes snapped back to her face in a quiet prayer that she did not notice their previous position. “Thank you for... your time and assistance.”

She faked a smirk, ignoring the clear sarcasm in your tone — no amount of petulance from your part could cover up the fact that she had, as desired, reached her primordial goal: you would get married with Prince Min Yoongi, and your people would be saved. Alongside with her reputation, that was, “No problem, my dear,” she sang, seeming to quickly be reminded of something else, “And, oh!” your mother exclaimed, taking the novel up to her waistline. “I did not think we had poetry books here.”

Just as simply, your world came to a sudden halt. Nausea exploded in your stomach as your eyes, once again, met the cover of your newly discovered book — Jungkook had brought it that week, if you could recall correctly, and now it laid on top of your mother’s palm, mocking you like a personal joke, “What?” you swallowed dry, tongue thick as sand.

Absentmindedly, her gaze fell to the object, “‘The Sailor’s Verse’...” she recited, reading the silver-written title. Your heart skipped a beat anew, “I suppose the grandmeister switched up its place. I will make sure to ask for Sir Jeon to take it back to the common library. He seems to love spending time there since you taught him how to read.”

You frowned at that peculiar constatation, “That was years ago, mother. We were kids.”

“And, ever since, more and more books have been out of place,” the Queen smiled, fingers traveling through the dusty pages — did she know something? You swore there were a glimpse of poisonous irony hanging just at the tip of her serpentine tongue, “I wonder when he has the time to read. Some guards have disclosed that he’s never in his chambers during nocturnal hours.”

Every fragment of your body heated up before that claim, her words feeling like daggers to your sensible skin. You never felt as threatened as you were in that moment, floating between the uncertainty of her presence, “Is he not?” you questioned, not trusting yourself to speak anything further than that.

“No, dear,” her piercing eyes seemed to read every movement of your own, staring beyond your rigid posture and into your deepest secrets, “there was a commotion in the village a couple weeks ago. Some guards came to seek for his assistance, but Jeon was nowhere to be seen.” she elucidated.

“That seems to be an issue,” you were cautious to pick your next sentences. “perhaps the commander should talk to him about it.”

“Perhaps, love,” she shrugged, placing the book back on the shelf. Her actions were far too firm, you noticed, too calculated, “but we cannot blame him, can we? Sir Jeon is under constant stress, especially being so young — the poor boy must need some time to unwind.” the Queen hypothesized.

You cleared your throat, thinking it would be for the best to simply agree with her sentences, “I do not think so,” you agreed, reluctant. “What was the commotion about, if you allow me to ask?”

The Queen took a profound inhale before turning back around, her stare as cold as the lands of your promised husband, “Does it matter? It was already taken care of,” was her astringent response.

“Mother, you were the one who told me,” you started, attempting to change the focus of that discussion. You never thought you would wish for your marriage to be brought up again, but anything would be better than that, “that forcing the people to be quiet will only make them want to scream louder.” you concluded.

Your claims seemed to struck a wrong chord inside the woman’s spirit, for an unknown sentiment coruscared amongst her harsh features, “No one is being forced to be quiet, dear,” she tilted her head to the side, studying you — what would you be hiding behind that composed expression? “There are simply… limits. Limits that cannot be crossed.” she said.

You took a deep breath. That battle had been lost before it even started. “I understand it is for the best,” you lied.

The Queen chuckled, entertained, “I know you do,” with a last caress on your shoulder, she started to walk towards the dark passageway, every step sending shivers down your spine. You stood there, motionless, as the sounds of her departure seemed to echo inside your mind. Behind you, her timbre sliced the air one last time. “Have a lovely day, sweetheart. I will start looking for white lilies for your wedding today.”

With that, the door clicked shut.

Tears burned in the corners of your eyes, but you did not allow yourself to cry your exasperations out. Never once in your life had you felt so trapped as you did in that moment: it was subtle, but you knew there was something else in her words. Mayhaps, she was cognizant of your late night escapades and, more than that, maybe she had predicted your actions; saw in the shadow of a rebel a fait attempt at ephemeral freedom. She had raised you in her image, after all.

Hopelessness washed over your senses, pressing down on your breathless chest as you made your way to one of the shelves. Had you been innocent enough to believe you could run away from your princess duties like that? No; of course not. You were just lucky enough to have never been caught throughout those years of erratic behavior, but now it was all different — dangerous even. There was too much at stake, too many chances to be lost in the crossfire of your fervent desires.

You could be captive inside your castle, but you were still ‘Your Highness’, after all. You were still someone’s promised wife, someone’s future ruler. Perhaps you should give up your futile dreams and stay — remain in the soft embrace of safety, follow the life script that had been written for you: build a royal family, continue on with the lineage, raise future rulers in your own image. Perhaps, you caught yourself thinking, that would be for the best. For you, for your people — for Jungkook. For the best.

Your fingers brought the book to you, presenting you with the gorgeous letters of a faded title. Jungkook had brought you ‘The Sailor’s Verse’ after you commented how you missed reading poetry, and how it felt simply marvelous to do so. The work in your hands was a collection of the best creations of your kingdom, going back to the time it was first founded; and the knight made sure to share with you the fact that he had cried a couple of times while roaming through some heartfelt verses.

Opening on a random page, you were met with a composition you had not the privilege of reading yet. Taking a deep breath, your eyes to followed its rhythmic lines, allowing it to lower your anxiety by each erudite word. You did not know if it was a sign from the gods or a mere, fateful coincidence; but, as your eyes reached the final strophe, all your doubts dissipated into the blackness of ink:

“It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.”

Just like that, there were no more excuses. — you knew you had to leave.

That day, you did not see Sir Jeon until constellations appeared once again, swimming beyond the oscillating blanket of clouds that covered the stygian horizon. Hyperborean winds caressed the fluctuating curtains of your chambers after night had fully arrived, whispering over auric tapestry and caressing the silky sheets of your bed. Through your window passed silvery strings of moonlight, which immersed the ambient in a cadaveric, almost unrealistic glow. With your hands placed upon your knees, you absentmindedly accompanied the swinging of the fine fabric as it traced circular forms in the air. Sitting on the corner of your large bed, you were surrounded by small mountains of roseate sheets, appearing to be a forgotten element amongst that unbothered universe. Inside your mind, however, your contemplations ran by in mercurial velocity.

Even if you had been immersed in your own duties, you could not help but notice the way that your best friend escaped the few instances you shared throughout the day. Jungkook did not show up amidst your daily chores, no subtle smirk or “Have a lovely day, Princess,” as he mindlessly crossed you in the halls of your stone-made home. Alongside that, the memories of your previous night swam in the thick of your unorganized thoughts — you found yourself wondering if perhaps it had something to do with it, perhaps you two had taken it way too far. Or, at the very least, you had.

He had almost kissed you, after all.

Or, asymmetrically, you had merely misread his actions. You were not sure anymore.

You were still looking out your window when a knock resonated in your obscure chambers. At the intermission, you became startled, hugging your nightgown against your chest in a natural move to cover yourself up — what the court teaches you about female decency never truly leaves your mind. It was a huge shame for someone to see the princess so ridiculously exposed, “Who is it?” you reluctantly questioned, slowly getting to your feet and walking towards the door. Behind you, the night stretched out above the village, bringing along the vague scent of the sea; underneath your feet, the stone was as cold as the water the crashed underneath the docks.

The response came soon after, “Don’t be so loud, do you want your mother to wake up?” the voice whispered, rispid.

Instantaneously, you recognized the visitor’s timbre, “Jungkook?” you concluded, stupefied at his sudden appearance — you were certain he would not show up, not after what had occured. Now standing in front of the closed passageway, you lowered your tone, considering the warning he had just verbalized, “What are you doing here?” you mumbled.

For a second, there was only silence, “I thought we were sneaking out tonight as well,” he then spoke out, allowing for his phrase to wilther into reticence. “Did something happen?”

“Oh,” you exclaimed, taken off guard. Just as simply as the verbalization of such word, you came to understand your naive mistake — the tension you had perceived was most likely nothing above the projection of your own; you had been silly to believe that you best friend, the boy you grew up with, would kiss you. Most likely, you had been so profoundly immersed inside your own infatuation that you had convinced yourself that such sentiment was mutual, “No, I just thought…” you hesitated, “nevermind, just give me a second to change my wardrobe.”

Jungkook paused for a second, “Of course,” you were able to hear as he cleared his throat. “I shall meet you at the kitchen.”

Your chest felt tight by anguish as your subsequent words fell from your tongue, resembling more of a hopeless whisper than anything else, “Yes, sure,” you slowly agreed, listening as his quiet steps moved away from your room, succumbing into the darkness of the spectral halls. You could not believe you had been that innocent.

Taken aback by the tides of reality, you shook your head, attempting to remove those incorrect illusions from your mind — as one scares away irritating insects. It was your last night together, you realized, you could not allow for your silly childhood love to get in the middle of it — as painful as it could be.

“Where are we going tonight, Your Highness?”

Jungkook’s lighthearted inquiry lost itself amongst the solitary constructions of the asleep village, low enough that only you could hear his words with perfect clarity. Faintly, a smile burgeoned on your lips as you moved to look at him, not wasting one second before gifting him with an answer, “The library.” you said simply.

His features, ever so gracefully ornamented by the pallid luminescence, moved together to form a curious frown, “That is quite an uncommon choice,” the knight commented, his cloak swinging behind him as the cool wind whispered through the streets. The two of you must have looked like lost travelers, whimsical adventurers that shared a still moment in time, “Have I been choosing the wrong books lately?” he playfully wondered.

The very idea seemed absurd to you, “No, of course not,” you denied, honestly so, “they are always fantastic choices. I just… I want to see that place one last time.”

One last time — it echoed in his mind, a despondent ballad that would never permit for his heart to fully rest, to move away from its sorrow, “You are going, then,” Jungkook breathed out, attempting to cover up the shadows of sadness that had fallen upon his gaze. “Tomorrow.”

“I am,” you nodded, avoiding the intrusive path of his raven-like eyes. Instead, your pupils pursued the lineaments of a slumberous residency, its wooden walls mingling with the blackness of dawn. You had always been devoted to those mundane characteristics of your lands: the comforting homes of peasant families, the grace and simplicity of the fields — opposed to the unnecessary luxury of your own, prison-like castle.

That was something that no one, not even your best friend, would be able to understand. You desired not only to be free, but to discover the idiosyncratic sentiments only the commoner life could provide you. An united family around the fireplace, a strong-willed mother and a heavy-working father always willing to look after their children, to put food on the table regardless of the steps they would need to take. You desired to feel the cool spring breeze during the festivals; the caresses of the leaves throughout harvest season; drown in the reverberating voices of the bravading sailors and sellers which filled up the market.

You did not want to rule those lands, but to be a part of it.

“Is there something I could do to make you stay?” Jungkook’s question sliced your ponderations short, but he felt no hope as he verbalized it. The knight knew that there was nothing he could do to fully alter your mindset — he knew you long enough to acknowledge the thin line that separated your willpower from your stubbornness and, at that moment, you were in equilibrium between both of them. One wrong push and he could truly lose you.

From your part, a response did not come quickly. With your gaze trapped in the silhouette that covered the moonlight — the roof of the ancient library — you felt like you were slowly being suffocated by the dense shadow of a giant, overlapped by a power far too great for your simple mind to grasp, “I do not believe so,” you told him, allowing yourself to chuckle at your next words. “Even though you always manage to surprise me, Lionheart.”

Jungkook smirked, pressing his shoulder against yours in a playful manner, “Let’s hope I live up to the expectations, Your Highness.” he said.

As the shadows of the construction swallowed you whole, your anxiety increased tremendously. Heartbeat ignited by the mere touch of his covered skin against yours, you comprehended the weight that would accompany your departure — all that, all those nights by the knight’s side, would be left behind. The taste of freedom you now had would be the payment for the years to come; the toll you would have to give to cross the bridge of your desires. To live not only your life behind, but the love that was born within it. Leave him.

Before you could vocalize the worries that bothered your thoughts, Jungkook paused, making you realize you two had already arrived at the front doors. Scoffing at the enormous chains that were wrapped around the corroded handles, your friend took your hand, guiding you to the side of the decaying building, where you discovered another, smaller door, “This is our entrance,” he told you.

You raised an eyebrow, glimpsing at his confident features. It has been a while since you last visited that place, but never once had you used that passageway. The change of scenery was quite abrupt, so you barely understood the concept that he was presenting you, “Is it open?” you inquired.

The grin that exploded upon his lips made it seem that you had just shared the funniest joke of the night, “It never is,” Sir Jeon shrugged, taking a step towards it, “but I can just…” his fingers curled around the rusty handle and, after a few strong pulls, it opened with a low creek. He then took a step aside and looked around the adumbral location, signaling with a dramatic arm gesture that you were free to enter, “Ladies first,” he insisted.

You had to fight off your own smile as he performed in such manner, finding it oddly entertaining to witness, “I am not impressed,” you made sure to say, crossing your arms in front of your cloak-covered chest. Nevertheless, you took in his silent invitation and walked past him and into the library’s darkness, “you have to work harder than that.” you made sure to add, without looking back.

Jungkook’s eyes flashed with profound amour at those mocking words, even if you did not catch his stare, “I always do. Anything for you, princess,” he spoke those words with such tenderness that the coral hue of your embarrassment found its way to the soft skin of your cheeks. Lucky for you, the illumination was far too dim for him to see. Not that Jungkook would truly pay attention, for his eyes were already exploring the landscape beyond the old wooden door.

The dusty cosmos was redolent with a musty scent of old books and endless wooden shelves, immersing you in a comfortable world of amenity. Your eyes traveled from the now empty tables to the polychromatic map that was painted on the ceiling, staring down at you amidst crepuscular chandeliers. In another night, perhaps, those would be shining with the incandescence of fire, casting down its auric-bathed luminescence on the eternal works of literature and its avid readers — that particular instance, however, they only stood enraptured in obsidian, reflecting the anemic light of the moon that dripped through the sooty windows.

Your chest was overtook by warmness, a timid smile mindlessly growing on your lips as the library worked its magic around your allured mind. That had always been your favorite place to visit during your nocturnal escapades, for there was nothing else able to compare with the love you held in your heart for the books it presented you. Books that, so many times in the past, had been able to raise you above your mundane duties as ‘Your Royal Highness’ and simply… take you away from it all. Marvelous stories about fearless adventurers, unexplored lands, and hidden treasures; tales about a life you wished to live, but was never able to.

At least, not yet.

The light brush of Jungkook’s shoulder against yours brought you back to the veils of substantiality, making you jump at the sudden contact. Noticing your adorable reaction, the knight smiled fondly, “You get startled so easily,” he commented, “but I cannot blame you: legends say there are ghosts roaming this place.”

You scoffed, “I did not get startled,” you made sure to deny his claims, knowing how he would use that against you for as long as he could, “And legends say a lot of things, but a very small amount of them are true,” he raised an eyebrow at that, a bit incredulous at your defensive posture. “Don’t look at me like that, you know I’m right.”

“I’m sorry, but how can you be so skeptical?” Jungkook asked, but there was no bitterness in his tone. Rolling your eyes, you made the inner decision to neglect those mystery-filled subjects, for you would much rather focus on aspects you could reinforce by reality — and legends and ghosts were not two of them. Without a response, you started walking towards one of the old shelves, listening as he rushed to get to your side, “Look at your home, have you not seen anything strange?” he pressed further.

“Not even once,” you denied without even looking at him. “Have you?”

“Of course I have!” he replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, traces of exasperation showing themselves through the cracks of his flabbergasted speech, “The ceiling, for instance.” he pointed out.

In a way, that got you attention, “What about it?” you glanced at his expectant expression for a mere second before going back to the books now in front of you. A bit melancholic, you perceived how that place seemed get smaller at every visit, or perhaps it was purely losing the magnificence only childish eyes could provide.

“The paintings, Princess,” the man elucidated with a dreamy tone, his gaze never leaving your soft features. “they are alive.”

You could not help but grow tense at his preposterous claim, “Alive? Please,” you rolled your eyes once again, “the mind believes in what it wants. If you think that they are magical, they will feel and appear like it. Since I don’t, they just look beautiful. Lifelessly beautiful.” you made sure to reinforce.

Jungkook was unable to mask the skepticism that monopolized his own mind, “It is impossible that you have not seen them change,” the lionheart insisted, crossing his arms. Next to him, you reached for a scarlet-pigmented book, “Do you remember when the Grandmeister passed away in his chambers? A new figure appeared the day after.” he recalled — and may the Gods have mercy on his soul, for that shadowy, ebony-painted silhouette haunted his dreams for the weeks to come. He swore he had never seen it there, not when that monk-looking old man was so visible in front of a specially light background.

“It had always been there,” you guaranteed, but was not so sure about it. Of course, your prideful nature would never allow you to admit so — besides that, you were never one to look up to that painted ceiling so often. It made you uneasy, “it is not magic if you simply don’t pay attention to your surroundings.” you spoke on.

Jungkook suspired in lament, “If you say so,” he shrugged as you placed that unknown book back on its place, recognizing his defeat. You were incorrigible. “But I still believe in it.”

You smiled and nodded in a way to show silent respect, moving back to the endless collection of worlds in front of you. Your fingers danced amidst the books, tracing its covers one by one in an oblivious waltz to the wonders unfolding before you. Your mind swam in nostalgia, taking in the faint scent of mold that never seemed to bother you; instead bringing your farthest memories back to surface. Gods, how deeply did you miss that place!

“(y/n), look,” Jungkook suddenly called you back to your senses. He was standing a couple meters away from you, book in hands and an amazed expression decorating his features. Delineated by the spectral contours of the moonlight, he appeared to be a mystical being of his own. “You won’t believe what I just found.”

Your steps faintly echoed in the still room as you quickly walked to his side, tilting your head to read the title, “What is it?” you asked, curious. “‘Kingdom’s Tales?’ That sounds quite familiar.”

He nodded, staring at the cerulean cover; now so rotten around the edges. The title, once a vivid gold, was now withered, showing the merciless passage of time, “It was the first book I brought you.” he told you slowly and whimsically, as if you two shared a deep secret.

Your eyes shined in instantaneous recognizement. “Oh, yes! That’s right!”

Jungkook’s eyes stopped for a bit longer than they should as he analyzed your features — behind the curtain of his infantile gaze, something else shimmered, “Why are you acting so happy? Don’t be such an hypocrite,” the man groaned, but did not seem truly bothered. “You crushed my dreams right after I brought you this book. If I remember correctly, you said you were bored by it.”

“Don’t blame me for it! The stories were quite childish,” you pouted, still staring down at the thick cover. It had truly been a long time since you last saw that objected, and its sudden appearance felt eerie to both of you. Perhaps a sign, perhaps a final gift for a lost traveler, “They were all about sirens, witches, dragons…”

“Are you saying you don’t believe any of those creatures?” he interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

“I do believe in dragons,” you were quick to reply, defying his judgemental gaze. “Grandmeister showed me an egg before he passed away. But about the other ones… not so much.”

Subsequent to a low chuckle, his response came, “You are truly something else, Princess,” Jungkook mumbled, almost as if saying that to himself. “There was one tale here that I liked, though…”

You elevated one eyebrow, unable to hold back your surprised speech, “You read it too?”

For an instant, he seemed almost offended by the question, “Of course. I read each and every one of them. Do you think I just bring you random books?” he smirked, unaware of how that meant so much to you. You knew he read them now, but you never once considered that he did the same when you were younger — especially when he had been very poorly taught back then.

The sound of moving pages did not allow for you to fall into the oceans of nostalgia. Instead, you were attentive to the movement of the knight’s fingers as, gradually, he approached what he was looking for, “Here it is,” Jungkook spoke out.

Flickering between his whimsical expression and the object before you, your gaze seemed confused about which one of those two aspects held the most magic within, “‘The Crow and the Flame,’” you smiled at the yellowed pages, eyes roaming over the faded golden letters of the title. A strange sense of wistfulness wrapped around your body in the form of its dusty smell, but you did not care the slightest. “I remember it.”

Jungkook hummed in a silent agreement — to be quite sincere, he never forgot it, “Regardless of how childish it might be, it is still a beautiful tale,” he commented, immersed in his own reveries. “It’s one of those stories that stick with you throughout the years.”

“Cursed lovers, isn’t it?” you attempted to recall, “They invaded a witch’s cave, and she turned their dreams into nightmares.”

Sir Jeon nodded, “The man wanted to fly and be free, and so he was turned into a crow,” he continued. Beneath his fingertips — his hands delineated by white scars — laid the thin texture of that ancient book, old pages which caressed his skin with endless affection. He felt as if the ink of Kingdom’s Tales had been imprinted within his very spirit, echoing those stories forevermore. “The woman wanted to be bright and warm, and so she turned into a flame.”

“I never quite understood that part,” you confessed. “Why would she dream of that?”

“Perhaps it was her way to be a better person,” the knight hypothesized. You grew stuck to his every word, paying close attention to the way his attentive features scrutinized the tale under the curtain of his obsidian hair, “to be someone’s safe place, someone’s personal happiness.” he trailed on.

“And the witch took it too literally, I see,” you chuckled, humorless. “What happened after?”

Jungkook pursued his lips together. For a second, his chest felt unbearably heavy, “I remember that the woman, already in the form of the flame, was cursed to burn in a candle which would never melt. In an act of love-filled despair, the crow to it and flew away from the witch’s cave,” he recalled, falling silent for a breviloquent moment. “but, as he was flying, the wind became too strong…”

“...And the flame died,” you completed, numb.

He agreed as if he was trapped in a momentaneous transe, voice devoid of any sort of strong emotion, “Yes, and then the flame died,” Jungkook closed the book — which induced for a thin explosion of dust to erupt in between the pages — and stared back at your eyes. Underneath the crepuscular lambency of the gloomy library, you were not sure if there was a thin veil of tears covering his eyes, or if you were simply mistaken. “Nevertheless, the crow never gave up. He still saw her within fire, no matter where he went,” he continued. “The story ends with him trying to call for her in a bonfire, but she never listened, she could never touch him again.”

Just as any other tale in that book, the ending was not the blissful conclusion one might expect. For an infantile collection of stories, you thought, it surely held darkness within its beautifully-constructed phrases, “Was she still alive?” you questioned, sure that there was another scene that he was forgetting to mention. “Or was it only part of his imagination?”

Jungkook paused, almost as if he had been taken off guard, “We’ll never know,” for a second, the man merely stared at its dark cover, searching for the answers he would never receive. At last, he placed it back on the shelf, “The end.” he mumbled.

You closed your parted mouth, feeling a bit guilty about your previous actions. You could see it in his sorrow-filled eyes that he had grown feelings for that tale and many others, and that, perhaps, your friendly mockery had been badly received by his part, “I’m sorry,” you breathed out, gaze falling to the ground as his own stare found your features. “About being so stubborn and unkind about your beliefs. Sometimes I should keep my mouth shut.”

“You should,” Jungkook smiled, his face lighting up with your unexpected apology. Strangely, he found it to be unbearably adorable. “But I take no offense. You are my best friend, (y/n), I can take a couple comments. No matter how mean they may appear to be, I know it’s rarely your intention to offend me.”

You bit down on your bottom lip, fighting back the sob that was fighting its way to your throat — gods, you hated to leave him behind, he was your everything, “I will miss you so much, Jungkook,” you blurted out, still unable to look up at him. You were afraid that, by merely holding his gaze, your mask of placidity would come shattering down, exposing the vulnerable and hesitating spirit that laid within, “I wish you could come with me.” you confessed.

“I wish I could go too,” the knight sighed, glimpsing at the book he had just placed on the shelf. When he looked back at you, you noticed how his very posture was drained from its usual vivacity, shoulders falling underneath the weight of his decisions. However, when he spoke, he was able to mask the melancholy inside of him. “Regardless, I am quite bothered by the fact that you don’t know your path before leaving your kingdom. You should have a destination in mind, at the very least.”

Before you could stop yourself, a smirk curled up your lips, “Do you have any ideas?” you inquired, sure he was already one step ahead.

Your friend nodded promptly, taking your hand in his. “Follow me, Your Highness.”

The Lionheart took you up the marble steps. You had not visited the second floor in many years, since it was an exclusive study-oriented segment of the construction. Much to your delight, however, you were greeted by a plethora of rolled scrolls and dark candles, presenting you with the room in which the greatest minds of your land used to expand their horizons; both rewriting old stories and constructing their own. You found yourself breathless amidst the ocean of unoccupied wooden tables and unused feathers, guided by your friend towards a special corner of the room.

Never once did his fingers leave your own. If anything, you realized, his grip almost seemed to get tighter, fearful to ever let your hand go — even when, upon arriving at the scene, he showed you a map of the continent of Rephyc, “Here we are, the Kingdom of Ceres,” Jungkook pointed at the worn-out paper, the tip of his finger meeting a minimalist sketch of your land, located on the left edge of it. “Where to?”

You reflected for a second, eyes dancing over the fine details of the scroll, “Well, I suppose it would be risky to go to Yukinia, for they would rapidly recognize me. I thought about crossing Arcadia—”

“—But that would be suicide,” Jungkook completed. You nodded, staring at the great density of conifers right in the middle of the atlas — after the great war that had cursed those lands, very few were the fools which attempted to adventure on the blood-soaked grounds of the gargantuan forests of Arcadia. “Those forests are dead, and so are the beings that live within it.”

Clearing your throat, you constructed a new path inside your head, “That gets me between Nur and the ocean,” you remarked, fingers slowly tracing the outline of the waves. “And I suppose you already know the path I’ll follow.”

“The sea is full of dangers, my princess,” Jungkook warned, but in his voice you found no trace of seriousness. The knight looked down at the map, eyes lost in the sketches that represented the unexplored waters. “Some say the phantom pirate still sails.”

Your response was already hanging at the tip of your tongue as he reached the ending of his speech, “And I say I don’t believe in him,” you told your friend, meeting his entertained expression. “After that, though, I have no idea where to go.”

Jungkook tilted his head to the side, staring deep inside your eyes — you swore he could hold the entire universe within his stare, the very same darkness that expanded over the village throughout the night, “Isn’t that what you’re looking for?” he inquired.

Somewhat taken aback by the veracity of his question, your answer vacillated for an instant, “It... is,” you agreed. Warmness exploded in your chest, bringing along a sense of comfort you only felt in his presence. Duly, the unknown was what you sought for, and the knight knew it was well as you. “Where would you go, Jungkook?”

“Me?” he seemed amazed at your sudden inquiry. “I think... I would rather stay here in Ceres.”

You dissimulated your disappointment with a small nod, “Were you born here? I cannot remember if you ever told me that,” you mindlessly questioned, not really expecting an answer from his part. Many times in that past had you attempted to figure out more details about his story, and you soon came to realize it was a part of his life the knight did not like to recall.

“I—” he hesitated for a second, clearing his throat. “No, I was born in Ceto.”

You froze, taken off guard. Jungkook met your curious eyes, and he saw within them the surprise of his words — internally, he wondered if it has been a wise decision to disclose his birthland for you, “Don’t you wish to come back?” you asked him.

He smiled and shook his head in denial, “No, it’s far too cold for me,” he answered, looking back down at the map. Reluctant, you followed his gaze, watching as his finger pointed to a kingdom encrusted in white mountains. “Why not Iyesgarth?”

“And fall directly to the arms of my promised husband? No, thank you,” you scoffed. “Mother was bragging to me the other day about how he knows how to play hundreds of symphonies on piano, and apparently can recite the bigger philosophers of Ceres by heart.”

“He seems… spoiled,” Jungkook chuckled, but soon remembered you were in the same position. “No offense.”

“No offense taken,” you guaranteed, “I know at least the philosophers of three kingdoms, you can never compare me to someone so ignorant.”

The boy promptly noticed the sarcasm that ornamented your tone, “Oh gods, that’s embarrassing,” scratching the back of his neck, he pretended to be uncomfortable. “I know from all of them so…” he trailed off, “And even a couple of tipsy witches.”

“Tipsy witches?” you echoed, a smile blossoming on your lips — Jungkook found it absolutely breathtaking, wished he could see it forever. “That’s not something you find every day.”

“They are the true thinking minds of these lands.” the knight argumented.

“Oh gods,” you laughed. “I need to study more if I want to get to your level, then.”

“No need, dear,” he shook his head, looking back down at the yellowed piece of paper. Suddenly, the playfulness of his timbre morphed into seriousness. “I like you just the way you are.”

Silently, you thanked the presence of the dim lights, so he could not perceive the way your face heated up. You cleared your throat, “It is getting late,” you said after a second of dense silence, attempting to contour your embarrassment. “We should return to the castle.”

The knight inhaled, nervous — soon, the last night you two shared would reach its terminal stages, and he would be forced to face the eminent promise of your eternal departure, “We should,” his voice was soft as he compiled, “But, first, let me get a book.” he asked.

“A book?” you echoed, taken by surprise, but did not receive an answer.

In assymetry to your expectations, Jungkook simply took you by the hand to the lower level of the library, trailing the same insubstantial path you two had followed a few instants before. At last, he guided you to a familiar shelf, and handed to you the book he had fallen in love with, “For you, my dear,” he lovingly said. You smiled, taking the ‘Kingdom’s Tales’ with delicately. The literary work felt heavy in your arms, weighting inside your chest, “A thief’s gift to a runaway princess,” he told you, and then chuckled at his own sentence. “Isn’t there a poetic sense to that?”

“If you think so,” you accepted, hugging the object against your chest with fondness — it felt cold, piercing like a sword to the heart. “Thank you, Sir Jeon.”

“Always a pleasure to serve you, Princess (y/n),” Jungkook smiled at your reaction, happy that he could make you burn so brightly with the bliss of such simple gesture. If he could he would do that every single day of his life — and, in fact, it had been his mission since the very first time he met you, a purpose he would never complain about, “It is simply a small reminder.” he spoke further.

You hummed in curiosity, sightly tilting your head to the side, “Reminder?” you wondered.

Jungkook took a step closer, voice falling silent as if he was sharing a secret with you, “Of me, of us,” he elucidated; the sentiment within his tone pouring like a cascade inside your heart, making your chest grow tighter; your throat arid as a desert — underneath the shadows of your upcoming departure, it was harder than ever to breathe. “My only request is for you to take it wherever you go, so I will always be by your side.”

“I will,” you nodded, blissful. Even if unspoken, your promise had been sealed. “Wherever I go, you will always be with me.”

The lost boy took in a profound inhale — however, instead of the relief he had predicted, he felt solely the anguish of his silenced need to have you trapped, protected, in his arms. Matter not what you would take with you, matter not the sentiment that intertwined your child-like hearts, his one true love was going away, and no glimpse of the past you shared could change that.

At times, the wind is just too strong to keep a flame alive.

During your path back to the castle, the man was undoubtedly more reserved — his movements were not as expansive or warm, his thoughts seemed to trail off at the end of his every mumbled sentence. Besides that, he held your glance longer than usual, internally wishing that those moments by your side could last longer than the ephemerality of your last night together. The Lionheart’s entire world was crushing him into pieces, presenting in you the reflection of your inevitable departure — Jungkook, after twelve years by your side, was about to lose you to the world you sought to explore.

The village passed by in a blur; the unguarded gardens were covered by a dense blanket of quiet despair. Nevertheless, it was only when your delicate fingers reached for the door handle of your obscure chambers that he realized he had enough. Somewhere along your walk, the young knight noticed he no longer cared about the consequences of his actions, for there would be none. You would be gone the very next day, and he had nothing else to lose but the perfect chance.

After all, the knight was no stranger to suffering — but letting you go without a confession would simply eat him alive.

“Can I come in for a second?” he asked abruptly. Your fingers froze in place, hovering over the cold golden handle as you took in his uncommon request, his face wrapped in the shadows of the lonely corridor. “I— I need to tell you something.”

Falling open, your lips succumbed to reticence for a couple seconds. In a failed attempt, you tried to disguise the expression that monopolized his semblance, but the penumbra of the castle did not permit you to do so, “Surely... of course,” you blinked a couple of times, stepping back so the boy could pass by your side, which he did with quick steps. Now inside your room, you closed the door behind you, leaning against its surface in pure habit. “What is it?”

Hesitation made his words get stuck in his dry throat, his heart beating faster than ever before. The Lionheart had fought against countless invincible opponents, but facing you at that instant was the most terrifying experience he had ever had to endure.

“Jungkook?” you called after a long period of quiessence — outside, not even the moving trees bothered the equanimity of the night; the universe was at a standstill, the stars were watching. His eyes were lost in every place but you, traveling across the asperous walls with no definite path. “Are you okay?”

“I— I have no idea h-how to say this,” he stuttered, scratching his neck in nervousness. That mere action made you frown, caught off guard by his clear anxiety. Inside your own stomach, butterflies of expectations started to waltz with quivering wings. “I am not even sure that I will be able to.”

You swallowed dry, “You are making me worried, Jeon,” you pushed yourself away from the door, taking a couple steps towards the terrified knight. You noticed how his shoulders tensed up at your movements, his hands being brought to his back: his entire body language was closed off, vacillating and apprehensively moving away from your grip. “Did... something happen?”

He chuckled sarcastically, gaze falling to the floor. “Princess, you’re making this hard for me.”

“What?” you questioned again, disoriented by his vague sentences. Somewhere inside your mind, the prospect that your mother had talked to him — had discovered your night adventures and gave him an ultimatum — emerged in pure panic, and you tried your best to act as if there was no paranoia in your words. “Jungkook, I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Are you in trouble? Am I—”

“—I am deeply sorry, I should not be here,” the boy shook his head as if to scare away the uncomfortable thoughts that skirted his consciousness, never staring up at you. That only aggravated the notion that he had something to hide, and it made your stomach turn as he attempted to step away from your presence. “It’s nothing, you should slee—”

“—Jeon Jungkook,” his name came out with such authority from your lips that he lifted his eyes to look back at you, surprised. More than that, the mere sight of your celestial features perfectly outlined by the moonlight made all his insecurities dissipate — the Grandmeister had told him something like that before he passed away: love should bring you tranquility. And that was exactly what he acknowledged once he looked at you. Nothing less, nothing more, “Stop acting like a little kid. This is the last night we’ll share together, don’t you dare to run away from me again, even less to pretend there is no—”

“—I love you.”

He blurted out, making your mouth fall shut as his confession hovered over the stenosis of your room. It was strange how fast assuagement overtook him, spreading across his fast-beating heart and reaching for his face in the form of a faint smile. Thoughtlessly, Jungkook found himself taking a step closer to you, hands moving to his sides, and repeating the words that had been both haunting and blessing him for so long. “I love you, (y/n).”

You could not formulate sentences, mind going totally blank. “Y-You…”

“I’m completely, madly, deeply in love with you,” he moved forward, eyes glimmering under the pallid effulgence coming from the windows. You swore you could see stars shining inside them, magnetizing you towards the unknown cosmos that lived within him. “I have always been, and always will be. And I know how wrong it is, I know how ridiculous it may sound that I allowed myself to let it go this far, but I... I can’t help it.”

I love you too, you wanted to say, but you found yourself unable to respond. Instead, you were left to take in his rushed words, completely still before his infatuated declaration.

He swallowed dry before continuing, “I can’t help to love you more and more every day, Princess” his eyes fell back to the space between your bodies, analyzing the details of the grey stone beneath your feet. At that, his tone grew lower, filled with the sorrow he so fought to hide, “And it is killing me inside that you’ll leave me behind, because I cannot blame you for it. You want to be free, and I could never place guilt on that,” Jungkook shook his head, too afraid to meet your piercing gaze. He was scared that, if he did so, his voice would be trapped in his throat, and he would back away once more. “I cannot blame you for being who you are, having the future you do. I cannot be angry at how close I am to you, but yet I cannot... kiss you.”

Overwhelmed, you breathed out, “Jungkook, I am—”

“—You are promised, I know,” the knight interrupted, being struck with his own sentence. “I know that, somewhere out there, there is a spoiled little prince with a superiority complex that will have the honor to be your husband for the rest of his life, that will be able to touch you the way I never will, and that kills me inside…”

You licked your lips, “Jungkook, can you let m—”

“—Princess, please,” he begged, taking a glimpse at your neutral expression. Now, he was simply stuttering over his words, repeating the same faithless claims he so bargained for, aiming at omniscient divinities. “It destroys me that you’ll never be mine, (y/n). I am not the man you deserve, maybe in another universe I would have been raised a pri—”

His voice withered into reticence as you placed one of your hands on his chin, bringing his face upwards with delicacy, “Sir Jeon, you must be the stupidest knight to ever walk these lands,” you smiled, taking in his amazed expression. “Who says that I will never be yours?”

“What? Why would you?” he blinked, overwhelmed by your closeness. The sweet aroma of your perfume took over his every sense, and the Lionheart found himself weak under your warm touch. “Look at me, I’m a thief, you’re part of royalty. I will never truly be a prince, I’ll never know countless symphonies or be able to recite the bigger philosophers of your kingdom. I will n-never be the lover you deser—”

—The sensation of your soft lips against his was the best thing he had ever experienced. Jungkook grew rigid at first, but, as you started to caress his mouth, he gave in to your embrace. With a sigh, his hands traveled around your body, hugging your waist and pressing your body against his, hearts beating in arrhythmia, dancing together in a moment that seemed far too perfect to be true. Alleviation washed over him — no victory would feel as incredible as that; no moment in his entire life could ever compare to the everlasting comfort that you offered him. In that kiss, he felt safer than ever before, sensed he actually belonged to the world you had dragged him in. Above all, Jungkook dove deeper into an aura of absolute tranquility; obliviously falling into the desire he had repressed for so long.

And he never wanted to let you go.

Your every action was flawlessly enticing: from the way you pushed your chest against his to the incredible way your nails softly scratched his scalp, interlaced in his black strands of hair. The knight almost whined in frustration once you pulled away, touching your foreheads as you stared deep inside his pupil,. “Never say that again,” you whispered against his swollen lips, heavy breathing hitting his mouth in small puffs of air. “Never in your life say that again, you hear me?”

Jungkook barely paid attention to what you said, for he was far too magnetized by the remnants of your kiss tingling on his lips, “Y-Yes.” he promised.

“Tell me, Jeon Jungkook, do you think I want someone like that?” to him, your voice sounded as swift as the most mellifluous of melodies, so calm and serene. “Do you think I want a prince?”

“I… I do not know what you want,” he believed he had found the secret of the universe in the ethereal symmetry of your features, a hidden flame burning bright inside your eyes; a sentiment as deep and unexplored as the ocean. There were incalculable mysteries within those irises, and they were all unfolding right before him like soft, patient wings. “But you certainly do not want me.”

“How oblivious can you possibly be?” you smiled, taking your hands to cup his cheeks. The tenderness of your skin against his was almost poisonous to him, deliciously forbidden. “Besides, this show of self-pity was ridiculous to endure. You were a thief, but so what? Look at you now, Jungkook. Look at who you have become.”

He suspired, skeptical, “That does not change—”

“—How I feel,” you completed. “I do not care about your past. I care about your future, our future,” strand by strand, your guarantees started to play a song within him, following the tune of his own infatuation. Soon, his hooded eyes had fallen to your lips once again, hypnotized by the way they moved as your harmonic voice filled the space between you two. “I care about what you told me now, not about what you once did when you were living in the st—”

—Jungkook touched his lips against yours, bathing in the sweetness of honey swimming on your tongue. Your kiss swept away all his worries in a wave of blissful peace, the very own sands of time pausing and immersing you two in your own private world. Slowly, you felt as tension left his muscles, his touches becoming light as feathers around your waist, tracing circular, affectionate patterns on the curvature of your skin. The Lionheart never felt so happy as he did in that moment, sensed as if the both of you had morphed into something as vast as the universe itself. You two were everything and nothing at the same time, as bright as the stars and as dark as the deepest of twilights; at that moment, there was no detail in the world that mattered more than the two of you.

He sighed while he parted your faces, fighting back every nerve of his body not to lean in one more time, “I want you, (y/n), I always did,” he murmured, voice an octave lower. You accompanied the way his gaze studied your face, how he watched you through the thick curtain of his dark lashes. “But this is wrong.”

“Why? Because the Royal Court says so?” you asked, but there was no harshness in your tone. “Jeon, this is my last ni—”

“—Princess, please,” he did not allow for you to finish, “I don’t want to listen.”

You chuckled at his reaction, fingers moving to stroke his cheek. He melted under your loving touch, every small action feeling absurdly unreal, “Well, you have me now,” you said under your breath. “I’m all yours, Jungkook.”

“Princess,” his eyes gleamed among the darkness of your room, something flashing inside them for a mere second. The knight was being held back by a mere thread, ready to lose himself all at once. “Are you sure about this?”

One more time, your reply was the simple touch of your lips against his; more passionate than ever before — and, to the boy, that was enough.

You sighed against his mouth, leaning your head to the side to add more depth to the kiss. The young knight wished he could do that slowly, tenderly; for as long as he his mortal body allowed him to — until his lungs gave out, until his arms grew weak or he could no longer stand. Jungkook prayed for all the gods that such moment could stretch thought infinity, the blissful valse of your lips against his to never stop. If he had been damaged before, that was the moment he was brought back together — simply to come crashing down under the fantastic frenzy of euphoria you gave him; breathing growing heavier and heavier by each incredible sensation of your mouth against his. And, soon, both of you realized you needed more of each other.

Jungkook separated your mouths and was quick to bend down, gaining support to pick you up. As your mouth found his once again, legs wrapped around his waist, the knight stumbled towards your unoccupied bed, losing no time in placing you down gently on the soft mattress. He tasted as angelic as heaven, felt like paradise as you pulled him even closer to your own figure, whining slightly against him as he pressed his chest against yours. You could sense his heavy pulse against your body, the way one one his hands moved up to touch your face gently, then moving to your hair.

“Jeon,” you then called, voice no more than a whisper. The boy stared at you through heavy lids, attentive to your words. “I need you.”

The knight seemed to take a couple of seconds to fully understand your request and, when he did, he felt as if the world came crashing down around him, “Princess, we can’t—” Jungkook mumbled, mouth still dangerously close to your own. “Your promised husband should be the one to deflower you, not me.”

“I have no promised husband,” you allowed yourself to chuckle at his words, fingers traveling to his broad shoulders. Slowly, the thin alabaster curtains swinged in the cool breeze, allowing for the monochromatic light to infiltrate your muffled chambers, glimmering deep inside his onyx eyes. “I only have you, Jungkook. And it is you who I want.”

Relaxing, your best friend let out a breath before moving closer to you, placing a soft kiss right beside your mouth. Slowly, he started to trace a delicate path towards your cheek, jawline, and then your neck. The brush of his skin against yours was absolutely enticing — light enough for you to shiver underneath the contact, but passionate enough for you to seek for more; and soon you found yourself hypnotized by it, fingers holding to his shoulders as he continued to delineate the contours of your being.

His fingers gradually travelled to your cloak, wasting no time in getting rid of it; and you did the same with his own. One of his hands caressed your covered skin as it found its way to one of your breasts, cupping it before hesitantly giving it a squeeze. You sighed in a silent permission — or even beg — for him to keep touching you; and so he did.

Jungkook’s breathing got heavier and heavier by the second, his fingers holding tight to your chest as his teeth found the skin of your neck. He bit down on it mindlessly, almost not noticing he did so before you whined at the sudden sting of his teeth on your flesh. That sound, he thought, as brief as it was, managed to be enough to send him over the edges of his reluctance; reverberating through his mind in the form of the most melodious song he had ever heard.

His lungs did not feel enough, his heart beating faster than ever before; still, he did not care about any of that — all Jungkook thought about was you, and how you were the thing he wanted the most; at that time and forevermore. There were no punishments in his mind, no boundaries that could hold him back at that second. After so many years, you two finally had each other, and he would never let that chance slip in between his fingers.

It did not take long for your clothes to be scattered around the floor, figures covered by nothing more than the moonlight. Silently, you thanked for the absence of your customary gown — or even his armor —, for that would be incredibly troublesome to remove, especially in a time like that. With his bare chest pressed against your own, Jeon realized how he could feel the incredible sensation of your soft skin against his forever, for he would never get tired of the way your warmth embraced his body oh so tenderly. Your lips tasted like ambrosia, embraced him like a spell; the ardor of your every move pumping through his veins in unbearable heat.

Beneath your delicate fingertips, you traced the outline of his defined muscles, felt the light difference of texture at every pale scar that decorated his skin. He groaned against your mouth as your legs wrapped around his naked waist, pulling his hips closer to your own. You were getting more and more eager by the second, impatient to finally have him to yourself; but he had another mindset, “Let me take it slow, love,” the knight requested, a lost whisper against your parted lips. Jungkook’s hand gently contoured the curvature of your waist, pausing on the side of your thigh. “You deserve to be treated like poetry.”

Your cheeks were tinged in scarlet, barely showing its vivid hue amidst the shadows of your muffled chambers. Before you could say something else, the man placed a small peck on your lips, taking in a sharp inhale before once again moving down your body. He kissed down your clavicles to the valley of your breasts, and then from your stomach to the outline of your hip bones; you could only look down at him through parted lids, at the mystical way his dark hair gleamed against the moonlight.

Jungkook looked at the details of your body with infinite amorousness, tangled in the idealism of your form. His spirit burned like fire before you, his every fiber wishing to get closer to you; afraid that, just like a fragile dream, you would undo yourself and dissipate in front of him. Every caress he placed upon you was enriched with deep, palpable sensuality and devotion to your very being, finding its way in between your legs. With care, his hands were placed on the insides of your thighs, pushing them apart so he could position himself between them. Your inexperience caused for your body to grow rigid in worried expectation, but it soon came crumbling down as he leaned in one more time, and kissed your center.

“J-Jeon,” you stuttered, not knowing how to act. Oblivious to your own movements, your fingers landed on his head, intertwining with his dark strands, “What are you — oh!” the boy’s mouth embraced your clit and he gently sucked on it, making your inquiries die in your throat.

“Relax,” his voice was hoarse, swift as silk. Jungkook looked up at you, glimpsing at your beautiful face as his digits traced up your folds, meeting your sweet nectar. “I'm going to take good care of you, Princess. I always do.”

You nodded and allowed yourself to lay back against the soft pillows; expectation and nervousness valsed inside you, causing for you to bite your lower lip. Satisfied, the knight got closer to your core once again and, this time, he groaned as his tongue delighted on your delectable taste. Under his touch, you whimpered something similar to his name, thoughtlessly raising your hips towards his face.

The sensation of his mouth against you was absolutely aphrodisiac, awakening a profound craving amidst your center, tingling in your stomach and spreading across your body. Not long after, you had been melted into a pool of broken whines and moans, faint exclamations of pleasure that vibrated around the mute chambers. Jungkook was no different — grunting and sighing against your folds, delighting in the alluring sounds of your needy voice.

It was quick, weak; but the man came to understand that you were gradually pulling him upwards, away from your lower parts. A bit confused, his eyes met yours amidst the obsidian of the night, his face glimmering with your liquids, “Jungkook,” you whined. The mere action was enough to send blood down his body, his pulse quickening at the concupiscent image of your being; your eyes glistening in desire under heavy lids. “Please, I need you.”

His breath grew hitched at that confession, gaze falling to your parted lips. Jeon missed kissing you already, “Are you sure, (y/n)?” he asked one last time, reluctant. Nevertheless, the knight changed his position, slowly crawling up towards you with certain reluctance.

Your hands curled up around his neck, causing for his mouth to come crashing down on top of your own. You tasted your own arousal on his tongue, felt as his arms pressed further down on the mattress as he pushed his body on yours with unbearable urgency — the movement so full of desire that you found yourself breathless under his mesmerizing touches; lungs burning in the lust that immersed both of you — yes, you were absolutely sure.

There was no pain as he entered you, only a strange sensation of unfamiliarity. The knight moaned against your lips at the delicious way your walls hugged his member, feeling so absurdly perfect to him. It took you a few seconds to get used to his presence inside you and, when you did, you rolled your hips against his to show that he could start moving. Jungkook groaned at your unexpected action, swimming in the incredible sensation it provided, “P-Princess...” he called out, placing his head on the curvature of your neck. Somewhere inside your mind, you noticed how he seemed to like that place so much, for he soon came back to kissing and biting your skin.

Slowly, he started to thrust in and out of you, his heavy breathing hitting your skin in warm puffs of air, mingling with his moans and sighs as pleasure started to spread through your veins, causing for you to move up your body in an attempt to follow his movements, “Gods,” grunted Jungkook, one of his hands holding tight around your hips. He was starting to lose himself in your magic, completely immersed in the fantasy that was your presence. “Y-You feel so good, you’re s-so perfect...”

“Jungkook,” you whined out, trying your very best to keep the volume of your voice low. Regardless, as his speed increased, the knight seemed to hit even deeper inside you, reaching all the places that made your limbs grow weak. “Don’t stop, please.”

“You feel so—” a moan broke his sentence, making him apply even more force in his movements. Your nails dug to the flesh of his back, tracing coral lines down his caramel skin. “You feel so fucking good, (y/n), I’m — Oh, gods...”

You could feel yourself reaching closer and closer to your relief — your moans were becoming more frequent, mingled; your thoughts, more chaotic. You lost yourself in that moment, simply allowing your body to experience all the wonderful sensations he was gifting you. Jungkook deviated between two extremes — harsh in his movements, but delicate in his touches; taking his time to caress every part of your being in infatuation. He made love to you slowly, and fulfilled his promise to treat you like a poem: he praised the art of your essence, submerged in the meaning of your words. The knight embraced you not like a princess, but as the woman he had fallen in love with, and showed that within every vague touch.

Ecstasy exploded on your chest as your eyes fell shut, blurring in the sight of such great wave of bliss. Jungkook found the image so flawless that it bordered on the celestial and leaned in; silencing your moans with a messy kiss, hearing the way his name came out amidst broken cries, tasting like heaven between his lips.

Soon after, he followed.

“Oh, Princess... my Princess” Jungkook whined, closing his eyes. He attempted to muffle his constant moans against your flesh, every broken syllable coming out in an undecipherable frenzy. “My Princess, mine—” he repeated in a private mantra. The pleasure growing inside him was absolutely euphoric, and your best friend found himself unable to hold his voice back any longer. “(Y/n), gods, I am— Ah!”

Jungkook found his relief in a storm of moans and groans, calling your name and rolling his hips a few more times in an attempt to prolong his climax before he grew tired on top of you, voice lowering until it was nothing more than a mere, trembling whisper. At last, with a content sigh, the man left your body and threw himself on the bed besides you.

For a few minutes, neither of you spoke. Every aspect of your current situation seemed to be enveloped in a dream-like aura, the tiniest of details seeming to be so absurdly surreal. But no, it had truly occurred — you finally belonged to each other; turned into a chimerical spectacle.

You nestled against his torso, resting your head on his chest as one of his arms hugged your body tenderly, bringing you closer. It was the knight who ruptured the silence, “I have made an oath,” Jungkook's voice swiftly danced on the still environment and you looked up at him, attentive. Embraced by the pale moonlight, his skin glowed, features outlined in the most ethereal way possible. You found yourself unable to breathe, heart beating fast against your chest as you took in everything that had happened. “and I believe we just broke it, my dear.”

You allowed yourself to smile at his realization, fingers resting on his skin. For a brief instant, you two simply looked at each other, taking in the heat of your embrace. And that seemed to be enough.

You leaned in, touching your lips on his own, feeling one of his hands moved to cup your cheek with undeniable affection, and you swore you could experience all the love he felt for you during one simple kiss. Once you departed, you whispered against his mouth a request that never left your mind, “Run away with me,” you asked.

His expression softened, and you wondered if he saw that inquiry coming, “Love, I’m—”

“—In your oath, you promised the Court you would protect me no matter what. You would fight against every enemy, walk past every mountain and cross every valley just to see me safe,” you interrupted, calmly constructing that scene from so many years past. You two were so young back then, so naive. “How could you leave me to travel alone?”

Drowning in a mellifluous timbre, his voice carried along the emotion of his mercurial pulse, “I will never leave you alone, my Princess,” Jungkook looked deep inside your irises, thinking to himself how absolutely breathtaking you looked. His fingers moved to place a strand of hair behind your ear and, when he spoke again, you felt as if the world was much brighter, more comforting than ever before. “Do you truly want for me to go with you?”

You answered within a heartbeat, “More than anything.”

With that, the last piece of the puzzle came into place, and the stars above suspired in endless satisfaction. At last, Jungkook took a deep breath, and gave you his final answer:

“As you wish, my love.”

The following day, you arrived at your studies room a bit sooner than usual.

Curtains closed, shelves arranged in a polychromatic combination of the most various books — your personal piece of the castle was as tranquil as the devotion that dwelled within your chest, being bathed by the most beautiful, honey-like touches of the morning sun. Earlier that day, after you had said your goodbyes to your friend, you had decided you would spend that afternoon doing good use of your free time: swimming in inky oceans of poetry, discovering fantastic adventures in drawings of forbidden lands. Besides, if possible, you would also look at maps upon maps in a faint attempt to delineate your upcoming destination — though, as the hours moved along, you came to comprehend that you would not, could not, discover a place where you were certain you would find yourself.

And, at the same time, you did not wish to. The fun was in the undiscovered and the unpremeditated, after all.

Furthermore, you came to notice how the image of Jungkook continuously emerged amidst your fluid thoughts, the mere hypothesis of his lovely smile being sufficient to set your heart aflame, to make your pulse race in heavenly harmony. Never once in your life had you felt something alike — to love and to be loved so freely, so purely.

The night before, as morning progressively dripped on the horizon and the first rays of sun sliced through the clear curtains of your chambers, dawn passed by in an ocean of silly smiles and constant touches; neither you nor the knight feeling the tiniest speck of slumberousness as the hours moved along. You two talked about empty topics and made it seem like the most magnificent of adventures; lost and found yourselves inside the other’s eyes. Finally, as the sky was gradually blooming into a pale shade of pink, your friend considered it as his cue to go back to his own room and, fighting against all urges to stay by your side, he did so. At your door, Sir Jeon placed a small peck on your lips, gifting you a last, “See you later, love.” before he was walking down the corridors; ragged cloak in hands and smile ornamented by bliss. Your eyes accompanied the movement of his departing figure for a little longer than they should, heart beating against your breastbone in a pleasant sense of unreality.

Your contemplations were sliced short with an abrupt noise. Startled, you jumped as the faint creak of the door opening reached your ears, pulling you back to the present.

Turning around with certain exasperation, your eyes found an unexpected visitor as he closed the passageway behind him, “Jeon?” you called, confused. The known knight smirked at your adorable reaction — those slightly flushed cheeks he loved so dearly —, but said nothing as he walked towards your figure with rapid steps, the sound of his heavy armor being the only answer you were gifted with. “I thought you were in the vil—”

—Your sentence morphed into a surprised exclamation muffled by his lips; his precise hands hugging your waist with tenderness. At first you tensed up at his bold action, but soon relaxed under his embrace, allowing for your digits to travel up his shoulders as your begun to melt into his kiss. His lips felt soft as the petals of a flower, sweet like ambrosia.

After what could have been a couple of minutes or a couple of hours, Jungkook parted your mouths, but never leaned away from you. As he verbalized his amour-ornamented speech, his nose brushed against yours; the phantasm of his lips tingling on your own, “I wanted to see you, my love,” Jungkook admitted promptly, eyes shimmering in incantation — he swore you were getting prettier and prettier by every time he saw you. “Couldn’t bare to wait.”

A chuckle sounded on your throat, incredulous, “So you simply left in the middle of your duty?” you inquired.

“Your mother will kill me, I’m aware,” he was quick to say. With his chest pressed against yours, you could sense as your hearts took the same progression, ever so graciously following the symphony of your love. “But, until that happens, I want to be with you.”

You licked your lips, measuring your subsequent claims — you two were playing a deliciously dangerous game, “Jungkook, this is far too risky… I am certain your companions will notice your absence. I appreciate your action dearly, but I would much rather if you were following your tasks,” you told him, but did not truly mean those words. You adored his presence, even if you acted bothered by its insubstantial, hypothetic consequences. “What if someone finds us here?”

“Does it matter?” the knight questioned, not expecting an answer. His eyes, dark as eclipse, flickered back down to your parted lips. His following words came in a muble, a secret that reverberated inside your intertwined souls. “Dear, we’ll be far away from these lands by the time the sun rises tomorrow. The world is ours to take.”

Time ceased to move as Jungkook kissed you slowly, a mute promise that he would never get tired of repeating — spellbound to you, the knight would always stay by your side; swimming through the deepest of oceans or climbing past the tallest of mountains. Your lips caressed each other in a gradual waltz, bliss growing inside you like anemic clouds expanding across the turquoise sky. From the half open window, you could feel as the cool breeze of the afternoon crawled inside the room, the distant songs of birds following the compass of a natural harmony. That moment, as simple as it could be, felt absurdly enticing to you — ethereal, almost. As his thumbs traced circular patterns around your waist, every other aspect seemed to lose its importance, the previous nervousness of the approaching night burning down to ashes. More than anything else, you drowned in peace, found solace in his arms. And that was enough.

Jungkook separated your faces, planting a last peck on your swollen lips before withering into a smile so bright that could light up the entire kingdom. “You are the most beautiful person in existence, do you know that?”

“Yes, I’m aware,” you laughed, attempting to mask your embarrassment. “But thank you, it is always a good reminder to get.”

He hummed and placed his head on your shoulder, adopting the warmth of your tender embrace. Absent-minded, his gaze navigated around the shelf behind you, then discovered the papers scattered across the wooden table which you were leaning on, “What are you doing here?” he mumbled against your skin, curious at the familiar lands that had been flawlessly imprinted with ink and paint.

Instead of answering right away, you turned around, facing the plethora of maps and books that were mindlessly thrown on top of each other. Soon after, Jungkook hugged you from behind, his broad chest pressing tenderly on your back, arms wrapped around your waist, “I’m… not quite sure,” you trailed off, feeling the way his breathing reached your skin, sending goosebumps down your spine. “I wanted to look at a map again. I cannot believe an escape will be real after all these years.”

The knight took one of his hands to your hair, placing it aside so he could kiss your neck with fondness, “Real? How so?” he inquired.

“I have never seen those lands,” you pointed at the sketches of lonely castles, standing out against the beige fabric of the map. “Ceto, Yukinia… They are nothing more than drawings and old stories. But now, I will see them, Jeon. I will… actually leave this castle.”

“We will,” he corrected, placing another affectionate kiss on the nape of your neck. His lips felt unbearably soft, and you already missed tasting them. “Unless you are already giving up on my company.”

“Never,” you smiled, positioning your own hands on top of his, right in front of your waist. Outside, the faint rustle of trees swinged away in the wind. “As much as I should consider the idea.”

“And why is that?” he teased with a soft laugh.

You sighed, acting as if you were deep in thought, “For starters, you will eat all our food...”

The knight was quick to answer, conviction dripping from his every syllable. “I will buy you more.”

You chuckled, causing for him to do the same. In the depths of his infatuated mind, Jungkook noticed the incredible way your mere presence made fascination overtake him, blooming in a frenzy of happiness he did not feel very often. If anything, it was absolutely surreal that you were in his arms. That you were his, “With what money?” your voice brought him back to substantiality.

“I will battle for gold,” he clarified, not joking as much as he wished to. Duly, if it was necessary, the Lionheart would go to the edges of the world just to make you feel at peace. “See? I have all planned out.”

You hummed, satisfied, “Including our trip?”

“Especially our trip,” Jungkook guaranteed. Vaguely, the lovely smell of roses invaded his nose, and he wondered if you had spent more time in the garden that day. You always adored those flowers, after all. He knew those were your favorites. “The ship leaves at midnight and, chances are, it will take us to Ceto’s ports.”

You turned back around swiftly, and the knight perceived that movement as something of a wonderful dream, far too celestial for his pulse to remain as tranquil as aforetime — just by meeting your gaze, he felt as if he could die happy, “I hope you will show me around, then,” you vocalized, placing your hands on his shoulders.

Jungkook melted underneath the flames your touch, and he swore he could feel the warmth of your skin even through the thick layers of his armor, “Of course, my Princess,” the man nodded, once again wrapping his arms around your waist to bring you close. “It will be an honor.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, a last glimpse of his pink lips diving inside your mind before you could only sense the faint brush of his nose against your own, “And after that?” you mumbled against his mouth.

The promise of a kiss danced on the tip of his tongue as he responded, “After that,” Jungkook echoed, voice deeper than before. “We can go wherever we want to.”

Falling in love with Jeon Jungkook was like chopping of the heads of an Hydra — as much as you tried to defeat it, it always managed to come back stronger, more persistent than ever before. Gradually, you found yourself growing weaker under its constant attacks, finally falling victim to its extension. The process was agonizingly slow, painfully euphoric; but you would never change it if given the chance. Even through the anguish, you found solace in the arms of your best friend, hidden desire dripping from every warm touch. Now more than ever, you were capable to tell where his armor ended and where his skin began, the definite point in which he forgot his mask and simply stared deep inside your eyes — no lies, no broken hearts. You two were free to love, chainless to run away.

And so you did.

The auriferous lights of the equinox festival glimmered along the crowded streets, shining over the commoners like small stars of a lonely galaxy. Fragments of casual conversations overlapped each other, mingling with the harmonic symphony of the Kingdom’s song; whispering throughout the village as the endless white clouds sailed in the night sky. The aroma of sweet meals curled around the gelid air, and the scent itself was enough to make your heart beat painfully inside your chest. It was your home, after all. You would miss it.

The Lionheart, in asymmetry to your momentaneous nostalgia, felt as if he had found his private version of paradise by your side. Never once had he experienced so much hope and happiness dancing inside him, a intoxicating warmth of a sentiment long caged. He saw himself flabbergasted under the prospect of your one-way travel, eternally amazed by the fact that, from all the people in that village, he had discovered such profound, pure infatuation for you, his best friend — and how you two had beaten all odds to do so; had thrown away your lives to truly start living. He would never miss the cage he had been thrown into, the castle could burn down in flames for what he cared.

In the background of his ponderations, the muffled sounds of the spirited festival withered into white noise inside his head. At that instant, he saw future in your eyes; found security in your delicate presence. Under the moonlight, he saw the most perfect being he had ever had the privilege of meeting as you guided him through empty alley and deserted streets, taking him towards unexplored waters. He saw the girl he had fallen in love with, the girl that came into his life with a command so simple as to not ‘bend his knees’. He saw you, (y/n), his first and only; his very reason to keep believing in the very magic you frowned upon.

Jungkook saw you, and he needed nothing else.

At last, you two found yourselves in the main square, heads down and features masked by the thick fabric of your cloaks, bathed by penumbra. The knight held your hand tightly as you opened the way through the sea of strangers, his eyes periodically analyzing the orange tents filled with the prettiest of fruits — and that caused for him to notice that, in your rush to escape, none of you had took enough food. If anything, it would last for a couple days of travel, and nothing more. His steps, then, came to an abrupt stop.

You paused right after, looking back at him with curious irises, “What’s wrong?” you questioned softly.

His tongue came out to lick his roseate lips as he constructed his ponderations, the tip of his nose vaguely painted by a scarlet-like hue — it was a cold night, after all, “Should we get something to eat?” Sir Jeon asked, noticing the absurd incredulity that burgeoned inside your gaze. “Love, don’t look at me like that. No one will notice.”

“I would much rather if you did not steal tonight, Jungkook,” you shook your head, glimpsing at the pile of apples near the two of you. No one seemed to be around, and no present soul was paying attention to the anonymous raggedy figures you two had morphed into. Temptation was there — even some sort of necessity — to give into his request, but there was too much at stake, “We don’t need to draw more attention to ourselves.” you spoke further.

The man pouted and, before you could stop him, he reached out for one of the fruits, “Please, it’s one apple!” he attempted to bargain, throwing it up in the air and catching it again as if to prove his point. The Lionheart sighed deeply as he noticed that your harsh and stubborn expression would not give into his ephemeral and inconsequential requests, and so he allowed for his shoulders to fall in defeat. “As you wish, dea—”

“—Hey, stop right there!”

You turned your head just in time to see an unknown woman running in your direction, waving her chubby arms in the midnight air. You narrowed your eyes in an attempt to define her features, but nothing came out — no, you were paying more attention to the fact that she was staring down at you like you two were the lower of society; brows furrowed in an expression of sheer and unaltered nauseation, “Those are my fruits! Did you think I wouldn’t catch you two stealing them?” she bitterly questioned, not truly allowing for any of you to construct an answer. “Fuckin’ beggers.”

The stinging in your heart was so painful you were surprised you did not faint at the sudden panic that washed over your senses, “W-What?” you stuttered, shaking your head in denial. “N-No, he was just putting it ba—”

“—You filthy thieves are everywhere!” the woman interrupted, throwing her hands up in fury. Wide eyed, you understood what she was about to do even before she turned around; before she opened her mouth to let out a scream that would scratch your fate and freeze you to the bone. “Guards!”

“Oh no,” Jungkook mumbled. He pulled your hand in a faithless request for you to move, waking you up from your momentary trance. Across from where you stood, two armored man raised their heads, their silhouettes standing out against the marble fountain. “(y/n), we need to go. Now.”

Without a second thought, you did as he requested, unaware that it would only incriminate you two even further. Behind you, the saleswoman yelled one more time, her voice dripping in anger, “Guards! Get those two!”

Forms mingled together in euphoria as you two ran through the crowd, lost within a sea of limbs and loud exclamations of surprise and indignation. Your entire body seemed to grow numb in horror, the only thing holding you down to reality being Jungkook’s fingers interlaced in your own, guiding you away from the punishment you so feared. A brute, deep voice screamed behind you, its words overlapping the frequent sounds of your feet against the stone path, “In the name of the Queen, stop where you are!” one of the guards vociferated.

Without thinking twice, you two continued on your pathway to escape, pushing past confused peasants and skirting the arms of those who attempted to detain you. Jungkook held your hand with such force that you swore your quivering fingers would break in half, but that made no impact in your chaotic thoughts, for all you cared about was to escape that inferno—

“— I said stop or the archers will shoot!”

At that, the abstract world turned into a blur, and you collided against your lover’s back, losing your balance for an instant. You did not know who paused first, but, before you had come to terms with the reality you were presented with, both of you were being surrounded by at least five guards, two of which held out bows, pointing the sharp arrows directly at each one of you. Facing that threat — whether it was on purpose or a simple product of habits — Jungkook did the worst thing he could have ever thought about: his hands moved beneath his heavy cloak and wrapped around the thick leather of his weapon.

In a movement that would seal your fate, the Lionheart drew his sword.

The sound of metal sounded like daggers to your horrified heart, pulsating inside your veins in pure, unshakable terror. From the corner of your eyes, you noticed how one of the archers had pulled the bow a bit more, the faint echo of the cord stretching causing for you to dive even deeper into panic.

One of the men stepped forward, holding a sword of his own, “Put your weapon down!” he exclaimed. His white hair was disheveled after the run, contrasting with his dark armor as his wrinkled skin glowed with sweat. Ornamented by the golden lights of the festival, you recognized him as being Sir Aksel — an old friend, and also Jungkook’s tutor — but that did not make your apprehension subside, “This is your last warning, otherwise you’ll be considered a threat to the kingdom.” he said.

“Jungkook, please,” you whispered, attempting to make your voice as firm as possible. Next to you, the heavy-breathing knight hid his ferocious features underneath the hood of his cloak, but you already knew he was not looking at you. “Put it away.”

“Hey, you! What did you say?” another, younger voice exclaimed. Your mouth fell shut at that, and the man took your lack of response as mockery to his authority. With heavy steps, he walked in your direction, one of his hands clinging to the weapon on his waistline. Your best friend grew rigid, but made no mention to move — you begged for all the gods that he would not do so.

The unknown knight stopped in front of you with clenched teeth, the fury of your insolence consuming the peace inside him like furious flames. So much, in fact, that one of his hands gripped at the back of your neck to keep you steady as the other traveled to your hood, ripping it off your head with aggressiveness, “I asked what you sa—” he grew weak under the recognition of your features and stumbled away, flabbergasted. “Oh, gods…”

“It’s the Princess!” another knight exclaimed.

Every present soul turned into ice as his realization struck them. Commoners — which had agglomerated around you — exclaimed in a mixture of awe and surprise, others merely by incredulity. Nonetheless, Sir Aksel stepped forward, still holding his blade, “Majesty, I beg for your forgiveness,” he said, cautious. You perceived the way he did not meet your gaze as he spoke, but instead focused on your friend. Recognizement was almost instantaneous, you noticed, and he kept looking at the knight as if Jungkook was a hungry lion ready to turn him into shreds. And, perhaps, he was. “Step away from this man.”

“No, he did nothing wrong! It is all my fault,” you were quick to say, voice shaking. “It was my idea—”

“—Where were you taking her, Lionheart?” Sir Aksel ignored your claims, taking them as the product of a clever criminal, maybe even a condition to keep your family safe. He should have never trusted a filthy thief like Jeon to enter the castle, for he was aware his past would determine actions like this one — it had only been a matter of time; it always was. “Did you think you could kidnap the princess right under our noses?”

“No!” you shook your head. You swore your heart was about to stop at any given second, panic trapping your words within the cage of your arid throat. The word was both moving too fast and too slow; not giving you enough time to formulate proper actions, but also presenting each and every detail of your decay like a slow-motion catastrophe. “He was not—”

The older knight groaned, impatient, “Where the fuck were you taking her?” he practically yelled then, getting mere inches away from Jungkook’s face. In a natural response, your eyes fell to the blade in his hands, and you noticed how your friend’s knuckles were turning white as he held to his sword. However, the Lionheart did not use it. “Answer me!”

“Nur,” Jungkook suddenly blurted out. Your voice was stuck in your chest, eyes growing wide at the blatant lie that had spilled from in between his lips — What is he doing? Is he insane? “I was taking her to Nur.”

Sir Aksel pursed his lips in absolute disgust, “And what were you planning to do to her in Nur?” he was met with only silence, something that made anger grow even stronger inside him, “Act like a fucking man and tell me, Lionheart.” he pressed further. In his hands, his sword reflected the anemic lambency of the moon.

“Sell her,” Jungkook did not stutter, talking so emotionlessly that you almost believed his claims for a second. “There are some rich northern merchants willing to pay a— uff!”

Fast as a lighting bolt, the man punched Sir Jeon right at the stomach, so strong that the knight bent forward, just in time to receive another hit across his temple, “No!” you screamed, watching in horror as your best friend fell to the floor, a thin crimson line starting to run down the side of his face, “Don’t hurt him! He did nothing wrong, it was my idea!” you begged, your voice breaking.

“What did you do to make her say that, uh? You filthy thief,” Sir Aksel inquired, kicking the fallen soldier. Jungkook winced in pain, never letting go of his weapon. If he wanted to, you were sure he could have won against all the present guards, you just could not understand why he was allowing himself to be humiliated — defeated — in such manner. “Someone take the princess out of here. She does not need to see this.”

With those words, your eyes moved away from the bleeding knight, the ponderation of your situation crashing on top of your shoulders, “No!” was all that you could manage to verbalize, completely mortified, “No, pleas—” you were about to move away when, suddenly, you felt a pair of armored arms wrap around your body, picking you up, “Put me down!” you yelled, swinging your legs in the air in a faint attempt to get away from that iron-like grip. It did not change a thing for, whoever that man was, he was not giving in. “This is a royal order, put me down at this instant!”

Next to your head, an unknown voice said, “Your Highness, you’re safe now, you don’t need to play by his ru—”

“—Put me down, you fucking pig!” you interrupted, blurting out curses like never before — etiquette long forgotten. The night had grown quiet, and your voice seemed to be the only thing resonating through the village’s streets. “Put me the fuck down! I’m your Princess!”

The commander’s orders reverberated within your soul like arrows had punctured your spirit, being directed straight at your captor, “Take her back to the castle,” Sir Aksel spoke with no hesitation. His expression was filled with disgust, a false sense of justice that he waited long to apply. Little did he know, though, it would be towards his own — innocent — student. “And inform the Queen of the occurences. Do not allow for the Princess to leave her chamber.”

Before you could say anything else, you were being dragged away by the unknown guard, your feet crashing against the stone path in a disorganized cacophony. Amongst the mumbles of the crowd and your own sharp requests for mercy, you heard Sir Aksel speak once more — his subsequent words, as breviloquent as they were, assassinated your dreams right at the spot.

With a timbre devoid of any sort of emotion, he spoke:

“Sir Jeon, The Lionheart, you are convicted as a traitor of the crown.”

A long time ago, you told Jungkook that the most beautiful things in life are the ephemeral ones — regardless, he never truly understood the meaning creeping behind those words until that moment. Until his spirit had been shattered, until his freedom had been utterly taken away from him.

Until he was alone, hopeless.

Sunlight crawled around the metal bars of a small, square-shaped opening near the top of his cell. That was his only contact with the outside, the smallest of glimpses to the world he was deprived of. In the midst of the honey-bathed rays, dust particles waltzed in the still, muffled air; bringing along the unmistakable scent of iron — which the knight did not know if came from the rusty metal or the dry splatters of blood on the walls. The exhausted man was the only figure that decorated that cubicle, leaning against one of the wet brick walls in a faint attempt to rest. Never once had he appreciated his uncomfortable bed, but now, in the absence of any sort of mattress, he learned to seek the embrace of his dry sheets more than he ever thought possible.

Contrasting with the static word around him, his storm-like thoughts did not let him sleep, surrounding his head like a tornado. They fighted his fatigue to the extreme, pumping in his arrhythmic heart and sending waves of anxiety throughout his weak, beaten-up figure — no matter how extensive his torture was, the absence of your presence was the most agonizing of it all; the lack of certainty about the consequences you would receive causing for him to lose endless nights of sleep in a weak try to crack the code of your situation. Were you being locked in your chambers? Had your mother taken you away?

How soft were the contours of your face? It had been a few days now and, against his most intense attempts, the details of your form started to become more nebulous, dissipating from his memory at every new hit or every new wound — was the blood on the walls his own? He could not recall. He did not care. There were more relevant thoughts haunting him.

The sun had risen seven times since he last saw you and your old philosophies, once verbalized like a spell in between your rose-colored and rose-shaped lips, emerged in his mind with no apparent reason — after all, was ephemerality truly beautiful? Well, for him, that would be equivalent to questioning if the love you two shared, as breviloquent as it was, could be considered right.

So yes, he thought so.

“Jungkook?”

The knight blinked a few times as his consciousness crashed back into substantiality, confused at the abrupt intromission. Besides the guards, he did not get visitors, especially not ones with such melodious voices, “Oh... hello,” Jungkook cleared his throat, ignoring how horribly dry it felt — or how the muscles of his purple-stained neck hurt as he forced himself to look at the rusty door, where a curious pair of eyes stared at him though the small rectangle of his cell. “Good morning, Princess.”

Your lungs turned into ice when your gaze fell onto the man, now barely a ghost of who he once was. The dark circles underneath his heavy lids were more predominant than ever before, standing out in a deep violaceous against the yellow light of day. His black hair, once as immaculate as the night sky, was now covered in dry mud, disheveled and falling over his tired, blood-splattered face. Even if barely a week had passed by, you could already see signs of dehydration and bad nutrition, for his body was considerably thinner than aforetime — his muscles now starting to morph into the faint outlines of his skeleton.

As you licked your lips, now so awfully dry, you attempted to find the correct words to construct you flabbergasted speech. Regardless, the longer you looked at your lover, the stronger your melancholy grew, “What have they done to you?” you breathed out, cautious. Your faint whispering signaled to the knight that your visit was most likely against the rules, a secret. “Are you being fed?”

“Depends,” he said, a bit sarcastic. His voice was raspy, dry; breaking at the edges of his frail speech. He reminded you of the kid you once met, so lost and scared. “Do you consider rat meat as food?”

Nauseated at the mere prospect, your gaze naturally navigated away from his silhouette, fragments of your minds coping with such unbearable anguish by moving towards other parts of that cell — still, the splatters of blood on the walls would steal your sleep for that night, “Gods,” you breathlessly exclaimed, looking back at him. “at least tell me they have been giving you water.”

Jungkook smiled faintly, finding humor in your naive sentence — in a way, it was better that you were not fully cognizant of the psychological and physical torture he had been through, “It’s brown, but it is keeping me alive. I cannot complain.” he responded.

You only found strength to present him with a timid nod. It was tearing you apart to have him so close, yet unreachable; yet so broken by the system you two swore to battle, “As long as you can still talk to the tribunal tomorrow, I believe we will find a way.” you told him.

So that is why she is here, he thought. Tomorrow is the day.

Even worse than that forewarning, Jungkook realized, was that you were utterly oblivious to the true magnitude of his destiny, “Tribunal?” he echoed, a bit confused. “My love, I am not going to the tribunal.”

Not another word was needed for you to connect the dots, “W-What?” you stuttered, being struck by panic. If, aforetime, you had been preoccupied by the prospect of a tribunal judging his innocence with an iron fist, now the alternative was almost certainly the end for the two of you. “You cannot battle, not like this. You have not been eating, you are not strong enough to face a trial by combat.”

“You would be surprised,” he chuckled then, taking one hand to scratch his nose. In that mere action, you perceived how thin his fingers were; his skin almost translucent, blue veins standing out like never before. Around his nails, traces of dry, maroon-pigmented blood stood out. “I’ve had worse days.”

You shook your head in pure incredulity, nervousness stinging every cell of your body, “Jungkook, please, pick the traditional judgment,” you begged. “The Gods will be fair with you, I am certain of that.”

He scoffed, “The Gods have never been fair with me, Princess,” the knight spoke in return, tilting his head to the side. Jungkook found you overwhelmingly beautiful, a true breath of fresh air amidst the heat of his secluded prison. Even horrified, even haunted by sleepiness nights — you still looked perfect; still resembled his own version of celestial salvatikon. “They took my family, took my home, my dignity… and now they are taking you.”

“You cannot be serious,” you insisted, placing your hands on the cold surface to lean in closer to the opening — the door was cold, asperous. “I will not be able to stand losing you, I cannot— I cannot watch you do such thing.”

I cannot watch as you kill yourself, you thought.

The wounded boy gave you a weak smile, his disheveled hair shining against the golden lambency that whispered through the rusty cell bars. Jeon Jungkook was broken, you realized. They had finally broken his spirit, “I will see you at the combat tomorrow, love.” was all that he answered.

No, Gods, please, no, no, no — echoed in your mind like an endless mantra, similar to the ballad of sirens that reverberated throughout the sea’s waves, “You cannot,” your voice broke, cursed by defeat. “Do not throw yourself to the lions like that.”

“But I am guilty,” Jungkook said promptly, surprising you with his artificial confession. “At least to the eyes of the court, I am. Bing kidnapped or willingly running away with someone is the very same when it comes to members of royalty—”

“—I told mother,” you ignored his speech, wishing to blurt out a thousand phrases at the same time — yet, every syllable that departed from your lips seemed to be shallow, as if you were hearing yourself from miles upon miles underneath the indigo sea. “I told her it was my fault, but she did not listen.”

Sir Jeon smirked, patient — it was clear how utterly exhausted he was, for even the muscles of his face appeared to be far too sore to move naturally, “She does not want to,” your friend said with such tranquility that you wondered if it was as obvious as it sounded. “You have a prince to marry, after all.”

“I want no prince,” you instantaneously contradicted. “You are the one that I love.”

Jungkook smiled tenderly at your hopeless confession, an action that made your heart throb in pure, unshakable sorrow, “I love you too, my dear,” he responded. “And that is the reason why I am keeping my oath to the very last second.”

“Oath?” you echoed, somewhat taken off guard — that was not the time for the knight to present his loyalty to the crown. “Who cares about your oath?”

“I do,” Jungkook promptly admitted, monotone. “It is my duty to protect you, Your Highness.”

His words were so ridiculously out of place that you lost control over your sentences, allowing for your thoughts to pour from the tip of your tongue, “You need to protect yourself now, Jungkook,” you told him in a mixture of pain and frustration and, heavens, he swore he could see the despair inside your eyes — witnessing your angst felt like the most terrible of punishments to him. Had the bliss he once gifted to you now morphed into pain? Was he to blame? “Please, protect yourself.”

He sighed, but did not give into your request, “I am deeply sorry, love” and only the Gods knew how sorry he was, “I hope you can forgive me.”

Nothing about his disconnect speech made sense to you — whether it was your own panic or the knight’s lack of notion of reality that was twisting your conversation, you could not define, “F-Forgive you?” you repeated, attempting to find significance within those two simple words.

Gods, all he wanted to do was to hug you until the end of times; to kiss the sorrow away from your parted lips and secure you from the demons that now overtook his very soul — nevertheless, what he was able to do was solely to look at your shattered spirit through that small opening, accompanying the way your tears shone like small diamonds against the sunlight, “For throwing myself to the lions,” Jungkook answered, shifting around on his seating position. Every muscle of his body screamed for him to stop, for him to embrace death like a hero, but he still fought against the claws of defeat. “And lying about the purple owl.”

You choked, “The pur—”

“—Its feathers were brown, you know,” he confessed. The sadness in his dirty, bloodied features was almost palpable to you, the ferruginous scent made you sick to your stomach. “I just wished they were different, more colorful. Magical even. So I told you they were.”

You were completely overwhelmed by the sudden change of subject, and all that you found yourself able to do was to repeat his sayings. “Magical?”

The knight sighed, his gaze falling to the ground before his feet, “It would show that she had mercy on me, after all.” he spoke, almost as if he was mumbling to himself.

“She?” you were baffled by his cascade of meaningless sentences, wondered if perhaps he had gone insane with the torture placed upon him. “Jungkook, you are not making any sense. I will try to get you some fo—”

“—You always questioned me about my beliefs and superstitions,” the knight interrupted yet anew, eyes traveling to the resplendent rays of sun that dripped in thin lines on the dusty floor. In the background, he could hear the indiscernible mumble of peasants, the vague, rhythmic trotting of horses: it was odd how he had taken his freedom as granted. “Why I have always blindly trusted myths. But never once did you consider that it might have been because I have experienced one.”

You frowned, succumbing into his vague sentences with a thin line of curiosity, “How… so?” you slowly inquired.

Vacillating for a second, Jungkook’s tone came to a halt. For some long, unbearable seconds, none of you said another word until, at last, the man breathed out and shut his eyes, allowing for the truth to finally be spoke, “My father is the King of Ceto,” he told you, “and my mother was the handmaid of his castle. I was born a bastard and, when his Queen found out, she was consumed by anger.”

You swore you could feel as the universe blurred into a frenzy of disbelief and skepticism then, your mind working at full velocity in a faint attempt to comprehend what he was presenting to you — it was absurd, you thought over and over, utterly delirious, “W-Wha—”

“—The Queen found a necromancer,” the Lionheart continued, ignoring your shocked expression. If he did otherwise, he was afraid the disappointment creeping behind your eyes would break him even further apart. He had lied to you throughout all those years, after all, he could never expect that you would forgive him for that, “who cursed me the very next day, forcing my mother to run away with me.”

“Cursed?” you blinked, unable to follow the overwhelming amount of information he gave you. “I do not understand—”

“—Two star-crossed lovers divided by a promised throne, if I can recall correctly,” he recited, pausing before he got to the second part. As much as he had long accepted his fate, such verses still held a connotation far too painful for a perished man to endure. “I suppose this was meant to be, my princess.”

Your lower lip quivered, but you fought back the trembling of your voice, “How... do you know that?”

Jungkook hesitated. Internally, he considered not answering, but realized you deserved solely the truth, “After we ran away... my mother raised me in the streets until I reached ten years old, and she judged me old enough to follow my own path,” the knight shook his head as if to scare away those memories, fragments of his life he had elected to forget. “She was being drained by me, scared for her life. Whatever curse had been placed upon me, it was sucking her spirit dry.”

Once again, you licked your lips in a nervous reflex, “So she simply… abandoned you?”

His eyes shot up to you, taken aback by your inquiry, “My mother would never do that, no,” Jungkook counterclaimed, almost offended by the prospect — whether by denial or by how absurd it was, you would never know, “She died in the hands of a knight that saw her as a threat… Even though she was simply stealing food for me,” his sentences were interrupted by a short, ironical laugh. “The Dragonheart, they used to call him. The hope of Ceto, for some.”

Just like that, everything fell into place.

“I never liked that name, The Lionheart,” the man sighed as if to vocalize your thoughts. “If anything, it is ridiculously ironic how I found myself in the same position as the man who killed my family.”

“It is not the same, Jeon,” you told him in a hopeless prayer, “You would never do something like that, would never kill an innocent.”

Jungkook’s face lighted up in amusement, overwhelmed by your naive claims, “I went to war, (y/n),” he told you like he was teaching a kid, showing you an idea as obvious and palpable as the color of the sky. “I killed someone’s father, someone’s son. I am as guilty as the Dragonheart once was and, in a one way or the other, I deserve to be judged for my actions.”

You abnegated such terrible reality, unable to comprehend why he was distorting the facts so much, “You were just following orders,” your words opposed his.

“Orders I chose to accept,” he threw back, letting his shoulders fall in defeat. A low groan of pain resonated within his chest as the knight attempted to move his legs, and soon he gave up on the idea. “I will not go to the judgment, for I do not deserve one. I love you, dear, but you cannot change my mind.”

Your question came out in a stutter, “W-Why?”

One more time, Jungkook smiled at you, “If I have to go, it will be the same way I lived: fighting,” the man paused, the silence stretching for a bit longer than you thought you could handle, “And protecting you.” he completed.

“How is your death supposed to protect me?” your question echoed through the emptiness that separated you two, inexorable. Perhaps there was no answer, perhaps he did not want to disclose it; but, whatever the case might have been, Jungkook never said anything back.

You wanted to call him selfish, but you could never do such thing. Not after all the years he devoted to you and the royal family; not after he had taken his promise to such absurd lengths. No: Sir Jeon, The Lionheart, was never selfish — he was simply a man of his word.

Still, your eyes fell to his figure and, this time, you saw something else — you saw the grace and superiority only royal blood could provide, you saw in his past a glimpse of the monarchy that withered within his soul, “You are a Prince, Jeon,” you said underneath your breath. The uttering of those words brought the prospect to life, and along a vague frustration of the path you two never got to trace. “You are a damn Prince, we could have been—”

“—I am also not the man you deserve,” Jungkook pushed his body upwards against the wet brick wall, suffocating a cry as he did so. He was hurting, but also trying his best to dissimulate it. You did not have to know about the deep scarlet cuts beneath his torn-out clothes or the cerulean and emerald bruises splattered across his broad back. Per chance, that could subside your own suffering, even if just a bit, “Maybe, in another universe, I would have been raised a Prince, and we could have been together, but this is not the reality we are facing. And I am sorry, I... could never tell you such thing.”

“Why?” was the only thing you could vocalize, “Do you know how simple that would be? That we could be together?”

“That is the exact reason,” he chuckled, humorless. Gods, it seemed like forever since he last had the privilege of touching the soft skin of your gorgeous face, and he hated to see it covered in the salty tears of your pain. “Love, it is for your own safety.”

“Because of your curse?” you pushed forward, raising your voice in expectation. Your hopeful inquiries felt like gelid daggers in his heart. “We can fix this, Jeon, I will look for a witch, we can—”

“—We cannot,” Jungkook interrupted, and the certainty in his voice made your limbs become static. “I have tried everything, my love. We cannot reverse this.”

Perhaps, in a different reality, he could have you as close as his body allowed; could keep you forever by his side. The knight could have lived with a crown upon his head, could have been the one promised to a princess from a faraway land. Jungkook could have spent his life cherishing your every breath, loving you deeply and fondly the way only he knew how. Maybe he would have been the fortunate royalty that would have the honor to take your hand; and would not have let you go amidst the cruel circumstances of his very existence.

In a different reality, he could have been yours.

However, not in that one.

Your mouth hung open for a second, your voice came out ornamented by denial, “I-I don’t understand…”

“How can you understand if you barely believe in it?” Jungkook’s tone was so filled with melancholy that you felt closer and closer to breaking down simply by hearing it. “I know it is too much to ask for you to trust me. But please, (y/n). Please do.”

“How can I?” you inquired. Your heart felt as if it was close to exploding out of your chest, your lungs far too weak to pull in the air that you necessitated, “How can I sit and wait for your death?”

“So you will not have to wait for your own,” his reply came so quickly that you were left wondering if he had predicted that conversation. He have had years to ruminate on that matter, after all; years to be utterly consumed by the cursed poison that pumped through his veins, “Let me ask you something: do you remember the end of that tale?”

“W-What?” you stuttered, puzzled at the sudden change in subject.

But of course, Jungkook already expected that reaction, “The crow, as he searched for his flame, burned to death after one of his feathers caught on fire. He flew too close to a candle and his light became his ruin,” your friend elucidated. His voice was horribly monotonous for someone that once rivaled the light of a million stars — completely despondent, “I do not want you to seek for me, love. Whatever happens tomorrow, I want you to be free.”

Each and every word felt like it was meaningless, fragments of a fruitless discussion, “Free?” you repeated, unable to follow where he was heading. “How can I leave you behind? How can I let you dig your own grave?”

“I will always be with you,” he guaranteed with the ghost of a smile. “I have made an oath.”

“Jungkook…”

“You will not change my mind, dear,” Sir Jeon interrupted, certain of his claims. Suddenly, his eyebrows raised in a faint memory of an important event. He knew there was something he needed to tell you, “And oh, before you go, there is a gift for you in my chambers… I was planning to give it to you the night of the library, but we left in a hurry. It is in the drawer next to my bed. You will know once you see it.”

You shook your head, but took note of his words. “I cannot just—”

“—Stop saying that you can’t,” Jungkook commanded, almost annoyed at your fragile position. You were the strongest person he knew, and seeing you wither in misery because of his careless mistakes was tearing the man apart, “I believe that you can do whatever you wish for, (y/n). You just need to have a little faith in yourself.” he spoke further.

Never once in your life had you felt so close to falling into pieces, your very body one step away to come crumbling down in absolute sadness. You took a deep breath and fought back the cry that was throbbing in your throat; forcing yourself to remain collected before the man you loved so dearly. You wanted to ask what had happened to you, whose blame was it — but you already had your answer. For the first time since you arrived, you broke eye contact with Jungkook. Your gaze trailed around the metal door, taking in the splashes of mold and rust that emerged within the deep bronze color. When you spoke again, your own voice was much softer. “So… This is it?”

“This is it,” he repeated, conviction making your stomach turn in anxiousness. “Whatever the outcome may be.”

You nodded, taking in a second before staring back at him through a thin veil of tears. From the small window, you could perceive the faint sound of a horse cart as it moved down the endless stone paths, “What should I do?” you questioned.

Jungkook blinked, reserving that short moment to take in the alluring image of your features one more time, “I told you already, dear, I want you to leave.” he repeated.

You were about to say something else, but your mouth fell shut at the ambiguity of his sentence. He wanted you to leave — both the kingdom and his cell. “Is this... what you truly want?”

“(Y/n),” he breathed out and, for an instant, it seemed as if he was going to say down thing else. However, he came back to his senses before he did so. “Leave.”

Tears accumulated on the corners of your eyes, but they did not fall. Thought the small opening on the old rusty door, you limited yourself to give your best friend one last nod, accepting his request. Your quivering fingertips moved away from the gelid surface and, with a step backwards, you verbalized your compliance, “As you wish.” you told him.

And, soon, you were far away from that dust-filled prison.

When Jungkook was once again alone in the wet cubicle, his raspy voice sounded like a mere whisper through the heavy air, floating around with no destination, “See you tomorrow, my princess,” the Lionheart said to himself, closing his eyes and picturing your face with unmeasurable infatuation. He felt as if his irises were burning in exhaustion, but nothing could compare with the horrible, persistent ache inside his chest. “I love you.”

Yes, he realized, mayhaps the most beautiful things in life were the ephemeral aspects of it — as painful as they could be.

His gift was a rose — soft as silk, rufescent as the deepest of ruby. Your nose found its way between the crimson petals, delighting your senses it its pleasant aroma. The scarlet hue was incarnated within its petals, impossibly livid for a plant that had spent so long inside a closed space and, as your digits fumbled on it, you were quick to notice the approaching twilight in its borders, signaling that it was not as protected as it primordially seemed. In its stalk, you could see how your friend had took special care to remove the thorns that could hurt your fingers, its image looking far too fragile to endure such great beauty.

Finally, next to the immaculate flower, you discovered a perfectly folded paper decorated in black ink, endless lines outlined in Jungkook’s handwriting. You rested the rose on his wooden nightstand as you sat down on his small bed, the calmness of your actions diverging from the anxiety pumping through your veins.

You took a profound, vacillating inhale, and started to read:

“Dear Princess;

If you are reading this, I suppose you are miles away from Ceres, and that also means I was far too coward to join you. If I did so, I ask for your deepest forgiveness, and I also beg that my next words will not change the way you perceive me. Please, do not be alarmed: they are nothing but good. At least, I believe so.

The first time I saw you, dear, I never thought we would turn into what we are today. After all, you are a princess, and I barely knew my way around the castle; what kind of frivolous Gods were so bored to the point of intertwining our paths together? I wonder if you were as oblivious as I was about our fate, or if you felt something in me. I’ll be honest, Princess, I was ingenuous enough to think you would only be a passerby in my life, so only imagine my surprise when I found out it was the exact opposite.

Imagine my surprise when I noticed I had fallen for you.

There are a thousand things I wished I told you earlier, and this was one of those. If I could, I would come back to every chance I let slip to make sure you knew how perfect you are inside and out; to share with you just how much you mean to me. It's the simple things, Princess: it's your smile, your voice, your silly stubbornness, the way you dream so high and always manage to reach it… it’s everything —and anything — else. It is you. It has always been you.

Of course, if my wishes were heard, I would wish more than to tell you such things. I would wish to have you by my side forever, so you could be mine and I could be yours with no other worries. And then again, if you're reading this, it means I was not courageous enough to truly tell you how I feel. So, now, what's left for me is to pray for all the Gods above that you will have a safe trip and finally reach the life you deserve to live.

Falling for you, Princess, was worth every second. As much as it hurts to know we shall never be together, I would never change it. I would never wish for anyone else but you.

You are my best friend, after all.

So, once again, thank you for teaching me not to bend my knees. Thank you for gifting me my first victory in the castle, and so many others that were to come. Thank you, (y/n), for being the light of my life, for keeping me on my feet even when everything else was falling apart. Thank you for pushing me forward and bringing out the best of me — parts that I did not even know existed. Thank you for being part of who I am today, and thank you for allowing me to love you in my own way.

See you soon,

Jeon Jungkook.

PS.: I hope you don’t think the rose is a bad choice. I always notice how you constantly eye the flowers in the garden, and I thought it would be a good reminder of Ceres. Yes, it will wither, but I never planned for it to be eternal. You said it yourself: the most meaningful things in life are ephemeral.”

Jeon Jungkook held no regrets within his heart. From the moment daylight dripped from amidst the rusty cell bars to the second his door was opened and he was met with an armored figure, there was not one ounce of remorse in his being. Yes, there were times he had bit more than he could chew, but even so, he ate it all and stood tall, unshakable beneath the punishments that would come. The time of his trial, it was no different.

“Let’s keep movin’, Lionheart,” the man commanded, his iron grip never leaving the boy’s shoulder. A shock ran through Jungkook’s body as he felt the outline of a sword being placed at the base of his spine, preventing him from escaping from that narrow, dusty corridor — not that he even would attempt to do so. In the distance, he could hear the buzz of the expectators, surrounding the arena he would soon be thrown in. “I’ve waited for this day since ya pretty little ass arrived at the castle. And now ya too weak to even show off, that’s fuckin’ marvelous.”

He did not question the sadistic roots of that unknown man — the Lionheart did not need to. Jeon was cognizant that, ever since the second he was taken to those obscure dungeons, he would not leave as strong as he had arrived. No; he barely ate, barely drank: all that to drain all his spirit, turn him into an easy opponent. He knew that, whoever was waiting for him on the field, would have no problem in serving the Gods as they commanded him to. Right beyond the dark door in front of him, the curtains would open for the last time.

And he would take whatever spectacle had been prepared for him.

Jeon Jungkook was no fool: he was perfectly aware that his time had come, and he was not scared to meet death, for he would make it proud to take him. Instead, he was terrified of not finding you amongst the ecstatic tides of the crowd. It was a bit egotistical, if he actually thought about it, to wish you would be there simply to turn his anxious heartbeats into a tranquil rhythm, to see the warm gaze he had fallen in love with one last time before he saw nothing at all. Still, at that moment, the Lionheart did not care. He was walking towards his downfall, and all that he wished to find was your presence. You were his everything, after all. He did not need anything else.

“C’mon, Lionheart,” the other knight said with that heavy, indiscernible accent, entertained by Jungkook’s harsh expression, which he had naively mistaken for apprehension. The armored man raised his sword up Jungkook’s neck and rested it against his skin as his other hand placed the heavy key on the hole. He was young and arrogant, Jeon knew life would tear that from him anytime soon. “Let’s have some fun today, shall we? Where are ya charms now, uh?”

Jungkook clenched his jaw, but said nothing in return. His wrists ached with the tight rope that kept his arms together, and he wished he was free so he could truly test the other man’s bravery. It was easy to kick someone when they are already down, after all.

“Cat got’cha tongue?” he laughed, a sound so irritating and high pitched that felt like hell. If there was one word that could define that entire man, ‘greasy’ would fit terribly well — that oily ginger hair, the intoxicating scent of alcohol that dripped in between his every syllable. “I always thought ya were all talk, actin’ all though to get the ladies… But kidnap the fuckin’ Princess? Ya impressed me there, Lionheart, I’ll give ya that. That’s some dirty work.”

Again, his mockery reverberated around the dense atmosphere in the form of a prolonged, resounding chuckle. When he noticed Sir Jeon would not answer, however, he grew serious, “Ya no fuckin’ Lionheart,” the unfamiliar knight spat, voice now filled with disgust. The knob was twisted, and a thin golden light ruptured on the corner of the passageway. “Ya no one, I’ll tell ya that. Should’ve stayed in ya damn filthy streets when ya had the chance, ya disgustin’ thief. Ya never belonged here.”

With that, Jungkook was pushed outside.

The radiance of the sun exploded around Jungkook as he was thrown forwards, meeting the sandy ground with a loud groan, eyes closing under the sudden luminescence. Every nerve of his body screamed in pain, the booming cheers of the crowd reverberating all around his weak figure; overlapping the sound of the sword that fell right besides him, exploding in a thin cloud of dirt. The same weapon that was pressed against his neck now laid by his side, reflecting on his bruised features as he crawled towards it. Behind him, the door was pulled shut — behind it, another sadistic laugh sounded.

“Traitor!” he heard someone yell amidst the distorted, indistinguishable screams. He ignored it and placed the cold blade in between his bruised wrists, moving it up and down to cut the cord that held him captive. Lucky enough for him, it did not take long.

The same second the ties fell lose, he noticed a silhouette drip over his figure, blocking out the sun’s heat. Jungkook looked up, through the curtain of his wet hair, to see that, before him, his old master stared down at him in sheer disappointment, “Get up, kid.” Sir Aksel commanded, but made no mention to help the wounded soldier stand.

Fighting back a groan, Sir Jeon did so. Plagued by the friction of the sand, some of his cuts opened again, tracing thin red lines down his legs and arms.

Amongst the growing silence of the expectant crowd, the Queen’s voice monopolized the ambient — always so cold, so frigid, “Sir Jeon Jungkook, The Lionheart,” she started, timbre harsh as ever. As she spoke, Jungkook and Sir Aksel walked towards the center of the circular arena, weapons growing heavy at every step, “The Kingdom of Ceres is here united to witness the judgment of the Gods over your crimes. You have been convicted of attempting to kidnap Princess (y/n), first of her name, and are now considered a traitor of the crown. Your opponent will be Sir Aksel of Nur, responsible for your capture...”

As the Queen’s words echoed throughout the frozen arena, sounding as muffled as if it was underwater, Jungkook’s eyes met yours among the crowd, your beautiful face so ethereally covered by the red tent above your head. He saw the symbol of your kingdom behind your figure, saw the disapproving face of your mother staring down at him with pursed lips. Still, more than that, he saw the way your mouth moved as he drew his sword, your words overlapped by the sound of metal: “I love you.” your silent lips traced in the air.

The knight smiled faintly and tried his best to present you the confidence he no longer felt. Instead, as his mouth followed the same movement as yours — “I love you too, (y/n).” — you could only perceive the absolute, overwhelming desolation that took over his expression. At that, you felt as if your spirit had shattered, your very soul drowning in despondency. He knew of his fate for so long now, and you took some time to fully comprehend that.

“In the same of Ceres, the trial shall now begin.”

The wind was far too strong, and his flame could no longer shine.

As the combat started, the universe around you became a blur: no sound was clear, no movement was fluid. The crowd around you mingled in silence and numbness as your terrified eyes followed the clash of merciless swords, the lethal sound of metal against metal sending shivers down your spine. Mindlessly, your fingers clenched at the fabric of your dress, arrhythmic heartbeat echoing inside your ears. In your throat, a horrified exclamation got stuck as you watched Jungkook defend himself from his master’s attacks. He no longer advanced to the enemy’s space, the Lionheart simply stumbled back, weak and exhausted, as he tried his best to prolong his life.

He is not fighting back, you thought, petrified. Before your eyes, the prospect of an eminent defeat unfolded in the form of shaky stands and breathless gasps, the silver of the swords trapping the effervescent light of the sun, reflecting the knights expressions for mere second before the sharp blades crashed against one another in morbid cries. As the trial moved along, the Gods looked down at your best friend and read into his every crime. At that instant, there was no longer a difference between the laws of man and the commands of the divine — Jeon Jungkook was found guilty in both.

You had always wondered if fighters had the same sense of time the expectators did. Perhaps, in their heads, the weapons would cut the air in slower movements, stretching that instant long enough for them to consider and articulate a proper defense mechanism. Maybe there was a tiny, invisible speck of hope inside you that prayed for that to be correct; so there could be a faint, miserable chance to fight the cold claws of death as they stretched out towards the only person you had ever loved.

Of course, neither life nor the Gods above were that merciful.

There was no clarity in your mind that could tell you what came first — the gush of scarlet or the scream from your throat. All you could perceive was that Jungkook was falling to his knees, and nothing else made a single noise as a faint cloud of dirt emerged from the impact of his trembling body against the dry ground. In your mind, countless questions came and went in a frenzy of horror and denial: you wondered if he was cold; wondered if the sword in his chest was deep enough for him to feel as it opened a path through his flesh; questioned if he could listen as you called out his name in repetitives pleas.

The almighty Lionheart would never be defeated, some dared to say. He would never stain the silver of a blade with his own blood.

Yet, you wondered why the sand was so deeply bathed in red.

Nobody, not even the guards, moved when you made your way next to him, for every present soul was far too deep in shock to even comprehend the hurried silhouette that entered the spectral, paused battlefield. Sir Aksel himself seemed to be oblivious to your approaching presence, eyes glued to the everlasting cascade of crismon that runned down the younger knight’s clothing. That was a battle the older knight would never be prideful of winning.

“Jungkook!” your voice broke as you threw your body next to his, trembling fingers moving to his now colorless face. The man’s eyes were opaque, barely focused beneath heavy eyelids, and you were not sure if he even acknowledged your warm touch against him. “You will be okay, do you hear me? I-I will not let you die like this.”

He attempted to call your name, but his tongue felt numb inside his dry mouth. Instead, his lips parted just enough for a weak syllable to reverberate, losing itself in the thick atmosphere that surrounded you two. The knight cursed himself amidst pandemonic thoughts, blamed his weak body for being unable to utter something so simple and melodious as your name. His soul called for yours, his heart kept beating to dive into the heat of your touch — though, his spirit was exhausted.

“You will be just fine,” you pulled his head on your lap with delicacy, ignoring the way the expensive fabric of your dress was stained in the deepest of vermillion. Your skin felt as if it was burning, waves of heat and cadaverous coldness intercalating in pulses of euphoric panic. Lost and hopeless, you raised your head, looking around to the flabbergasted expectators. In that moment, you did not care about what they were to think, did not care about the consequences it could bring to your kingdom: all you wished was to have your love living on, to help him come back to your world. “Someone, please!” you yelled out, your voice echoing through the arena. Then, silence. “Do something!”

Your beg for clemency reverberated underneath the bright cyan sky, dissipating into a faithless prayer as quickly as it germinated in between your dry lips. Commoners swore they could perceive your broken heart screaming in the background of your words, swore your pain could be felt throughout all the kingdoms. That day, your people watched Ceres die between your trembling fingers. And they did nothing to prevent it.

“Princess,” Sir Aksel spoke for the first time, making your gaze snap in his direction. A thin curtain of tears covered your irises and blurred his face as he stared down at you in endless pity, his very spirit demolished in unbearable anguish — Jeon had always been his favorite student after all, and the glimpse of your demolished infatuation made the other man’s innocence shot straight through his heart. “I am afraid there is nothing we can do. The Gods have made their decision.”

“I do not care what the Gods have decided!” you exclaimed, desperation dripping from your every syllable. You barely felt as the tears found their way down your heated face, for your focus was forever locked on the pressure of your best friend’s head against your lap. He was growing cold, his breathing becoming shallower by every second. “I am y-your ruler, Sir Aksel, and this is a royal order. Take him back to the castle.”

Please, no, Jungkook thought, but was far too powerless to pronounce it. In his brain, the dim image of the grandmeister staring down at him in between oil strokes was enough to freeze his limbs. His soul could not be trapped amongst those hyperborean, cruel walls. Not the castle.

“Princess, you cannot expect me to betray the gods,” Sir Aksel shook his head, sweaty strands of grey hair gleaming under the scalding sunlight. Even lost within the panic that consumed your mind, you could perceive that the man fluctuated between the duality of his honorable duty and his very honor as a human. “I can’t, Your Highness, he is—”

“—Now!” you cut his sentence short, grief quickly morphing into fury. They had to do something, they could not let him to die like an animal, not after he lived like one. “Do something or I will drag him there myself!”

You saw within his eyes that his previous confidence was no more than a facade — Sir Aksel did not believe he would be victorious, he had never foresaw that his student’s life would coming to an end, stolen by the sharpness of his blade. He had the eyes of a man who had accepted his death, but now had to face the consequences of his thoughtless actions. More than that, now, he did not take the God’s judgment as fully correct. “P-Princ—”

“—Enough,” the Queen’s voice reverberated through the field, bringing an end to that heartbreaking spectacle. Your tongue felt numb inside your mouth as you met her piercing gaze, your very soul burning within the judgment of her flaming posture. Truly, your mother was a terrifying woman — you would never be like her, “Guards, take him inside.” she spoke.

“Mother?” was what you could mutter — in a whisper that soon withered into silence, a reticent bargain that sliced your faith in half — far too flabbergasted by her uncharacteristic actions. Had she changed her mind? “W-What are—”

“—No healers,” she interrupted, causing for all your remaining hope to come crumbling down with those two words. Of course, she would never be merciful. Not towards him, anyways. “Jeon Jungkook shall die under the command of the Gods. But he shall die with honour.”

In your trembling arms, the Lionheart coughed, bringing along thick drops of blood. His lips were bathed in deep ruby, the vital liquid running down his face and contouring his neck. “N-no-not—”

“Not the castle, please.”

Your breath was caught in your throat as you looked down, utterly terrified by the way his features had grown so anemic, how his obsidian irises were now surrounded by a thin curtain of blood, “Please, Jungkook, don't try to say anything now ok?” you begged, running one hand through his sand-encrusted hair. Your entire body was throbbing in fear, pulsating in euphoric electricity. “Please, stay with me…”

He opened his lips, but nothing came out. Sir Jeon did not understand why the tip of his fingers felt so cold, but his entire body felt like it was boiling.

Knights don’t beg — echoed somewhere in his mind. Was he truly a knight, after all?

Or was he simply a thief?

When death comes, is there even a difference?

Through parted eyelids, he looked up at your face one more time, wishing he could freeze that image forever. Even through the heavy-beating of his heart echoing inside his ears, he found the distant sound of your voice to be ever so alluring, the most beautiful of harmonies he had ever had the privilege of experiencing. Again and again, he discovered how deeply he truly loved you.

You were crying as two other men took his body away, fighting to keep holding your friend’s hand as the knights hurried footsteps became mute to his ears. The touch of your fingertips against his, as vague as it could have been, brought him peace. Gradually, he heard less and less; his vision held a crown of twilight around its borders, becoming more and more predominant as the cerulean horizon shone brightly above him, and then completely morphed into nothingness as he finally entered the halls of the castle — Sir Jeon never felt so hopeless.

Just as the breeze whispered throughout the empty corridors and the last rays of the afternoon bathed the paintings in pallid gold, Jungkook’s world drowned in darkness.

Two star-crossed lovers separated by a promised throne,

Just like the sun and the moon, they shall never touch,

Eclipse, they shall soon departure.

You were just kids when you fell in love. It was strange, mystical even — regardless, still beautiful in the most melancholic of ways. Instead of what you once thought, not only were you united by your will to be free, but also for your deep, scarring loneliness: two souls that, even surrounded by countless others, felt like solitary prisoners inside their own flesh. Your locked gazes became less ephemeral as the heaviness of your latent feelings transformed into subtle touches, and then morphed into lost daydreams about one another. In the end, you loved Jeon Jungkook the same way you loved the books he brought you — he was so full of life you could barely follow, so absolutely enticing that you drowned deep inside the universe within his inky eyes, hypnotized by his adventures. He held a story of his own, and you felt honored enough to be part of it.

The Lionheart had made an oath: to protect you from life to death; to honour the royal family’s name and do only the best for Ceres. From twelve years ago, when he first stepped inside the castle, to that very day; he had fought in your name, won and lost battles to keep you safe. Up until his last, powerless breath, his heart was beating to the rhythm of your own symphony, thoughts filled with the marvelous image of your being and, as you begged for him not to departure, the faint smile on his crimson lips presented you with the truth: he held no regrets, for he loved you too dearly for that.

The knight had lied for you, had taken all the blame and faced the terrible consequences just to make sure you would not be punished for something so valid as to wish the ownership of your own soul. With his vision blurry, your wet face was the last image he saw before the cosmos of his chambers withered into eternal twilight, “I love you, Jungkook. More than anything,” you had confessed, voice drunken by tears. His eyelashes fluttered shut for one last, and you swore you could feel as he finally lost hope.

But please, you completed internally. Please, don’t leave me alone.

“I will never leave you alone, my Princess.”

He felt the faint, tingling sensation of your fingers against his own as his exhausted heart finally gave out; shallow breaths mingling in dim moans of pain as he found his eternal rest within the walls of the castle. For him, that was enough — to die in your company was the greatest honor he could ever wish for, the only factor that made his fears dissipate into a numb sense of peace. Jungkook was no prince, he was a knight: lived and died as one.

Lived, loved, and died by your side.

The crown and his flame,

The princess and her thief.

Regardless, falling in love with Jeon Jungkook was like chopping of the heads of an Hydra — and you had lost the battle.

The cloak around your body was bigger than usual, intoxicating you with the faint smell of a presence long gone. It covered your silhouette and guided you throughout the relinquished corridors, taking you from the marble stairs to the mystical paintings of forgotten souls. They stared down at you with patience, their eternal irises glued on the faint silhouette running across the castle’s halls. You dared not to look up at the inactive figures, afraid that there would be something out of place, the glimpse of a newfound persona. There was something other than rationality at that point: no, you could be skeptic, but you also swore it was possible to feel him there — staring down at you.

You never believed in the legends that whispered amongst the corners of the village, never took into account old superstitions that blew between the castle’s stones; but Jungkook trusted them with all his heart, just like he had trusted his curse.

So, perhaps, your best friend was truly there, fulfilling his oath.

Bastard, forever unbelonging,

Bastard, forever vigilant.

The kitchen door got stuck once you tried to open it and, after a couple strong pulls, it finally gave in. You looked down at your trembling fingers and wondered if you had been shaking for long, or if it was only the excruciating absence of a companion to guide you past the tenebrosity of the night. The Lionheart had made a promise to never allow you to feel solitude, but you still felt so terribly, excruciatingly alone.

Beneath uncountable stars, the aroma of petrichor reached your nose the second you stepped out of the castle, sending waves of bitter nostalgia throughout your being. In the garden, no leaf dared to move and, above you, the sallow scintillation of the stars hid behind dense storm clouds, the absence of luminescence drowning you in a stygian, apathetic cosmos. Its stenosis embraced your body instantaneously, the cool night air feeling much stronger than ever before. Midnight was opaque, lifeless — and you wished for it to stay like that forever.

Jungkook was coming down into a faithless sunset when he first met you, and it deeply agonized you to know the sun would never rise again.

There were no guards in the gates, no commoners in the streets. The library was closed, the docks were unoccupied. Even the sack on your shoulder was dreadfully empty, only filled with a simple change of clothes; a withering rose; a letter; and a lonely book — a thief’s gift to a runaway princess. On the top of the hill, the monochromatic castle blended in with the thickness of dawn, disappearing behind you, turning into a phantasmagorical mirage to the eyes of lonely sailors.

Two star-crossed lovers separated by a promised throne,

Lost within the realms of life and death.

In front of you, the ocean stretched as far as your eyes could see.

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