#but like. not just to have not directly interacted with the king but to be completely unfamiliar with him as a concept?? ? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kookiewithluv · 1 month ago

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ASHES OF A PROMISE

• TITLE: ASHES OF A PROMISE

• PAIRING: Lycan king!Jungkook x Werewolf!Reader

•WORD COUNT: 23.6k

• GENRE: Paranormal Romance, Dark Fantasy, Smut, Slow burn, Fluff (?), Tragic Romance, Grumpy X Sunshine(?), Royal au

• TRIGGER WARNING: The following content contains themes of emotional distress, manipulation, rejection, and verbal abuse, including emotionally charged arguments and hurtful dialogue that could be distressing. There are references to violence, power dynamics, and trauma. Additionally, there are moments of self-doubt, intense emotional breakdowns, and interactions involving possessive and hostile behaviors. Please proceed with caution if these topics are sensitive or triggering for you.

• SUMMARY: You were a hopeless romantic, dreaming of a mate who would love you as fiercely as you loved him. But when you finally meet your mate, you discover he’s no ordinary wolf — he’s the Lycan king, the alpha of all alphas. Worse, he neither wants you nor is willing to reject you, leaving you trapped in a loveless bond in his kingdom. As queen to a king who resents you, the mate bond grows stronger, making you more vulnerable with each passing day. Now, you must break through the walls around his heart and make him love you, because staying in this bond without love is unbearable, yet leaving isn’t an option he’ll allow.

• a/n: This story is entirely a work of fiction and is the sole property of @kookiewithluv . The characters, events, and scenarios depicted are products of the imagination and are not intended to represent or reflect real-life situations, nor do I wish for anything portrayed here to occur in reality. I kindly ask that my work not be copied, translated, or reposted as your own on this or any other platform, including YouTube. Please respect the effort and originality behind this piece. Thank you for your understanding and support.

PROLOGUE 01 MASTERLIST 03

CHAPTER 2: BITTER BONDS

The warm rays of the sun scrambled into your room, filtering through the thin curtains and casting streaks of light across the walls. One fell directly on your face, jarring you awake. You stirred, groaning softly as you turned your face into the pillow, but the persistent sunlight won. Squinting, you opened your eyes, only to immediately shut them again, wincing as the brightness stabbed through your eyelids. With a tired sigh, your hand rose to shield your face, your fingers pressing against your temples as if to push away the dull ache lingering behind your eyes.

The sunlight bathed the room in gold, but it might as well have been pitch black. The sun’s glow felt hollow, incapable of touching the cold void within your chest. You stared blankly at the floor, your shoulders slumping forward, the weight of exhaustion—mental and emotional—pulling you down. The exhaustion wasn’t just in your body—it was in your bones, your mind, your very soul.

Pushing yourself up, you sat on the edge of the bed, your feet brushing against the cold floor. Your shoulders slumped, weighed down by thoughts you couldn’t silence, and your fingers curled into fists at your sides. It was a new day, but it didn’t feel like it. There was no hope. You didn’t want to be here. Not in this room, not in this life. Every cell in your body ached to escape, to run until the memories, the pain, and he couldn’t catch you. You wanted to run. Far away. From this place. From yourself. From everything.

Dragging your feet, you moved towards the washroom, each step slow and reluctant. Inside, you came to a halt in front of the mirror. For a long moment, you just stood there, gripping the edges of the sink. Your knuckles whitened as your fingers tightened, grounding you against the sight before you.

The woman in the mirror looked back at you, but she wasn’t you—not anymore. Red-rimmed eyes, swollen and glassy, looked out from a face streaked with old tears. Your lips quivered, tightening into a thin, bitter line as the taste of grief and shame flooded your tongue.

It wasn’t the face of someone who had found happiness. It was the face of someone who had been drowning for too long, someone who had forgotten how to breathe. Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill again, but you blinked them away, your jaw clenching so hard it ached.

Who was she?

The woman in the mirror, with her defeated eyes and trembling lips, disgusted you. No, not disgust. It was something worse—pity. You hated the downheartedness that stared back at you, hated how small, how broken, you looked. Your lips pressed together, trembling before you forced them still.

You released the sink and let your arms fall to your sides, but they felt too heavy, lifeless. A harsh laugh escaped your lips—sharp, bitter, and hollow. Your reflection laughed with you, her lips curving in a way that mocked you. How could you not feel this way? You had every reason to. And yet, you told yourself not to. To push it down, to ignore it. Your teeth clenched at the irony.

What good was a heart if all it did was remind you you’re alive to feel this?

The woman in the mirror wasn’t just tired—she was hollow, her spirit stripped bare. Her shoulders slumped forward, her head bowed slightly, as if the weight of her own reflection was too much to bear. The defeat in her eyes mirrored your own. You looked down, gripping the edge of the sink so hard your fingers began to ache. Why wouldn’t you feel defeated?

Since you were seven, all you’d ever wanted was a mate—someone to love, someone who would love you back. Every she-wolf dreamed of a mate who was strong, powerful, the kind of male who could rule the world with a flick of his hand. But not you. Never you. All you ever prayed for was someone who would love you with all their being. Someone who would breathe for you, as though you were the air in their lungs. Someone who couldn’t imagine a world where you didn’t exist. All you ever asked for was love.

And what did you get?

The strongest mate alive. The Lycan King, Jeon Jungkook. A bond forged by the moon goddess, not by love, not by affection. The kind of bond others envied, but for you, it was solely pain.

Your breath hitched as you thought back to the war, to the day your parents were taken from you. Their faces flickered behind your closed eyes. After their deaths, you had no one. No arms to hold you, no soothing voice to tell you it would be okay. Yet, you didn’t let yourself fall. You kept your head high.

Even when Alpha Sebastian slithered into your life with his venomous charm, trying to force his affection onto you, you didn’t break. Not when he found cruel ways to punish you for rejecting him, nor when the whispers started. The pack blamed you for Luna’s death, saying it was your fault that Alpha Sebastian had stopped caring for his mate. She lost faith in their bond because of you, they said. She lost her life because of you.

They called you an abomination, a curse, a living punishment from the Moon Goddess.

But even then, you held on.

you’d held on to hope.

But now?

The word left a bitter taste on your tongue now. The woman in the mirror, with her tired eyes and trembling shoulders, didn’t believe anymore. You lifted your hand, brushing it over your face as if you could wipe away the emptiness.

Your voice cracking as you stared into the reflection. “Is this what I waited for?”

Your chest heaved as the questions clawed their way out of you. Love and expectation—they were inseparable. You’d given your heart to the idea of a mate, to the promise that the Moon Goddess hadn’t forgotten you. And now? Now, that belief felt like the cruelest lie.

Love, like everything else, had betrayed you.

"Bee?" A soft, calm voice called from the other side of the door. "Bee, you in there?"

You froze, your grip tightening around the cold edges of the sink. It was Patricia. Her voice, usually gentle, carried a fragile note now—worried, uncertain. The sound of it made your throat tighten and the urge to cry hit you like a crashing wave.

But you wouldn’t.

You couldn’t.

Not anymore. What was the point of shedding tears for someone who had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t care? His words from yesterday replayed in your mind like a haunting echo. Each syllable was a blade, dipped in venom, slicing through your heart in the cruelest, slowest way. You had heard him, all of him—his disdain, his indifference, his utter denial of everything you were.

You inhaled sharply, trying to ground yourself. Crying over someone like him felt like a waste. Someone so cold, so void of love for you, someone who found your very presence displeasing. The thought alone made your chest burn with humiliation.

"Bee?" Patricia called again, her voice more hesitant this time. A soft knock followed, breaking the silence of the small bathroom.

Your lips parted, trembling slightly as you forced the words out. "Yeah," you rasped, barely above a whisper. The sound of your own voice startled you—hoarse, dry, as if it had been scraped raw.

You knew why. You’d cried all night.

You swallowed thickly, pressing a trembling hand to your throat as if to soothe the ache there. Patricia would hear you, you were certain. She always did. Mated to the royal general, a powerful Lycan, her senses were sharper now than they ever had been. Before her bond, she’d been no stronger than a human. But the mate bond had changed her, as it did all she-wolves who were bonded to stronger males.

Your hands gripped the sink tighter, your nails digging into the porcelain as your head hung low. You hated thinking about it. About how everything—the bond, the strength, the connection—was supposed to mean something.

It was laughable.

You blinked, your eyes stinging as Patricia’s words barely registered in your mind. Jungkook’s face flashed before you, his piercing gaze filled not with love or warmth, but disdain. How could he look at you, his mate, his one and only, with such disregard? How could he reject everything you were, everything you could offer him?

What a cruel joke.

Mates were supposed to complete each other, to offer a bond so deep, so intimate, that no other connection could compare. Your nails scraped against the sink as your hands dropped, hanging limp at your sides. Tears welled in your eyes again, blurring your reflection. You swallowed hard, your jaw clenching as you pressed your palm to your chest. The pain there was suffocating, but you forced yourself to push it down.

"Oh," she said softly from the other side of the door, the sound dragging you from your thoughts. Her tone was light but carried an edge of hesitation, almost as if she were reluctant to disturb you.

"Actually," she continued, pausing briefly, "I was sent here to escort you to breakfast. The others are just about to start, so I’m supposed to ask you to hurry… but truly, take as much time as you need." Her words were soft, kind, her voice as soothing as a breeze on a stifling day. Patricia’s sweet nature was one of the few things you found comforting here. She wasn’t intrusive, just gentle.

There was a faint rustling sound as her footsteps retreated from the door, but the faint scent of lavender and mist lingered. It curled around you like an invisible ribbon, letting you know she hadn’t left the room. No, she was likely perched on her usual spot—the chair by the window, quietly watching the pack.

You sighed deeply, staring at the fogged bathroom mirror for a moment longer before shaking yourself out of it. There wasn’t time to wallow anymore. You moved quickly, showering with cold, hurried motions, scrubbing away the remnants of tears and exhaustion from your skin.

As you stepped out of the bathroom, dressed and somewhat composed, Patricia rose from her chair. Her movements were fluid yet unhurried, her head turning to meet your gaze. There was no judgment in her eyes, only a calm understanding. "Let’s go," she said softly, stepping toward the door with you following close behind.

Once in the hallway, she glanced at you and added, "Please walk ahead."

Her voice was still kind, but there was a subtle shift—a hint of annoyance beneath the surface. It caught you off guard. Patricia was always so patient, so unwavering in her gentleness, that the change in her tone made you hesitate. You nodded quickly and stepped forward, keeping your head low. The air between you felt slightly tense now, a faint pressure that made your shoulders sag further.

The truth was, you didn’t blame her. You’d been here for two days, and all you’d done was cry in your room. The grand halls and towering structures of this unfamiliar place were still foreign to you. You hadn’t even explored the parts of the estate you were allowed to wander. Most of your time was spent avoiding everyone, drowning in your own thoughts.

The silence between you stretched as you walked, Patricia trailing just a step behind. You glanced at her from the corner of your eye. Her expression was neutral, but there was something about the way her arms were crossed loosely in front of her and the way her lips pressed together that made you think she was holding back.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to," you said softly, walking beside her, your steps light but hesitant. "I seem to forget..."

“It’s fine, Bee,” Patricia interrupted, her voice steady but her posture slightly tense. She glanced at you, her sharp gaze unwavering. “But remember, you can’t afford to forget things here.” Her hand brushed against the fabric of her dress, a nervous gesture she quickly masked by straightening her posture. “Life in the palace isn’t like your pack. The smallest misstep can turn into a crime faster than you’d think.”

Her words carried weight, but it was the way her lips pressed into a thin line that made you pause. She exhaled quietly, as if debating whether to say more, before her eyes softened with a flicker of understanding.

“I know,” she said, her voice lowering, “because I was once where you are. I know what it’s like to come from a place where trust and loyalty is a given. But here?” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper, her breath warm against your ear. “It’s not the same here.”

Her tone sent a shiver down your spine, but before you could respond, Patricia straightened abruptly, her expression now unreadable.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your brows furrowing in confusion.

“We’re here,” she said, her tone flat as you both entered the dining hall.

And there he was.

Jungkook.

Your mate. Your king.

Your heart leapt into your throat, beating too fast as your eyes locked with his. The world around you seemed to blur and fade as your body reacted before your mind could catch up. A rush of warmth flooded your face, shame clawing at you for still caring so much when he had made it clear how little you mattered.

How could your body betray you like this? After everything, how could it still react to him this way?

The subtle shift in his body was almost imperceptible, but you saw it. His jaw tightened, his shoulders stiffened, and then… His eyes flashed yellow.

It was brief—a flicker that lasted no more than a heartbeat. But it was enough to make your stomach twist. For a fleeting moment, his expression crumbled. There was something there, something raw. Sadness? Guilt? But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

The hardness returned to his features, his eyes now cold and distant. You stared at him, your thoughts racing. Had you imagined it? Surely, you must have. Why would he ever feel anything for you? Emotions were a luxury he’d never shown, especially not toward you.

Your heart ached at the memory of his harsh words, his refusal, the way he’d made it abundantly clear that he neither desired you nor wanted you that you were nothing but an obligation.

You forced yourself to look away, biting the inside of your cheek until the metallic tang of blood filled your mouth. This was your reality, and no matter how much it hurt, you had to accept it.

Patricia walked gracefully to her mate, her fingers brushing against his shoulder as she took her place beside him. You followed her steps hesitantly, your heart pounding as you aimed for the empty seat next to her.

But before you could sit, a voice—low, gruff, and tinged with barely restrained anger—cut through the air. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Your head snapped up, your breath hitching as you met his gaze. Jungkook. His dark eyes bore into yours with an intensity that sent a chill down your spine. His jaw was clenched, the muscle there twitching as he fought for control. You swallowed hard, feeling exposed under his scrutiny.

You wanted to act clueless, to feign innocence, but deep down, you knew exactly what he meant. His wolf, restless and simmering with frustration, was furious at your attempt to distance yourself. And yet, the anger you saw in his eyes didn’t seem directed at you—it felt like it was aimed inward.

Before you could respond, Neil’s calm voice broke the tension. “Luna, please sit here.”

Neil, gestured toward the seat beside Jungkook. His tone was gentle but firm, a quiet firmness in his words. It was the first time he had addressed you directly, and it caught you off guard.

You glanced at Neil, noting the warmth in his eyes as they flickered briefly to Patricia. His love for her was unmistakable, a bond so strong it almost hurt to witness. You’d always admired him for it, envied it even.

For a moment, defiance sparked in your chest. You wanted to refuse, to argue, to push Jungkook’s buttons just as he had pushed yours so many times before. But as your gaze shifted around the room, you saw the quiet anticipation in the faces of those seated at the table. This wasn’t the time for petty defiance.

Your shoulders slumped, and with a quiet sigh, you turned toward the seat beside Jungkook. Fear clawed at your insides as you took your place next to him, the scent of him making your heart twist painfully.

He didn’t look at you at first, but you could feel his attention like a physical weight. His presence was smothering, his gaze burning into the side of your face. You shifted uncomfortably, your fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your dress.

“Could you please not stare?” you asked, your voice strained but steady.

Jungkook blinked, his head tilting slightly as if considering your request. Then, to your surprise, he nodded and turned his gaze away.

The absence of his attention left a muted ache in your chest, one you couldn’t explain. You bit your lip, frustrated with yourself, with him, with everything. What did you want from him?

Your stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, breaking the silence. Your eyes widened in mortification as you instinctively placed a hand over your stomach. Slowly, you raised your gaze, feeling heat rush to your face as every pair of eyes at the table turned to you.

Kian, sitting across from you, grinned broadly, his amusement clear. “Well, someone’s hungry,” he teased, his tone light and playful.

Neil chuckled softly, leaning forward slightly. “Luna, you seem quite famished,” he said warmly. “Let’s call the maid to serve you, shall we?”

"Eat." The word left Jungkook’s lips like an order, firm and without room for argument.

You glanced at him, startled, and whatever faint smile had been tugging at your lips vanished. Your eyes darted to the plate he had pushed toward you—his plate, laden with food that he had been served.

For a moment, you just stared at it, confusion knotting your stomach. What was he doing? Why?

Jungkook’s jaw was tight, his face unreadable, but his actions screamed louder than words. Your chest tightened as the realization settled in—this wasn’t just about food. Among wolves, this act, this gesture, was intimate. Deeply so. A male sharing his plate with his mate was a declaration, a way of showing care and devotion. It was a prideful, loving tradition.

But here? Now? With him? It felt like a cruel mockery.

Your throat dried as you sat frozen, your fingers twitching against the edge of the table. The food, no matter how beautifully plated, felt like poison on display.

"You’re hungry, aren’t you?" His voice cut through your spiraling thoughts, calm and steady, but his sharp gaze pinned you in place.

You wanted to lash out, to demand answers, to scream at him for the impossible game he seemed to be playing with your heart. But instead, you bit the inside of your cheek and looked away, your nails digging into your palm beneath the table.

"I am," you whispered. Your voice barely carried over the tension that hung between you, and you knew he’d caught the bitterness hidden beneath it. Your fingers reached out, shaky, as you took the fork and scooped up a bite of food. The silence around the table was deafening as you brought it to your mouth.

The moment the food touched your tongue, a wave of nausea rolled through you. It wasn’t the taste—it was good, perhaps too good. But the knot in your stomach tightened as you swallowed. Your chest ached, your emotions teetering between hurt and anger, sorrow and frustration.

The maids arrived, placing plates in front of him as the others had already begun eating. You focused on your own plate, determined to finish as quickly as you could. You were practically swallowing your food, each bite feeling heavier than the last. The sooner you finished, the sooner you could escape.

But his gaze. God, his gaze.

It bore into you, unwavering, a mix of amusement and something else you couldn’t place. Anger simmered in your chest, like molten lava threatening to erupt. Why couldn’t he just look away?

Jungkook leaned back in his chair, his movements deliberate, his jaw tightening as his eyes remained locked on you. He wasn’t just watching; he was studying, dissecting every little movement you made.

You felt heat rise to your face, not from embarrassment but from pure frustration. Your grip on the fork tightened as you shoveled the last bite into your mouth.

When you finally set your fork down, you realized you hadn’t eaten any faster than the others. Taking a deep breath, you stood, your chair scraping against the floor as you pushed it back and you turned on your heel and headed for the door. But just as you stepped outside, a hand clamped around your arm, firm but not painful. The electric zing that shot up your arm told you exactly who it was before he even spoke.

“Wait,” Jungkook said, his voice low and commanding.

You stopped but didn’t turn to face him. Your body stiffened under his touch, the tingling sensation spreading like wildfire. You clenched your teeth, willing yourself to stay calm.

“What do you want, Jungkook?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. You finally turned to meet his eyes, and there it was—something flickering in them. Frustration? Guilt? A plea for something he’d never admit aloud?

He stood there, frozen in place, his gaze locked on you as though the weight of his unspoken words was crushing him. His lips parted slightly, but the only sound that escaped was a shaky breath, faint and unsteady. His chest rose and fell in slow, deliberate movements, as if he was trying to summon the courage to speak.

His hand, warm and firm around your arm, trembled almost imperceptibly. His fingers tightened, not out of aggression but as though he was anchoring himself, trying to keep you from slipping away. His boba eyes, wide and glistening, drifted down to where his hand rested against your skin. For a moment, he seemed utterly captivated by the contact, the conflict in his expression so raw it almost startled you.

You followed his gaze, your eyes drawn to the place where his touch burned, not with fire, but with something far more complicated. Was that guilt? Was he finally regretting what he had said—the wounds he’d inflicted on you, on your pride, your soul, your very essence?

Your heart ached, but it wasn’t for yourself. No, it was for him. For the man who looked so lost in his towering, intimidating frame. But you bit back the tenderness rising in your throat. He didn’t deserve it. Not yet. Not after everything.

Jungkook let out a slow, trembling sigh, his eyes lifting back to yours. And in that moment, your breath caught. There was something there, something raw and unguarded. Vulnerability. Pain. Hope.

You hated it.

No, you hated yourself for how it made you feel—for how it cracked the armor you’d built against him. You wanted to deny it, to run from it, but the truth burned in the back of your mind. You’d step into the monster’s den again and again if he asked you to.

“I…” His voice cracked, barely audible, and he looked away, his lashes casting soft shadows against his cheekbones. His jaw clenched, then relaxed, his lips moving as if silently rehearsing the words he couldn’t seem to say aloud. “I just wanted to…”

“To what?” you snapped, cutting him off. The sharpness in your voice masked the vulnerability bubbling inside you. You crossed your arms, pulling yourself from his grasp, his hand falling limply to his side.

He flinched, but he didn’t back away. His shoulders slumped slightly, the perfect, confident facade slipping just enough for you to see the man beneath the alpha.

“I just…” he began again, swallowing hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed, the motion almost painful to watch. “I just want to talk.”

“Talk?” You laughed, the sound sharp and bitter, slicing through the heavy silence like a blade. “You think there’s anything left to say? After all you’ve done, after all you’ve said? You made yourself perfectly clear, Jungkook. You don’t want me. So why pretend now?”

He flinched, his shoulders stiffening as your words hit him like a whip. His jaw tightened, and his hand curled into a fist. “You think I’m pretending?” His voice was low but defensive, the anger in his tone sparking like a flame trying to catch.

“Aren’t you?” you shot back, your arms crossing tightly over your chest. You held your ground, even as his presence loomed larger, more controlling. “Why am I even here, standing before a king who’s never once truly wanted me?” His brows furrowed, and his lips parted, but no words came. Frustration rippled through him, his clenched fists trembling at his sides.

“You’re my mate,” he said finally, the words laced with a mix of gloom and desperation.

“Am I?” You laughed again, colder this time, the sound devoid of warmth. “Or am I just convenient, something to acknowledge when it suits you? Because the rest of the time, I’m nothing more than an obligation, aren’t I? Something forced on you, something you resent.”

“It’s not like that,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor. His voice was soft, uncertain, as though he didn’t believe the words himself.

“Don’t lie to me,” you snapped, your voice cracking. You took a step closer, forcing him to meet your eyes. “I’ve lived through your silence, your indifference. You meant every single word you’ve ever said, Jungkook. Don’t you dare stand here and tell me otherwise.”

His head lifted, and his eyes, wide and panicked, locked with yours. There was a crack in his carefully built facade, a flicker of vulnerability that nearly made you falter. “I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Oh, but you did,” you cut him off, your voice trembling despite the steel in your tone. “I thought—stupidly, I thought—you sent me there because you felt guilty. That maybe, somewhere in that cold, unfeeling heart of yours, there was a shred of care for me. But no. It wasn’t guilt, was it? You didn’t want the council to find out. That’s all it was. Heaven forbid anyone know the king has a mate. Heaven forbid you’d ever risk anything for me”

His lips parted as if to protest, but no sound came. You took a shaky breath, willing yourself to stay composed, even as your heart splintered anew. “Tell me, Jungkook. Am I really that unlovable?”

His face twisted, anguish written across his features. “No… no, no,” he stammered, his voice breaking. He reached out as if to touch you, but his hand hovered in the air, uncertain and trembling. “Just listen to me—”

“Then say it,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but steady as a blade. “Say what you’ve been holding back, Jungkook.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he took a step closer. His chest heaved, and his fingers twitched at his sides, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, a sweet, melodic voice pierced the moment.

“Jungkook?”

His body froze. His head turned toward the source, blocking your view as his broad shoulders shifted. Your stomach twisted. You didn’t need to see her face to know who it was. But then, to your bitter satisfaction—or dismay—you didn’t have to wait. She stepped into view, her movements graceful, like a predator perfectly aware of her power. Elizabeth. The council head’s daughter. Her soft, golden curls framed a face so beautiful it could have been painted by the gods. And yet, all you could think was, What is she doing here?

She stood beside him now, her hand brushing lightly against his arm as she smiled. You could feel your pulse pounding in your ears as you fought to keep your expression blank. The question burned in your mind, louder than anything else. Why is she here? At the palace?

“Jungkook,” she whispered, her voice soft but deliberate, and you felt as though the ground beneath you had split open. Why was she calling your mate by his name? No one did that—no one was allowed to—unless they were bound to him by blood or he had given them explicit permission. Your chest tightened as a swarm of questions filled your head. Why would Jungkook let her? Were they close? How close?

Her slender hand rested on his arm, her fingers brushing against the dark fabric of his sleeve like it belonged there. Her lips curved into a gentle smile as her eyes searched his face, her expression calm and confident, while Jungkook—your mate—stood frozen under her gaze. You watched, your heart pounding as he stared at her, his usual unreadable mask slipping into something that made your stomach churn. His confusion was evident, but there was something else—something that looked a lot like fear.

Why does he look like that?

“Liz?” he whispered, his voice hoarse and uncertain, as if he were speaking to a ghost.

And just like that, your blood turned to ice.

Liz. He called her Liz. Not Elizabeth, but Liz. A nickname, intimate and familiar, meant for someone important, someone special. Your chest constricted, the ache so sharp it felt like a blade pressing against your ribs.

No. No, that can’t be right. That’s not what this is. It can’t be.

“What... what are you doing here?” he asked, his tone soft in a way you’d never heard before. His voice, his words, carried a tenderness that twisted the knife in your chest.

She smiled again, tilting her head in a way that made her golden curls shimmer in the light. Her beauty was undeniable, ethereal, and you felt… small. Insecure.

“What... you’re not happy to see me?” she teased lightly, her voice lilting as she took a step closer.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” a voice interrupted, and you turned to see Kenji stepping forward. His sharp, formal demeanour was laced with tension as he bowed slightly. “I asked her to wait, but she insisted—”

“He’s not angry, Kenji,” she said, cutting him off mid-sentence. Her voice was sweet, yet there was an edge to it, like silk concealing a blade. She smiled, tilting her head slightly, her golden hair cascading over her shoulder as she turned her full attention to Jungkook. “You know I don’t like waiting.”

Her words, her presence, her unwavering focus on Jungkook—it all set your blood ablaze. Her sole fixation was Jungkook, as if the rest of the world had faded into the background. And him? He wasn’t saying a word.

Your heart twisted painfully as your gaze darted between the two of them. She stood too close, her delicate fingers brushing his arm as though it were second nature. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t push her away.

Why isn’t he stopping her?

Your fists clenched at your sides as the fire in your chest burned hotter. Oh god, was this jealousy? You hated the way it crawled up your spine, the way it took root in the pit of your stomach and gnawed at your insides. No, you told yourself. She could just be a friend. People in their ranks always circle each other, allies forming alliances.

But friends didn’t touch like that. Friends didn’t stand so close that their breaths mingled.

And worst of all, Jungkook was staring at her—not with the cold detachment he reserved for most, not even with the exasperation he often directed at you. No, his eyes were soft, filled with tenderness and something far more dangerous: familiarity. Your throat tightened as you watched him, pale and nervous, disoriented even, yet still holding a quiet care in his gaze for her.

He had never looked at you like that.

The thought struck like a dagger to the heart. Had all his distance, all his resistance to you, been because of her? Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you fought to keep your composure. Maybe you were imagining things, reading too much into gestures and glances, but how could you not? You weren’t asking for much—just the attention, the care, the love that should have been yours. Instead, here she was, getting everything you never had.

The fire in your chest threatened to consume you. You wanted to scream, cry, claw at your skin to rid yourself of the jealousy coursing through your veins. But you didn’t. Instead, you stood there, fists clenched so tightly your nails bit into your palms, forcing yourself to remain still when every fibre of your being wanted to tear her away from him. “Who is she?” she asked, gesturing toward you with an air of casual interest. At her question, Jungkook visibly flinched. His face, already pale, drained of any remaining colour. His lips parted as though to respond, but no words came. He looked... trapped.

You met his eyes, silently pleading with him to speak, to say the words that would solidify your place in his life. Tell her, you thought. Tell her I’m your mate.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he looked away from her, his dark eyes locking onto Kenji. “Escort her back to her room,” Jungkook said, his voice cold and clipped.

You blinked, stunned by the sudden command.

Relief swept over you in a tidal wave. She was leaving. She would be gone.

A small, hesitant smile tugged at your lips as you dared to hope—just a little—that maybe you had been wrong. Maybe your insecurities had twisted something innocent into something sinister. You looked at Jungkook, your heart still heavy but softening.

He chose me, you told yourself, guilt creeping in for doubting him. I should trust my mate.

“Luna, let me escort you back to your quarters,” Kenji said, stepping toward you, his tone gentle but firm. His words slammed into you like a blow to the chest. The real meaning sank in, and it crushed you. He wasn’t sending her away. He was sending you.

“What?” Your voice came out shaky, barely above a whisper. You blinked at him, not trusting your ears.

Kenji’s eyes softened with guilt, but he didn’t back down. “Please,” he murmured, his voice low and almost pleading. Your gaze snapped to Jungkook, desperation bubbling up in your chest like a volcano ready to erupt. You wanted to march up to him, grab him by his collar, and demand answers. But the weight of it all—the confusion, the betrayal, the pain—was pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe.

“Luna?” Elizabeth’s soft, lilting voice broke through the tension like a knife. She turned to Jungkook, her brows furrowed in confusion, her lips parting slightly. “Why did he call her Luna, Jungkook?”

There it was—a flicker of panic in her otherwise composed demeanour. You caught it in her eyes, the way they widened for just a second before she masked it with feigned curiosity. Even Kenji froze at her question, his jaw tightening as though he’d been caught in a trap. You scanned their faces—Elizabeth’s curiosity, Kenji’s guilt, and Jungkook’s growing tension—and the pit in your stomach churned. They all knew something you didn’t.

“Liz!” Jungkook barked, his voice sharp but edged with something you couldn’t quite name. “We’ll talk in my quarters.” Before she could respond, he grabbed her wrist and started dragging with him. She stumbled slightly, clearly caught off guard, but she quickly regained her balance and pulled against his grip, wincing as though it hurt.

Your stomach clenched at the sight. She’s leaving. The thought should have brought relief, but it didn’t. Her gaze remained locked on you, her eyes swirling with emotions you couldn’t decipher—curiosity, jealousy, maybe even fear. And you? You couldn’t look away. You hated her, and it wasn’t just her beauty or elegance or the way she carried herself. It was something deeper, something primal.

“Luna,” Kenji said again, softer this time, and you turned to him instinctively. His expression was a careful mask of professionalism, but his eyes told a different story. They were apologetic, almost pleading.

“Please,” he said again, motioning for you to move.

For a moment, your feet refused to move, rooted to the ground by the storm of emotions raging inside you. All you wanted was to go to Jungkook, grab him, and demand answers—answers to this, to all the questions that haunted your sleepless nights. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Instead, you forced a tight, bitter smile onto your face and nodded at Kenji. You saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes; he knew how fake it was, but he didn’t call you out on it.

You turned on your heel, your heart heavy and aching, and started walking toward your quarters. Kenji followed closely behind, his presence like a shadow you couldn’t escape. With every step, your chest tightened, and your mind raced. You wanted to scream, to cry, to throw something, anything, to release the storm inside you. But all you did was keep walking, each step feeling heavier than the last. By the time you reached your room, your hands were trembling. You pushed the door open and stepped inside, your breath shaky as you tried to steady yourself.

Kenji paused in the doorway, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he bowed his head slightly. “Luna,” he said softly, and then he closed the door, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You stood there, staring at the closed door, your chest rising and falling as you struggled to hold yourself together.

You paced back and forth in your room, your bare feet padding against the cold floor. Your heart pounded in your chest, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. You needed answers, and you needed them now. Shina would come. She was the only one who might make sense of this mess. You rubbed your sweaty palms against your dress and exhaled shakily. The faint, sweet scent of honey wafted through the air, and your head snapped toward the door.

She was here.

You strode to the door, wrenching it open, only to find the hallway empty. The guards stood motionless, their eyes trained ahead. But the scent—it was unmistakable. It was her. Your nostrils flared as it grew stronger, as if pulling you toward something.

And then you saw her. Shina rounded the corner at the end of the hallway, her movements fluid, her hair catching the dim light. She smiled when her eyes landed on you, a warmth in her expression that only made your chest ache more. It hit you like a punch to the gut. You’d smelled her from that far away. A shiver crawled up your spine. That wasn’t normal. You were just a regular werewolf. How was this possible? God, it wasn't good.

“Were you… waiting for me, Bee?” Shina teased, her grin playful as she closed the distance between you. “Never thought you’d miss me this much.” The moment she was close enough, you grabbed her arm and pulled her into the room, shutting the door with a forceful thud.

“Whoa! What’s going on?” she asked, her brows knitting together as she scanned your face. She reached up to touch your forehead, her fingers cool against your heated skin. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t,” you muttered, swatting her hand away. Your voice was low, clipped. “I’m not some fragile thing, Shina. I don’t get sick.”

She tilted her head, studying you with sharp, calculating eyes. “You look off,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “You’re acting like it.”

“Ha! Funny,” you snapped, pacing away from her.

“Bee,” she called out, her voice softening. “You’re acting… strange. You look like you haven’t slept all night.” You spun around, your movements jerky, your hands clenched into fists at your sides.

“Oh, sure. Because it’s so easy to sleep these days.”

Shina sighed, her shoulders sagging as she shook her head. “You know you’re impossible to talk to when you’re like this.”

“Like what, Shina?” you shot back, your voice rising. “Go on. Say it.”

“Like you’re…” She hesitated, the words hanging in the air. Her lips pressed into a thin line before she exhaled sharply. “Like you’re miserable.”

The word hit you square in the chest, knocking the breath from your lungs. She wasn’t wrong. You were miserable. But hearing it said out loud—especially by her—only deepened the ache.

“What’s the issue, Bee?” she asked, her voice quieter now, her eyes searching yours.

“If you know me so well,” you bit out, crossing your arms over your chest, “guess.”

She raised a brow, unimpressed. “Guess? No thanks. You’re a little terrifying when you’re like this.”

“Shina!” you snapped, the word ripping from your throat before you could stop it.

“For God’s sake, Bee,” Shina said, exasperation seeping into her voice. Her arms fell to her sides, palms up in frustration. “If you’ve got something to say, just say it. Don’t make me stand here, tiptoeing on pins and needles. I can’t read minds, and I sure as hell don’t have a crystal ball.”

Your gaze flicked to her, your jaw tightening as you swallowed hard. The words clawed at your throat, but doubt tangled with them. Should you even bring this up? Should you ask about her? The small, stubborn voice in the back of your head whispered not to—that there could be a reasonable explanation for Elder Mathew’s daughter being here. Maybe she was a political guest, maybe she was just a friend, maybe Jungkook didn’t care about her presence. But the desperation simmering in your chest drowned out reason. You needed answers. Closure.

“Do you…” You hesitated, your voice barely audible as you forced yourself to meet her eyes. “Do you know that Elder Mathew’s daughter is here?”

Shina blinked at you, her expression neutral as she walked toward the window, turning her back to you. “Yes,” she said simply, her tone too casual. Your fists clenched. Why did everyone love staring out that damn window? It was as if they thought the glass could shield them from the weight of your questions.

“And?” you pressed, stepping toward her, every muscle in your body tensing.

“And what?” she said lightly, though you caught the slight hitch in her voice.

“Why is she here?”

“How would I know?” she replied with a forced laugh, but her faltering smile betrayed her.

“Don’t play games with me.” You strode forward and grabbed her arm, spinning her to face you. Your eyes burned into hers, demanding honesty. “You’re the beta female. Of course, you’d know.”

Her brows furrowed, and her lips parted as if to argue, but then she shot back, “And you’re the Luna, Bee.” Her words were sharp, cutting through the space between you. She inhaled deeply, her shoulders rising and falling as she steadied herself. “That… that doesn’t mean I have all the answers you want.”

“Doesn’t it?” Your grip on her arm tightened slightly before you let go, stepping back with a bitter laugh. “But Kian would know. He’s your mate.”

Her jaw tensed. “And what if he does?”

“Then you do too,” you said, your voice low, almost a growl.

“Fine!” Shina snapped, throwing her hands up. “I do. Now what?”

“Tell me!”

“I can’t!” she shouted, the frustration in her voice matching yours.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“This isn’t my choice, Bee!” she said, her voice cracking. Her eyes shimmered, her expression torn between guilt and helplessness. “I don’t have a choice here.”

“Shina, please,” you pleaded, the crack in your voice betraying the desperation you felt. “Patricia isn’t here—”

“She wouldn’t tell you either!” Shina interrupted, taking a step back, her gaze darting to the door as if she wanted to escape.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not my place to tell you, and you…” She paused, her breath catching. “You might not want to hear it.”

“But I need to hear it!” you snapped, your voice breaking as your hands trembled at your sides.

Shina sighed deeply, her shoulders sagging. “Please,” she whispered, her voice softening. “Don’t put me in this position.”

Your knees buckled slightly, and you gripped the edge of the table for support. “But, Shina… I need to know. If I don’t, it’s just this… ache that won’t go away.”

“I get that,” she said, her voice thick with sympathy. “But, Bee… if you really need answers, maybe… maybe it’s time you ask the one person who can give them to you.”

Her words hung in the air, pressing against your chest like a weight you couldn’t shake. She was right. You knew she was right. You and Jungkook needed to talk. But how? Every time you tried, it ended in a fight, his sharp words cutting deeper than he could ever know. You weren’t some emotionless being—his denial stung more than you could admit. And yet, despite everything, you were growing fond of him. The mate bond or not, your feelings for him were creeping in, uncontrollable and unrelenting. Shina’s voice broke the tense silence.

“Bee?” she called softly, her eyes searching yours.

You blinked at her, your breath hitching as the ache in your chest deepened.

“It will be alright,” she said, her voice soothing. “I’m certain of it. You don’t need to worry. It’s not what you’re thinking.”

Her confidence should have reassured you, but it didn’t. It only made you feel… empty. Because there was only one person whose words could soothe you now, and his never had.

None of you said anything for a long time, the silence hanging heavy in the air. You both just stood there, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. Her eyes never left yours, but you could see it—pity, guilt, and empathy swirling in them. Beneath it all, there was the unmistakable pull to escape. You could feel it in the way her shoulders tensed, in the way her eyes darted away for just a split second before locking with yours again. She didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to be put in the position you were putting her in.

But you weren’t going to press her anymore. There was something in her that told you it wasn’t the right time, that she was holding back for a reason. You didn’t want to make it worse. Maybe it was just easier to let her leave. You had your own questions now, and you would find answers another way. Jungkook could give them to you.

The next few hours dragged on in a haze of words you didn’t care to hear. Shina told you about Lycan history—bits and pieces you hadn’t known before. You’d heard of the first Lycan, the child of the moon goddess, who’d mated with humans, creating the werewolves. But what she told you was darker, heavier than that. How the first king had been executed for falling in love with a human. A king—dead, for something so simple. So heartbreaking.

But, despite your usual curiosity, you couldn’t focus on her words. They were just noise now. You could feel the pressure building in your chest, the knot tightening. You could see the way Shina looked at you—her eyes moist with unshed tears, a half-hearted smile twisting on her lips. It was like she was carrying the weight of a centuries-old tragedy.

“Guess tragedy follows all Lycan kings,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her gaze flicking away from yours as if the words were too much to face.

“Maybe…” You spoke absentmindedly, the words coming out flat, like they were from someone else’s mouth. “Maybe things could get better. One day.”

Shina’s smile faltered, and she shook her head, her lips pressing together. “He’s dead,” she said, the bitterness in her voice surprising you both.

“Huh? No. I—” you stammered, but then her expression shifted, a deep, resigned breath escaping her as she looked at you, the pain clear in her eyes.

“I think it’s time for me to leave,” she said, her voice steady but her hands trembling slightly as she reached for the door.

“Training?” you asked, though the word felt like it was too light, too hollow.

“Yeah,” she said, a nervous smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. She was already moving toward the door, her footsteps quick, as if she couldn’t wait to get away from the moment. “I’m leaving now. You rest.” She rushed out of the room, her shoulders stiff, and you just stood there, watching her go. The door clicked shut behind her with a finality that made your stomach drop.

You scoffed softly, frustration bubbling up inside you. Why the hell was she in such a rush to leave? It didn’t make sense. You stood there, your body frozen, a part of you wanting to go after her, to ask if you could come with her, to avoid having to face Jungkook. But deep down, you knew that was just an excuse. You both needed space—time apart. She was uncomfortable in your presence, and you were too bitter to feel anything but resentment.

But there was something more pressing than any of that. You needed to talk to him. And you couldn’t keep running from it.

You drew in a sharp breath, straightening your back with determination. The bitterness in your chest, the ache that had settled there ever since the night you came here, had to be dealt with. You had to know the truth. You weren’t going to hide from it anymore.

With a deep breath, you started walking toward the prince’s chamber. The hallway seemed endless as your feet moved on their own, each step heavier than the last. The closer you got, the tighter your chest felt. You didn’t know what would happen, but you knew you couldn’t back down now.

But as you reached the door to Jungkook’s chamber, something stopped you. Two guards stood in front of the door, their postures rigid. They didn’t even glance at you, but there was something in their stance that made it clear: you weren’t going in.

Your confusion mirrored on your face, your brows furrowing as you looked between the guards. Why weren’t you allowed in? You had been here before, not once but twice, and never had anyone stopped you. It wasn’t like they’d ever welcomed you, but they’d never blocked your way either. You glanced at the guards, silently asking them why they were forbidding you now. What had changed?

The taller one, the one who usually looked the least amused by your presence, met your eyes briefly. His gaze was unreadable, but his posture remained firm. Without a word, he subtly shook his head,

"His Majesty is currently engaged in vital matters, and we have strict orders not to let anyone in," one of the guards said, his voice calm, his stance stiff and unwavering. His expression was a wall of stone, giving nothing away. His words lingered in the air, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. Vital matters? The phrase gnawed at you, sending a ripple of unease down your spine.

You swallowed the knot that had suddenly formed in your throat and steadied your breath. "Could you please tell him I wish to speak with him?" You tried to keep your voice even, though there was a flicker of desperation hidden beneath. Surely, he would make time for you. You hoped he would.

"My apologies, but I can’t do that," the guard replied, his tone unyielding. He glanced toward the other guard before continuing, "I suggest you return at a later time, or we can inform His Majesty once he’s available." His words felt like a cold dismissal, a door slammed shut without even a hint of hesitation.

You nodded, though the movement was mechanical, like your body was on autopilot. You turned on your heel, ready to walk away, but then something tugged at you—an itch in your mind, a question you didn’t quite mean to ask. Before you could stop yourself, the words were out.

"Who is His Majesty with?"

The guards exchanged a brief glance, their eyes flashing with something unreadable. The taller one shifted his weight, his jaw tightening. There was a hesitation, a subtle shift in his stance, but he answered nonetheless. "Lady Elizabeth."

Your stomach twisted violently, and for a moment, everything in you froze. Lady Elizabeth? The words hit you like a slap, raw and unanticipated. The world around you blurred for a split second, your heartbeat hammering in your chest. You didn’t say anything. The silence that followed felt heavy, suffocating. Without a word, you turned away, your feet carrying you down the hallway, though you had no idea where you were going.

Your mind was a storm, a muddled hurricane of confusion and pain. Fear wrapped itself around your chest, squeezing, making it hard to breathe. There was a choking sensation in your throat, as though someone was gripping it, holding it tight. You didn’t know why, but the fear felt overwhelming, as if your very soul was suffocating. The words kept echoing in your mind: Lady Elizabeth...

You tried to push the feeling away, but it lingered, gnawing at you. The bitterness in your heart was now coupled with an ache so raw it almost felt physical. I don’t care. I don’t care who she is, you told yourself, but it was a lie. The truth was there, and you could feel it sinking in—your chest tight, your breath shallow. You weren’t sure where you were headed, but the corridors seemed unfamiliar, and yet somehow, you kept walking.

It was beautiful here—almost breathtaking. The walls were adorned with intricate designs, the colours soft and warm. But it was untidy, too. The air smelled strange, heavy with the scent of something that made your stomach churn. Testosterone. The sharp, overwhelming smell of unmated males, young and restless, filled the space, clinging to the air like smoke.

You took a few more steps, your feet dragging, as the feeling of being utterly lost gripped you tighter. Where am I? You glanced around, but the hallways were empty, no one in sight. The churning in your stomach intensified, an urgent voice in the back of your mind screaming at you to run. But… where? You didn’t know.

You stopped, standing in the middle of the corridor, your heart racing, trying to calm the madness inside you. Get it together. You can’t be lost. But the panic rose, clawing at your insides, tightening around your chest. You couldn’t breathe. The walls seemed to close in. The feeling of being trapped overwhelmed you.

"Luna?" A voice broke through the haze, sharp and clear. Footsteps followed—heavy, purposeful.

You whipped your head toward the sound, the relief flooding through you so quickly it made your knees weak. Kenji.

"What are you doing here, Luna?" Kenji's voice was sharp, his gaze sweeping over you, taking in every inch of your form. His brow furrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin line, a clear sign of concern. His demeanour was exacting, shoulders squared, and his body instinctively positioned between you and the hallway.

"You shouldn’t be here," he added, his words firm, but there was something softer in his voice, like a silent plea for you to turn back.

You understood his concern. This part of the palace was different from the calm halls you were used to. The air was thick, soaked with the sharp, unmistakable scent of young wolves—uncontrolled, brimming with energy, their scent strong and raw. You could smell it yourself, a thick, musky mix of testosterone and unease. You didn’t need to ask him. It was clear.

The juvenile Lycans, especially the young males, were unpredictable. Their tempers were short, and their instincts fierce. Aggression simmered beneath the surface, barely contained, and it only took the slightest provocation to unleash it. These boys weren’t just troublesome—they were a force of nature, unpredictable and dangerous in ways you had never experienced before.

"I… I lost my way," you whispered, your voice faltering slightly as you tried to steady yourself.

"Come," he murmured, his voice low but reassuring, pulling you from your thoughts.

You looked at him, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, though it felt small compared to the heaviness in the air. "Kenji?"

"Yes, Luna!" His eyes widened, his expression softening when he caught the lightness in your tone. He seemed almost flustered by your smile, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction as he glanced down at you. There was something undeniably endearing about him—his loyalty, his protective nature—and in that moment, it felt like a warmth in the cold.

"Why does this place look… like a storm passed through it?" you asked, your voice still soft, though now filled with curiosity. You couldn’t help but notice the mess—furniture slightly askew, papers scattered.

Kenji’s gaze flicked toward the mess, his face tightening slightly. He didn’t seem surprised by your question, though he didn’t look thrilled either. "Young He-Lycans stay here. It’s their den," he said flatly, offering nothing more. The way he said it made it clear that there was no need to explain further—like the messy state of the room was simply part of the process.

You nodded slowly, understanding the unstated truth. But you couldn’t help but feel the sharpness of the atmosphere pressing in on you. The wildness of the young wolves felt tangible in the way the space seemed to pulse with energy, like the storm Kenji had mentioned was never quite over.

"Where are we going, Kenji?" you asked, looking up at him, the unease still gnawing at you. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

Kenji halted in his tracks for a moment, as if your question had caught him off guard. His eyes widened slightly, and his lips parted, like he was struggling to find the right words. There was a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, but it was quickly replaced with a firm resolve. "To your quarters," he said, his voice steady but with an undertone of something softer—something protective.

"I… do-don't want to go there," you whispered, your voice small and uncertain, a nervous tug in your chest. The thought of returning to your room, alone in the quiet, filled you with dismay. You felt trapped in a place where you didn’t belong, surrounded by no one but void. The weight of loneliness pressed against you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to face it.

Kenji paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you, his lips parting as if he were about to say something. "What?" he asked, his voice gentle, but there was a flicker of concern in his gaze.

"Where were you headed, Kenji?" you asked, the words escaping before you could stop them. You needed something to focus on, something to distract you from the heaviness in your chest.

He shifted, his expression thoughtful for a brief moment before he spoke. "The stables," he murmured, almost to himself. The way he said it was so casual, but not to you.

"Horses?" you asked, your eyes widening, the excitement bubbling up inside you. A smile stretched across your face, wide and genuine. "I didn’t even know Jungkook kept horses."

Kenji’s eyes flicked to you, his posture hardening for a brief second. "They’re mine," he said matter-of-factly, his voice holding a hint of delight.

"Oh!" was all you could manage to say, the excitement racing through your veins. It was a small thing, but it felt like a chance at freedom, at doing something outside of the suffocating walls of the palace.

"May I come with you?" The words slipped out before you could second-guess them, the thought of the horses too tempting to ignore. You could feel your heart quicken, and your hands twisted together nervously, but the smile that pulled at your lips wouldn’t fade.

Kenji hesitated, his eyes flickering from you to the hallway ahead, as if weighing the consequences. His brow furrowed slightly, and for a moment, you thought he might say no. But then he looked at you again, his gaze softening. It wasn’t much, but there was something there—a flicker of understanding, of empathy.

"Please. Please, please, please, Kenji," you pressed, your voice pleading now. You felt the excitement bubbling up like an unstoppable force, your body leaning forward, almost daring him to turn you down.

Kenji looked torn, his lips pressing together in a thin line as if he were still unsure, still unsure of you, of whether it was a good idea. But after what felt like an eternity, he finally relented, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Of course, Luna. But… don't tell no one," he said, his expression still a mixture of caution and something softer—something you couldn’t quite place. His eyes flicked over you, as if trying to make sense of the sudden shift in your demeanour. You caught the wariness in his gaze, like he was watching you closely, waiting for something.

But you were too excited to care. You barely registered the way his eyes lingered on you or the tension in his posture. All you could focus on was the idea of the horses, of getting away from everything for a moment. You followed him through the palace. The hallways twisted and turned, unfamiliar and confusing, but Kenji moved with ease, guiding you through the maze.

Finally, you stepped out into the fresh air, the weight of the palace behind you. The cold breeze brushed against your face, and for a brief moment, it felt like a release. The stables were just ahead, the smell of hay and earth filling the air, mixing with the scent of the horses you could already hear shifting inside.

"It’s... small," you said, your eyes scanning the stables, and you couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled in your chest. Kenji shot you a look, a silent question in his eyes—Are you being serious right now?

You smiled at him sweetly, shrugging it off as if it were nothing.

"I only have two horses!" he responded, sounding a bit defensive. The way he said it made it clear that he had his reasons for the small stable, though you weren’t sure what they were.

"Oh!" was all you could muster, though the realization didn’t seem to change your excitement.

"Yeah!" Kenji added, a slight tilt of his head as he looked you up and down. There was something playful in his gaze, but it was too forced—like he was trying to be sassy but failing miserably. The awkwardness made you chuckle quietly, and it was almost endearing.

You both walked further into the stable, the scent of hay and earth filling your nose, when you saw them—two stunning horses. One was sleek and jet black, while the other was a rich, deep brown. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight. The black one was breathtaking. His coat shimmered in the light, and his eyes seemed to pierce through you. You took a step forward without thinking, your hand reaching out, eager to feel the smoothness of his coat beneath your fingertips.

But as you moved closer, the horse bared its teeth and snorted, a high pitched squeal rumbling from deep within its chest. You froze, instinctively pulling back as your heart leapt into your throat. Kenji was at your side in an instant, his hand gently grasping your elbow, guiding you away from the horse.

"Luna?" he whispered urgently, his voice low but with an edge of concern. You turned to face him, your heart still pounding in your chest. His gaze was soft but grave, and there was a hint of disbelief in his eyes. "Why…?" he asked, almost as if he were trying to understand.

"I—I just wanted to touch him," you stammered, your face flushing with embarrassment.

Kenji raised an eyebrow, his lips twisting in an almost disbelieving smile. "He’s wild."

"Well, you might have told me that sooner!" you snapped, the frustration of your failure making your words sharper than you intended. You crossed your arms defensively, but your eyes were still on the black horse, who was now eyeing you warily from the corner.

"Couldn’t you tell?" Kenji’s tone was soft but teasing, as though he couldn’t believe you didn’t sense the danger.

"I got excited!" you huffed, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips despite the situation. You were embarrassed, yes, but you couldn’t help the rush of excitement you had felt. The adrenaline from the near encounter still buzzed in your chest.

Kenji shook his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "He’s dangerous," he said, his voice firm, but there was a gentle amusement in his tone, as though he were trying to ease your fluster.

"Fine, I got it!" you said quickly, brushing it off with a small laugh. You were still processing the intensity of the moment, but Kenji wasn’t giving you time to linger.

"Go, try on that one. He’s gentler." Kenji gestured toward the brown horse with a wave of his hand, as if to shoo you away from the black one.

You walked cautiously toward the brown horse, whose calm eyes met yours without hostility. His coat was soft and warm under your touch, and as you stood beside him, he nuzzled you gently. The feeling of his breath against your skin was soothing. You couldn’t help but smile, a contented sigh escaping your lips as your fingers ran over his mane.

It had been days since you had been outside like this, away from the walls of the palace. Sure, you had gone shopping, but it wasn’t the same. Being here, in the fresh air with the horses, felt more like freedom than anything you had experienced in a long time.

The open blue sky stretched above you, dotted with soft clouds, and the sun was starting to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow over everything. The cold breeze ruffled your hair, and the mud squelched beneath your bare feet as you shifted your weight. It felt so real, so grounding, like a connection to something wild and untamed. Even though you were still inside the palace walls, it was the closest you had felt to truly being outside. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the peacefulness of the moment wash over you.

Kenji and you had spent quite some time in the stables, feeding the horses and talking, the tension from the palace slowly ebbing away. But now, as you walked back toward the imposing walls of the palace, that sense of ease seemed to slip through your fingers like sand. You felt relaxed, yes, but that weight of confinement pressed back against your chest as the palace loomed closer.

Kenji escorted you to your room, but stopped just outside, as if unsure whether to enter. His hesitation was clear, but you didn’t push him. You simply nodded, grateful for the brief escape. The door clicked shut behind you, and as the silence settled, you couldn't help but feel the shift in your own mood. The familiar heaviness of your room creeping back in.

You walked across the room, your footsteps soft against the floor, and sat in the same chair Patricia always claimed when she visited—just beside the window. You couldn’t help but gaze outside, the familiar view stretching out before you. The setting sun painted the sky in rich purples and fiery oranges, the light so soft it felt almost like a dream. It should have been beautiful, and it was—but it also tugged at something inside you. A hollow ache in your chest that you couldn’t ignore.

For the first time, you realized how truly trapped you felt here. You weren’t a prisoner, exactly, but now you understood the full weight of what it meant to be stuck. You missed the small things. The people. The pack. The freedom you used to have. The flying birds in the distance, the shifting clouds, the pack members wandering without a care in the world—they were free. You were not.

You wanted to shake it off, to push the emotion down, but it swelled within you, a sadness that tightened your throat and clouded your thoughts. Why hadn’t I appreciated my old life more? you wondered, a lump rising in your throat. Your pack, your life—it was messy, chaotic, sure, and you had felt alone, maybe even hated by some. But back then, there was a freedom to it. It was yours, even if no one else understood or cared. You were free, and you had hope, however small it seemed. And now… now everything was out of your control.

"Do Patricia feel the same?" you muttered to yourself, barely aware of the question slipping from your lips. You didn’t expect an answer, but it hung there, thick in the air, a reminder of how alone you felt. Maybe you were being dramatic, maybe emotional, but right now, the melancholy crept so deep inside you, painting everything around you a dull blue.

The quiet only made it worse. The silence in your room was thunderous, overwhelming. Peace? Peace was the one thing you had never been able to hold onto in your life. It had always been about chaos. Your entire existence had been a swirl of turmoil and now, even here, it felt no different. Then, as if the universe had decided you hadn’t been suffering enough, the door creaked open. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

Jungkook.

The Lycan king. The one who had made everything in your life more complicated than it needed to be. If it had been any other time, you might’ve been relieved—or maybe you would’ve felt excitement at his presence. But not now. Not tonight. Tonight, you had found a sliver of calm, and now it was slipping through your fingers as he entered the room, his steps slow and measured, like a predator stalking its prey.

Your gaze didn’t shift from the window, though you felt his presence fill the room, heavy and undeniable. The tension in the air thickened, and your pulse quickened. Were you mad at him? Maybe. Did you want to talk? Not really. Did you want him here, standing in your room? Absolutely not.

But there he was, unmistakable, his presence overwhelming. You could smell the faint traces of the stables on yourself, and it made you wonder—Did he know I was there? His eyes flickered to you, and then to the window where you had been gazing out.

You didn’t move. You didn’t even look at him, though you could feel his eyes on you, reading you like a book. His gaze was soft, but his body language? It was tense. His stance was too demanding for someone who had walked in so casually. You could sense his discomfort, his awareness of your silence. But you didn’t say anything.

You were tired of talking, of pretending. You just wanted a moment to breathe, a moment of quiet that was yours. Even if only for a few more minutes.

Without a word, he moved to sit on the edge of your bed, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he were afraid to spook you. You smirked at him, shaking your head, the bitterness in your expression cutting sharper than words. He stilled, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. It was clear he didn’t like it.

“I heard you insisted on seeing me,” he said softly, his voice smooth but probing, his gaze steady as he studied your face. The words fell from his lips so gently it took you a moment to realize he was actually speaking to you.

“Yes, I did,” you replied, barely looking up. Your voice was small, quiet, almost drowned out by the heavy silence in the room. “But… you were busy.”

“Busy or not, I’m here now.” His tone was firm, but there was a hint of something else beneath it—an attempt at reassurance. “I came as soon as I could.”

“How very gracious of you,” you replied, a faint, hollow laugh escaping before you could stop it. “Finally, I’m worth a fraction of your time. I suppose I should be honoured, Your Majesty.” The sarcasm in your voice was biting, but it wasn’t enough to mask the pain underneath.

His lips pressed into a thin line, his poise undaunted. “Must we do this?” he murmured, his voice low and steady, though his eyes flickered with something—annoyance, perhaps. “Is there a reason for this tone?”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” you said, the title dripping with venom. You straightened in your chair, meeting his gaze with a cold, practiced civility. “I wouldn’t want to waste your time with my… petty concerns.”

His jaw tightened for a brief moment before he exhaled sharply. “I’ve told you—call me by my name.”

You tilted your head slightly, your brittle smile more painful than any scream could’ve been. “But why should I? That’s all I am to you, isn’t it?” Your voice cracked, barely a whisper. “Another subject. Another burden.”

Something in him shifted. His shoulders tensed, and his eyes flickered with an emotion he didn’t bother to hide. He flinched, but the rest of his face was unreadable as he looked away.

“What is it that troubles you?” he asked finally, his voice softer now, hesitant. It was like a hand reaching out but not quite daring to touch. His eyes searched yours, tender and careful, and for a moment, it made your heart stutter. It almost felt real.

“Nothing that I’d burden Your Majesty with,” you replied, though the lump in your throat begged you to say more. You looked away, unable to face him any longer, unable to let him see the tears threatening to spill.

He sat in silence for a moment, the tension between you thick and unbearable. Then he stood, moving toward you with slow, deliberate steps. You watched him, unable to look away, your body betraying you even as your mind screamed at you to turn your head.

And then, he did something you never expected.

He knelt.

Right in front of you.

Your eyes widened, and for a moment, the air left your lungs. His sudden vulnerability caught you off guard, and you weren’t sure if it terrified you or pulled you deeper into his orbit. A soft, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his lips—a rare sight, one you hadn’t seen before. It made your heart trip over itself.

“Is this about yesterday?” he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper. The words were so soft, yet they hit you with the force of a storm.

Your expression shifted, hardening as you quickly looked away. You wanted to scream at him, to tell him that yes, it was about yesterday, but it wasn’t just that. It was everything. Elizabeth. The loneliness. The weight of being here. But instead, you said nothing. Silence wrapped around you like a shield, protecting you from saying too much.

He sighed, and before you could pull away, his hands reached out to gently take yours. His grip was firm yet tender, and the touch sent warmth flooding through your chest, filling the cracks you’d been trying so hard to hide. Butterflies? No. This was more. It was as if a whole zoo had come alive in your stomach.

“I didn’t know you were there,” he whispered, his voice soft but resolute.

“It doesn’t change much,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. The words stung, but they were true. It didn’t change the fact that he didn’t want you—not really. You couldn’t ignore the nagging thought that this care, this attention, wasn’t because of him, but because of the mate bond. It was forced. Not real.

"I know, I hurt—"

"Oh, you don’t," you cut him off, the words sharp and bitter. "You think you do, but you don’t know how it feels."

You broke the fragile moment, the one you hadn’t even fully tasted before it slipped away.

You pulled your hand from his, the coldness of the empty space between you settling deeper than you expected. He reached for you again, but you flinched back, shaking your head, unable to let him touch you anymore.

His eyes darkened, a flicker of frustration and hurt crossing his face. “why..? You’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head as the hurt bubbled to the surface. “That’s what you call it?” The words burned as they left your lips, raw and unfiltered. “You’ve locked me out so many times, made it painfully clear that I mean nothing to you. I’ve stood by, waiting for something—anything—that might make you see me. But every glance you throw my way feels like a dismissal, like I’m nothing more than a burden you can’t shake. I’ve tried to be strong, tried to hold on to whatever scraps of love you’re willing to give, but it’s never enough, is it? So why am I still here? Why do you keep me close if I’m just a reminder of something you don’t want? I don’t understand. If I mean so little to you, if I’m nothing more than a weight dragging you down, then why can’t you just… Reject me?”

For a moment, his expression hardened, something sharp flashing in his eyes—a warning, a challenge. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by something darker. He stood, towering over you, his presence as commanding as ever. “Because you’re mine,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl.

The words hit you like a blow. “Yours?” you echoed, your voice cracking as you stood, trembling under the weight of everything you had been holding in. Your chest tightened, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. “You don’t get to claim me when it’s convenient. I’m not a possession you can put on a shelf, to keep or discard as you like.” You took a step closer, your eyes boring into his, hot tears stinging the corners of your vision. “I’m just a fixture here, aren’t I? Bound to you, but always kept at a distance. Never to be seen, never to be named.”

You forced a shaky breath, but it caught in your throat. “And then you left me in the hallway and leave with her,” you spat, voice quivering with hurt, “and I’m supposed to just sit here, waiting, smiling… pretending that it doesn’t rip me apart.” Your hands flew to your temples as if trying to physically hold yourself together, but you couldn’t stop the flood of words pouring out.

His expression barely shifted, his face a mask of unreadable calm. It infuriated you. “Is it about Elizabeth?” he asked, his tone soft, almost placating, but there was no fire, no urgency—nothing close to what you wanted from him.

“Yes. No,” you snapped, the contradictions tearing at you. Your voice grew louder, more erratic. “It’s not just her—it’s everything! It’s you, Jungkook. You keep me in the dark and expect me to just… endure it.”

“She means nothing,” he said, taking a step closer, his voice dropping into something softer, almost tender. His words made you falter, a spark of relief flickering deep in your chest. But it wasn’t enough—not anymore. If she meant nothing, then why had he left you standing there? Why hadn’t he pushed her away? And why was she even here?

“Nothing?” you echoed, a bitter laugh slipping past your lips. “If she’s nothing, then why won’t you tell me the truth? Why won’t you just let me in?” You crossed your arms over your chest, turning away from him as a fresh wave of doubt and pain coursed through you.

The accusation hung in the air like a dagger. His jaw tightened, and for the first time, his carefully guarded mask cracked. His hands clenched at his sides, and his gaze darkened as he took another step closer. "You won't understand and I can't make you"

"Then, it's your chance. Make me understand."

His lips parted, but no words came out. His shoulders sagged, his head dipping slightly as if he couldn’t meet your gaze. “I told you before,” he finally said, his voice so soft it was almost drowned out by the silence. “I’m not capable of love.”

The words shattered something in you. You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and pained. “Not capable of love?” you repeated,

“Not capable… or just not willing?” you demanded, stepping closer to him. Your voice rose but stayed fragile, trembling under the weight of your emotions. “It’s easier, isn’t it? To hide behind your walls, to pretend you’re somehow unfeeling, while I stand here breaking myself for you? I’m hurting, Jungkook, and you’re the reason why. Can’t you see that?”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened as he turned his head, refusing to meet your eyes. His hands hung stiffly by his sides, clenched so tightly you could see the veins on the back of his hands. “You don’t know me as well as you think,” he muttered, voice low and cold.

You laughed bitterly, a hollow sound that cracked in the air. “Then tell me!” you said, your voice breaking with desperation. You took another step toward him, your hands trembling at your sides. “Tell me what it is I don’t know. Tell me why you pull me close one moment and push me away the next. Tell me why I’m here at all if you feel nothing.” Your chest heaved with the effort of holding yourself together, but the dam had already broken. “Tell me why you’d rather leave me in agony than set me free,” you said, your voice quieter now, trembling with raw emotion.

“Enough,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked down, the usual sharpness in his gaze dulled, his shoulders tense but sagging under invisible weight. “Stop… please.”

Your heart clenched at the crack in his voice, but you pushed past it. “No,” you said firmly, shaking your head, the tears in your eyes blurring his figure. “You don’t get to silence me now.” You forced yourself to hold his gaze, even as your vision swam. Hot tears spilled over, streaking your cheeks, but you didn’t look away. “Why don’t you let me go, Jungkook? Why do you make me stay, to suffer, if there’s nothing here for me?”

Your voice faltered, a sob catching in your throat. “Why am I here? Why can’t you just… let me go?” The words came out barely audible, your hands lifting helplessly before falling back to your sides.

He stepped toward you, closing the distance. His dark eyes locked onto yours with a fiery intensity, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. “I won’t let you leave,” he said finally, his voice low and rough, like a vow etched in stone.

You stared at him, searching his face for something—anything—that could explain the torment in his eyes. “You won’t… or you can’t?” you shot back, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and despair. You felt like you were unravelling, your heart splintering with every second that passed. “Tell me, Jungkook—if it’s not love, then what is it? Pride? Control? What do you want from me? Why should I stay?”

His breathing quickened, his chest rising and falling with restrained intensity. For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable but his eyes burning with something raw, something untamed. “You’ll stay,” he said at last, his voice soft but laced with possession. His hand reached out as if to touch you but stopped midair, his fingers curling into a fist. “You know that as well as I do.”

You shook your head, a bitter laugh breaking free from your throat. It wasn’t humorous—it was hollow, aching, raw. “So you’ll just keep me here, then? Trapped, waiting, while you go on pretending I don’t exist?” Your voice cracked, the pain slipping through despite your best efforts to hide it. You clenched your fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as if the sting would ground you.

“Don’t,” he warned, his voice low and sharp, but there was something underneath—something fragile, barely masked. His hands were trembling, ever so slightly, his fingers twitching as if unsure whether to reach for you or stay where they were.

“Don’t what?” you whispered, your voice shaking like the fragile thread you clung to. You took a step closer, daring him to look at you. “Don’t leave? Don’t walk away from this mess?” Your chest heaved as your words tumbled out, the crack in your voice betraying you. “Tell me, Jungkook, how am I supposed to keep holding on when you’ve given me nothing to hold on to?”

For a fleeting moment, something crossed his face—a shadow of regret, or maybe pain—but it vanished so quickly you weren’t even sure it had been there. His jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I never asked you to hold on,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. His gaze flicked away, but the weight of his words hit you like a blow. You scoffed, shaking your head as the pain spilled over, raw and cutting.

“No. You just kept me close enough to stay under your thumb,” you said, stepping back. Your arms wrapped around yourself, a futile attempt to hold yourself together. “Close enough to keep me hoping, waiting… praying that one day you’d look at me and finally see me.”

His head snapped up, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. His expression hardened, sharp and unyielding. “And you think leaving will change that?” His voice was low, almost dangerous, and he took a step toward you, his presence overwhelming.

“I think,” you said, your voice trembling but steady enough to make your point, “that maybe it’s the only way I’ll be free.” Your throat tightened, but you forced the words out. “If I walk away, at least the pain might stop.”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—fear, maybe—but it was gone just as quickly, replaced by a fierce, unrelenting glare. He took another step closer, towering over you now. “No. You’re not going anywhere,” he said, his voice as sharp as a blade.

His words pressed down on you, suffocating, leaving no room to breathe. The silence stretched between you, heavy and unbearable.

“And what exactly am I supposed to do, then?” Your voice broke, soft and raw, the question barely louder than a whisper. “Just stay here… loving you, hating you, breaking for you… until there’s nothing left of me?”

His expression wavered, just for a moment—his brows furrowed, his lips parting slightly as if to speak. But he said nothing. Instead, he stood there, watching you, his hand reached out pulling you closer from your wrist. You saw it then—the way his eyes lingered, desperate and longing, but something refused to let him reach for you.

“You’ll stay,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less firm. It was softer now, but the possessiveness in it sent a shiver down your spine. “Because you’re mine. No one else’s. And you’ll never escape me. Not like this.”

He stepped back abruptly, releasing your wrist with a sharp, angry motion. You barely had time to process the emptiness his touch left before he turned on his heel. The door slammed shut behind him with such force that the sound rattled through your bones, echoing in the now-silent room.

You stood there, frozen in place, staring at the closed door as if it held all the answers you’d never get. Your heart pounded against your ribcage, each beat louder than the last. When you finally moved, it was slow, heavy, as if each step dragged you deeper into the void.

“And if I’m yours,” you muttered under your breath, your voice barely audible even to yourself, “then why am I always alone?”

Your legs carried you back to the chair by the window. You sank into it, folding your legs beneath you as you gazed out at the world. The sky was dark, the faint outline of the moon barely visible through the haze. You sat there, unmoving, staring out as if the answers lay somewhere beyond the horizon.

But no tears came. Not tonight. You didn’t have any left.

Time slipped by unnoticed. You didn’t know how long you sat there until the soft knock on the door startled you. The maid stepped in, hesitant, her hands clasped in front of her. A short while later, a tray of food appeared in your room, placed on the table without a word.

You ate mechanically, the food tasteless on your tongue. Each bite felt like an obligation, a necessity to keep going. When the plate was empty, you set it aside, lying down on the bed with a heaviness in your chest you couldn’t name. The ache in your ribs burned—not sharp, but slow and deliberate, like embers soldering beneath your skin. It had no name, no essence, only a relentless existence that refused to be ignored. You closed your eyes, the feeling sinking deeper as sleep pulled you under—a restless, empty escape.

The next morning, you woke with a heaviness lodged deep in your chest, a weight that refused to be ignored. It sat there, unmoving, like a stone pressing against your ribs. With a deep sigh, you pushed yourself up and trudged to the bathroom, your feet dragging against the cold floor. The mirror reflected a face you barely recognized—eyes dull, lips pressed into a flat line, exhaustion etched into every line and curve.

Late again. Well, late by their standards. You weren’t entirely behind schedule; it was just that this place seemed to move at a pace faster than you could keep up with.

Breakfast. You knew it was time. You hurried through your routine, splashing cold water on your face as if it could wash away the lingering fog in your mind. Not today. You weren’t going to let him or his damn thoughts weigh you down. That selfish, arrogant piece of a so-called king could go to hell for all you cared. He didn’t want to open up, didn’t want to tell you what was going on between him and Elizabeth. And he definitely didn’t want you anywhere but locked up in this suffocating prison he called a castle.

And… Screw him.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, the clock on the wall taunted you with its ticking, but you ignored it and made your way out of your quarters, heading toward the dining hall.

The atmosphere shifted the moment you walked in. All heads turned briefly before snapping back to their plates, except for two. You clenched your jaw, your heart thudding as you felt their gazes on you.

You moved to your usual seat beside Jungkook, your footsteps firm despite the tension coiling in your stomach. His presence radiated heat, and you could feel his gaze burning into the side of your face before you even sat down. The maids moved quickly, placing plates of food before you, the clinking of dishes breaking the otherwise suffocating silence.

You picked up your fork, stabbing at the food, but the hunger you’d felt earlier had evaporated. The air was choking you, and your thoughts were wild, scraping at the edges of your sanity like claws on stone. It felt like something was peeling your insides, slow and deliberate, leaving you raw and exposed.

You could feel his stare—intense, possessive, and utterly suffocating. It was rare for him to look at you like this, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected. His wolf wanted you, even if he didn’t. His body would always be drawn to you, no matter how much he tried to resist. You could justify his gaze, explain it away as instinct, nothing more.

But her.

Elizabeth’s stare was another matter entirely. Her gaze lingered, sharp and probing, cutting through the room’s heavy air like a blade. It settled on you, unwavering, making your skin prickle and your breath hitch.

Why was she staring?

The question gnawed at you, but you couldn’t find an answer. Her gaze was too much, too piercing, and it made you acutely aware of yourself—of the way your fingers gripped the fork too tightly, of the way your shoulders tensed as if bracing for an attack.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus on the plate in front of you, but the food blurred as your thoughts spiralled. Her stare burned into you, more than curious, more than observant—it was deliberate, calculated, like she knew something you didn’t.

You shifted in your seat, your knee brushing against Jungkook’s under the table. He stiffened, his gaze snapping back to his plate, but the tension in his body didn’t ease. His fingers tightened around his knife, his knuckles white, as though he was barely holding something back.

The silence was unbearable. The clatter of utensils and the soft murmur of others around the table felt distant, muted, as if you were trapped under a glass dome with only the two of them—him and her—bearing down on you.

But the bigger question—the one gnawing at you like a relentless itch—was why the hell was she still here? Elizabeth’s presence was a thorn lodged in your side, a reminder of every unanswered question and every hollow excuse Jungkook had thrown your way.

“You’re not eating anything.”

Ah, the devil himself had finally chosen to speak. His voice, low and measured, cut through the suffocating silence like a blade. Your fingers froze mid-motion, the fork in your hand hovering above the untouched food. Slowly, you lifted your gaze to meet his.

Jungkook was watching you, his dark eyes simmering with something unspoken—guilt, worry, or maybe a cruel mix of both. But you couldn’t be sure. You were never sure with him. Jungkook was an enigma wrapped in barbed wire—rarely kind, always distant, and painfully unpredictable.

Sometimes, he made you feel like he cared, like there was a sliver of hope buried in the chaos of your bond. Almost. But the illusion always shattered, leaving you with sharp words and deeper wounds. His sweetness twisted in your gut now, bitter and hollow.

Your chest tightened. The urge to speak burned in your throat—to lash out, scream, mock him until he felt the same raw, aching void he’d left in you. You wanted to hurt him, to make him feel heartbroken, alone, unworthy, unlovable.

But you couldn’t.

Your fingers curled tightly around the fork, knuckles white as you swallowed the anger and heartbreak clawing its way up. Instead, you stared at him, your throat thick and eyes glassy, the tears threatening to spill but refusing to fall. No, not anymore.

“I’m not hungry,” you muttered, your voice soft but firm, every bitter word swallowed and dead in your chest.

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice dropped lower, tinged with something almost pleading. “I can feel it.”

Your chest constricted, your jaw tightening. Of course, he’d pull the mate bond card now. Of course, when it suited him.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked, his tone cautious but probing, as if he wasn’t sure how close to the edge you were.

You let out a humourless laugh, the sound sharp and brittle. Slowly, you set the fork down, your movements deliberate as you finally looked up at him. The sarcasm rolled off your tongue, bitter and cutting. “Perfectly,” you said, your lips twisting into a tight smile. “With the graciousness your Majesty has shown me, how could I be anything but?”

The words hit home. You saw it in the way his shoulders stiffened, his jaw tightening. His gaze faltered for a moment, as if the truth of your words had knocked the air out of him.

Good. Let him feel it.

You leaned back slightly, your arms crossing over your chest as you held his gaze, your own eyes sharp and unrelenting. For a second, his mask cracked. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but no words came.

"I…" Jungkook stammered, his voice breaking the thick tension that hung in the air. But honestly? You weren’t interested. Not until he finally acknowledged you as his mate and kicked Elizabeth out of the picture. You knew, deep down, that he told you she meant nothing—but you didn’t believe him. If she meant nothing, then why hadn’t he told her you were his mate when she asked? Why take her somewhere private and leave you alone?

"I… am sorry."

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe. Did he just apologize to you? Jungkook never apologized. He was the Lycan king. Apologies were beneath him, or so you thought. Sure, the night before he’d knelt before you, but that had been a moment of private vulnerability—raw, between just the two of you. It felt like something personal, something for mates. But this? Apologizing in front of so many people? It felt different. Public. It made everything real in a way you hadn’t prepared for.

You sat there, frozen, as the shock washed over you. You never knew Jungkook could do something like this. To you, he had always been distant, proud, untouchable. To see him apologize so openly, to show this kind of humility in front of everyone—that was something you had never imagined.

Kian almost choked on his tea, and Shina quickly patted his back, trying to calm him. Even Neil sat there, wide-eyed, dumbfounded. You could barely process the scene unfolding in front of you. Was this real? Was he really saying sorry?

“I never meant to—”

“Junk—” Elizabeth’s voice sliced through the air, cutting him off. Her hand landed on his bicep, the soft pressure of her fingers an all-too-familiar gesture. She was trying to stop him, trying to shield him from the embarrassment she thought he was suffering. You hated it. You hated her for it. You hated that she had the right to touch him. You’d barely ever touched his biceps, and you were his mate.

“Not now, Liz.” Jungkook hissed, his voice low, laced with annoyance.

A sickening wave of satisfaction washed over you. You couldn’t help it. Watching Elizabeth falter, her hand still on his arm, left you with a twisted sense of pleasure. It wasn’t that you wanted her to suffer, but for once, she was the one who was embarrassed, not you. And it felt good.

Maybe… maybe there was still hope. A maybe you weren’t sure you could trust, but it was something. The “what ifs” flooded your mind. You couldn’t stop yourself from hoping, but deep down, you were afraid to. You had too many “maybes” in your life already. Your mind told you to have faith, but your heart screamed that he didn’t care. And for now, you wouldn’t give him the chance to prove you wrong.

Jungkook didn’t finish his sentence. And neither you nor anyone else spoke a word. The table grew quiet as everyone awkwardly shifted, unsure what to say next.

You timidly picked at your food, your appetite lost to the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. Jungkook’s gaze never left you. You could feel the weight of it, pressing against your skin like a hand on your chest. He wanted to speak. You could feel it in the air. But why should you care? He was so reluctant to even acknowledge you as his mate. Let him stew in his silence. You didn’t need him to say anything.

You stood up, brushing past him without a second glance. Every part of you wanted to scream, to shout at him for making you feel so small, but you swallowed it down. You weren’t going to let him see how much his lack of effort had hurt you.

You walked back to your room, the space around you growing colder with every step. The silence in the hall was deafening, only broken by the echo of your footsteps. You didn’t wait for anyone. You couldn’t. The emotional drain weighed too heavily on you. He was the one who had caused it, but maybe you were to blame too. You had expected too much from someone who wasn’t even willing to do the bare minimum.

As you reached your room, you collapsed onto the bed. Your body felt heavy, your heart aching with exhaustion. The weight of the day, of the constant tension, pulled you under. You didn’t want to cry anymore, but you had nothing left. You’d given everything to someone who wouldn’t even meet you halfway. Your hands curled into fists at your sides, your breathing shallow and ragged.

Get over it. The voice in your head was sharp, relentless. But your heart wasn’t ready. How could it be? How could you keep going when all you wanted was for him to just see you? For once. Just once.

You thought it would be a good idea to wander around the palace, especially since Shina had told you she wouldn’t be available today due to pack business. Everyone seemed busy, but you didn’t seem to have anything to do. You hadn't shifted in days, and there was a strange, restless itch building inside you, gnawing at your insides. You could feel your wolf pushing, demanding freedom. It had been too long. You needed to shift, even for just a few minutes, or else things were about to get ugly. You had no doubt your wolf would force it, and when that happened... it wouldn't be pretty.

You pushed yourself off the bed and walked out of the palace, the cold air feeling sharp against your skin. You didn’t know the palace grounds all that well, but you figured you’d stick to the parts you were familiar with—just enough to avoid getting lost. Soon enough, you found yourself at the training field, watching the warriors move with precision and grace. The thud of fists against the pads and the sharp crack of kicks against wood echoed in the air. You could feel the heat of their movements, the raw power and skill radiating off them, but you were stuck on the outside looking in. How much you wished you could join.

You stood there, eyes tracing the motions, and for a moment, it felt like your body might shift without your permission. You needed this. But...

"Luna?" The soft, familiar voice called from behind you, interrupting the swirl of thoughts in your mind. You tensed, shoulders stiffening, and turned around to find Neil standing there, a casual grin on his face.

"What are you doing here?" He chuckled lightly, his voice warm, but there was something in his eyes that made you want to shrink away.

"Nothing," you replied quickly, your words fumbling, "I— I was just wandering around."

Your gaze automatically flicked back to the training field, your chest tightening as you watched them move. The warrior’s bodies flowed like water, each punch, kick, and lunge so fluid. How much you wanted to be part of it.

“All are so good,” you muttered under your breath, a smile tugging at your lips, even though it felt like it was stuck there—forced. "Wish I could join."

Neil watched you for a moment, his expression shifting, softening. He glanced at the warriors before his gaze returned to you. “Why don’t you talk to His Majesty?” he suggested, his voice thoughtful, almost too casual for the weight of his words.

You felt your chest tighten at the mention of Jungkook. The thought of speaking to him… It sent a wave of unease crashing over you. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck. You thought about it for a long time, but no matter how much you wanted to try, the fear of what might happen if you did kept you rooted to the spot.

"I should probably leave,” he muttered, “They must be waiting." With a small nod, he turned and walked away, the light sound of his footsteps fading as he left you standing there alone with your thoughts.

You wanted to speak to Jungkook. You really did. But after everything that happened last night, after the fight that left your heart aching and your mind spinning, you weren’t sure if you had the strength left. You had so much to say—so many things building up inside of you, but each time you thought about it, your chest tightened. The words felt heavy, impossible.

What was the point, anyway? The few moments of affection he’d shown you were quickly overshadowed by the coldness in his words, the brutality that cut deeper than you were willing to admit. Mate or not, you were nothing more than an obligation to him. And that was the bitter truth.

You no longer knew how to even begin, let alone find the strength to confront him. You were tangled in your own feelings, drowning in uncertainty. You didn’t know if you could handle more of his indifference, more of his careless cruelty. The thought of facing him again felt suffocating. Every step forward only seemed to lead to another moment of doubt, and you weren’t sure you could survive it.

But there was something in you that knew, deep down, if you wanted to join the training, you had to speak to him. You had to.

You took a deep breath, your chest rising and falling with the weight of it. Your palms were clammy, your heart thudding against your ribs as you pushed yourself to move. Every step you took felt heavier than the last, but you kept going. The passage to his quarters was short, but with each step, the air around you seemed to grow thicker, your mind louder.

As you reached Jungkook’s quarters, you felt a strange mix of relief and dread. No one stopped you this time. You were finally close enough to knock when, unexpectedly, you heard her voice—the one you dreaded. Elizabeth.

“Jungkook, why won’t you answer me?” Her voice was soft, but there was an unmistakable edge to it that made your stomach twist. You stopped, your hand hovering near the door. She’s here? Why can’t she just leave him alone?, you thought. You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as frustration burned inside you. Why was she always around your mate?

His voice followed, calm but firm, “Liz, I don’t owe you an answer.”

Your feet were frozen, but a sudden urge to leave washed over you. To turn around and run, back to your room, to hide away from everything. But then, you reminded yourself of why you came here. You had to face him. You had to stop letting her get to you.

You pushed the door open quietly, stepping inside. The soft creak of the door echoed in the silence. Two pairs of eyes snapped to you instantly. His—calm, unreadable—yet there was a subtle shift in his posture. Relaxed, but you could see the faintest sign of something softer in his gaze. He was not mad? But her—her eyes burned into you, cold and hard. You could almost feel the chill radiating from her.

Jungkook sat in a leather chair, papers scattered across his desk. She stood, poised but rigid beside him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The way she stands, so close to him...

You shifted uncomfortably, but before you could even greet him, Elizabeth spoke up, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “I suppose knocking is just too old-fashioned for some people.” Her words felt like a slap to your face. Why is she like this? What have I ever done to her?, you thought.

You bit your lip, fighting the urge to snap back. But before you could respond, Jungkook’s voice cut through the tension, softer but firm.

“Liz, could you please leave us alone for some time?” he asked, his words so gentle, it almost felt like he was speaking to a child. But she didn’t want to go, you could see it in the way her lips tightened, the way her hands clenched at her sides. Still, with a final, almost spiteful glance at you, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room.

The door clicked softly as it shut behind her, and for a split second, it felt like you could breathe again. "Don't stand. Sit," Jungkook said, his voice low but commanding, his eyes still locked onto you. The intensity of his gaze made your knees wobble, but you refused to let him see it. You lowered yourself into the chair across from him, trying to ignore the way your heart raced under his piercing stare.

“I’m sorry. I should have knocked first,” you murmured, your hands shaking slightly as you folded them in your lap, not daring to look up at him.

“Don’t care,” was all he gave you, his voice flat and distant, like he couldn’t care less about you barging in. His focus shifted to the papers in front of him, his fingers grazing over the edges as he scanned them. The nonchalance in his demeanour unsettled you. Why is he so calm?

You watched him for a moment, his steady hands flicking through the pages, not sparing you a second glance. It was so easy for him, so effortless. You couldn’t understand it. Why does he seem so unaffected by all of this? But you weren’t here to wonder about his behaviour. You came here for something. You came here to speak your mind. Taking a deep breath, you straightened in your seat, forcing your voice steady, even though your heart was pounding in your chest. You could do this. You had to.

"I want to join the training—" you started, but Jungkook didn’t even give you the chance to finish.

“No,” he cut you off, his voice low and final. His hand didn’t stop moving as he scribbled on the paper in front of him, the sound of his pen against the paper somehow louder than your heart pounding in your chest.

You blinked, taken aback. “No?” you repeated, a frown pulling at your lips.

“No” he confirmed.

“Just like that?”

He didn’t look up. His gaze was fixed on the papers before him, unflinching, unmoving. “Just like that.”

The words stung. You felt your jaw tighten, a rush of heat rising to your face. How can he be so dismissive? You took a deep breath, trying to rein in the frustration bubbling up in you. “Why not? It’s important to me.”

“Because I said so.” His tone was cold, matter-of-fact, as if this was something he dealt with every day.

Your teeth ground together, your fists clenching at your sides. This is not happening. You could feel the anger building in your chest, but you swallowed it down, forcing the words through gritted teeth. “So that’s it? I don’t get a say?”

“That’s correct,” he murmured, not even sparing you a glance. His pen continued to move across the page.

You felt your hands tremble, and you fought to keep your composure. This is ridiculous. “I trained every day in my old pack. It’s not like I’m asking for something impossible, Jungkook.”

“It’s not happening,” he replied, his voice almost too calm. His eyes didn’t leave the paper, the brush of his fingers against the document so effortless it made you feel invisible. “It’s for your own good.”

You let out a shaky breath, fighting the urge to let your frustration spill over. For my own good? A bitter laugh nearly escaped your lips. You pressed your lips together, shaking your head. "For my own good? Since when have you cared about my own good?"

At that, a faint twitch of his jaw betrayed his calm composure, but he quickly masked it with a deep breath, keeping his attention on the papers. “Since always,” he said, the words rolling off his tongue as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re my Luna, my Queen. I’d be reckless to let you get hurt.”

The bile in your throat rose, and for a moment, you thought you might snap. Luna? Queen? And… his? You swallowed hard, pushing it down. Riling him up would only make things worse. You needed to remain patient. If he wants to play this game, fine. Let’s play it.

“Oh, for crying out loud, Jungkook!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands in the air, the frustration evident in every fibre of your being. “I’ve trained for years. I am not a porcelain doll. I’m capable. I’m not going to trip over my own feet!” You stood up, your chair scraping loudly against the floor as you stormed over to him, your fists clenched at your sides.

“Good to know,” he replied, not even flinching, his eyes still glued to the paper in front of him. “Still a no.”

You leaned over the desk, your body tense, staring him down with fire in your eyes. “What, you don’t think I can handle it?”

“Oh, I think you’re perfectly capable,” he said without missing a beat, his tone still annoyingly calm. “But again, no.”

You let out an exasperated breath, throwing your hands up in the air again. This is insane. “Are you even trying to understand how important this is to me?”

“Of course,” he said, voice level, as though this was a simple conversation about the weather.

“And yet… no?” you huffed, hands dropping to your hips as you struggled to keep your composure. You let your shoulders sag for a moment before you softened your voice, changing your approach. “Jungkook… please?”

He arched an eyebrow, glancing up at you with a hint of amusement. His lips twitched in a smirk that made your heart flutter with irritation and something else that you were in no position to acknowledge. “Very polite. Still no.”

You bit your lip, a small flare of embarrassment mixed with your growing frustration. You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks. Fine. If he wanted to play stubborn, you could do that too. You stoop up, darting around his desk. You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a softer, more coaxing tone. “Come on… it’s not like you can’t handle me in training, right?” Your breath brushed against his cheek, and you saw a brief flicker of something in his eyes, but it was gone before you could read it.

His hand paused, just for a second, but then he pushed his chair back with a sharp scrape. You almost stumbled forward, catching yourself just in time. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, his voice low, yet entirely unaffected. “No doubt I could handle it,” he murmured, his eyes already back on his papers. “Still no.”

You narrowed your eyes, frustration mounting. I’m not giving up. You lowered your voice again, your tone soft but undeniably sultry, the words slipping from your lips like silk. “I’d love to see you train too. I know you’re incredible with your strength… your precision…” You crouched down to pick up the paper that had fallen from his hand, your movements slow and deliberate as you locked eyes with him. You swore you saw something darker flicker in his gaze, but he blinked it away, a mask of indifference quickly settling in.

He arched an eyebrow, glancing at you briefly, the barest hint of a smile curling his lips. But then he just went back to his work, unfazed. “Glad to know you appreciate my work ethic,” he said flatly. “Still a no.”

Your stomach churned with embarrassment. You’d never felt this exposed in your life. What the hell am I doing wrong? You clenched your fists, the urge to scream gnawing at you. You had never met someone so infuriatingly unyielding. You wanted to tear your hair out. No. You wanted to tear his hair out.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” You hissed, your voice low with frustration, your nails digging into your palms. “Some have said so,” he replied, his voice laced with a quiet amusement. The barest hint of a smile played at the corner of his lips. He didn’t even bother to look at you as he scribbled something on the page. “Glad to see you agree.”

You ground your teeth, tapping your fingers impatiently against the edge of his desk. “What if I just show up anyway?”

“You won’t,” he replied, a soft chuckle escaping him. “You’d follow the rules.”

“Don’t bet on it,” you muttered under your breath, barely stopping yourself from grabbing one of his papers and crumpling it just to get his attention.

He shrugged nonchalantly, eyes still glued to the paper. “Suit yourself.”

You groaned, sinking back into the chair with a frustrated huff, slouching as you glared at him. This is unbelievable. “Unbelievable.”

“Glad we’re in agreement,” he said, his voice smooth, still not looking up from his papers.

“Oh, you’re insufferable!” You practically shouted, your fists clenched, every inch of you vibrating with the need to scream.

He shrugged again, entirely unbothered by your outburst. “That’s what they all say.”

You stared at him for a moment, chest heaving with anger. “So that’s it? You’re not going to consider my feelings at all?”

He sighed, an exaggerated puff of air escaping his lips. His eyes briefly flicked up to meet yours, and you saw the faintest glimmer of something—amusement, Delight, impatience?—before he wiped it away, giving you a look of fake patience.

“I am considering your feelings, sweet mate,” he said, each word deliberately slow. “Which is why I’m saying NO. End of story.”

Your chest tightened as his words hit you like a physical blow. Without another word, you spun on your heel, stalking out of his study. Every step felt like you were carrying the weight of the world, the anger, the frustration, the sheer helplessness seeping into your every movement. You didn’t get far before you heard him call out, his voice oddly casual.

“Don’t forget to shut the door.”

You resisted the urge to shout back, your fists clenched at your sides as you walked away. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to scream or just throw something at the wall to get his attention. But you kept walking, each step filled with the same frustration that made you feel like you might just lose it. How could someone be so frustrating?

You couldn’t understand if it was him being impossible… or if you were just terrible at this. Either way, you hated it. You hated everything about this.

You needed space—anything to escape the frustration that clung to you like a second skin. You wandered into the garden, the scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers doing little to calm your racing thoughts. Your feet moved with no real direction, just the need to be anywhere but near him.

You felt the familiar itch beneath your skin, a restlessness that only came when you hadn't shifted in days. Your body felt tight, like a coil wound too tightly, ready to snap. You needed to get out, to find somewhere open, but Jungkook's control over every inch of your life kept you locked inside. It didn’t matter that you weren’t restricted from shifting. Without his approval, you couldn’t leave the palace.

You kicked a small pebble from the path and watched it soar through the air, landing with a soft thud on… him. Great, today just gets better, you thought bitterly. The worst part? It hit someone and you were already mortified enough. You froze, eyes wide, as the man began walking toward you.

“Luna.” Kenji’s voice was low, his tone holding a touch of amusement. “You could have just called my name, you know. That's not how you call people.”

You couldn’t help but stare at him, the irritation still simmering beneath the surface. There was something so infuriatingly cute about his serious expression when he spoke.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” you muttered, not meeting his gaze.

Kenji raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a playful smile. “You didn’t?”

You just shook your head, staring down at the ground, trying to avoid his eyes.

“What’s got you looking so down?” he asked, his voice softening. He wasn’t the type to press for answers, but something in your posture must have given it away.

“Nothing, really,” you said, but the words felt hollow. You hesitated, then added, “Actually, I want to join the training too, but Jungkook won’t let me.”

Kenji tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “His Majesty must have his reasons.”

You forced a smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. His words hit something raw inside you, making your irritation burn even hotter. You clenched your fists at your sides, the annoyance seeping into your features. “I get it, but… why are you taking his side?”

He chuckled softly, clearly not catching the edge in your tone. “You look scary when you do that,” he said.

“Do I?” You raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with a pointed look.

Kenji nodded slowly, but the smirk never left his lips. You exhaled sharply, trying to steady your breathing. “I just want to train. Is that too much to ask?”

Kenji laughed, the sound light and easy. “You’re cute when you whine.”

Your cheeks flushed, heat rising under your skin. You hated how it made you feel, but you didn’t have the energy to fight it. He sobered quickly, glancing around as if to make sure no one else was listening. “If anyone heard me say that and told His Majesty, he’d have my head.”

“Jungkook doesn’t care,” you muttered, but the words felt empty. You didn’t even believe them anymore.

Kenji chuckled, shaking his head. “You have no idea, Luna.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing.

Kenji just shook his head again, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Nothing.”

“Alright, I’m heading back now,” you said.

“Please let me escort you,” he offered, the hint of concern back in his tone.

You shook your head, irritation creeping back into your chest. “I’m fine.”

“If you say so,” Kenji said, still unconvinced. “I’m just worried you’ll get lost again.”

You froze, the memory of your last misadventure flashing in your mind. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you shot him a glare. “I don’t get lost,” you muttered, a small growl slipping out.

Kenji’s laughter echoed around you, carefree. “Why are you looking at me like that, Luna? I mean, it’s perfectly normal to get lost. Even I do sometimes.”

You hated that he was trying to make light of it. Was he genuinely trying to make you feel better? Or was he just poking fun at your expense? You didn’t have the energy to figure it out. Instead, you just glared at him, biting your lip to keep your irritation in check.

Without saying another word, you turned and started walking toward your quarters, your steps quick and deliberate. Kenji called after you, but you didn’t respond.

You sank into the chair by the window, staring out at the world outside. The soft orange glow of the setting sun filtered through the trees, casting long shadows over the garden below. People passed by, lost in their own lives, oblivious to the tangled mess you were caught in. For the first time in a while, you felt a semblance of peace. The day had been quiet—calm, even. A rare moment of reprieve. Progress, right?

But that fragile calm shattered the moment the door to your room creaked open. You didn’t even have time to register the movement before you turned, and there she stood. Elizabeth. Your heart dropped into your stomach as shock froze you in place. What was she doing here? In your room? Your space?

"I believe I don’t need to introduce myself," she said, her voice smooth, confident. But there was something sharp beneath it. Her eyes—red-rimmed, dark with pain and something colder—never left you. Her gaze was like a weight, bearing down on you.

You swallowed, unable to form words as she took a step forward. "You’re probably wondering why I’m here," she continued, her lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Or perhaps the real question is... what exactly is my connection to your mate?"

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You blinked, your pulse picking up. What? You couldn’t keep the shock from showing on your face, and she noticed. She chuckled softly at your expression, that mocking, knowing look still lingering in her eyes.

"I’ll tell you, though we both know he won’t," she said, her voice dipping into a taunting tone. "Tell me, Luna… how old are you?"

The word Luna felt like a slap coming from her, and you clenched your fists at your sides, a tightness in your chest that wasn’t just from her words. It was something darker, something you couldn’t quite name. You bit your lip, trying to hold it together. But then she asked again, her voice sharp, pulling you back to the moment.

“Twenty-five,” you whispered, barely above a breath.

Elizabeth nodded, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied you. "Yes. And as we both know… we typically find our mates around…?"

“Eighteen,” you responded, your voice almost distant. The numbers didn’t matter. What mattered was what she was saying. Where was this going?

“Right. By eighteen,” she murmured, a bitter edge creeping into her voice. "And yet… he hadn’t. Not until now."

You felt a coldness creeping over you. You already knew the next part, but hearing her say it out loud made your stomach turn.

"I… don’t have a mate," she continued, her voice soft but edged with an anger that made your skin prickle. "I’ve never had one. Mate-lessness is a cruel fate, but it happens."

A part of you wanted to feel sorry for her, but the rest of you was on alert. You knew exactly where this was going, and it sent a cold shiver down your spine.

She paused, taking a breath that sounded too controlled. Her eyes flicked back to you, the anger sharpening in her features. “For years, my father believed that since Jungkook had no mate… perhaps he and I could…” Her voice trailed off, but the bitterness was clear. You didn’t need her to finish that sentence.

"Then… my father found out Jungkook still hadn’t claimed anyone." Elizabeth’s smirk was all mockery now, as if she’d won some silent battle. "It seemed like everything was… in place."

You felt heat rush to your face, a sick, simmering anger rising up from deep inside. Jungkook. How could he do this? How could he let them believe that there was a chance? The rage roiled in your chest, but you swallowed it down, focusing on her words. You clenched your jaw, pushing it down. The rage bubbling up inside you was almost too much to control. How could he do this? How could he disregard you so easily, so completely? You had never felt smaller. To know that Jungkook hadn't told Elder Mathew the truth—it felt like a slap in the face. Even after knowing what Elder Mathew was thinking, he still choose to hide the truth. Jungkook had allowed him to continue believing there was a chance for his daughter to claim him. Your breath hitched as the bitter sting of betrayal tightened its grip on you.

Humiliated.

That was the only word that seemed to capture the feeling. You felt your chest tighten, your hands trembling as you fought to hold it all together. He didn’t even have the decency to tell me.

"I never knew he had a mate," she said softly, her gaze softening only for a second. But there was something else in her eyes now—something darker. Envy. Disdain. Hate. It was all there, hidden beneath the surface.

“Well, you know now,” you said, your voice steady even though everything in you was screaming to lash out. She tilted her head, her lips curling into a thin smile.

“Yes. He told me himself,” she said. There was something cold in her words, and for a split second, you felt your heart skip a beat. The idea of what Jungkook could have said—it burned at you, but you wouldn’t ask. You couldn’t ask.

"what did he say?" well, here you go…

“He said that he couldn’t betray the bond,” she said, her words hanging in the air like a weight you couldn’t shake off. It felt like the ground beneath you cracked open, but you didn’t fall. The ache in your chest was quiet at first, like the first stirrings of a storm. It settled in your bones, the truth spreading, too cold to ignore.

You exhaled slowly, the words settling over you. The bond. The very thing that kept you tethered to him, kept you bound to this cruel fate. He couldn’t betray the bond.

For a second, it almost felt like the weight of it all lifted, like you could breathe again. But then reality slammed into you—the truth of it. He couldn’t betray the bond. but... what about you? All he cared about was bond not you, never you. He hadn’t claimed you. He’d hidden you. Hidden your bond like it was something to be ashamed of. The words she said, even if they were tainted with bitterness, felt like a cruel mirror, reflecting the truth you were too scared to face.

The ache in your chest grew, gnawing at you. He might not have betrayed the bond, but had he chosen you? Or were you simply his obligation? He hadn't said he loved you. Nothing of the sort—just that he couldn't betray the bond. The bond? What about you?

"That's why I’m here," Elizabeth said, her voice steady, but there was an edge to it—something dark lurking just beneath the surface.

You frowned, a chill running down your spine as you tried to piece together her meaning. "What do you mean?"

Her eyes met yours, sharp and unwavering. She stood up and took a step closer, but you didn't move. Her gaze pinned you to the spot, as if daring you to look away.

"I wanted to meet you," she replied, though the way she said it sent a shiver crawling up your spine. “But don’t misunderstand. I’m not here to give him up.”

Her words cut through you like a knife, each one slicing away at the delicate control you’d been trying so hard to maintain. Your heart plummeted. The truth of her meaning was as sharp as it was clear. All the sympathy you might’ve felt for her dissolved in an instant, replaced by a wave of anger so sudden it left you gasping for breath.

“Jungkook and I, we’ve always been close,” she continued, her voice softening just enough to carry a twisted, sickly nostalgia. "Since we were children. I have always loved him. I was there when he grew, when he… changed.” Her eyes drifted away from yours, her expression softening for just a moment as if remembering something from the past, but it quickly turned cold again. "I have loved him in ways that... no one else can understand."

She paused, and a bitter smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. Her lips were twisted, but her eyes betrayed her—bright and sharp, yet full of something unshed. Tears, you realized. She was trying to hide them, but you could see it—the faint trembling of her bottom lip, the way she had to blink harder to push them back.

“When I turned eighteen,” she whispered, her voice hollow, almost broken, “I prayed to the moon goddess every night to make him mine.” The words spilled from her like a confession, but the way she spoke—slow, measured—made your stomach turn. She was too used to this pain. Too used to wanting something she couldn’t have.

"But then, when I found out he wasn’t my mate…" Her voice cracked just slightly, and she paused, swallowing the lump in her throat. She forced herself to breathe, but you could see the fury flicker in her eyes, burning brighter than before. "I cried for days. And when I realized I had no mate... I started praying again."

Her gaze locked onto you, her eyes darkening as she leaned forward, just an inch. The air between you crackled with tension. She didn’t have to say it. You already knew what came next.

“This time," she murmured, her voice dripping with a sickly sweetness that made your skin crawl, "I prayed he’d never find a mate either."

You swallowed hard, your breath coming out in a tight, controlled hiss. This woman… Your mind was racing, your pulse thundering in your ears as the words burned their way into you.

“I know it’s selfish," she continued, the twisted sweetness in her voice turning darker, more possessive, "But I have loved him my whole life. And that won’t change, mate bond or not.”

Her face twisted again, but this time, the expression was different—something darker. Her eyes narrowed, her lips pulled into a twisted, almost feral smile. She took a step closer, the coldness in her gaze making the distance between you feel vast and suffocating.

“I want him,” she said, her voice low and filled with an unsettling certainty. “And I will have him.”

The words hung in the air like a challenge, and you felt every fibre of your being coil with anger. Your breath caught, the tightness in your chest making it hard to speak. She didn’t even flinch as she delivered the final blow.

"You came all this way just to tell me that?" you managed, your voice dangerously calm, though every muscle in your body was tense, coiled and ready to snap. You looked at her, fighting to keep your tone neutral, but the bitterness inside you was clear.

Her lips curled into a smug, almost predatory smile as she tilted her head, like a cat toying with a mouse. She knew how much it hurt.

“I thought you deserved to know,” she said, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. "Better than letting you think it would all be... behind your back."

Your jaw clenched, the taste of her words souring in your mouth. You fought to keep the sting from showing on your face, but it was impossible. How dare she?

“How... thoughtful of you,” you replied, each word laced with barely restrained sarcasm, your voice sharp enough to cut through the tension thick in the room. The anger simmered just beneath the surface, but you held it back, for now.

She laughed, but it wasn’t a real laugh. It was bitter, mocking—sharp enough to tear at your heart. The sound echoed in your chest, twisting something dark and tight inside you. The anger bubbling inside of you now felt different. It felt like fire, something raw and uncontrollable. You didn’t even know you were capable of feeling this much.

You stared at her, praying the moon goddess would take pity on you and just make her leave. Because if she said one more thing, you knew you’d lose it. You could already feel it—if you didn’t get her to go, the rage inside would break free, and that wouldn’t be very queen-like, would it?

Her presence felt like a weight on your chest, suffocating, like she was pressing down on your very soul. You couldn’t stand it. The way she stood there, smug and triumphant, was like a slap to your face. You didn’t enjoy this—this taunting game—but you knew why she was here. She had two reasons, you realized, as her eyes locked onto yours, cold and calculating.

One: She was hurt, feeling banned. She had finally lost something she never truly had, but in her mind, she thought it was always hers to take. The delusion had kept her going for so long, and now that it was gone, she was miserable. Two: She wanted you to feel what she felt. Every ounce of pain, every scrape of loss. The feeling of something just slipping out of your grasp, like you were so close to holding it and then poof—gone. She wanted you to understand the ache of not belonging, of being left behind, the ache of being left with nothing but empty hands.

And, as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you understood. You felt the same. The pain, the coldness from your own mate, the way he barely seemed to see you—It hurt. It burned in a way you weren’t prepared for.

But then a darker thought crept into your mind, a fear you hadn’t allowed yourself to face before. What if Jungkook didn’t want you? What if he never would? He had made it clear, time and time again—he didn't care. He was cold, indifferent to your presence, to your pain. You were nothing to him.

You could feel the tremor of fear crawling up your spine, tightening your chest. He told her that he had you, but he wasn't ready to accept you. He might not have wanted her yet, but how long would that last? Sooner or later, he had to choose. He would have to.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, the thought burning in your mind like a brand. Your heart was hammering in your chest as the realization hit you—he might never choose you, not because of the her, but because he simply didn’t care enough. But, the mate bond wouldn't let him choose her.

Was there anything you could do?

There was no choice for you. No real choice, was there? Stay here and let the fear drown you, or fight. Fight for him. Fight to make him see you, make him feel for you, even though every inch of you knew he wasn’t ready for that. You took a shaky breath, your hands trembling as you gripped the edge of the threshold of the window, in front of you.

Fight.

You had to fight.

But how? How could you make him fall when all you had was your hope and a burning need for something that might never come?

You didn’t have a choice anymore. You couldn’t leave. He wouldn’t let you. And, you couldn’t let her have your mate.

And so, standing there, torn between rage and fear, the only thing you could do was make your choice.

Let me know how you feel about it—love it, hate it, whatever, I’m all ears! Text, asks, comments, dramatic rants, or even a drabble request—anything goes. Character asks? Open too! So, send something my way if you want. No pressure, though. (But maybe just a little pressure?)

Also, a HUGE thank you for reading it. If you liked it or reblogged it, just know I love you. Like, a lot. You're the MVP of my little corner of chaos.

#kookiewithluv #ashes of promises #bts ffs #bts ff #bts fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fiction #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook bts #jungkook bangtan #jeon jungguk #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you

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