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Chapter Text

moodboard by me 

The sun had only just risen when the knock came.

Park Jimin was still half-asleep, tangled in thin sheets, when the sound echoed through the small house. His mother rarely had visitors, not at this hour, and certainly not ones who knocked so firmly.

He sat up groggily, the air cool against his bare arms. His younger brother stirred in the corner bed but didn’t wake. Jimin rubbed his eyes, shuffled to the window, and froze.

A royal messenger stood at their door.

The navy coat gleamed with gold embroidery, the boots polished enough to shine. No one from the palace ever came to the lower districts unless it was official. Important or life-changing.

Jimin’s stomach twisted as he hurried to the door, his mother already pulling it open. She gasped, stepping aside in awe. The messenger held out an envelope sealed with wax, the crest of the Crown pressed deep into it.

“Park Jimin,” The man announced. His voice carried authority, the kind that left no room for disbelief. “By decree of the Crown, you have been chosen to participate in The Selection of the Crown Prince Jeon Jungkook of Eldrin.”

The neighbors had gathered already, drawn by the sight of the uniform. Some were buzzing with excitement for the Park family but there were also whispers from the envious ones. Sharp, cutting through the air like blades.

“Chosen? Him?”

“He’s no one—he doesn’t even have a proper title.”

“Maybe they made a mistake.”

Jimin’s cheeks burned as he accepted the envelope with trembling fingers. His mother pressed her hand to her mouth, torn between shock and pride.

The messenger didn’t linger. He bowed curtly before retreating to the waiting carriage, leaving Jimin staring down at the letter that suddenly weighed a thousand pounds.

The Selection.

He’d heard of it all his life—thirty citizens plucked from across the kingdom to live in the palace, to compete for the hand of members of the royal family. This time, no other than the Crown Prince himself.

The chosen ones were mostly nobles of interest to the crown but on some rare occasions, someone from the not so wealthy areas of the kingdom would be added for diversity though they never really had a chance at winning. 

The Selection, to some, was an opportunity. Others thought of it as spectacle from the royals. 

Jimin had never once thought it would involve him.

He barely remembered closing the door, or his mother’s hushed instructions to sit before he fainted. All he could see was the crest. 

He broke the seal.

“You are hereby invited to the Royal Palace of Eldrin. Your presence is requested for the commencement of The Selection in honor of Crown Prince Jeon Jungkook of Eldrin…”

The words blurred as his pulse hammered. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t meant for this. He wasn’t...

But the letter didn’t care what he felt. The letter had chosen him and they would send a carriage to take him to the palace soon. His fate was sealed.

The palace was nothing like the crowded streets of his district. White marble towers stretched into the sky, catching the sunlight until they glowed. Soldiers in silver armor lined the gates, their expressions unyielding. 

Jimin clutched the strap of his worn satchel tighter, painfully aware of the stares from the other competitors.

Girls draped in silk and velvet whispered behind jeweled hands, their laughter carrying sharp edges. Boys from noble families strutted with confidence, their polished shoes tapping proudly against the stone floor of the receiving hall. 

Jimin, in his plainest formal clothes, felt every inch the outsider.

“You see him?” One girl murmured, not bothering to lower her voice. “The one with the patched satchel?”

“He won’t last a week.”

Jimin bit the inside of his cheek, refusing to let his face betray how deeply the words cut. He wasn’t here to win. He told himself that over and over. 

He was here because refusing would have dishonored his family, because the stipend they received for participation would keep his mother and brother fed for years.

That had to be enough. He would be eliminated soon and be happy about it. 

Then the doors opened. The room stilled, silence sweeping like a tide as the Crown Prince of Eldrin, Jeon Jungkook entered.

He was younger than Jimin had expected, barely older than himself, but the weight of his presence filled the hall. Broad-shouldered, dressed in black lined with gold, every step he took seemed measured, deliberate. His gaze was intense, scanning the competitors with an unreadable expression.

Jimin bowed with the others, but when he dared to glance up, his breath faltered. Jungkook’s eyes were on him.

Not on the jeweled girls beside him. Not on the noble sons vying for attention. Him.

It was only a second—maybe less—but it left Jimin’s knees weak. He tore his gaze away, cheeks burning, and stared firmly at the marble floor until the introductions began.

Hours passed in a blur of etiquette lessons and palace staff rattling off rules for The Selection. Jimin listened, but his mind kept drifting back to that moment—those dark, unreadable eyes fixed on him like he wasn’t invisible after all.

By evening, he was exhausted, grateful when an attendant led him to the wing where the competitors would sleep. His room was small compared to the palace’s grand halls but still larger than his entire house back home. He ran his fingers over the smooth sheets, overwhelmed.

And then, just as he began to relax, there was another knock at the door. He frowned, hesitant, before opening it.

On the other side stood Prince Jungkook himself. His expression unreadable. His posture rigid.

“Park Jimin,” The prince said softly, eyes locking onto his. “Walk with me.”

Chapter Text

Jimin’s heart stuttered in his chest. The crown prince was standing in his doorway. Alone.

Every instinct screamed at Jimin to bow, to apologize for something he hadn’t even done, to prove he didn’t belong in this dangerous place. But instead, he froze—hand gripping the edge of the doorframe so tightly his knuckles blanched.

“Your Highness,” Jimin whispered, his voice breaking. Jungkook’s eyes, steady and unreadable, lingered on him. 

“Walk with me.” The words were calm, but not a command—more a request. "Please".

Jimin’s breath caught. He can’t mean me. 

Contestants weren’t allowed to wander the palace unchaperoned, much less with the prince himself. If anyone saw them—

But Jungkook was already turning, his expression unreadable, his stride purposeful. He didn’t wait for an answer. Something about the certainty in his steps dared Jimin to refuse.

Did he want to warn him that he was not a real contender in The Selection? Were the rumors spreading about him being chosen just for show, true?

Against every instinct telling him to stay behind, Jimin followed.

The palace at night was hushed, the torchlight throwing restless shadows across the marble halls. Their footsteps echoed far too loudly in the silence. Jimin’s palms were damp, his gaze fixed on the floor, afraid to speak first.

Finally, Jungkook slowed his pace. “You’re quiet.”

Jimin’s lips parted, then closed again. His voice was small when it came. “I… I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to a prince.”

That pulled the faintest curve from Jungkook’s lips—somewhere between a smile and disbelief. “Say what you would to anyone else.”

Jimin risked a glance up, his mouth tugging at the corner. “If I did that, I might offend you.” Jungkook stopped walking. Jimin’s heart plummeted—had he overstepped already? But then, to his shock, Jungkook laughed. The sound was low and quiet, as if it wasn’t something he did often.

“You’re different,” The prince said softly, more observation than compliment.

Jimin shifted under the weight of the words. “Different isn’t always good.”

“It is to me.”

Silence stretched between them, charged and heavy. Jimin’s chest tightened as if those four words had changed the air itself. He swallowed. 

“Why… why did you ask me to walk with you? It's against the rules” Jungkook exhaled, long and steady, as though the confession itself cost him something.

“Forgive me if I'm acting this way but I wanted to confirm something. I noticed you the moment I stepped into the room” His eyes lingered on Jimin now, dark and searching. “And then, you didn’t try to shine. You didn’t reach for me like the others. You looked… like you’d rather vanish.”

Jimin’s breath hitched. He hadn’t realized anyone had seen that.

“I don’t know why that stayed with me,” Jungkook went on, voice quiet. “But it did. I wanted to understand... To talk to you more” His gaze held Jimin’s, firm and unflinching. “Even if it means breaking the rules.”

Jimin’s heart thundered. It was the first day, their first real words alone, and yet—his pulse betrayed him, racing at the soft intensity of Jungkook’s tone.

“I don’t think…” Jimin whispered, torn between fear and the spark of something he didn’t dare name. “If anyone finds out—”.

The sharp sound of heels on marble shattered the fragile stillness. Both of them turned as a figure emerged from the shadows—a competitor, slender and jeweled, her gown shimmering in the torchlight. Her gaze swept over them, sharp and calculating. 

“Your Highness,” She said smoothly, dipping into a practiced curtsy. Her eyes flicked briefly to Jimin before returning to Jungkook, the curve of her lips carrying a hint of amusement. “Out walking so late?”

Jimin’s breath caught, panic twisting in his chest. If she guessed—if she told—

Jungkook didn’t flinch. His voice was steady, casual. “Lady Kang, what a delightful surprise to see you here as well. I was walking the halls to clear my thoughts when I came across Mr. Park” He tilted his head slightly, his tone cool but dismissive. 

The girl’s smiled sickeningly sweet “Of course, Your Highness. I see we all think the same” But when her gaze slid back to Jimin, there was nothing sweet about it. It lingered just a beat too long, like a dagger hidden behind silk.

“I'll return to my chambers at once since we have an early morning event and I need to rest. Hope we have a chance to chat some more tomorrow" There was something in the way she spoke, that hinted more.

"Of course, Lady Kang. It will be a pleasure" Jungkook responded easily.

"Goodnight, Your Highness. Mr. Park” With that, she glided away, perfume trailing like smoke.

Jimin’s stomach churned. He could still feel the weight of her eyes, the sharp edge of her smile. “She didn’t believe you,” He whispered.

“She doesn’t need to,” Jungkook replied firmly, though his expression tightened. Then, softer, his eyes finding Jimin’s: “Forgive me if I've compromised you for my impulse but don’t worry. I won’t let anyone harm you.”

Jimin wanted to believe him, to cling to the warmth of that vow. But even as he lay awake later that night, replaying every word they had spoken, he knew—her smile hadn’t been the end of this.

It was only the beginning.

Chapter Text

The morning light streaming through the palace windows should have felt warm, but Jimin shivered as he dressed.

Sleep had been scarce. The memory of last night — the prince at his door, the walk through the palace, the competitor’s sharp smile — lingered like smoke he couldn’t breathe away.

When the attendants came to escort him and the others to breakfast, Jimin kept his gaze low. The other competitors were already buzzing, voices echoing off the marble walls as they filed into the dining hall.

“Did you hear?” one girl whispered, loud enough that half the room could hear. “They say the prince was seen late last night… not alone.”

Jimin’s stomach lurched. He forced himself not to react, but the heat of dozens of eyes sliding toward him made his skin prickle.

“Who was it?” another asked, feigning innocence.

“Who do you think?” came the mocking reply. “They didn't say but I can bet it was the one who doesn’t belong here.”

Laughter rippled through the table. Jimin’s throat tightened. He picked at the bread in front of him, wishing he could disappear.

Then, silence. The kind of silence that only fell when he entered.

Jungkook strode into the hall, dressed in tailored white, posture flawless. Every head turned, every smile brightened, every gesture sharpened in hopes of catching his attention. But his eyes didn’t drift across the jeweled gowns and polished smiles. They found Jimin instantly, heart hammering.

Jungkook’s expression didn’t change, but the flicker of recognition was enough to make every competitor’s glare sharpen like a blade.

Later, The Selection participants were herded into the palace gardens for archery practice — “to showcase discipline and focus,” the instructor claimed. 

Most of the nobles flourished their bows like ornaments, laughing when arrows missed their targets entirely.

Jimin hung back, trying to stay invisible. He hadn’t touched a bow since he was a child, when his father had tried teaching him before he got sick.

“Park Jimin.” The instructor barked his name, shoving him forward. Dozens of eyes pinned him in place as a bow was thrust into his hands. His palms immediately slicked with sweat. “Position,” he snapped.

Jimin fumbled with the string, every whisper and smirk digging into him like thorns. His arms trembled as he raised the bow, arrow wobbling dangerously.

Then a hand touched his wrist. Steady, warm, firm. Jimin’s breath caught as Jungkook’s voice brushed against his ear.

“Not like that. Here.” The prince guided his stance, one hand at Jimin’s waist, the other adjusting his elbow. 

The contact burned, sending heat spiraling up Jimin’s spine. He could feel the weight of every glare drilling into his back, but he couldn’t move — couldn’t breathe — not with Jungkook this close.

“Focus on me and your target” Jungkook murmured just loud enough for Jimin to hear. Jimin’s lips parted, his pulse thunderous in his ears. He let the arrow fly.

It hit the edge of the target — not perfect, but not humiliating either. Gasps rose behind him.

Jungkook’s hand lingered a second too long before he stepped away. His face was unreadable, but something in his eyes made Jimin’s stomach twist.

Whispers rippled again, sharper this time.

“Why is he paying so much attention to him?”

“He’s no one.”

“The prince is too kind… probably pities him.”

Jimin wished the ground would swallow him whole, his chest burned with shame, but also — confusingly — with something else.

Jungkook, however, could not linger. The instructor quickly moved the group along, and soon, competitors were vying for his attention, tugging at his sleeve, inviting him to observe their form.

“Your Highness, may I show you?” Kang Mina asked sweetly, her gown glittering as she lifted her bow with exaggerated grace.

Jungkook gave a polite nod and stood beside her, correcting her stance with the same patience he had shown Jimin. But the difference was clear to Jimin — Mina leaned into his touch, fluttered her lashes, and preened when her arrow struck closer to the target.

Another participant, Lord Hanbin, chimed in quickly. “Your Highness, would you watch me next? I’ve practiced for years.” He obliged, adjusting his elbow, offering measured praise.

Laughter and sighs followed him as he moved between them, each person glowing under his fleeting attention.

But even when Jungkook smiled, even when he corrected Mina’s aim again, his gaze strayed. Jimin felt it — those glances that returned to him again and again, as though the prince couldn’t help it. 

Each one landed like a spark on dry kindling, leaving Jimin’s insides in disarray.

As the practice wrapped up, the competitors kept pulling the prince with questions, flirtatious comments, and thinly veiled boasts about their “potential.” 

Jimin slipped to the side, grateful for a moment to breathe. That’s when someone flopped dramatically onto the bench beside him.

“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else,” Kim Taehyung said, his smile lopsided, his tone casual. He tossed his bow carelessly onto the grass as though the polished weapon were nothing more than a stick.

Jimin blinked at him. “I’m not very good at this.”

“Neither am I,” Taehyung said cheerfully. “But then, who cares? Do you think Jeon Jungkook’s going to pick a partner based on who can shoot an arrow best? Ridiculous.” He leaned in as if sharing a secret. “Besides, I’m not here for him. I got chosen and my family agreed but I'm not interested”

That made Jimin blink again, startled. “You’re not?”

“Nope.” Taehyung grinned wider, his eyes glittering mischievously. “His cousin, though… Kim Seokjin? Have you seen him? Gorgeous. I’d climb the palace walls for him if I had to.”

Jimin laughed before he could stop himself. The sound startled him — laughter had felt foreign in these suffocating halls. But with Taehyung, it came easily.

“You’re serious,” Jimin said softly.

“Dead serious.” Taehyung winked. Then his voice dropped, more thoughtful. “Most of them here—” he gestured toward the others, preening around Jungkook “—they’re like magpies chasing jewels. Fake smiles, sharp claws. I don’t like it. But you… you seem real. I noticed from day one. If you're really interested, in winning, I'll root for you”

Jimin swallowed hard, warmth creeping into his chest. He didn’t know what to say, but the sincerity in Taehyung’s voice steadied him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

“Thank you. I also noticed you. You were one of the few I really wanted to talk to” he whispered sincerely. Taehyung had an energy around him that made Jimin feel at home. An instant friendship that he hadn't been expecting.

Taehyung bumped his shoulder playfully. “Don’t thank me. Just don’t let them eat you alive, okay? They are vicious but together, we can defeat them”

That evening, the palace hosted a formal dinner. Crystal chandeliers bathed the hall in gold, and music drifted from the balcony where musicians played. Jimin sat at the far end of the long table, doing his best to be small, invisible.

But invisibility was impossible when Jungkook chose to sit across from him.

Their eyes met once — twice — too many times. Each stolen glance was a spark, and Jimin hated how much he felt it.

And then, as if fate wanted to punish him, Kang Mina leaned closer to Jungkook. She laughed in a practiced manner, her hand brushing his arm, her gown shimmering like water in the candlelight. 

Jungkook gave her a polite smile in return, entertaining her conversation. She turned her gaze quickly to Jimin and smirked in the same way she had done the night she found him with the prince.

Something ugly twisted in Jimin’s chest. He looked away, stabbing his fork into the meat on his plate though he wasn’t hungry. His throat burned.

Of course the prince would smile at her. Although fake, she was everything he wasn’t — graceful, polished, from noble blood and could actually win The Selection.

But when Jimin dared another glance, he found Jungkook’s sparkly eyes already on him again.

Mina still spoke at his side, but Jungkook wasn’t listening. His eyes were locked on Jimin — steady, searching, unreadable.

Jimin’s pulse stuttered. He dropped his gaze, pretending to sip his wine, but the bitter taste did nothing to wash away the truth:

He was already in danger.

And so was Jungkook.

After dinner, Jimin slipped out into the halls of the palace seeking his way into the gards, needing air, needing space to breathe. The night was cool, the stars sharp against the dark velvet sky. He pressed a hand to his chest, willing his heart to calm.

“Running away?” The voice made him start. He turned to see Kang Mina standing there. She leaned against the stone pillar, a sly smile playing on her lips.

“You’re quite bold,” she said smoothly. “Walking the halls at night. Drawing the prince’s attention during lessons. Making him look at you at dinner…”

Jimin stiffened. “I didn’t—”

“Oh, but you did.” Her smile widened in a wicked way. “And I wonder… how long do you think you’ll last once everyone knows? How long do you think the prince will entertain you? Just remember, Park Jimin, you don’t belong here. I’ll make sure you don’t forget that.” Her words dripped with poison, with promise.

But this time, Jimin didn’t shrink. His hands balled into fists at his sides. His voice trembled, but the words were sharp enough to cut.

“You’re wrong. I may not have jewels or titles but I was chosen just like you. I'll stay as long as the prince wants. So we'll see who leaves first”

Without intention, Mina’s smirk faltered. Her eyes narrowed, but Jimin had already turned, spine straighter, heart hammering. Fear still gnawed at him, but so did something else — something fierce, something new.

He wouldn’t let her break him.

Jimin finally found himself at the palace gardens long after Mina disappeared into the shadows, her words echoing in his head. His hands trembled at his sides, but the fire inside him still burned — fragile, flickering, but real. For once, he hadn’t let her silence him.

“Jimin.” Jungkook stood a few paces away, the moonlight painting silver across his magnificent attire and illuminating his face. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes — they were too bright, too intent. He was just so beautiful.

“Your Highness,” Jimin said, bowing slightly, trying to compose himself. He prayed the prince hadn’t heard the exchange.

But Jungkook stepped closer, gaze lingering on his face as though searching for something. “You’re shaking.”

“I—” Jimin swallowed, forcing his hands behind his back. “It’s only the cold.” Jungkook’s brow furrowed, unconvinced.

 For a long moment, neither spoke. The gardens were quiet except for the distant trickle of the main fountain and the soft hum of crickets.

Finally, Jungkook said, low and steady, “Do not let them break you Jimin.”

Jimin’s eyes lifted despite himself, meeting Jungkook’s. The prince’s voice was firm, but not harsh — more like a vow, like an anchor.

“I’m not—” Jimin hesitated, the words catching in his throat. “I’m not sure I belong here.”

Something flickered across Jungkook’s face. He stepped closer, close enough that the scent of him — clean linen, mainly, faint spice — wrapped around Jimin like a shield.

“You do,” Jungkook said softly. “More than most of them.”

Jimin’s chest tightened painfully. He wanted to believe him, wanted to let those words sink into the hollow place that Mina’s poison had left. But belief was dangerous.

Before he could reply, footsteps echoed from the terrace — attendants calling the participants back inside. The spell broke. Jungkook straightened, his mask of composure slipping back into place.

“It's time to go back. Goodnight Jimin” he said, his tone clipped again, princely. But as he turned, his hand brushed against Jimin’s — fleeting, deliberate. Enough to send Jimin’s pulse racing.

And then he was gone, striding back toward the light of the palace.

Jimin remained in the shadows a moment longer, his heart unsteady, his thoughts a whirlwind.

He had faced Kang Mina. He made a dear friend in Taehyung and he had heard Jungkook’s voice steady him. No matter how much the others whispered, something inside him had shifted.

For the first time since stepping into the palace and joining The Selection, Jimin no longer felt like he was only surviving.

He felt like he was beginning to fight.

Chapter Text

The Selection was unusual this year for many reasons; mainly because for the first time in years, contestants included both men and women. It had happened before but it wasn’t the Council’s ideal. 

Traditional unions between man and woman were preferred, primarily to ensure heirs and maintain stability in the line of succession since the laws of inheritance favored direct, legitimate children. Councilors murmured frequently about “irregularities” and “political complications.” when it came to other type of unions.

Yet the King had granted the Prince leeway. Jeon Jungkook, young and known for his modern inclinations, had requested the mixed-gender competition. He valued companionship and intellect over tradition, and the Council—though reluctantly—complied.

For Jimin, it was both a blessing and a curse. He was chosen to be here because of that, though he felt from the beginning that he really didn't stand a chance to win. 

Initially he didn't care, he had a goal in mind... but after meeting the Crown Prince, his heart was at risk.

The palace had always been a stage, but tonight it felt more like a battlefield.

Jimin stood at the edge of the ballroom, the chandeliers scattering golden light across the marble floors, illuminating faces painted with practiced smiles. 

His posture was perfect, his bow precise, yet an unease twisted through his stomach, threading his nerves with quiet tension. Every gesture, every word, was watched—by the Crown Prince, the Council, the other contestants, and even the palace staff who were trained to observe minute reactions.

The Selection had barely entered its second week, and already the pressure was suffocating. What was supposed to be a test of charm and grace felt more like a trial by fire. 

Every smile he gave, every word he spoke, could tip the scales, deciding whether he would remain in the palace another day—or be sent home.

But what unsettled him most wasn’t the rules. It was the way Jungkook looked at him.

The Crown Prince sat at the head of the long table, dressed in dark velvet trimmed with silver. His jaw was sharp in the candlelight, and he wasn’t supposed to watch Jimin—he had dozens of contestants vying for his attention—but his eyes always found him. 

They lingered too long, too openly, as if daring anyone else to notice. And the others did notice.

“Careful,” whispered Kim Taehyung at Jimin’s side, his hand brushing lightly against his. Taehyung’s presence was always grounding, warm, a rare comfort amidst the formalities.

“The others are already whispering. They can tell he favors you but who can blame him? You're gorgeous and genuine” Jimin smiled softly, lifting his champagne glass.

“Thank you, but you know how they are... I’ll have to make sure it doesn’t look like I care,” He murmured. But against his will, against his better judgment, he felt drawn deeper into Jungkook’s gravity.

Even from across the table, Jungkook’s gaze lingered, intense and discerning, a mixture of curiosity, amusement, and something more dangerous—interest.

Later that evening, when the festivities ended, Jungkook sought him out in the dim hallway leading to the gardens. The air smelled of roses and polished stone, and shadows clung to the walls like watchful eyes.

“You’re avoiding me. You haven't used your time with me today” His voice was low, tinged with something dangerously close to accusation.

“I’m following the rules, Your Highness, I believe I have used plenty of it already” Jimin replied, his bow flawless. But when he straightened, his eyes burned. “I don’t think the others would appreciate me monopolizing your time.”

Jungkook stepped closer, the flickering candlelight catching the sharp lines of his face. “Do you care what they think?”

Jimin’s breath caught. “I care about surviving this competition and not breaking the rules.”

“Then let me help you.” The words should have sounded like a promise, but to Jimin, they felt like a trap. He shook his head, backing away.

“You can’t play favorites, Your Highness. Not with me.”

Jungkook’s hand caught his wrist before he could retreat fully, the warmth of his skin searing through his gloves. For a heartbeat, they simply stared at each other, tension thick, hearts loud in the silence.

Jungkook’s gaze drifted to Jimin’s mouth, and Jimin’s pulse raced—until laughter echoed around the corner. 

The Crown Prince released him instantly, retreating as if nothing had happened.

Jimin forced himself to focus the next morning, but the palace buzzed with gossip. 

At breakfast, Eunwoo, one of the bolder contestants, draped himself over Jungkook’s arm, smiling in a way designed to provoke. Jimin tried to ignore it, forcing a neutral expression. The cutting edge of jealousy tore through him, but he couldn’t afford to show it.

He shouldn’t care. 

Yet Jungkook’s eyes flicked up from Eunwoo’s hand resting on his arm—straight to Jimin across the table—and Jimin felt heat crawl up his neck, burn in his chest. Impossible not to notice. Impossible not to feel it.

Meanwhile, alliances were forming, some whispered, some blatant.

Min Yoongi, though reserved, was one of the few contestants who kept to himself. Jimin had observed him watching Jungkook’s interactions with a quiet intensity, offering no commentary but remaining vigilant. He wasn’t close to Yoongi yet, but respected him all the same.

Jung Hoseok, bright and cheerful, hid a calculating mind beneath his charm. He flitted around the other contestants, a watchful presence. 

Somehow, Kim Seokjin and Taehyung had gotten closer in a way, they were bolder still, stealing touches and glances they thought unnoticed. 

The palace corridors were alive with intrigue, and Jimin feared he was already entangled in more than just the competition.

Love, ambition, desire—they were growing like forbidden vines across the palace walls.

Later that night, the library offered a reprieve from the ballroom’s oppressive attention. Jimin lingered among the stacks, adjusting the placement of books, trying to appear casual, hoping to remain invisible.

He wasn’t.

Jungkook appeared silently behind him, hand resting on the edge of a bookshelf. “You make me feel like I’m losing control,” he admitted, voice hoarse, low enough that no one else could hear. “And I don’t lose control.”

Jimin’s chest stuttered. “Then don’t look at me like that, Your Highness... You shouldn’t notice me this much”

Their faces were dangerously close, shadows hiding nothing. The heat from Jungkook’s body was tangible, the tension so thick that Jimin could feel it in the bones of his hands.

“Maybe but I already have,” Jungkook whispered.

The words hung in the air, fragile, dangerous. An unspoken promise that could change everything. Could he really delude himself to dream of a future with the prince? Him, a man with no noble blood or titles or anything to offer but his heart.

Jimin reflected on the complexities of this. The Council’s traditional biases favored unions that could produce heirs, yet they had to respect the Prince’s preference for companions who stimulated him emotionally and intellectually. 

Above it all, they valued their families, their power, their status and the alliances that could be formed from the union. Jimin was on the losing side of it all.

Even as he contemplated this, he couldn’t stop glancing at Jungkook, whose presence seemed magnetic. The Prince’s hands brushed against books with casual elegance, his eyes flashing with curiosity when they fell on Jimin. The pull was immediate, irresistible.

For the first time, Jimin realized that survival in The Selection wasn’t just about charm, skill, or grace. It was about restraint, courage, and the dangerous game of hearts.

He wasn’t sure where he stood at anymore.

Chapter Text

The palace had always been beautiful, but lately for Jimin, the gilded halls weren’t comforting at all. 

A new competitor had arrived late, three weeks after The Selection had begun. Her name was Choi Nari, a noblewoman from the eastern provinces, born to a respected military family with many connections across other kingdoms. 

Her entrance was nothing short of striking: petite and graceful, with a bright intelligence in her eyes and an ease in her movements that didn’t need embellishment. Unlike the other contestants, she didn’t arrive with servants carrying boxes of silks and jewels. She carried herself despite her position.

Within days, the palace was buzzing. Nari wasn’t just beautiful—she was formidable. She spoke three languages, excelled in both archery and strategy lessons, and was known to have been educated abroad at one of the royal academies. Courtiers leaned in when she spoke. Even the King, who often regarded the contestants with detached calculation, seemed to listen more attentively when she voiced an opinion during group dinners.

And most dangerously of all, Jungkook seemed to enjoy her company.

It started during the first group training session she joined. The contestants were gathered in the outer courtyard again as part of their weekly archery session. This time, bows in hand, learning to steady their aim against moving targets. 

Jungkook moved among them, correcting stances and offering polite encouragement as they always requested. But when he reached Nari, his usually composed demeanor shifted—subtly, but enough for Jimin to notice.

“You hold your stance well,” Jungkook remarked, watching Nari draw the bowstring with practiced ease.

“My father taught me,” she replied with a small smile. “He used to say that if I could keep my aim steady in the wind, I could steady anything.”

Jungkook chuckled—actually chuckled, the sound low and warm. “He sounds like a wise man.”

Jimin stood several paces away, his fingers tightening around the smooth wood of his own bow. He tried to focus on his breathing, on the target in front of him, but his attention kept sliding toward them. Toward the way Jungkook leaned just slightly closer when talking to Nari. Toward the way Nari met his eyes without hesitation.

Beside him, Taehyung nudged his shoulder. “You’re staring,” 

“I’m not,” Jimin muttered, jaw clenched. Taehyung smirked. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Jiminie. But it’s cute.”

Jimin shot him a glare, but Taehyung only raised his hands innocently, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I’m just saying—if you keep frowning like that, someone will think you’re plotting Choi Nari's downfall.”

Jungkook moved on eventually, offering Jimin a curt nod and a murmured “Good form,” before passing him by. The words were polite. Detached. It was nothing like how he usually acted when they were alone. Also, Jimin couldn’t help but remember the way Jungkook had laughed with Nari just moments earlier.

It shouldn’t have mattered. This was a competition. Everyone here was trying to win the Crown Prince’s heart. But as the days passed, Jimin couldn’t ignore the shifts happening around him.

Nari adapted quickly to palace life. She made friends with some of the more reserved contestants, Min Yoongi included, defused petty arguments with calm logic, and even managed to impress the Queen and King with her knowledge of ancient court traditions. Unlike the more superficial competitors, she didn’t waste time on posturing. She played the game by simply being herself—and people liked her for it.

So did Jungkook.

Jimin saw it in the way Jungkook spoke to her during etiquette sessions. In the way he asked about her upbringing, about her favorite places in the provinces. And in the way his eyes softened—not romantically, not yet, but with a kind of ease that made Jimin’s stomach twist.

The palace library became Jimin’s refuge in those days. While others socialized, he sought tranquility between shelves, breathing in the scent of parchment and wood polish. It was there that Kim Namjoon, the palace advisor, often found him.

“Do you read much?” Namjoon asked one afternoon, appearing beside him like a shadow dressed in royal silk. He was a handsome man. He had been working on something before he spotted Jimin.

Jimin startled, nearly dropping the scroll in his hands. “Sometimes,” he said cautiously.

Namjoon’s smile was gentle, too endearing dimples showing. Despite his young age, he was known to be a very wise man.

“Then let me show you something.” He led Jimin through narrow aisles until they reached an unassuming shelf tucked into the corner. He pulled out a worn, leather-bound book and handed it to him. “This one’s about the early dynasties. The language is a bit old-fashioned, but the stories are… timeless.”

Jimin turned the book over in his hands. “Why are you giving this to me?”

“Because,” Namjoon said simply, “you seem like someone who sees beyond appearances. Not many here do.”

The compliment caught him off guard. It wasn’t wrapped in flattery or strategy. It was… sincere. Jimin felt his cheeks warm, ducking his head to hide it.

Namjoon’s gaze lingered for a moment longer before he excused himself to attend a Council meeting, saying he had already finished what he needed to present to the King but promising to ask Jimin later his thoughts on the book. And that was when Jimin noticed Jungkook.

The Crown Prince stood in the doorway of the library, hands clasped behind his back, jaw tight. He hadn’t announced his presence. He had been watching.

“Your Highness,” Jimin said quickly, clutching the book to his chest.

Jungkook’s eyes flicked from the book to Jimin’s face. “Interesting seeing you here with company.”

“I was just looking for something to read... I always finish my books quite quickly. Lord Kim was here by chance, working on something for The King” Jimin replied, a hint of defensiveness creeping in.

“Mm,” Jungkook murmured. “And yet he finds time to share books with you.”

Jimin frowned. “What are you implying?”

“Nothing,” Jungkook said, stepping further into the room. But his voice carried a sharper edge than usual. “Just… reminding you that The Selection isn’t about palace advisors.”

Jimin’s heart thudded. “And it’s not about me either. Not really.”

Jungkook halted in front of him, close enough that Jimin could feel the warmth radiating off his body. For once, the composed mask Jungkook always wore faltered. His brows furrowed, his jaw working as if he were holding something back.

“How can you say that? I was only reminding you because I can see the way Namjoon is looking at you” Jungkook said, voice low. “But I also see the way you look at me sometimes... when you're lost in thought, when you only seem at ease in the presence of Kim Taehyung”

Jimin froze. “…That’s none of your concern.”

“It’s all my concern.” Jungkook’s voice dropped, raw now, stripped of princely restraint. “Because it’s you. You are my concern”

The world seemed to narrow down to the two of them. The distant chatter of servants faded. The rustle of the library curtains disappeared. It was just Jungkook, standing far too close, and Jimin, clutching a book as if it could anchor him.

“You have no idea how hard it's been for me... to keep a safe distance from you these days” Jungkook's eyes showed all the emotion he was trying to suppress. The raging storm inside his heart and soul.

For one suspended heartbeat, Jimin wondered if Jungkook might close the gap between them. If he might finally break the fragile barrier between duty and desire.

Then footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. Someone's voice drifted toward them, laughing at something a guard had said. Jungkook slid his princely mask back into place.

To Jimin, The Selection was marked with a before and after Choi Nari’s arrival. Her presence was like a stone dropped into still water — ripples spread quickly. Servants whispered. Courtiers watched with thinly veiled interest. And the Council, ever hungry for tradition, began to lean toward her.

It wasn’t malicious. Nari was kind, respectful, and beautiful. But most of all, she represented something the Council had always favored: stability. She could give Jungkook heirs, strengthen alliances with the eastern provinces, and bring honor to the royal line. She was, in their eyes, the perfect match.

And everyone knew it.

Jimin felt it most during the garden promenade, a weekly event where Jungkook escorted different contestants through the palace gardens while courtiers observed from a distance. It wasn’t officially part of The Selection, but everyone understood the symbolism: who the prince chose to walk with reflected his current favor in eyes of watchers.

This week, Jungkook offered his arm to Nari.

Jimin stood among the other contestants as Nari stepped forward gracefully, her light pink gown trailing behind her. She took Jungkook’s arm with practiced poise, offering him a gentle smile. Jungkook returned it with that same quiet ease that had made Jimin’s chest ache during archery.

They walked down the marble path, surrounded by blooming camellias, their figures framed by sunlight. Nari spoke; Jungkook listened intently. Every so often, he’d make a comment that made her laugh softly. Courtiers leaned forward like eager spectators at a play.

Jimin’s hands clenched around the fabric of his coat.

“She’s good,” Taehyung admitted beside him, squeezing his hand in silent comfort.

“She is,” Jimin agreed, eyes locked on the pair. He couldn’t pretend otherwise. Nari wasn’t scheming or false. She fit in the palace in a way Jimin never could.

“I still think you have nothing to worry about. You should give yourself more credit Jiminie. But I think she’s also not your enemy,” Taehyung added, giving him a smile.

Jimin exhaled shakily. “I know.”

But knowing didn’t stop the hard sting when Jungkook reached out to adjust a loose curl that had fallen from Nari’s carefully braided hair. It was a simple, princely gesture. But stirred something ugly inside Jimin.

The promenade ended without spectacle. Jungkook thanked Nari with a bow, and she curtsied gracefully. But when his gaze flicked toward Jimin across the courtyard, something unspoken passed between them. His eyes lingered a second too long. Jimin’s breath caught, then he quickly looked away.

Later that evening, Jungkook sat in his private study, staring at a map of the provinces spread across his desk. His mind, however, wasn’t on borders or trade routes.

His head was a mess after a long conversation he had with Council members and The King.

Choi Nari made sense. The Council’s interest in her wasn’t subtle. She came from a respected family, she carried herself with grace, and she could give him a future that aligned with centuries of tradition. His father would approve. The nobles would support it. Choosing her would make everything… simple.

But when Jungkook closed his eyes, it wasn’t Nari’s voice he heard. It was Park Jimin’s soft laughter in the library. Jimin’s stubborn defiance on the training field. Jimin’s breath hitching when their bodies had been too close, both of them frozen in a moment they shouldn’t have shared.

He pressed his palms against his eyes. This isn’t supposed to happen.

Jungkook was Crown Prince. His choices were meant to serve the kingdom, not his heart... That's what he had been taught all his life. Being reforced on every meeting regarding The Selection. Yet every time he saw Jimin, the carefully constructed walls of duty cracked a little more.

A knock sounded at the door. “Your Highness?” Namjoon’s voice drifted in.

“Come in,” Jungkook said.

Namjoon stepped inside, holding a few scrolls. “Council notes from today’s session. They’re discussing the next round of The Selection events. They’ve suggested a strategy exhibition and a formal dinner. Choi Nari’s name came up quite a bit.”

“Of course it did,” Jungkook muttered. Namjoon tilted his head, studying him. “You don’t sound thrilled.”

Jungkook straightened in his chair. “It’s… expected. She’s impressive. And suitable.”

“And yet,” Namjoon said slowly, “your eyes keep wandering to the gardens whenever Park Jimin walks past.”

Jungkook stiffened. “Careful.” Somehow he didn’t want Namjoon saying Jimin’s name, not after realizing the way he looked at him.

Namjoon’s smile was mild. “I’m not criticizing you Jungkook, I’m observing. You may be Crown Prince, but you’re also human.”

Jungkook didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Namjoon left quietly, but the prince was left staring at the map, his heart at war with his crown.

Two nights later, the strategy exhibition took place. The contestants were divided into groups to solve a fictional diplomatic crisis, each presenting their solutions before Jungkook, Namjoon, and a panel of advisors.

Nari excelled, as expected. She spoke with calm authority, laying out a well-structured proposal that impressed even the most skeptical council members. Her group received murmurs of approval, and the Queen herself smiled proudly.

Jimin’s group was last to present. He wasn’t a natural politician; he admitted that to himself. But he had insight and empathy. When it came his turn to speak, he didn’t talk about power or strategy. He spoke about people—about listening, understanding, and seeking genuine compromise.

The room fell quiet as he spoke, his soft voice somehow cutting through the noise. It wasn’t the traditional answer the Council favored, but Jungkook’s eyes never left him. He was awestruck with his intake in a way none of the other contestants had been able to do.

When the presentations ended, Jungkook rose to offer feedback. “All of you showed thoughtfulness and skill” He complimented those that stood out. “Choi Nari, your proposal was exemplary. Park Jimin, your perspective was… unexpected and so refreshing”

Their eyes met for a fraction of a second. Just long enough to make Jimin’s pulse stutter.

That night, unable to sleep, Jimin wandered the palace gardens. The air was cool and heavy with the scent of night-blooming flowers. He walked down the path Jungkook and Nari had taken days earlier, his fingers brushing against the marble railing. He didn’t hear Jungkook’s footsteps until they were close.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone, yet we always run into each other” Jungkook said softly. Jimin turned, startled. The prince wore a simple green tunic, no crown, no entourage—just him. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Jimin admitted.

“Neither could I,” Jungkook replied, stepping closer. “Too many thoughts.”

They fell into step side by side, walking beneath the moonlight. For a few minutes, neither spoke. The night was too still, their thoughts too loud.

“Choi Nari is… remarkable,” Jimin said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“She is,” Jungkook agreed. “She’s everything the Council wants.”

“And you?” Jimin asked before he could stop himself. Jungkook halted. His gaze met Jimin’s, intense and searching. 

“Sometimes I'm scared that what I want shouldn’t matter... that won't be granted to me”

The space between them felt electric. Jungkook took a half-step closer, close enough that Jimin could see the faint shadows under his eyes, the flicker of vulnerability he never showed in public.

His hand moved—not boldly, but as if drawn by something neither of them could name. His fingers brushed Jimin’s wrist, then slid up slowly until they rested lightly on his waist. Jimin inhaled sharply.

“Jungkook,” he whispered, warning and yearning tangled in his voice.

For a heartbeat, it seemed like the world might tilt. Jungkook leaned in just enough that Jimin could feel his breath against his temple. His other hand brushed a stray lock of hair from Jimin’s face, fingers lingering at his cheek. Then, softly, reverently, he pressed a kiss to Jimin’s forehead. It was fleeting, forbidden, and everything Jimin had been trying not to imagine.

The moment snapped like a taut string. Jungkook pulled back first, stepping away as if waking from a dream. His jaw clenched. “I shouldn’t have—”

“I know,” Jimin said quickly, heart pounding. They stood there in silence, the night holding their secrets. Neither dared step closer again.

The following morning, the palace seemed smaller, more suffocating. Every hallway, every corner, every marble staircase felt as though it had been placed there to remind Jimin that nothing was private, nothing safe. The stolen intimacy of the night before—the brush of fingers, the kiss on his forehead—had left him raw, aware of every heartbeat and every glance.

Nari, unaware of the private encounter, continued to shine. She moved through the palace with grace and purpose, speaking to guards, courtiers, and other contestants with equal charm. She was admired, but she carried none of the arrogance or manipulation that made some of the other girls insufferable.

During breakfast in the grand hall, Jimin felt every movement through the crowd with heightened sensitivity. The way Nari laughed at a clever comment from one of the councilmen, the way Jungkook’s eyes flicked toward her before sweeping over to the other contestants, the subtle curve of his mouth when he saw Jimin approaching—it all felt like a game he was losing without even realizing it.

Taehyung, sitting next to him, leaned in with a smirk. “You’ve got that storm-cloud look again.”

“I’m fine,” Jimin muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

“You’re not,” Taehyung said “And neither is he,” he added, nodding toward Jungkook, who had just caught Jimin’s gaze.

Jimin’s stomach twisted. He knew Taehyung was right. The prince was restless, aware, and dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with his crown.

That afternoon, the contestants gathered in the palace courtyard for a formal training exercise in self defense. This one involved paired duels— it was also a test of agility, strategy, and focus. Jimin’s partner was a mild-mannered boy from the northern provinces. Nari’s partner was no other than the vile Kang Mina, who had already attempted subtle sabotage in previous days.

Jungkook observed from a raised platform, watching each match with meticulous attention. When Nari's turn came, everyone's attention was settled on the way she moved across the court. Her form was impeccable; her focus unbreakable. The crown prince’s eyes softened with something Jimin could not name.

And yet… there was that faint tension whenever he looked at Jimin, the brief flicker of recognition, the unspoken message: I notice you. I see you.

During a lull, Jimin wandered to the side, catching his breath. Jungkook appeared silently beside him, hands clasped behind his back.

“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” Jungkook said quietly.

“I need to keep up, I don't have the basics they do” Jimin replied, wiping sweat from his brow.

Jungkook’s eyes studied him, sharp, assessing. “You're doing really well... but you’re not just trying to keep up with the others. You’re trying to keep up with me, aren’t you?”

Jimin blinked, heart hammering. “That’s… not—”

“Don’t lie,” Jungkook interrupted, voice low. “I can see it. Every glance, every hesitation.”

Jimin looked down, gripping the hem of his shirt. He wanted to protest, to insist he was there for the competition, only because he had no choice—but he couldn’t. Not completely. Every fiber of his being had already betrayed him.

“I notice because I'm no better myself Jimin... I should look at all the competitors” Jungkook continued, his tone softening, almost tender. “Yet my eyes always find you.”

One afternoon during a break, it was Choi Nari who approached Jimin.

“Mr. Park,” she said with a warm smile. “I wanted to congratulate you. Your strategy in the exhibition… it was thoughtful. I can see why the prince listens when you speak.”

Jimin felt a mix of relief and guilt. Relief because Nari’s kindness wasn’t threatening in a cruel way. Guilt because every compliment she gave was a reminder of the precarious position he was in and the feelings he was trying to bury.

“Thank you,” he said, voice quiet. “I… I’m trying my best.”

“I can tell,” Nari replied. “It’s not easy, competing in this environment. But you have integrity, and that matters. It always will.”

Her words were genuine. Encouraging. And for a fleeting moment, Jimin could almost imagine Nari as an ally, rather than a rival.

Yet the ache in his chest remained.

Because in all this, despite himself, there was only one person he truly wanted approval from—and that person was Jungkook.

The soft notes of the piano floated through the music room, delicate and precise, echoing faintly off the tall windows. Jimin’s fingers danced across the keys, lost in the flow of melody, unaware of the shadow lingering near the doorway.

Jungkook stood there, hands clasped tightly behind his back, every instinct telling him to turn away. He shouldn’t be here. Piano lessons were private; contestants were not to be disturbed. The Council would frown. The King certainly wouldn’t approve. And yet, the moment he had heard Namjoon praising Jimin’s progress—remarking on how the boy, despite no prior training, was a natural prodigy—he had been unable to resist. Also because he was jealous the other man had heard Jimin before he did.

Jimin’s head lifted slightly as the notes shifted, his focus absolute. Jungkook’s gaze followed every motion, every subtle movement of Jimin’s hands. The boy was mesmerizing, utterly consumed by the music, his concentration effortless yet powerful.

“That was lovely,” Jungkook whispered, the sound low and careful, as though speaking any louder might shatter the fragile bubble around them.

Startled, Jimin froze, hands poised over the keys. His cheeks flushed crimson, and he stumbled over a note. “Your Highness” he said breathless, heart hammering.

Jungkook’s eyes softened as he stepped just a little closer, though not too close—he dared not, yet he couldn’t stay away. “I…I'm sorry for interrupting, I couldn’t help myself” he said honestly, voice quiet. “Namjoon was right. You are… outstanding.”

Jimin swallowed, searching for words. Every moment with the prince, made his heart ache a little. He had known from the moment he was chosen, that the odds were against him, that the Council and even the King would not consider him a serious contender and he didn't care. But that was before actually meeting Jungkook. He was drawn to him in ways that felt impossible, undeniable.

Jungkook’s gaze held his, intense, conflicted. He was fighting against his own desire, forcing himself to remember the rules, the other contestants, the weight of expectation pressing down on his shoulders. And yet, the pull toward Jimin was magnetic, irresistible.

He sat next to Jimin on the stool, hand lifted, tentative, brushing lightly against Jimin’s wrist as if to steady him—or perhaps steady himself. The contact sent a shiver down Jimin’s spine, his breath catching in his throat. 

“I… I shouldn’t keep doing this,” Jungkook whispered, voice raw with restraint. “I have to… I have to give the others a real chance. And yet…” His fingers lingered just a heartbeat too long. Then moving softly to continue the melody Jimin was playing “I always go against the rules. I force myself to share my time, my attention but I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Jimin’s chest ached, part pride, part fear. Every stolen glance, every fleeting touch, had built a longing in his chest he could no longer deny. 

“Is it wrong of me that I want you to see me?” he asked softly, voice almost trembling.

“Never. I know I'm selfish Jimin... I'm selfish when it comes to you”

The words hung between them, fragile, dangerous. Jungkook’s heart was beating in a way it had never before. Every day that went by, he felt more consumed by Jimin.

Jungkook pressed a light, reverent kiss to Jimin’s rosy cheek, not being able to contain himself. It was a whisper of intimacy that felt like a promise and a warning all at once. 

Then, as though a cord had snapped, he stepped back, forcing himself to regain composure.

“I have to go,” Jungkook said, voice barely above a whisper, yet heavy with longing. “The attendants will be here shorty”

“I wish you could stay just a moment longer” Jimin said with an utter sincerity that shocked himself, he had never voiced any of his real feelings for the prince outloud before.

Jungkook’s eyes darkened, glacing quickly between Jimin’s beautiful honey eyes and his inviting pretty mouth. He was torn between duty and desire, the rules of the palace and the pull of his heart. He wanted nothing more than to close the distance and finally kiss Jimin on the lips as he had been dreaming to do for weeks. But he knew he couldn’t—not yet.

Jimin’s heart was in turmoil, his feelings for Jungkook clashing with his awareness that he might never truly be allowed to win. 

Jungkook was aware of every danger, every consequence, but he could not help the way his chest tightened, the way his mind and body betrayed him the moment Jimin’s gaze met his.

Finally, Jungkook exhaled, a quiet, reluctant surrender. “Don't want to go but I have to... before I do something that puts you more at risk” he said, stepping toward the door, then pausing.

Jimin’s fingers itched to reach for him, to hold onto the prince who had become the axis of his world but said nothing. Only nodded slightly.

Jungkook paused, his expression unreadable for a fleeting moment. Then, with a bow that was almost reverent, he retreated from the room.

As the door clicked shut, Jimin pressed his hands to the keys again, the notes trembling under his fingers. His chest ached with longing, but he felt a quiet, stubborn determination rising within him.

He may not have been expected to win. He may not be the top contender at all. But he knew he wanted this more than anything.

Not for the crown. Not for the approval of the King or the Council. Not for the titles.

He wanted to win for Jungkook. He was willing now to delude himself into thinking there was a chance for them. 

Even though everything was scary and uncertain, he knew what he felt... that what he could see in Jungkook’s eyes was real. And that made every risk, every ache, every stolen moment worth it.

Chapter Text

The palace gardens awoke early that morning, bathed in a golden light that broke through the mist curling around the treetops. From the practice field, the distant neigh of horses and the clatter of hooves echoed softly. The scent of dew and freshly oiled leather hung thick in the air. It was the day of the first royal hunting lesson—a tradition that dated back centuries, meant to showcase discipline, strength, and composure in the face of challenge.

The contestants, dressed in riding attire, gathered near the stables with a mix of excitement and nerves. Jimin stood near the back, hands clasped behind him, the crisp lines of his riding jacket hugging his slim frame. He had never hunted before. Growing up far from the nobility, such activities were luxuries he’d only heard about in stories.

Still, he had come prepared to learn.

“Are you nervous?” Taehyung whispered beside him, his brown eyes sparkling. He looked unfairly good in his cream-colored riding coat, his curls peeking from beneath his hat.

Jimin laughed softly. “Honestly, I am. You?”

“Not at all,” Taehyung said with theatrical confidence. “I’ll charm the hunt into obeying me. You’ll see.”

Before Jimin could reply, the sound of horns signaled the arrival of the Crown Prince.

Jungkook appeared astride a tall black stallion, posture effortlessly regal, dark hair ruffled by the breeze. He was dressed in deep forest green—an outfit that made his broad shoulders and tapered waist stand out all the more. The moment he entered, conversations dropped into a reverent hush.

But Jimin didn’t look away. His gaze caught Jungkook’s almost instinctively. And Jungkook’s—despite the line of contestants awaiting his address—found Jimin as always. His treacherous mind playing the image of Jungkook’s lips on his cheek.

The flicker of recognition in Jungkook’s eyes was brief, quickly masked by princely composure. He dismounted smoothly, boots striking the earth with purpose.

"Good morning, thank you for being ready on time. Today’s lesson,” Jungkook announced, voice carrying with ease, “is about focus. Hunting is not merely strength; it’s strategy, patience, and precision. You’ll learn how to aim, shoot, and ride in tandem. It requires more effort than just the archery we've been practicing"

As Jungkook moved down the line of contestants, his gaze scanned each person with equal formality—at least, until he reached Jimin. For a split second, Jungkook paused. It was imperceptible to most, but not to Taehyung, who arched a knowing brow.

“Park Jimin,” Jungkook said, his tone controlled, but there was a subtle softness beneath it. “Have you ever joined a hunt before?”

“No, Your Highness,” Jimin answered politely.

Jungkook’s lips twitched, almost like he wanted to smile. “Then we’ll make sure you learn properly.”

And with that, he moved on, leaving Jimin’s heart thrumming louder than the horns.

They were divided into small groups for practice. 

Taehyung found himself stationed near Seokjin who had joined as an observer and unofficial advisor. Taehyung lit up the moment Jin approached, his flirtations already sharpening like a blade ready to be unsheathed.

Jimin ended up in a group that included Namjoon, the King’s trusted advisor. He often attended palace events as an observer and mentor. Today was no exception.

Jimin liked Namjoon. He was kind, intelligent, and surprisingly approachable for someone who seemed so serious and composed.

As Jimin adjusted his grip on the bow, Namjoon approached with a dimpled grin. “I see your archery lessons have paid off”

“Yes,” Jimin admitted, cheeks pink. “But it’s… harder than it looks.”

Namjoon chuckled, stepping closer to adjust Jimin’s stance. “For the actual hunt, I suggest you keep your elbow higher—like this. Good. You’re a natural.”

The praise made Jimin smile shyly. He drew the string again, and this time the arrow struck closer to the target.

Across the field, Jungkook’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He’d been demonstrating technique to another contestant, but his eyes had wandered—again—to Jimin.

And there was Namjoon. Standing a little too close. Adjusting Jimin’s arms. Complimenting him.

Namjoon was like an older brother to him and he knew how he felt about the other. So he shouldn’t be jealous over this but this wasn’t the first time he had seen the other interacting like that with Jimin and seeing that easy smile on his lips—a smile Jimin hadn’t given him so freely lately —sent a spark of irritation through his chest.

As the lesson progressed, Jungkook made his rounds again. This time, when he reached Jimin, Namjoon was already there again.

“Excellent improvement,” Namjoon said, stepping back with a proud nod.

Jungkook stopped beside them, his presence instantly commanding. Namjoon greeted him warmly. “Your Highness. You’ve chosen good instructors,” he teased.

Jungkook forced a polite smile. “Some students make instruction easier than others.” Jimin blinked, unsure how to respond.

Jungkook’s gaze dropped to Jimin’s stance. “You’re pulling too much with your shoulder. May I?”

Jimin nodded. Jungkook stepped behind him, close enough that Jimin felt the heat of his chest at his back. Jungkook’s hands—steady, gloved—guided Jimin’s elbows into place.

“Like this,” Jungkook murmured near his ear, his breath brushing against Jimin’s skin. “Breathe. Aim. Don’t overthink.”

Jimin’s heart raced. He could barely focus on the target with Jungkook’s warmth enveloping him like that.

The arrow flew. It struck the target dead center. Jungkook smiled then—a genuine one. “Perfect.”

Namjoon laughed softly. “Seems like the Prince’s methods are foolproof.”

Jungkook straightened, expression smoothing back into control. “It’s all in the technique,” he replied, but his eyes lingered on Jimin a heartbeat too long, who's cheeks remained a beautiful crimson.

The lesson concluded with a brief riding demonstration. Jungkook excelled as always, his control over the stallion flawless, earning murmurs of admiration from contestants.

But even while riding, his gaze occasionally flicked to where Jimin stood laughing at something Namjoon had said. Every time he caught sight of that, something hot and restless coiled inside him.

Later that afternoon, Jungkook was summoned to a private sitting room. The King awaited him, along with Lady Nari. She sat demurely beside the King, her silk gown cascading elegantly.

“Jungkook,” the King began warmly. “I’ve noticed you haven’t spent much time with Lady Nari as the others considering she joined the lines quite late. She’s an excellent competitor and I must admit, I'm already fond of her”

Nari ducked her head shyly at the comment, cheeks dusting pink.

“I’d like you to take her for a walk in the gardens,” the King instructed. “Get to know her even more.”

“Yes, Father.”

Nari smiled at him with polite charm. She was beautiful, undeniably. Her laughter tinkled like bells when she spoke. And yet…

As they strolled through the rose garden as they had done before, Jungkook found his mind wandering again.

Nari talked about her family’s lands, her favorite pieces of music, her views on court etiquette. Jungkook responded appropriately, nodding, asking polite questions.

But then she asked, “Do you enjoy The Selection so far, Your Highness?” He hesitated. Enjoy?

His mind flashed to Jimin—his small, focused frown while trying to aim the bow. The way his laughter with Taehyung echoed near the stables. The heat of his body when Jungkook stood behind him, guiding his arms, he burning feeling he felt after having kissed his cheek and forehead.

“I… suppose so,” Jungkook replied carefully.

She tilted her head. “I hope I make a good impression.”

“You do,” Jungkook said honestly. “You’re… very charming.” But even as he said it, he felt nothing stirring in his chest. No spark. No pull. Just the hollow echo of duty.

She smiled, satisfied. Jungkook, however, caught himself glancing toward the distant training fields—half expecting to see Jimin’s silhouette there.

Jimin’s absence felt louder than Nari’s presence.

Evening descended slowly over the palace, painting the sky in streaks of rose and gold. The day’s heat faded into a cool breeze that swept through the courtyards, rustling banners and whispering through the hedges of the royal gardens. The Selection contestants were dismissed after dinner, free to roam designated areas of the palace before curfew.

Jimin wandered through the lantern-lit garden paths with Taehyung at his side this time. They had both changed out of their hunting attire; Taehyung wore a loose silk robe in deep burgundy, hair tousled from the wind. Jimin’s lighter tunic fluttered against his legs as they walked.

“I swear,” Taehyung said dramatically, “if I have to stand one more hour near that pompous Lord Hyunwoo talking about his family’s vineyards, I’ll throw myself into the fountain.”

Jimin laughed, a clear, soft sound. “You should’ve just walked away.”

Taehyung raised a brow. “And miss the chance to see Seokjin’s face when he politely pretended to care? Never.”

Jimin hid his smile behind his hand. He’d noticed Taehyung’s attention toward Jin more and more lately. The prince’s cousin had a warmth to him that balanced Taehyung’s unpredictable energy.

As they turned a corner near the rose trellises, they found Seokjin himself leaning casually against a stone pillar, scrolling through a rolled parchment he’d been reviewing. When he saw them, his face brightened instantly.

“Lord Kim, Mr. Park” Seokjn greeted warmly. “Out enjoying the night air?”

“More like escaping,” Taehyung said, placing a hand over his heart with theatrical flair. “Lord Hyunwoo’s monologues nearly ended me.”

Jin laughed, the sound genuine. “I warned you to steer clear.”

“You should have rescued me,” Taehyung accused lightly, stepping closer with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Isn’t that what a noble gentleman does?”

Seokjin raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Rescue you? You looked like you were thriving. I’ve never seen anyone nod so enthusiastically at a discussion about grape fermentation.”

Jimin shook his head, amused, and deliberately drifted a few paces away to give them space. He pretended to examine the roses climbing the walls while listening with half an ear.

Taehyung moved even closer to Jin, lowering his voice. “You watch me too closely. Makes me think you care.”

Seokjin’s smile faltered for a heartbeat, replaced by something softer. “I would be lying if I said I don't.” he said quietly.

The playful air between them shifted—just slightly, like the change in wind before a storm. Taehyung’s confident façade cracked, surprise flickering across his features.

“You’re trouble,” he finally said, though his voice had lost some of its usual teasing lilt.

Seokjin leaned closer, their faces inches apart. “Maybe,” he murmured. “But so are you.”

For a moment, the palace gardens melted away, leaving only the charged space between them. Taehyung’s grin returned slowly, tinged with something new—something sincere.

“Well,” he said, straightening with a mock bow, “good to know we’re evenly matched.”

Jin chuckled, shaking his head. “Go on, before someone thinks I’m conspiring with a contestant.”

As Taehyung sauntered off, he threw one last look over his shoulder—mischievous but warm. Seokjn watched him go longer than he probably should have and thinking about how he needed to talk with his cousin about his feelings for Kim Taehyung.

Meanwhile, in another wing of the palace, Jungkook sat in his study, surrounded by ledgers and reports he wasn’t actually reading. The candlelight cast long shadows across the walls.

Nari’s polite laughter from earlier still echoed faintly in his ears, but it felt distant, hollow. Instead, what occupied his mind—relentlessly—was the image of Jimin during the hunting lesson.

The way Jimin’s breath hitched when Jungkook guided him. The look in his eyes when the arrow hit the target.

And then Namjoon’s hand on Jimin’s shoulder. Jimin’s smile.

Jungkook exhaled sharply, pushing back from the desk. This is ridiculous.

He told himself—again—that he needed to be rational. His father had remarked again and again that The Selection wasn’t about personal desire; it was about alliances, duty, future stability. He was so tired of the same speech.

He knew Jimin didn’t fit the King or Council’s vision. He wasn’t the type they favored. And yet...

The more Jungkook tried to stay away, the stronger the pull became. He was a weak man when it came to the beautiful and angelic Park Jimin.

Jimin, restless from the day’s events, found himself wandering through a quieter hallway near the east wing—a place he’d discovered accidentally a few nights ago. The corridor led to a secluded balcony overlooking the moonlit forest beyond the palace walls.

He stepped outside, breathing in the crisp night air. The stars were scattered thick across the sky. For a moment, everything was still. Then he heard footsteps.

Turning, he froze as Jungkook emerged from the corridor’s shadows. The prince wore a dark, embroidered robe, hair slightly tousled as if he’d run his hand through it too many times.

“Your Highness,” Jimin said quickly, bowing. “I didn’t mean to—”

“This is your new spot, isn’t it?” Jungkook interrupted softly.

Jimin blinked. “My… new spot?”

“I’ve seen you here before. Late at night, coming here instead of the gardens sometimes”

Jimin hesitated, then nodded slowly. “It’s quiet. Peaceful.”

Jungkook stepped closer, until they stood side by side at the balcony railing, both gazing out at the forest. For a few moments, neither spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was heavy, charged.

Finally, Jungkook said, almost to himself, “I spent the afternoon with Lady Nari.”

Jimin’s chest tightened. “I see... She’s very… accomplished,” he offered carefully though hus heart was slowly breaking.

“She is,” Jungkook agreed. “She says all the right things. Knows exactly how to please the Council. Even my father favors her. He's the one to suggest I spend more time with her. I said I would, that I'll do my best to give it a chance but…” He trailed off, jaw clenching. “It's so hard Jimin... You're all I think about”

Jimin’s breath caught. Jungkook turned to face him fully, eyes searching Jimin’s. 

“Every time I looked away, my attention went back to you.”

The words landed between them like a spark on dry kindling. Jimin’s heart pounded. “Your Highness—”

“Jungkook,” he corrected softly. “Here. Just… Jungkook.” The intimacy of the name made Jimin’s pulse stutter.

Jungkook stepped closer. The lantern light flickered over his face, highlighting the conflict in his expression—duty warring with desire.

“I keep telling myself to keep my focus on The Selection,” he admitted. “That I must never forget my duty. But when I'm with someone else.... much worse whe I see you with someone else…”

Jimin whispered, “Are.. are you perhaps jealous?”

Jungkook inhaled sharply, as if the word itself disarmed him. “I am... I am because his life and decisions are much easier than mine right now... I'm scared of losing you to someone that can choose you in a heartbeat. If I was entirely free like he is, I would have already-”

Jimin should have stepped back. He should have reminded himself that this was dangerous. But he didn’t.

Instead, he held Jungkook’s gaze and said, quietly but firmly, “You’re not the only one fighting something. I know I'm only a contestant in The Selection and I never dared to dream of more but I can't help the way I feel when I have to see you with others”

The admission hung in the air. Jungkook’s eyes softened, some of the tension in his shoulders easing at knowing it wasn't only him.

“My dearest Jimin,” he breathed.

And then—without fully deciding—they closed the distance between them. Jungkook’s hand came up to cup Jimin’s jaw, tentative at first, giving him time to pull away. Jimin didn’t. He was so tired of having to deny his heart so he leaned into the touch.

Their lips met in a slow, hesitant kiss that burned hotter than either of them expected. It wasn’t rushed; it was the kind of kiss that confessed everything words couldn’t.

When they finally broke apart, breath mingling in the cool night, neither spoke for a long time.

“This can’t be easy,” Jungkook whispered, caressing Jimin's face and memorizing that ethereal look in his heart.

“It isn’t,” Jimin replied. “But neither is pretending.”

Jungkook closed his eyes briefly, as if memorizing the moment befofe pressing a kiss to Jimin’s soft cheek. He didn't want to part from him. He wanted to be consumed entirely by Park Jimin. But he couldn’t be reckless like that. He stepped back, just enough to regain composure.

"I'll find a way for us, I promise you I will"

Jimin nodded. He understood, even if his heart ached. His whole body was alight, he knew if things failed, he would never recover from the impact of Jeon Jungkook in his life.

They lingered a little longer, standing shoulder to shoulder in silence, before parting ways under the watchful stars.

The palace slept, but the night carried new, unspoken truths. 

Taehyung lay awake replaying Jin’s words. Jungkook stared at the ceiling, still tasting Jimin on his lips, the burning of his skin. And Jimin, alone in his room, pressed his fingers to his mouth, shivering all over—wondering how something that felt so inevitable could also feel so forbidden.

The Selection continued. But something fundamental had shifted.

And neither of them could turn back.

Chapter Text

The palace woke to a crisp morning, sunlight spilling across the marble courtyards like liquid gold. Servants rushed to prepare for the day’s events, while the contestants buzzed with rumors and speculation. It had been only a day since the hunting excursion and the balcony incident, but for Jimin, it felt like everything had changed. 

Jungkook’s lips on his, the electricity running through his veins, his whispered words — they haunted every step he took, every glance he stole across the palace gardens.

Yet, life inside The Selection didn’t slow for romance. It marched forward with elegance and ruthlessness.

Jimin wandered through the palace’s inner courtyard after breakfast, enjoying a rare moment of quiet. It was then he heard Hoseok’s bright laugh, like sunlight breaking through clouds.

“Park Jimin!” Jung Hoseok waved, striding over with Min Yoongi in tow. The contrast between the two men was striking: Hoseok was warm and radiant, always moving with the ease of a dancer; Yoongi, quieter and more reserved, had a sharp gaze that seemed to catch everything without saying much.

“Good morning,” Jimin greeted, bowing slightly. “You both look suspiciously cheerful. What did I miss?”

Hoseok grinned. “We found out today’s activity is in the Royal Conservatory. Music and dance. Our time to shine, my friend.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “His time to shine. I’ll be hiding behind the piano.”

Jimin laughed, feeling a strange sense of ease. It wasn’t often that he could talk to other contestants without the pressure of rivalry hanging over them. As they walked, he caught small glances between Hoseok and Yoongi — fleeting, soft, but unmistakably charged. The way Hoseok’s hand brushed Yoongi’s arm when he laughed. The way Yoongi’s gaze softened when it landed on Hoseok.

It was subtle, but Jimin noticed. Even here, even in this competition… people still find each other, he thought.

Meanwhile, on the palace’s west terrace, Taehyung had found his way to the royal gardens — and to Seokjin. The older was kneeling beside a patch of blooming camellias, pruning with delicate care. The sun caught his features perfectly, making him look almost ethereal. Taehyung leaned against a column, watching for a moment before speaking.

“You look like a painting, you know" Seokjin looked up, startled, then chuckled. 

“And as I've said before... You always look like trouble.”

“Only the fun kind,” Taehyung said, stepping closer. He crouched beside Jin, pretending to study the flowers, though his eyes lingered on his plump lips. “Are these for the King or for the Crown Prince?”

“For the banquet tonight,” Seokjin replied, his voice softer now. “The Council wants everything perfect and I decided to help”

Taehyung reached out to pluck a stray leaf from Jin’s hair, his fingers brushing against his temple. Seokjin froze for a heartbeat, eyes widening, before he laughed — a little too quickly. “You’re shameless.”

“Only when the company is worth it,” Taehyung murmured.

They stayed like that for a while, shoulders brushing as they arranged flowers together. Their playful banter gradually softened into quieter exchanges: Seokjin talking about his responsibilities, Taehyung confessing how overwhelming the palace felt sometimes being part of The Selection. There was no pretense between them. Just two people finding comfort where they could.

As they stood to leave, Seokjin offered his hand. Taehyung hesitated, then took it — fingers intertwining for a moment longer than necessary.

The contestants gathered in the Royal Conservatory. Sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, painting the floor in vibrant colors. Instruments lined the walls, and dancers moved gracefully across polished marble.

Jungkook entered with Nari at his side, their presence commanding attention. Nari wore a soft lavender gown, her eyes bright with excitement. She turned to Jungkook, her voice warm. 

“I heard you play the piano very well. Will you show us?”

Jungkook offered her a polite smile, though his eyes drifted — just briefly — to where Jimin stood with Hoseok and Yoongi. After hearing Jimin playing so beautifully after just few lessons, he wanted to play again with him.

“It will be a pleasure,” he said instead.

Nari was kind, genuinely so. She laughed at Jungkook’s quiet jokes, listened attentively, and shone with sincerity. It was impossible not to like her. Jimin noticed this, a faint ache forming in his chest. She fits here, he thought. More than I ever could.

When it was Jimin’s turn to join a dance demonstration, Hoseok pulled him into a lively routine. The room erupted into claps as they moved together — Hoseok leading with effortless charm, Jimin following with surprising grace. Even Yoongi cracked a rare smile at their antics.

From across the room, Jungkook’s gaze lingered. His jaw tightened when one of the noblemen — a tall, arrogant contestant named Baekseong — stepped closer to Jimin during the dance practice, placing a hand on his waist a bit too possessively. Jungkook’s fingers curled into fists at his sides.

Later that afternoon, as the contestants gathered for refreshments, a sudden commotion broke out near the Conservatory’s entrance. A servant rushed in, holding up a delicate sapphire brooch — Lady Kang Mina’s, now one of the Council’s favorites.

“It was found in his room,” someone whispered. Jimin froze. One by one, heads turned toward him.

The Council swept into the hall like a storm: heavy robes, stern faces, their presence cutting the chatter short. Mina stood at the front, feigning distress but with a glint of triumph in her eyes.

"I was looking for my family brooch everywhere! I would have never expected this" She cried in fake sadness.

The Head Councilor’s voice boomed. “Park Jimin. This was discovered in your quarters. Do you deny stealing from a noble lady of this Court?” Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Jimin’s throat went dry. “I— I didn’t! I have no idea how that ended up there—”

Baekseong stepped forward, voice dripping with arrogance. “Liar! I saw him near her chambers this morning. He’s desperate to gain favor any way he can.”

“That’s not true!” Jimin protested, panic threatening to choke him. He could feel the walls closing in — The Council’s eyes were already condemning him. This wasn’t about a brooch. It was about removing someone they never wanted there in the first place.

Then Jungkook’s voice cut through the uproar like a blade. “Enough.”

The entire room fell silent as he strode forward. His cape swept behind him like a shadow, and his expression was pure steel. “Park Jimin has been under my observation for most of the day. He didn’t set foot near Lady Kang’s chambers. This accusation is false.”

The Head Councilor narrowed his eyes. “Your Highness, with all due respect, we cannot overlook such evidence because of personal sentiments.”

Jungkook’s gaze sharpened. “This is not sentiment. It’s fact. I gave my word.”

Another Council member spoke up, louder this time. “Your word is sacred, Your Highness… but so is the process. Appearances matter. Favoritism will taint The Selection’s integrity.”

A murmur of agreement spread through the Council. The Head Councilor’s voice rose, ringing with authority. “If the Crown Prince begins to shield contestants based on personal preference, the throne’s judgment itself will be called into question!”

The words struck like a hammer. They weren’t just accusing Jimin anymore — they were challenging Jungkook’s authority in front of everyone.

Jungkook stepped closer, his voice low but dangerous. “Are you questioning the authority of your future King?”

The Head Councilor didn’t flinch. “We question the wisdom of protecting someone of low status over the Selection’s sacred tradition. What message does this send to the Court? To foreign dignitaries? To the King?”

The air grew thick. Contestants shifted uneasily. Jimin’s heart hammered — this had escalated far beyond a simple accusation.

Then Jungkook raised his voice, loud and commanding. “Guards. Search Ahn Baekseong’s quarters. It's come to my attention he keeps such attitude towards a false claim” A tense silence followed as guards rushed off. 

Moments later, they returned with a servant, trembling, who confessed under pressure: the brooch had been planted in Jimin’s room under Baekseong’s orders.

The hall erupted into whispers. Mina’s face drained of color. Baekseong stumbled back, furious, shouting protests.

The Head Councilor’s jaw clenched. “Ahn Baekseong. Such deception cannot be tolerated… even from a noble house.” His tone was bitter, reluctant. “By the Council’s decree, you are hereby eliminated from the Selection.”

The announcement shocked the crowd. Eliminations were rare outside the usual ceremonies — and for someone of Baekseong’s rank, it was almost unheard of.

Baekseong glared at Jimin as he was escorted out, hatred burning in his eyes. “You’ll regret this,” he hissed, loud enough for Jimin to hear.

The Council turned their attention back to Jungkook. The Head Councilor stepped forward, his voice carrying through the hall. 

“Let this incident serve as a warning. No contestant, no matter whose favor they hold, is above scrutiny. And no royal, no matter how beloved, is beyond reproach when tradition is at stake.”

His eyes locked on Jungkook’s. “Your Highness, the throne is built not only on power — but on trust. Do not forget where that trust comes from.”

The statement was a public reprimand. It dripped with implication: defy them too far, and even his right to rule could be challenged.

Jungkook held his ground, every muscle taut. “And trust, Councilor, is also earned by justice. Park Jimin stays.”

The Council fell silent — not in agreement, but in unwilling concession. They bowed stiffly, then swept out like vultures retreating to watch from a distance.

As the murmurs rose again among the contestants, Jimin felt the weight of every stare. 

The hall slowly emptied after the Council’s departure, but the tension lingered like smoke after a fire. Servants whispered. Contestants exchanged furtive glances. Some looked at Jimin with open sympathy, others with thinly veiled envy or suspicion.

Jimin stood slightly apart, still reeling. His hands were cold despite the warm air, his heart unsteady. Jeon Jungkook, The Crown Prince had stood up for him — publicly, fiercely — even against The Council. That should have reassured him. But the echo of their warning… and the weight of every watching eye… left him shaken.

“Mr. Park.” He turned at the sound of a soft, composed voice. Choi Nari approached, her gown gliding elegantly across the marble floor. She was calm, as always, but there was something searching in her gaze.

“Lady Choi,” Jimin greeted, bowing slightly, unsure what to expect.

“You must be shaken,” she said kindly. “Anyone would be, after something like that.”

“I’m fine,” Jimin lied automatically, forcing a small smile. “It was just… unexpected.”

She tilted her head slightly, the lantern light catching the gold pins in her hair. “I know a trap when I see one. I didn't believe for even a second that you had stolen anything.”

Jimin blinked, surprised. “You didn’t?”

Nari gave a faint smile. “No. You don’t strike me as someone who needs to resort to schemes to gain attention. You already have plenty without trying.”

Her words were kind, but they carried a weight Jimin couldn’t quite read. Before he could respond, her gaze drifted across the room — to where Jungkook still stood, speaking in low, tense tones with Namjoon and two palace guards. 

There was no mistaking the way Jungkook’s eyes kept flicking toward Jimin, as though making sure he was all right.

Nari saw it. Everyone did. She inhaled slowly, steadying herself. When her eyes returned to Jimin, they were gentler, but not blind.

“You know… it’s strange,” she said softly. “I entered The Selection fully aware that the Prince’s heart might not be easily swayed. But I didn’t expect to see it so clearly, so soon.”

Jimin’s chest tightened. “I—”

“You don’t need to explain,” Nari interrupted gently. “I’m not a fool, Park Jimin. Jeon Jungkook looks at you as if the rest of us don’t exist.”

Jimin’s breath caught at the blunt honesty, but Nari’s voice wasn’t bitter. It carried quiet sorrow, not spite. She clasped her hands in front of her, gaze drifting toward the stained-glass windows. 

“I truly like him. More than I expected to. He’s kind, and thoughtful, and when he listens, it feels as if you’re the only person in the world. I wanted to earn that. I still do.” Her eyes returned to Jimin’s — steady, unflinching. “But I also see the way you look at him. It’s the same way. Jimin had no answer. His throat felt too tight to speak.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then Nari’s expression softened further, though her smile was tinged with melancholy. 

“I don’t intend to make this ugly. The Council already does enough of that for all of us. But understand… I’m not going to step aside easily either. I have my heart, and my own place in this Selection.”

“I understand,” Jimin whispered, and he meant it. She nodded once, almost grateful for his honesty. Then, as if remembering herself, she straightened her posture, grace returning like a veil. 

“You should rest. This day will have consequences. For everyone.”

As she walked away, Jimin watched her go — admiring her strength, but feeling the pressure of the path ahead settle heavier on his chest.

Across the hall, Jungkook finally broke away from his advisors. His eyes found Jimin immediately. The world seemed to shrink to just the two of them.

And Nari, pausing briefly at the doorway, saw that too. Her hands curled slightly in her skirts — not in jealousy, but in the quiet ache of someone who recognized a losing battle… and wasn’t sure if she was ready to surrender.

That night, after the palace settled into quiet, Jimin slipped onto one of the palace balconies overlooking the gardens. He needed air. The stars were bright, the wind cool against his skin.

“I'm sorry about what happened today"  Jungkook’s voice came from behind. He stepped into the moonlight, his cloak flowing like ink. “The Council’s warning wasn’t subtle.”

Jimin managed a small smile. “Its not your fault that they don’t like me. Even when I was wronged, they didn't care”

“They don’t like anyone I care about,” Jungkook replied softly. The words made Jimin’s heart stutter. He turned to face him fully. 

“You shouldn’t have defended me like that in front of everyone. They’ll turn against you.”

“I don’t mind,” Jungkook said, stepping closer. “I won’t let them destroy someone just because they’re too blind to see your worth.”

Their breaths mingled. This time, Jungkook didn’t hesitate. His hand cupped Jimin’s jaw, his thumb brushing over soft skin. Jimin’s eyes fluttered shut as Jungkook leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss that was deeper than any before — urgent, claiming, but tender.

Jimin’s hands found Jungkook’s chest, clutching his robes. When Jungkook pulled back, his forehead rested against Jimin’s. 

“I don’t want to hide how I feel from you,” Jimin whispered.

“Then don’t, my angel” Jungkook breathed.

For a few stolen moments, the world fell away. There was no Council, no Selection — only the warmth between them, the taste of something both challenging and inevitable.

Chapter Text

The palace woke beneath a pale, cloud-streaked dawn. A low mist clung to the gardens, curling around the marble pillars like fingers reluctant to let go of the night. From the distant temple bells came a slow, rhythmic toll — the sound echoing through the corridors like a heartbeat, steady and foreboding.

Servants moved swiftly, heads bowed, whispering among themselves as the rumors that had begun the previous evening spread like wildfire through the courtyards.

Everywhere, the name on their tongues was the same. Jimin.

The air carried a quiet tension, sharp and vibrating like a drawn bowstring. Guards at the main gates stood with hands resting more tightly than usual on the hilts of their spears. Even the birds seemed to hesitate before singing.

Jimin stood by the tall window of his chamber, fingers tracing the condensation that had gathered overnight. His reflection in the glass looked pale and thoughtful, almost foreign to him — a man caught between love and danger. Behind him, Taehyung entered quietly, his silk robes rustling faintly as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Something tells me you didn’t sleep,” Taehyung observed, his voice warm but tinged with concern.

Jimin turned, attempting a light smile. “Neither did you, apparently.”

Taehyung crossed the room and handed him a steaming cup of tea. “You’re not the only one who’s noticed how the palace has changed overnight. It feels like everyone is holding their breath.”

Jimin accepted the cup, grateful for the heat against his cold fingers. “They know. Or at least they suspect.”

Taehyung’s gaze softened. “They’ve always watched you more closely than the others. Not because you’re weak — but because you matter to him.” He held Jimin’s eyes, unflinching. “And that terrifies them.”

Jimin exhaled slowly, the steam from his tea swirling between them. “I’ve never been someone the court saw as a real threat. And now...”

Taehyung smiled fondly. “Well. They underestimated you. Only a fool would not see your shine”

His words were meant as comfort, and for a brief moment, they worked. Taehyung’s presence was like warm light spilling into a cold room — steady, loyal, grounding.

Then, a firm knock sounded at the door. “Mr. Park,” a servant’s voice called. “His Majesty summons you.” The warmth drained from the air.

Jungkook strode across the eastern gardens, his cloak trailing behind him like a dark shadow. The morning air bit at his cheeks, but his mind burned hotter than any winter wind. He needed space — space to breathe, to think, to silence the echo of last night’s almost-comfrontation still thundering in his chest.

He found Seokjin waiting by the reflecting pool, as if he’d known Jungkook would come. His cousin’s posture was casual, but his sharp eyes missed nothing.

“You look like a man walking toward a storm,” Seokjin remarked lightly.

Jungkook stopped a few paces away. “Maybe I am.”

Seokjin tilted his head. “Is it about him?” Jungkook didn’t answer, but the tightening of his jaw was enough. Seokjin stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You can lie to everyone else, Jungkook. But don’t lie to me. You’ve never looked at anyone the way you look at him.”

Jungkook’s chest tightened. He had spent sleepless hours trying to convince himself that his attachment to Jimin could still be untangled. That duty could win.

But every time he saw Jimin’s face, that conviction crumbled a little more and after last night, he couldn’t pretend anymore.

“Things are… complicated,” Jungkook muttered.

“Aren’t they always?,” Seokjin said with a quiet laugh, though his expression softened. “Do you want to know a secret?”

Jungkook turned toward him, curiosity momentarily overriding the storm in his mind.

Seokjin’s gaze wandered toward the courtyard, where Taehyung had disappeared earlier. “I think I’ve fallen for someone,” he admitted, voice almost reverent. “Kim Taehyung.”

Jungkook blinked, startled. “You—?”

“Yes.” Seokjin’s eyes met his. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you before... I know he's a contestant in The Selection... your Selection... but I couldn’t help it" Jungkook placed a hand on his cousin’s shoulder encouragingly. 

"I knew I wasn't mistaken with those glances between you both. I'm really glad Jin, you have nothing to worry about. You have my blessing" Jungkook smiled sincerely.

"Thank you... I am terrified though... He’s sunshine in a place built of shadows. And if I let myself love him, truly love him… I fear this palace will try to break us.”

"I understand how you feel better than anyone... Sometimes I feel like I've been broken all my life until I met Jimin..." the prince admits.

For a heartbeat, the cousins stood in shared silence, the weight of their confessions hanging between them.

Jungkook exhaled shakily. “Just a heads up, I won't eliminate Taehyung from The Selection" before Seokjin could ask, he continued "He's Jimin’s friend, his anchor and I don’t want Jimin to ever feel alone here.”

Seokjin’s smile was small but knowing. “Then don’t let him. We both will be there for him as well, Taehyung and I”

A palace guard escorted Jimin down a long corridor lined with portraits of past monarchs, each set of painted eyes following him like a silent jury. At the far end loomed the King’s study — two massive oak doors carved with the royal crest, flanked by armored sentinels.

The guard knocked once, then stepped aside as the doors swung open. Jimin entered.

The King sat at an enormous desk, his back straight, hands clasped lightly in front of him. Sunlight fell across the room, catching the faint streaks of silver in his hair and the sharp lines of his face. Somehow, Jungkook did resemble his Father but it was clear he also was The Queen's son.

The king didn’t look up immediately; he let the silence stretch, as if to remind Jimin of his place.

“Park Jimin,” the King finally said, voice low but resonant. “Come forward.”

Jimin obeyed, bowing deeply. “Your Majesty.”

The King regarded him in silence for a long, unbearable moment. His gaze was sharp, dissecting, as though peeling away every layer Jimin had built to protect himself.

“I see,” the King finally said, voice smooth and detached. “The whispers were not baseless after all.”

Jimin forced his spine to stay straight. “I do not understand, Your Majesty.”

A slow, humorless smile curved the King’s mouth. “I'm pretty sure you understand plenty, boy. My Council is in disarray. Nobles whisper as if scandal is their new currency. And my son — my heir — stands in the middle of it all… because of you..." he said with distaste ”You’ve caught the Crown Prince’s attention. Entirely. Foolishly. I warned him once not to let sentiment blind him. But it seems he is deaf to reason.”

Jimin’s pulse thundered in his ears. He kept his head bowed. “My loyalty is to the Crown and to the kingdom—”

“Is it?” the King interrupted softly, almost kindly — and that kindness was more dangerous than a blade. “You are clever, I’ll grant you that. But clever people who forget their place often find the ground ripped from under their feet.”

Jimin’s hands curled into fists behind his back. He could feel the trap tightening.

The King rose, each step he took down the dais deliberate and measured. “You were never meant to matter,” he said, voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “You were brought here to fill a number. To make others believe The Selection was a dream for all. And yet, somehow, you’ve become a threat. To my son. To this throne. To my kingdom'”

Jimin lifted his gaze, just enough to meet the King’s eyes. There was no warmth in them — only calculation now.

“Do you know what happens,” the King continued coldly “to those who forget their station?" Jimin’s breath caught. "They fall and no one is able to catch them”

The King stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You are not a noble. You have no title, no house to shield you. You can't give him heirs. Your existence here depends entirely on how harmless you appear. Do not overstep, boy. Or I will ensure you remember your place".

For a fleeting second, he was that boy again — powerless, unseen. But then he remembered Jungkook’s hand against his, the way his eyes softened in private, the way he said his name like a promise, the way he kissed him with a burning intensity. And he refused to bend.

"Do you understand what I'm saying Park Jimin?"

“I understand,” he said quietly, steady despite the tremor beneath his ribs.

The King straightened, his smile as thin as a blade. “Good. Then remember this conversation well, boy. You are here because I allow it. Nothing more.”

With that, he turned his back on him.

Jimin bowed deeply once more, not out of loyalty, but because survival sometimes wore the mask of obedience. He walked out of the throne room with measured steps — but inside, his heart pounded like war drums.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the palace corridors bathed in the flickering light of lanterns. Whispers slid through the hallways like smoke, curling under doors and around corners — whispers of the King’s private summons, of shifting alliances, of a tension that no one could quite name but everyone could feel.

Jungkook stood alone in the training courtyard, the night wind tugging at his sleeves. His hands were still bruised from the morning’s sparring, but his mind was the real battlefield — restless, churning with everything left unsaid. The encounter with his father at the council, the weight of expectations, the thought of Jimin having to face the upcoming storm, the unfair judgements… it all burned beneath his skin.

He went back to his chambers, heading to his study to busy his mind with other affairs like reviewing a list of upcoming Selection events. That's when Namjoon barged in without ceremony. The prince looked up in surprise.

The advisor had been walking toward the King to deliver a report when he saw Jimin exiting, pale and shaken. Something inside him snapped. He had turned sharply and headed straight for the Crown Prince’s quarters.

“Namjoon?”

“You need to do something,” Namjoon said, closing the door behind him with a loud click. “The King called Jimin.”

Jungkook’s expression immediately hardened. “What?”

“I saw him leave the King’s quarters. He looked terrified, Jungkook.”

Jungkook rose to his feet. “Why wasn’t I informed?”

“Because he didn’t tell you,” Namjoon said pointedly. “And because you’re too busy pretending you can keep him close without consequences.”

The words struck deeper than Jungkook expected. “What are you implying?”

Namjoon crossed his arms, jaw tight. “I’m implying that if you truly care about him, you either protect him fully or let him go before they destroy him.”

Jungkook bristled. “You think I’d let that happen?”

“I think,” Namjoon said, voice rising, “that you’re in denial about the danger he’s in. You’ve been reckless. The balcony incident, your blatant favoritism — everyone sees it. And the King? He’s not blind. He’ll use Jimin as leverage if he has to.”

Jungkook clenched his fists. “I won’t let anyone hurt him.”

“Then do something,” Namjoon shot back. “Because if you don’t… I will.”

The words landed like a punch. Jungkook’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?” Namjoon hesitated for a heartbeat — then met Jungkook’s gaze head-on.

“I care about him too,” he said quietly. “And if you keep wavering, if you can’t choose between protecting him and protecting your throne… then I’ll step in. I’ll give him the safety and the love he deserves.” The room went still.

Jungkook’s chest heaved, his heartbeat roaring in his ears. “You…”

“Yes,” Namjoon said evenly. “If I had the chance, I would pursue him.” Something inside Jungkook snapped. He slammed his hands against the edge of the desk so hard that papers scattered to the floor. He took a step forward, fury darkening his eyes.

“Don’t,” Namjoon warned, though his own stance had stiffened defensively.

“You think you can love him better than I can?” Jungkook’s voice was low, trembling with emotion. “You think you could protect him better?”

“I think you’re trapped between being Crown Prince and being a man in love,” Namjoon retorted. “And that hesitation could end him.”

Jungkook’s hands shook. He grabbed Namjoon’s collar in a rare, explosive gesture, yanking him forward. “I would burn this palace down before I let anyone take him from me.”

Namjoon didn’t flinch. “Then prove it.”

For a long, charged moment, they stood inches apart — friends, now standing on a fault line neither had expected to cross. Then Jungkook let go, shoving him back with a sharp exhale.

“Is this your way of telling me you love him enough to fight me?,” Jungkook said hoarsely.

“I do love him,” Namjoon replied simply. “But I won’t steal him. I’m giving you a choice. Protect him… or set him free before they break him apart.”

Jungkook turned away, chest heaving. The admission, the threat, the jealousy — all of it swirled together until the truth ripped out of him like a confession he could no longer hold in.

“I love him more than anything,” Jungkook said, almost to himself. “More than the crown. More than duty. More than I've ever loved in my life. I never placed my feelings over my duty, my dreams over my responsibilities but now that I found him, that I've fallen for him, I won't stop”

Namjoon’s expression softened just slightly. “Then act like it.”

Jungkook didn’t waste another second. He pushed past Namjoon and strode out of the room, his cloak swirling behind him like a storm on legs.

Jimin’s chamber was quiet, save for the muted crackle of the hearth. Moonlight spilled through the latticed windows, silvering the floor and casting long shadows that danced with the flickering firelight.

Jimin sat on the edge of his bed, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his robe. The day’s events had left his chest tight — the King’s warning still echoed in his mind, low and cold. But beneath it all, another heartbeat pulsed steadily, one he couldn’t ignore.

A soft knock broke the silence. He didn’t need to ask who it was. His heart answered before his voice could.

“Come in,” Jimin said quietly.

The door opened to reveal Jungkook, cloaked in darkness and moonlight. His hair was slightly disheveled from the wind, and his eyes — gods, his eyes — held a raw intensity that made Jimin’s breath hitch. There was no trace of the composed prince here, only a man that loved with a passion that burned him whole.

“Jungkook…” Jimin rose slowly, uncertain whether to move closer or keep distance. Jungkook crossed the room in a few strides, stopping only when he was inches away. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jungkook demanded, voice low and rough.

“Tell you… what?” Jimin asked, his chest tightening.

“That the King called you. That he threatened you,” Jungkook said, taking a step closer. “I should have known... I had to find out through Namjoon”

Jimin swallowed hard. “I… I didn’t want to worry you. I thought—”

“You thought?” Jungkook cut him off, stepping right up until the space between them was charged, hot with tension. “You think I would stand by if anyone tried to hurt you? If anyone—my father—tried to harm you?”

Jimin shook his head, tears threatening to spill. “I… I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to give up The Selection. But I’m scared, Jungkook. Scared of what he might do.” Jungkook’s hands cupped Jimin’s face, thumbs brushing over the soft planes of his cheeks. 

“You won’t have to face it alone. I'll protect you” Jungkook pressed his forehead against Jimin’s, warm breath tempting his lips. “I've come to terms with the fact that I can’t stay away from you,” his voice rough. “I’ve tried. Every part of me has tried. But when I’m not near you, it’s like I can’t breathe.”

Jimin’s lips parted, a shiver running through him. “But you shouldn’t be here... It's all too risky right now”

“Maybe I shouldn’t” Jungkook whispered, stepping closer still until their foreheads almost touched. “But I want to be. I can't be anywhere else”

His hand rose tentatively, as if asking for permission, and Jimin didn’t pull away. Jungkook’s fingers brushed along Jimin’s jaw, slow and reverent, tracing the skin like a man memorizing something he feared losing. Jimin’s breath caught, his own hands lifting to rest against Jungkook’s chest, feeling the frantic rhythm beneath his palm.

The dam broke. Jungkook kissed him. It wasn’t careful or polite — it was urgent, desperate, and unrestrained. Jimin’s hands went to Jungkook’s chest, fingers gripping tightly as if anchoring himself against the tidal wave of emotion. The heat between them was undeniable — a storm of desire, fear, and relief all at once.

Jungkook’s hands roamed over Jimin’s back, pulling him closer, tilting his chin, capturing his lips again and again. Each kiss was a claim, a declaration, a promise.

Jungkook’s mouth trailed down Jimin’s neck, each brush of his lips drawing a soft gasp. “You are mine, Jimin,” he murmured against his skin, voice trembling with intensity. “Mine, as I am yours.”

Jimin closed his eyes, a tear slipping free before he could stop it. “You can’t say things like that,” he whispered. “Not if you don’t mean them.”

Jungkook lifted his head, cupping Jimin’s face between both hands, forcing their eyes to meet. There was no hesitation in him now. “I mean every word,” he breathed. “You are my heart. I'm sorry for making you wait this much, for putting you in danger”

The confession hung between them, weighty and electric.

Their lips met again, slower this time — not less intense, but deeper. Jungkook pushed him gently back until Jimin’s knees hit the edge of the bed, and they sank down together in a tangle of silk and hurried breaths.

Jungkook’s hands roamed Jimin’s sides, not with hunger alone but with awe, as if trying to memorize every inch of him. Jimin arched into the touch, his own hands threading through Jungkook’s hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

They wanted to take, take and consume until they were one, but they knew it wasn't the right time... So they didn't. Still, the room pulsed with something undeniable. A breaking point, a storm too big to contain.

For that night, they let themselves be selfish.

When most of the palace had quieted to sleep, Seokjin slipped out into the moonlit gardens. He found Taehyung sitting beneath a blooming wisteria, the soft petals drifting down around him like pale snow. His knees were drawn up, chin resting on them, lost in thought.

“You always choose the prettiest spots to sulk,” Seokjin teased gently.

Taehyung’s head snapped up, startled, then softened when he saw who it was. “I’m not sulking.”

“Of course not,” Seokjin said, sitting beside him with practiced elegance. “You’re merely brooding poetically under a tree.”

Taehyung laughed despite himself. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Seokjin said, leaning back on his hands, “you’re still here.”

For a few heartbeats, they simply sat in companionable silence, listening to the rustle of leaves and distant night birds. The world felt smaller here, softer — as if the court’s venom couldn’t reach them beneath the cascading flowers.

“Everything’s changing,” Taehyung murmured at last. “I can feel it. The King, the council… they’re moving pieces we can’t see. And Jungkook—he’s caught between his heart and his duty. I don’t know what will happen but all I want is for Jimin to be safe... Safe and happy”

Seokjin turned toward him, eyes soft.  “Then we make sure the heart wins”

Taehyung met his gaze — and something shifted between them. Not sudden, not dramatic, but like two stars slowly realizing they’d always been part of the same constellation.

“Taehyung,” Seokjin whispered, leaning closer. “You make this place bearable.”

Taehyung’s breath caught. “Jin—” Their lips met in a quiet kiss beneath the wisteria. 

It wasn’t heated or desperate like Jimin and Jungkook’s, but gentle, grounding — a shared secret in a garden that had seen centuries of whispers. When they pulled back, Taehyung was smiling, cheeks tinged with warmth.

“Don’t disappear,” he said softly.

Seokjin brushed a petal from his hair. “I won’t.”

The Throne Hall seemed alive with tension. The polished marble floors gleamed under the morning sun, reflecting the intricate patterns of silk and gold worn by the assembled courtiers. Every whisper, every shuffled step carried weight. The air itself was taut, thick with anticipation and suspicion, as if the room were holding its breath.

Jimin stepped through the grand doors, his posture carefully measured despite the pit twisting in his stomach. Rumors had spread overnight like wildfire: he had been seen in restricted areas multiple times, sometimes accompanied by an unknown figure. Now, those whispers would be dragged into the light, sharpened into accusations by those who thrived on intrigue.

Taehyung remained close beside him, a silent shadow. His hand brushed lightly against Jimin’s arm—a small, grounding gesture, a quiet promise that he was not alone.

Seokjin and Namjoon moved with practiced grace to the front of the assembly, their gazes sweeping over the councilors, nobles, and ministers with sharp, deliberate precision.

Choi Nari lingered near the edges of the hall in a soft lavender gown, her gaze steady—watching Jungkook, watching Jimin, caught in the storm with quiet resolve.

The King entered then, his crimson robes trailing like liquid fire. Murmurs died instantly. Every noble straightened beneath the sharp weight of his gaze as he ascended the dais with deliberate, controlled steps. Only the faint tightening around his eyes betrayed the strain beneath his composed exterior.

“His Majesty, King Jeon,” the herald intoned, “has summoned the court for an audience regarding recent disturbances within The Selection.”

The murmurs returned in a restrained hum. Jimin felt them like a physical weight pressing on his chest. He kept his hands steady at his sides. He would not falter—not here.

Mina stepped forward among the contestants with calculated poise, every movement rehearsed. Her sharp eyes never left the Crown Prince.

“Your Majesty,” she began, soft but precise, “I speak not from malice, but concern. As a participant in this Selection, I cannot ignore troubling reports. Park Jimin has been seen repeatedly in restricted areas of the palace—places forbidden to candidates. On several occasions, he was accompanied by unidentified individuals. The secrecy is… concerning.”

Gasps rippled through the hall. Taehyung’s jaw tightened. Seokjin’s eyes narrowed. Namjoon remained calm but tense. Nari’s fingers clenched subtly against her dress.

Jungkook’s chest constricted. The accusations weren’t false—Jimin had been there, often with him. Those were moments they had stolen in defiance of rules, believing their secrecy would protect them. Admitting the truth now would destroy Jimin.

“What is the evidence?” Jungkook’s voice cut through the hall, firm but measured.

Lord Hwang inclined his head slightly. “Your Highness, multiple witnesses—servants and guards—confirm his presence. The pattern is clear. Repeated visits at suspicious hours. Whether these meetings were innocent or not, their nature invites questions.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. “Are these witnesses certain of what they saw, or are they chasing shadows? Presence alone is not proof of guilt.”

Lord Hwang stepped forward, robes whispering across marble. “This is not one isolated incident,” he said coolly. “Multiple sources report multiple breaches. That suggests premeditation—a deliberate disregard for protocol.”

Murmurs swelled again. Lady Seo’s lips curved slightly as she added, “Surely the Crown Prince understands why the Council is concerned.”

Taehyung stepped subtly closer to Jimin, his stance radiating silent challenge. Mina’s calm gaze masked the satisfaction of a carefully laid snare.

Jungkook’s jaw ached from the force of holding back the truth. Every “appearance” had been orchestrated by him, yet the Council now wielded his caution as a weapon.

“And sometimes,” Lord Hwang continued, letting the implication hang heavy, “he was accompanied. We do not know who by. Such secrecy threatens the integrity of The Selection.”

Jungkook took a step forward, boots ringing sharply on the floor. “And what of proof?” he demanded. “How can you speak of intent when you ignore context?”

“Repeated breaches speak for themselves,” Mina replied sweetly, her words cutting like a blade.

Taehyung’s voice dropped low and dangerous. “He has walked these halls to clear his mind, not to conspire. You twist the ordinary into something sinister.”

Seokjin rose with elegant calm. “Your Majesty, these claims rest on appearances, not facts. Acting without full knowledge would be a grave miscarriage of justice.”

The King leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “Prince Jungkook, duty requires you to weigh sentiment against protocol. Multiple breaches cannot be dismissed lightly.”

Jungkook’s composure wavered. Diplomacy had failed; the Council pressed in like wolves scenting blood. His chest burned.

“You are using shadows to condemn him,” Jungkook said, voice rising. “He has not broken The Selection. You twist these fleeting moments into tools meant to destroy him!”

Gasps erupted. Some nobles looked scandalized; others leaned forward eagerly.

“Your Highness,” Lady Seo replied gently, “you are blinded by affection. Your interventions compromise the perception of neutrality. You cannot claim impartiality when your heart guides you.”

Jungkook’s hands trembled. He could not lash out without endangering Jimin further. Every word became a blade he had to wield carefully.

Lord Hwang struck again, voice like venom. “If no action is taken, the Selection’s integrity collapses. Tolerance of repeated breaches sets a dangerous precedent.”

Lady Seo followed smoothly, “The Council proposes Park Jimin’s temporary removal from proceedings. Not punishment, but precaution. To safeguard the Selection’s fairness.”

Whispers surged like a wave. Some nodded; others frowned at the thinly veiled cruelty.

Jungkook’s blood ran cold. He knew what “precaution” meant: isolation, humiliation, a permanent mark.

“You cannot!” Jungkook barked, stepping forward so suddenly the front rows recoiled. His voice cracked like a whip. “He has done nothing to warrant this. This is manipulation, not justice!”

The King’s gaze sharpened. “Crown Prince, you speak with passion. But are you guided by reason?”

“I am not blind!” Jungkook roared. “He has done nothing deserving of this!” His chest heaved. The Council’s net tightened, their words threaded with calculated malice. He saw it now—the trial had only just begun.

Namjoon finally stepped in, voice steady and clear. “These sightings were never breaches of conduct. To condemn based on rumor is to abandon fairness itself.”

“Speculation?” Lord Hwang countered. “These are patterns. Even the Crown Prince cannot deny they exist.”

Jungkook’s control snapped. He mounted the dais fully, voice booming. “You think patterns are enough to condemn him? You twist what you do not understand into something vile! You will not erase him for your convenience!”

Silence fell. Mina’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. The Council had drawn Jungkook into open battle.

The King’s voice was calm but dangerous. “Crown Prince, remember your station.”

“I will not temper justice when it threatens the innocent!” Jungkook shot back. “I will not allow a misunderstanding to erase him.” His voice dropped, low and resolute. “Jimin has acted responsibly. Any suggestion otherwise is speculation, a shadow cast by those eager to wound. I will defend him with every breath and every ounce of power I possess.”

The silence that followed was long and heavy. Nobles exchanged uneasy glances. The King’s eyes stayed sharp, calculating. He gave nothing away.

Finally, the King’s voice cut through the tension. “We will proceed cautiously. The matter will be investigated further before any action is taken. No one will be removed today. But let this serve as a warning. Repeated breaches—real or perceived—carry consequences.”

The Council had not won, but they had sown their seed. Suspicion would take root. And in the dark corners of court, whispers would grow sharper.

“You’ve made your position very clear son,” the King said softly enough just for Jungkook to hear “Now let us see if you’re strong enough to live with its consequences.”

Jungkook didn’t flinch. But deep down, he knew: the storm had officially broken.

This battle was only the opening move.

He clenched his fists, heart pounding with certainty: he would fight for Jimin through every whisper, every accusation, no matter the cost.

Chapter Text

The heavy oak doors of the Throne Hall had barely closed on the retreating figures of the court before the true silence fell—not the silence of peace, but the cold, dead after an explosion.

Jungkook didn't wait for his father's wrath. He simply turned and strode out, his spine rigid, every muscle tense with adrenaline and unspent fury. He heard the King’s voice call his name—low, sharp, and instantly dismissive—but he didn’t pause. 

He knew the consequence of that scene wasn't a punishment waiting in the study; it was a noose tightening around Jimin.

​He found Namjoon waiting in a shadowed alcove nearby, looking less like a loyal advisor and more like a general who had just lost a critical skirmish.

​“You couldn’t have been more obvious,” Namjoon muttered, his gaze sweeping the empty corridor for eavesdroppers. “You put a target on his back the size of the throne itself.”

​“The target was already there, Namjoon,” Jungkook countered, voice clipped. “And I was tired of pretending it wasn’t. They wanted me to condemn him with silence, to let him be removed cleanly. I just changed the terms of the fight.”

​“The terms are now a battle of succession, not selection,” Namjoon corrected sharply. “Your father sees him as a weakness he can exploit to control you. And you just gave him the evidence he needs to paint Jimin as a political insurgent.”

Jungkook leaned against the stone wall, running a hand roughly through his hair. “Then we cut the leverage. What’s his move?”

​“Isolation,” Namjoon replied without hesitation. “He won’t remove Jimin yet; you made that impossible without risking open revolt among your supporters. He will isolate you. He will restrict your movements and monitor every single interaction, forcing you to choose the Crown over him in the most public, agonizing way possible.”

​

The following morning, Jungkook was summoned to the King's private study. This was not the grand, public theatre of the Throne Hall, but a room of cold, dark wood and heavy velvet, where true power was quietly wielded.

The King sat behind his enormous mahogany desk, the morning light struggling to penetrate the thick window hangings. He offered Jungkook no greeting, merely a chilling summation.

“You have chosen a path of ruin, Jungkook,” the King stated, his tone flat and emotionless, far more menacing than any public rage. “The Council already despises the boy. Yesterday, you confirmed their greatest fears: that you are unfit to put duty ahead of passion.”

Jungkook stood firm, his spine rigid. “I confirmed that I will not be manipulated, Father. They manufactured that crisis to force my hand. It was a political attack disguised as a moral one.”

“And you played right into their hands!” the King retorted, his voice rising sharply for the first time. “A Crown Prince is a symbol of order, not a fool in love. He is a contestant who is structurally unsuitable for the throne. He is not the alliance we need, and he cannot secure the succession.”

“He offers integrity and loyalty, Father. Qualities this court often sells cheaply.” Jungkook looked at the man who was both his father and his sovereign. “I meant every word I said yesterday. He is not a means to an alliance; he is the man I choose. I will find a way to rule with him, not without him.”

The King’s lips pressed into a thin, hard line. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “I am tired of this juvenile defiance. I will not forbid your actions—that would only turn your obsession into a noble crusade. But understand the reality you have created.”

The King’s eyes narrowed. “I will not protect you. Every move he makes, every mistake he commits, will be scrutinized by the Council, who now view him as a threat to the stability of the kingdom. If he falls, it will be by your hand, because your reckless defiance made him an enemy. You will rule alone with that knowledge, or you will realize your folly and send him away.”

Jungkook didn't flinch. The cold certainty of the threat—the removal of the King’s protection—was a heavy burden, but his resolve solidified under the pressure.

“I accept the burden,” Jungkook said simply. “I will find a way to protect him and to rule. But I will not send him away.”

The King regarded him with an expression of profound disappointment before turning his attention back to the papers on his desk, dismissing his son with a chilling finality.

As the day wore on, Jungkook sought refuge in a secluded gallery overlooking the inner courtyard, the silence a preferable alternative to the palace’s newfound tension. He found Choi Nari there, elegant in a soft cream gown, staring at a landscape tapestry.

She turned when he approached, her composure perfect, yet her hands were clasped tightly.

“Your Highness,” she murmured, offering a graceful curtsy. “I wanted to offer my support. What the Council did to Park Jimin was cruel. I admire how fiercely you defended him.”

“Thank you, Lady Choi,” Jungkook replied, feeling a familiar pang of regret whenever he interacted with her.

She hesitated, her gaze dropping, before lifting her eyes—clear, direct, and honest. “After yesterday, after seeing you stand against the entire Court for him… I need to ask you, Your Highness. Do I have even a tiny, flickering bit of hope left in this Selection?”

The question demanded the painful truth.

“Lady Choi, you have been nothing but honorable, kind, and intelligent,” Jungkook said softly. “You possess every quality required of a Queen. But I would be doing you a terrible disservice if I allowed you to remain under false pretenses.”

He paused, gathering his courage. “My commitment to Jimin is absolute. There is no hope for anyone else. Not because you lack anything, but because my heart has already chosen, irrevocably. I respect you too much to offer you an empty hand, when I cannot offer you my love.”

Nari’s composure finally fractured. A single, crystalline tear traced a path down her cheek, but she quickly wiped it away, accepting the pain with quiet dignity.

“I see,” she whispered, her voice husky. “Thank you, Your Highness. For your honesty.” She managed a small, melancholic smile, acknowledging their shared, unfulfilled destiny. “May you find the strength to hold onto that happiness you seek, for the price you paid yesterday was terribly high.”

She offered one last curtsy and left the gallery, her movements slow but unwavering, leaving Jungkook with a profound sense of respect for the gentle woman he could never love, and a heavier weight of responsibility for the man he did.

On a quiet stretch of the palace roof garden, beneath the pale silver light of a nearly full moon, Seokjin and Taehyung found their own sanctuary. The tension of the day was finally beginning to ease into the balm of shared company.

“They’re going to be under such pressure now,” Taehyung worried, leaning against a low stone wall.

Seokjin moved to stand close, gently pulling Taehyung's hand into his. “We won’t let them be alone. We are their allies, and we will protect the peace, even if it’s just the peace between us”

He looked at Taehyung, his handsome features softened by the moonlight. “We’re risking everything just being here, aren’t we? If they found us…”

Taehyung shook his head, a flash of familiar mischief replacing his worry. “I like that risk. It means this is real, and it’s ours.”

Seokjin leaned in, his voice dropping to a warm rumble. “I want this to be real, Taehyung. More than I’ve wanted anything that’s been part of my ‘duty’ here. I want a moment just for us.”

Taehyung closed the gap between them, his hand cupping Seokjin’s jaw. Their kiss was tender and searching, a quiet promise of companionship and loyalty exchanged in a palace steeped in betrayal. It was a secret, shared and precious, an anchor in the storm.

When they parted, their foreheads rested against each other. “You make the risk worth taking,” Taehyung breathed, eyes shining.

“And you make me brave,” Seokjin replied, his thumb stroking Taehyung’s cheekbone.

Jimin was exhausted, the events of the previous day and the knowledge of the King’s impending reaction leaving him emotionally raw. When a cautious knock sounded, it was Yoongi and Hoseok.

“How are you feeling Jimin? We saw how the Prince stood up for you,” Yoongi stated, crossing his arms and leaning against the closed door. “That was either the bravest thing he’ll ever do, or the dumbest.”

“It was love,” Hoseok corrected softly, sitting on the edge of Jimin’s bed. “And we wanted to tell you that you don’t need to worry about The Selection. We’re on your side.”

Jimin felt a wave of unexpected warmth wash over the fear in his gut. “It’s hard to ignore the King’s anger or Lady Seo and Lord Hwang despise. I feel like a liability now.”

Yoongi stepped away from the door, his gaze steady. “You’re not a liability. You’re an earthquake. You’re shaking up a system that needed to be shaken. They hate you because they can’t control the Crown Prince's heart, and your existence makes them feel powerless.”

Hoseok leaned in, his voice earnest. “We want you to win, Jimin. Genuinely. Most of those here are looking for comfort, power or security. But you? You could actually bring good to this throne. You have a kind soul, a sharp mind, and a good heart. We’ll support you right up to the final day, no matter what it means for us.”

Jimin’s eyes welled up with grateful tears. He wasn't alone; he had found allies in the most unexpected places.

“Thank you,” Jimin whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “That means everything.”

Yoongi gave him a small, genuine smile. “Just make sure that Prince treats you right. If he falters, Hoseok and I will be here to put a little fear in him.”

Jimin laughed, the sound shaky but real. The immediate political pressure was still immense, but tonight, he was wrapped in the certainty of Jungkook’s love and the fierce, quiet loyalty of his friends. He knew he was in a fight for his life, but he was ready to face the final stages of The Selection.

Two weeks passed since the day Jungkook defied the entire Royal Council for Park Jimin. In that time, their secret meetings had ceased entirely. The palace was a time bomb and any private encounter between the Prince and a contestant would have been immediate political ammunition for the Council. 

The distance was Jungkook’s attempt at protection, but it felt like a silent, agonizing severance for both of them.

Jimin lay on the plush rug in his chamber, reading but retaining nothing. The constant formal appearances felt suffocating.

Taehyung, ever attentive, slipped into the room, kicking off his shoes. “If you stare at that same page of poetry one more time, I think the paper is going to combust from sheer boredom,” he teased, sitting beside Jimin.

“I miss him, Tae,” Jimin admitted, pushing the book away with a sigh that carried the weight of the whole palace. “I miss the stolen moments. I miss the library visits. I miss… just being able to breathe around him. Now every glance, every nod, is a political statement. It’s exhausting.”

He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “It’s like we’re two stars in different orbits, forbidden to collide. He proved his commitment publicly, but I feel further away from him now than when The Selection began.”

Taehyung reached out and squeezed his hand, his expression softening. “You know why, right? He’s protecting you from the King. Seokjin told me. The King essentially told Jungkook, ‘I won’t stop you, but I won’t shield you either.’ Jungkook has to be flawless, and you have to be beyond reproach. No more late-night rendezvous.”

Jimin swallowed, the confirmation stinging but also comforting. “Does he… does he miss me, too?”

Taehyung smiled, a bright, knowing look. “Seokjin says Jungkook is like a ghost wandering the palace. He said the Prince spent an entire court dinner staring at his water glass, only looking up when you spoke. He's suffering. But his focus right now is finding the angle to end this war without losing you.”

This knowledge—that the ache was shared—was a fragile comfort, strengthening Jimin for the next inevitable battle.

The next morning, the remaining contestants—Jimin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Nari, Taehyung, and Kang Mina—were summoned. They stood before the Grand Ballroom, which was being rapidly transformed into a glittering venue for the final major task.

Queen Mother Hyuna, who had taken over the presentation role, stepped forward. 

“The Selection is no longer about compatibility; it is about capacity. The final task will test your diplomatic grace, your political foresight, and your ability to generate public goodwill.”

She gestured toward the room, filled with gold-rimmed tables and banners. “Tonight, you will each host a section of the Annual Diplomatic Patronage Gala. You must select a specific charity or community project, prepare a formal presentation, and convince a group of influential court nobles and foreign dignitaries to become its Patron. The person who secures the most substantial and influential public pledge will be deemed to possess the social capital required to be Queen or Consort King.”

It was the perfect test: a blend of social elegance and calculated power-play. The winner would not be determined by Jungkook’s heart, but by the approval of the same social elite who despised Jimin.

That night, the Grand Ballroom was a kaleidoscope of silk, jewels, and dangerous smiles. Jungkook, seated on the main dais with the King, maintained a rigid, unreadable posture, his eyes constantly tracking Jimin.

Yoongi, Taehyung, Nari and Hoseok presented strong, respectable causes—a scholarship fund, a shelter for animals, a new school system and a rural healthcare initiative, respectively. 

Kang Mina, however, was in her element. Mina, exquisite in emerald green, charmed a table of elderly, conservative nobles with a proposal to fund a new Royal History Archive—a project designed to appeal directly to their vanity and tradition. She secured three substantial pledges, each one announced with a loud flourish.

Jimin, in contrast, chose a quiet, yet deeply personal project: a Community Arts & Education Centre for the capital’s poorest districts, focusing on vocational skills and creative expression. His presentation was heartfelt, speaking not of history, but of hope and the future of the kingdom's forgotten children. Besides the pledges from Seokjin and Namjoon, he secured two pledges by himself, significant for their depth but less impressive in scale than Mina's.

As Jimin began to thank his two new patrons—a younger noble and a foreign diplomat—Mina executed her final, calculated attack.

She approached Jimin's group, all smiles. "Such a moving speech, Park Jimin. One almost forgets where you are speaking from." She turned to the foreign diplomat, her voice carrying just enough to catch the attention of nearby tables.

“I must apologize for the sentimental nature of that presentation, Your Excellency,” Mina purred, her eyes glittering with malice. “He is very passionate about the poor. You see, Jimin’s family worked as simple laborers in his district. He understands first-hand what it means to rely on charity. I just hope he understands the difference between patronage and a handout.”

The attack was brilliant in its cruelty—it didn't just insult Jimin; it undermined the legitimacy of his project, suggesting he was using the Royal coffers to fund his own class, a subtle echo of the Council’s "stealing" accusation. 

A collective gasp rippled through the nearest tables. Jimin’s face flushed scarlet, and his hands clenched at his sides.

Before Jimin could respond, before the patrons could withdraw their pledges, and before the King could intervene, Jungkook moved.

He descended the dais steps swiftly, his black velvet suit a stark contrast to the room's white marble. He walked straight past Mina, who froze mid-triumph, and went directly to Jimin's table.

Jungkook did not look at Mina or at the nobles. He looked only at Jimin, his eyes dark with fierce, protective love.

Then, he addressed the entire, silent ballroom, his voice strong and clear, cutting through the silence like a sword.

“Lady Kang is correct,” Jungkook stated, his voice resonating with royal authority. “Park Jimin understands the importance of this work, not because he is seeking a handout, but because he knows the power of an opportunity better than anyone in this room.”

He paused, scanning the room, his gaze resting finally on his father, who watched with cold calculation.

“Therefore, the Crown will not wait for noble pledges,” Jungkook declared, wanting nothing more than to hold Jimin. “I am delighted to announce that I, Jeon Jungkook, Crown Prince of Eldrin, will serve as the Primary Patron of the Community Arts & Education Centre.”

The announcement was a political bomb. It rendered the entire task, and Mina’s score, meaningless. It shifted Jimin’s project from a charity effort into a Royal Initiative—making it untouchable, and making Jimin the irrevocable partner of the Crown Prince.

“Furthermore,” Jungkook continued, his voice ringing with absolute finality, “The Selection has found its match. The qualities of integrity, courage, and genuine compassion demonstrated tonight—and throughout this entire process—are the qualities my future Consort must possess.”

He didn't hesitate. He did not look at the King for approval. Jungkook's eyes softened as he looked at Jimin, the political armor falling away, revealing the raw, honest love beneath.

“I choose the man who has faced every challenge and every threat with unwavering honesty. The man who represents the future of this kingdom—a future built on merit, not titles.” Jungkook reached out and took Jimin’s hand, his touch firm and absolute.

“I choose Park Jimin as winner of The Selection and my heart.”

The name echoed in the silence. It wasn't a political choice; it was a declaration of war.

The court erupted. There were gasps, furious murmurs from the Council's faction, and a smattering of genuinely delighted applause from the younger nobles and the Royal Guard. Lord Hwang’s face, usually composed, turned a mottled crimson.

The King, however, remained seated, his face carved from stone. He knew his son’s public choice was now absolute, but ratification was still his to grant. He would not give in easily.

Jungkook, still holding Jimin’s hand, turned back to his father, his voice steady and powerful, cementing his choice not only as a lover but as a future ruler.

“I present to you, Park Jimin. My choice is made. His character is proven, his loyalty is absolute, and his future is now inextricably bound to mine. Any further attacks on his person will be considered a direct act of treason against the Crown Prince himself.”

He had not only chosen Jimin; he had established an ironclad defense around him. The war was no longer about who Jungkook would marry, but about who held the true power in the kingdom.

Jimin could barely breathe. The weight of the kingdom had just settled onto his shoulders, but in Jungkook’s protective grasp, he felt more secure than he had since arriving at the palace.

The King finally rose, his silence having stretched into an act of political drama. He looked at the sheer, defiant determination in his son’s eyes.

“The Crown Prince has made his choice,” the King stated, his voice ringing with reluctant finality. “I will consider this matter, and an official announcement on the ratification of the Consort-Select will be made within the month.”

It was not a confirmation, but it was not a dismissal either. It was a stay of execution. The political war had been won by the Prince, but the final, deadly counter-attack from the Council was imminent.

Jungkook turned to Jimin, his smile brief, fierce, and utterly devoted. “We won the battlefield tonight. Now we prepare for the long war.”

The declaration was the final, defiant blow to the Council, delivered not in anger but as an act of unbreakable sovereignty. Mina stood paralyzed, her emerald dress suddenly looking like a discarded rag. 

The King remained seated, his face a granite mask, the silent fury of defeat finally settling upon him. The game was over.

The heavy, gilded doors of the Grand Ballroom, the ones Jungkook had walked through to declare war on his own Council, were a distant memory. They didn’t break apart until they reached the threshold of his private wing, their hands locked, their steps synchronized by adrenaline and the stunning, terrifying finality of the act. The corridor was silent, the Royal Guard already dismissed to ensure privacy, leaving the final path to the chamber solely theirs.

​Inside the opulent space, the world outside—the King, the Council, the whispers—finally ceased to exist. Here, under the amber, protective glow of soft lamps, there was only the fierce, breathless reality of each other. The air was thick with the scent of expensive sandalwood and the charged ozone of political confrontation.

​“You stood up to everything,” Jimin breathed, his voice thick with a wonder that bordered on reverence, his fingers tracing the powerful, defined line of Jungkook’s jaw. The black velvet of the Prince’s suit felt hot against his palm.

​Jungkook lowered his head, resting his forehead against Jimin’s, his eyes closed. “I was tired of waiting for permission to love you. I was tired of pretending you weren’t already mine.” His voice was a low, guttural rumble, utterly devoid of the Prince’s formal authority, replaced by the deep command of the man who had just risked everything. 

“This is what I should have done at the very first attempt against you that they did— But this is what we fought for. This is finally our peace.”

​He sealed the admission with a kiss that was initially rough, fueled by the primal rush of the evening’s victory, but quickly softened into something deep and searching. It was a kiss of overwhelming hunger and absolute tenderness, the final confirmation that every risk taken, every boundary shattered, was justified in this single moment.

​With a sudden, powerful movement, Jungkook lifted Jimin, his hands gripping his waist, backing him against the nearest wall. The act was swift and commanding, a visceral claim. The fine silk of Jungkook’s suit felt warm and powerful against Jimin’s body, a luxurious prison they were both desperate to shed.

​“I need to see you,” Jungkook whispered against Jimin’s mouth, his breathing ragged. “Just you... just the Park Jimin I love.”

​The velvet coat was the first to go, flung carelessly onto a chaise lounge. Then the starched, buttoned cuffs of the white shirt, each fastener a relic of the court they had just defied. As the shirt was ripped open, exposing the taut lines of his chest, Jimin reached up, his fingers sinking into the dark silk of Jungkook’s hair, pulling his head down for a deeper, more desperate kiss. The Crown Prince was gone; only the devoted, fiercely protective man remained.

​Jimin’s hands, which had only ever rested formally on the Prince’s arm or cheek, now explored the muscled strength of his torso and shoulders, the firm, sculpted architecture of the man who was both his future and his shield. He felt the rapid, forceful rhythm of Jungkook’s heart beneath his palms, a direct counterpoint to his own quickening pulse. The breath hitched in his throat as he helped shed the final layers—the tailored trousers, the polished boots—until Jungkook stood before him, bare, vulnerable, and more beautiful than any crown.

​Jungkook returned the favor with slow, deliberate devotion, unwrapping Jimin like a precious gift. He paused to run his thumbs over the small of Jimin’s back, savoring the fine, delicate curve of his spine before finally pushing the trousers down. Every touch was an unspoken vow, a confirmation that every danger was worth it.

​When Jungkook lowered him gently onto the silk coverlet, the air between them was electric, heavy with suppressed desire and overflowing love. Jimin looked up at him, his eyes luminous with absolute trust. He felt the suffocating weight of the kingdom lift, replaced by the weight of absolute, unconditional devotion.

​This was their first time, the true, intimate beginning of their life together, and Jungkook treated the moment not as a release, but as a solemn rite. He was a Prince claiming his Consort, not by decree, but by heart. He moved with agonizing care, his powerful body held in check by a tension that spoke of months of longing and weeks of forced separation.

​“You are everything,” Jungkook murmured, his voice thick with emotion, his lips trailing a path down Jimin’s collarbone. “My courage. My integrity. My choice.”

​He searched Jimin’s face for permission, for desire, for the reflection of his own fierce emotion, finding it whole and pure. He kissed Jimin deeply, possessively, as his hand finally began to explore the warm expanse of skin, mapping the delicate curves and sinews of Jimin’s body with a touch that was both demanding and tender.

​Jimin gasped, arching into the touch, the sound a ragged confession of need that was instantly muffled by Jungkook’s mouth. It was a raw, immediate connection, stripped of all courtly artifice.

It wasn't just desire; it was relief, it was victory, it was the final, devastating commitment that sealed their destiny.

​Jungkook continued his tender preparation, worshipping Jimin’s skin with his hands and mouth, drawing out every sound, every gasp of pleasure. He wanted this moment to be perfect, to be memorable, an act so profound that no threat could ever touch it. 

The intense, deep gaze in his eyes made Jimin feel utterly exposed and utterly adored, his heart threatening to burst in his chest.

​When the time finally came, Jungkook shifted, positioning himself carefully. “Tell me if you need me to stop,” he commanded, the Prince’s protective instinct overriding the lover’s heat.

“No,” Jimin breathed, reaching out, pulling Jungkook closer. “Never. Don’t stop, my prince. I'm ready.”

Jungkook entered him slowly, carefully, his breath hissing as he felt the intense, overwhelming connection. For both of them, it was more than physical; it was the true consummation of his devotion, the moment the Prince of Eldrin finally claimed the man who would stand beside him, an act of defiant love that transcended titles and threats.

​Jimin cried out, a sound of pleasure and profound, shaking relief. As Jungkook began to move, the slow, rhythmic pace building into a fierce, escalating cadence, the entire room seemed to melt away.

There was only the sound of their skin sliding against silk, their ragged breaths, and the desperate, affirming whispers of their names.

​It was powerful and sweeping, a tide of mutual ecstasy that washed away the fear and the protocol of the palace. They came together violently, breathlessly, their bodies locked in an embrace that spoke of permanence, of shared destiny, of a fight finally won.

​In the aftermath, curled close, skin to skin, their hearts beating in a chaotic rhythm, they were silent, utterly spent. Jimin pressed his face into the warm column of Jungkook’s neck, inhaling the scent of their combined heat and a faint trace of expensive court perfume. Jungkook stroked his back, a steady, possessive rhythm that was its own declaration of ownership.

​“We did it,” Jimin murmured, the words barely audible against Jungkook’s skin. “We actually did it.”

​“It’s done,” Jungkook confirmed, his voice thick with the contentment of victory. “You are my Consort-Select. They can rail and plot, but they cannot undo what has been publicly declared and what has been sealed here. We have the next few weeks to prepare for the King’s ratification. We are safe, my love. We won.”

​Jimin closed his eyes, accepting the warmth and the promise. He had never felt so safe, so fully chosen. They had faced the court and won. 

What could possibly threaten them now? He drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep, wrapped in the certainty of his Prince’s love.

​Jimin awoke in the late afternoon, the room now filled with the golden light of the fading sun. He was alone; Jungkook’s side of the bed was cold, but the evidence of the night before—the lingering warmth on the sheets, the faint scent of sandalwood, the glorious ache of his own body—made Jungkook’s absence feel like a small, temporary separation.

​He knew Jungkook had been summoned away by Namjoon for the urgent, pre-ratification political briefing since Jungkook had left him a note on the bedside. Namjoon had a million details to manage, from drafting the official decree to managing the expected diplomatic fallout. Their work was just beginning, but the emotional war was over.

​Jimin dressed slowly, pulling on a simple tunic and trousers, feeling every muscle, every nerve ending hum with a satisfied fatigue. He was smiling, a soft, private smile that had been absent for months. He was about to get some tea when a sharp, cautious knock sounded on the outer door of the suite.

​It wasn't the usual cheerful cadence of Taehyung or the solid knock of Namjoon. It was flat, formal, and utterly demanding.

A palace messenger stood there, a man Jimin vaguely recognized. He was thin, pale, and dressed in a neutral grey livery, his eyes darting everywhere but at Jimin. He held a small, plain wooden box secured with a simple, anonymous string.

​“A private delivery for the Consort-Select, from an anonymous party,” the messenger recited, his voice monotone.

​Before Jimin could utter a word or question the sender, the messenger performed a hasty, jerky bow and vanished down the hall, his retreat unnaturally fast.

​Jimin shut the door, the box feeling unnaturally heavy in his hands. The dread was immediate, cold, and absolute, cutting through the lingering warmth of the Prince’s embrace. This wasn't a gift; it was a warning.

​He placed the box on the desk, his hands trembling as he broke the crude string. The wood of the box was dark and cheap, utterly out of place in the Prince’s opulent wing.

​Inside, resting on a bed of dark, cheap felt—the kind used for packing military equipment, not jewelry—were two objects.

​The first was a tarnished compass, its brass casing dulled, its needle perpetually stuck pointing north. A useless trinket. 

Jimin stared at it, and the air left his lungs. He felt a dizzying wave of nausea. This was the exact compass his brother, Jihyun, had cried over because it didn't work when he was six. Jimin, then only twelve, had spent an entire day fixing it with a piece of his own hair and a single, tiny drop of oil from a lamp, teaching Jihyun that even broken things could be repaired if you cared enough. From that day on, his brother had never parted from the object since it was something of profound, personal history.

​The second thing inside the box was a tightly rolled piece of parchment, not wax-sealed with a coat-of-arms or ribbon, but tied with a coarse, dark thread. Jimin’s stomach turned to ice as he unfurled it. 

The message was written in rough, block script, the letters thick and deliberately distorted, utterly devoid of personality or identifiable rank.

He read the message once, twice, a third time, his mind refusing to process the words until they became a single, solid, unyielding reality:

​THE CROWN PRINCE’S AFFECTIONS ARE A DEATH SENTENCE.

YOUR FAMILY IS NOT SAFE.

IF YOU DO NOT PUBLICLY AND IRREVOCABLY REFUSE THE CONSORT-SELECT TITLE AT THE NEXT OFFICIAL ENGAGEMENT, PREPARE TO MOURN THEIR DEATHS.

SAVE THEM AND LEAVE THE PALACE FOREVER.

DO NOT SPEAK OF THIS. DO NOT SEEK HELP AS WE ARE WATCHING.

​Jimin dropped the parchment as if it were coated in acid and staggered backward, hitting the wall with a dull thud. His entire body went rigid, locked in a paralysis of sheer terror. His mind screamed a single, desperate, unanswerable question: How?

This was not a political attack. This was not the King’s disappointment or the Council’s dismissal. This was a hand reaching out of the deepest, darkest void of the kingdom and squeezing the life out of his world.

​The compass was the ultimate proof. His mother. His brother. They were simple people living in their district not harming anyone at all, they should have remained untouched by the palace. They had been dragged into this political venom, not as pawns, but as human shields. They were innocent, unprotected, and they were the only part of Jimin that the Crown Prince’s authority could not save.

​This was the counter-attack. A flawless, personal strike designed to bypass the Prince's defenses entirely. Lord Hwang and Lady Seo, having lost the battle of the court, had resorted to the blackest form of warfare: a threat on the innocent. Jimin didn't have a way to prove it was them, but he felt it, he knew they were the only ones that could step so low to ruin someone.

​Jimin rushed to the chamber door, his breath hitching, wanting to run, to scream for Namjoon, to throw himself into Jungkook’s arms and confess everything, to ask for help.

But the note’s final, chilling commands echoed in his mind, paralyzing him: DO NOT SPEAK OF THIS. DO NOT SEEK HELP AS WE ARE WATCHING.

​If he told Jungkook, the Prince would use the full, blinding force of the Royal Guard, the palace spies, and the law to find them. The kidnappers, knowing they had lost their anonymity and their leverage, would have only one course of action to ensure their own silence and safety: immediate retaliation. Jungkook’s actions, however protective, however necessary, would sign his family’s death warrant.

​He stumbled back, picking up the compass, clutching the cold metal until it dug painfully into his palm.

Jimin looked at the magnificent, gilded room—the room of his triumph, the bed where he and Jungkook had pledged their eternal future—and he realized he had to keep this secret. He had to sacrifice the victory they had just won.

He had to save his mother and brother, even if it meant destroying Jungkook's public triumph and shattering his heart in the process. He had to become the very thing the Council claimed he was: a self-serving man who refused the Crown when the final decision was his.

He was finally the man Jungkook had chosen—courageous, fiercely loyal—but that loyalty now demanded an act of ultimate, private betrayal. He was alone. 

The choice was not between love and duty, but between life and death. And he had not time to prepare for the inevitable.

He hid the box and the parchment in the deepest recess of his wardrobe, under a pile of linens. The compass, however, he kept, clutched in his hand, a tiny, heavy anchor of his terror.

He needed to know the political task that awaited him—the one where he would have to make the most painful thing he could think of... break his and Jungkook’s heart... 

He had to reject the man he loved with all his heart in front of the whole kingdom, to humiliate him like that to ensure his family will live. He needed to save them, no matter what.

He just hoped one day, Jungkook could forgive him and remember him with fondness rather than pain and anger.

"I'll love you even after my last breath, my prince. Please forgive me”

Chapter Text

Jimin didn't sleep that night. The scent of sandalwood, Jungkook's scent, was now a torment, a phantom of the love he was about to publicly dismantle. Every cell in his body screamed in rebellion.

He went back to Jungkook’s chambers when he knew the other wasn't there. The mahogany desk where they had shared late-night, hushed conversations. The bookshelf where Jungkook had pressed a quick, illicit kiss to his temple. The chaise lounge where Jungkook had carelessly flung his velvet coat the night before, a relic of their fevered consummation. He pressed his face into the smooth leather, inhaling deeply, trying to bottle the essence of the man he was losing. He felt like he was doing a sad dance of farewell. 

Afte4 not being able to take it anymore, he went to his chambers again. It had only been two days since he was happily tangled in the safety of Jungkook’s loving embrace, yet now... His room seemed to breathe with him, slow and shallow. 

His hands were cold. He pressed them to his lips, willing the trembling to stop, but it only grew worse when he thought of Jungkook’s smile —carefree, unguarded, the smile of someone who believed the world was finally his to shape. How could he destroy that? How could he look into those eyes and lie?

He stayed there until the last spark died, until the smell of smoke clung to his hair and the first hints of dawn began to pale the sky. When he finally stood, he felt older, as if the night had stolen something from him. Maybe it had—hope, or faith, or simply the right to dream of happiness.

The palace at dawn was silent. Servants moved like shadows, carrying trays and water basins, their footsteps softened by thick carpets. Jimin walked among them unnoticed, his robe loose over his nightshirt, hair wild. In the courtyards, the rain had left silver puddles that mirrored the pale sky. He paused by one and looked at his reflection; it looked back hollow-eyed, mouth set in something that wasn’t quite a smile.

A knock startled him. He turned quickly, forcing his expression into calm. Taehyung slipped inside without waiting for permission, curls damp, cheeks flushed from the walk. “You didn’t come down for breakfast,” he said. “Are you ill?”

“No.” Jimin’s voice came out too quickly. “Just tired.”

Taehyung frowned. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I haven’t.” He tried to smile. “There was too much on my mind.”

The other man crossed the room and leaned against the bedpost, studying him. “Jimin… if something’s wrong, you can tell me.”

For a heartbeat, he nearly did. The words rose to his throat—they have my family—but he swallowed them down. To say it aloud would make it real, and worse, it would endanger Taehyung too. So he only shook his head and went to the washbasin, dipping his hands in the cool water.

“I’m fine, Tae. Just nervous about the ceremony.”

Taehyung watched him for a long moment, then sighed. “You’re not a very a good liar.”

“Then it’s a good thing I won’t need to lie for long.” Jimin forced a light tone. “Go on ahead. I’ll join you soon.”

Taehyung hesitated but obeyed, closing the door softly behind him. The moment he was gone, Jimin leaned over the basin and let the mask slip. Water dripped from his fingers, tracing the veins along his wrist like tears. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t risk being heard.

When he finally dressed, he chose simple clothes: a soft gray robe, plain and unadorned. The color suited his mood—neither mourning nor celebration, merely survival. He looked composed, even dignified. Inside, his heart was breaking itself against his ribs.

The corridors leading to the council wing were lined with portraits of past rulers—solemn faces staring down from gilded frames. He walked beneath them, feeling each gaze like a weight. 

Somewhere ahead, he could already hear voices: Namjoon’s low murmur, the rhythmic clatter of papers being arranged. The day’s meetings were beginning. He wasn’t expected there, not yet. Jungkook had promised to send for him later, once the morning briefings were done. Still, his feet carried him closer, as if drawn by the faint sound of that familiar voice behind the doors. He stopped just before the threshold and leaned against the wall, eyes closed.

“…the grain shipments from the southern ports are still delayed,” Namjoon was saying. “We may need to address it publicly before it causes unrest.”

Jungkook’s reply was calm, decisive. “Do it. Draft a statement for the ministers. We’ll announce it after the ceremony.”

There was a pause, then Namjoon’s tone softened. “And about Jimin?”

Jungkook exhaled—a small sound that made Jimin’s heart twist. “Haven't seen him yet, it's been a day and I already miss him. The healers said the ordeal probably took more out of him than he admits. I’ll speak with him this afternoon.”

“Don’t push him too hard.”

“I won’t.” A hint of warmth entered Jungkook’s voice. “He’s stronger than he looks, but I know when he’s scared. I just need to remind him he’s safe now.”

Safe. The word hit like a knife. Jimin turned away from the door, biting his lip hard enough to taste blood. Safe was the one thing he could never be—not while those people held his family. Not while every heartbeat risked a death.

He made it back to his chambers without remembering the walk. He sat by the window again, watching the gray clouds drift apart. The storm had passed; the sky was pale and clear, mocking him with its calm. Somewhere in the distance, bells began to toll the hour. Each chime sounded like a countdown.

He whispered to himself, “It’ll be today, then.” Saying it aloud made it final. He pressed his forehead to the cold glass and closed his eyes.

The hours crept by with cruel patience. By the time the second bell marked midmorning, the palace had come fully alive—pages running with scrolls clutched to their chests, guards exchanging crisp salutes, the scent of baked bread drifting up from the lower kitchens. It was the same rhythm Jimin had lived for weeks, but now every sound seemed sharpened, every face strange. The world went on as if nothing had happened, while inside him something enormous had cracked and was still breaking.

He dressed carefully. The gray robe from earlier had been replaced by pale ivory silk, still simple but dignified, the kind of garment expected for a candidate who might soon become Consort. He pinned the crest that had been given to him at his collar; the metal felt cold against his throat.

When he stepped into the corridor, a pair of attendants bowed and fell into step behind him. He barely heard their murmured greetings. His mind was somewhere else—counting hours, imagining his family’s faces. He tried to remember the sound of his brother’s laughter, the smell of his mother’s cooking, anything to anchor himself. But memory had turned slippery, replaced by dread.

At the entrance to the garden wing, sunlight poured through tall arched windows, staining the floor gold. Jungkook stood there, talking with Namjoon. He was in uniform, dark blue trimmed in silver, a sight so familiar that Jimin’s heart clenched. The prince turned at the sound of footsteps, his face lighting instantly.

“Jimin, my love” His voice was a low, pleased surprise, as if simply seeing him there improved the day. “You’re up.”

Jimin managed a smile. “I thought I’d find you here.” Namjoon excused himself with a small nod and a smile, sensing the current between them.

Once they were alone, Jungkook stepped closer, his hand brushing Jimin’s cheek. The touch was gentle, intimate, but it felt like a brand against skin.

“I worried you might still be tired,” Jungkook said. “Yesterday you vanished before I could—”

“I just needed air.” Jimin lowered his eyes quickly, afraid the truth might show there. “I’m sorry if I worried you.”

Jungkook’s brow softened. “You don’t have to apologize for breathing.” He hesitated, searching Jimin’s waist. “Something feels different, though. Did someone say something to you, my darling?”

Jimin forced a laugh that hurt. “Only that I should rest more. Perhaps they’re right.”

He wished Jungkook would stop looking at him like that—with such steady, unguarded affection and devotion. It made the lie heavier. Jungkook tilted his head, studying him. 

“After the ceremony, I want us to go away for a few days. Just you and me. No ministers, no council, no court gossip. There’s a villa near the southern lake—quiet, surrounded by wildflowers. You’d like it.”

The image stabbed deep: sunlight on water, laughter echoing across the fields, the peace they could have had if the world were kind. For a heartbeat, Jimin almost said yes. Then he remembered the letter’s threat —and the echo of his mother’s voice calling his name across a distance he could no longer cross.

He looked up and smiled, perfectly polite. “That sounds lovely. Let's go there then” It was the most flawless lie he had ever told.

The rest of the morning passed in fragments. He attended a rehearsal with the royal chamberlain, who explained the sequence of the evening’s ceremony—the procession, the formal vows, the moment when Jungkook would extend his hand to name his Consort-Select and have The King's final approval. Jimin repeated the steps, nodded where required, and heard none of it. His mind replayed the imagined scene of failure: the room gasping as he refused, Jungkook’s confusion and heartbreak, the King’s quiet satisfaction.

When the rehearsal ended, Lady Seo was waiting near the door. She greeted him with a smile too perfect to be sincere.

“You’ll forgive an old woman’s curiosity,” she said lightly, “but have you given any thought to what title your family might receive once you become Consort? It would be such a pity if politics… interfered.” Her gaze held his for a beat too long. The faint scent of sandalwood hung around her like smoke.

Jimin’s stomach turned cold. “Titles are the last thing on my mind, my lady.”

“Of course.” She inclined her head, lips curving. “Still, it’s good to remember that every gift has a price. The palace can be generous—or very cruel—to those who forget that.”

He bowed stiffly and walked away before she could see his hands shaking. Behind him, he thought he heard her soft laugh.

By midday, he couldn’t bear to stay indoors. He went out to the smaller courtyard where the plum trees grew. Their branches were bare now, stripped by the storm, but the air still carried the faint sweetness of last season’s blossoms. He sat on the stone bench where he and Jungkook had once shared tea and silence. Now the bench felt like a witness.

A servant appeared with a tray, but he waved them away. Alone again, he drew a small object from his sleeve—the broken compass.

He wondered if Jungkook knew how cruel hope could be.

The sound of footsteps broke his thoughts. Seokjin approached quietly, hands clasped behind his back. “You’ve been hard to find today,” he said.

“I needed some time to clear my mind”

“I can imagine.” Seokjin sat beside him, leaving a careful space between them. “Jungkook said you seemed distant this morning. He’s worried.”

“I’ll be fine after the ceremony.” Seokjin studied him, and for a moment Jimin thought he saw something almost brotherly in the older man’s expression. 

“Sometimes the hardest part of loyalty is deciding who deserves it.”

Jimin met his gaze. “Do you ever regret yours?”

A pause. Then, softly: “Depends on who we refer to. But yet I keep it.” Seokjin stood, brushing imaginary dust from his coat. “If you ever find yourself at a crossroads, Jimin, choose the path you can live with afterward.” He left without waiting for an answer.

Jimin sat very still, the compass cold in his hand. The sun was sinking toward the west, gilding the towers in orange light. Time was slipping away.

As evening drew near, the palace began to transform. Lanterns were lit along the corridors, musicians tuning their instruments in the grand hall, servants scattering rose petals on the marble steps. 

From his window, Jimin could see the first guests arriving—diplomats, nobles, the full machinery of spectacle.

He stood before the mirror, half dressed in ceremonial white. The robe shimmered faintly in the lamplight, embroidered with the golden sigils of The Selection. It was beautiful, too beautiful for what he was about to do.

Taehyung entered quietly, already in formal attire. His reflection appeared behind Jimin’s, concerned. “They’re asking for you. Are you ready?” Jimin nodded.

Taehyung hesitated, then stepped closer, lowering his voice. “If something happens tonight, tell me. Please. You don’t have to face everything alone. You aren't smiling like I expected you to be”

Jimin turned to him, and for an instant the mask nearly broke. He wanted to tell him everything—to confess the letter, the fear, the unbearable choice—but the words died before they reached his tongue.

Instead, he pulled Taehyung into a brief embrace. “I'm fine, just nervous but if anything happens,” he whispered, “tell Jungkook I never stopped believing in him. That I love him more than anything”

Taehyung stiffened slightly. “What are you even talking about Jimin?”

But Jimin was already stepping back, smiling the calm, perfect smile of someone who had made peace with disaster. “Don't mind me, go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”

After Taehyung left, Jimin turned once more to the mirror. The man looking back at him was composed, radiant, every inch the chosen Consort. Only the eyes betrayed him—dark, endless, full of sadness and goodbyes.

The corridor outside the Grand Hall stretched endlessly, gilded and silent, the echo of Jimin’s own footsteps amplified like the drumbeat of some inevitable tragedy. Every step he took brought him closer to the moment he had been dreading since the letter arrived, a confrontation that he could neither avoid nor soften. The compass burned cold against his palm, a small, metallic weight tethering him to the reality he had to survive.

When he reached the side entrance to the dais, Jungkook was already there, adjusting the cuff of his ceremonial jacket, the King’s attendants bustling around him with crisp, rehearsed efficiency. His back was straight, his expression composed, yet the moment Jimin stepped into view, it softened—the momentary, human crack that always came for him.

“Jimin, my darling. You're ao beautiful, so radiant” Jungkook said softly, as if simply saying his name could shield him from the world’s cruelty. “Are you ready?”

Jimin drew a slow breath and forced his lips into a serene smile. “Yes. Of course, my handsome prince”

Jungkook’s eyes searched him, and in that instant, the cruel knife of his secret pierced Jimin’s heart. How could he possibly bear to see the man he loved so fiercely, standing there in the light of the entire court, when the choice he had to make would shatter everything between them?

He moved toward the Grand Hall, the roar of guests and the weight of the court pressing down on him like the walls of a tomb. Every smile he gave, every bow, every gracious gesture, was a mask over the turmoil tearing through his soul.

He entered the hall, walking with the grace expected of a Consort-Select, his chest tight, his mind racing. Every eye on him felt like a needle, every whisper a threat. When he reached the dais, Jungkook’s gaze followed him, steady, devoted, piercing, as if trying to memorize every inch of him.

Jimin took his place, standing tall and unflinching. And then, with the court watching, the nobility expecting triumph, he bowed.

“Your Highness,” he said, his voice clear and controlled. “I… I am honored. Truly. But I… I must decline the title of Consort-Select.”

A gasp echoed through the room. Jungkook’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching at his sides. The King’s eyes were sharp, unreadable. The Council froze, shock flashing across their faces.

Jimin held his breath. The moment he had dreaded, the act of ultimate sacrifice, had begun. And in the silence, he prayed that somewhere, somehow, his family would live.

The Grand Hall seemed to tilt on an invisible axis the moment the words left Jimin’s lips. Jungkook did not hear the collective gasp of the court. He did not hear the King’s attendant loudly calling for order, or the frantic whispers of the ministers. All he heard was the echo of Jimin’s voice, clear and controlled, declaring his ultimate rejection.

​For a long moment, he simply stared. His brain couldn't process the visual data. Jimin was standing right there, radiant in ivory and gold, bowing with the grace of a man accepting a crown, yet the words coming out were a dagger.

Confusion was his first, paralyzing emotion. He took a hesitant step forward, reaching out a hand, a desperate, unguarded plea. “Jimin, what are you saying? You can’t mean—"

Jimin’s eyes finally met his, and what Jungkook saw there shattered the last vestiges of his hope. There was no terror, no struggle, only a terrifying, perfect blankness. It was nothing like the way he usually looked a Jungkook like, full of love, devotion, passion. Jimin’s eyes reflected nothing at all.

​“I am honored by your faith, Your Highness,” Jimin repeated, his voice now slightly louder, designed to carry across the hushed room, “but I cannot accept the honor. I'm not made for this life, I'm someone simple whi can't be part of this palace. I don't want to be kept inside a gilded cage. I apologize deeply for any distress this causes to The Selection and to you, Crown Prince Jeon.”

​That formality—the use of "Your Highness," "Crown Prince", the cold distance, the implication of being caged—was the true knife twist. It wasn't just a declination; it was a total erasure of everything they had shared.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth might crack. The King, sensing the imminent royal breakdown, stepped smoothly forward, placing a steadying, heavy hand on Jungkook’s arm.

“The Prince is taken aback, as we all are,” the King announced, his voice carrying the calm authority of centuries. “However, Park Jimin has made his position clear. The Selection must go on with the remaining contestants: Lady Kang, Lord Min, Lord Jung, Lord Kim and of course Lady Choi. This will be addressed internally. The court is dismissed.”

As the King spoke, Jungkook violently shook off the restraining hand. The chaos of the room—the retreating nobles, the stunned silence—was nothing compared to the deafening roar in his chest. His voice ripped out, raw and unplanned, shattering the decorum.

“Jimin! My love!” he shouted, a sound of pure, agonizing heartbreak and disbelief. “Look at me, tell me what's going on! You promised me—you promised us!”

He lunged forward, but the King's personal guard moved with terrifying swiftness, forming an immediate, impenetrable barrier between the Prince and the condemned contestant. Jungkook was trapped, straining against the royal authority, watching as two other guards gently but firmly began escorting Jimin away from the dais. Jimin never looked back.

Jungkook felt himself being guided, almost steered, off the dais by the King’s attendant. Through the blur of his heartbreak, Jungkook’s eyes locked onto a small cluster of nobles near the perimeter. 

There, standing side-by-side, were Lady Seo and Lord Hwang. Both wore expressions of cool, absolute satisfaction—a silent, vile handshake over the wreckage of the Prince’s heart. The sight, chilling and deliberate, injected the first drop of political venom into his pain.

Jungkook walked on legs that felt suddenly alien and clumsy, through the stream of bowing nobles. The noise, the sudden flurry of movement, the flashing lights—it all became a blinding, suffocating chaos. He was heartbroken, but trapped in a golden cage, unable to scream or demand answers.

​He didn’t stop until he reached his private chambers, stumbling in and blindly kicking the heavy door shut behind him. The room felt like a sanctuary and a torment all at once. His eyes fixed instantly on a small, silver-cased miniature portrait of Jimin on his writing desk, painted by his request some time ago when he started falling for him.

​With a ragged, gut-wrenching sound of pure agony, Jungkook seized the portrait. He didn't throw it; he pressed the cold silver casing to his burning forehead, the physical pressure barely containing the emotional explosion in his chest. His hands were trembling uncontrollably as he finally set it down, the miniature rolling silently across the floor, untouched.

He sank onto the floor, the memory of their last night crushing him. The intimacy, the trust, the feeling of finally winning their battle—it couldn't have been a lie.

He loves me, Jungkook thought, the phrase a desperate, choking mantra. He looked at me with love last night. He is the most honest soul I have ever known. He would never choose to do this.

If the love was real, then the public rejection was not his choice. It had to be a consequence, a brutal negotiation, a forced performance. He remembered the blankness in Jimin's eyes, not the malice of a liar, but the chilling vacancy of someone utterly gone.

The focus of his pain shifted instantly from personal betrayal to a terrifying, protective suspicion. He would refuse to believe the man he loved—the soft, innocent, humble boy—had been dishonest. Jimin was simply a victim, a hostage coerced into sacrificing their future and love.

​The thought of someone daring to threaten Jimin, forcing the ultimate sacrifice, sent a wave of blinding, protective fury through him. This was not a tragedy of love lost; this was an act of war with Jimin's heart as the weapon.

​He dragged himself up, his eyes red-rimmed and his uniform crumpled, but his spine was rigid. He didn't have time to be grieving the love; he had to save his lover.

​The immediate need for action focused his mind with devastating clarity. The image of Lady Seo and Lord Hwang's satisfied faces was all the proof he needed. They had always tried to sabotage Jimin throughout The Selection, totally against the idea of him being even considered a contestant.

​He snatched a sheet of parchment and a quill, scribbling a single, terse line, sealing it with the royal crest. He handed the note to a footman stationed outside his door.

“Find Captain Byun. Immediately. Do not return without him.”

Within minutes, Captain Byun strode into the room, his face set in a look of concern. Jungkook didn't waste time on pleasantries.

​“Captain,” Jungkook said, his voice low and tight, vibrating with controlled emotion. “I need you to deploy a clean, discreet surveillance detail. I want eyes on Lady Seo and Lord Hwang from this moment forward. Every communication, every visitor—I want to know. I don't trust them and I believe the events that went down today, have everything to do with them”

​He paused, his voice dropping to a near whisper, laden with desperate urgency. ​“Jimin did not do this freely. He was forced. I'm sure they threatened him. I want a confidential inquiry, Captain.”

​This was not about political revenge; it was about tearing down the conspiracy to prove the man he loved was innocent.

​Jungkook was still conferring with Captain Byun, giving precise, whispered instructions on the surveillance detail, when a royal page knocked sharply and entered.

​“Your Highness, pardon the intrusion. An order arrived from the King’s chambers.”

Jungkook felt a spike of adrenaline. “What is it? Did Lord Hwang make a move?”

The page was flustered. “No, sir. The King has ordered Park Jimin to be quietly removed from the palace grounds by dawn—with a full escort back to his district. He is currently confined in the diplomatic annex.”

​The fear that had driven his investigation became a physical punch. Dawn. Six hours. His heart lurched. He wouldn't get answers, wouldn't get the truth, wouldn't even get to demand an explanation—Jimin would simply be gone.

​“No,” Jungkook breathed, the word a ragged sound of disbelief. “He cannot leave. I need to talk to him.”

He knew he couldn't stop the King’s removal order. He couldn't risk a public scene, but he absolutely had to speak to Jimin one more time, not as a Prince, but as the man who loved him, to demand the truth.

He pulled on the darkest cloak he owned and slipped out, using his knowledge of the palace's hidden routes. He reached the diplomatic annex just as the sky was beginning to pale. He bypassed the guards with a terse, whispered command that sent them to the other end of the corridor. He pushed the door open to the receiving room.

Jimin was sitting on the sofa, dressed in simple, coarse garments, looking small and profoundly alone. He didn't flinch. He just looked up, his eyes wide and vacant.

"Jimin," Jungkook breathed, the single word thick with pain. He closed the door softly and crossed the distance in three steps, dropping to his knees before the sofa. He reached out, taking Jimin's cold, unresponsive hands in his.

"Tell me what happened, my darling please" Jungkook pleaded, his voice cracking. There was no accusation, only a deep, raw vulnerability. "Tell me this is a lie. Tell me your sudden rejection has proper explanation, my love. Please"

Jimin tried to pull his hands away, his whole body rigid with strain. "I told you, Your Highness. I realized I made a mistake. I am not suited for this life."

"Stop," Jungkook whispered, pulling Jimin's hands back to his chest. "Stop with the titles. I don't care about the crown right now. I only care about you. What did they do to you? You looked at me like I was a stranger out there. But I see fear right now, Jimin, not indifference"

He searched Jimin's face, memorizing the tremor in his lower lip, the dark shadows beneath his eyes. "If you felt you had to leave, I would understand. But what you did... the lie that you used to cut me free... that wasn't your voice. Did someone threaten you? Did someone hurt you?"

Jimin closed his eyes, and a single tear escaped, running hot against Jungkook’s thumb and yanked his hands free, stepping away from the devastating contact. "You're wrong," Jimin said, his voice flat and controlled, devoid of emotion. 

"You're trying to invent a tragedy to excuse a very simple truth: I can’t do this anymore. I joined The Selection thinking I wouldn’t win. It was a key to getting my family a better life, but I didn't need to marry you to achieve that. The Selection itself was enough."

Jungkook recoiled as if physically struck, his eyes wide with incomprehension. The pain in the Prince’s gaze was a silent, agonizing reward for his sacrifice.

"Now, the King has ordered my removal," Jimin continued, his breath shaking slightly. "You must accept it. Go back to your duties, Your Highness. I wish you well in the final choice you have to remake."

Jungkook remained on his knees for a long moment, staring at the space where Jimin's hands had been. The utter coldness of the lie, the claim of calculated manipulation, was a wound he hadn't prepared for. It wasn't simple rejection; it was betrayal.

Slowly, Jungkook stood, his body moving stiffly. He knew he had lost this battle. He had no leverage, and he had no proof.

"I don't believe you, Jimin" Jungkook stated, his voice now dangerously low and steady, stripped of all vulnerability. "But I cannot force you to speak. I will let you go. But know this, my love: I will find out what broke us. I will find the truth behind the fear I saw in your eyes."

He turned and left, the closing door echoing the finality of the moment. He walked away heartbroken, but also with a new, icy conviction: Jimin was a victim, and he was being silenced.

Jungkook was already in his private study when Namjoon and Seokjin ushered into the room.

"Jungkook," Namjoon said frantic. He quickly took in Jungkook’s appearance—the rumpled uniform, the red-rimmed eyes, the air of suppressed, lethal intensity. "I am deeply sorry for what happened. Jimin loves you"

"He does, I know he does. Taehyung was just as confused as we all are. He said Jimin didn't seem like himself but couldn't get anything out of him. Nothing make sense" Seokjin muttered.

"I know it doesn't. I need your help more than anything right now. Sit, please." He didn't waste time on sentiment, launching directly into the issue. "Jimin did not reject me. I'm sure he was coerced. I don't know the exact nature, but the lie he told was designed to repel me, to make me stop looking. It was too out of reach, too cold to be true. I need your help to find out the truth. I already ordered Captain Byun to investigate Lord Hwang and Lady Seo."

Jimin walked away from the Grand Hall, the marble floor suddenly seeming miles long beneath his feet. The King's guards escorted him, their movements formal and impersonal, yet the rigidity of their presence felt like an insult to the chaos roaring in his head. He didn't look at Jungkook. He couldn't. To meet those eyes again would have utterly destroyed the mask he wore. He had to be cold, sharp, and final.

He barely registered the journey to the diplomatic annex, the small, quiet wing of the palace reserved for visiting dignitaries and, tonight, for disgraced candidates. He sank onto the sofa, the fine cushions mocking his fate.

He had succeeded. The Grand Hall was empty now. The ceremony was ruined. Jungkook was hurt, but he was safe. His family—they would be released by dawn. He had received another parchment not long before the ceremony started claiming this. Also reinforcing the threat in case he decided to act up.

I had to do this... For Jungkook, for my mother and for Jihyun. That was the mantra. He clung to it as the hours blurred. 

The moment Jungkook finally burst into the annex he had been in, raw with pain and suspicion, Jimin felt his soul tear in two. The sight of the Prince on his knees, pleading, shattered the remnants of his resolve. That one single tear that escaped was a traitor, a sign that the man he loved could still read him, even through the facade of cold indifference.

Jimin had yanked his hands away, the movement a desperate, protective measure. He poured every ounce of his fear into the lie: the cruelest, most self-serving lie he could invent—the lie of manipulation and calculation. He had to convince Jungkook that their love was a temporary tool, easily discarded.

When Jungkook stood, his face drained of color but set in icy resolve, Jimin knew he had succeeded in causing the necessary wound. "I will find out what broke us. I will find the truth behind the fear I saw in your eyes." The promise was a threat, a vow that would haunt Jimin, yet it was also proof that the Prince would not mourn long—he would fight. He would focus on the perceived conspiracy, not the rejection.

The door closed. Silence rushed back in, heavy and suffocating. Jimin didn't move. He simply stared at the rough, simple tunic he was wearing, the garments chosen to mark him as a commoner returning to his place. The reality was setting in: it was done. He was free from the palace—at a terrible price.

A quiet knock at the door signaled the arrival of the escort. It was time.

The dawn air was frigid, slicing through Jimin's thin clothes as he was led out of the annex. He was accompanied by two royal guards and a driver, all heavily cloaked. Their mission was simple: escort him quickly and quietly out of the capital and back to his home district, thereby erasing the scandal of the failed Selection.

The carriage was plain, sturdy, and fast. The capital gates were quiet, opened only with a nod from one guard. As the carriage rolled onto the main road, the darkness was still thick, but the eastern horizon held a promise of pale yellow light.

Jimin leaned his head against the window, watching the palace lights shrink behind him. A tears slippling heavily down his cheeks—for his family... and for the man he was leaving behind. I love you so much. I love you, and I'm truly sorry my prince.

They had been driving for long when the stillness of the pre-dawn forest was violently broken. It started with a sudden, deafening crash up ahead. The driver cried out, pulling the reins hard. The carriage lurched, throwing Jimin forward before crashing to a halt.

"An attack" One of the men shouted. Jimin’s blood ran cold.

The sounds of immediate, vicious fighting erupted outside. It was quick—too quick. There were no shouts of demand, no calls for coin; only the sickening clash of steel against steel and the grunt of men struggling for their lives. The royal guards were good, but the attackers were ruthless, silent, and overwhelming.

Jimin slid to the floor of the carriage, his heart hammering against his ribs. He heard a sickening thud, then the strangled gasp. Silence descended again, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the nervous shifting of the horses.

The carriage door was violently yanked open by a tall, broad figure. He wore a dark cloak and a cloth that covered the lower half of his face, but his eyes were sharp, cold, and utterly devoid of mercy—a chilling contrast to the loyal warmth of the King's men.

"Park Jimin," the voice was deep, unfamiliar, yet authoritative. "You are coming with us. Do not make a sound."

Jimin didn't resist. He was pulled roughly from the carriage and saw the scene on the road: the King's guards lay still, disarmed and bound, or perhaps worse. His stomach twisted. This was not a rescue; it was a continuation.

He was shoved into a different, enclosed wagon. It was rough, smelled of stale hay, and moved quickly off the main road, plunging into the winding paths of the forest—paths the royal roads would never use.

After hours of agonizing travel, the wagon finally halted. The door opened. He was in a small, remote structure of heavy, gray stone. The air was damp and cool, and the single torch on the wall cast long, dancing shadows.

A woman was sitting stiffly on a cot, and a boy stood anxiously beside her. Jimin recognized them immediately, his heart coming to life.

"Mother! Jihyun!"

The sheer, overwhelming relief of seeing them alive nearly brought Jimin to his knees. He rushed forward, clutching his mother, feeling the familiar, frail warmth of her hands. Jihyun, taller and thinner, clung to his side. They were safe, but they were terrified.

"Jimin, what—" his mother started, her voice shaking. Before he could answer, a door opened and a figure stepped into the light. It was the stern, impeccably dressed woman he knew he had seen before with Lady Seo. She was accompanied by a man with the sharp, precise features and cold detachment that immediately marked him as one of Lord Hwang's most trusted men. Jimin had also seen him before, at the palace, always behind him. Now all his suspicions were confirmed.

"Welcome, Mr. Park," the woman said, folding her hands neatly. "We've reunited you with your family, as promised." Her voice was a chilling silk. "Not in your village, unfortunately. But together."

Jimin stepped in front of his mother and brother, facing the conspirators, his fear hardening into defiance. "What is this? The parchment said they would be released once I rejected the Prince! I did exactly what you demanded!"

The man chuckled—a dry, hateful sound. "You did reject him beautifully. The court is in an uproar. Our Prince is devastated. Our master was delighted by your excellent theater. But it wasn't enough to secure the succession."

The woman stepped forward again, her shadow falling across them. "Prince Jungkook, in his grief, is proving unpredictable. His refusal to believe your lie is... inconvenient. He is not currently focused on the remaining contestants. He is focused on you. This cannot stand." She delivered the final, crushing blow, her voice dropping to a low, cold threat.

"Your freedom, and the freedom of your family, is now tied to a very clear result. You will all be released, unharmed and with a generous stipend, only after Prince Jungkook has resumed The Selection, fully accepted your rejection, and named either Lady Kang Mina or Lady Choi Nari as his Consort-Select."

Jimin stared at her, the cruelty of the demand slamming into him. This was worse than the initial threat. They were using his family's lives not just to stop his happiness, but to force the Prince into a political alliance.

"If he stops The Selection to search for you, if he delays the final choice, or if he chooses anyone else—even one of the remaining Lords—your consequences will be... immediate," the man finished menacingly.

Jimin looked at his mother, pale but brave, then at Jihyun, who was tightly holding onto his coat. He had sacrificed his love for their safety, and now his love's future was the price of their lives.

He looked back at the conspirators, the last sliver of his hope turning into cold, hard determination. "You will not harm them," he stated, his voice ringing with a strength he didn't know he possessed. "I will not let you. I did my part. Now, you keep them safe"

He was trapped. A pawn in the cruelest game, forced to wait in the dark while the man he loved was pushed, by his own sacrifice, into marriage with someone that would be controlled by conspirators.

"Taehyung, stop pacing," Seokjin said softly, closing the door behind him. "You'll wear a hole in the floor."

Taehyung spun around, his eyes wild and red-rimmed. "He’s gone, Jin! He’s gone, and he looked so different. I should have gone to him. I still can't wrap my head around what happened... Every single word he spoke on that dais was a lie. I know it. I need to find him"

"I know you know it," Seokjin said, moving slowly toward his lover. "Jungkook knows it too. But you can't go after him. He was taken by the King's own escort. We need to wait."

"But something is wrong! I can’t explain it but I sense something is terribly wrong" Taehyung’s voice broke on a sob. "He was saying goodbye! That wasn't just a rejection, Jin, that was a sacrifice. I should have pressed him more this morning. I need to go after him!"

He made a desperate move toward the door, but Seokjin was quicker. He caught Taehyung’s arm gently but firmly, stopping his frantic movement.

"Look at me, Tae," Seokjin commanded, his voice deep and warm, cutting through the panic. "You are running on pure adrenaline and grief. You will only cause trouble for yourself and make things harder for Jungkook."

Seokjin pulled him close, ignoring the stiff resistance, and wrapped his arms around the younger man. This was the intimate embrace of a lover, meant to anchor a soul adrift. "Shhh. Just breathe. You can't think clearly when you're like this."

He held Taehyung tight, one hand stroking the back of his neck, the other pressing firm against the small of his back, holding him fast to his chest. Then, he lowered his head, gently pressing a kiss to Taehyung’s temple and tracing his thumb along his jaw. 

"It’s okay to be terrified," he murmured into his hair. "It’s okay to hurt. I hurt too. But we can’t be reckless. Jungkook needs us both here, clear-headed, to help him."

He slowly pulled back, keeping his hands on Taehyung’s shoulders, his gaze steady and kind. He gently caressed the tear tracks on Taehyung’s cheek with his thumb. 

"If Jimin has been coerced, which is what we all suspect, the last thing he would want is for you or Jungkook to break down and risk everything. He wants us to be strong. For him and for Jungkook's sake."

Taehyung leaned into the caress for a moment, the tension slowly bleeding out of him under the elder’s firm, gentle touch. He closed his eyes, his breathing stuttering.

"I need to know he's okay, I need to understand what happened" Taehyung whispered, the sheer vulnerability of the statement making Seokjin's heart clench.

"We will find out," Seokjin promised, his eyes grave. "Jungkook is not sitting still. He believes in Jimin and his love. He has already ordered Captain Byun to investigate the people he suspects. But for now, you need to be still. You are the keenest eye in this palace, Tae—the one who sees the truth through the fog. Don’t burn out."

He straightened Taehyung’s crumpled collar with a final, intimate gesture. "Stay here. Rest. And when you are calm, we will talk about what information you think we are missing. Your mind is sharper than any blade when it’s focused."

Taehyung took a deep, shaky breath, the panic finally receding, replaced by a cold, sharp determination. "We need to prove it was Lady Seo and Lord Hwang," he stated, his voice now low and steady. "I need to know everything about them, Jin. Everything."

The heavy wooden door clunked shut, plunging the small stone room into near darkness save for the flickering torchlight. The noblewoman and Lord Hwang's aide were gone, leaving behind a silence that felt heavy with threats.

Jimin waited until the sound of their retreating footsteps had completely vanished down the corridor. He immediately turned to his family. His mother, small and pale, was still clutching his tunic, and Jihyun, usually so spirited, looked thin and frightened.

He reached out, pulling both of them into a tight, fierce embrace. He didn’t care that the air was damp and the cot was rough; holding them, feeling their familiar warmth, was the first real moment of safety he’d felt in days.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" he whispered, pulling back just enough to look at their faces. His hand went to his mother’s cheek, which felt cool and fragile beneath his touch.

His mother, Mi-yeon, shook her head, tears finally spilling down her face. "We're unharmed, son. Just... terrified. They kept us moving. Always in the dark. We didn't know what was happening until they brought you here."

"I thought I was going to die of worry," Jihyun mumbled into Jimin’s shoulder, clinging to him like a burr. "When they said we were invited to the palace, that we were gonna reunite woth you, I thought it was good news. Why are we here, Hyung?"

Jimin squeezed them both again, inhaling the scent of his mother's familiar, faded lavender and Jihyun's chamomile-and-hay smell. "It’s going to be alright. I’ll make sure of it. I'm so sorry you got dragged into all this" He eased them down onto the cot, sitting between them.

"I've missed you greatly, I have so much to tell you" Jimin said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur meant only for them. "About the palace, about the people... I wrote you so many letters, you know. I hope you got a few of them."

Mi-yeon nodded, wiping her eyes. "We did, my love. The official messenger stopped by twice. It was the only thing that kept me from going mad with worry. You sounded... happy."

"I was." Jimin let out a shaky sigh. His mind went immediately to the bright smile and warm eyes he’d had to betray. "I was so happy. Mama, Jihyun... My life changed when I met the Crown Prince." He paused, collecting his thoughts, needing to speak this truth aloud one last time before their captors' darkness could consume it.

"I know the palace isn't what we thought," he began, "but Jungkook... he’s nothing like the rigid image of royalty. He’s so beautiful and gentle, and kind, and he laughs easily. He's so earnest about his people."

Jimin’s voice softened with genuine, heartfelt admiration. "He used to sneak me out to the training grounds just to talk, take late-night walks around the gardens or bring me tea when he thought I was tired. He saw me, Mama. Not the candidate, not the commoner, but me."

He looked at Jihyun, his eyes bright with conviction. "He’s a man who never looks down on anyone. He fights for what's right, even when it’s hard. I know he will be a wonderful, brilliant King someday, maybe the best this kingdom has ever seen."

Mi-yeon placed a frail hand over Jimin’s, her eyes searching his face. "You love him, don’t you?"

A sad, profound smile touched Jimin’s lips. "More than I ever thought possible. I love him enough to do this. To break his heart and destroy us... because I knew as long as he was safe from the plotters, and as long as you two were alive, there was still hope."

He leaned his forehead against his mother's, and Jihyun wrapped an arm around his waist. "We are here because of people who want to control the Crown. They want him to marry someone they can manipulate. I rejected him to meet their demands, to buy us time. They wanted a scandal, and I gave them a sacrifice."

"But now we're still captive," Jihyun whispered. Jimin nodded, his jaw setting with renewed resolve. "They're using us to force his hand in The Selection. They think I'm weak and broken. But they’re wrong. Now that I know you’re safe and I know their plan, I can focus. I can fight them back."

He held them close, savoring the precious, stolen moment of unity. "I need you both to be strong now. We are a family, and we will get out of this together."

Days bled into one another. Jungkook attended his royal duties like a mannequin—speaking, nodding, signing papers—while his mind was constantly calculating angles. He couldn’t mourn; he could only strategize. His belief in Jimin’s love had become the anchor of a desperate investigation. 

He allowed the King’s attendants to steer him gently back toward the remaining candidates, offering polite, dismissive smiles to the Lords and Ladies who suddenly found themselves elevated. He played the part of the heartbroken prince slowly moving on, all while every fiber of his being was dedicated to finding the truth.

It was the fifth day after the ceremony when Captain Byun requested an immediate, private audience. His face was grave, a mask of controlled professionalism that signaled disaster.

"Your Highness," Captain Byun began, without preamble. "I have concerning news regarding Park Jimin’s escort."

Jungkook’s blood turned to ice. He stood up from his desk, knocking his chair back with a loud scrape. "What is it, Captain? Speak plainly."

"The standard report was filed, stating the escort arrived and delivered Mr. Park to his district five days ago. However, my men, conducting routine checks on the route, followed a hunch." He paused, steadying himself. "The royal carriage was found abandoned."

A suffocating silence fell over the study. "Abandoned?" Jungkook repeated, his voice dangerously low. "Where? And the guards?"

"Found off the main road, in a secluded forest clearing about half a day’s ride from the capital. The carriage was overturned, and there was evidence of a struggle—freshly cut vines, a broken wheel, and dried blood, though not a large amount." Byun cleared his throat. "The two royal guards and the driver are missing, Your Highness. Completely gone."

Jungkook walked to the window, his back to the Captain, his hands clenched so tightly they trembled. This wasn't an accident. This wasn’t a common bandit attack. It was too clean, too silent, and perfectly timed to intercept a King’s escort—an escort that was supposed to be a secret.

"And Jimin? Where's Jimin?" Jungkook managed to ask frantic, his breath catching in his throat. He needed to find him. 

"I immediately sent a new, fully armed detail to his home district and they came back just an hour ago" Captain Byun reported. "They reached his village but the house was empty. Neither Mr. Park nor his mother and younger brother were there."

Jungkook turned from the window, his face a chilling mask of fury and dread. "Tell me everything you know, Captain. Every detail."

"My men interviewed the people around—discreetly, with the utmost caution. One elderly woman, a trusted friend of Jimin’s mother, confirmed the family’s absence. She was concerned because they had left some days before The Selection ceremony, which was unusual."

The Captain’s words hit Jungkook with the force of a physical blow. Jimin’s family was gone before the ceremony. Byun continued, his voice heavy. "The woman mentioned some people who had visited the house late that morning. She described them as 'well-dressed, like noble attendants or palace staff, but not from the Royal Guard.'"

Jungkook leaned forward, gripping the edge of his desk. "What did they say?"

"They claimed they had been sent from the palace with a message from you, and that Mr. Park's family was required to accompany them to the capital for a special visit, as a gesture of goodwill to discuss their future titles and status after the Consort ceremony."

The lie was so smooth, so insidious, designed to perfectly match the expectations of a family whose son was about to become the Prince's Consort. It was a sophisticated, high-level abduction, carried out under the guise of royal privilege.

"A special visit," Jungkook repeated, the phrase laced with venom. "They were taken days ago. Before the ceremony. Which means Jimin knew he was making a sacrifice to save them, not to secure a release."

His protective suspicion was no longer a frantic guess; it was an established, brutal fact. Jimin had walked onto that dais knowing his family was already captive, and the rejection was merely the price of their immediate safety. He had sacrificed his love and his reputation to meet the demands of his captors.

"I also gathered that the description that we got of who was seen escorting The Parks out, was awfully close to Lord Hwang and Lady Seo's trusted attendants, Your Highness. The also recovered the medallion of the Hwang House were the carriage was abandoned"

"Captain," Jungkook said, his eyes blazing with a cold, terrifying resolve. "This confirms everything for me. Lady Seo and Lord Hwang—they are not simply involved; they are the architects of this treason. I know it. I want every single man you have on them to find the location of Jimin and his family"

He felt so desperate to find Jimin, to make sure he was okay. He was consumed by rage and fear but he had to act with cold head. He needed to punish them accordingly to ensure Jimin’s safely return.

"This is an act of war against the Crown Prince’s choice. Find them, Byun. Find all three of them. If anything happens to Jimin, I will burn this Kingdom down and the first to catch on fire will be those who took him from me"

Chapter Text

The Grand Hall was prepared again, but this time, the spectacle was muted, draped in the formal sobriety of a necessary, delayed duty. The remaining candidates stood on the dais, their faces a mixture of strained anticipation and morbid curiosity.

Jungkook was a statue in his royal blue uniform. He stood next to his father, the King, his posture perfect, yet beneath the façade, he was coiled tight, ready to spring. He had returned from the forest mere hours ago, his heart now safe, his fury white-hot.

Beside the dais, Namjoon and Captain Byun were positioned, looking like watchful predators, ready to charge. Seokjin, standing near the royal box, eyes fully focused on Taehyung, who was standing between Min Yoongi and Choi Nari.

The King addressed the court, his voice booming with forced calm. “Tonight, we conclude The Selection officially, no more setbacks, no more disruptions. This is the day Crown Prince Jeon will announce his Consort-Select, ending this regrettable period of unrest. Even I, won't delay any longer my approval. Eldrin will finally have a Consort-Select.”

Jungkook stepped forward, his eyes scanning the room. They settled on Lady Seo and Lord Hwang, who stood side-by-side near the Council, expressions smugly expectant. They had fallen perfectly into the trap: believing the Prince, heartbroken and cornered by the Kingdom's pressures, had no choice but to choose one of the remaining contestants.

“There are five excellent candidates remaining,” Jungkook began, his voice clear and ringing. “All highly qualified for the honor. Yet, my final choice cannot be based on mere convenience, nor on the absence of those who have been wronged.”

Lady Seo’s smile faltered. Lord Hwang merely raised a skeptical eyebrow, a sneer twitching on his lips.

Jungkook reached into his jacket and drew out a small, metallic object: Jimin’s broken compass. He held it up, the glass glinting in the chandelier light.

“Days ago, my true choice was forced to stand here and make the ultimate sacrifice: to break my heart with a lie, to save his family from the treasonous hands of those who sought to manipulate the Crown,” Jungkook stated, his voice gaining lethal force. “He told me he was ‘not made for this life’ and that our love was merely a ‘key to a better life’ for his family. He lied because he knew he was already defeated.” The Hall began to buzz with confusion.

“But a victim’s fear is not a valid rejection,” Jungkook thundered. He tossed the compass lightly to Captain Byun, who caught it seamlessly. “It is an act of war against the Crown, and the true crime is not his refusal, but the abduction and coercion orchestrated by two nobles who stand in this very room!” He turned, facing the Council directly. “Captain Byun, present the evidence!”

Byun stepped forward, unrolling a large parchment. “Your Majesties, my Prince, evidence has been recovered proving that Lady Seo and Lord Hwang abducted the family of Mr. Park Jimin prior to The Selection Ceremony, using them to coerce his rejection. Further evidence, including a Hwang House medallion found at the scene of the abandoned Royal Escort carriage, and a detailed list of the conspirators' demands found at a hunting lodge owned by Lady Seo, proves treason against the Crown. The three missing Royal Guards have been recovered and confirmed the identities of their attackers as well as Park Jimin’s testimony.”

The court erupted. Lady Seo shrieked a denial, her hands flying up as if to ward off a blow, and Lord Hwang, his face suddenly a mask of venomous rage, lunged forward.

“This is a lie! The commoner’s trick!” Lord Hwang roared, trying to push through the crowd to flee, but Namjoon and two silent, massive Royal Guards blocked his path.

The ensuing struggle was brief and brutal. Lord Hwang drew a small, ornamental dagger from his sleeve, a desperate, final act. Before he could even lift his arm, Namjoon, with a speed that belied his calm demeanor, slammed a gauntleted fist into the Lord's kidney. Hwang gasped, the dagger clattering harmlessly to the marble floor as the Royal Guards immediately slammed him against a marble pillar and pinned his arms.

Jungkook ignored the chaos, stepping down from the dais until he was directly in front of Lady Seo. Her terror had curdled into a desperate, hateful spite.

“The King’s son protects the vermin who spurned him!” Lady Seo spat, venom dripping from every word. “You were supposed to choose a Queen, to secure the future of this kingdom, but your lust for that low-born filth has ruined everything! you can't even have a legitimate heir”

Jungkook’s eyes were black with righteous fury. He leaned in, his voice a lethal whisper only she could hear. “Your demand was simple: Reject him, push him into marrying a puppet, or your family dies. I refused to be cornered. I will not make a choice out of the lack of option, and I will not let a brave man’s sacrifice be in vain. You underestimated my resolve and our love.”

He signaled toward the Grand Hall’s main gate. The doors opened. Jimin stood there. He was dressed simply, but the fabrics were fine—a soft, pearl-grey tunic—having been rushed straight back to the palace after the rescue, but allowed a moment to change from his travel clothes. He was pale but unharmed, flanked by his visibly shaken but safe mother, Mi-yeon, and his brother, Jihyun.

Hours earlier, Captain Byun and a rapid response team, acting on a strategy orchestrated by Namjoon and Seokjin, had breached the concealed hunting lodge where the manor stood. The scene was quick and precise: two guards held to the ground, the remaining conspirators subdued.

Mi-yeon, exhausted and defiant, was found clutching Jihyun, who wept silently. Jimin, who had been separated from them after his refusal to cooperate further, had been found being held captive in an isolated room, still reeling from not being able to do more.

"The Prince refused to accept your lies" Byun had told a shocked Jimin. "He initiated his movements to find out the turth the second you left the Hall."

Jimin had simply broken, collapsing into a mix of relief and crushing guilt. The only thing that got him moving was the urgent need to see his family—and to stand by the man who risked a kingdom for him.

Now, standing in the doorway, Jimin saw the consequences and the defeat in the Hall. He saw Lady Seo being hauled away, shrieking obscenities, and Lord Hwang dragged past, spitting impotent threats.

Jungkook’s breath hitched. In the chaos of the rescue and the rush back, there had been no time for anything but terse commands and hurried reassurances. 

Seeing Jimin now, whole and present, standing in the palace where he belonged, next to his family who was safe because of his sacrifice, shattered the Prince's carefully constructed professional façade.

“Jimin,” Jungkook breathed, the sound choked and thick with months of pain, fear, and now, overwhelming relief.

Jimin’s eyes, usually so full of gentle light, were wide and glossy with tears. He had done his terrible duty, had worn the mask of cold indifference to save his family and the man he loved, and now that man had seen through the act, defeated the enemies, and rescued his entire world.

They moved toward each other slowly, drawn by a gravity too strong to resist. The screams of the conspirators being dragged away and the astonished whispers of the court faded into a distant, muted backdrop. There was only the unbearable distance between them.

Mi-yeon, seeing her son and the Prince’s gaze locked on each other, stepped forward with a mother's courage. Her voice, though trembling, cut through the silence.

“Your Majesties, members of the Council,” she began, pulling Jihyun protectively closer. “We were held for many days. We were told our son had to choose his family over his heart. Lord Hwang and Lady Seo made it clear: rejection or death. There was no love-lost, only a sword held to a son's throat. My son Jimin’s words to the Prince were not a choice. They were a lie forced by treason.”

The court murmured, the truth now raw and undeniable. Jungkook closed the final step, his hands shooting out to cup Jimin’s face. He didn't kiss him immediately; instead, he searched his eyes, running his thumbs over the lingering shadows of fear beneath them, memorizing the truth in their familiar, beloved depths.

“I told you,” Jungkook murmured, his voice raw with devotion, “I would find out what broke us. And now that I have, the break is mended.”

Jimin couldn't speak, shaking his head rapidly, the tears finally spilling down his cheeks, wetting Jungkook’s hands. He reached up, grasping Jungkook’s wrists, clinging to the solid reality of his strength.

“I was so scared,” Jimin whispered, the confession tearing out of him. “I thought I’d lost you. I’m so sorry, my love, I’m so sorry I had to hurt you like that. I don't deserve you.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Jungkook commanded softly, pulling Jimin against his chest in a fierce, crushing embrace. He buried his face in Jimin’s hair, inhaling the faint, sweet scent that was finally, irrevocably safe. “The pain was my shield. The lie proved your love. You are the bravest man I have ever known. I hope to be always worthy of you, my darling.”

He pulled back, his eyes blazing with conviction. He turned to face the entire court, pulling Jimin by the hand until they stood on the steps of the dais.

“My Consort-Select is not a title to be forced, but a bond to be chosen freely and with love. The true crime was not the rejection, but the belief that I could be so easily manipulated into forgetting the depth of my heart.”

He knelt down on one knee, right there on the dais, ignoring the gasp of the King and the entire court. He could even swear he heard Kang Mina screeching somewhere. He looked up at Jimin, his eyes shining with pure, devoted love.

“Park Jimin,” he said, pulling a custom-made ring from his jacket pocket—not a Consort’s crest, but a beautiful band etched with the symbol of an eternal knot and glinting diamonds. “I ask you to be my life, my love, and my partner. Not my Consort-Select, but my beloved Prince Consort, chosen not by a system, but by my heart, and proven worthy by your courage. Will you stand by my side, not as a winner of The Selection but as my equal?”

Jimin’s composure broke completely. A sob escaped him, and he lowered his head, tears dripping onto Jungkook’s shoulder as he pulled the Prince up into a fierce, breathless embrace.

“Yes,” Jimin wept into his neck. “Always. Yes!” The King, who had been watching the dramatic display, slowly rose from his throne. A genuine, small smile touched his lips.

“Let it be remembered,” the King commanded, his voice firm and final. “Crown Prince of Eldrin, Jeon Jungkook has made his final, unassailable choice. He has chosen a true heart and a brave soul. Park Jimin shall be the Prince Consort.”

As the court erupted in cheers and applause, Jungkook and Jimin sealed their love with a deep, passionate, and powerful kiss, a promise of a future finally free of shadows.

After the passionate public display and the ensuing chaos of the conspirators’ arrests, the King dismissed the remaining court. Jungkook, still dizzy from the adrenaline and relief, found his father waiting for him near the royal box, Captain Byun standing a respectful distance away.

The King, a man known for his rigid adherence to tradition, did not look angry or disappointed. Instead, his expression was heavy with a rare, complex pride.

“In the end, you were wise Jungkook. I'm sorry I let judgment cloud me... I was harsh and stupid” the King said, his voice low, cutting through the receding echoes of the court’s gasps.

Jungkook straightened, ready for a lecture about propriety or political optics. “Father, I know the immediate fallout will be difficult, but—"

“Difficult? Nonsense,” the King interrupted with a dismissive wave. “You’ve arrested two treasonous, meddling nobles and secured the loyalty of the common people in one stroke. You proved that your heart rules, but that your head commands. You destroyed the threat from within.”

He placed a heavy, reassuring hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “I saw the boy, Jimin. I saw his family. He showed more courage in his rejection than any of those candidates showed in their ambition. He is worthy... I'm sorry I threatened him... I thought I was doing what was best for you and the kingdom. Your mother reminded me how a King needs a Consort who will rule with him, not one who will simply sit beside him.”

The King gave a small, genuine smile for the very first time in a while. “Go to him, son. Your duties tonight are complete. Tomorrow, we plan the wedding and the necessary trials for treason.”

Jungkook bowed deeply, his throat tight with unexpressed gratitude. “Thank you, Father.”

“One thing, my son,” the King added, his gaze flicking toward the corner where Jimin’s family was being quietly ushered away by a guard. “I saw the way you look at him. And I see the way Seokjin looks at that young candidate, Kim Taehyung. No more games, Jungkook. Eldrin will be ruled by strength, and strength starts with the truth. Secure your happiness.”

Jungkook nodded, a fierce determination settling in his eyes. The King’s approval was the final pillar of his victory.

Hours later, Jimin’s family, safe in the company of Taehyung and Seokjin, finally slept soundly in a protected wing of the palace.

Jungkook’s private chambers were a sanctuary. He and Jimin stood together in the center of the room, the scent of fresh roses filling the air, the world outside silenced by the heavy, ornate doors. They were finally, completely alone.

Jimin raised his hand, his fingers tracing the sharp, tense line of Jungkook’s jaw. “You’re safe,” he murmured, the words an affirmation that was also a prayer. “We’re safe.”

Jungkook covered Jimin’s hand with his own, pressing a kiss into the palm. “You are the safest thing I know, my darling. You always were.”

He began to unbutton his ceremonial uniform, the heavy fabric of the jacket falling away to reveal the simple white silk of his shirt. His movements were slow, deliberate, heavy with the weight of days of repressed feelings and desire.

Jimin watched him, eyes dark with mounting need. The formal barriers were gone; the political machinations were crushed. All that remained was the hungry, mutual love they had fought so hard to save.

Jimin stepped closer, his hands reaching to help with the buttons of Jungkook's shirt. His fingers brushed Jungkook’s skin, sending a shiver through them both. Jungkook captured his hands, pulling them away gently, and then reversed the action—reaching to loosen the simple ties of Jimin's tunic.

The coarse fabric was lifted over Jimin’s head and discarded, leaving him standing in nothing but soft linen trousers. The light of the single lantern in the room cast a warm, golden glow over the graceful line of his collarbones and the delicate curve of his waist.

“Beautiful,” Jungkook whispered, his voice low and ragged. He reached out and traced the path of the tear that had escaped Jimin in the annex, a ghost of pain now replaced by the flush of anticipation. “I thought I would never see you like this again. Just... mine. And now, you are.”

Jimin’s heart hammered against his ribs. He felt the intense vulnerability of a man finally dropping the last of his armor, giving himself completely to the one person who would never, ever hurt him again. He leaned forward, their foreheads touching.

“I am yours,” Jimin promised, his voice thick with emotion. “I have always been yours.”

Jungkook groaned, the last vestiges of control breaking. He captured Jimin’s lips in a desperate, urgent kiss, a collision of relief and passion. It wasn't tender; it was a hungry, reclaiming kiss, tasting of victory and devotion, demanding the intimacy they had been denied.

Jimin met his urgency, his hands diving beneath the silk of Jungkook’s shirt, seeking the solid muscle of his back, holding him tightly as if he might vanish. The shirt was shed, tossed carelessly aside.

Jungkook broke the kiss only to lift Jimin into his arms, carrying him the few steps to the immense bed. He lowered him onto the cool linen sheets, following him down instantly, covering him with his body and the warmth of his love.

The rest of the clothes followed quickly—a frenzied, necessary shedding of the last barriers. The rough linen trousers and the fine royal breeches fell to the floor, forgotten.

Jungkook looked down at Jimin, utterly ethereal in the soft light of the room, his body trembling beneath him. He was a vision of pure, giving surrender.

“No more disruptions,” Jungkook breathed, his eyes locked on Jimin's. He moved between Jimin's legs, settling his weight heavily, gently, against him.

Jimin arched up, a soft cry catching in his throat, welcoming the solid, reassuring pressure. He wrapped his legs around Jungkook’s waist, pulling him closer, ready to be entirely consumed by the man who had rescued his soul.

Jungkook shifted, guiding himself into the familiar entrance, desperate to have him, waiting until Jimin was ready to take him in.

“My darling,” Jungkook commanded softly, his forehead touching Jimin’s once more. “I love you more than anything. You are my home. You are my victory.”

“Come home,” Jimin whispered back, a desperate invitation, his hips tilting up.

Jungkook entered him completely, a slow, deep surge that was met with a mutual cry of relief and sensation. He settled, feeling the perfect, familiar warmth of Jimin surrounding him, erasing the cold, anxious days.

The movements began, a steady, rhythmic rhythm that quickly escalated into passionate intensity. This wasn't merely physical release; it was a reaffirmation of their bond, every thrust a promise, every soft gasp a renewal of their vows, a silent, furious celebration of their freedom.

Jungkook moved with powerful reverence, pouring every bit of his love, his fear, and his triumph into the act.

Jimin was completely lost in sensation, his hands clenching at Jungkook’s shoulders and back, his body arching with pleasure. He cried out Jungkook’s name, the sound broken but beautiful, a song of pure devotion.

As the pleasure crested, taking them both in a powerful, synchronized wave, Jungkook leaned down, claiming Jimin’s lips again. He kissed him deeply as they both cried out, finding their release, their bodies convulsing with the intensity of their connection.

They collapsed together, bodies slick with sweat and emotion, their hearts hammering against each other’s chests.

Jungkook shifted, rolling onto his back and pulling Jimin tightly against his side, tucking his head beneath his chin. Jimin was spent, breathing heavily, feeling the soft weight of his lover’s arm secured around him.

Jimin traced the faint outline of the royal crest on Jungkook's collarbone. “We did it,” Jimin murmured into the quiet.

“We won,” Jungkook corrected, his voice heavy with sleepy satisfaction. He pressed a kiss to the crown of Jimin’s head, holding him tighter. “Now, we rest. And tomorrow, we begin our life together”

The broken compass was forgotten. The political games were over. They were simply two men, two lovers, finally safe, finally home, entangled in the peaceful, hard-won reality of their love.

While Jungkook and Jimin were sealing their love in the privacy of the Prince’s chambers, two other men finally found their moment of quiet, desperate relief.

Seokjin, who had stood guard near the royal box—his eyes tracking every movement of the conspirators and every tremor of fear on the candidates’ faces—finally lowered his professional mask. He moved swiftly through the clearing hall until he reached the remaining Selection candidates.

Taehyung stood rigid, still wearing the beautiful, restrictive silks of a contender, his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. All night, he had watched the drama unfold: the revelation, the arrests, and the agonizing, beautiful reunion of his friends. He was overjoyed for Jimin, but the terrifying firestorm left him shaken.

“Taehyung,” Seokjin murmured, his voice husky, reaching out to gently touch the younger man’s arm.

Taehyung flinched, then quickly spun around, his eyes wide and glistening. He was no longer the confident, charming candidate; he was simply Kim Taehyung, vulnerable and deeply worried.

“Jinnie,” Taehyung whispered, a flood of relief washing over him. “It’s over. They’re safe. Everyone is safe.”

“Yes, they are,” Seokjin confirmed, his strong hands cupping Taehyung’s face, mirroring Jungkook’s earlier action. He ran his thumb across the faint red mark the silk collar had left on Taehyung’s neck. “And so are you. You stood there, Tae, through all of that madness. You kept your composure.”

“I was terrified, Jin,” Taehyung admitted, leaning into the warmth of Seokjin’s hands. “I thought if this went wrong, if Jungkook had failed, we would lose them. And I thought I would lose you, too. This world… it’s too cruel for something so beautiful.”

Seokjin let out a breathy laugh, pulling Taehyung into a protective, bone-crushing hug—the first time he had allowed himself such public intimacy since getting with the contestant. He buried his face in Taehyung's hair, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of lavender and expensive silk.

“Cruel, yes,” Seokjin agreed fiercely, his voice vibrating against Taehyung’s ear. “But we are stronger than that. The King just gave Jungkook his blessing—not just for Jimin, but for the principle of truth and courage over convenience.”

He pulled back, his dark eyes shining with fierce affection. “You have suffered enough being held in this cage. Your presence here, has changed me. But I refuse to let you stand on a dais again for any reason other than to exchange vows.”

Taehyung’s eyes widened, a smile slowly breaking through his tears. “Vows? Seokjin, that’s…”

Seokjin smiled, a breathtaking, confident smile that promised everything. “I am royal Kim Seokjin, nephew of King Jeon. I now I have more than enough standing to finally ask for your hand, openly and properly, without The Selection looming over us. You always said you don’t need a crown, Tae. You need security and a man who loves you deeply.”

“I love you, Seokjin, it has always been you” Taehyung choked out, finally free to say the words he’d hidden from the world, publicly concealed behind polite smiles, soft touches and knowing glances for months.

“Then the battlefield is clear,” Seokjin said, releasing one hand from Taehyung’s face to reach into his own pocket. He pulled out a simple, beautiful silver ring—a heavy signet he usually wore on his own hand, but now offered as a promise. “This is not a proposal yet—you deserve far better than the hallway after an arrest—but it is a promise. Wait for me, openly, freely, as my partner.”

Taehyung took the ring, his fingers trembling, and slid it onto his right ring finger. “Always.”

He initiated the kiss this time: a tender, yet resolute, meeting of lips. It was a kiss of quiet victory, of promised future, and of a bond finally acknowledged in the clear light of day. The cheers for the Crown Prince had faded, but a new, quieter celebration began right there in the empty, marble-floored hall.

The passage of time was marked not by days, but by the relentless march of justice and the joyous preparations for a historic event. Lord Hwang and Lady Seo faced swift, rigorous trials, the evidence against them irrefutable. Their treason secured their fates, and their influence in the palace was erased, clearing the political field for the new regime of honesty and love.

The royal decree announcing the marriage was met with overwhelming public support, a wave of relief washing over the common people who celebrated the victory of a man of the people over the corrupt nobility.

Two months after the tumultuous night of the declaration, the Grand Hall was prepared one more time. Now, there were no strained faces, no political maneuvering, and no fear. The spectacle was one of pure, unrestrained celebration, draped in the vibrant colors of Eldrin's springtime and countless garlands of white and purple roses.

The music swelled, a traditional Eldrin processional mixed with modern, hopeful strains.

Jungkook stood waiting at the altar, regal in a white and gold royal uniform. His gaze was fixed on the grand doors. He was no longer the coiled, furious Prince of the confrontation; he was simply a man radiating peace and ecstatic anticipation. His parents, the King and Queen of Eldrin, stood nearby, looking on with easy, genuine smiles.

Then, the doors opened. Jimin entered, escorted by his proud, tearful mother and brother. He wore an exquisitely tailored, flow-white ensemble, embroidered with silver threads that caught the light like stardust. He moved with a grace that was entirely his own, his every step shedding the last vestiges of fear and the burden of his past sacrifice. He was not walking toward uncertainty; he was walking toward destiny.

When their eyes finally met across the length of the hall, the roar of the gathered guests—from high nobility to the newly invited commoners, including a beaming group of new-found family —faded to a silent hum.

Jungkook took a decisive step forward, unable to wait another moment, meeting Jimin halfway down the aisle. He gently took Jimin’s hand from his mother and bowed politely to her, thanking her for Jimin. His thumb brushing over the simple, promise ring already on Jimin’s finger.

“I had never known beauty as ethereal as yours, my love. You look like the victory you are,” Jungkook murmured, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes drinking in the sight of his love, finally, truly his.

Jimin simply squeezed his hand, a tear tracing a path down his cheek. “You are as radiant as the sun itself, my handsome prince. You look like home.”

The ceremony was brief, focusing not on royal decree but on mutual devotion. Instead of reciting the traditional, antiquated vows that placed the consort below the crown, Jungkook and Jimin exchanged words they had written themselves—vows that echoed the courage and commitment that had saved them.

Jungkook looked at the man who had faced all obstacles to protect their love. “Park Jimin, I vow to you not merely the title of Consort, but the honor of my equal partner in all things. I promise to rule Eldrin with the same honesty and conviction with which I searched for you in the darkness. I promise you peace, happiness, laughter, undying love and a life free of shadows. You saved my soul from the moment I met you, and for that, I am eternally yours.”

Jimin, his voice clear and ringing with absolute confidence, returned his vow. “Jeon Jungkook, my love, my prince. I came into this palace believing I was full of weakness. You taught me all my greatest strengths, especially our love. I vow to stand beside you, a shield against all enemies, an honest mirror to your heart, and a steadfast home when the weight of the crown is too heavy. I choose you and love you, freely and forever.”

As they exchanged their new rings—the King performed the final, unifying ceremony, binding their hands together with a silken cord.

“The bond is sealed. Eldrin’s Crown Prince and Prince Consort are now joined.”

Jungkook didn't hesitate. He pulled Jimin into a deep, consuming kiss—a kiss that carried the flavor of victory, the sweetness of relief, and the power of their destiny. It was a promise, loud and clear, that their love was not a fairy tale ending, but a hard-won foundation upon which a better kingdom would be built.

The hall erupted in deafening cheers. Flower petals rained down, and the entire court rose in unison to celebrate the couple who had redefined love and leadership.

In a quiet moment, as they stood on the steps of the dais, the light glinting off the rings that bound them, Jimin leaned into Jungkook to kiss him tenderly.

“We won, didn’t we?” Jungkook wrapped his arm firmly around Jimin’s waist, pulling him against his side, his smile radiating pure happiness. “No, my love. We just began.”

They were simply two men, two lovers, now bound by oath, finally safe, finally home, ready to rule together, entangled in the peaceful, beautiful reality of their shared future.

The official ceremony had concluded. Jungkook and Jimin, now finally and officially bonded, were being ushered toward a private side room to prepare for their quick departure for the honeymoon villa. The Grand Hall was still a swirling chaos of celebratory cheers and music, but the four men found a moment of quiet near a set of massive, velvet-draped windows.

Seokjin and Taehyung approached the newlyweds, with Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok forming a protective, happy perimeter a few steps behind.

Jimin, still slightly breathless from the public kiss and the weight of his emotions, immediately broke ranks, throwing his arms around Taehyung.

“Tae, my beautiful friend” Jimin whispered, burying his face in his neck. “Thank you for everything. For staying be my side for giving me strength from the beginning”

Taehyung hugged him back fiercely. “I wouldn’t have done it amy other way, my Jiminie. You and Jungkook are the future. I’m so happy you’re finally married.”

Jungkook clapped Seokjin on the shoulder, a genuine, joyful grin replacing his usual Prince-like composure. “Cousin, thank you. I didn't have the chance to properly thank you for the strategy, for all your support and for standing by us.”

“You are like my brother, Jungkook, I will always stand by you” Seokjin replied, his eyes sparkling, but then his expression turned playfully stern. “Though I will submit a formal complaint later about the excessive physical affection demonstration on the dais. The King had a coughing fit.”

Jungkook laughed. “He deserved it. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a beautiful honeymoon villa waiting for us.”

Seokjin cleared his throat, a subtle signal to Jungkook that their conversation wasn't quite finished. He took Taehyung’s hand, lifting it slightly so that the silver signet ring glinting on Taehyung’s finger was visible.

“Actually, lovebirds,” Seokjin said, his voice imbued with a quiet, profound pride, “Taehyung and I had a bit of news of our own we wanted to share before you leave. With the political waters finally cleared, and the King’s new disposition toward ‘strength through truth’ firmly established…”

He squeezed Taehyung’s hand, meeting his eyes with an undeniable devotion. “Kim Taehyung has agreed to become my husband. It’s not an official announcement yet—we’ll have our own ceremony once everything is .pre settled —but the promise has been made. We are engaged.”

Jimin gasped, his hand flying to his mouth, tears instantly welling up again. “Tae! Oh, Seokjin, that’s wonderful! I knew it! I knew you two would soon do this. I'm so happy truly. You both deserve this love”

Jungkook looked from Seokjin to Taehyung, a slow, understanding smile spreading across his face. He nodded, impressed. “A beautiful decision, Jin. And a much braver choice than any political match. Taehyung, you will make him a deeply happy man. Congratulations. Both of you.”

Taehyung, holding Seokjin’s hand tightly, was beaming. “We learned from the best. Seeing you two risk everything for what was real… that gave us the final push.”

Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok stepped forward, Namjoon giving a respectful bow to the newly married couple. “Finally, we can all have a simple meals without checking over our shoulders,” Namjoon quipped, making everyone laugh.

“You earned this happiness, both of you,” Hoseok added, his smile bright and genuine. “Now go. The kingdom can wait a week. You’ve earned the rest.”

Jungkook took Jimin’s hand, the heavy weight of their new rings knocking gently against each other. “We’re ready.” He looked at their circle of friends—their new found and chosen family. “When we return, we begin planning yours, Jin.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Seokjin promised with a wink. "And maybe Yoongi and Hoseok’s one after" He joked making the pair blush but holding hands.

With final hugs and whispered vows of reunion, Crown Prince Jeon Jungkook and his Prince Consort Park Jimin turned and walked away toward their new life, their friends’ joyful eyes watching them go. 

​The air in the secluded royal villa was thick with the scent of sea salt and night-blooming jasmine. Outside, the moon cast a silver path across the ocean; inside, the heavy silk curtains filtered the light, making the massive bed a private sanctuary. Jimin lay on his side, watching Jungkook, who was just now shedding the last of his formal wear—not a uniform this time, but fine velvet trousers tossed carelessly onto a chaise.

​Jungkook crossed the room, his movements slow and deliberate, savoring the sight of Jimin waiting for him. Their eyes locked—a profound, trembling silence passing between them, acknowledging the terrible distance hunger for the other that had been bubbling since the early morning.

​The kiss that followed was a dizzying collision of devotion and demand. It was a reclaiming, deep and possessive, tasting of relief and the promise of forever. Jimin met the intensity, winding his arms around Jungkook’s neck, pulling him closer, pressing himself against the solid, familiar wall of muscle. He gasped into the kiss as Jungkook’s hand ran down his waist, his touch no longer just careful but possessive—a lover staking his claim.

Jungkook broke the kiss, his lips trailing fire across Jimin’s jaw, down his throat, and to the hollow of his collarbone. "I have wanted this since the moment you walked into that Hall ready to be my husband," he murmured, his voice a low, ragged vow. "To worship you. To love you for eternity and beyond. To never have to be separated from you again."

"Never, my love" Jimin whispered, his voice thick with unspent tears and desire. "We belong to each other, forever."

Jimin reached to discard the last of their clothing until they lay bare on the cool sheets, their skin touching, a universe of sensation exploding between them.

Jungkook lowered himself to the curve of Jimin’s inner thigh, his eyes dark with a powerful mixture of reverence and hunger. 

"Look at me, my love," Jungkook commanded, his voice a low plea. "Let me see all of you. You are everything to me"

Jimin shifted, his vulnerability dissolving into trust as he stared back into Jungkook's devoted eyes, giving his silent, absolute assent.

​Slowly, carefully, Jungkook brought two fingers, warm and slick, to the tender, familiar skin. He began a slow, deliberate exploration, his gaze fixed on Jimin’s face, watching the effect of his touch.

​Jimin gasped, throwing his head back against the pillows. The intimate focus drew a sharp moan from his throat. Jungkook’s touch was maddeningly slow, building the heat, tracing the contours of his pleasure with a meticulousness that spoke of total devotion, a lover cherishing every inch of his beloved. He felt the exquisite, demanding stretch, a friction that was driving him rapidly toward the edge.

​As Jungkook deepened the stretch, Jimin choked out, "I need you, my love, I'm ready. I need you to break the distance." His hips began to move instinctively, tilting and meeting the pressure, desperate for the rhythm Jungkook was creating. He needed to feel the full, undeniable force of Jungkook, and he tried to shift, urging the Prince on.

​A third finger joined the firsts, and the rhythm quickened, pulling Jimin into a state of pure physical reaction. He cried out as Jungkook leaned down, adding a wet, deep suction on Jimin’s nipple that stole the air from his lungs and shattered his control. The powerful spasm rocked his body, an urgent, beautiful relief. 

Jimin moaned out, burying his face in the pillow, a powerful spasm rocking his body as the pleasure became too much, too quick and yet, not enough. Jungkook held him through the shuddering release, his breath hot against Jimin's skin. 

"So beautiful," Jungkook breathed, his voice raw, moving between Jimin’s legs, settling his weight heavily. "I'm so utterly devastatingly and irrevocably in love with you, my darling."

He entered, slow and deep, a unifying surge that was met with a powerful, mutual groan. The sense of completeness was overwhelming. Jimin wrapped his legs tight around Jungkook's waist, pulling him in and locking him there.

The movements began, deliberate and heavy, quickly escalating into a fierce, passionate rhythm. Every thrust was a reassurance, a promise of their future ahead. Jungkook drove with a potent, demanding energy.

​Jimin was completely unraveled, riding the wave of sensation. "Mine," he gasped, his nails digging into Jungkook’s back. "You are only mine. I love you, my husband."

"Yours, only yours, my angel" Jungkook confirmed, his voice a guttural declaration. "I love you."

He moved faster, harder, pushing them both to the edge of their control. Jimin cried out Jungkook's name, the sound of their passion echoing in the silent room.

​As the pressure mounted, taking them both to the highest peak, Jungkook leaned down, claiming Jimin’s lips in a desperate, final kiss. 

"Forever, Jimin, my darling" he commanded against Jimin's mouth. "Forever, my prince." He demanded more, urging Jungkook faster, their bodies slick and unified under the golden light.

They crested together, the simultaneous release tearing a broken, ecstatic cry from Jimin’s throat as their bodies convulsed, clinging to the sensation and to each other marking this moment as the true beginning of their lifes together.

​Afterward, as they lay tangled in bed, slick with sweat and emotion, Jimin nestled his head against Jungkook’s chest. The strong, steady thrum of Jungkook’s heart beneath his ear was the only sound in the world. He was safe, he was loved, and he was home. They fell asleep with smiles full of happiness and love, finally having conquered The Selection.

For the first time, everyone could simply exist in joy, passion, and affection, without fear — and for Jungkook and Jimin, that meant every day could end this way: together, intimately, fully, and forever.