Chapter 59 || BOUND AND TORN BY PROPHECIES
The Scent of Control
The evening sun had long sunk behind the horizon by the time
Jungkook returned to the palace, arms weighed down with silk pouches,
trinket boxes, and folded fabrics—all gifts Varian had insisted on buying. He
tried to laugh it off during dinner, brushing aside Varian’s over-the-top
stories of how Jungkook almost got conned by a fake fortune-teller, or how he
tried roasted plum-flamed fish for the first time and nearly spat it out in
front of half the market. Everyone was smiling. Except one.
Taehyung.
He sat at the end of the long table, elegant as ever, draped
in his signature black and midnight-blue robes, his arms folded, gaze cold and
distant. He said nothing. Not a word. His eyes never once met Jungkook’s. But
Jungkook could feel it—his silence wasn’t indifference. It was fury, tightly
leashed, humming beneath the surface like a storm waiting for its moment.
He didn’t say anything either.
Jungkook expected him to barge into his room at night, maybe
with a sneaky comment or some twisted punishment whispered in that deep voice
of his. But hours passed, and his room remained eerily silent.
No knock.
No tail wrapping around his ankle.
No Taehyung.
That scared him more than he wanted to admit.
When he awoke, his wardrobe had changed.
Literally.
Every single one of his robes, casual wear, soft and
comfortable fabric shirts, and night clothes had been swapped out. What
remained now were crisp, oversized shirts, loose trousers tailored to a broader
frame than his own, and familiar embroidery—Taehyung’s embroidery.
He blinked, stunned. “What the hell…”
The scent hit him next. That maddening, musky, intoxicating
scent he had come to associate with Taehyung—his skin, his breath, the
heat of his body pressed far too close during their constant sparring and
proximity-laced bickering.
He bit down a groan and changed into the least scandalous of
the shirts—though that wasn’t saying much. It still slid off one shoulder,
clung annoyingly to his waist, and hung too long in the sleeves.
As soon as he entered the garden where breakfast had been
arranged just for them, all conversation stopped.
Nyla choked on her juice. Yoongi stared
wide-eyed. Even Mili, Spark, and Niki, lounging at the
lower platform near the dragonling area, looked up with smug amusement glittering
in their eyes.
Taehyung didn’t even glance up from his cup. But the slow
smirk curling at the edge of his lips spoke volumes.
“You’re glowing today, Jungkook,” Nyla said, voice
practically purring with mischief. “New wardrobe?”
Jungkook sat down with a huff, trying to pull the too-long
sleeve over his hand. “I’m going to choke him to death.”
“I think it suits you,” Yoongi added, barely hiding his
grin. “Very royal. Very possessed.”
Spark let out a rumble that suspiciously resembled a laugh,
while Niki flicked her tail and whispered something to Mili—who cooed with
innocent-evil delight.
Soon, Varian entered the garden and approached with
an apologetic smile. “I’m being sent out for a few days,” he said gently.
“Palace work.”
Jungkook almost asked him not to go. He knew it was
orchestrated—Taehyung pulling the strings to keep him away, unbothered,
uninterrupted for whatever punishment he had in mind.
“Oh,” Jungkook said instead. “Well… be safe.”
He watched him leave, torn between relief and dread for what
came next.
After breakfast, he locked himself in his room for the rest
of the day, refusing to face anyone.
When he turned to the mirror, his reflection made him want
to scream. Taehyung’s oversized shirt still clung to him like a mark—an unmistakable
claim.
Not wanting to face a soul, he plopped onto the bed.
“What should I do?” he whispered into his pillow, groaning. “I won’t survive.”
And somewhere in the distance, as if in answer, a familiar
voice echoed faintly in his mind—
“This is just the beginning, Jungkook.”
Hours passed in a haze of irritation and mortification.
Jungkook sprawled across the bed, arm flung over his eyes, muffling the
occasional groan into the pillow.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered for the hundredth time,
tugging at the hem of the oversized shirt. Taehyung’s scent clung to his skin
like temptation.
He considered sneaking into the servants’ quarters to steal
a robe—Yoongi had already refused to help, claiming it “suited” him too
well—when a soft click echoed from the door.
His head shot up. “No. Nope. Don’t you dare—!”
Too late.
The door opened, and in walked Taehyung, slow and
composed, as if he owned the room. The air. The walls.
He didn’t speak. Just closed the door with a soft thud
and leaned against it, arms crossed, his gaze dragging over Jungkook’s form in his
shirt—shameless, smug, predatory.
“Comfortable?” he finally asked, voice like melted dusk.
Jungkook grabbed the nearest cushion and launched it.
“You’re a reckless child! A spoiled brat! A—”
“Owner of your wardrobe,” Taehyung cut in smoothly, catching
the pillow and setting it aside. “And I believe someone disobeyed a direct
order yesterday.”
“I didn’t disobey. I just—” Jungkook stammered, fumbling
with the edge of the shirt. “Varian asked me. And then your au—”
Taehyung stepped forward, crouching until they were eye
level.
“You didn’t mention me in your explanation,” he murmured.
“Did you?”
“You weren’t reasonable! You—”
Before Jungkook could finish, Taehyung reached behind his
neck and tugged at something nearly invisible. Jungkook gasped as a thin thread
shimmered and then burst into light—a glowing sigil suspended between
Taehyung’s fingers.
“What… was that?”
“A dragon-binding rune,” Taehyung said coolly. “I placed it
earlier. It reacts when you’re emotionally stressed. Or… aroused.”
Jungkook turned crimson. “I what?!”
“You heard me,” Taehyung said, voice dark with amusement.
“And I must say, little Jungkook… the poor thing was glowing earlier during
breakfast. You were either extremely anxious... or very aware of how sinful you
looked in my shirt.”
He leaned in closer. “We dragons scent-mark what we claim.
Clothes. Skin. Rooms. You’ve been marinating in me for hours. And I can smell
it.”
Taehyung tapped Jungkook’s nose. Jungkook smacked his hand
away. “You’re evil.”
“I’m creative.”
“This is harassment.”
Taehyung leaned in until their foreheads touched. “No. This
is punishment.”
Then, he reached into his robe and dropped something into
Jungkook’s hand.
Jungkook looked down.
A pair of black, silken undergarments.
His.
“What—”
“Wear them tomorrow,” Taehyung whispered, sweet as sin. “Or
I’ll come back and help you change. Personally. Understood? Mommy?”
Jungkook gawked, scarlet, utterly speechless.
Taehyung kissed his forehead, slow and victorious, then
turned and walked out.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Jungkook stared at the offending garment in his hand.
“I hate him,” he muttered. “I absolutely—ugh!”
But his heart was racing.
Betraying him.
CLICK THE LINK BELOW FOR NEXT CHAPTER:
https://novelreadingislife.blogspot.com/2025/05/chapter-60-bound-and-torn-by-prophecies.html
.
.
.
Comments
Post a Comment