Chapter 63 || BOUND AND TORN BY PROPHECIES

 

The Morning After the Mark

 

Jungkook awoke to a warmth that wasn’t physical — it pulsed just beneath his skin, humming like magic coiled beneath the surface. His lids fluttered open, the heavy remnants of sleep still clinging to his lashes. At first, he didn’t remember. Then his gaze dropped to his shoulder, where the sheet had slipped down during the night.

A shimmer.

He sat up with a jolt, throwing the covers off and rushing to the mirror across the chamber. The early morning light bled through the curtains, barely illuminating the room, but it was enough.

His breath caught in his throat.

There it was. A cascade of luminous patterns sprawled across his collarbone and shoulder — intricate vines, glowing petals, and ancient designs that shimmered in soft tones of gold and lavender. And at the centre, artfully hidden in decorative strokes, were runes. He couldn’t read them, but his heart knew. His soul knew.

Taehyung had marked him.

“You unbelievable, smug, overbearing… dragon,” he hissed at his reflection, cheeks blazing red. “That damn dragon…” His fingertips hovered over the patterns but didn’t touch them. They were warm. Alive. The magical energy felt like a slow, possessive purr against his skin. He quickly pulled his nightrobe tighter, but the soft cloth barely helped.

 

With shaking steps, he stumbled to his wardrobe.

Every outfit he owned mocked him. The open-neck shirts, the delicate silks — all exposed far too much. Even his modest vests didn’t rise high enough to hide the swirling ends of the design near his collarbone.

He finally yanked out a thick, high-collared shirt, one that didn’t match anything but would do. He added a scarf. Then a shawl. Then an outer layer. By the time he was done, he looked more suited for a snowstorm than a palace spring morning.

His reflection stared back at him: flushed cheeks, panic behind his mismatched eyes, and three layers of clothing suffocating his dignity.

“Perfect,” he muttered bitterly. “Now I just need to avoid literally everyone.”

 

He was about to send word for his breakfast to be delivered to his chambers when one of the maids returned, wringing her hands nervously. “Lord Jungkook, the prince has given orders that all members of the household attend breakfast this morning. The King has returned from his journey across the kingdoms and will be joining Her Majesty.”

Jungkook’s stomach sank. He opened his mouth to protest — then closed it again. He couldn’t exactly defy an order given on the King’s behalf. “Fine,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Fine.”

 

The grand dining hall buzzed with chatter as nobles and dignitaries gathered to greet the returning King. Jungkook entered quietly, wrapped in his absurd layers, eyes low.

Heads turned. Conversations paused.

Even the King, tall and regal with a trimmed beard dusted in silver, blinked in surprise as he greeted him. “Is winter coming early this year?” he said with a hearty laugh. “Why are you dressed like you’re expecting snow in the halls?”

A few chuckles rippled through the room.

Jungkook forced a smile and muttered something about a morning chill. But he could feel Nyla’s eyes on him — sharp, observant, too quiet. Nyla leaned over to Yoongi and whispered, “He’s hiding something.”

Yoongi frowned. “I noticed. He’s been dodging us since yesterday.”

As the King and Queen settled at the head of the table, the Queen rose with her usual grace. “We are honoured to have our King return safely. In two days, the Royal Festival will begin. All of you will begin preparations today.”

 

While the room murmured in excitement, Taehyung stepped forward to speak to his parents. His words were formal, speaking of travel arrangements and dignitary visits, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips was not lost on anyone.

Especially not Nyla.

Especially not Yoongi.

Both exchanged a glance.

“Oh, he definitely did something,” Nyla whispered, narrowing her eyes. Yoongi nodded grimly. “And whatever it was… Jungkook’s wearing it.”

They both turned to glance at their friend — fidgeting in his seat, adjusting his scarf for the nth time, eyes darting anywhere but toward the prince.

The game had begun.

 

After breakfast, Jungkook practically bolted from the hall, ignoring curious stares and sidelong glances. He rushed through the corridors and didn’t breathe again until the door of his chamber slammed shut behind him. He locked it, leaning against it with a groan. “Stupid, smug dragon. Putting me in this mess like it’s some kind of game—”

“Missing me this much, princess?”

 

He spun around, fist already flying, but Taehyung caught his wrist mid-air. “Whoa, harsh,” he grinned. “How can you try to hit the boy you raised… mommy?”

“Don’t you dare!” he growled, lunging again — but Taehyung was faster. In a blink, he had Jungkook pinned against the wall, his wrists above his head, one hand cupping his cheek.

“You—!” But the words faltered when Taehyung’s thumb brushed across his lower lip. He watched the way Jungkook’s lips trembled, how his breath hitched. Like a newborn pup trying to growl.

“You’re adorable when you’re angry,” he murmured.

“Are you crazy?!” Jungkook hissed.

 

Instead of replying, Taehyung pressed a feather-light kiss to his cheek. Then another to his brow. Jungkook’s anger dissolved like snow in dragon fire.

 

“W-what are you doing…?” he stammered.

Taehyung’s lips hovered near his for a breathless second before brushing against them. Just a kiss — soft and fleeting.

Jungkook froze.

Then Taehyung began removing his scarf, ignoring his protest. “Taehyung—what are you doing?!”

“Shhh…,” he whispered. The scarf slipped off, revealing the glowing mark across Jungkook’s skin. He smiled. “Did you like the patterns I created?”

“Why did you do it?” Jungkook asked, trembling.

“So everyone — and you — remembers who you belong to.” His reply was smooth. Like it was sitting over his tongue, ready to roll out.

 

“You… marked me without asking. What will you explain to others? I am not some royal princess for you to mark and claim.” His voice was lower than a whisper.

Taehyung did not reply to that.

“You haven’t touched it, have you?” he asked with a teasing glint instead.

Jungkook shook his head.

“Good,” Taehyung whispered with a small smirk and traced the mark with his fingertip — and Jungkook gasped.

A surge of warmth spread through him, tingling down his spine, making his knees weak. A breathy moan escaped before he could stop it. His face turned scarlet.

“Y-you can’t just—”

“You can’t fight destiny for long, Jungkook. Accept it or not. You are mine. If you are scared of people, then don’t. I am not scared of anyone letting you go,” he whispered, brushing a kiss to his ear.

 And just like that, he vanished, leaving Jungkook breathless and burning in the aftermath.

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