Chapter 67 || BOUND AND TORN BY PROPHECIES

The Prince's Ache

The royal balcony was silent, bathed in twilight as music and laughter echoed from the distant festival halls. Taehyung stood alone, his ceremonial robe draped like an iron cloak on his shoulders. From afar, he looked like a prince carved from obsidian — stoic, untouched.

Until the ache hit.

 

It wasn't pain in his body — no wound, no strain. It bloomed in his chest like a sickness, a hollow pressure that squeezed his heart and stole his breath. He staggered slightly, gripping the railing.

Then he knew.

It was him.

Jungkook.

 

The bond between them had flared again — raw, searing, emotional. He was hurting, and Taehyung could feel every drop of it. Without hesitation, Taehyung left the balcony.

 

The dragon chambers were dimly lit and quiet — a stark contrast to the roaring celebrations above. He entered silently, the door parting for him like it recognized his urgency.

And there he was. Jungkook.

 

He lay curled up between Mili, Spark, and Niki, their jewelled scales shimmering softly in the low light. His shawl was wrapped tightly around him like armour, his fingers clenched into it. His face was tear-streaked, eyes closed, breath uneven — the ghost of sobs still lingering in his chest.

The baby dragons didn’t move. They simply watched Taehyung. Wide-eyed. Silent. As if they, too, knew this moment was not theirs to interrupt.

 

He stepped forward and sat beside him, slowly, carefully. He didn’t touch him. Not yet.

The sight of him this broken... it shattered something inside Taehyung.

 

Then, softly, his voice broke the silence.

"You always run, little princess," he murmured, his tone lower than a whisper. "You run even when I don’t chase you. And when I try to stay still, you burn me anyway."

 

The baby dragons blinked.

He exhaled shakily and looked at Jungkook’s trembling form.

"Do you know how helpless I felt watching you cry like this? I was crowned today, Jungkook. I wore the mark of the realm. And yet... none of it mattered when you weren’t beside me."

 

Still no response. His breathing remained shallow, but Taehyung could feel the bond pulsing softly now. The storm in Jungkook had eased, just a little, sensing his presence.

 

He gently gathered him in his arms, lifting him without disturbing the dragons too much. Jungkook’s head nestled against his chest instinctively, as if even in sleep, he recognized him.

 

He carried him through the quiet halls, past guards who respectfully averted their gaze.

In his room, Taehyung placed him carefully in bed, pulling the covers over him and brushing a lock of hair from his damp cheek.

Then, he slipped in beside him.

Not to touch. Not to tease.

Just to hold him.

 

He wrapped his arms around him, whispering,

"I’m sorry. For making you cry. For being silent when I wanted to scream your name before the whole court, but it's not the right time. I don’t want to lose you because of a prophecy that bonds us together first and breaks it later. I promise I’ll make this right... I promise you, little flame."

 

Jungkook stirred faintly, curling into him like it was the only place he ever belonged. Taehyung stayed there a while — letting the warmth of him, the feel of him, mend the weight in his chest.

His heart.

Jungkook’s pain had become his pain.

 

But duty... duty called.

 

He rose slowly, reluctantly, and pulled the blanket snug around him. With one last glance, he placed a soft kiss against his temple, then turned to the door. He locked it gently behind him, a protective gesture.

 

The palace awaited.

And now, as Crown Prince, he had people to serve.

But his heart? It stayed behind, in the room where Jungkook slept.

 

The festival had only grown louder, brighter, more demanding. Taehyung stepped into the main court again, face calm, expression unreadable. But inside, the storm had not settled. Not truly.

 

He stood amidst noblemen and lords, their daughters trying too hard to smile, fluttering eyelashes, and draped in silks that shimmered under the palace lights. Each tried to speak to him, to brag about accomplishments, to sell themselves like polished gems. He listened. He nodded.

But not once did his gaze waver toward them.

 

His mind — and heart — remained in his guardians' chambers.

And still, he could feel Jungkook’s ache, like a silent echo beneath his ribs.

 

Nyla returned to the festival and found him quickly. Her eyes were sharp, her expression somewhere between concern and urgency. She walked up beside him and hissed under her breath,

"What in the Ancients' names are you doing, Taehyung? Yoongi’s ready to choke you to death. Explain before he burns the palace down."

 

He didn’t flinch. Instead, he said quietly,

"Not now. We’re surrounded by enemies. Everything tonight is a show, Nyla. Just go with the flow for now. Don’t leave Yoongi alone. Keep him distracted but protected. I’ll explain everything later."

 

Nyla studied him — the flicker in his eyes, the restraint in his voice — and she sighed.

"You’d better. Or I’ll let him do more than just choke you."

Taehyung gave her a tired smirk, but his eyes drifted back toward the distant halls where his little prince, his little flame, slept.

 

And silently, he promised again:

Soon. 

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