Chapter 68 || BOUND AND TORN BY PROPHECIES

 

Festival Disruptions

 

Sunlight streamed through the ornate glass windows of Jungkook's chamber, warming his cheeks and brushing against the edge of his tangled hair. He stirred slowly, eyes blinking open to unfamiliar comfort. The blanket wrapped around him was not the one he had pulled over himself the night before. His shawl — the one he’d clutched like armour — lay folded neatly on the chair. The lingering scent on his pillow was unmistakable: Taehyung.

His heart skipped.

 

He sat up slowly, fingertips brushing the faint mark beneath his collar. It tingled — a reminder of everything he wanted to forget and couldn’t. Whispers of Taehyung’s voice returned to him, vague and half-dreamt.

 

“I promise I’ll make this right. I will find a way to keep us alive. No prophecy can separate us. Just some more time... I promise you, little flame.”

 

He exhaled and closed his eyes, willing the thoughts to settle. Today was not a day for heartbreak. It was a day for duty.

 

After a quick bath, Jungkook pulled out one of the outfits he had specially prepared for the festival — a deep violet ensemble with long bell sleeves and a high collar, made precisely to hide the mark on his skin. He stood before the mirror, adjusting it carefully, practicing his smile.

“You can do this,” he whispered to his reflection.

Then he stepped out.

 

The palace halls buzzed with light chatter as he made his way toward the royal breakfast. But when he turned into the grand dining corridor, his feet halted.

 

It wasn’t the usual serene scene he expected.

The hall was crowded.

 

Dozens of noblewomen and foreign princesses were seated along the length of the table — women he hadn’t seen the previous day. Their laughter and conversation filled the room like perfume — cloying and suffocating.

 

Jungkook blinked. This was the wing reserved for the royal family. The guests were assigned a separate section of the palace. What were they doing here?

 

He instinctively turned to leave, not wanting to make a scene, but a loud cry snapped his attention around.

 

A young maid stood frozen, clutching her reddening cheek. A tall, elegantly dressed woman — far too adorned for morning — lowered her hand with a sneer.

 

Gasps murmured through the hall.

 

Jungkook clenched his fists. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to get involved. But he was part of the royal court now. This festival had to proceed without chaos.

 

He walked over slowly, shoulders straightening. “May I ask what’s happening here?” he said calmly, though his tone carried an edge.

 

The room went quiet.

All eyes turned to him — some confused, others amused. Whispers flitted across the group like insects.

 

The woman who had struck the maid looked Jungkook up and down with thinly veiled disdain. Despite her aged face beneath layers of powder, she still wore the expression of someone who believed herself irresistible.

 

“And who are you, exactly?” she asked, her voice syrupy with mockery.

 

Jungkook’s jaw tensed.

“I am Jungkook,” he replied, voice firm. “And as someone tasked with overseeing this ceremony and ensuring peace within the palace, I’m asking why a palace worker was just struck. Did she do something wrong?”

 

The woman scoffed. “The girl dared to bring me cold tea. In this palace, I expect better. You should know that, human.”

 

The word hit like a slap.

Jungkook kept his composure.

 

The woman stepped forward with a haughty smile. “Yes, I know who you are. The human. You were accepted among us only because of your bond with royal dragons. Guardian, yes, but nothing more. You don’t have the right to order me or anyone else around.”

 

Gasps rose again.

 

“I am Lady Vaelora,” the woman continued, straightening her neck proudly. “Daughter of King Caelum’s eldest sister. Crown Prince Taehyung’s first cousin. A true royal blood lineage. These other little princesses may flutter around, but I—” she looked around at the others with mocking condescension, “—I am the only one truly worthy of being queen.”

 

Her words rippled through the room, creating discomfort and unease among the others.

 

Before Jungkook could reply, a voice called out from the hallway.

“That’s quite the declaration to make over breakfast.”

 

All heads turned as Nyla entered the hall, arms folded, her steps slow and deliberate. She looked at Vaelora, then at the maid still trembling by the wall.

 

“Princess Nyla of the royal house. You do know me, don’t you? Isn’t it… Cousin?” she said, voice smooth but stern. “And if I remember correctly, assaulting a palace worker is against royal conduct. Even for... true royal blood.”

 

Vaelora flushed, her bravado dimming for just a moment.

 

Nyla came to stand beside Jungkook. “Jungkook has every right to ask questions. He was chosen by our ancestors. He holds the bond with the guardian dragon. Anyone who disrespects him disrespects the will of our forebearers.”

 

Jungkook blinked, surprised by the solidarity.

 

“Now,” Nyla said, turning to the table, “if anyone would like to debate lineage further, I’m happy to fetch the old scrolls. Otherwise, I suggest we behave like guests and not provoke each other — or the crown.”

 

There was silence.

 

Jungkook glanced at Vaelora one last time. “I trust the maid will receive an apology.”

With a barely masked scowl, Vaelora turned away.

 

Jungkook sighed and turned toward Nyla, who leaned closer and whispered,

“You handled that better than I expected. Welcome to politics.”

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