Chapter 73 || BOUND AND TORN BY PROPHECIES

 

A Fire That Burns Even the Dragon

 

The morning light filtered through gauzy curtains like a hush across the room—a golden whisper brushing over the folds of the bed, the scattered pillows, the half-draped blanket clinging to Jungkook’s thigh.

 

He stirred slowly, eyes fluttering open to silence.

 

No heartbeat echoed beside his.

No arms curled possessively around him—only emptiness.

 

For a fleeting moment, he wondered if the night had been a fever dream—if Taehyung’s fury, his trembling voice, the storm in his dragon eyes had been nothing more than a hallucination brought on by exhaustion.

 

Then Jungkook’s gaze drifted downward.

 

A faint mark still smouldered on the linen beside his hand—a delicate scorch where the sheets had browned from heat. His fingertips hovered just above it, skin still rough from where the fire had licked him.

 

So it had been real.

 

Jungkook closed his eyes. But this time, it wasn’t from tiredness—it was from the crushing wave of memory. The ache of Taehyung’s touch. The terrifying beauty of his devotion.

It hadn’t felt like love.

It had felt like possession.

 

He drew his knees up slowly, curling inward against the rising ache in his chest.

 

He couldn't fall apart.

 

Not now—not when everything was shifting. The Nervans. The High Council. Vaelora's shadow crawling down the palace walls like ivy.

 

By mid-morning, Jungkook forced himself out of bed. He dressed plainly: dark robes, a high collar, hair braided back with silent precision. Every motion was deliberate, every feeling folded and tucked beneath the surface—like a weapon sheathed in silk.

 

The palace corridors murmured with quiet tension. Guards whispered as he passed. Servants looked away. The walls themselves seemed to hold their breath.

 

But when he stepped into the Dragon Chamber—it felt like stepping out of reality.

 

Warm. Alive. Primal.

 

Mili was curled near the central hearth, eyes half-closed, while Niki and Spark tumbled through the air, squealing over a sapphire they were both claiming. Their laughter echoed like bells.

 

A faint smile broke across Jungkook’s face—his first all day.

 

“Someone’s late,” Mili murmured without opening her eyes, her long tail flicking lazily toward him. “I needed air,” he said, kneeling beside her. His hand pressed lightly to her warm scales.

 

“Hm,” the ancient soul-dragon hummed. “And did it help?”

 

“I don’t know anymore,” Jungkook whispered.

 

Smoke drifted from Mili’s nostrils. “Dragon love,” she said finally, “is not a candle, Jungkook. It doesn’t flicker. It doesn’t dim. It burns. Always.”

 

He looked away.

 

“It burns everything,” she continued, her voice not harsh—but sad. “Even the dragon.”

 

“I don’t know how to protect him from it,” Jungkook confessed. “Or myself.”

 

“You don’t protect a dragon from his fire,” Mili murmured. “You only hope he remembers where his heart is.”

 

Jungkook leaned into the warmth, eyes closing for a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

 

The note arrived mid-afternoon.

 

Delicate parchment. Royal wax seal. Calligraphy that screamed danger hidden in courtesy.

 

Tea in the East Garden. A moment for peace.

 

Jungkook hesitated. Refusing would raise eyebrows. And he wasn’t ready to spark another war—especially not when one already threatened to break loose.

 

The East Garden bloomed in full. Lavender. Plum blossoms. The scent of politics buried beneath flowerbeds.

 

Vaelora sat beneath a silk canopy, robes flowing, grace perfected. She rose as Jungkook approached, gesturing toward the opposite seat.

 

“You look pale,” she said sweetly. “I hope the Prince wasn’t too… overwhelming last night.”

 

Jungkook didn’t flinch. He sipped the tea. Bitterness masked in plum.

 

“Relax,” Vaelora added with a soft chuckle. “Nothing happens in this palace without reaching my ears. Especially when magic rattles the bones of the palace.”

 

Jungkook stayed silent.

 

Vaelora’s voice softened—dangerously so. “I remember when I came here, too. All eyes on me. So I became perfect. The perfect consort. The perfect heir-maker. Even when I wasn’t sure the royal eggs would hatch.”

 

Still, Jungkook said nothing.

 

“There are many princesses,” Vaelora said, stirring her tea. “Beautiful ones. Noble. Trained. They’d suit him well. But of course—he listens to you.”

 

Jungkook met her gaze. “Yes. He does.”

 

Her smile sharpened like a dagger slipped beneath silk. “Then perhaps… you’ll help him make a wise choice. For the kingdom.”

 

As she stood to leave, a breeze caught the petals, sending a flurry of plum blossoms swirling through the air.

 

Vaelora didn’t need to declare war aloud.

 

She just had.

 

That evening, Jungkook found Taehyung on the upper terrace, overlooking the mist-draped mountains.

 

“You missed the Council meeting,” Jungkook said quietly.

 

“I know.”

 

“You said you’d go. We agreed—”

 

“I don’t care what we agreed.”

 

Taehyung’s voice was low. Flat.

 

“I couldn’t sit there pretending to listen while I couldn’t feel you. Not after last night.”

 

Jungkook stepped closer, heart twisting. “You’ve never skipped a meeting before.”

 

“I was flying,” Taehyung said simply. “Circling your tower.”

 

“You were watching me?”

 

“I don’t like you being alone,” he murmured. “Not anymore.”

 

Jungkook’s voice caught.

 

“Taehyung—”

 

“I felt it,” he said, turning to face him. “When you thought about leaving me. About giving me away. I felt it like a blade sliding into my chest.”

 

His voice cracked—just slightly.

 

“I won’t feel that again. Ever.”

 

And when he left, Jungkook stayed behind, staring out into the darkness.

 

The truth settled like frost in his lungs.

 

Taehyung wasn’t changing.

He was revealing what had always been buried beneath the smirks, the flirtation, the velvet laughter.

 

His dragon nature was rising.

 

And it didn’t want a queen.

 

It wanted him.

Only him.

Forever.

 

And the scariest part?

 

Some part of Jungkook—hidden deep inside—wanted that, too.

 

Even if it burned the world.

 

Night fell.

 

The fire in his chamber had long died. The silence returned. Until—

A knock.

A royal messenger. A scroll. Waxed in black and gold.

 

Jungkook broke the seal with trembling hands.

 

A proposal of peace.

Between the Dragon Realm and Nerva.

Through the marriage of Prince Taehyung to Princess Iravelle.

The King’s only sister.

Or there will be war.

 

Jungkook’s throat closed.

 

The scroll slipped from his hands, soundless on the carpet.

 

Then—behind him—the door opened.

 

Taehyung stepped inside.

 

He didn’t ask what was wrong.

 

He didn’t need to.

 

He saw the scroll.

 

Crossed the room in two strides.

 

Read it.

And then—his hand ignited.

The parchment turned to ash, curling away like the future they’d tried to force upon him.

 

“Ignore it,” Taehyung said. His voice was cold steel.

 

And in that moment, Jungkook knew:

 

There would be no peace.

Not with fire in his veins.

Not with love twisted into something too fierce to name.

Not with the world thinking it could take him away—

 

Or take Taehyung from him.

 

This was not the end.

 

It was only the beginning.

 

Of war.

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