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The grand palace of Elino was in utter disarray, servants and attendants scurrying about in a frantic attempt to restore order and elegance. Every corridor echoed with hurried footsteps, every chamber was a flurry of movement, yet despite the commotion, no air of celebration lingered—only an overwhelming sense of dread.

Fear hung over the palace like a shroud, each person carrying the weight of unspoken terror. None dared falter, for disobedience meant certain doom. The people of Elino lived in perpetual fear of their own sovereign.

Their ruler was a fiend in human guise, a dark soul wrapped in regal silk. The whispers of Kim Namjoon's cruelty had long shadowed the kingdom, yet none had foreseen the depths to which he would descend. To ensnare a grieving widow—such depravity was beyond even their most wretched fears. Queen Kim Jimin, beloved consort of the late King Kim Taehyung, now stood on the precipice of a harrowing fate. His sorrow was not his own to endure in solitude; instead, it had become a spectacle, his suffering a silent lament for all to witness as he was unwillingly bound to the tyrant.

The tale of Kim Taehyung and his cherished queen was one that had graced every kingdom. Their love was a legend, a melody sung in hushed reverence. But now, with the decree of this unholy union, the realm could only seethe with silent fury, cursing the usurper who dared defile such devotion. A widow was to be granted solace, not shackled anew to torment. Yet here, under the iron rule of a ruthless demon, compassion was but a forgotten virtue.

Despite the forced revelry, an air of mourning veiled the palace. Ornate decorations were set in place, yet the vibrancy was absent. Feasts were being prepared, but the customary fragrance that once heralded grand celebrations was but a whisper of its former self. Perfumed oils were diffused, but their scent barely lingered in the heavy air. Everything was as it should be—yet nothing truly was.

In the depths of the palace, Kim Seokjin, the first queen of Elino, oversaw the chamber's adornments. His voice, though steady, bore an undertone of resignation as he instructed the attendants to scatter fresh blossoms upon the royal bed. That very bed—where Jimin, trembling and unwilling, would lay beside Seokjin's husband. Seokjin's heart clenched, his grip tightening upon the petals in his grasp. Was he not enough? Had two queens not sufficed to satiate the king's desires?

A somber smile curved his lips as he abandoned words for action, his own hands arranging the flowers with meticulous care. He placed more upon the side where the king would rest—where Seokjin's husband would lay, now with another. "Summon the classical dancers to receive them," he murmured, his voice devoid of emotion. A servant bowed in acknowledgment before departing in haste.

"Hyung, you need not bear this burden," came a firm voice.

Kim Jeongguk, the second king of Elino, had entered, his presence commanding as he observed the melancholy etched into Seokjin's features. Seokjin merely arched a brow in question.

"Leave us," Jeongguk commanded, his tone unwavering. At once, the maids bowed and slipped away, the heavy oak doors closing behind them with a dull thud.

"Why did you dismiss them? Now I must finish this alone. Aish," Seokjin muttered, adjusting a porcelain vase with meticulous precision.

Jeongguk exhaled sharply, striding forward to seize Seokjin's hand. The elder queen's gaze flickered to him, sharp and warning.

"Enough, hyung. He is a monster. You do not deserve this. He does not deserve your devotion."

Seokjin's lips parted, his breath a shudder. "He. Is. Not. A. Monster." His voice, though quiet, held the force of unshaken conviction. "Jeongguk, when I first met Joonie, I was but nineteen. He came before my father, stumbling over his words as he sought my hand. He was endearingly clumsy, his face flushed with embarrassment as he fumbled his speech. He took me on moonlit walks, whispered promises beneath gilded arches. He was kind—so achingly kind. My Joonie could not bear to see another in distress. He cherished me, adored me, treated me as though I were the most precious treasure of his kingdom. He loved me, Jeongguk. He loved me—"

"And yet he has changed, hyung," Jeongguk interjected, his voice laced with sorrow. He turned away, unwilling to meet the anguish in Seokjin's eyes. "And now, you must accept that."

The chamber fell into silence, save for the distant echoes of preparations—a kingdom painting its own tragedy in gold and silk.

Seokjin's grip on the ornate balustrade tightened, his knuckles paling under the pressure. "He was fine, Jeongguk. My Joonie is the best. All of this—this ruin, this madness—is the fault of Jimin," he seethed, his voice trembling with rage. "A harlot who once reveled in the affections of Taehyung, and now, in his absence, seeks another man to warm his bed. He has bewitched our king, ensnaring him like a common temptress. Jimin is nothing but a vile seductress, a stain upon our court. He has cast dark magic upon my husband, and I shall ensure he pays for it. Mark my words, Jeongguk—once Namjoon tires of his new plaything, he will discard him like the filth that he is." His voice cracked, his tear-rimmed eyes burning with hatred.

Jeongguk exhaled, weary of the venom in Seokjin's words. He knew, without a doubt, that Seokjin harbored no goodwill towards Jimin.

"Jimin is not what you claim him to be," Jeongguk stated with measured restraint. "He was ever faithful to Taehyung-hyung. It is our husband who has ensnared him, forced him into this accursed marriage. I have heard it whispered among the ministers, and even the citizens know the truth—Jimin is bound by chains, not choice."

Seokjin's lips pressed into a thin line. "Why do you defend him? Ministers may weave deceit, but I trust my Joonie," he insisted, his voice wavering as though grasping onto the last vestiges of hope.

Jeongguk shook his head. "I will not argue further. But hear me, hyung—I will do all in my power to help Jimin. He has only ever belonged to Taehyung. He loves him still and always will. A single minister may lie, but an entire kingdom does not." With that, Jeongguk turned on his heel and strode from the chamber, the weight of his vow settling upon his shoulders.

Seokjin's devotion blinded him, rendering him deaf to reason. He cast Jimin as the villain, unwilling to place blame where it truly belonged. But Jeongguk could not help but wonder—if Namjoon had truly loved Seokjin, why had he taken another consort? If Jimin was to be condemned for capturing the king's interest, then what of Jeongguk himself? Why had Seokjin not labeled him a harlot as well? Why was Jimin singled out? Was it because he was a widow, a man with no protector to shield him from the cruelty of the court?

Jimin did not seek another's embrace. That much was evident to anyone who dared to look beyond the grand facade. If he would not be Jimin's lover, then Jeongguk would be his shield—a brother-in-arms against the merciless hands of fate. Taehyung had given Jeongguk and his family so much; it was time for him to return the favor.

The long-awaited moment arrived at last. The great chariot, adorned with golden embellishments, rolled past the towering iron gates, its gleaming exterior a testament to the power of the monarch it carried. The deep, resonant thunder of drums filled the air, accompanied by the harmonious melody of flutes and lyres, a symphony composed to welcome the ruler of Elino.

From the grand balcony of the palace, the two consorts stood side by side. Seokjin's expression was unreadable, an impassive mask betraying nothing. Jeongguk, however, fought to contain the fire that burned within him. His fingers twitched at his sides, longing for the hilt of his blade. But what use was steel against the iron grip of power? He was no warrior, no commander. He was a mere pet, caged by a king's whim. And yet, his soul roared in defiance.

"His Royal Majesty, the undefeated conqueror, the sovereign of Elino, the warrior of a thousand battles—His Grace, King Kim Namjoon, makes his triumphant return!" the herald proclaimed, his voice echoing through the courtyard. "With him, he brings the most coveted jewel of all—the most revered beauty of our age... His Royal Highness, Kim Jimin!"

"Whore," Seokjin muttered under his breath, the word laced with venom. It did not go unheard by Jeongguk, who let out a weary sigh.

The grand doors creaked open, and soon, Namjoon emerged, descending the steps with a regal air. He knelt before Jimin, extending his hand in a grand display. Oh, how much better the sight would have been if it had been Seokjin for whom Namjoon knelt—not Jimin.

Gasps echoed through the gathered crowd when, instead of taking Namjoon's offered hand, Jimin placed a small bag in the king's palm and stepped forward on his own. A blatant defiance, an insult to Namjoon's pride. The weight of the act settled heavily in the air—too much for a king's reputation to bear.

Yet, despite the plain, muted fabrics draped over his form, Jimin shone like a raw diamond, untouched and unpolished. His delicate features were reminiscent of celestial beings, a beauty both ethereal and tragic. But the light that once gleamed in his eyes had long since faded, his lips void of their once radiant smile. No wonder a noble soul like Taehyung had chosen him. But fate was cruel—Taehyung was gone, leaving his beloved fairy at the mercy of a monster.

"As cruel as it may sound..." a woman near the chariot whispered, her voice barely above a breath, "Jimin should have perished alongside his husband. It is unfair, but at least he would have been free of suffering... and reunited with his beloved in another world."

The king did not hear her, but Jimin did. And he agreed.

A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips—a weak yet polite acknowledgment of her words. The woman bowed, a silent lament in her eyes.

As the procession began to move, Jimin felt his steps grow heavier, his heart sinking like a stone. His gaze flitted to the soldiers of Silia—his kingdom—who had accompanied him. Their expressions were solemn, their sorrow mirroring his own. They had lost their king, and now, they were losing their queen. Their duty to protect him had been stripped from them, their failure hanging in the air like an unspoken grief. How had a once-prosperous kingdom fallen into such despair?

Jimin blinked away his tears, his vision blurring. And then he saw Seokjin.

A flicker of hope ignited in his chest. Without thinking, he ran forward, seeking solace in his brother-in-law's embrace, longing for a familiar warmth to anchor him amidst the torment. He did not foresee the cruelty waiting for him.

Seokjin stepped away.

The cold rejection struck Jimin like a blade to the heart. His breath hitched, his body freezing mid-motion, his outstretched hands trembling. His lips parted, a choked sound escaping.

"H-hy-hyung..."

Jeongguk, observing from the side, saw something—a flicker of emotion in Seokjin's gaze. Something almost tender. But just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished the moment Seokjin's eyes found Namjoon.

"Jeongguk," Seokjin said, his voice steady yet brittle, "tell him that I have no desire to associate with the man who is marrying my husband. Not even a month has passed since my brother—" his voice wavered, "since my Tae was taken from us. He loved Jimin unconditionally, but Jimin... My Tae never deserved him. He deserved a love that was true."

He held himself together with sheer willpower, his grief a storm barely contained. A whole month had passed, and yet all Seokjin had done was mourn. And now, even that was being ripped away from him.

"N-no... No, h-hyu—" Jimin sobbed, reaching out, but Seokjin had already turned away, his figure retreating into the grand halls, leaving Jimin alone in the cold.

Jimin's head dropped, his hands clutching the dull fabric of his attire. Tears cascaded down his pale cheeks—cheeks that once carried a rosy hue, warmed by love and laughter. He loved Taehyung. Why couldn't Seokjin believe him? Why did no one believe him?

He had sought comfort, even a shred of kindness, in Seokjin's embrace. But it seemed that even the heavens had barred every door to him.

Jimin straightened his back despite the ache in his soul. A queen did not falter, no matter how cruel the world became. His love for Taehyung remained sacred, untouched by the filth of rumors and accusations. He would endure, not because he wished to, but because Taehyung would have wanted him to. And if fate was unkind enough to keep him shackled to this wretched life, then he would at least honor his beloved by standing tall—elegant, unwavering, and unbroken.

"Oh, dear. Do not squander your tears so carelessly... You could reserve them for better purposes," Namjoon drawled, a devilish smile curling on his lips.

The servants clenched their jaws in silent fury. If only they had a leader to guide them, they would rise against Namjoon without hesitation. No tyrant, no matter how powerful, could withstand the wrath of an army backed by its people. Oh, if only.

Jeongguk's fists curled at his sides, his nails pressing into his palm. Jimin, standing unwavering, did the same—his nails digging into his flesh, his gaze burning with a seething rage. Taehyung had never treated him as a fragile doll. No, his king had honored him as an equal, a warrior strong enough to stand beside him, never beneath him.

Namjoon lifted a hand, reaching for Jimin's tear-streaked cheek, but before he could make contact, Jimin turned his face away. With a sharp breath, he wiped his tears with the back of his hand, uncaring as the edge of his ring scraped against his skin, leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake. He would rather bleed, rather perish, than live bound to a man who was not Taehyung.

"Welcome to our palace," Jeongguk said, his voice deceptively pleasant. "It may not be as grand as the one you and your husband shared, but we extend our welcome nonetheless." The words dripped with veiled insult, a deliberate jab at the so-called king.

"T-thank you. C-can I retire to my r-room?" Jimin murmured, his voice betraying his exhaustion.

"Of course." Jeongguk inclined his head before adding with mock sincerity, "By the way, you look truly lovely. I have heard much about the depth of your devotion to your husband."

Jimin merely nodded, his expression unreadable, but the tension in the air thickened.

Namjoon's jaw tightened. He recognized Jeongguk's provocation instantly. The boy had always been defiant, ever the thorn in his side. He despised Namjoon, yet Namjoon tolerated him, for he knew the young warrior's greatest weakness. And so long as he held that knowledge, Jeongguk would remain shackled within his grasp.

"My queen... let us not dwell on the past," Namjoon interjected, his teeth gritted, his eyes sharp with warning. "Surely, Jimin must find it painful to relive such memories, especially when he is trying to move on."

But Jeongguk did not waver. No, he merely smirked, for he, too, knew one of Namjoon's deepest, most damning secrets.

"Oh, my apologies, my king..." Jeongguk feigned remorse, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "But I believed Jimin-ssi would have no issue—"

"I-it's okay," Jimin interrupted gently, his voice steady yet firm. "You may speak of Taehyung as much as you wish. I love him—I always have and always will."

With that, Jimin turned away, his back straight despite the heavy weight of grief pressing upon his chest. The maids hurried behind him, their eyes flickering with admiration for their queen's strength, while Jeongguk followed, his steps slow and deliberate, as if daring Namjoon to stop them.

Left behind, Namjoon stood frozen, his nails digging into his palms, his chest heaving with rage. His breath came out ragged, his mind clouded with a blinding fury. His jaw clenched so tightly it ached, his teeth grinding together. How dare they—how dare Jimin, a mere widow, walk away from him with such defiance? How dare Jeongguk—his own blood—mock him so openly?

Namjoon's eyes burned as they followed Jimin's retreating figure, his fists trembling at his sides. He had thought the queen would be weak, broken, drowning in grief—a lifeless doll he could shape as he pleased. But no, Jimin carried himself with dignity, his beauty untarnished by sorrow, his heart still tethered to the man Namjoon had stolen from him.

His control was slipping.

With a guttural roar, Namjoon lashed out, kicking over an ornate table, sending golden goblets crashing to the marble floor. The delicate sound of shattering porcelain filled the hall as he seized a flower vase, hurling it against the wall with a violent force. Water and petals spilled onto the ground, the remnants of beauty crushed under his wrath.

"ARGHH—KIM JEONGGUK! KIM JIMIN!" His voice thundered through the palace, his rage reverberating against the towering walls. "I WILL MAKE YOU BOTH KNEEL BEFORE ME! YOU WILL BOW, YOU WILL SUBMIT, AND YOU WILL OFFER YOURSELVES TO ME!"

His breath came in heavy gasps as he swept his arm across a nearby shelf, sending artifacts and scrolls tumbling to the floor. A servant flinched as he passed by, keeping her head low, fearful of drawing his ire.

"I AM THE KING! I AM THE RULER HERE!" he bellowed, his voice cracking at the edges. His chest heaved as he glared at the destruction around him. "NO ONE DEFIES ME AND LIVES TO TELL THE TALE."

His eyes darkened with a sinister gleam. He would not lose. He had fought too hard, spilled too much blood to stand in the shadows of another. He would crush their resistance, erase their defiance, and mold Jimin into a queen of his own making—whether through force or fear.

As Namjoon stood amidst the ruins of his own rage, panting like a beast, a twisted smirk curled at his lips.

They would learn soon enough.

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Alright, alright! When I say angst, I mean it—so brace yourselves! This story is filled with intense battles, conflicts, and heartbreak.

You might end up hating some characters, but remember, it's all fiction.

As for Seokjin... he may seem harsh now, but once the truth is revealed, his regrets will be unbearable.

Date- 7'th sept
words- 2k +