Frozen Throne, Burning Heart
The Festival of a Thousand Lights
The Kingdom of Jeonghwa stood at the peak of its power, its lands stretching far and wide, feared and respected by all. But within the towering walls of the royal palace, fear ruled just as strongly as the mighty King who sat upon its golden throne.
Jeon Jungkook—the youngest ruler in the history of Jeonghwa—was a man carved from ice and stone. His rule was ruthless, his heart cold, and his words sharper than any blade. No one dared meet his gaze for too long, lest they be struck down by his merciless wrath.
And yet, despite the suffocating rule of their king, the kingdom still celebrated.
Tonight was the Festival of a Thousand Lights, the grandest event in Jeonghwa, where nobles and commoners alike gathered to offer their talents before the royal court. It was a night of music, dance, poetry, and martial arts—a spectacle meant to honor the gods and entertain the monarchy.
The palace courtyard had been transformed into an enchanting dream. Glowing lanterns floated like fireflies in the dark sky, their golden light reflecting off the rippling surface of the lotus ponds. Silk banners in crimson and gold draped the grand pavilion, where the king and his council sat. The scent of burning incense mixed with the fragrant blossoms that adorned every corner.
A sea of nobles, ministers, and foreign envoys filled the courtyard, their voices a murmur of excitement as they awaited the performances. But despite the beauty and grandeur of the festival, an unshakable tension clung to the air—because the king was watching.
Jungkook sat at the highest seat, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd like a predator surveying its prey. His dark robes, embroidered with golden dragons, draped over the throne as he leaned back, one hand gripping his goblet of wine. Beside him, his closest advisors sat cautiously, including his right-hand man, Min Yoongi, the kingdom’s feared war general.
One by one, the kingdom’s most talented artists stepped forward.
A renowned poet from the west recited verses so delicate they painted images in the minds of all who listened. A group of swordsmen demonstrated their deadly art, their blades gleaming under the moonlight as they danced between attack and defense. A noblewoman from a distant land played the gayageum, her fingers weaving a melody so sweet that it left some of the court in tears.
Jungkook, however, remained unmoved. He watched with an expression of cold indifference, his gaze unreadable. No matter how breathtaking the performances were, none seemed to interest him.
Then, the final act was announced.
Royal Announcer
Presenting the last performer of the night
the royal announcer’s voice rang across the courtyard
Royal Announcer
A dancer from the lower city, chosen by the people to perform before His Majesty. Kim Taehyung.
A hushed murmur spread through the crowd.
It was rare—almost unheard of—for a commoner to perform before the king. Many turned to see who this man was, curiosity flickering in their eyes.
Then, from the shadows of the pavilion, Taehyung stepped forward.
He was unlike any performer before him.
Draped in flowing silk robes of soft ivory and gold, he moved with a grace that felt otherworldly. His hair, as dark as the midnight sky, framed a face so breathtaking that even the nobles gasped. His deep, expressive eyes held an intensity that burned despite the gentleness of his features.
His movements were liquid, each step as delicate as falling petals yet as powerful as the crashing waves. The golden embroidery of his robes shimmered under the lantern light, creating the illusion that he was floating. Every motion told a story—of longing, of sorrow, of a love lost and never found.
The crowd was spellbound.
Even the ministers, who had watched dozens of performances before, found themselves unable to look away. The way Taehyung's body curved and twisted, the way his hands painted invisible pictures in the air—it was mesmerizing.
And then there was Jungkook.
The cold, heartless king who had not reacted all night.
For the first time, he stared.
His grip on his goblet loosened slightly, his fingers twitching against the golden rim. His usually unreadable eyes darkened, focused solely on the dancer before him. The air in the pavilion shifted, thick with something unspoken.
When Taehyung’s dance came to an end, the courtyard fell into silence.
Then—thunderous applause.
The nobles erupted into cheers, some even rising from their seats in admiration. Ministers exchanged whispers, clearly impressed. Even the foreign envoys nodded approvingly, recognizing a rare gem when they saw one.
But Jungkook said nothing.
He simply stood, his robes flowing around him as he descended the steps of the pavilion. The entire court went silent once more, watching as their king approached the dancer.
Taehyung, still kneeling from his final pose, lifted his gaze.
Cold, sharp darkness clashed against warm, unwavering fire.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then, Jungkook’s deep voice sliced through the silence.
Jeon jungkook
From this day forth
He declared, his tone unreadable
Jeon jungkook
You will serve as the royal dancer of Jeonghwa
Taehyung’s breath hitched, his hands tightening against the silk of his robes. He had expected applause, maybe a few kind words, but this? To be chosen as the royal dancer, to live within the palace walls, to serve the king himself—this was something else entirely.
The festival, the people, the world around him faded.
Because in that moment, as Jungkook’s cold, piercing gaze bore into his soul, Taehyung knew one thing for certain—
His life would never be the same again.
A Caged Bird in a Golden Palace
The night air still carried the scent of incense and lantern smoke when Taehyung was led through the towering gates of the royal palace. The echoes of the festival still lingered in the streets, but for him, the world had already changed.
The moment the king’s decree was announced, his fate was sealed.
Taehyung walked in silence, flanked by royal guards, their spears glinting in the dim torchlight. His heart pounded, but his face remained calm—a performer’s skill. He had spent years learning to control his expressions, masking fear behind grace.
But now, with every step that took him deeper into the palace, he wondered… Was this a blessing or a curse?
The Palace of Ice and Silence
The palace was nothing like the vibrant city streets he had known all his life. Here, silence ruled. The air was cold, even beneath the golden glow of lanterns. The servants moved like ghosts, their heads bowed, their footsteps unheard against the polished floors.
The walls were adorned with intricate murals of past kings, their stern gazes watching over the halls like silent judges. The grandeur was undeniable, yet there was something suffocating about it—like a cage too beautiful to escape from.
A young servant, no older than Taehyung, approached him with a quick bow.
servant seojoon
This way, Master Kim.
Taehyung followed, his fingers tightening against the silk of his robe. The title sounded foreign to him—Master Kim. A mere dancer, now part of the royal court?
The servant led him to a chamber, more luxurious than anything he had ever seen. The bed was vast, the sheets embroidered with golden threads. The windows overlooked the moonlit gardens, where pale cherry blossoms swayed in the breeze.
servant seojoon
This is where you will stay from now on
the servant said quietly.
servant seojoon
A royal dancer does not leave the palace unless the king commands it.
Before Taehyung could respond, the servant bowed again and exited, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
He turned toward the window, pressing his fingers against the cool wooden frame. Beyond the walls of the palace, his old life still existed—his friends, the streets where he once danced, the freedom of the wind against his skin.
But that life was no longer his.
Hours passed before the summons came.
servant
The King has requested your presence.
Taehyung’s heart clenched. He had not seen Jungkook since the festival, since that piercing gaze had locked onto him, unreadable and intense.
Now, he would stand before him as his dancer.
With careful hands, he adjusted his robes. The soft white silk draped over him like mist, flowing with every movement. His hair had been tied back neatly, a few loose strands framing his delicate features.
If he was to face the king, he would do so with dignity.
The walk to the throne room felt endless. Guards and ministers cast glances at him, their expressions unreadable. Some seemed indifferent, others intrigued.
The throne room was dimly lit, the flickering torches casting long shadows. Jungkook sat upon his golden seat, his dark robes blending into the vast expanse of the chamber. He looked just as he had the night before—cold, untouchable.
Taehyung’s breath stilled.
Those piercing eyes settled on him once more.
Then, Jungkook’s voice rang through the chamber.
No pleasantries, no introductions. Just a command.
Taehyung swallowed, lowering his gaze before stepping forward. The music began—soft, slow, unfamiliar.
And for the second time, he danced beneath the king’s gaze.
But this time, he knew—this was not a performance for the people. This was something else entirely.
His expression did not change, but something in the air shifted.
Something neither of them understood yet.
Beneath the King's Gaze
The melody swirled through the throne room like a whispered secret. Slow, haunting, laced with an unspoken tension.
Taehyung let himself sink into the music. His body moved like silk in the wind—each step measured, each turn controlled, every flick of his sleeve a deliberate stroke on an unseen canvas.
But unlike the festival, where he had danced for a cheering crowd, this performance was different.
The only audience that mattered now was the man seated on the golden throne.
Even as Taehyung twirled, the flowing sleeves of his white hanbok tracing elegant arcs in the air, he could feel it—a weight heavier than the crown itself.
Cold. Calculating. Unmoved.
Most men would have been entranced, if not by the dance, then by the dancer himself. Taehyung had seen it before—how people watched him, their eyes filled with awe or longing.
Not a flicker of admiration. Not a hint of indulgence. Only a silent, merciless judgment.
Taehyung’s chest tightened.
What does he want from me?
The music slowed, signaling the end. He lowered himself into a deep bow, hands gracefully spread, breath steady despite the tension twisting inside him.
For a moment, the room held its breath.
Jeon jungkook
That is enough
Jungkook’s voice cut through the silence.
Taehyung lifted his head slightly, waiting for the king’s next words.
Jungkook leaned forward, resting his chin against his hand. His dark robes, lined with gold embroidery, pooled around him like shadows.
Jeon jungkook
You will dance when I command it. Nothing more.
A statement. Not a compliment, not even an acknowledgment of skill—just an order.
Taehyung lowered his gaze again, hiding the flicker of something—resentment? disappointment?—that briefly crossed his face.
Kim taehyung
Yes, Your Majesty.
The moment he was dismissed, Taehyung turned to leave, careful not to let his steps falter under the weight of Jungkook’s presence.
But as he walked through the long corridors of the palace, he felt something just as dangerous.
Not the king’s, but those of the courtiers, the ministers, the concubines and servants who had witnessed the scene.
Whispers followed him like ghosts.
? ? ?
He caught the king’s attention, but for how long?
？？？
The king is not one to be swayed by beauty alone.
？？？
A mere performer… what place does he have here?
Taehyung kept walking. He had spent years performing before powerful men, enduring their scrutiny. But something about this court—this palace—felt different.
Here, every glance held hidden meanings. Every whispered word carried a hidden threat.
And in the center of it all sat a king without warmth, a ruler without mercy.
Taehyung clenched his fists inside the loose sleeves of his robe.
He had thought his fate was sealed the moment the king chose him.
But perhaps—he had only just entered the game.
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