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.
Comments
so good
2025-02-27
2