The Silent Blade

(Jeon Jungkook’s POV)

The palace never truly slept.

Even in the quiet hours of dawn, whispers crawled beneath the paper doors—servants murmuring, guards shuffling their feet, courtiers rehearsing lies before sunrise.

From his throne room, Crown Prince Jeon Jungkook sat in perfect stillness. His fingers tapped against the armrest carved with dragons, his dark eyes tracing the faint light that seeped through the windows.

He hated mornings like this—the calm before the storm. It always meant something unpleasant awaited.

“Your Highness,” his chief attendant bowed low, voice careful. “The new personal guard has arrived, as requested by the Royal Council.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened.

Another one.

The last guard had betrayed him—sold palace secrets for gold, and paid for it with his head. Trust was a luxury Jungkook no longer afforded.“Send him in,” he ordered.

The doors slid open with a sigh.

A man stepped inside. He was tall, dressed in black uniformed armor, yet carried himself with quiet grace. His gaze was lowered, but even from where Jungkook sat, the aura around him felt… different.

Kim Taehyung.

“Bow,” the attendant instructed.

Taehyung knelt wordlessly. His hair, dark as ink, brushed his cheek; his sword rested at his side, sheathed yet heavy with presence.

Jungkook studied him with the same scrutiny he used for weapons.

Too calm. Too still. Like a blade hidden beneath silk.

“You served at the northern border,” Jungkook said finally. “Why did you return?”

Taehyung lifted his gaze—slow, deliberate. Their eyes met.

For a heartbeat, Jungkook forgot how to breathe.There was nothing submissive in that stare. It wasn’t rebellion either—something in between, something unreadable.

“I was ordered to protect Your Highness,” Taehyung said, voice low and steady. “Until death.”

Jungkook tilted his head. “So easily sworn?”

“I don’t speak what I can’t keep.”

A dangerous answer. Jungkook felt a flicker of something sharp in his chest—not anger, but curiosity.

“Stand,” Jungkook commanded.

Taehyung rose silently. The morning light fell across his face, outlining the faint scar near his jaw. There was beauty there—cold, precise, almost cruel.

The prince stood and descended the dais, each step echoing between them. “If you are to guard me, you must obey without question.”“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Then why do your eyes disobey?”

Taehyung’s lips curved, just barely—a ghost of a smile. “Perhaps they were not trained well enough.”

The air thickened. Jungkook’s pulse betrayed him, beating faster than it should.

“You are insolent,” he murmured.

“Forgive me.” But Taehyung didn’t look away.

Jungkook turned sharply, cloak brushing past him. “You’ll begin today. I don’t tolerate hesitation, or weakness.”

“I understand.”

“And if you ever lie to me—” Jungkook paused, glancing over his shoulder, “—you won’t live long enough to regret it.”Taehyung’s reply came quiet, almost soft. “Then I suppose I should stay honest.”

Something unspoken passed between them—like the edge of a blade grazing skin, not deep enough to wound, but enough to draw blood if either of them moved closer.Later that evening, Jungkook walked through the lantern-lit corridors leading to his private quarters. The night air was cool; the scent of pine drifted from the gardens.

Behind him, footsteps followed—measured, steady.

He didn’t need to look back to know.

“You follow closely,” Jungkook said, eyes forward.

“That is my duty.”

“And if I told you to leave me?”

“Then I would disobey,” Taehyung replied simply.

Jungkook halted. He turned to face him, the soft orange glow catching the guard’s profile.

“Careful, Taehyung. Defiance has its price.”Taehyung met his gaze again—unflinching. “So does loneliness, Your Highness.”

The words hit deeper than Jungkook expected. For a moment, the walls of the palace seemed too quiet, the air too heavy.

He stepped closer, close enough to see the reflection of candlelight in Taehyung’s eyes.

“Do you always speak so boldly to your prince?”

“Only when I think he’s forgotten how to be human.”

Silence. The kind that hummed between them, neither tender nor hostile—just charged.

Jungkook’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You think you know me?”

“No,” Taehyung answered. “But I will.”That night, long after the corridors emptied and the candles died, Jungkook lay awake.

He told himself he was thinking about politics—the council, the rebels, the looming war. But the truth was simpler and more dangerous.

He was thinking about his new bodyguard.

About the way Taehyung moved—silent, certain.

About that one defiant glimmer in his eyes.

Jungkook pressed his palm over his heart, annoyed at its uneven rhythm.

He didn’t like this.

He didn’t like him.

And yet, as the moonlight poured through the window, Jungkook found himself whispering the name he wasn’t supposed to remember.

“Taehyung.”

Outside, somewhere beyond the walls, a lone lotus bloomed in the dark pond—its petals the color of blood.

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