The rebel crown prince Jeon Jungkook, starts to feel something special towards the slave dancer Park Jimin.
Two of them living in completely different worlds. While the crown prince of Seoulvenia, Jeon Jungkook, wants freedom from his entitled roya...
Life for the crown prince hadn’t changed much—except that he had, quite unknowingly, handed Seok Jin a brand-new weapon to torment him with.
And that weapon’s name was Jimin.
Jin wielded it mercilessly. Every smirk, every well-placed tease, every knowing glance carried that mischievous glint Jungkook had learned to fear—and, if he was honest, maybe even expect.
“Ah, our prince zoning out again?” Jin would drawl, swirling his coffee with dramatic flair. “What is it this time—diplomacy, or a certain dancer’s silk outfit?”
Jungkook groaned every time, but the truth was… he didn’t hate it. If anything, he’d caught himself smiling before Jin even spoke—because it meant he could think about him again.
The image of Jimin on stage slipped into his mind too easily: that calm yet confident gaze, the curve of his movements flowing with the music, the faint glimmer of sweat at his temple under the golden light. It was distracting—unreasonably so—and even now, sitting in the morning quiet, Jungkook found his face warming at the memory.
Jin would catch it immediately, of course. “Ah, look at that blush. Should I send for him again, Your Highness?”
“Shut up,” Jungkook muttered, shoving his friend’s shoulder, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him with a smile.
He’d lost count of how many times he’d fought back, only to lose. By the fifth jab (or maybe the seventh), he surrendered completely, sitting there with his coffee and letting Jin’s laughter fill the room.
Because secretly—embarrassingly—he didn’t mind it. Jin’s teasing gave him permission to think about Jimin without admitting he wanted to.
Still, it wasn’t Jin who ruined his Wednesday morning.
It was his father.
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He had to meet his father. And he knew exactly what the Emperor was going to say.
Main Palace — Morning
Jungkook sighed for what felt like the hundredth time as the head butler presented yet another set of ceremonial robes—each heavier and more suffocating than the last.
“Your Imperial Highness, your outfit for today is ready,” the butler announced, voice trembling slightly with formality.
“For fuck’s sake,” Jungkook muttered, rubbing at his temples. “Bring me something I can actually breathe in.”
The butler flinched at the profanity but bowed quickly, hurrying out of the chamber to find something simpler.
Left alone, Jungkook leaned back in his chair and exhaled. He already knew how the day would unfold—another lecture on duty, another tedious comparison to Namjoon, another reminder of how the perfect crown prince should behave.
