THE CONCUBINE || TAEKOOK ||

FORTY

The King's Chambers

The first grey light of dawn crept through the windows, casting long shadows across the royal chambers. Jungkook lay on his bed, still in his sleeping robes, his eyes fixed on the ceiling above. He had not closed them once through the night.

His head throbbed. The dull, persistent ache that had settled behind his eyes after yesterday's court session had only worsened with each hour of sleeplessness. He pressed his palm against his forehead, hoping the pressure might ease the pain, but it did not.

And beneath it all, Taehyung's voice: Be careful. Watch. Wait.

He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, trying to ease the pounding in his temples. His head throbbed, a dull, persistent ache that had settled behind his eyes sometime in the middle of the night and refused to leave.

He needed water.

He sat up slowly, the silk sheets pooling around his waist, and scanned the room. The jug sat on his study table, half-hidden behind a stack of ledgers he had been reviewing before sleep had refused to come.

He rose from the bed, his feet bare against the cold stone floor. The morning air was chill against his skin, but he did not reach for his robe. The water was cool, refreshing, and he drank deeply, letting the liquid soothe the rawness in his throat.

He set the jug down and turned.

And stopped.

In the corner of the room, draped in white silk, stood the portrait.

He had almost forgotten. In the chaos of the past months he had nearly forgotten the painting he had hidden away, too precious to display, too painful to look at.

He walked toward it slowly, his bare feet silent on the stone. His hand reached for the silk, hesitated, then pulled it free.

Taehyung smiled back at him.

The painting had been finished months ago, Jungkook had painted it in secret, working late into the nights when the court slept, capturing the face of the man he loved in oils and pigment.

He had painted Taehyung as he was in the garden not as a consort, not as a noble, but as the young servant who had gathered cherry blossoms in his hands and smiled at the petals as though they were the most precious things in the world. The innocence in his eyes. The soft curve of his lips. The way the light had caught in his hair, turning it to silk and shadow.

Jungkook had painted that smile. The same smile that had made him fall in love. The same innocence that had made him want to protect this man from the world, from the court, from the darkness that lived in his own family.

A smile crept across his own lips, unbidden, as the memories washed over him.

---

The garden, three years ago. Cherry blossoms falling like snow. A young servant kneeling in the path, gathering petals in his hands. Jungkook watching from the shadows, unable to look away.

The library, a year later. Books spread across a low table, candles burning low. Taehyung's head resting on Jungkook's shoulder, his breathing slow and even, asleep. Jungkook not daring to move, holding the moment in his heart like a secret too precious to share.