THE CONCUBINE || TAEKOOK ||

Forty One

The Banquet

The great hall blazed with light.

Hundreds of candles flickered in golden holders, their flames reflected in the polished marble floors, in the gilded screens, in the jewels that adorned the nobles who filled the hall. The long tables groaned under the weight of the feast roasted pheasant and glazed fish, mountains of rice and vegetables, towers of fruit and delicate pastries. The finest wines from the southern provinces flowed freely, and the musicians of the jangakwon played softly, their melodies weaving through the chatter like silk thread.

Tonight, the kingdom celebrated. The alliance with the neighboring kingdom had been sealed. Trade routes would open. Peace, for a time, was secured.

King Jungkook sat upon the throne, the crown on his head, his robes of pale blue silk catching the candlelight. Beside him, the seat that should have held a queen sat empty.

But the court had learned, in the months since his coronation, not to whisper about the empty seat. Not where the king could hear.

The doors at the far end of the hall opened.

Jungkook rose from his throne. Every head turned.

And Taehyung entered.

He walked alone, down the long aisle between the rows of nobles, his steps measured, his back straight, his head high. The pale pink hanbok Jungkook had chosen for him flowed around him like water, the white peach blossoms scattered across the silk catching the candlelight, the silver embroidery at his cuffs and collar casting tiny prisms across the floor.

His hair was arranged simply, swept back from his face and held with a single silver pin the one Jungkook had given him weeks ago, the one that had belonged to his grandmother. His face was calm, composed, but his eyes his eyes, when they found Jungkook's at the far end of the hall, held something that made the king's heart turn over in his chest.

The court watched in silence.

They had seen Taehyung before, of course. They had seen him in the corridors, in the gardens, in the king's chambers. They had whispered about him, mocked him, dismissed him. A servant. A concubine's son. A man who had no place at a king's side.

But tonight, walking through the great hall in silk and silver, with the light of a thousand candles on his face, he did not look like a servant. He did not look like a concubine's son.

He looked like a king.

He reached the throne and knelt, his robes pooling around him.

"Your Majesty," he said, his voice carrying through the silent hall.

Jungkook descended from the throne. He took Taehyung's hands in his and raised him to his feet.

"Rise," he said, and his voice was steady, though his heart was not. "Stand beside me."

He led Taehyung to the seat beside the throne—the seat that had been empty for months, the seat that everyone in this hall had assumed would one day be filled by a queen from a powerful clan, a princess with a royal dowry, a woman who would bring armies and alliances and heirs.