MELODY || Jikook ||

♬ Moonlight Melody ♬

Third person's P.O.V

The palace was glowing under the night sky, stars twinkling above like tiny lights. A soft breeze moved through the garden, carrying the sweet scent of flowers. Everything was calm and quiet, touched by the moon’s silver glow.

King Jeon Jungkook, known for his strength and fearless nature, stepped away from the loud celebrations inside. The banquet was still going on, filled with laughter, music, and rich voices echoing off the golden walls but Jungkook had had enough. He didn't want more praise or fancy talk. He just needed peace.

Even though he was young, Jungkook carried the weight of a king, every decision, every life in the kingdom resting on his shoulders. People feared him, respected him, followed him. He spoke little, but his eyes said more than words ever could. He didn’t need to raise his voice to be heard. His presence alone was enough.

And yet, tonight, he wanted none of that.

His steps were quiet on the stone path as he walked into the royal garden. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he needed space to breathe. Here, under the moon, he wasn’t the king. Just a man.

Then he heard it.

A soft, unfamiliar melody floated through the air, gentle, a little raw, but beautiful. It wasn't the polished sound of the palace musicians. This music was personal. Honest.

It stopped him in his tracks. captivated by the music that seemed to dance with the moonbeams. He followed the ethereal melody, his curiosity piqued.

The pool shimmered under the moonlight, its surface mirroring the stars, but it was the figure by its edge that truly stole his breath.

Seated on a stone bench, framed by blooming jasmine and moonflowers, was a person cloaked in moonlight and mystery. Only their back was visible,slender shoulders draped in delicate silk, and cascading down their spine was a waterfall of long, golden hair that glowed like it had captured the sun itself.

Their fingers, elegant and pale, moved fluidly over a slender silver flute, coaxing out a melody that made even the wind hold its breath.

Entranced by the scene before him, he remained hidden in the shadows, choosing to watch and admire from afar.

He could feel the sincerity and passion in the music, and his heart stirred at the sight of someone who seemed so immersed in their art.The figure, unaware of being observed, sat still, entranced by the moonlit water.

It was Park Jimin, a concubine within the palace overlooked by many, forgotten by most.
Yet in this moment, beneath the moon's gentle gaze, he was ethereal.

His eyes, though half-lidded in calm, shimmered with emotions too deep for words, sorrow, hope, and something softer, quieter. Something only the night understood.

He was not adorned in jewels, nor surrounded by maids, but the garden seemed to bloom just for him. The flowers leaned toward him. Even the wind softened to hear his song.

From the shadows, Jungkook watched.

Hidden beneath the arch of flowering vines, his strong frame cloaked in the darkness, the king stood motionless. The battlefield had taught him many things, how to fight, how to win, how to lead. But nothing had prepared him for this: the ache that bloomed in his chest at the sight of a boy playing a flute beneath the stars.

Jimin's music was unlike anything Jungkook had ever heard. It wasn't performance it was confession. Every note poured from him like a secret, whispered to the wind.

And then, as though sensing something, Jimin paused. His fingers lingered on the flute, his posture straightening just a bit. He turned his head slightly, eyes scanning the shadows, brow knitting in soft confusion.

The music stilled.

So did the air.

For a heartbeat, he held the silence, his gaze sweeping the garden. The softest crease formed between his brows. he couldn't quite pinpoint the source of his unease.

So he continued to play, letting the music fill the air once, but his senses remained alert. He felt as though eyes were upon him, watching, assessing, appreciating.

The moonlight reflected in the pool, casting rippling patterns that seemed to dance to the tune. He was lost in his own world, finding peace in the embrace of the night. Minutes turned into hour as he continued to play, lost in the music that seemed to transport him to another realm. Jungkook, too, was entranced by the performance, his thoughts drifting away from the burdens of the kingdom.

Then jimin stopped.

The last note trembled in the air, fading into the stillness.

And there it was again.

That stare.

Perhaps he hadn't noticed it before because the music had carried him away but now, in the hush that followed, he felt it like a whisper brushing against his skin.

Slowly, he turned his head, golden hair catching the moonlight, the soft veil he wore falling across the curve of his cheek and lips, hiding all but his delicate jaw and the glint of suspicion in his eyes.

He looked around, gaze searching.

Still. Quiet. A ghost in silk.

Behind a tall willow tree, King Jungkook held his breath.

The air seemed to press against his chest as he leaned back further into the shadows, one gloved hand resting against the bark. He knew Jimin had felt him. The flute player's presence was far too attuned, too sensitive, to have missed it again. And though Jungkook had come here to listen in secret, something within him stirred, a pull, a quiet ache to step out, to see Jimin's full face beneath that veil, to speak.

But he didn't.

He couldn't.

Not tonight.

So he remained hidden, watching just a moment longer. Then, silently, the king turned and slipped away, his dark robe rustling only once as he disappeared into the garden's shadows.

Jimin stared at the spot where the presence had been strongest, heart thudding softly. Whoever it was… they were gone now.

To be continued....

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