THE CONCUBINE || TAEKOOK ||

FIFTY SEVEN

The Palace — The King's Chambers

Jungkook woke screaming.

He sat up in the bed, his hands reaching for something, someone, his voice tearing from his throat, raw and desperate. The room spun around him, the walls tilting, the ceiling pressing down. He could not breathe. He could not see. He could only hear that voice, calling his name, fading into darkness.

"Taehyung!" he shouted. "Taehyung!"

Hands grabbed him, held him down. Voices shouted around him, urgent, frightened. He fought them, his arms swinging, his legs kicking, his body burning with a strength he did not know he had.

"Your Majesty! Your Majesty, calm yourself! You are safe. You are in the palace."

He blinked. The room came into focus. The walls were familiar, the ceilings familiar, the faces that surrounded him familiar. Namjoon stood at the foot of the bed, his face pale, his hands raised. Hoseok stood by the window, his hand on his sword. The physician stood in the corner, his face creased with worry. Commander choi and jimin were in the room too. Jin was looking at the ground didn't have the heart to see jungkook in this state.

"Where is Taehyung?" Jungkook demanded. "Where is my son?"

The silence that followed was answer enough.

Namjoon stepped forward, his voice low, steady. "Your Majesty, you have been unconscious for three days. You were poisoned. The physicians have been working to—"

"Where is Taehyung?" Jungkook's voice cracked. "I heard him. He was calling for me. He was—" He stopped. His hands were shaking. His chest was heaving. He could still hear that voice, still feel that fear, still see the darkness closing in around the man he loved.

Namjoon and Jimin exchanged a glance. Then Namjoon bowed his head.

"Taehyung is missing," he said. "He was taken by the Queen Dowager's men. He escaped, but—" He hesitated. "We have not been able to find him. We have been searching for two days."

Jungkook's heart stopped. He threw back the covers, his legs swinging over the side of the bed, his hands reaching for the clothes that hung on the chair beside him.

"Your Majesty, you cannot—" the physician began.

Jungkook's fist connected with Jimin's face before anyone could move.

The blow was savage, fueled by three days of poison and fever, by the terror of waking to find his family gone, by the rage that had been building since he opened his eyes. Jimin stumbled back, his hand flying to his cheek, blood welling between his fingers. He did not raise his head. He did not raise his hands to defend himself. He stood there, his face averted, his shoulders shaking with the weight of his guilt.

"Did I not leave you in charge?" Jungkook's voice was low, shaking, each word a blade. "Did I not tell you to protect him? To never let him out of your sight?"

Jimin did not answer. He could not. His throat was closed, his tongue thick with shame.

"How did this happen?" Jungkook demanded. "How did you let her take him? How did you let her—"