THE CONCUBINE || TAEKOOK ||

FIFTY NINE

The sun rose over the forest, casting long golden rays through the trees, painting the cottage in shades of amber and rose. The morning was quiet, the only sound the soft chirping of crickets and the distant call of a bird. The air smelled of earth and blossoms, of the wildflowers that grew at the edge of the clearing, of the herbs that hung drying from the rafters of the old woman's home.

Jungkook stood at the door, his hand on the frame, his eyes fixed on the bed where Taehyung lay. The physician had done what he could, had given medicines that would ease the pain, had left instructions for the journey. But his words still echoed in Jungkook's ears, a weight that pressed down on his chest with every breath.

No, Your Majesty.

He pushed the thought away. He could not accept it. He would not. There had to be a way. There was always a way. He would find the best physicians in the kingdom, bring them to the palace, make them work until they found a cure. He would not let Taehyung die. He could not.

The old woman appeared beside him, her hands folded before her, her face soft in the morning light. She had been awake all night, watching over Taehyung, changing his bandages, speaking to him in a voice that was gentle as a lullaby.

"You are leaving," she said.

Jungkook nodded. "We must. He needs to be in the palace. The physicians there can do more for him. They have medicines, knowledge, things that—" He stopped, his voice catching.

The old woman reached out and took his hand. Her fingers were cool, her grip firm.

"He is strong," she said. "I have seen many people in my life. I have seen the ones who are meant to live, and the ones who are meant to g. He has too much fight in him to give up now."

Jungkook's throat tightened. "The physician said—"

"I know what the physician said." Her voice was gentle but firm. "Physicians see with their eyes and their books. I see with my heart. He will live. He will open his eyes. He will walk beside you again."

She released his hand and stepped back. "Now go. Take him home. Let your physicians do their work. And you—" She looked at him, her eyes sharp, her voice low. "You stay beside him. You hold his hand. You speak to him. He can hear you, even if he cannot answer. He will fight harder if he knows you are there."

Jungkook bowed a deep, formal bow. When he straightened, his eyes were wet.

"We shall leave now," he said. "Thank you. For everything."

The old woman smiled, her face creasing into a thousand lines. "May the heavens bless your dear Taehyung with a swift recovery. May he open his eyes and see the sun. May he walk beside you for many years."

Jungkook nodded, his heart heavy, his throat tight. He turned to go, then paused, looking back.

"Are you certain you do not want anything? Gold? A house in the city? Anything at all?"

The old woman laughed, a soft, musical sound. "Oh, son. It is my pleasure to serve my king. I desire nothing in return. I have my home, my garden, my memories. That is enough."

Jungkook smiled, a small, grateful smile, and turned away.

The carriages were waiting, their horses stamping impatiently, their drivers holding the reins with steady hands. The soldiers had formed a guard around them, their faces solemn, their eyes fixed on the cottage door.