The Wolf's Heart

4

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In a distant land, far across the sea, Taehyung stood motionless in his chambers as the attendants worked swiftly to prepare him. His eyes were lowered, unfocused, watching their movements without really seeing them, feeling the weight of the dark green robes settling onto his shoulders like chains. The embroidered fabric, gilded and rich, symbolized everything he had grown up with—wealth, duty, and the relentless expectations of his family.

“You must attend the Spring Festival,” his mother’s voice still echoed in his mind, each word searing like a brand. “You’re thirty now, Taehyung. You can’t avoid it any longer. You’re not a boy anymore—you’re the heir. This… mateless existence, it’s shameful.”

Shameful. The word lingered, prickling at his pride. Did they truly think so little of him that his worth was tied to something as simple as whether or not he had a mate? He was a warrior, a leader—he had given up countless things, even parts of himself, for Utopia. And yet all they saw was his “failure” to secure a future with a mate.

Every time they mentioned it, he felt his heart harden further. They don’t know anything, he thought bitterly. They have no idea what I’ve gone through. What I’ve lost.

Because the truth was, Taehyung had dreamed of a mate once. He had held onto the hope that one day he would find a connection that went beyond duty, beyond family obligations. But the years had passed, filled with nothing but wars, alliances, and sleepless nights spent defending a kingdom that demanded everything from him yet gave nothing back. And with each year, he had lost a little more faith that love was even real.

He had learned to close himself off, to hide his emotions behind an unbreakable wall. And now, they wanted him to tear that wall down for the sake of appearances. As if he could just turn his heart on and off at their convenience.

The attendants placed the final piece of his attire around his shoulders, a heavy collar of woven silver that made him feel even more like a prisoner in his own life. He caught his reflection in the polished glass of his mirror, and for a moment, he barely recognized himself. The man staring back at him was stoic, composed, every inch a royal. But he couldn’t see the real Taehyung—the one who had quietly suffered, who had built armor around his heart to keep out the emptiness that threatened to consume him.

Inside him, his wolf Venus stirred, her instincts keenly attuned to his emotions. She growled softly, restless and unsettled, mirroring his frustration. Venus had always been his one constant, the part of him that understood him fully, without words. She was the only one who felt the depth of his loneliness, his longing for something real.

What are we doing here, Venus? he asked silently, his thoughts reaching out to her. Do they really think a festival will change anything? That I can find someone who’ll love me for more than my title?

He felt Venus’s quiet reassurance, her presence grounding him, but it wasn’t enough to soothe the ache inside him. Taehyung knew that he had learned to close himself off for a reason, to protect himself from the pain of disappointment. He had stopped believing in love because love felt like a luxury for others—a fleeting dream for people who hadn’t endured what he had.

And yet… despite his bitterness, there was a part of him—a small, buried part—that yearned for something more. A life where he wasn’t simply a soldier or a prince, a life where someone could look at him and see beyond the mask he wore, beyond the image of a flawless warrior his family insisted he maintain.

His father’s words echoed in his mind again: “You have a duty, Taehyung. Not just to the kingdom, but to yourself. You can’t go through life alone.”

Alone. The word struck something deep within him. Was that what he was? Alone? A man without love, without a future he truly cared for? The thought twisted in his chest, as if a shadow had cast itself over him, lingering, reminding him that his life had become a series of empty victories. Glory without joy, power without purpose.

But Taehyung knew he couldn’t let himself dwell on that. He was a prince, and princes didn’t get to complain about loneliness or lost dreams. He would go to this festival. He would put on a face of indifference, as he always did, and endure the crowd’s whispers and hopeful glances. He would do it because that was what was expected, even if his heart felt like a hollow shell, barely able to keep beating beneath the weight of his obligations.

As he walked out of his chambers, the festival preparations already in full swing, Taehyung cast a final glance back at the mirror. For a brief moment, he saw the man he once thought he’d become—the one who still believed in happiness, in love, in a life that was truly his own.

But that vision faded just as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only the stoic, impenetrable mask he had learned to wear so well. And so he left, heart steeled, ready to face whatever this festival would bring, but knowing that, whatever happened, his heart was not truly free.

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