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The three days stretched like an eternity—each hour an unyielding weight upon Jungkook's chest, each breath an effort, each heartbeat an ache.

He rode in silence, his hands gripping the reins so tightly his knuckles turned white. The pain in his injured arm was a dull throb, but it was nothing, nothing compared to the storm raging inside him.

His prince was suffering.

The world knew King Seongmin as a great ruler, a man of wisdom and strength. His people adored him, his court revered him, and the kingdom flourished beneath his reign. But Jungkook knew him through different eyes—through Taehyung's eyes.

A father. A guide. A protector.

Jungkook knew how much Taehyung had loved him, how deeply he had respected the man who had shaped him into the prince he was. For all of Taehyung's mischief, for all of his recklessness and teasing, his heart had always carried a son's devotion.

And now, that heart must be breaking.

Jungkook closed his eyes, only for a moment, and the images came unbidden. Taehyung standing in the grand halls of the palace, his usual smirk absent, his hands curled into fists at his sides. The weight of loss pressing upon his shoulders like an invisible crown, heavier than the one he was born to wear.

Taehyung, who could smile in the face of death. Taehyung, who could tease and laugh even when his world burned.

But not this time.

No laughter could shield him from this grief. No teasing words could dull the sorrow of losing a father.

Jungkook clenched his jaw, his heart twisting in agony. He had never known the love of a father—never known what it was to stand beneath a father's shadow, to feel the warmth of paternal love. But he understood Taehyung's pain, because a lover understands a lover's pain.

And though he had spent years denying the title, refusing to give name to what lay between them, he could not deny this truth.

Taehyung's sorrow was his own.

His hands trembled slightly as he exhaled, forcing himself to remain composed. He had been foolish to believe that the battlefield was the only place one could bleed.

For the first time, Jungkook realized—love, too, was a battlefield. And in it, he was losing.

He longed to be there. To stand beside Taehyung, even in silence, even if unspoken words hung heavy between them. He longed to shield him, to bear his sorrow, to take even a fraction of that grief upon himself.

But he was three days too far.

And so, he rode on—through endless roads and sleepless nights, through winds that howled like mourning souls, through a journey that felt more like punishment than duty.

Three days. Three nights.

And then, he would see him.

His prince. His heart's enemy. His only love.

The kingdom was draped in mourning, as though the very earth itself had lost its light. The streets were muted with sorrow, the flags hanging at half-mast, their once-vibrant colors now dulled by the grief of a people who had loved their king as one loves a father. The air was thick with the scent of wilting flowers, the sound of hushed whispers, and the slow, mournful tolling of the bell—a sound that would echo in the hearts of all for years to come.

Jungkook stood amidst it all, his heart a heavy stone, his feet bound by an invisible weight. The palace gates loomed ahead, imposing and silent, their stone walls silent witnesses to the heartache that had gripped the kingdom. He could feel it in the air—the grief that clung to the stones, the sorrow that seeped into the very cracks of the walls, echoing the emptiness now left behind by King Seongmin's passing.