beast meets an ethereal beauty

Among the many faces in the palace, there was one that stood out not for beauty or strength but for wisdom, Kim Namjoon, the son of the King’s chief advisor. Though only three years older than Jungkook, Namjoon was already respected by scholars and ministers alike. He had a calm presence, eyes that seemed to read the world like a book, and a voice that never rose, yet always carried weight.

He had been assigned as Jungkook’s tutor after several others failed to get the young prince to sit still through a full lesson.

Jungkook, uninterested in scrolls and long-winded texts, would often daydream through lessons, sketching ornaments or quietly braiding the tassels on his sleeves while Namjoon tried to explain royal law or political theory.

“You never listen,” Namjoon would sigh, Jungkook lounged across the cushions, humming to himself.

“I’m listening, just not to you,” Jungkook teased, smirking.

But Namjoon didn’t take offense. He knew Jungkook wasn’t lazy his mind just moved differently. He had a fire that didn’t fit neatly into books or etiquette. And over time, Jungkook began to open up to him not as a teacher, but as a friend.

It was during one of those quieter afternoons, the courtyard empty except for the two of them, that Jungkook admitted it. Not directly, not in words. But it was enough.

Namjoon had asked, gently, “Why do you glare at Taehyung when he speaks to the other pages?”

Jungkook had gone still, then answered after a long pause. “Because I want him just to be mine.”

Namjoon didn’t flinch. He only looked at the boy across from him so young, yet already carrying emotions too heavy for his shoulders.

“I see,” he said. “And does he know?”

Jungkook shook his head. “He only sees me a little brother or crown prince. But I don’t want to be his brother, hyung. I want to be, something else.”

Namjoon exhaled, folding his hands. “Jungkook-ah, this kind of love is not always the acceptable  around the world. Especially not in a place like this.”

“I don’t care what the world says,” Jungkook muttered, eyes lowering. “I just want him to stay.”

Namjoon softened, leaning forward. “Then be careful. Not with your heart—but with the eyes around you. This palace is made of stone and silence. And not everyone sees beauty the way we do.”

He never scolded him. Never told him it was wrong. But his words stayed with Jungkook like a quiet warning wrapped in kindness.

In that moment, the prince realized he wasn’t entirely alone in his secret.

Namjoon would never fight his battles for him. But he would be the quiet lantern behind him, reminding him where the shadows were, and how not to get lost in them.

The garden was quiet that late afternoon. The sun had dipped just enough to cast warm shadows across the marbled paths. Jungkook sat cross-legged on a silken cushion, half-listening as Namjoon explained something about royal alliances, until—

“but Hyung,” Jungkook said suddenly, eyes fixed on the goldfish pond nearby. “I’ve heard, in some countries, two men can be in love. Openly.”

Namjoon paused, his brush stilled above the parchment. His gaze flicked toward Jungkook, thoughtful.

“Yes,” he said after a moment. “In some kingdoms across the sea, it’s not uncommon. There, love is honored in all its forms, even if it looks different from tradition.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened, the light in them brighter than Namjoon had ever seen during any lesson.

“Really? Tell me more. I want to know everything, hyung.”

Namjoon closed his book, a small smile curving his lips. “You’ve never asked this many questions during literature.” said raising his eyebrows playfully.

“This matters more to me,” Jungkook said honestly with a bright bunny smile.

Namjoon exhaled, settling into the moment. “In those places, no one asks why. No one tells you who to love, only that you love with truth. Some kings’ve ruled beside other men, warriors who’ve sworn their swords to a single bond—brotherhood or love, or both. Some still face judgment, but not shame. That’s the difference.”

Jungkook was silent, absorbing each word like rain on dry soil. His fingers twisted the hem of his sleeve, eyes far away.

“I want to live like that,” he murmured. “Without hiding.”

Namjoon looked at him gently. “And what if Taehyung doesn’t feel the same?”

The question hit harder than it should have. Jungkook’s lips parted, but no sound came. His chest ached with the sharp sting of doubt. The idea that his feelings might never be returned was a wound he tried not to press too hard—but Namjoon had just laid a finger on it.

Still, Jungkook’s jaw tightened.

“Then I’ll still love him,” he said quietly. “Even if he doesn’t see me that way. I’m not selfish, hyung—but I don’t want to give up before I even try.”

Namjoon gave him a long look—part pride, part worry.

“That kind of love,” he said slowly, “is brave. And dangerous.”

Jungkook nodded. “Then I’ll be both.”

For the first time, Namjoon had no reply. He only looked at the boy before him not just a prince, not just his student, but a heart refusing to be silenced.

And in that moment, he saw the shape of the king Jungkook would one day become.

☆~

As days turned into seasons, the pressure of the future began to weigh heavily on Prince Jungkook. The palace no longer treated him as a boy with silk sleeves and starry eyes—they treated him as the next king.

He was expected to walk with confidence, speak with authority, and act in the image of his father. The ministers watched him closely. Every step was measured. Every word, is recorded.

But Jungkook had one condition, a quiet vow he made to the king and queen the day they pressed the crown’s path into his hands.

“I’ll accept the throne,” he had said, eyes unwavering, “but only under one condition. I will reveal it when the time is right.”

The court had exchanged glances but didn’t dare question further. Only Namjoon had understood the weight behind those words.

Behind palace walls, Jungkook trained harder than ever not with the stiff royal instructors, but with those he trusted most, his sister Yoonji, the warrior princess, and Taehyung, the tiger-eyed boy who he had font off.

Though Jungkook was graceful, sharp, and precise, he lacked the raw physicality of Taehyung. His frame was slimmer, his movements more fluid than forceful. His style was like water—calculated, elegant, but different. Less masculine in the traditional sense. And the court noticed.

Some whispered that a future king should strike harder, stand taller, and speak deeper.

But Jungkook didn’t listen. He was not here to become a shadow of his father.

He would be a king in his own image.

Yoonji drilled him with discipline, often harder than necessary. “They will come for you,” she warned. “Not just with words, but with expectations. You must be ready.”

Taehyung, on the other hand, trained him with quiet understanding. He didn’t push he adapted. If Jungkook stumbled, Taehyung steadied him. If he hesitated, Taehyung waited.

And yet, in those moments, Jungkook felt the ache in his chest deepen. Because standing beside Taehyung so strong, so effortless he always felt a step behind. Always wondered if his feelings were written too clearly in the way his gaze lingered too long.

But he wouldn’t let that weakness show. Not now.

His secret condition whatever it would cost was his shield. A promise to himself that he wouldn’t surrender who he was just to wear a crown.