The palace was alive with fire.

Flames licked the walls of glass and gold, turning beauty into a furnace. Screams tore through the corridors, echoing like hymns to death. Soldiers in black surged through the halls, blades flashing, cutting down anything in their path.

At the center of them strode Taehyung.

He did not walk like a soldier. He moved like something inevitable—shoulders squared, black cloak dragging over the burning floor, his knife dripping red with each step. His jaw was sharp as cut stone, his mouth set in that unyielding line he’d worn all his life. He had been born and raised across the sea, molded into a blade for his people. His kingdom had given him no choice, only a single command carved into his bones:

Kill her. Kill the heir.

And he believed it.

Your kingdom always started war with his and killed innocent people from their village. Yall were cruel and wealthy that no other kingdom could attack yall. Until tonight.

He had just driven his knife into the chest of a butler when his gaze lifted. Through the smoke, you appeared—a vision in ivory silk, frozen in horror. Your gown shimmered in the firelight, delicate where everything else crumbled. You were trembling, your lips parted as if to scream, but no sound left you.

Your eyes met his. Wide. Frightened. Fear

You turned and fled, skirts heavy, tripping at your ankles. The hall stretched endlessly before you, but Taehyung was faster as once you ran he sprinted chasing you

You stumbled through your chamber doors, slamming them shut, fumbling with the lock—but it was too late. With one shove, the wood splintered. He stepped inside, shadow and fire following him.

You backed away, shaking, until your knees struck the bedframe. There was nowhere left to run.

Taehyung’s knife was in his hand.

He approached slowly, the steel glinting in the firelight. His face was unreadable, carved in discipline and fury, every line of him cut from something merciless. And yet—when he stood before you, raising his blade to your throat—he stopped.

The tip of the knife kissed your skin, cold as winter. He could feel the thrum of your pulse beneath it. Your breath came in shudders, your lips trembling, your eyes full of resignation. You looked at him not as if he might kill you—but as if you had already accepted that he would.

Something cracked in him.

His hand shook.

Taehyung had never shaken before. Not in training, not in battle, not with a hundred lives on his blade. His grip faltered now, his eyes burning with something unfamiliar and unwanted.

Through clenched teeth, his voice came rough and low. “I was raised to hate you,” he said, as though the words themselves poisoned him. His jaw flexed, his dark eyes never leaving yours. “Raised to hate your crown. Your blood. Everything your kingdom is.”

He pressed the blade closer, just enough to sting—then froze. His chest rose and fell sharply.

”But now…” His voice cracked, raw and dangerous. “…standing here… I can’t.”

The silence between you burned louder than the fire beyond the walls.

Then—he moved.

Turning the blade around and without hesitation he hit your head with the hilt. Not the blade.

With one swift, merciless strike, he brought it down against your temple. Darkness flooded your vision. You swayed, the world dissolving into red and black.

But before your body hit the floor, he caught you.

His arms—so strong, so sure—lowered you against him carefully, as though you were made of fragile glass. His knife was still warm in his grip, but his hand that touched you was trembling. He tucked you against his chest, cloak falling around you, and for the first time in his life… he hesitated.

Taehyung had come here to kill you.

Instead, he held you. He heard his men start walking towards the door and he quickly grabs you and runs to the window. He tries to keep you still over his shoulder while climbing down. He walks off into the forest on the other side of the long river in his kingdom to his cabin in the forest to keep you safe…