The throne room smelled like old power and fake roses. Probably enchanted to smell like that. A cruel joke, considering every time Jungkook stood there, all he could smell was expectation.

“Lady Amara of the West Coven has a daughter,” his mother said, her voice as delicate as arsenic in a glass of wine.

"She’s elegant. Modest. She'll make a fine Queen," his father added, sipping from his goblet like they weren’t trying to auction off his soul with complimentary fangs and future trauma.

Oh. Here we fucking go again.

“Why not marry her yourself then?” Jungkook muttered, sharp, unblinking. He didn’t yell. That would’ve given them the satisfaction of emotion. Ten minutes and a shattered goblet later, Jungkook stormed down the obsidian palace corridor, boots echoing like thunder made of fuck-you. His cloak dragged behind him like a war banner of insolence.

Every servant in the hall saw him coming and stepped aside. One poor bastard even bowed. Jungkook bared his fangs at him just for fun.

Marry her. Make an heir. Think of the kingdom.

“Oh, I am,” he hissed to no one as he kicked the garden doors open. “I’m thinking how the kingdom can kiss my ancient royal ass.”

The Barrier Forest was forbidden.

Which was exactly why he was halfway through it before anyone could stop him.

The air shimmered — thick with old magic and angry whispers. Trees twisted like they remembered screams. Vines moved if you looked long enough. Somewhere, a shadow blinked back at him.

Jungkook grinned.

“Come on then. I’m bored.”

“You could’ve at least left a note.”

Jimin. Of fucking course.

Jungkook didn’t turn around. “Would’ve been a waste of ink.”

“You stole a royal horse,” Jimin added, appearing beside him like guilt in physical form. “You broke Yoona’s barrier charm. Irene’s furious.”

A flash of light cracked through the trees. Irene appeared with a whip of wind and sarcasm. Her long cloak was covered in twigs.

“You’re lucky I’m loyal or I’d leave your dramatic ass in here for the wolves.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst date I’ve had,” Jungkook muttered.

Yoona arrived last, soft-voiced and barefoot, floating more than walking. “You’re pushing your body again. The ring’s hot.”

“So am I.”

“Don’t flirt with your healer when you’re bleeding magic like this,” Irene snapped, examining his hand where his nails had sunk into his own palm. “Also — why are you sulking like a teenage bat?”

“Because they want me to marry a vampire version of a breadstick,” Jungkook exploded finally. “I’m twenty-six, not six hundred! Why do I have to marry for ceremony? Why can’t I marry for—I don’t know—not having my life dictated like a cursed puppet? Maybe I don’t want to rule! Maybe Jin should wear the shiny crown and I’ll go dye my hair pink and open a goddamn flower shop in the human realm!”

The moment they were far enough from the barrier to breathe air that didn’t taste like blood-stained politics, Jungkook flicked his fingers and summoned a car.

Well, not just any car.

A matte obsidian van-thing with bulletproof windows, blackout charm tint, dragon-scale interior, and a blood-detection enchantment in case anyone tried to sneak a werewolf past him in a duffel bag.

He had standards. Peaceful didn’t mean poor.

“This is not inconspicuous,” Jimin said, climbing in with a grin.

“That’s not my problem,” Jungkook said.

“Of course it isn’t,” Irene muttered as she buckled her seatbelt like it personally offended her. “You’ve defected from royalty, conjured a rolling castle, and decided you’re ready for a white-picket fence and a koi pond.”

“I like koi ponds,” Yoona offered softly.

“Thank you,” Jungkook said. “Yoona understands me.”

“You’re the worst,” Irene said flatly.

He drove.

Fast enough to feel free.

Slow enough not to shatter the car’s illusion charm. It was supposed to look like a forest breeze to any passing human. Silent. Invisible.

No oncould see them.

Emphasis on could.

Because three miles in, he slammed the brakes so hard Irene swore in three dead languages and Jimin spilled blood tea on his jeans.

“What the—”