Chapter Text
“I love you,” Taehyung whispers. He lands the words on the tender skin right below Jimin’s chin and seals the promise with a kiss.
“I love you, I love you, I love you.”
He continues his trail of kisses, of vows tucked safely between folds of skin. Saltiness tickles Taehyung’s tongue and lips from where they caught the tears rolling down Jimin’s cheeks mere moments ago.
“I love you.”
One last lingering kiss pressed to Jimin’s mating bite, followed by a grazing of teeth against the raised scar tissue. Jimin shivers in his hold, pebbled skin covered in spit and goosebumps as he lies exposed to the frigid October air.
Taehyung rights himself, leaning onto his elbows placed on either side of his lover. He takes in the redness of Jimin’s eyes and the puffy, irritated skin of his plump cheeks with an aching heart.
“I know. I know,” Jimin whispers, but the tears don’t stop coming.
Taehyung’s fingers curl into the white cotton sheets, helplessness filling his lungs with every rattling breath. It drips from organ to organ, shutting down his body one inch at a time.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“I know.”
Taehyung feels tears well up in his own eyes. He looks at the ornate ceiling to blink them away.
Still, Jimin notices, a soft sigh slipping between his lips. “Tae-yah, it’s not your fault, baby.”
His hand – warm and small and familiar – curls around Taehyung’s cheek. After years of love and tenderness, their bodies slot together like puzzle pieces, a quiet dance they indulge in every day. Right now, it hurts more than it comforts, a painful reminder of the threat to their delicate yin and yang.
“It’s a small price to pay, isn’t it?” Jimin gives him a weak smile before wiping Taehyung's face with the back of his sleeve. “People are starving, Taehyung-ah, and we’re crying over an omega.”
Taehyung nods, even though his entire being screams at him to put a stop to this madness. His alpha yowls at seeing his mate so hurt, longs to bare its teeth and lunge at whoever caused this. The human, royal side of him knows that’s not an option, though. Three summers of failed harvest have left the Leechu Kingdom at its limit. Sky-rocketing food prices, scarcity, and starvation sent many of their subjects into debt or worse, and with the rising desperation, unrest spread through the country like a plague.
Late June they’d watched with growing concern as rain cascaded from the sky until it filled Buldosi’s homes and streets, washing away crops and farmers alike. With empty granaries and emptier stomachs and a cold winter creeping upon them, they’d had no other choice. A trade agreement was the only way to lodge the Leechu Kingdom through another year, but hours spent poring over maps and diplomatic letters left them more stranded than they had hoped. Their only option was at the far end of the peninsula: the Seolsan Kingdom.
It was his father who’d first proposed an arranged marriage. The youngest Jeon omega wed off to a royal alpha of an influential kingdom in exchange for grain and rice supplies in times of need. Before Taehyung could think through the repercussions of their proposal, the Jeons had sent their agreement.
“You’re right,” Taehyung decides, despite the doubt eating at his heart. “Besides, it’s just a formality. They know I’m already mated. They’re just trying to elevate the importance of their kingdom by tying themselves to ours.”
Underneath him, Jimin lets out a shaky breath, his hands trembling where they trace Taehyung’s jawline. “It’s an alliance, not a romantic endeavour.”
Silence settles around them like a blanket of fresh snow, both of them lost to their thoughts and worries. When Jimin finally speaks, something in the air has shifted. A forced hopefulness wrangles their mouths into feeble smiles as they try to make light of the situation.
“We can be a pack, the three of us.” Jimin rakes his trembling fingers through Taehyung’s unruly curls. “Maybe it won’t be that bad. He could be– he could be fun. You said he’s, what? A couple of years younger than us, right?”
“Two years, yeah,” Taehyung breathes.
“See, maybe he’ll bring back some youthful foolishness into our pack.”
“As if any more foolishness is what we need,” Taehyung snorts. “If another one like us is thrown into the mix, my father will have our heads.”
Jimin giggles at that, all wet and nasally, congested from his crying. His hand paws at Taehyung’s chest in his laughter, puffy eyes wrinkling with sudden mirth. It’s no doubt brought on by the onslaught of silly memories Taehyung finds mirrored in his own mind. They lose themselves in the gentle sway of reminiscence for a bit, no words needed to detail the merry moments they’ve shared.
“What do you reckon he’ll be like?” Jimin asks, using one arm to cushion his head as he stares up at his mate.
Taehyung shrugs, trying to recall what few diplomatic exchanges he’d been involved in. “The letters, they didn’t say much,” he admits with a sheepish tilt of his head. “They seemed like more of a formality than anything else. The wolves of the North– you know what they’re like. They don’t court the way we do.”
Jimin rolls his eyes at that, unable to keep the disdain from tainting his words. “Gosh, jumping straight from a letter to a mating bite. It’s, it’s—”
“It’s tradition.”
“It’s barbaric, that’s what it is.”
Taehyung tuts at his lover, though his judgement comes as no surprise.
“Jimin-ah, their omegas, they’re not like ours. They’re not like any of us.”
Seolsan omegas, their reputation precedes them. ‘Ice queens’ is what his aunt used to call them: frigid and cold like the frosted mountain tops they call a home. It frightens him, the thought of such a person being invited into his marriage. Still, he reckons it’s easy to judge them from thousands of miles away, raised in a kingdom blessed by the sun where alphas, omegas, and betas march together, side by side.
“You’re right,” Jimin whispers, the brief shimmer of happiness long gone.
Taehyung feels his bleeding heart through their bond, its wounded beating echoing in his own chest. Before he can do anything about it, the tears are back, gathering on Jimin’s waterline.
“Don’t cry,” he pleads, but he knows it’s pointless– knows it’s a little unfair to ask, too. He can’t begrudge Jimin for mourning the equilibrium of their marriage, no matter how much it pains him. All he can do is continue his steady outpouring of promises, landing like raindrops on Jimin’s skin.
“We’ll be okay,” he murmurs, lips flush against Jimin’s clavicle, mere inches away from his bite. “Nothing will come between us, my love, I can promise you that.”
☾*✲⋆.
“This is unacceptable.”
“Jungkook-ssi—”
“Omega Jeon.”
“Omega Jeon,” Seokjin corrects himself, lips folded into a practised smile, “I can assure you that no one in this court objects to this marriage.”
The Seolsan omega shakes his head, his facial features unmoving. Only his flared nostrils reveal his displeasure, a tiny crack in his otherwise immaculate mask.
“What will my court think?”
Seokjin heaves a subtle sigh, tilting his head as he responds. “As soon as the marriage is finalised, your priority shall be the Leechu court, not the Seolsan court. You are being wed to us; as such, it is our values you shall come to represent, and I can assure you, many successful triads have reigned these lands since the Gods first provided us with them.”
The omega gives a curt nod, his gaze pointed at the wooden floor. The movement reveals his sharp jawline, his skin so pale he seems sculpted straight out of snow. Briefly, Taehyung wonders whether the Buldosi sun will tint it as it does theirs with the coming and going of the seasons.
“You are correct. My apologies, Elder Alpha Kim.” Jungkook gives a quick, neat bow and falls silent yet again.
In the past twenty minutes, Taehyung has been studying the princeling closely, eager to form an impression of the man he is set to marry. So far, he has found none of the liveliness Jimin had hoped for. Pictured next to his exuberant mate, this omega – prim, proper, boring – pales in comparison. Despite his chiselled features, Jungkook’s demeanour is quiet and demure. His voice rings clear as crystal, words carefully chosen and enunciated, but barely louder than a whisper.
“Am I expected to carry the beta’s bite?”
Seokjin shakes his head, glancing at his brother. “No, you are not.”
Jungkook nods, seemingly reassured by the information. Taehyung’s alpha bristles, angered at the blatant rejection of his mate. Doesn’t this omega know that they are a package deal, a much-favoured couple cherished by all? Across the Leechu kingdom, bards sing of their romance in packed taverns, leaving young and old swooning as their tale is told and retold with every setting of the sun.Who does this omega think he is?
“And you’re not biting me,” Taehyung says blankly.
Jungkook’s eyes widen at that, and for a brief moment Taehyung catches sight of the myriad stars twinkling in there. A sudden blush sits high on Jungkook’s cheeks, like red roses blossoming on a snow-covered bush. “Of course,” he breathes. “It is the alpha who bites, the omega who receives.”
Taehyung fights the urge to roll his eyes, already fed up with the omega’s outdated ideology. Jungkook only thinks in terms of presentation, his rigid standards a solid proof of a lack of imagination. His disregard for betas seems to be but one of his many flaws. Yet again, Taehyung is glad for his kingdom’s power, glad it is this omega who shall conform and not the other way around.
“Of course,” Seokjin confirms diplomatically. “Taehyung’s bite shall seal the marriage and complete the mating.”
Jungkook nods once again, his hands folded elegantly in his lap. “As for the marriage rituals, my attendant informed me you wish to make some changes?”
“Why yes,” Seokjin answers, sparing his brother another quick glance before detailing the ceremony they have in mind.
Taehyung bites his lip, wary of the conservative omega’s reaction to their ideas. Still, the man takes it much better than he’d expected, his features frozen in that eternal blank look, Seokjin’s proposals merely punctuated with curt nods whenever deemed appropriate. Taehyung is glad for his brother’s involvement. He trusts Seokjin to guard Jimin’s heart as much as his own. At his own insistence, any reference to yin and yang was to be omitted, too reminiscent of precious memories made years ago with Jimin glowing by his side, dressed up in Leechu’s finest silks.
Whenever Jungkook does offer a weak protest, Seokjin waltzes over it with practised grace, brushing off any absent rituals as cultural differences.
Jungkook doesn’t say much, but still Taehyung’s disdain for the omega only grows with every passing second. His haughty air, his unabashed claim on Taehyung’s time and attention, it gets under his skin. Every word the omega utters is entirely devoid of personality, consists only of pure contempt for everything Taehyung holds dear.
When the meeting finally draws to a close, Taehyung bites his lip. He meets his brother’s eye from across the table and, without second guessing himself, gives a subtle shake of the head.
☾*✲⋆.
Jeon Jungkook is lucky. His future husband is handsome and kind. Whenever he laughs, his eyes light up with mirth, his boxy smile radiating a level of warmth foreign to the Seolsan Mountains. He looks regal and elegant and he carries himself with the grace a royal alpha requires, but there is a hint of playfulness too. Jungkook caught it in the twitching of his slender fingers, the lilting tone of his voice, and the cheerful bounciness of his curls.
Some elders might begrudge Alpha Kim his mischievousness, but Jungkook will fight to shield that spark from their stormy disapproval. He’ll make up for Alpha Kim’s excess himself, vows to be peaceful and serene in the face of his enthusiasm, to catch the splashes and waves like a deep body of water, its surface smooth mere minutes after the ripples occur. Yin and yang, his mother had whispered in his ears while he grew up. Yin and yang, a natural harmony one had to strive to uphold. He fears it will prove to be quite the challenge in this land that prides itself in nimiety, but he’s determined to make it work. For years, he’s been training for this very moment, for the marriage, the bite, and the duties they entail.
As he sits here, kneeling on the cold, stone floor, he feels the comforting weight of his education where it rests on his shoulders like a thick, familiar cloak. When he glances at the crowd from underneath his sheer veil, hundreds of eyes stare back. Their attire, their customs, it’s different from anything he’s used to– different from anything he’d learned about as well. The marriage ceremony isn’t the Leechu one he’d heard of, with shared bows and doting exchanges of spoonsful of honey, but this is what Alpha Kim had decided upon, and as his future omega Jungkook is content to support him in his decision.
Only the cerulean veil was his own choice, an element of modesty he’d insisted upon. Despite the absence of his court, he’d hate to look indecent on the day of his marriage. His mother trusted him, he knew, to bring this affair to a good end, to bless their small kingdom with a prestigious alliance.
“Omega Jeon, will you shed your old skin, ties, and customs? Will you come to us, pure as the day you were born, and wear our sigil as your own?”
“I will.”
The cold water comes as a shock, his entire body revolting at the sudden change in temperature. His eyes shoot open, lips parted as a quiet gasp escapes him. The water pools underneath his knees before it flows away, taking his past life with it. He’d been dreading this ritual the moment he heard of it. It had seemed a little cruel to him, to rid an omega of any bonds they’d cherished during their lifetime and send them into marriage by themselves.
Still, Jungkook kneels, soaking wet and stripped of his pheromones, his identity. For a moment, he is packless and alone in a crowd filled with strange faces. It’s a harrowing feeling, his racing heart throbbing in his throat.
At last, the buk joins the comforting, elegant plucking of the stringed gayageum, and in comes Alpha Kim. He strides towards the altar, each step matched to the beat of the drum.
Jungkook shivers in his drenched hwaro, the wet cotton sticking to his sensitive skin. Cold and alone, he feels the distance between them like a gaping gash in tender flesh. He wishes the music would pick up its pace and carry his alpha to him faster. He aches for the warmth he’d spotted in his future husband yesterday, longs to feel its golden rays on his frozen limbs.
Not a second too soon, Alpha Kim kneels down across from him, golden eyes pointed to the floor. He looks just as handsome as he did yesterday, robed in a regal shade of red, his slender fingers adorned with glimmering rubies matching the jewels on his crown.
Above their heads, the Master of the Ceremony speaks in a steady voice, but the words are garble to Jungkook. Knees long numb and heart racing in his chest, his eyes get caught on Alpha Kim’s features. How he longs to have those fingers trace the lines of his body and those lips right above his collar bone. He’s dreamed of the bite since he first discovered what it was – the first step to an omega’s full bloom, the promise of a lifetime of love – and tonight he’s finally receiving it.
He struggles not to bite his lip when the veil is lifted off his face, prays the blush has faded from his cheeks. Alpha Kim doesn’t meet his gaze, but he supposes it’s for the best, lest he burst into flames right then and there.
A golden cup is carried to the altar, filled to the brim with milky rice wine. Its smell tickles Jungkook’s nose as it’s poured out by an elder, an offering to their ancestors. For a mere moment, Jungkook allows himself the comfort of closing his eyes.
Dear Josang-nim, he thinks, please bless this marriage. May we know love and harmony in all we do; may I fulfil my duties as I’ve been raised to do.
When he looks up, he finds Alpha Kim studying him curiously. His heart warms at the attention, but he suppresses his smile before it can blossom on his face.
It’s the Kim beta who carries the second cup, his painted lips matching the agates that decorate the rim. Once knelt before the marrying couple, he brings it to his mouth and takes a slow sip. Then he lifts it to Alpha Kim’s, the gesture tender and calculated as he waits while Alpha Kim, too, drinks the wine.
Jungkook is last, and the beta’s hand trembles a little when he raises the cup to his mouth, tilts it a little too far. More wine flows than Jungkook can swallow, and it drips down his chin, traces the expanse of his neck before landing on his hwaro. He imagines the stain it must leave behind, bloodred on the ice blue fabric.
The beta’s stubby thumb swipes at his chin, and Jungkook’s breath catches. The alcohol burns in his throat, and he fights to keep his eyes from clenching shut. Between the cold, the wine and the nerves, his stomach won’t stop rolling, and the rest of the rituals pass by in a blur. He only remembers the deep red Leechu cloak that Alpha Kim – his husband – rested on his shoulders near the end. A symbol of the omega, shed of past ties and identities, protected and engulfed by his new pack.
Its colour contrasts starkly with his Seolsan hwaro, but Jungkook wears it with pride. In the shuffle following the ceremony, while the guests flock to the low tables in the suragan room, he nuzzles into the warm fabric, embroidered with the Leechu sigil. He takes a deep whiff, instantly settled by the calming scent of his alpha.
“Omega Jeon, take a seat.” Elder Alpha Kim ushers him onto a pillow.
Jungkook sinks down on it gratefully. He sits across from his alpha, still clutching the edges of the cloak. Though he aches for some proximity after the intense ceremony, he reminds himself that it’s better this way, where their movements are mirrored – yin and yang – in an effortless harmony.
Though uncustomary, he’s grateful for the tea Elder Alpha Kim presses in his hands. The steaming cup warms his fingers, still blue and numb from the ice water.
“I know omegas in your kingdom prefer tea,” the man explains with a gentle smile.
“Thank you, Elder Alpha Kim. I appreciate the gesture.”
“You may call me Seokjin-ssi now if you desire. It is the custom in our kingdom, as you surely know.”
Jungkook blushes, afraid to be taken for ignorant rather than polite. “My apologies, Seokjin-ssi. It isn’t easy to shake one’s customs, but I shall do better in the future,” he promises with a small bow.
The alpha nods, his attention quickly diverted to one of the many courtesans gracing the Leechu court. Jungkook is glad for the distraction. Though the man has been nothing but kind to him, he fears his scrutiny, and his rejection even more so.
He sighs, content to sip his tea while the others chat amongst themselves. His husband is engulfed in a conversation with the beta, who sits beside him. Their hanboks look nice together, Jungkook must admit, warm shades of red and orange melting together like the sun in the sky before it dips below the horizon.
He nods courteously when the servants uncover the bowls sitting on the tables, revealing steaming soups, stews, and rice along with dozens of different banchan and several types of kimchi. The smell wafting from the dishes prickles his sensitive nose, introducing him to some spices foreign to Seolsan cuisine.
Though the long ceremony has left him hungry, his stomach tightens at the sight of so much food. It must be the anxiety, no doubt, that still clings to him, persistent and unignorable. His head pounds with the etiquette rules he’d drilled into his brain over the summer, practising meal after meal with his teacher until he’d mastered every unspoken rule and custom. Still, it is different here, so much more high stakes and so much more complicated, surrounded by high-placed officials and trying to impress his husband.
No matter how hard he tries to deny it, the sheer number of strangers overwhelms him. His vision spins, their colourful robes and foreign faces dancing in bewildering swirls as he eats. It’s difficult to focus on the conversations buzzing at the table and downright impossible to join any of them. Instead, he focuses on the meat stew in his bowl, willing his hands to stop trembling lest he add another stain to his hwaro.
Unfortunately, the dizziness only grows worse as the moon climbs higher in the sky. By the time dessert rolls around, it’s bloomed into full-blown nausea, the feeling so vicious he can hardly stomach the sight of the copious sugary treats the servants place on the tables.
“Jungkook-ssi, would you like a pyeon?” the Kim Beta asks, his eyes wrinkling as he smiles kindly, a pastel green rice cake held out over the table.
Jungkook stills, shocked at being addressed all of a sudden. He’d done okay so far, most of the guests wrapped up in their own conversations. The only attention paid to him came in the form of stolen glances or blatant staring as the members of the court sized up the newest addition to the royal family.
“No thank you, beta-ssi,” Jungkook responds, certain the rice cakes would only make his predicament worse.
The beta looks taken aback, and Jungkook has to suppress a wince. He’d been so concerned with being heard over the loud rushing in his ears, his voice had come out much louder than intended.
“It’s Jimin,” his husband corrects, before moving Jimin’s chopsticks straight to his own mouth, biting into the rice cake squished between them.
Jungkook quickly averts his eyes, startled by the indecency. God, he needs to get over himself. Things like this are normal here in Leechu, he reminds himself, and the sooner he adapts, the better.
No longer trusting his voice, he gives a curt bow to apologise for his mistake. Thankfully, his husband seems to have moved on already, wrapped up in a conversation with his older brother. Still, Jungkook can’t make his racing heart calm down, his clammy hands curling into his wedding robe and wrinkling the fabric. The sight of the precious garment, which he’d designed with his mother over the course of several weeks, stained and wrinkled only makes him feel worse.
“Your Highness?”
His head shoots up, vision spinning with the brisk movement. He finds a servant kneeling behind him, looking at him expectantly.
“The time has come for you to leave,” she reminds him, her voice not unkind.
“O-of course,” Jungkook stutters, heaving himself off his cushion. Before he can register what’s happening, he’s keeling over. A hand shoots out the steady him, the servant’s elegant fingers curling around his bicep.
“Are you okay, your Highness?”
Jungkook takes a deep breath, glad to be able to lean on the woman for a second. She’s an omega too, he can tell, and the knowledge is a small comfort in the swirling sea of his anxieties. He misses his own attendants.
“I’m okay,” he lies, fighting to keep the anguish from bleeding into his voice. When he feels capable of doing so, he chances a glance at his husband. He’s flooded with relief when he finds that Alpha Kim hadn’t noticed his stumbling, isn’t even looking his way. Only Elder Alpha Kim – Seokjin, he corrects himself – is staring straight at him, his gaze so powerful it sends a shiver down Jungkook’s spine.
“Let us leave,” Jungkook quickly whispers to the servant. Shame curls in his stomach as he trails behind her, weighed down by every faux pas he’s committed since his arrival in Buldosi.
Gods, what must the Leechu court think of him, staggering away on his wedding night? Panic and bile alike rise in his throat, sweat beading at his brow. He doesn’t understand what’s going on. He’s hardly had any wine.
What is happening to him? Did the Gods disapprove of their union? Was it because of the meeting yesterday?
Jungkook had tried to opt out of the blatant disrespect of courting laws, but the Kims had insisted. Outranked and outnumbered, he’d been powerless to protest.
The opulent hallways of the Buldosi castle feel never-ending and claustrophobic, Jungkook panting with every step. He swears they walk for miles before he’s ushered into a small, obscure room. Two Leechu maids help him out of his ceremonial garb, his Seolsan handmaiden no longer his own after the marriage rituals. When he’d first heard of the courting proposal in a country so far away, he’d counted on having some of his people with him, but – as stipulated by the Leechu court – his staff returned straight to Seolsan after the ceremony was finished.
He sways on his feet as they undo the knots and bows, shedding layer after layer until he stands shivering in the cold evening air.
They dress him in a white evening robe, much fancier than anything he’d typically wear to sleep. Its wide, deep collar reveals its true purpose. It’s the last piece of fabric he’ll don before his body truly becomes his alpha’s.
Once they’ve finished, they send him off to a different chamber dominated by a large bed. There, he lies, staring at the ceiling while he waits for his husband. Fire licks at his skin – shame or fever, he doesn’t know. Still, he longs for the union, longs to shed the loneliness that clings to his very being with unrelenting fervour. He aches for someone else’s scent on his skin, for someone to claim him as their own and shelter him after the day’s exhausting events.
More than anything, he yearns for the love he’d spotted in Alpha Kim’s eyes. He feels greedy for it, wants to revel in it, wants to keep it all to himself.
At last, there is a soft knock on the door, followed by a deep voice. “Jungkook-ssi?”
“Alpha,” Jungkook keens, unable to stop himself. His omega can’t wait any longer, too worn down to stand another second of excruciating solitude.
His husband doesn’t respond as he climbs onto the bed, his eyes raking over Jungkook’s body.
He tries to be good, tries to lie still, but his stomach won’t stop churning. His head spins and spins, his vision refusing to clear no matter how many times he blinks. He can feel his heart racing in his throat, feels its throbbing in his arms, his legs as panic consumes him. In a desperate attempt to calm the nausea, he clenches his eyes shut.
“Jungkook-ssi?” the alpha asks, alarmed, his deep voice distorted by the rushing in Jungkook’s ears.
He can feel nimble fingers tugging at his tunic, dancing across the skin of sensitive sides. There are lips, too, dozens of them, dragging across his limbs until his body burns with it. One hand curls around his throat, another around his ankle.
“Stop,” he whimpers. “Please stop.”
“Jungkook!”
His eyes shoot open, gaze landing on his husband perched beside him. When Alpha Kim leans closer, a waft of pheromones hits Jungkook’s nose, so powerful and overwhelming it makes his stomach lurch. His skin crawls, cold sweat sending racking shivers down his spine. Bile rises in his throat. Eyes wide, he presses his hand against his mouth, but it’s no use. He throws up, fevered and convulsing. The foul liquid spills past his trembling fingers and drips all over their marital bed, the fresh white sheets covered in vile green.
Devoured by terror, he looks at his husband, whose face is scrunched up in disgust. He’s acutely aware of the vomit smeared on his chin and lips as he sits there, heaving, unsure whether to try wiping it off or ignore it, lest he makes it worse.
“I’’ll—I’ll find an attendant,” Alpha Kim murmurs, scrambling off the bed.
The door to their chamber slams shut, and Jungkook vomits again.