C4 - [ "The Untamed" ]

Jungkook expected Taehyung to be surly in the morning, but instead the prince was subdued. His body seemed to take up even less space than usual as they made their morning ablutions and dressed, and he didn’t say a single word over a breakfast of cold meat and hard bread.

When their carriage was ready, Jungkook handed the tokens to the driver while Taehyung climbed carefully inside.

Jungkook moved a bit carefully too. He was sore. If Taehyung had seemed happier about their coupling, Jungkook might have welcomed the twinge in his a/ss, the protests of bruised and bitten skin.

They were the only passengers. They sat opposite one another—Taehyung facing forward and Jungkook backward—not quite letting their eyes meet. Taehyung picked at the threads of the fraying upholstery.

The journey took a thousand years.

P’yongyang was a much larger city than the Hangul capital, Seoul. It had not been besieged during the war, and its buildings sprawled well beyond the ancient city walls.

As impressive as it was in size, large portions of it were shockingly squalid. The carriage rattled past reeking neighborhoods with houses that leaned drunkenly, scrawny children who stared with hollow eyes, and both trash and humans scattered in the gutters.

But the city became increasingly grand as they neared the palace, which ruled flamboyantly atop a hill. The carriage let them off near the bottom of the slope.

After Taehyung got out, he started marching upward right away, not checking to make sure Jungkook was at his heels. By the time they reached the gilded palace gates, Taehyung was out of breath and looking angry about it.

The gates were guarded, of course.

A half-dozen men and women in gaudy uniforms and ridiculous braided and feathered jeonips (Joseon styled hats) stood at somber attention, hands on the ornamented hilts of their swords.

Taehyung stopped several paces away. “I had a letter from my father—all done up with seals and everything. But it’s gone now. And I’m not exactly looking royal. I don’t know how we’ll get in.” He looked discouraged.

Broken.

Jungkook patted his shoulder awkwardly. “Let me try.” He walked confidently to the guards, who eyed him— and his sword— distrustfully.

“My name is Jeon Jungkook. I am here as bodyguard to this man, who has a vital message for Yeowang Nabi. I know we don’t look like much—it’s been a hard journey. But I assure you, she will want to see him. And if she finds out you’ve turned him away, the consequences will be dire. Go verify what I’m telling you. We’ll wait.”

The guards exchanged glances.

Jungkook knew that they were thinking he was probably lying, but none of them wanted to bear responsibility in case he was telling the truth. Finally, a guard with red hair coiled into braids lifted her chin at him. “Who is he?”

“You can tell her…he’s the man from the south, the one she’s been waiting to see. The man who was recently freed.”

The guard was clearly still skeptical. “If this is a ruse—”

“It would be a very stupid one.”

She thought for a moment before giving two sharp nods. “You’ll wait in the courtyard. In chains.”

That proposition didn’t thrill Jungkook, but it didn’t surprise him either. “Fine.” He turned to Taehyung and spoke in Hangul. “They’ll give her my message. But they’ll bind us in the meantime. Please don’t put up a fuss.”

“I’m not a child.”

“I know.”

One of the guards scurried away to convey the news. Meanwhile, the others frowned at hearing Hangul, then ushered Jungkook and Taehyung through the gate and into the courtyard.

The redhead put manacles on Jungkook first, binding his arms behind his back, but she made sure the irons weren’t too tight, and she didn’t take his sword.

Taehyung went pale at her gesture to put his hands behind his back. “Jungkook,” he said quietly. He sounded strangled. “I can’t…”

Jungkook answered in a soothing tone. “It’s only for a few minutes. These are not the Yakuza.”

“Yes...umm...alright.” Taehyung stepped very close to Jungkook and looked as if he wanted to run, but he placed his hands as ordered. When the shackles clinked shut, he winced.

They ended up having to wait considerably longer than a few minutes. Jungkook understood— it wasn’t as if royalty was available at a moment’s notice.

Perhaps noting the way Taehyung swayed slightly on his feet, the redheaded guard led them to a stone bench near the wall and asked them to sit. They did, Taehyung so close that his thigh was pressed against Jungkook’s.

“Do you think we should get a fountain like that at the castle?” Taehyung asked after a while. He nodded his head toward an enormous monstrosity covered in gilded dragons, lions, eagles, and gods knew what else.

“I think you should get two of them.”

Jungkook was rewarded with a brief smile—one of the first Taehyung had ever given him—and then Taehyung spoke. “Once when I was still a boy, my mother bought my father a statue as a gift. It was hideous and it cost a fortune. My brothers and I used to call it the Gaesaekki.”

Jungkook looked at him wide eyed as he mouthed, “Son of a—”

“—bitch. Yes.” Taehyung smiled, “Father was forced to keep it in his study so he wouldn’t offend her. After she died, he moved it into his bedchamber.” A softness settled on Taehyung’s features. “I think my mother would have loved this fountain.” He sighed. “What’s your mother like, Jungkook?”

“D3ad. Yakuza k!lled my whole family when I was a child.”

“Gods. I’m sorry. I didn’t…I’m so sorry.”

Jungkook shrugged, which was a bit awkward in chains. “It was a long time ago.”

“And you’ve no family left at all?”

“No.”

“My father once said your mother’s family is prominent.”

“They weren’t pleased she married a Joseon.” Jungkook had never met them and knew little about them. His mother had preferred not to speak about her relatives.

“Then who did you go to for comfort after you were…after the prison?”

Jungkook looked away.

Perhaps Taehyung would have asked more questions, and perhaps Jungkook would have answered, because at least the conversation was distracting the prince from his unease. But two important-seeming men came marching purposefully in their direction, both of them looking appalled.

“Unchain these men at once!” ordered the one with a narrow face and long Chinese beard.

His companion, almost his twin but for the missing beard, bowed deeply to Taehyung. “I beg your pardon, sir. I do apologize for this horrid treatment.”

Jungkook translated while the redhead unlocked Taehyung’s manacles and then Jungkook’s. Taehyung bowed back, albeit not quite so deeply. “It’s not necessary. Of course you must be very careful about security. Your guards were not at all unkind.”

When Jungkook translated that little speech into Joseon, the thin-faced men looked relieved and the redhead smiled slightly.

Taehyung and Jungkook were led into the palace, an edifice of endless marble hallways lined with colorful carpets, paintings, tapestries, and statues.

Passersby gaped at Taehyung and Jungkook, then scurried out of their way. The foursome finally arrived at a large room with silk-upholstered chairs and more tapestries.

Large windows overlooked an elaborate walled garden, while inside the room, numerous vases overflowed with fresh flowers.

“Her Majesty will join you very shortly,” said the bearded man. “Would you, er...care to freshen up first?”

After Jungkook translated, Taehyung shook his head. “No. All the freshening up in the world won’t make me look less disreputable.”

The men listened as Jungkook conveyed the message, and then they bowed and hurried out of the room.

Taehyung paced while Jungkook waited near one of the paneled walls. It wasn’t long before a door swung open and a woman stepped into the room.

She wasn’t what Jungkook had expected. For one thing, a detailed rendering of a flowering vine crept from her neck up one cheek.

Jungkook had never seen a tattoo before but vaguely remembered his father once mentioning that Joseon nobility applied ink to their bodies.

The queen was in her sixties and had probably never been beautiful, but her clear eyes showed keen intelligence.

Her hanbok and long robe were obviously made of expensive cloth yet were mostly unadorned. Her gray hair formed a nimbus of tight curls around her face.

“Wangja Taehyung,” she said and curtseyed. “I am so relieved to see you.” She spoke in heavily accented and quite formal and regal Hangul.

Taehyung’s answering bow was very deep. As battered and poorly dressed as he was, there was no mistaking him for anything but a prince. “Jusang. Thank you for agreeing to speak to me.”

“Of course.” She frowned. “I cannot properly express my regrets over the treatment you have received in my country. I know you understand why I could not act more directly. But please understand how pained I am at what you have endured.”

After a very brief pause, Taehyung bowed again. “I do understand. And I’d like you to know that I owe my life, in part, to the kindness of some of your subjects.” He gave an unhappy little smile. “Every country has its villains and its heroes.”

She trailed her fingertips along an ivory-inlayed tabletop. “And speaking of heroes…?” She gave Jungkook a significant look.

Taehyung turned to look at Jungkook, who tensed. But then Taehyung shocked him with a warm smile. “I apologize, My Lady. Let me present my bodyguard, Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook felt huge and shabby. Rather belatedly, he dropped to one knee, but the queen quickly motioned for him to stand. She gave him a very close look, and then her eyes widened. “Jeon! Your father was Jeon Jaewon!”

“I…Yes, Jusang.”

“I should have seen it immediately. You look so much like him.” The corners of her lips twitched. “I had a terrible crush on him when I was a girl.”

“You…you knew my father?”

“Not well, but yes. He was one of my mother’s advisors. He was very young for that position, actually, but I believe he inherited it. And he had a reputation for plain speaking. If more people had listened to him, a great deal of pain could have been avoided.”

Jungkook didn’t know how to respond to that. His tongue felt thick and stupid, so he nodded awkwardly. Then he risked a glance at Taehyung, who was giving him an odd, unreadable look.

“So many sorrows,” said Yeowang Nabi. “But perhaps due to the bravery of both of you, we can avoid yet more.”

“That’s my hope too,” said Taehyung.

“Good. And I must apologize again, but I was in the middle of a meeting. I think perhaps you might like some rest and refreshment after the ardors of your journey. Will you accept my hospitality? This evening we can begin our discussions in earnest.”

“Thank you, My Lady.”

“Good. Please wait here. In a few minutes someone will come to take you to your rooms.”

But before she could leave, Taehyung held up a hand. “My Lady? I’d prefer it if Jungkook stayed with me. He can translate for me if necessary. And he’s my bodyguard.”

“Of course.”

A brief round of bowing and curtseying accompanied the queen’s departure. Afterward, Taehyung crossed the room to the window, leaned against the sill, and looked out at the thick afternoon mist.

Not only did Jungkook have no idea what the prince might be thinking, he wasn’t all that sure of his own thoughts, which were jumbled and confused.

“Do you think she’ll be sympathetic to my arguments?” Taehyung asked, still facing away.

“I don’t know. She seemed… well-disposed.”

“Maybe. But you never know with royalty. Quite often we say or do one thing and we mean something else entirely.”

Jungkook was still chewing over the meaning of that statement when a woman arrived to lead them away.

!!~~~~!!

Taehyung and Jungkook were taken to chambers fit for a prince. The main room was large and generously furnished.

An elevated platform held an enormous bed, covered by an opulent bedspread and piled with pillows.

In a smaller attached room, a spacious window provided a fine view of the city from the carved wooden table placed in front of it, which was set with gold cutlery and gilded plates.

A small feast awaited them under covered dishes. But the accommodation that excited them both was the washroom with a huge porcelain tub filled with steaming, scented water.

The room also included a pile of thick towels, a painted washbasin, a mirror with an ornate frame, two sets of toiletries, and a rack hung with several sets of clothing.

“I suspect the queen thinks we’re filthy,” Taehyung said with a small grin. “And she’s right. What do you think—eat first or bathe?”

“I…uh…”

“Bathe, I think. Better a cold dinner than cold bath water.” Taehyung sat on a marble bench to remove his boots.

Then, while Jungkook stood like a complete fool, the prince stripped completely and climbed into the tub. He uttered a deep sigh and submerged to his neck. “Heaven.”

Jungkook was carefully averting his eyes, as if he hadn’t already seen Taehyung naked many times. As if he hadn’t felt him, deep inside, just the night before.

Taehyung made an exasperated little noise. “Get in the tub, Jungkook.”

“But you’re—”

“It’s big enough for us both. No point in you having to endure cold, second-hand water.”

Jungkook hung his sword on a hook and quickly undressed.

He felt acutely self-conscious as he crossed the room, but Taehyung didn’t say anything as he climbed into the tub. They faced each other in silence. The deep water was soft with scented oil; it felt wonderful.

After lifting a large cake of soap from a basket, Taehyung gestured imperiously. “Turn around. I’ll wash your back.”

Were all princes so inscrutable? Jungkook turned around, sloshing some of the water onto the tile floor in the process.

He tried not to swoon like a lovesick maiden when Taehyung set one slick hand on his shoulder and used the other to smooth the soap over his spine. Jungkook had never been bathed before— well, not since he was a child.

In the quiet of the washroom, with the only sounds being their breaths and the small splashes of water, the act was strangely intimate.

More intimate, in fact, than most of the fucks he’d had at the Dark Valley. And Taehyung was taking his time over it, moving the soap in small, slow circles.

“There’s no tub in the barracks, is there?” asked Taehyung.

“No.”

“Then how do you stay clean? When you spar, you never—” He stopped suddenly, then cleared his throat.

“We make do with wash bowls. When my purse is feeling especially full I might go to the baths.”

“I have a private washroom. I’ve never been to the public baths.”

Did Taehyung sound slightly wistful?

“They’re not nearly as nice as this. At least, not the one I go to. It’s near the Goose.”

“I’ve never been there either.”

Jungkook twisted his head around to look at him. “Really?”

“I’m a fucking wangja, Jungkook. Do you think I’d be allowed in a place like that without an entire company of guards?” He sighed. “My social life happens at official dinners where I have to pretend to be fascinated with the Duke of Dumbshit or the Baroness of Boredom. And when I want to get a leg over, there’s a list of whores who are approved for royal use. They’re all very clean and pretty and proper.”

That was an aspect of Taehyung’s life that had never occurred to Jungkook. Taehyung trained with the guards and, to the extent Jungkook had thought about it at all, he assumed he played like the guards as well.

He opened his mouth to say something— an apology, maybe?— but Taehyung snorted at him. “Tilt your head back. I’ll wash your hair.”

Jungkook closed his eyes as Taehyung upended several cups of bathwater over his head.

And then…good gods.

Taehyung used his fingertips to massage soap into Jungkook’s scalp; it was a gentle sensation since his fingers had lost some strength during his captivity.

Jungkook had thought it felt good to have his back soaped, but this was unbelievably wonderful. It was altogether possible he might climax from it.

Taehyung chuckled. “You’re moaning, Jungkook.”

“I… uh…”

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

“Gods, yes!”

The answering laughter sounded delighted.

Before Jungkook could quite melt with pleasure, Taehyung dumped more water over his head to rinse away the shampoo.

Then he patted Jungkook’s back. “My turn!”

More water sloshed out as they both turned around.

As much as Jungkook had enjoyed being bathed, he enjoyed bathing Taehyung even more. It was a wonderful excuse to touch him, to examine him not as a combatant or a patient but as a man.

He had wide shoulders dotted with a few freckles, which Jungkook would have liked to lick. The knobs of his spine were still too prominent, but his skin was soft, and the nape of his neck looked so tender and vulnerable that Jungkook nearly bit through his own lip.

Jungkook spent a very long time cleaning Taehyung’s hair, gently working out the tangles with his fingers. Not that Taehyung minded— the sounds he made were positively obscene.

About the same time that the water cooled, Jungkook’s empty belly growled, making Taehyung laugh again. “I guess your stomach cares little about your outsides being clean.”

With a slight tangle of limbs and considerable splashing, they climbed out of the tub. Jungkook gasped when he saw that Taehyung’s c0ck was as erect as his own.

Taehyung licked his lips and gave Jungkook one of his long, unreadable stares before shaking his head and grabbing a towel. “We’d better eat before the queen sends for me.”

There was enough food to feed a small army, and even though most of it had cooled to room temperature, it was delicious.

Taehyung ate slowly, no doubt mindful of his still-recovering digestive system, but in the end he managed to down quite a lot. Jungkook ate like a starving wolf— albeit one with relatively good manners.

They had just finished their meal when a knock sounded at the door. Jungkook answered it, not especially surprised to discover the thin-faced duo from earlier in the day. “Jusang requests the presence of her guest,” said the bearded one.

Unlike Jungkook, Taehyung wouldn’t have noticed the singular guest, but he put up his hand when Jungkook tried to leave with him. “This is bound to be long and tedious, Jungkook, and I don’t need you to translate. Stay here.”

Jungkook set his jaw. “I’m your guard.”

“I know. But if she decides to do away with me, even you can’t stand up to a palace full of soldiers. I’ll be fine.” He gave Jungkook a stern look. “Stand down.”

“Yes, Jusang,” Jungkook replied, feeling like a sullen child. But then he hastily added, “Wait!” and trotted to the washroom. He returned a few seconds later with his scabbarded sword, which he held out to Taehyung.

“That’s generous of you. But I can hardly lift it in my current state.”

“You’re a warrior. You ought to look like one.”

Taehyung gave him a strange smile as he took the blade.

!!~~~~~!!

Jungkook had experienced far too much idleness lately. He wasn’t used to it and didn’t like it.

There was little in the bedchamber to keep him busy, and he had the feeling he wouldn’t be very welcome were he to prowl the palace halls. He paced instead, staring out the windows where darkness hid the gardens, and examining the details of the tapestries on the walls.

On close inspection, one of them turned out to depict couples— and threesomes and foursomes— in a bewildering variety of s3xual positions. Jungkook looked at that one for a long time, which was probably a mistake.

Two well-built men in the lower right-hand corner were happily sucking each other’s cocks. One of them had long dark hair.

Even though the bath was long over, Jungkook’s dick had never quite softened all the way. Now it perked back up, and a pleasant little twinge in his ass reminded him of the previous night.

Gods.

With a sigh of resignation, Jungkook closed himself in the washroom and dropped his trousers.

He sat on the edge of the tub while he stroked himself, and when he thought of Taehyung marking his shoulder with his teeth, Jungkook came.

!!~~~~!!

Taehyung returned very late. He weaved slightly as he walked, perhaps from the exhaustion that was plain on his face. Perhaps from the wine that scented his breath.

He slammed the chamber door behind him and staggered to the room with the table, where he found some leftover ale. He swallowed it in one long draught.

Jungkook hovered.

Then Taehyung slammed the empty tankard onto the table, snarled, and swept the tankard aside. It clattered loudly against the floor. “Fucking royalty!”

“Is she not—”

“Oh, she’ll come around. But not until after I spend days talking myself in circles and making all sorts of promises. It’s a power thing. Prove you have the upper hand by stringing the other party along until he wants to strangle you.” He unbuckled the sword and hung it over a chair back. “Not that I’d be able. I couldn’t strangle a newborn kitten right now.”

Jungkook made a face, and Taehyung grimaced. “I don’t strangle kittens, Jungkook. It’s a saying. Gods, I hadn’t realized you were the savior of animals too. Is that what I am to you? A fluffy little puppy, maybe? A baby bunny?”

“No. You’re a wangja.”

This time, Taehyung shoved a plate to the floor.

It shattered.

Then he stomped over to Jungkook and stood so close that they almost touched. “A wangja?”

!!~~~~!!!!~~~~!!