Chapter Text
The throne room doors open with a groaning of steel, and the wolf is brought in.
Six guards are required to handle him. Not because he struggles, he doesn’t, but because the weight of the chains demands it. Each link is thick enough to choke a man. Each shackle is double-locked, carved with royal glyphs, polished for display.
They want him to shine.
They want the court to see what kind of creature they own.
This entire thing is theatrical. A performance. A reminder of the beast they keep shackled underneath the palace.
Jungkook is barefoot, shirtless, dried blood crusted around the collar of his throat. His arms are bound behind his back, elbows drawn tight until the tension in his shoulders warps his posture. The muzzle is bolted into his jaw, iron bars caging his mouth in a twisted half-snarl. Dried saliva streaks the rusted hinges. Blood.
His head hangs low.
Not in submission.
Never in submission.
But because the chains are too heavy to lift.
He is dragged to the center of the marble floor and forced to his knees. The guards make a show of it, yanking one chain, then another, until he drops with a dull, echoing sound. His knee hits stone. Then the other. His claws curl against the floor, but he doesn’t fight.
They whisper that he doesn’t scream anymore.
Not unless he scents an omega.
A beta herald steps forward. His voice is bright. It bounces off the pillars like an echo.
“Jeon Jungkook, feral-born alpha. Warhound. Beast of the East. Bondbutcher. Unmarked rogue. Today, you stand accused of the following,” his voice wobbles slightly, unnerved by the thickening scent of pine and steel in the air. It curled around the court like smog, choking and acrid. “Disrespect of the crown. Disobedience under imprisonment. Refusal to submit to court orders. Breathing unpermitted in the presence of a royal alpha. The sentence is demonstrative correction.”
He doesn’t look up. Not when the ceremonial rod is drawn. Not when it whistles through the air. Not when the first strike lands across his chest, right above the ribs. He doesn’t move. It doesn’t hurt. How could it? It had been years since he felt real pain. The last spark of any emotion other than anger or hatred… It was when his pack had been slaughtered in front of him. His own deafening screams were forever seared in his mind. The grief, the guilt, the ache of losing his pack. His brothers.
The court watches. Dresses rustle. Mouths twitch.
Another strike.
And another.
And another.
Still nothing. Not a twitch of his mouth, not a tremble of his shoulders.
They switch tools. Something thinner. More flexible. This time the cuts open slightly. Thin red lines bead and swell against already-scarred flesh. The court wants sound. They want movement.Jungkook gives them neither. Not even a little trickle of pain in his scent.
So of course, they escalate.
A branding iron is brought forward, but not heated. The metal is cold. It’s not meant to scar. It’s meant to remind. One of the guards presses the flat against his collarbone. “Still remember what this means, dog?”
They laugh when he doesn’t respond.
A guard plants a boot on the back of his neck and shoves his head into the stone. “Show submission, beast.”
The muzzle clatters. Something cracks in his neck. Still no sound. His hair spills forward onto the marble. Long, matted, sticking to the sweat across his chest. His tail twitches once and falls still.
Then comes the hook.
A delicate, almost surgical blade. Thin and curved like a flensing knife. It’s used to peel flesh, not puncture. It slices the edge of his right ear. A slow, deep pull down through the cartilage. Not deep enough to maim. Just to bleed. Just enough to get some sort of reaction.
The blood rolls down his neck and pools in the hinge of the muzzle.
And finally, he growls.
It’s quiet. Instinctive. A sound that vibrates through the chain links. Not loud enough to hear, but deep enough to feel. Every handler tenses. The court holds its breath.
One of the guards reacts as expected. He kicks him in the ribs full force, boot driving into bone. Jungkook’s body folds. The muzzle hits the floor again. His head rings. His vision tunnels. Something wet trickles down his side.
Still no scream.
Still no resistance.
He kneels.
Chest heaving. Blood trailing down one thigh.
But he kneels.
Hanuel steps forward. The Crown Prince of Daemyrr. Smirking. Casual. Voice like spoiled silk. “I have a better idea,” he says. “Since he’s so quiet? Let’s see what he does when we give him something he’s not supposed to want.”
He turns to the side.
His hand shoots out.
And shoves Jimin forward.
***
Jimin didn’t belong in the suffocating room that was the court. Full of so many intermingling scents. A dizzying combination of alpha musk, omega sweetness, and beta neutralizers. It hurt his nose. He had been dragged in at the last minute by his beta herald, Eunwon. “It’s a direct order from Crown Prince Haneul.” Was all that the beta gave him for an explanation, a worried furrow to his brow and his usual mint scent soured.
A low growl sounded. Almost so quiet, that if the court weren’t holding their breath… It wouldn’t have been heard.
Jimin peered up from where his head was ducked. His eyes scanned the large, brightly lit room before they landed on the figure right in the center. His nose scrunched as he tried to place the scent. /The cold wind before the first Winter’s snow./ His head cocked to the side, his downy ears tucking back but not disappearing into his hair.
What was going on? If it made Eunwon frazzled, it had to be something serious.
The little lamb ducked his head once more.
It wasn’t his business. It was never his business. He was an omega. Omegas kept their heads ducked and their scents controlled. They showed deference. They never spoke unless spoken to. That meant no inquiring.
For Jimin? It tore apart at his soul, sometimes. The prince had an unrivaled curiosity. Unmatched to any scholar in the court. Questions slipped from his pouty lips like exhaled air.
All of a sudden, the world around Jimin was moving. Spinning around him. Eunwon’s hand was gripped tight to his upper arm, his body being thrusted forward without his consent.
Jimin stumbles only slightly, catching himself, using Eunwon’s grip for help. His other hand shoots up to grip onto the beta’s wrist. His eyes are wide, nervous as they finally lock onto the figure kneeling before him.
The Blood Wolf of the East.
***
Jungkook was suffocating.
Until the scent hits him. It’s soft. Sweet. Unfamiliar. But not just unfamiliar, just wrong. Out of place. Like jasmine blooming in winter. Like sugar in blood. He doesn’t lift his head. He doesn’t have to.
It finds him. That scent.
It wraps around the iron cage of his muzzle and slides down his throat like silk. Jasmine. Fresh cream. Something clean and young. Like rain in spring. Like prey.
His breath stutters. Not audibly. But his chest jolts once, like something in him is waking up that shouldn’t.
Another inhale.
Oh.
It’s not just prey. It’s omega. Not the spoiled, perfume-drenched omegas they use to mock him. Not synthetic. Not trained. This is real. This is heat just beginning to bloom beneath silk robes.
His ears twitch. His tail curls tight to his thigh. His hands clench, wrists twisting against iron bindings. Not to break free. Not yet. It’s the biggest reaction they’ve gotten from him yet. And they noticed. Hanuel noticed, if the cruel smile spreading across his ugly face was any indication. The harsh tightening of the chains attached to his wrists and collar was enough of a sign.
They were preparing for him to lunge. To lunge at the omega.
He wouldn’t give them the liberty of that reaction. He doesn’t look up.
But his nose dips, instinct dragging him lower like a beast sniffing the earth. The scent is being carried by the air, wafting closer, too rich, too much. He can feel how it affects the omega, if the sweetening of their scent was anything to go by. They were flustered.
He growls again. This one isn’t defiance. It’s want. Not the rut kind. Not the alpha rage. Something worse.
There’s a sound. Fabric moving. Chains rattling. The court breathing too loud.
And then, that scent again, closer now. Sharp-edged sugar, soft like petals, wrong in a way that makes his teeth ache. Not because it offends him.
Because it hurts.
Then he hears it. A footstep. Light. Hesitant. The omega was moving closer. Close enough to have his silk clad lower half right in front of Jungkook’s kneeled figure.
The chime of bracelets, delicate and expensive. The quickening heartbeat of something terrified but not fighting. His eyes open. He doesn’t lift his head yet.
But his gaze cuts forward and catches pale blue silk. It clings faintly to slender calves. Pools at the floor like water. There’s a ringed hand trembling just inches away. Held by a beta herald, skin pale. The hand is trying not to pull back.
His pupils blow wide.
That’s not bait. That’s not court mockery. That’s an omega. And not just any omega. This one is beautiful.
He stares at the ankle peeking through the robe, and something in his hindbrain howls. His shoulders twitch like he’s about to lunge but he doesn’t. He just inhales again. The scent punches through his ribs this time.
It is not heat. Not yet. But it’s building. He can feel it in his own body, as if it were his own. The omega is flushed, scared, head ducked. The scent is sugar-milk panic.
Downy ears tucked back. Not raised in defiance. A little lamb. Prey.
Shy. Small. And yet Haneul shoves him forward like a plaything.
The chains strain as Jungkook leans forward half an inch, breath low, dragging through the muzzle slats.
He growls.
This one is feral.
The beta herald holding the omega stumbles. Not because Jungkook moved. But because he felt it. That sound. That growl that said: Mine.
The little omega startles, but his scent doesn’t bloom with fear like Jungkook expected.
The scent grows richer. Sweet turns ripe. The lamb’s eyes are locked onto the wolf’s now. Slightly glassy, hazy with something that looked like want. But swimming with confusion. Enough that Jungkook’s eyes snap away like it burned him.
No. No, no, no. They shouldn’t have brought him here.
Not the one who smells like wildflowers. Not the one who smells like home.
His fingers curl hard enough to split his own skin.
And for the first time since he was dragged from the battlefield? Jungkook bares his teeth.
It drags Jimin from his alpha musk induced haze. More like it violently tears him from it. He’s trembling, shoulders shaking, fingers twitching where they’re forced forward.
The alpha was massive. And the alpha had growled at him, was baring his teeth through the slats of the muzzle strapped and bound to his jaw. Jimin didn’t understand the significance. He didn’t even understand why he was forced in front of the man.
“H-Hanuel, please, l-let me-” Came his soft voice, a stutter wracking his words. He felt uncomfortable with the sudden heat blooming low in his belly. The way the alpha was looking at him, the way he was scenting. He didn’t understand why he suddenly felt slick in his lower half, the pressure in his abdomen starting to overwhelm him.
If anyone in the court noticed, no one dared speak a word.
“Looks like the beast isn’t broken after all! Seems like little Jimin here is the push he needed to wake back up. How lovely.” Hanuel’s voice came from behind him, an icy hand gripping onto his shoulder.
“Eunwon, take Prince Jimin back to his quarters before he can shame himself any further.”
Oh. Shame. Jimin had brought shame. But how? He hadn’t even moved, he hadn’t spoken, just to beg to be released.
The little lamb dared to glance at the chained alpha kneeled in front of him again, a little frown on his plush lips. He really looked at the man this time, taking the precious moments he had before he would be forced away to solitude.
Long, dark hair. Matted in some parts. Large charcoal ears. Dark, blood red eyes staring back at him. Countless scars, bruises, old injuries, new injuries littered his body. Something in Jimin’s chest broke open at the sight. No one deserved to be treated like this.
The confusion evident in the alpha’s eyes at the way his sweet scent morphed into something akin to sadness and guilt stayed with Jimin until the next morning.