The Tormented

Jungkook could do nothing to resist as the two burly men forcefully dragged him away, Mingyu watching in shock as Taehyung looked on coldly. The warmth in his eyes that used to be there was gone, leaving only a mask of ice and stone, much like how it was like when Jungkook had first met him in the gardens of his house years ago, It seemed like a lifetime away, but Taehyung was breathing, alive, and yet was dead to Jungkook.

It was a mistake to leave, Jungkook understood too late. Taehyung had nothing left for him, but Jungkook's heart still pined for the man sitting on his throne far above what Jungkook deserved. He still burned for Taehyung, like a fallen star that hadn't exploded in a flurry of sparks yet. He still wanted Taehyung.

But desire was nothing in the face of pure hatred.

Did Taehyung hate him? Probably. Taehyung didn't want anything to do with him, and he was obviously labeled as a traitor, having shattered Taehyung and left him alone to pick up the pieces. Mingyu might have been cold, but that pain was nothing compared to Taehyung's blatant ignorance. It was like someone ripped Jungkook's insides out and ripped them apart, then stuffed them all back in.

Jungkook was dragged bodily into the dark dungeons, his female body unable to withstand much of the hits and beginning to bruise all over. His hair was a bird's nest, tangled locks and messed bangs hanging limply everywhere, like his body. It hurts.

The men threw Jungkook into a dank cell, with the barest light flickering in a torch outside of ther metal bars. Water dripped from the stone ceiling, the sounds of rats scuttling around soft in the background. There was a pallet of hay and a small wooden bucket in the corner for Jungkook's rest, and Jungkook collapsed on top of the pallet, squeezing his eyes closed and pulling his legs to his body tightly.

He was already sobbing by the time the first tear dropped.

Jungkook could do nothing other than sulk and brood in the cold dungeons. 

The air was drafty, chilly, and barely any light made it through to him. The food they provided was stale rations, mouldy bread and a pitcher of murky water. Jungkook's stomach churned at the sight of the disgusting food. Guards rotated on a daily basis, some condescending and leering, but some kind and considerate. It was the best he could hope for, in a place like this.

Jungkook leaned his head against the stone wall, closing his eyes and surrendering himself to the darkness once more, and hoping that maybe imprisonment would be the only punishment he received.

But it wasn't just that.

Roughly two weeks into Jungkook's lockup, the guards came into his cell, banging the metal grate open and dragging him out. Jungkook was still disorientated, groggy from sleep, his clothes filthy and his body reeking of unwashed body odour. The guards wrinkled their noses, but pulled him into another cell, where a tall, strong man awaited grimly.si

And he was holding a whip.

Jungkook was strapped to a pair of wooden posts, hands bound on either side of him and forced to kneel, his tunic ripped off and his upper body , exposed to the chill. It was early autumn, apparently, small images of golden leaves flashing at him from the small window far above where Jungkook knelt opposite a cold stone wall. He heard a rustle, and the high-pitched whistling of something-

Jungkook screamed when the first whip lashed across his back.

Mingyu could hear the screams from a distance, but he shut it out, hoping that if he couldn't hear it, then it never happened. Ignorance was bliss sometimes, but that doesn't stop Mingyu from feeling guilty that he pulled Jiyeon, or Jungkook, back into this hellhole his brother had created. But it was Jungkook's fault that this all happened at all, and if he hadn't left, then maybe Taehyung would have been a kinder man, a better brother.

Time couldn't heal all injuries, it seemed. 

It was hard enough to hide Shinhwa inside his private wing of the palace without being discovered by his older brother, but if he wanted to get Jungkook out of there, the risks of being found out were extremely high. Taehyung would never release Jungkook if it meant that Jungkook would turn against him. 

Shinhwa was curled in a ball on the floor, sobbing her heart out as she listened to her lady's tortured cries from far away, every whistle of the whip cracking a strike to Mingyu's heart. He could not bear to see the lover he had fought so hard to get back destroy herself once more. But circumstances did not allow any more, and Mingyu was still scared of letting her down.

Still the same old coward, still too afraid to love her and give himself to her completely as his brother had; too afraid that her departure would shatter him like Jungkook's had done Taehyung. He didn't want to be alone after everything.

And yet Shinhwa needed him to pull her out from the despair, needed him to rescue Jungkook from the unneeded torture that meant nothing. Taehyung punished for the sake of punishing, and he did not care whether the pain hurt or did it not.

"Lady Youngmin is here to have her engagement with the king officially put down in paper," A young manservant, one of Mingyu's trusted moles in the palace snuck up to Mingyu and whispered hastily, scurrying away as soon as Mingyu nodded slightly. He placed a hand on Shinhwa's arm, gently pulling her upright into his arms and making her stand. Shinhwa swaying unsteadily on her feet. Mingyu grimaced.

"Will she be alright?" Shinhwa rasped. The sounds of screaming were gone, replaced by eerie silence. "Could we save her from his majesty?"

"I hope so," Mingyu murmured. "I certainly hope so."

Lady Youngmin was the eldest daughter of the Park clan, the second most influential noble family next to the Jeons. Their family were all true bones, none of them marrying too far away from their clan, and intermarrying within family were encouraged. Taehyung closed his eyes, the smell of her overpowering perfume flooding his nostrils.

Every inch of her is fake, he thought, watching her interac