The silence in the bridal chamber that night was a living thing—thick, suffocating, pressing down upon them like a burial shroud.

Y/N and Prince Jeon lay side by side, their bodies not touching, staring up at the canopy above. Neither spoke. Words had become useless, hollow things that could not bridge the chasm of humiliation and defeat that yawned between them.

Prince Jeon's hands lay flat against his stomach, his fingers curling and uncurling in helpless fists. In the darkness, hot tears traced paths down his temples into his hair. He was drowning in his own inadequacy, in the crushing knowledge that he was nothing—less than nothing—before his father's might.

He had stood there, spine bent, head bowed, while the King—his own father—had feasted on his bride's breasts like a rutting beast. He had done nothing. Said nothing. Could do nothing. The weight of his cowardice crushed his chest until he could barely breathe. He was not a man. He was not a husband. He was a frightened boy trapped in a prince's body, utterly incapable of saving the woman who should have been his sanctuary.

Beside him, Y/N lay rigid, her eyes wide and unblinking, staring into the darkness until her vision blurred. She felt broken—shattered into a thousand jagged pieces that could never be reassembled. Her body ached from the King's use, her mind reeled from the public degradation, and her heart lay in ruins. She was alone. Completely, utterly alone. No one was coming to save her. Not her husband, trembling in his cowardice.

Not the Queen, who cowered in her own chambers. Not God, if He existed in this hellhole of a palace. She was a toy, a possession, a hole for the King's pleasure, and the realization settled into her bones like a terminal illness—she would die here, slowly, piece by piece, until nothing remained but a shell for Jungkook to use.

The next evening, the royal chamber for the customary tea ceremony. The air was perfumed with incense and tension, the silk tapestries hanging heavy on the walls as if they too wished to hide from what was to come.

Y/N entered on shaking legs, her hanbok carefully arranged to hide the marks on her skin, but nothing could hide the terror in her eyes. Jungkook sat upon sofa like chair, his massive frame draped in royal robes of crimson and gold, his eyes burning with dark intent as they fixed upon her.

"Come," he commanded, his voice echoing through the chamber.

The Queen—Queen Myung, Y/N's mother-in-law—stood to the side, her face pale as death, her hands clutching a silk fan that trembled violently. Jungkook's own wife, her eyes hollow, her lips pressed into a thin white line.

Y/N approached the King with mincing steps, her breath coming in shallow gasps. When she reached him, Jungkook reached out and seized her wrist, yanking her down onto his lap with a force that knocked the air from her lungs. She landed astride him, her skirt bunching, her face burning with shame as she felt the eyes of the Queen.

"Please," she whispered, tears already spilling down her cheeks. "Not here... not in front of..."

Jungkook ignored her, his large hands moving to the front of her hanbok. He pulled the fabric apart with rough impatience, exposing her breasts to the cool air of the chamber. The silk fell away, leaving her chest bare, her nipples tightening in the draft.

"Look at these fat tits," he growled, his voice carrying deliberately across the room. "Made for a King's mouth, not some weakling boy."

He lowered his head and took her nipple into his mouth, sucking hard and loud. The wet, obscene sound of his suckling filled the chamber—slurp, slurp, slurp—shameless and hungry. He pulled her breast deep, his cheeks hollowing with the force of his suction, his tongue lashing the sensitive peak. Y/N cried out, her hands flying to his shoulders, trying to push him away, but he caught her wrists and pinned them behind her back, arching her chest further into his face.

Queen Myung made a sound like a wounded animal, her fan dropping from numb fingers. She watched her husband—her King, the father of her son—sucking the breasts of her son's bride, and she felt her soul withering inside her chest. She wanted to scream, to claw his eyes out, to drag Y/N away from his filthy mouth. But she stood frozen, her legs rooted to the floor by decades of terror. One wrong move and Jungkook would have her beaten. Or worse. She was as much his prisoner as the girl on his lap.

While his mouth worked her breast, Jungkook's other hand disappeared beneath Y/N's skirt. He found her entrance with unerring accuracy, his thick fingers probing her dry, resistant folds. She whimpered and tried to close her legs, but he forced his knee between her thighs, spreading her wide.

"Open that cunt for me," he commanded against her breast, his breath hot and wet on her skin. "Let me feel how tight that little pussy is."

He plunged two fingers inside her, making her scream—a sharp, high sound of violation. He began finger-fucking her roughly beneath her skirt, his knuckles bumping against her pubic bone, his thumb grinding against her clit with each brutal stroke. The wet sounds of her forced arousal mixed with the sucking noises of his mouth, creating a symphony of degradation that echoed off the marble walls.

"So fucking tight," he groaned, pulling back from her breast to look into her tear-streaked face. "Like a virgin every time. Your cunt was made for my fingers, my tongue, my cock. You're just a warm hole for me to use, aren't you? Say it."

Y/N shook her head, sobbing, but he curled his fingers inside her, finding that spot that made her back arch involuntarily.

"Say it!" he barked.

"I'm... I'm just a hole," she choked out, her voice breaking. "Your hole..."

"Good girl," he purred, increasing the pace of his fingers.

He kept sucking her breasts—switching from left to right, leaving them glistening with his saliva, the nipples swollen and red—while his fingers pistoned in and out of her, the wet squelching sounds audible to everyone in the chamber.

She felt the coil tightening in her belly, the heat spreading through her traitorous flesh.

"Don't," she begged, shaking her head. "Please... don't make me..."

But it was too late. With a wail of despair, she came on his fingers, her walls clamping down in front of the Queens, in front of her husband's mother. She shuddered and spasmed, her cries echoing through the chamber, her face burning with the deepest shame she had ever known.

Jungkook pulled his fingers from her with a wet sound, holding them up glistening with her essence. He looked directly at Queen Myung as he brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean, his tongue swirling around his thick digits, his eyes rolling back in exaggerated pleasure.

"Delicious," he announced, his voice thick with lust. "Sweet as honey. This pussy is the best I've ever tasted—tight, hot, and so fucking responsive. I could eat this cunt for hours."

He pulled his fingers from his mouth with a pop and looked down at Y/N's heaving breasts, still exposed and dripping with his saliva. With a dark chuckle, he raised his hand and brought it down hard against her left breast—smack—making the flesh jiggle and bounce. She yelped, her body jerking.

"Look at them bounce," he laughed, a cruel, booming sound that filled the room. He spanked her right breast next—smack—harder this time, watching the pale flesh redden and wobble. "Like ripe melons. Fat, heavy tits made for slapping and sucking. You like that, don't you? You like having your tits spanked in front of everyone?"

He continued spanking her breasts, alternating left and right, watching them jiggle and sway with each impact, his laughter growing louder as she sobbed and tried to cover herself. The vulgar display—the wet breasts, the reddening skin, the obscene bouncing—was a message to queen in the room, standing witness: This is mine. I own this. I can do whatever I want, and no one can stop me.

"Please... enough," Queen Myung whispered, her voice barely audible, her hand pressed to her mouth as if she might be sick.

Jungkook's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Did you speak, wife?"

The Queen froze, her face going white as parchment. She shook her head frantically, dropping into a deep bow. "N-no, Your Majesty. Forgive me. I spoke out of turn."

Jungkook stared at her for a long moment, his hand still resting possessively on Y/N's breast, his fingers absently pinching the bruised nipple. The threat hung in the air like a blade. Then he smirked and returned his attention to Y/N, pulling her face down to his for a brutal, claiming kiss that tasted of her own arousal and his dominance.

"Tonight," he announced to the room, breaking the kiss and leaving Y/N gasping, "I will fuck this little bride in my chambers. All night. And anyone who disturbs me will be flogged within an inch of their life."

He looked directly at his wife, who stood in the shadows, her face a mask of broken anguish.

"Your son’s bride has a busy night ahead, wife," Jungkook sneered. "I suggest you get some sleep. You'll need your rest to bow properly to me tomorrow morning."

The King laughed—a dark, booming sound of absolute power—as Y/N collapsed against his chest, sobbing silently, her body marked and used, her spirit crumbling into dust while the court looked on in terrified silence.