Kim Taehyung (King of the Devil)

The stars above the devil kingdom were cruel things.
They shone too brightly over a land built on bargains and blood, too beautifully over towers that had watched centuries of war. Every point of silver in the sky looked sharp enough to cut. You wondered if that was why Taehyung liked them—because they were distant, untouchable, and cold.
Wind moved through the silver grass in long sighs.
Beside you, he rested with one arm tucked beneath his head, gaze fixed upward. His profile was carved in moonlight: elegant nose, dark lashes, the severe line of a mouth that rarely softened unless by accident. Without the crown and silk and ceremony, he looked less like a king and more like a man who had forgotten how to rest.
You hated that noticing him had become instinct.
“You’re staring,” he said quietly.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I was looking at the sky.”
“The sky is above you,” he replied. “I’m beside you.”
You turned away at once, heat rising to your face despite the cold. “Then perhaps your ego is large enough to block constellations.”
For a second, silence.
Then he laughed.
Not the polished court chuckle he used among nobles. Not the dry sound he used when mocking ministers. This was brief and real, low in his throat, startled out of him before he could stop it.
The sound struck you harder than it should have.
When you looked back, his expression had already smoothed into something unreadable.
“There,” you murmured bitterly. “Gone again.”
His brows drew together. “What is gone?”
“Whatever version of you exists for only a moment.”
He sat up slowly, grass bending beneath his gloved hand. “Careful.”
“Why?” Your voice trembled now, exhaustion peeling away restraint. “Will I offend the King of Devils on our wedding night?”
His eyes sharpened.
You should've stopped. Every instinct warned you to stop. But the hurt of the day had swollen too large.
One moment Taehyung was warm, kind, and your comfort then in a second he turns cold, arrogant and violent, someone you don't recognize.