You were born beneath the wide, open skies of a quiet province—where the wind carried the scent of wheat and the laughter of your sisters, where your father’s calloused hands taught you the weight of honesty, and your mother’s voice hummed lullabies of simpler dreams. But fate, it seems, has other plans.

The decree arrives like a storm.

"The eldest daughter of every province shall present herself at the royal palace."

The words are crisp and final. There is no refusal. No choice. The parchment might as well be a chain around your throat. You are to compete—no, to beg—for the affection of a man you’ve never met. For the privilege of becoming his bride.

The journey is long. The road is unkind. Nobara, your ever-loyal lady-in-waiting, grips your hand as the carriage rattles over uneven stones. Her knuckles are white. Yours are too.

"It will be alright," she whispers.

You don’t believe her.

Then—the palace.

It looms.

Gilded spires pierce the heavens, so tall you have to crane your neck to see their peaks. The walls are immaculate, carved from marble so flawless it seems to glow. And the courtyard—gods, the courtyard is a sea of silk and jewels, a hundred daughters like you, each more breathtaking than the last. Their gowns shimmer like captured starlight. Their smiles are as sharp as knives.

You step out.

The sun is blinding.

Your breath catches.

And then—her.

The Empress.

She stands at the heart of it all, regal as a statue, her gaze sweeping over the gathered daughters like a farmer assessing cattle. There is no warmth in her eyes. Only calculation.

A hush falls.

You feel Nobara’s fingers tighten around yours.

This is it.

The game has begun.