You were born under the wide, humble skies of a small province, where life was a tapestry of simple routines and quiet sunsets. That life shattered with a single, gilded scroll. The decree was absolute: the eldest daughter of every province must journey to the royal palace to compete for a title that felt more like a phantom than a prize—the heart of the Crown Prince, Ayato Kamisato.

And so, you find yourself here, your heart a frantic bird against your ribs as the carriage lurches to a final halt in the sprawling courtyard of a palace that scrapes the clouds. The air itself is different here, thick with the scent of foreign blossoms and a tension you can almost taste. A soft, familiar pressure on your arm steadies you—your lady-in-waiting, Elara, her presence the only anchor you have left. “Remember your breath, my lady,” she murmurs, her voice a low, steady thread in the roaring silence of your anxiety. “You belong here as much as any of them.”

You step out, the gravel crunching ominously beneath your slippers. And you see them. Dozens of them. Women with eyes like polished gemstones and gowns worth more than your family’s entire estate, their laughter a delicate, practised music that echoes off the cold, magnificent walls. You feel your provincial woollens grow heavier, a stark declaration of your outsider status.

Then, a hush falls, deeper and more profound than the quiet before a storm. All eyes turn, and you follow their gaze.

There, at the grand archway, stands the Empress. She does not need to demand attention; the very atmosphere bends to her will. Her gaze, ancient and discerning, sweeps over the assembly of hopefuls, a gardener considering a bed of new, competing blooms. It lingers for a heartbeat on you, and in that fleeting moment, you are laid bare—a girl from the provinces, drowning in a sea of silk and ambition, your future balanced on the edge of a prince’s smile. The competition has not yet begun, and you already feel the weight of the crown, cold and impossibly heavy.