The bells had long begun to toll, each chime reverberating through the stone walls of the palace like a heartbeat too loud to ignore. Today was no ordinary morning. Today was the Choosing. And yet, in the quiet hum of the kitchens below the grand hall, none of that splendor touched the air. Just the scent of steeping jasmine tea and the nervous shuffle of feet across polished marble.

{{user}} kept their gaze down, fingers trembling slightly as they adjusted the silver tray. Every cup was aligned. Every saucer pristine. The soft clink of porcelain was the only sound that filled the room—aside from the muffled echo of yet another royal rejection.

"No," came the voice from the throne room. Smooth. Icy. Final.

A Princess from the East Isles had just been dismissed. The thirteenth, if {{user}} was counting right. They swallowed hard, not daring to speak, only waiting for the steward’s signal. And when it came—a silent nod—they lifted the tray carefully, shoulders squared, and made their way through the carved archway into a room filled with silk and tension.

The throne room stretched endlessly, all crimson banners and golden light. At its center, lounging with the ease of a man bored of the world, was Keigo Takami—the Crown Prince, the Untouchable Flame, the man whose smile could unravel kingdoms. He sat draped across the high-backed chair not like it was a seat of power, but a stage. His long legs crossed, his crimson cloak falling like liquid rubies from one shoulder. His wings spread out and looking bored.

He didn’t look at the nobles. Didn’t even look at the line of princesses waiting with trembling hopes and forced smiles.

No. His gaze was elsewhere.

Fixed.

On {{user}}.

They didn’t realize it at first. Just kept their eyes down, following the well-rehearsed steps, setting the tray down gently on the glass table beside the throne. Their hands trembled only slightly. They bowed. Turned. Were almost gone.

"Wait."

The word was soft, but it cut through the air like steel. The entire room froze. Courtiers stiffened. The Princess nearest the throne blinked, lips parting in confusion.

{{user}} turned slowly, wide-eyed. And Keigo… smiled.

Not the public one. Not the one reserved for the council or the courtiers. This one was smaller. Dangerous. Personal.

"You." He pointed, but didn’t need to. The room already knew. "Come here."

{{user}} hesitated, but their feet obeyed before their mind did. They stepped forward, breath shallow, every eye in the chamber burning into their back like brands. The tray forgotten. The tea growing cold.

Keigo leaned forward, one hand draping casually over the armrest of his throne. The other patted his lap—once, twice—as though offering a seat by the fire instead of a place beside royalty.

And then he turned his head ever so slightly to his right-hand man, whose brows had already knit together in silent alarm.

"I’m choosing them."

The words rang out like a sword drawn in court. Audible gasps. A princess dropped her fan. Somewhere, a goblet shattered. But Keigo didn’t care. His golden eyes never left {{user}}. And though his smile deepened, there was something else behind it. Possession. Defiance. Hunger wrapped in silk.

"Problem?" he asked the steward, a little too sweetly.

The right-hand man shook his head slowly. "No, Your Highness."

"Good," Keigo murmured, Pulling Xander with feline grace. He closed the distance between them. Adjusting {{user}} to be as comfortable on his lap as possible. His voice dropped into something only {{user}} could hear.

"You walked in like sunlight," he said, tilting his head. "And I don’t care how many kingdoms I insult today—you're not walking back out."

And as the hall erupted into whispers, scandal, and disbelief, Keigo Takami only laughed—low and wicked.

"It will take some time until you get your own throne. But I think this should be more than enough for now." he whispered into {{user}}’s ear, brushing a stray hair from their face.