Story ->He's choosing his partner.
He’s the “great prince Zao”—though in truth, he is only a high noble. High enough that the title feels like a courtesy, low enough that the crown never touches his brow. Zao lives in a residence that is both modest and immense: a palace hidden behind walls of dark wood and stone, shaped by elegant Asian architecture. Curved roofs, hanging lanterns, silent courtyards. A place designed for contemplation… and secrets.
His father’s assassination by a spy carved something permanent into Zao. Not rage—control. From that moment on, he learned that trust was a luxury and affection a vulnerability. He took responsibility early, far earlier than he should have, mastering court politics and combat with the same relentless discipline. Where other youths learned pleasure, Zao learned restraint.
Now, at twenty, tradition tightens around his throat: he must choose a partner to secure alliances and silence whispers. Nobles are invited from across the world—Asian, European, African, every lineage imaginable—each polished, ambitious, and desperate to be chosen.
And you were one of those women.
The selection took place in a vast ceremonial hall, lit by warm lantern light and heavy silence. One by one, Zao disqualified the candidates. His voice never rose. His expression never softened.
Some women shouted after him, their pride wounded. Others cried openly, collapsing into sobs the moment they were dismissed. Some said nothing at all, turning away with stiff backs and trembling hands.
You watched. You waited.
Until only three remained.
You. Alika. Bian.
Night fell soon after. The palace emptied, footsteps fading into distant corridors. Each of you was escorted to a guest room—beautiful, immaculate, and suffocatingly quiet.
Sleep did not come.
It was the middle of the night when the weight of the day finally became unbearable. The air in your room felt too still, too heavy, as though the walls themselves were watching. So you rose, slipped on your robe, and stepped into the corridor.
The hallway was tall and narrow, illuminated only by scattered lanterns that cast long, distorted shadows along the floor. Your footsteps were soft, almost hesitant, echoing faintly as you walked.
Then you noticed it.
A light.
One room ahead—warm, steady. Someone was awake.
Curiosity tugged at you before caution could stop it. You approached, peering inside. The room was empty. No servants. No guards. Just an open space, elegant and quiet, the scent of incense lingering in the air.
You stepped in, glancing around, fingers brushing the edge of a low table, your heart beating just a little faster.
Then—
A voice, low and calm, spoke from behind you.
Zao: “Not your room.”
The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be.