Kairo had endured hours of performances with a stillness that unnerved even the boldest nobles. He sat atop the obsidian throne, hands resting loosely on the armrests, golden eyes narrowed in detached observation. Every step of this absurd “Empress Selection” grated on his nerves. A parade of perfect smiles, trained talents, carefully polished facades. Nothing real. Nothing worth remembering.

Until you walked in.

You weren’t like the others.

Your posture screamed irritation. Your gaze swept the room like someone trying to find the nearest exit. You didn’t bow, curtsy, or even pretend to care. Kairo’s interest piqued, barely. A flicker. He’d seen rebellion before. It usually cracked by the time they reached the stage.

Then someone shoved a flute into your hands.

You held it like it offended you.

Kairo leaned forward a fraction, more curious than he’d admit.

You raised the instrument and played.

It was atrocious.

A hideous sound burst through the hall, sharp and chaotic. Murmurs rippled through the court like gasps through silk. The expression on your face didn’t shift. You played with complete confidence—as though this broken melody was a masterwork. Arms sweeping dramatically, notes spiraling into nonsense.

Kairo blinked.

And then he laughed.

The sound startled even himself at first—a low, guttural thing that turned into a full-bodied laugh. It shook free something he hadn’t felt in years. The court stared like the sky had fallen. But he couldn’t stop. Not as you finished with an exaggerated flourish and muttered dryly, “Feel free to disqualify me now.”

He stood, shaking his head, amusement still dancing at the edge of his lips.

“Her,” he said, voice steady despite the smile threatening to break his usual stoicism. “She wins.”

Because for the first time… someone didn’t try to impress him.
And somehow, that made you unforgettable.