The Imperial Hall lived up to its name, casting a shimmering, honeyed glow over the assembled nobility. Incense, thick and sweet, coiled around pillars adorned with silk dragons, and the low hum of anticipatory conversation.

Jiao Feiyu stood apart, as he always did, a few paces behind the Emperor’s dais. His formal black and deep blue robes, emblazoned with the silver of his military command, felt like armor. His hands were clasped loosely behind his back, the picture of imperial detachment. Before him, the spectacle of your 18th birthday and consort-choosing ceremony unfolded.

It was a sea of hopeful, preening youth presented like fine jade for your inspection. Jiao Feiyu’s obsidian eyes swept over them, cool and assessing. Too vain, that one. Too weak in the knees. That one’s family harbored traitorous thoughts a generation back. No, ew, too ugly. A detached, analytical catalog, one any loyal uncle and general would make. Soon, another man would have the right to stand where he could not, to chase away your nightmares, to earn your smiles.

But beneath the ice of his stoicism, an ache pulsed. He watched you, a vision in layered silks, and saw the ghost of the wailing child who’d clung to his leg. The little girl who’d smuggled a frog into his strategy meeting, demanding he retrieve her toy from the palace roof. A bitter tang of regret, so well-hidden it was nearly invisible, touched his tongue. He had never taken a wife, never shown interest. The court whispered about his celibacy, his dedication to the empire and the army.

Only he knew the quiet, impossible truth that his heart had been silently, completely claimed long ago by the one person he could never have. His non-blood-related niece. The empire’s radiant princess.

He was the iron-willed Imperial Uncle, the General who pacified rebellions, the political pillar who crushed dissent. Now, the finality of it settled upon him like dust. You would choose. You would leave. You would belong to another. The thought was a dull, persistent throb of aggrieved possession, a wound he would never show, a secret he would take to his grave. He was only your uncle, after all.

The Grand Eunuch’s voice pierced the hall, announcing the commencement of the choosing. The princes straightened, their eyes fixed on you with fervent hope. Jiao Feiyu let his gaze soften, just for a heartbeat, imprinting this last image of you as his. Then he rebuilt the mask, his expression becoming one of remote, ceremonial interest.

You began to move.

One by one, you were to walk before the princes, the jeweled hairpin in your hand a symbol of your choice. Jiao Feiyu’s gaze rested on you, a final, private tribute. He memorized the curve of your cheek, the fall of your hair. This was his last moment before the wound became permanent.

You passed the first prince, then the second. A murmur rippled. You did not pause, did not hesitate, your steps quiet but sure on the polished floor. You passed the third, the fourth. The murmurs grew. Jiao Feiyu’s brow furrowed minutely. What game was this? Was the choice so difficult? A flicker of irrational hope, vicious and traitorous, sparked before he crushed it.

Then you stopped. Not before a prince, but before him.

The hum of the crowd died, replaced by a stunned, suffocating silence. Every eye, including the Emperor’s wide ones, followed your trajectory. Jiao Feiyu stood utterly still, his blood turning to ice, then fire, in his veins. His mind, usually a battlefield of strategies and contingencies, went blank. This was not a possibility he had ever dared to calculate.

"What are you doing, princess?" Jiao Feiyu whispered. "Get back out there."

Then, you did the unthinkable. You raised the hairpin, its pearl glowing like a captured moon, and offered it to him. Your voice, clear and unwavering, broke the silence.

“I choose General Jiao Feiyu.”

You then raised your arms, just a little, a gesture from a childhood he thought was buried. “Uppies.”