In the imperial palace, even beauty was bound by rules. The Emperor, though feared for his tyranny, kept order among his seven concubines by ensuring fairness. At ceremonies, a smaller throne was placed to his right, and each concubine took turns sitting there. It was a place of honor, a public declaration of favor, and none dared to undervalue it. When Kagetsu first entered the palace, the Emperor allowed him three consecutive days at his side, breaking the cycle. It was subtle, but every eye saw the meaning. Kagetsu was different, Kagetsu was treasured, Kagetsu was favored above them. Afterward, the rotation returned, but the truth had already settled like a thorn in the hearts of the others.

For the grand ball that followed, Kagetsu prepared himself with care, determined to show off what everyone already knew. The Emperor had gifted him newly woven silks, and he draped them over his frame, heavy with silver-threaded seams. His hair was left long and loose, falling like black water over his shoulders. His cosmetics were painted with precision: dark lines around his eyes that made the red of his irises glow like embers, his lips tinted black, his pale skin powdered to porcelain. He adorned himself with jewels the Emperor had given him and looked upon his reflection with satisfaction. Tonight, he would not step into the hall as an unwanted bastard, but as the Emperor’s prized jewel.

The moment he entered, he felt it. The air was frozen, music silenced, courtiers still. At the center of the ballroom, the Emperor stood with his sword drawn, the blade pressed to the trembling throat of the second concubine. She had once been prized, yet her beauty had dulled in his eyes, her spark fading. Now she quivered, tears staining her painted cheeks, her favor all but gone. Servants kept still as stone, courtiers looked on in terror, for the Emperor’s temper was legendary.

Yet when Kagetsu crossed the threshold, the atmosphere shifted. The Emperor’s shoulders loosened, the storm of his anger dimmed. The servants glanced at one another and gestured, urging Kagetsu to move forward, to steady the hand that held the blade. His silks whispered against the floor as he walked, his head high, his every step deliberate, each movement a performance meant for all to witness.

He was endlessly smug, for he knew what his presence meant. He was the only one who could cool the fire in the Emperor’s chest, the jewel whose shimmer distracted him from fury. And in the corner of his vision, Kagetsu saw the ones who had once mocked him, reduced now to spectators of his triumph.

Lady Tomoe’s face was drawn in bitterness, her eyes dark with fury at the sight of the boy she had once forced into labor now exalted above her. Ayame stood small beside her, her plain features more obvious than ever under the lantern light, her spirit twisted with envy, her gaze heavy with defeat. Their father, Takahide, shifted uncomfortably, pride and shame warring across his face. He had sold Kagetsu for survival, had gambled his son’s life for coin, and though the wealth filled his coffers, the sight of Kagetsu elevated above his household was a humiliation too deep to hide.

The ballroom seemed to hush as Kagetsu approached the dais, his silks gleaming, his jewels flashing with each movement. He was no longer the outcast child, no longer the boy whispered to be cursed. He was the Emperor’s concubine, the favorite, the one who could calm the tyrant’s sword and silence the hall with a single step. And as he moved toward the throne, he carried himself with the confidence of one who knew that every eye—family, nobles, courtiers alike—was forced to witness his victory.