"Enough with the questions, Emelia," Sinclair snapped, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Leave my daughter out of whatever scheme you're plotting."
The word "daughter" made my fine hairs stand on end. I wasn't used to hearing someone call me that, especially with such affection behind it.
Maybe "
granddaughter
" would have felt more fitting?
Emelia laughed, her voice ringing out like a bell. "Plotting? What an accusation! I think a prince of Vassalia is an excellent match for her. In terms of status, he wouldn't be any less than the others, would he?"
I blinked in disbelief. Prince? She couldn't possibly be referring to anyone but Prince Raelan Alysir—her favorite grandson, right?
There were many in the Alysir royal bloodline, but Queen Emelia's affection centered solely on him. He was the golden child, and impossibly spoiled I heard.
A chill swept over me as realization sank in. I had almost forgotten the weight of my new status.
Being officially recognized as a Rosette, not to mention favored by Sinclair himself, had turned me into something I never expected—a prize. A target. A coveted match for anyone seeking to tie their fortunes to mine through marriage.
Sinclair's grip on his cane tightened. "Get away from her, Emelia," he growled, his voice low and deadly. "Or I'll have my guards drag you away."
I froze, my breath catching in my throat. He wasn't serious, was he? She was a Queen after all.
But one look at Sinclair's face told me he absolutely was.
Emelia dismissed Sinclair's warning with a playful grin, her gaze still fixed on me. "Well then, I suppose I should go before your father pops a vein. See you around, Eve. And don't forget what I said, alright?" Stay updated via empire
"Emelia," Sinclair growled, his patience clearly thinning.
She laughed softly, completely unfazed, and winked at me before drifting away into the crowd, her sparkling jewels catching the light as she left.
"What a troublesome woman," Sinclair muttered under his breath, sneering.
Only Sinclair would dare call a queen troublesome.
Before I could fully process what had just happened, the host's voice rang through the room, pulling everyone's attention.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you're enjoying the party. It is now time for a special performance from our grand debutante, Sophie Rosette!"
My eyes snapped to the center stage where Sophie appeared, draped in a flowing light gown that shimmered like moonlight. She wasn't wearing the controversial jewelries anymore.
She looked ethereal, like a fairy stepping out of a dream. Her every movement was graceful, as if she floated across the floor toward the piano.
The room fell silent as she took her seat, fingers hovering over the keys. I had to give her credit—Sophie had really learned what I learned.
She must have practice in secret through the years. Else she wouldn't be this good with it. Every note she struck seemed to weave a spell, drawing everyone deeper into her world.
It seemed as though the earlier incident had already faded from everyone's memory. With her stunning performance, Sophie had reclaimed her reputation, the whispers of doubt now silenced by the magic she wove with every note.
But then, just as the applause began to die down, Sophie stood from the piano, and instead of basking in her moment, she walked to the microphone. Her eyes locked onto mine, a mischievous smile curving her lips.
"And now," she said sweetly, her voice carrying through the grand hall, "I'd like to invite someone very special to join me. Eve Rosette."
My heart dropped.
The crowd shifted, curious murmurs rippling through the room as every eye turned to me. I wanted to sink into the floor, disappear beneath the stares. But Sophie wasn't done.
"Eve," she continued, her voice silkier than ever, "you've always had a talent for the piano. Won't you perform for us . . . for
me
? I miss hearing your piano."
There it was—a challenge wrapped in a velvet plea. I couldn't refuse, not without causing a scene. She'd trapped me, and we both knew it.
Before I could even process what was happening, hands guided me up, dragging me toward the stage.
Sinclair frowned, but I only nodded at him.
I didn't want to be the outcast in this gathering. The audience was already cheering, and refusing would surely make them look down on me—and worse, on Sinclair.
My eyes scanned the room, catching the host's eager grin, and then Sophia's smirk in the distance. This was her idea, no doubt. She and Sophie knew I had no talent for the piano. It wasn't just that I had no interest in music—though I listened to it from time to time—I simply had no desire to play it.
They intended to humiliate me, to compare my lackluster performance to Sophie's flawless one, to reduce my presence and elevate her even further.
It was an old trick—one meant to make me stumble while she basked in glory.
As I stepped toward the stage, the pressure mounted, thick and suffocating. Sophie stood there, beaming like an innocent angel, but I could see it—the glint of triumph in her eyes, the satisfaction that she believed she had already won.
I sat down before the grand piano, calm and compose. The sleek black keys gleamed under the lights as I gently brushed my fingers against them. This was the moment Sophie expected me to fall apart.
She should have savored her spotlight; she had already salvaged her reputation with her performance. But her mistake was dragging me up here, onto the grand stage, into her game.
I wasn't a virtuoso by any stretch, not because I lacked ability, but because I had no passion for it. I refused countless lessons, rejected hours of practice. But that didn't mean I didn't know how to play. I wasn't
good
because I had no love for it.
In contrary, I knew how to perform. Like in school, I wasn't a genius, but I aced every test because I memorized what mattered.
So now, sitting there under the audience's expectant gaze, I had a choice—to be humiliated, or to turn the tables.
I took a deep breath, my fingers hovering just above the keys. Let's see who really wins this game, Sophie.