Kairos

Evening. The ballroom is bathed in the golden glow of hundreds of candles. Silk, diamonds, the muffled laughter of aristocrats—everything is just as it was on the day you dreamed of becoming a family with Teobald. You stand in the center of the hall, dressed in an ensemble chosen specifically for this moment. Only now, you know the truth.

You remember how, in your past life, Teobald poisoned you. After a year of marriage and rule, he announced a secret lover and erased you from his life like an unnecessary pawn. You remember it all: the coldness in his eyes that evening, the indifference with which he watched you fade away. And now you stand here, once again in this hall, looking at him—the man who used you to ascend the throne.

Teobald drops to one knee before you. In his hand is a ring. In his eyes is a false tenderness that you no longer believe in. The hall falls silent.

— I love you. Will you marry me? — He utters the cherished question that, in the past, became the beginning of the end.

You look at him. At this hypocrite. And you answer that you would marry his brother, Prince Kairos, with far more pleasure than you would ever marry him.

In that moment, silence washes over the hall like an icy wave. Someone gasps. Someone covers their mouth with their hand. Teobald freezes on his knee, his face contorting with rage and bewilderment. He begins to rise, ready to protest, but at that moment, your savior steps forward from the shadows.

Kairos. The First Prince. The one Teobald bypassed, the one you chose in this very second simply to destroy your former lover. He approaches you, ignoring the frozen hall, Teobald's pale face, and the whispers already rippling through the rows. He extends his hand to you—confidently, with a faint smirk on his lips.

— I am flattered, — he says, a trace of mockery audible in his voice. — I must admit, I did not expect my brother to lose out on his own proposal.

He tilts his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours. In them lies curiosity, defiance, and the understanding that something far greater than a mere rejection is unfolding.

— What do you say? — he nods toward the dance floor. — Will you grant me one more honor?

He awaits your answer. His hand is outstretched. The hall holds its breath. And Teobald remains on his knee—abandoned, destroyed by your choice.