Demanding Prize

Six years had passed since then.

Hwa Miye had not seen the world beyond these walls since the day he set foot into the palace. It was like an eternal prison. He had been locked in the Reserved Halls for three years until they, too, were burnt down. And after that?

He had to present himself as a woman. As if being locked out of the world wasn’t enough, he was now locked out of his own self. 

He now wore feminine robes, studied the arts of music, and donned exquisite jewelry that felt like gilded prison chains. He was accustomed to this life now. He had been living like this for six long years. 

He was sixteen now, the age of maturity in Hwachon.

And it was the age when he would finally be revealed to the world.

He gazed out the window, waiting for the call to present himself. The palace was a hive of chaos, preparing heavily for the event. It wasn't a ceremony specifically for him, however; it was for the Jugeum Games.

Held once every ten years, the Jugeum Games were grand tournaments meant to draw in foreign continents, forging alliances through spectacle, blood, and trade. Hwachon’s wealth did not bloom by accident; it was cultivated carefully, and the Games were its sharpest tool.

That year, Miye had been dressed in unparalleled splendor.

A cream-white inner robe hugged his slender frame, layered beneath silk outer garments embroidered with fine golden threads. On anyone else, it would have been merely luxurious. On him, it was transcendent. His skin was as pale as untouched snow, his long black hair falling like ink down his back, two extremes in perfect contrast. His hair was tied back with a silver hairpin set with a blood-red gem, the only gift from his mother. Golden earrings brushed his neck, and bracelets shimmered at his wrists.

Finally, his call came, and he donned his translucent silk veil.

When he stepped onto the dais, the foreign crowd gasped. Beside him, Yugwon stood with feigned indifference. Yet, as he glanced at Miye’s forced, miserable appearance, a corner of his lip curled. He looked like a craftsman admiring a masterpiece he had finished with his own hands.

"The Flower Princess," someone whispered in awe. Then, the crowd began to chant like a collective curse:

“All hail the Flower Princess!”

Miye only bowed slightly, the weight of the silver pin heavy against his head.

That year, new continents joined the Games.

Among them was Balliard. And, representing it was,

Prince Esha Fardeyn.

He came from a land of sand and jewels, his eyes a striking gold like desert dunes under the sun. His bronze skin gleamed like polished copper, making his gaze all the more arresting. Black hair coiled beneath a loose white turban, his attire woven in gold and ivory.

He was a prince in every sense of the word.

The moment his eyes landed on Miye, a primal sense of wanting to claim something escaped the cage of his mind. 

The Flower Princess was beautiful, indeed. Hauntingly, so. She stood poised behind the Prince of Hwachon, gently embracing a white dove that symbolized her famed purity. It wasn’t that the bird itself was flawless; rather, it was the person holding it who made the creature’s presence seem so extravagant.

Esha leaned to his black-draped guard behind him and whispered, “Don’t you think Hwachon was hiding something extraordinary all this time?”

The guard spared a glance at Hwa Miye for less than a second, then averted those emerald-like eyes, “Word is that she had been living in seclusion for twenty years or so.”

“Twenty years?!” Esha was flabbergasted. Twenty years were too much, even for a prince like him. “What could be the reason for such extremeness?”

“Why must we bother, Your Highness? She is not a pureblood,” the guard’s voice was firm, utterly disinterested in the matter, “And word is that she is to be wed to the Prince of Hwachon. Perhaps, you should worry about your concubines at home rather than her.”

“What are you getting mad for?” Esha chuckled at the guard’s unfiltered reply, “Doesn’t hurt to take another one in, does it?”

As if sensing the weight of those golden eyes fixed on Miye, Yugwon stiffened. He noticed the stranger's lingering gaze on the "Princess," who continued to cradle the dove in the shadows behind him, and felt the immediate, sharp need to interrupt it.

"Esha Fardeyn of Balliard," Yugwon greeted, blocking the view, then bowing courteously, silver armor glinting beneath imperial robes. "I trust you will be partaking in the Games."

"Esha Fardeyn of Balliard," Yugwon greeted, deliberately blocking the view, then bowing courteously, silver armor glinting beneath imperial robes. "I trust you will be partaking in the Games."

"That much is certain," Esha replied, his voice deep and steady, belying his mere seventeen years.

"I look forward to facing you," Yugwon chuckled, a sharp edge beneath the mirth. "I hear you are Balliard's finest swordsman. I wonder if that title holds beyond your borders."

"You are confident," Esha said calmly.

"Perhaps the finals will decide whose reputation survives."

"Oh?" Yugwon laughed. "You already see yourself there? I admire that. But I must warn you this. Hwachon boasts the finest warriors. And I see many… interesting contenders this year."

Esha's gaze drifted briefly to Miye, then back to Yugwon.

"Then allow me to propose this," he said. "If I win, I shall take something precious from Hwachon when I depart. Should you win, I will gift you two hundred of Balliard's rarest jewels."

Yugwon smiled. Approval flickered in his eyes.

"Very well."

Thus, fate brought them to the finals.