I handed the empty glass to the maid, my fingers still holding the other glass, the one that contained the remaining water. I planned to drink from it once I had finished what I was doing. That last sip, I knew, was something I wanted to savor. It wasn't the sort of thing I could rush; I wanted to take my time. As I stood there, holding the glass and waiting, I allowed my mind to wander, letting the room fade away for just a moment. I imagined my best friend there with me in the room, standing beside me, offering the comfort and familiarity that I craved. It felt strange, but it also felt right—like the presence of her in that very moment made the act of singing more real, more connected to the emotions I needed to pour into this song. I had to make this performance genuine, not just some mechanical act. It needed to resonate with the people in the room, and it had to come from a place of feeling.
With that thought, I closed my eyes for a brief moment, letting everything else disappear. I tried to let the image of my friend settle in my mind, and then, almost instinctively, I began to sing.
The melody began softly at first, but as I continued, my voice grew stronger, more confident. The song filled the room, and for a time, I allowed myself to be completely consumed by it. I was lost in the music, every note flowing effortlessly, each word carried with the weight of emotion. It was as though the music had become an extension of me, and for the next few minutes, nothing else mattered.
Time passed by unnoticed as I lost myself in the performance, until suddenly, I became aware that four minutes had slipped away, and the song was nearing its end. I finished on a soft note, letting the silence that followed hang in the air. It was heavy, filled with the lingering echoes of the music I had just sung. I exhaled slowly, letting the tension in my chest release as I stood there, waiting.
Then, just as quickly as the emotion had come, the strain caught up with me. My throat felt raw, as though it had been stretched too thin by the power of my performance. I reached for the glass of water, the cool liquid soothing my sore throat as I drank deeply. Once finished, I handed the glass back to the maid. She took it and disappeared without a word, leaving me alone in the quiet room.
But as I stood there, waiting for some sort of reaction, I noticed something odd. The room was silent. No one spoke. Not a word.
Minutes passed, and still, no one said a thing. Five minutes in total passed by, and the silence was starting to feel uncomfortable. The weight of their eyes, the heavy silence that stretched on, made me anxious. I shifted on my feet, my fingers nervously playing with the hem of my dress. My thoughts began to race. Was it bad? Did I miss the mark somehow? "Was it bad?" I blurted out, my voice carrying a trace of doubt. "Did your ears bleed?" I tried to lighten the mood, but the words felt strange coming from my mouth. I could hear Rai and Sohan chuckling softly, and a few of the other girls joined in, but the laughter didn't feel genuine. It was too forced, too awkward.
The Queen, however, did not laugh. She simply looked at me, her expression unreadable. Then, after a long moment, she let out a quiet sigh, almost as though she were pondering something deeply. "It was... mesmerizing," she said finally, her voice calm but edged with something hard to pinpoint. "I never thought you could sing." The words were unexpected, a mixture of admiration and disbelief. I couldn't quite tell whether she was genuinely impressed or if she was just trying to mask something else.
I blinked, processing her words. I hadn't quite expected that response. It felt... strange, almost uncomfortable, like she had expected something different. But before I could process too much of that, the Princess and Daisuke spoke in unison, their voices low but filled with curiosity. "Why is your singing voice so familiar?"
Their question took me off guard. It wasn't something I had expected, and it certainly wasn't something I had prepared for. It was a simple question, but the way they asked it made it feel much heavier. I knew exactly why they thought my voice sounded familiar. It wasn't hard to guess. Simple. I had used to sing like that when I was with Avyanna in her chambers. She was the one who used to request that I sing for her, always telling me how much she loved my voice. I knew they must have mistaken me for her. They probably thought it was her voice, not mine, that had filled the room.
I kept my tone even and composed, trying to redirect the conversation. "Lots of voices sound similar, Your Royal Highnesses," I said with a polite smile. My gaze shifted briefly to the Queen. "The fourth is related to literature, right?" I asked, trying to steer the topic back to something less personal, something that would keep the tension from building too much.
The Queen's eyes narrowed slightly, and her posture stiffened. I could feel her annoyance growing, but I wasn't about to let her push me off balance. As she glanced around, someone handed her a small piece of paper, and she glanced down at it for a brief moment before turning back to face me.
"Indeed," she replied, her voice sharp. "I chose a book that all the girls participating in the Trials read. The name is 'Tears to a Crystal Bloom,'" she said, her gaze now fixed firmly on me. I knew exactly what book she was talking about. Avyanna had once mentioned to me that it was the Crown Prince's favorite book. She had said he couldn't get enough of it, so I had always kept that piece of information in the back of my mind. "Have you read it?" the Queen asked, her eyes never leaving mine.
I hesitated for only a moment before answering. "Years ago, yes," I replied, keeping my tone casual, though I could sense the Queen's determination to test me in a way that seemed less than fair. She clearly thought she could trap me with this question. She probably assumed that my memory was faulty, that I wouldn't be able to recall something so specific. But what she didn't know was that I had a photographic memory. She had no idea what I was capable of.
"Good," the Queen said, her voice colder now. "I'll choose a page of the book, and you will have to recite it for me!" Her tone was sharp, almost like a challenge. It was one thing to ask me about the book; it was another to expect me to recite a passage verbatim. It seemed like a fair request for the other girls who had read the book during the week of the test, but it was clear she was trying to catch me off guard. She thought I would falter, but I wasn't about to let her win.
"Let's start," the Queen commanded. "Chapter 27, page 389!"
I didn't even flinch. The words came easily to me, flowing from my mouth without hesitation. I recited the passage as though I had just read it yesterday. The Queen's eyes widened slightly, but she didn't say anything. I could feel her dissatisfaction simmering beneath the surface, though. She wasn't done with me yet.
"Chapter 8, page 71," she demanded, her voice tight with frustration.
Once again, I recited the passage without missing a word, my tone steady and unwavering. Her gaze darkened, but she wasn't deterred.
"Chapter 85, page 700," she snapped next.
I repeated the passage without hesitation, my memory sharp and my voice clear. Her frustration was palpable now, but she still didn't relent.
"Chapter 1, page 17," she ordered.
I complied, reciting the words as though they were my own thoughts, perfectly mirrored from the book. The Queen clenched her jaw, her frustration growing more apparent.
"Chapter 55, page 593," she demanded, clearly running out of patience.
Once again, I recited the passage, flawless and without a single error. When I finished, I let the silence settle in the room for a moment, watching the Queen as her face flushed with anger.
Finally, I couldn't help myself. I broke the silence. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but did all of the girls have to recite five different pages of the book?" I asked innocently, though I already knew the answer.
"No," I heard some of the girls whisper to each other, their voices barely audible.
I couldn't suppress the grin that tugged at the corner of my mouth. The Queen was going to face a lot of criticism for this. I almost relished the thought of it.
"Did I say any word wrong?" I asked, my voice calm, as though I was genuinely curious.
The Queen's expression was a mixture of fury and disbelief. "That's the problem," she spat. "You did not."
"And yet," I said, my voice quiet but filled with challenge, "you still seem to be questioning me. How is that possible?"
"How?" she demanded, clearly losing her composure.
"Have you heard of a rare mental condition?" I asked sweetly. "The scientists call it 'photographic memory,' Your Majesty." The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the Queen said nothing.
And in that silence, I couldn't help but smile to myself, knowing exactly how this was going to end.