Of Curls and Crowns

To Kuzan, the moment felt just as strange and insignificant as it did to the women around him. A fleeting question flickered in his mind, arriving out of nowhere, as useless as it was brief. It served no purpose beyond simply existing, a curiosity without any real merit. And yet, its mere presence brought him a strange sense of comfort.

Why? He didn't know. But there he stood, motionless, his gaze drawn toward a simple detail that captivated him in an almost absurd way—the girl's hair.

Large curls, spiraling down like black holes, captured his attention and held it tight.

'So normal,' he thought, stretching his hand toward them. 'So... human.'

Under the watchful eyes of all the others, Kuzan's fingers lightly brushed the girl's curls. Her hair felt soft between his fingers, the texture peculiar in a way that drew him deeper into his trance.

'Interesting,' he mused. But despite the intrigue, he couldn't explain why it fascinated him so much. It wasn't the color or the length that pulled him in—it was the way her curls formed, the thickness of each ring, that mysterious quality that stirred something within him.

"How did you style it like this?" he asked, his voice distant, more curious than he himself could understand.

The girl responded eagerly, her words spilling out in rapid explanation. But Kuzan wasn't listening. Her voice, her presence, even her appearance, all faded into background noise. It was as if the only thing that existed in the world for him was her hair. His entire focus had funneled into that one simple detail, blurring the rest of reality around him.

'Have I ever been this focused before?' he wondered, almost marveling at his own intense concentration. 'Yes... only twice.' Both times had been on the edge of death, once in a hospital bed and once in an arena, where every fiber of his being screamed at him to survive, to fight.

In those moments, he had been stripped of all distractions, his mind singular in its purpose. Now, in a quiet hallway of the palace, with no life-or-death stakes, he found himself in that same mental state, lost in the spirals of a girl's hair. It was as if, once again, he was preparing for a fight, though no battle was on the horizon.

'A fight waits for no one,' he mused, letting go of the strands he had unknowingly started to twirl between his fingers. He barely noticed the girl's now flushed red face, her eyes wide with confusion.

In the end, it all felt meaningless. This sudden focus, this fleeting fascination—it was nothing. Just another moment destined to pass into obscurity.

"H-Her Majesty has invited you for dinner," Fiana stammered, her voice barely making it out past the lump in her throat. She had poured her very soul into those words, summoning every last bit of her strength before her body finally gave out, collapsing where she stood.

Before anyone could react, Kuzan had already moved. In the blink of an eye—or perhaps faster, since none in the room could process his movement—he had crossed the hall and caught her mid-fall. It was as if he had vanished and reappeared at the far end of the room without a sound, leaving the witnesses baffled. Their minds struggled to comprehend what had just happened. Had he moved so fast they couldn't see it? Or had he somehow been in two places at once?

Cradled gently in his arms lay the woman hailed as the most powerful in the kingdom, now peacefully asleep, her body having given in to exhaustion. Fiana's thoughts had overwhelmed her, and her mind had sought refuge in unconsciousness. Kuzan couldn't fault her for that.

'Looks like she's slipped into a coma,' he mused with a faint sense of admiration. He couldn't help but be impressed.

'To think it only took a brief glance for her to piece everything together.'

There was a mutual understanding between them, a silent acknowledgment of each other's brilliance. Kuzan knew the depth of Fiana's thoughts, her ability to think and calculate far beyond the average mind.

'What a waste of talent.' For the first time in a long while, emotion flickered across his face—sadness. It was rare for him to show anything beyond his usual stoic demeanor, but the sight of Fiana, someone so capable, laid low by the burden of her own mind, stirred something in him.

Yet he quickly dismissed those thoughts. There was no time to dwell on such matters. With Fiana still in his arms, he turned and walked toward the dining chamber. The quietness of the castle enveloped him, the silence almost oppressive. Even his footsteps made no sound, as if the world itself had retreated, leaving him utterly isolated.

The vast dining hall loomed before him, adorned with grand ornaments and fine decor fit for royalty. The long table in the center, where the royal family would typically dine, stood empty, waiting. Despite the majesty of the room, it felt hollow, echoing the emptiness that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

He was alone, even in a palace meant for an emperor.

In times long forgotten, the dining hall had once been a place of joy, where a family would gather without worry. Five seats had once been filled, but now only one remained, at the head of the table—the Queen's.

"Azuleth," Kuzan spoke her name as if it were the most natural thing in the world. No grand gestures, no formal bows, no pretense. They both knew that the time for facades had passed. He had come to realize the full extent of her power through Fiana's revelation, a gift that had laid bare the depths of Azuleth's cunning and will.

It was through this very oversight that Kuzan had discovered just how remarkable the woman before him truly was.

'Extraordinary,' he thought, still grappling with how a mere human could possess such unwavering willpower, strength, and calm in the face of everything. Her decisions, executed with such precision, made her presence all the more daunting.

Kuzan saw her with new eyes now. Her elbows rested on the table, breaking every rule of etiquette, her gaze locked onto his, unwavering. He looked past her outward beauty, past the hunger in her eyes, past even the madness that flickered beneath the surface. What he saw was her resolve—unyielding, unshakable.

Yet even she, with all her strength, was only human.

"Do I not, at the very least, deserve a last meal?" Her voice was laced with playful mischief, reminding Kuzan of his sister's tone when she would beg for sweets. It was a playful, teasing question, one that both of them knew carried weight. But neither acknowledged the obvious undercurrent, a silent agreement born from mutual understanding.

Kuzan's eyes darkened as he stood motionless, refusing to take the seat she had so purposefully prepared for him. Instead, he faced her, his expression hardening.

"Is this your choice?" he asked, his voice heavy with meaning.

Azuleth didn't respond right away. Her lips curved into a sly smile as she answered playfully, as if she were toying with the very notion.

"Choice?" Her words danced around the gravity of the situation, as if the concept amused her.

Her response hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, his heart softened.

"I apologize for my earlier words," he said, his stoic demeanor melting away as a smile mirrored her own. "They were uncouth."

Without another word, he extended his hand to her. She rose from her seat, allowing him to gently guide her, as if they were taking part in an unspoken dance. Now, they stood face to face, looking directly into each other's eyes. There were no veils, no deceit, just the raw truth of who they were.

And she loved him nonetheless.

"Is a meal really all that you want?" Kuzan's voice was low as he took her other hand in his own, pulling her closer, his breath warm against her ear.

How could she possibly tell this man how much more she wanted? How could she make him understand the depth of her desire?

Greed.

She wanted so much more than she could admit, more than she dared ask for. Yet this hunger of hers wasn't born from mere selfishness—it was the embodiment of greed elevated by something far greater, a need to fill an emptiness that seemed unending.

But Azuleth had already understood long ago that she couldn't push her luck. Even this moment, standing so close to him, was more than she deserved. Still, her greed, always lingering beneath the surface, whispered that maybe she could have more.

"A dance," she replied softly, her voice like a willow's rustle in the wind. "Is it too much to ask for a dance with the man I fell in love with?"

Kuzan didn't answer right away. His silence stretched on—too long for her already frayed nerves. To her, those few passing seconds felt like an eternity, a torture she could no longer bear. The wait gnawed at her insides, threatening to unravel the composure she had fought so hard to maintain.

So, she took the first step, letting go of his hands. The warmth they had shared moments ago vanished, leaving her cold.

"But not now," she said, her tone shifting from soft vulnerability to something more regal, more commanding. "Not like this." Her posture straightened, her presence became imposing. "I want the world to see it—the majesty of the Queen."

It was greed beyond greed, selfishness that surpassed any reasonable boundary, recklessness born from a thirst that could never be quenched. She had already been given so much, yet here she stood, demanding more. Was it arrogance, a hubris born from her station? Or was it something deeper, an ego so immense that even this intimacy, this moment with him, was not enough?

"Ha...HA" Kuzan's voice started low, but then it grew into a roar of laughter.

A fit of laughter that shattered the very boundaries of possibility, defying reality and breaking rules that even he himself was unaware of.

"H̶̢̢̨̤͉͖͙͉̪̰̫̒̎̀̑̀̄̚̕͠͝A̸̻̲̣̩̲̤̩̜̜̙͈̰͍͊̈͜͠ͅH̷̨̢̦̥̮̬̘̞̆ͅA̸̛͎̦̞̳͈̙̺̭͐̃̂̽̄̑́̒́̀͊̓͋̔͜H̴̡̛̩̖̼̬̮̯̲͍̦̪̱͓͐͆̌̍̿̇͆͘A̸̞̬͔̺̭̱̭̙͖̙̮̣̓͂́́̂̃͝H̵̨̢͙̫͙̦̞̻̣̗͐͊̈̒́̏̌̑͘͘͜Á̶̡̤̳͔̠̟͇͈̪̖̲̮͆̒̄́̕̚Ḩ̴̧̜͈̗̫̮͇̞̙̈̎͌̑̅͘͘͝A̸̧̺̙͓̜͎̞̟͉̻̹͖̱͎͋̌͜!"

He was never meant to achieve such joy.

RUMBLE RUMBLE

The entire palace seemed to tremble, as if the very kingdom itself was shaking in response to his laughter. It filled the air, rattling through the stone walls, reverberating with such intensity that even the guards posted outside the grand hall froze in place. Kuzan simply couldn't contain himself.

Seeing Azuleth, regal and proud, standing before him with such raw audacity—her demand for more when she already had so much—it was absurd. And yet, it was that very absurdity that made it all the more precious to him. Her decision defied everything a human should have done, and that contradiction, that perfect blend of human craziness and monstrous ambition, struck him deeply.

A tear, a single tear, rolled down his cheek, which he quickly flicked away as if ashamed to show such vulnerability.

How long had it been since he'd felt this happy?

"Thank you, Azuleth," Kuzan said, forcefully taking hold of her arms, his grip unyielding as he pulled her toward him. He refused to let her move an inch, his hold keeping her firmly in place.

Azuleth, the mighty and untouchable Queen, felt a heat rise in her cheeks. It wasn't the first time her face had been red—Alkavia's Red Queen had been bathed in blood countless times. But this time, the redness was born from something else entirely. Her own blood rushed to her face, spreading into a deep blush, an unfamiliar warmth creeping across her skin.

She stood there, unable to break away, her regal composure shaken by the overwhelming force of his gesture.

"I will accompany you, Azuleth," Kuzan declared, his voice resolute, unwavering. "Set the date. And not just for a dance, not just for a meal—I will prepare a feast, a grand celebration, all in return for the joy you've given me today." His words, spoken with the weight of a vow, left no room for doubt. His eyes gleamed with conviction, a look so sincere that it caused the Queen's heartbeat to quicken.

Her lips parted, and for the first time in their long, twisted game, she surrendered to her own desire, letting her heart lead her.

"As you wish," she whispered softly, her voice full of affection and promise, "dear husband."