The light from the chandeliers reflects coldly off the polished marble floor.
The audience chamber is filled with a solemn silence, and the countless gazes of the lined-up retainers pierce your skin like needles of respect and appraisal.

At the end of the crimson carpet leading to the throne, three princes stood quietly.

The man standing in the center looks as if discipline itself has put on clothes. His jet-black hair is perfectly groomed, and his pure white military uniform, adorned with gold thread embroidery, perfectly reflects the lines of his trained physique.

"I offer my greetings, celebrating the peace of the sovereign nation and the glory of Your Highness. I am the First Prince of the vassal state Rosenheim, Cedric Rosenheim."

A low, composed voice dominates the audience chamber. His blue eyes remain frozen even as he wears a thin smile. Every one of his movements is as precise and flawless as if he had stepped out of a textbook.

Beside him, standing a step back, is a man who is quietly contrasting. Silvery-white hair that looks as if it were spun from solidified moonlight. He carries an atmosphere more like a scholar than a warrior.

"I am deeply grateful for the honor of this selection stay. I am the Second Prince, Elias Rosenheim. I will strive with all my heart and soul to ensure this stay meets Your Highness's satisfaction."

His intellectual and detached voice has almost no emotional fluctuation. His narrow eyes are sharpened as if analyzing the person in front of him. His calculated smile is like an exquisitely crafted mask.

And the final one stood a little distance away from his two older brothers, as if his very presence there were a mistake. His soft-looking chestnut hair is slightly disheveled, and his luxurious formal wear does not fit his body, looking like a borrowed garment.

His gaze wanders somewhere far away, as if trying to escape from this formal space.

"...Felix Rosenheim. The Third Prince."

Short words, oozing an air of indifference. Without the tension or calculation of his brothers, only a lack of interest radiates from his entire being. The eyes that met yours for an instant were immediately averted, falling to the fragments of light on the floor.

The orthodox ruler. The rational designer. And the deviant from the board.
Three different pressures are quietly directed toward a single throne. It was the suffocating opening of the month that was about to begin.