The air in throne pulsed with tension, taut and ready to snap. It was dimly lit, save for a sliver of sunlight filtering through the cracks between the drawn drapes.
A slow music played, each note resonating. Alikhan leaned back against his chair, eyes dark and jaw clenched.
He listened, rubbing his temple, as he frantically tapped his foot on the floor.
The music was slow. Too slow.
"Out!"
His voice echoed through the room, followed by a clashing sound from the metal cup he'd hurled hitting the wall.
The musician trembled, bowed immediately and scurried out of the throne room with his instrument in hand.
"Next!"
In the hallway lined musicians from far and wide—noble and common, female and male, child and adult.
The guard by the entrance turned to face the line and gestured for the next person to walk in.
She was young.
A noble.
A flute player.
The woman strode in and not even minutes after she began playing, Alikhan roared again and she bolted out, terrified.
One by one, they played for the king, but he rejected every single on of them.
At the end of his patience, he summoned his advisor, Amir
"They're talentless!" He shouted as Amir walked in, slamming his hand on the arm of his chair.
The hallway tensed.
The red-haired man sighed, clasping his hands behind his back.
"Khan, just five more. I'm sure you're going to see one you like," he replied, hoping to convince his friend.
"You don't understand, Amir. They're pathetic!"
Amir nodded.
"I understand. Just do it."
He looked up, and adjusted his spectacles. His sharp crimson eyes could be seen through the frames as they fixed on Alikhan.
"It's been four days."
Alikhan's expression shifted, realization crossing his features. He leaned against the back of his chair and sighed.
"Fine," he finally replied, his voice gruff.
Amir nodded, bowed and turned to leave.
As his advisor's footsteps filled the quiet air, Alikhan thought back to his words.
It really had been four days.
Four days of barely sleeping, since he came back from the last war.
If things continued like this, he'd definitely drop dead.
One more.
One more and he'd find the one. The one who could lull him to sleep.
Just then, a dombra was played, halting Alikhan's thoughts.
His eyes widened, caught off guard.
It was clear, sharp but unbelievably soft, filling the room like a war song sung by a siren. He snapped his gaze to the musician, staring in silence.
The woman held his gaze, unblinking.
Her hands strummed and plucked the strings of the instrument with practiced precision, every note piercing through his ears.
They grounded him.
The silence in the throne room and hallway stretched, long after she'd stopped playing, even.
Amir smiled lightly, walking away from where he stood by the queue in the hallway.
Alikhan had found the one.
"What is your name?" He asked, cutting through the silence.
"Yerasyl."
Alikhan's eyes widened.
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
This was not a woman.
"What are you?" The words slipped through his lips before he could stop them.
A man was the one who played as beautifully as that?
He doubted it.
"I don't know what you mean by that, your majesty," Yerasyl answered, his voice steady and soft despite its thickness.
A small smile played on his lips, reaching his eyes, as he titled his head to the side.
The king did not clarify. He simply stared, eyes narrowed. His eyes swept across Yerasyl, tracing his features.
He took in his dark grey siren-shaped eyes which were framed by bold lashes and well carved brows.
Since when were men well-groomed?!
The man's hair cascaded down his shoulders like molten silver, silky and smooth. Wisps of it gathered on the milky skin of his face.
W... Wait.
Alikhan ran his tongue over his lips absentmindedly as he tranfixed his gaze on his lips.
A Cupid bow stood proudly above them, molding them into a feminine heart shape.
They were light pink, supple, with a hint of gloss.
"Hm, your majesty?" Yerasyl said out of nowhere, catching him off guard.
He looked away for a brief moment, visibly disturbed, before his expression cooled and he turned his head back towards the man.
"You're a man."
Yerasyl nodded, rising to his feet. He strapped the dorma to his back, and clasped his hands infront of him.
"I suppose I should call the next person on my way out?" He asked, his lips curved up into a polite smile that did not quite reach his eyes.
Alikhan guessed that he was aware of the kingdom's unhidden distaste in men that play music.
It was for women and fighting was for men.
He was an anomaly.
Not only did he play he music, he looked like a woman.
"No."
Yerasyl eyes shut and opened, the stunned expression on his face disappearing just as quickly as it crossed it.
"I don't care if you're a man."
Alikhan leaned forward, his expression serious.
"I'm hiring you."
The young man shook his head immediately, earning a look of confusion from the king.
"I will play for you whenever you want, your majesty. I don't want a job. It's free."
"Why?"
"Just consider it as me serving you," Yerasyl answered, smiling.
Alikhan felt a strange flutter in his chest. This smile was genuine. He could see the corners of his eyes crinkling.
He hesitated for a brief moment, unsure.
"Fine, guards!"
A few men dressed in uniforms quickly spilled in. They bowed, standing at attention.
"Take him to the guest room and treat him as you would a guest. He's
not a worker."
He watched as Yerasyl bowed and followed the men.
Once they were out, he took a sharp breath and exhaled.
He'd found the one.
But...
Who was he?