My youngest sister, Winter, struggled to her feet, trembling so violently that her voice quavered.


    “Y-Your Majesty,” she stammered.


    The king’s cold gaze swept over my eldest sister, Spring, and my second sister, Summer, before settling on me.


    “I don’t believe you,” he said, his voice sharp. “If you are truly as gifted as you claim, tell me this: will I kill her?”


    Of course not.


    From the very first moment I met Winter, I had foreseen her death. In that vision, she was dressed in the robes of a queen, her face twisted with rage as she lunged at another woman with a dagger. But before the strike could land, an arrow came from nowhere, piercing her chest. She collapsed to her knees, and the other woman, as if expecting the moment, pulled a hairpin from her crown and drove it into Winter’s throat.


    Keeping my expression calm, I replied,


    “You will not kill her, Your Majesty.”


    The words had barely left my lips when the blade plunged into Winter’s chest.


    She gasped, clutching at the wound, her fingers slick with blood as it seeped through them. Falling to her knees, she collapsed forward onto the cold stone. The king withdrew his sword, wiped the blood from his hands, and spoke with icy finality.


    “Take her to the palace and see that she’s treated. If she dies, kill the rest of them as well.”


    <hr>


    Two months later, my sisters and I were summoned to the palace.


    Rumors swirled that Winter had fully recovered and now served at the king’s side day and night. It was even said she had clashed with one of the royal concubines.


    Today, the king had not only summoned us but also the four men my father had once predicted would contend for the throne. He intended to arrange our marriages.


    At the far end of the grand hall, four men sat in a row, each exuding nobility and confidence. Tall embroidered screens divided the space, but through the gaps, we could glimpse their faces.


    From left to right sat two young men—the Crown Prince and a general, both around eighteen or nineteen. The general had a commanding presence, while the Crown Prince was composed and regal. Next was the chancellor, a sharp-featured and handsome man. Lastly, at the far right, was the king’s half-brother, Duke Rowan, older and more reserved.Stolen novel; please report.


    Spring and Summer whispered to each other, leaving me alone. They had kept their distance from me for years, treating me like an irredeemable sinner.


    Soon, the king entered, taking his seat at the head of the hall.


    “I want to see which of you sisters has the best eye for character,” he declared.


    Winter followed closely behind him, dressed in finery. Spotting us behind the screens, she quickly ran to my side.


    “Autumn,” she whispered, clutching my hand.


    I took her hand in mine, using the moment to feel her pulse. Her injury had indeed healed completely. A wound that severe should have claimed half her life, even for someone trained in combat.


    “Autumn,” she murmured, leaning in close, “the king is letting us choose first.”


    She glanced nervously at me. “But if we let Spring and Summer choose first—”


    I cut her off.


    “We must let them go first. That way, we’ll learn what we need to know.”


    She hesitated. “You mean whoever Spring chooses will have good character, and whoever Summer chooses will live a long life. But doesn’t that mean the ones left for us will be wicked or doomed?”


    I turned my gaze to the four men across the hall.


    “Wicked men can still triumph, and short lives can still leave lasting legacies. What matters is knowing your strengths and weaknesses.”


    Winter fidgeted, torn between impatience and fear. She wanted to choose first but lacked the insight to know whom to pick.


    “Trust me,” I told her.


    Spring was the first to stand. Taking a jade token from the servant’s tray, she walked around the screen and presented it to the Duke, Rowan.


    The hall murmured in surprise. The Crown Prince, renowned for his kindness and humility, seemed the obvious choice. Three years ago, he had personally led relief efforts in the southern provinces, even slaughtering his own horse to feed the starving. Yet Spring had chosen the Duke, a steadfast supporter of the Crown Prince but known for his reserved and calculating nature.


    Her choice spoke volumes: the Duke was a man of integrity. That was all I needed to remember.


    The Duke accepted the token, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he composed himself. His wife, already a duchess, would have little reason to be concerned about an additional bride.


    Next was Summer. She chose the Crown Prince.


    That meant he was destined to live the longest.


    She placed her token on the table before him, but the Crown Prince did not even raise a hand to accept it. His face remained stoic, as if the exchange had never occurred.


    It was my turn.


    As I rose, Winter clung to my sleeve, her voice breaking as she knelt before me.


    “Sister, don’t go! What should I do? Please, tell me—who will have the best fate?”


    I froze, caught in her desperate plea.


    I couldn’t tell her.