LXI ※ Subversion of the Soverign: A Cello, a Smirk, and a Whole Lot of Tension

I couldn't help the small, ladylike grin that tugged at the corners of my lips. I kept it graceful and poised, just the kind of smile that was meant to please, and nothing more. "I can play all of them," I said softly, my voice calm but laced with the quiet confidence I had honed over the years. "In fact, these five instruments are the only ones I can play, so it works out perfectly. Your Majesty may choose whichever one appeals to you the most, and I'll gladly play a piece I know well on it."

The Queen, however, let out a soft, amused purr as she raised an eyebrow. "Not me," she replied in a voice laced with playful amusement. "This is for you, my dear. You pick one instrument."

I could hear the faint scoff from Daisuke, his voice carrying a distinct hint of mockery as he threw his choice into the conversation. "Chello!" he said, clearly enjoying his own jest. Of course, he would choose the most difficult of the five instruments, the one that required the most skill and precision.

"Great choice, Your Highness," I said with a smile, maintaining my composure despite the slight underlying tension. After a brief pause, someone stepped forward and handed me the large cello, its body resting heavily against my frame. I adjusted it gently, feeling its weight and balance as I made myself comfortable with the instrument. "I'll play one of my own compositions," I continued, a flicker of excitement crossing my features. A soft gasp spread across the room at my announcement. "The piece is titled Subversion of the Soverign—by me. Is that acceptable, Your Majesty?" I asked, my voice soft but tinged with humility, yet underlined by the quiet strength I always held within.

The Queen's eyes widened slightly in surprise as she leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. "You can compose songs?" she asked, her tone genuine, her words betraying a note of amazement.

I turned my attention fully toward her, offering a soft but assured nod. "Yes, Your Majesty," I replied, my voice clear and unwavering. "I've been composing music since I was a child."

"Since you were a child?" The Queen asked, her voice a mix of intrigue and genuine interest. She leaned in slightly, her posture sharpening with every word. "How old were you when you started? And... why?"

I straightened a little in my seat, remembering the moment with a distant but fond smile. "I was seven when I first started," I said thoughtfully, my voice taking on a nostalgic tone. "I had a friend who was always bored by the same repetitive songs played at balls, and since she knew of my musical abilities, she asked me to try making something new for her—something that could break the monotony of the usual pieces. She begged me to compose and play these songs, and later, she would ask me to teach her how to play them. I agreed because, honestly, I was just as bored as she was with the same tunes repeating over and over again. I wanted to see what I could create, to see what kind of music I could bring to life."

I paused, taking a slow, steady breath as I allowed the memory to wash over me. "For me, songwriting became a form of artistic therapy, much like how some people find peace in painting or drawing. When you have artistic talents and you bottle up your emotions inside, creating something that can express those emotions helps to release all that built-up pressure. And in doing so, the music becomes something that resonates deeply with others, touching their hearts in ways you never thought possible. That's something I learned from Mrs. Nikola Ramadani, the holy violinist of the temple in our territory. She was one of the few people who showed kindness to me when almost no one else did. I owe a lot of what I know about music to her, and I have her to thank for guiding me."

The room fell into a brief but noticeable silence as everyone absorbed my words. There was a weight to what I had shared, something sincere and unspoken. No one asked who this friend of mine was, as they already knew the answer. It was a subtle, unvoiced understanding between us all, and I didn't mind it. There was no need to elaborate further. It worked in my favor, in fact. It could earn me some extra points with the temple—an influential institution—and from what I knew, contestants with backing from the temple always went far in the competition. Sometimes, they even won. Just look at the current Queen—she, too, had competed for the King's heart in her own Crowned Princess Trials, with the temple's subtle yet powerful influence guiding her every step.

"I have at least twenty-five songs for each of the five instruments I can play," I continued, finding my rhythm once more as I spoke with clarity and assurance. "There are even a few pieces that can be played with more than one instrument at once, though those require another musician to perform with me. All of my compositions have lyrics, but since this is a test of skill in playing an instrument, and not singing, I will refrain from using the lyrics today. I'll focus solely on the music and play it on the cello, as per His Highness's choice."

The Queen gave a soft hum of acknowledgment, her eyes scanning me with a mixture of curiosity and approval. "Hm," she purred thoughtfully. "How long is the song?"

"Precisely five minutes, Your Majesty," I responded, my fingers instinctively finding their place on the cello's strings. I closed my eyes, letting the blindfold settle comfortably over my eyes as I prepared myself for the performance. I took a moment to steady my breathing. "I will begin now," I added softly, my voice steady and unwavering.

"Very well. Tell us the name of the song again," the Queen instructed, her voice smooth and composed, not so much asking as giving a directive.

"Subversion of the Soverign," I clarified, my voice calm but filled with quiet intensity. "Soverign, not Sovereign with the 'e', it has no 'e' past the 'r'. It's important," I added, my voice soft but insistent. I shifted my focus completely to the cello in my hands, feeling its presence, its weight, its history. "It's Subversion of the Soverign," I repeated, emphasizing the title as I steadied myself, signaling my readiness to begin.

"All instruments are tuned," the Queen confirmed, her voice gentle yet authoritative. "You may begin, Princess Nsomi."

At her cue, I exhaled softly, feeling the room become perfectly still around me. I took one final moment to center myself, and then, I began to play.

The song I had composed—Subversion of the Soverign—began to fill the space. My fingers danced across the cello's strings, and the room was enveloped in the sounds of my emotions, my memories, my very soul. The first third of the song, the part I had learned to play all those years ago, poured out of me as if the music were an extension of my very being. Each note was imbued with every feeling I had ever felt, experienced, and understood. The room seemed to fade away, and there was nothing left but the music—raw, pure, and unrelenting in its expression.

With each movement of the bow, each shift of the strings, the song rose and fell in waves, a perfect balance of tension and release. I played with everything I had—every ounce of emotion, every fragment of thought—until the five minutes came to a close. I felt my heart echoing in every note, the final note lingering in the air just a little longer than the rest, as if the music itself wanted to make its mark on the world.