Chapter 3

The elongated table is laden with silver platters. Father walks in first, mother struts behind him at his right hand but never at his side. They both claim a seat at the heads of the twelve-seater table. Seliah and I sit at the centre, directly opposite each other. The aroma of thyme-filled turkeys and lavender-scented candles battle to take over. A pageant of smells. A new smell rises, the scrumptious smell of goose sifting out the other fragrances.

The architecture of the dining hall is probably my most preferred. The azure walls are embossed with golden artistry. A simple yet elegant candle chandelier looms above. Standing candelabras are at every corner, warding off the darkness that grows in strength. The light of time waning.

Every bronze plate is accompanied by a complex array of utensils and chalices for wine. Two maid servants come in from the archway that connects to the main kitchen. Separately, they tend to the Domus and Domina, filling their cups with red, then cutting thin slices of roasted meat for them.

Seliah and I prefer to assist ourselves. We have hands and choose to use them. Now that I think of it. The distance that parts us at the dinner takes form in true life. I love my father and he loves me. A formal relationship between father and child. I respect that he has accepted me as I am and not scorned me for what I should have been. A man. A true heir and inheritor of our Regnum.

Mother, on the other hand, has always reminded me of such. I am a Hera. I am to look and behave in a way that a noblewoman ought to. Every discussion revolves around it, but despite it, I can sense her care for me. That is the only way a Hera, a woman like me can attain a good life; by marrying into it.

She knows because that is what she had to do.

Seliah's relationship between our father and my mother. Well. That is an entirely different dynamic.

My chain of thought is struck the moment I see Burg stride into the room. A sheeny blue euro pillow is in his one hand, the other is fisted behind his back. A royal scroll rests in the centre along with father's reading glasses.

"My' Domus, urgent news from the High King, word has been sent across the nine provinces." Dire desperation creeps up his voice. "It's about the Dophan."

He makes his way to him and delivers the parchment. Father unfurls the scroll and holds it above his plate, then picks up his reading glasses by the end of the long rod. He examines the parchment and uses his reading glasses as a magnifying glass, swaying it in the needed direction.

I watch closely at the range of emotions on his face, it transforms from a pensive peruse to a look of sheer astonishment. And now, his thick eyebrows raise to dangerous heights.

"By the grace of the Almighty..."

The words rush out. "May I see?"

Too stunned to chide my request. He returns the parchment and his glasses back on the pillow. He flicks a hand of approval in my direction. Burg then rounds my father and makes his way to me. Burg has been with us for longer than I can remember, longer than Pinta. He was always like an older relative to me than a Regnum servant. Only in the Domus and Domina's presence is everything cold, unreceptive, and far too formal.

He lowers the pillow, and I thank him with a smile.

I take it, skimming over the words. And now I understand my father's bafflement. By his order, I read the decree aloud.

By the words of our sovereign High King. Let the realm know and all nine provinces mourn the death of his scion. The Dophan Alejendio, the second, has perished from his long-term illness. With no other heirs to be prospective successors. The High King has agreed to comply with the ancient protocols of Shalem and initiate The Vasilias Imperii. Every eldest descendant of a Domus, one of pure blood, must be sent to the Pantheon by the second equinox. All nine candidates will be bestowed the chance to be the next High Ruler of Urium.

Nine contestants, but only one is true. May only the worthy rule.

Ragnul gruffuard.

Authorised by the hand of His Majesty

High King Urus-el Kempavos.

Long Live the High King.

My eyes sear with pain. I blink a few flutters of relief.

I look up with rounded eyes, returning the parchment to Burg. He abandons my side. I glance at Seliah. And her eyes have swelled to such a size, it seems her sockets are too small to contain her surprise.

"Father...."

Without needing anything more from me, he explains, "The ancient protocol of Shalem was founded thousands of cycles back, eras ago. The only way that could change the line of succession. Many Domuses in the Decuria saw it as their chance. If His Majesty failed to produce enough heirs, not adequate, or they were assassinated. Their sons could stand a chance at being the next High King. The one who wins The Vasilias Imperii—The King Trials."

I give him an imploring look, urging him to expound further.

"The Vasilias Imperii will be conceived by the current High King. A set of trials and tests that the candidates will undergo for him to search out the worthy amongst the nine. With tests that he chooses and deems fit, that will show the worthiness of one able to rule the realm."

Expectedly, mother gives an enthused applause, her excitement echoing. Her oak brown hair wrapped up in two layers above her head, adorned with laps of jewels.

"Praise be to the Almighty." She raises a quick hand to the heavens. "All these cycles I have taken my husband's judgments with impunity, scorning him silently for the upbringing of my daughter. But now I see the Almighty's divine intervention." Her eyes return to the world around her. "You know what this means," she says, staring at father directly. "If Adalia is chosen. Our Hera no longer needs to wed. She can ensure the standing of our Regnum and maintain her sovereignty for she will be a queen. The High Queen. And will have the power to author her own future."

"To compete in the Vasilias Imperii," I challenge. "I know I am the sole descendant, but I am certain they meant to insinuate that only the eldest son of a Domus can be eligible."

She laughs politely. "The decree never expressed that it has to be a son, only that they must be the eldest. The arrogant chumps wrote that in a time where a man's virility was shown in the number of sons he fathered. That was a time where men had twelve sons. But now, because of—" her resolve falters, "—well, the times have changed."

The epidemic of the ovarian disease. An endocrine disorder that impacts the reproductive system of a woman, thus impairing her ability to produce heirs and secure her line. The surge was many moons ago, but its effects ripple on. My mother was one of its many victims. The ailment taught us that misfortune does not discriminate between a pauper and a prince.

However, that is not why my family tree withers. And I the last stalk on a wizened branch. All of it is sourced from the Valwa Massacre, the felling of my kin, their blood that drenched old earth. Death's fingerprints are plastered over my fate, tarnishing our legacy for all time. Something irrevocable, yet something rarely spoken of.

"Merely one thing then," I point out. "I am not the eldest."

Mother lets out a grotesque sound like she tasted something bitter. "Do not speak of the bastard. The High King has called for pures, not ones with tainted mongrel blood in their veins."

"Lora!" Father rebukes, his voice like the rumble of the lone mountain. "That is enough."

Seliah remains uncharacteristically quiet. Which is always the case when she's in the radius of my mother. You see, my older sister is a half-blood but that is not why mother despises her.

The disease that had all mortal women plagued; it did not affect other female species in different provinces. Cycles ago, father's desperation reached a peak. He did not stray from my mother because of a lack of love for her, but love for his Regnum. He needed a son. So he laid with a maiden on his travels to convene with the Decuria. Seliah is half Armathian and half Autherine. Which is why her one eye is a delicate blue and the other as dark as the crepuscule of night. Instead of a son, he was given another daughter. He didn't resent fate's verdict. To everyone's surprise, he took Seliah in and claimed her as his own, and had her legitimised. By law, she is no longer a bastard, but my mother refuses to see her anyway else. To her, Seliah's presence is disrespectful and a harrowing reminder of her failure as a Domina.

A heart-wrenching embodiment of our father's betrayal.

In Urium, being a noble or a royal in the realm. Love is often eclipsed by duty.

"Your mother is right," father says flatly. "This is your chance to not only live a life set on your own terms, and rule with the wisdom that you have inherited. But you also raise the Valwa's standing in the realm for all time. A Regnum that bore a High Queen. The first ever, it will be etched in history."

Seliah finally voices her thoughts. "But the second equinox is near their summer solstice, which is only...days from now."

Father nods serenely. "In any other situation, I would fall on my sword to take my Hera's stead," he says with quiet certitude. "However, I do not need to. Neither of my daughters are damsels in distress. I have made certain of that. Adalia, you will be the saviour of Regnum Valwa, the only one to right the great wrong done to us by destiny."

I lean back in my seat, lightly touching my temples, unable to grasp the news. My hands fall to my lap and my gaze follows. "Father, even if, I am hindered by insurmountable odds against my own ascension. I do not believe myself capable of ruling all nine kingdoms under my own will."

"That is for the High King to decide. His word is law and he has decreed for all purebloods to gather in his dominion to begin the The King Trials." He rests back in his seat and lays his elbows on the arms of the chair. "Perhaps this is what the realm needs to unify the provinces. A Queen."

I look back at him. Confidence bold in his eyes, bearing an inexplicable faith in me.

I heave the words out by their ends. "I will not fail you, father. I will bring honour to Regnum Valwa."

He smiles dimly and slides forward to haul up his chalice. "You already have." He raises the chalice in salute.

We all obey and do the same.

"To the future High Queen of Urium," he declares. "Long may you reign."