Chapter 18

When I wake, I rise to my room filled with handmaidens to prepare me for the initiation banquet. A bath is drawn for me and whilst I bathe they fuss about in the primary room. Afterwards, they array a myriad of choices for me. I thought I was going to wear the colours of my Regnum but that would be predictable as I'm sure my male counterparts will do the same.

Now I stand on the circular dais once more. My hair is pulled down into a simple low bun. My skin shimmers slightly from the fragrant oil slathered on my skin, my presence scented with a citrus smell of the chosen perfume. My body is adorned in a sleeveless, glittery black dress with a high collar that rounds my neck. It has an alluring open black that flaunts spotless skin, exposing the deep defined lines of training-honed muscles. The dress is simple but elegant, fitted at the torso and it flows out from the hips, whispering to the floor. The black material sparkles like a constellation of stars dappled across it.

Content, I whirl away from the mirror, sashaying to the doors. Outside a guard awaits to escort me from my chambers to the Great Hall. Which is a journey that will take several minutes since the rooms allocated to us candidates are in the upper ward: the Great Hall is at the epicentre of the castle.

The perimeter of the castle is well-guarded as well as the interior with stationary guards situated at every second pillar that is inlaid with morsels of crystals; a bellow of undying splendour. In general rooms there are no doors but massive Tudor archways at almost every entrance.

The ceiling is almost unseeable. The cavernous hallways seem to stretch infinitely with many mortal-size statues to ornate the gaping expanse. The staircases both inside and outside are designed to punish the unathletic. The main stairway is a terror, each Persil-white step is big enough to fit a giant's foot. I fear that I nearly lost half my body weight during the ascent, frequently considering having the guard carry me the rest of the way. But when we finally reach the top, scaling the mountainous staircase was worth it.

A full view of the vestibule of the castle in all of its majesty.

After what feels like an hour, I'm led into the Great Hall and from there the guard abandons my side. The roof hoists up three colossal chandeliers layered with shimmering jewels.

The walls are plush; a stewed-red design with golden imprints of the High King's crest duplicated thousands of times over. The Hall is set with two elongated dining tables that stand parallel from each other, adjacent from the distinct table in the middle. The tables are clothed in crimson drapings. And stately décor adorns the spine of the tables with silver plates, polished cutlery and chalices to accompany them. All except the isolated table that stands at the head of the room, robed in gold drapings with lavish décor meant to impress, along with only two gilded goblets.

There are only two entrances, one from which I came and the other is all the way down at the foot of the Hall. The other eight candidates seemed to have split themselves into opposing camps already. Two groups of two and one of four. As soon as I enter, my advent echoes with my heels that click on the glazed wooden floors.

It's interesting how mere looks can strip one bare.

I rise above them and their speculations. The looks I receive from some are how a predator looks at its prey, studying its every move and waiting for the moment to strike at the jugular. Others cast looks that are cold and calculating like I'm a test subject that needs to be dissected.

My isolation ends when Solaris departs from the group of four and joins my island. His outfit is simple but finely made with a white floor-length coat, forest-green accents over a matching garment that pairs well with the emerald sash embroidered with his Regnum's crest.

He gestures to me expansively and grins. "Be wary, Hera Adalia. It is treason to challenge the High Queen with a beauty that rivals her own."

A humoured breath escapes me. I smile coyly at the floor. "Then if I perish, at least I will go out in style."

He lets out a hearty laugh, then he folds his arms behind his back, giving an impression of seriousness. "Tell me, Hera. Are you nervous about the High King's unorthodox verdict?"

I mask my truth with a distracting smile. "Whatever it is, I hope I will meet it with grace and execute each test to the best of my abilities."

I am trained in a versatile skill set. But the way of the top-tier: charming diplomats, placating nobles, dealing with affairs of state, and the ways of propriety and etiquette. It never interested me.

Solaris's eyes interrogate me further. I bat my eyelashes at him, smiling with perseverance. Promptly, an upsurge of marching resounds with the multitudes that follow. I swivel around and watch Duce Merian tow in a collection of Noblemen that stride into the Great Hall as if we are not even there. Noses to the sky, they all diverge and make their way to the tables on the margins of the room that border the one in the centre.

Whilst they occupy the seats of their designation. Duce Merian walks purposefully towards us. The other purebloods and I move to meet him halfway.

"You all look appropriate for this eventide's banquet," he says. His assessing eye roves through us all, nodding with satisfaction. "His and Her Highness will join us shortly." He pivots his torso and extends an arm to the table in the middle. "Please, do make yourselves comfortable while you wait."

We all stream towards our allocated table. I try to make a ploy for the seat at the corner, but I'm practically bullied by the jostling, brawny boys and I end up with a centre seat. My only shred of solace is that Solaris managed to claim one beside me. The table already invites us with a row of steel-tiered stands ornate with elaborate appetisers on every level. The stands line the table with sizable gaps between each.

Conversations waft through our regal environment. The Noblemen that surround us work beneath the Decuria. Domuses have the authority to rule over their lands and the right to judge in the courts of their province. The Docents are like their second-in-command. A league of their own that manages holdings and estates, and they report to the Decuria. The Decuria then apprises the High Tribunal.

Solaris and I are engaged in idle talk whilst the rest of the table's discussion is spurred by Vince. When he speaks, everyone listens with intrigue and attentivity. Seated on my other flank. The lush, dark brown of his hair is groomed carefully with rippling quality. He is an eye-catcher in an understated way. His basalt jaw is sharp and triangular, sporting a trimmed D'Artagnan moustache. The emblem of a true musketeer. His eyes as bright and spellbinding as lodestars, they seem to bewitch all those who fall under his steady gaze, glimmering like two shiny gems.

It seems the Domuses must have called for a spellcaster to enchant their sons with beauty that enraptures. Whilst their chatter endures, chains of servants trail into the Great Hall with uniformity. Each of them bear silver platters of food. They move along to the tables—on the outskirts—to deck the surfaces with spectacular dishes. I know because the string of servers make their rounds to us.

"Hera Adalia." That same scorn-soaked voice.

I detach myself from a conversation with Solaris, turning my attention opposite me.

"How is it that I have not had the honour of having your radiant presence at one of my notorious soirees?"

Markivues. Maddeningly attractive. He wags his jet black brows at me that are affixed to the aesthetic of his face with a lantern jaw; square and firm. He sets his dark eyes on me. An amethyst hue rings his pupils. A tribute to his family lineage laced with mythical bloodlines.

"Now that you mention her," Brennon interjects, exaggerating his look of remembrance. "You have not been seen for the last of the assessment period. Did the Primus try to conceal his shame by concealing you?"

I part my mouth to speak, but his grit and gravy voice is heard instead.

"You will be silent," Markivues hushes with a crooked grin. "She is no object of shame, only beauty." His eyes creep over me. "Marvellous dress. Though it would look better on the floors of my bedchamber."

"If your intent is to continue to degrade her, might I advise you on an alternate cause," Solaris says with a charming smile. "One that will not end with you in the infirmary and me in the gaols for putting you there."

Markivues blinds himself to his existence. "There was a time where I took offence. The lone Hera who deemed my parties unworthy." An elbow on the edge of the table with his chin propped on a fist. "Then I heard the rumours that you were seen at the Night festival and other festivities hosted by commoners and peasants alike. What a shame to besmirch such a glow amongst the muck of those filthy nothings."

A hot spike of anger. I fight against every innate urge to grab my daggers and fling them at him. You see with royal guards and handmaidens that have free rein to breeze in and out of my bedchambers. My two surprises and means of safety are better kept in the garner holster strapped to my thighs.

But I see now that it is them who will need safety from me.

His vile statement earns him a few scattered chuckles that run through the table but the loudest being on his left. Rimnick. He wears the colours of his Regnum well, brown and yellow. The colours of the Erishe serpent. I couldn't have chosen a better symbol myself.

I try to conjure a smile, but all I can feel is the tightness of my lips pressed together. "I do not see it that way," I say. Anger poisons my bearing. "I quite prefer the company of my townsfolk... the muck and filthy nothings are a far more appealing option."

Despite the buzzing of polite conversation everywhere else. Tension electrifies the atmosphere between us all; silence like a shroud that envelopes our table. Amongst us nine, all eyes are on us and Markiveus has spent a moment too long staring into mine.

"Oh, is the company of rodent-like people superior to those of me—" he flicks a hand to those around him, "—and other nobles?"

I shrug innocently. "You said it."

I truly tried to appear coy and prissy-like, but he had struck a nerve and that's exactly what my father warned me against. I must watch myself, every word and every reaction. Especially reactions that would cause severe bodily harm to another, even to whom it is dearly owed to.

"ARISE for His Eminence, High King Urus and High Queen Urvala."

On command, everyone in the Great Hall snaps to their feet. The High King enters with his Queen's hand in his grasp. His ruby red cape streams behind him and the golden sea of the Queen's off-shoulder dress flows behind her. And her chest is ornamented with a heavily jewelled necklace.

Their presence draws the gaze and demands acknowledgment. After a familiar crescendo of marching footsteps, the elite-looking guards enter, lining themselves in front of the sidewall, equidistant from each other. My eyes hunt for him. And I easily catch the one with the stygian eyes that stands in front of the line.

The King guides his beloved to one of the festooned seats and once she is seated. He moves to settle himself in the chair beside her. King Urus slides his finger down. In one fluid motion, we all fall to our seats.

***

Our chalices brim with the castle's best wine, our table is decorated with choice food. A melange of options, delicacies capable of making one's mouth water: a whole roast deer with sprigs of rosemary threaded through its antlers, pheasant seasoned with basil, marinated glenloth chicken, grilled fish, and venison swimming in sauce.

The lip-licking aroma saturates the air, teasing us all with its irresistible fragrance, seeking to distract. Everyone's attention is transfixed on the golden-draped table at the head of the Great Hall that accommodates the High King and Queen. Both of his elbows are rested on the arms of the chair. His one arm is slightly angled so that his bejewelled fingers can remain interlaced with his Queen's.

Duce Merian stands at the High King's left side. His Majesty himself is robed in full crimson royalty; a heavy gilded chain of gilt round disks hangs on his shoulders. And Her Majesty's glittering presence only dazzles, ornate in a mirage of gold. They both survey us all; their subjects. King Urus's gaze does a sweep of the Hall; the high-ranking Docents that surround our tables, the succession of elite royal guards and even the string of statuesque servants.

"Welcome all to the initiation banquet to commence the King Trials." The acoustics of his voice travels at long lengths. So loud it is like he sits amongst us. "Despite the death of my son, that will forever cast a pall. The mourning period for him has passed. He perished before the New Moon, before his death was even made public. The Queen and I needed time to grieve before we could initiate the protocols that would bequeath my son's birthright to another."

How callous and painful this must be for them. Not only did death rip their heir from their grasp, but what was rightfully his shall be forfeited to another. One death altered the line of succession...forever.

"I cannot resurrect my son, but I can ensure that whoever takes his place is worthy. And worthy is the one that rules with the heart of a servant and serves with the heart of a king."

Silence is like a veil over the Hall. And the power of his voice is the lance that slices through it.

"To understand the nature of the people, one must be a king, and to understand the nature of the king, one must be of the people. We live in a realm where we are socially and politically divided because of the diverse species that perceive others' differences as an affront and to some, even a threat."

His gaze upon each candidate at our table bears a look that invokes a sense of reverence.

"The one who will rule in my stead must not only be a Ruler but a unifier. That can only happen when you understand the people, your heart beats with theirs and your voice rings with the tribes and kingdoms of Urium." His gaze runs me through like a sword. "The protocol dictates that the Vasilias Imperii must preside here in my Dominion. But I have changed that. I decree that the Vasilias Imperii will be a lasting ordinance. Where the people of Urium will choose their unifier and bring all races and lands together."

A burst of mumbling furies along the rims of the Hall. I do a quick skim and see the high ranks whispering harshly amongst each other, gesticulating fervidly. King Urus raises a silencing hand. The mutters of many wither in their mouths.

"All nine candidates will be subjected to a realm tour to locations of my choosing. What you all came with to my Dominion, you will leave behind. You are no longer descendants of the Decuria but also contenders for my throne." He inclines his head. "With each location, you will be tested in different ways and measured by qualities which I believe are the true makings of a Ruler. Duce Merian will be both your guide and my eyes," he says, tossing a glittering hand towards him. "Your assignment is to know your people and your people, you. Learn of their culture, the gods they serve, and the customs that they abide by. Assimilate yourselves into their societies."

The High Queen adds her voice, saying, "We have chosen the locations in dissimilar provinces carefully and have already sent dignitaries ahead to arrange your stay. All of them await your advent," she informs, her voice sweet like honeycomb but has the sting of a queen.

"In reality, you are nobles, valuable assets. If you did not know, you will soon. Civil unrest has risen amongst the provinces, and the aggression of nomads and terror factions has become brazen. The roads are rife with banditry and other dangers. For your protection, a squadron of our finest soldiers will accompany you through your tour." She rotates her head and gracefully outstretches a hand to the line of royal guards. "A military squad from our special force, the Avangard, with Primus Kelan as their Commander to ensure your safety from start to finish."

Primus Kelan. I murmur the word to taste his name in my mouth; it floats on my breath and yet in rhythm of something familiar like a happy but distant memory. An agglomeration of feelings all encompassed in a name I was deprived of knowing.

King Urus threads into the narrative. "The locations that you will be sent to are not all Capitals or grand cities, but where the root of each tribe originated from. You will live as they do and you will come to understand the hardships they face, whatever it may be. The Vasilias Imperii begins on the summer solstice. And you will return for the annual Regius ball that will be held here in the Pantheon. With all the information gleaned from the tour, it will be reported back to me and there. My Queen and I—" he sneaks a look at her, "—will make the decision of who will be my inheritor."

His gaze does another round of our table.

"Every reign must submit to a greater reign. The will of Yahweh—The Great I Am—has brought all of you here, all to empower one. Many may ready their horses and swords for war, but victory rests with Him. For it is His glory to conceal a matter and for a king to search it out."

He leans forward and grabs a golden goblet, raising it in the air. The High Queen does the same. In a rolling wave, every docent and candidate takes their chalice and holds it skyward in hail of the High King.

"May only the worthy rule."