Chapter 8

The royal chambers is a vast length of luxuriance, their high ceilings soaring overhead, creating a sense of boundless space. The towering walls, set a great distance from each other, are adorned with an ochre wallpaper etched with delicate floral designs that add a touch of rustic refinery to the room. The ochre hue, warm and inviting, bathes the walls in a soft, golden glow, enhancing the room's majestic atmosphere.

There is only one window, but it is a marvel in itself. This singular window spans almost the entirety of the east wall, an immense expanse of glass that allows a wealth of golden light to flood the room. The sunlight streams in, glimmering along the ochre coat of the walls, creating a luminous display that transforms the chamber into a haven of light and warmth.

Through this vast window, the scenery unfolds in breathtaking splendor. Below, a riot of red roses blooms in a meticulously tended garden.

Everything here is so huge and fancy, intimidating. Though I expected no less in the house of the High King. Every second here torments my thoughts, reminding me that I don't belong here.

The layout of the bedchamber is unique with the queen-sized bed that stands in the center of the room. A deluxe lounge at the head with a cream divan, and a fully stocked bookcase. The foot of the room bears a wall of wardrobes, attached with an en-suite.

After the High King released us, we were led to our chambers. With hours to spare and fatigue clawing at every bit of my body, I fall asleep. Did not think that I could, but I did.

But when I wake, I rise to my room filled with royal handmaidens to prepare me for the initiation banquet. A bath is drawn for me. First, my skin is meticulously cleansed with a blend of rosewater and chamomile, the gentle fragrances soothing my senses. The handmaidens, with deft and practiced hands, apply a treatment, its texture rich and luxurious. As it sets, my skin absorbs the natural goodness. Now I know how my mare feels after grooming, only just more luxuriant. Once they're done cleansing my body and washing my hair. Nourishing serum, infused with the essence of rare flowers, is massaged into my skin in circular motions, the touch both invigorating and relaxing.

Once they're done, they seat me at the vanity table, covered with a robe. They try to tame my eyebrows, wild and unshaped, are carefully plucked and defined, framing my face with precision. They then move to my eyes, applying a dark touch while my lips are painted with a soft tint of rose, enhancing their natural fullness.

Finally, my hair is dried and styled into an elegant coiffure, adorned with delicate dark accessories.

After, they array a myriad of choices for me. I thought I was going to wear the colors of Regnum Valwa but that would be predictable as I'm sure my male counterparts will do the same.

Soon I stand before a tall, gaudy mirror in the corner of the primary room. Although my skin slightly shimmers 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 grips my neck. With an alluring open black that flaunts smooth skin and a small litter of scars, exposing the deep defined lines of training-honed muscles. The dress is simple but magical, fitted at the torso and it flows out from the hips, whispering to the floor. The black material sparkles like a constellation of stars speckled across the spread of the dress.

Outside, a guard awaits to escort me from my chambers to the Great Hall. Which is a trek that takes several minutes since the rooms allocated to us candidates are in the upper ward: the great hall is at the epicenter 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 splendor. I notice that in general rooms there are no doors but massive Tudor archways at almost every entrance.

The ceiling is almost unseeable. Everything from the crown molding, ivory walls until its base is furnished with gold. The cavernous hallways seem to stretch infinitely with many mortal-size statues to ornate the yawning expanse. The staircases both inside and outside were 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, each layered with twinkling jewels.

The walls are a plush stewed-red, their rich hue a backdrop for golden imprints of the High King's crest, duplicated thousands of times over. This regal motif creates an intricate tapestry of power and prestige, enveloping the room in an aura of majestic authority.

The Hall is flanked by two elongated dining tables, standing parallel to each other and adjacent to a distinct table in the middle. These tables are cloaked in sumptuous crimson drapings, their rich fabric cascading down to the floor. Stately décor adorns the spine of the tables: silver plates, polished cutlery, and chalices that gleam in the ambient light, meticulously arranged to create an air of elegance and ceremony.

At the head of the room stands an isolated table, distinct from the others. It is robed in gold drapings, its lavish décor designed to impress. The centerpiece of this table is a pair of gilded goblets, their opulence underscoring the table's importance and exclusivity.

There are only two entrances to this grand hall: one from which I have entered and another all the way down at the foot of the Hall. The other eight candidates have already split into opposing camps, forming two groups of two and one of four. As I step in, my advent ensnares their attention, a sharp contrast to the hushed murmurs and watchful eyes that now turn towards me.

The grandeur of the hall, the meticulous arrangement of tables, and the tension of the gathered candidates create an atmosphere charged with anticipation. Every detail, from the twinkling chandeliers to the gold-draped table, speaks of a place steeped in superiority.

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. The weight of their scrutiny is palpable, each glance a silent judgment, an unspoken challenge. It's interesting how mere looks can strip one bare. The air thickens with tension. Their stares pierce through me, clinical and devoid of empathy, as though assessing my every weakness, my every flaw.

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 fairs well with the emerald sash embroidered with his Regnum's crest.

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

A humored breath escapes me. "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. "So, tell me, Hera. Are you nervous about the High King's unorthodox verdict?"

"As you know you are well aware, I'm not a Hera," I correct.

He nods uneasily. "I'm not privy to gossip. Yes, I heard whispers of a distant daughter, the only heir of Regnum Valwa. As far as I'm concerned, your blood is true. You are a Valwa."

I know he said that to bid my favor but all that has done is tempt my fury.

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 amidst 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 end up with a center 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 appetizers on every level. The stands line the table with sizeable gaps between each one. Food that could feed my family, hells a hamlet even, for at least a fortnight.

Conversations wafts 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 talks and I listen whilst the rest of the table's discussion is spurred by Vince Ethane. When he speaks, everyone listens with intrigue and attentivity. He is seated on my other flank. The lush, dark brown of his hair is groomed carefully with rippling quality. He is handsome in an understated way. His basalt jaw is sharp and triangular, sporting a trimmed moustache. The emblem of a true nobleman. 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. That is very much true to the ones beside me.

Whilst their chatter endures. Chains of servants trail in the Great Hall in uniformity. With silver platters of food in hand, they move along to the tables—on the outskirts—to deck the surfaces with spectacular dishes. I know because the string of servers makes their rounds to us.

"Hera Aurora." That same disdain-drenched voice. "Are you are Hera, is such a title afforded to the bastard-born?"

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

"You've certainly managed to present yourself quite desirably."

That one is Markiveus.

Maddeningly attractive, he wags his jet-black brows 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.

"She's polished up nicely for a peasant," says another.

"Is it true that you are of noble blood but you were raised as a muck-dwelling farm peasant?" Brennon asks.

My lips tear open, but Markiveus's grit and gravy voice is heard instead.

"You will be silent," Markiveus hushes with a crooked grin. "She is no symbol of shame, but a pure embodiment of beauty." His eyes creep me over me. "Remarkable dress. Though it would look better on the floors of my bedchamber."

"If you intend to continue to degrade her, might I advise you on an alternate course?" Solaris says with an acidic smile. "One that will not end with you in the infirmary and me in the gaols for putting you there."

Markiveus disregards him. "This must be so overwhelming for you." An elbow on the edge of the table with his chin propped on a fist. "To be thrusted into this royal conundrum after having lived a life of peasantry and surrounded by those filthy nothings."

A hot spike. My anger catches alight like a flint met with steel.

His vile statement earns him a few scattered chuckles that run through the table but the loudest being on his left. Herem Rimnick. He wears the colours of his Regnum well, brown and yellow. The colours of the Erishe serpent.

"The only filthy nothings I know of are the ones that occupy this table." Anger poisoning my bearing. "So have care how you speak."

Despite the buzzing of polite conversation everywhere else.

Tension electrifies the atmosphere between us all.

"Oh, and what will you do?"

"Keep goading me and I'll show you."

"The savage should not be permitted the privilege of offering her a greater insult." Rimnick says with cold-eyed interest. "If need be, I'll happily remind her of her place."

"Enough," Vince orders, inspiring immediate silence. "She is of Regnum Valwa and every bit our equal. Hera Auora deserves our respect. And nothing less."

I am beyond astounded. Not for his words, but for the response. The Herems submit grudgingly and are reduced to nothing but unintelligible grumbles. I cannot decide if it is out of deference or fear. Perhaps both.

"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. Her chest is ornamented with a heavily jewelled necklace.

Their presence draws the gaze and demands acknowledgment without a single word spoken.

After a familiar crescendo resounds and 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 glides his hand down. In one fluid motion, we all fall to our seats.

***

Our chalices brim with the castle's best wine, our table 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 alluring 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 rested on the arms of the chair. His one arm is slightly angled, so that his bejewelled fingers can remain interlaced with his Queen.

Duce Merian stands at the High King's left side. His Majesty himself robed in his full crimson royalty; a heavy gilded chain of gilt round disks hangs on his shoulders from blade to blade. 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 the string of statuesque servants. 

"Welcome all to the initiation banquet; to commence the first-ever King Trials in Urium history." 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 bring my son back to life, but I can ensure that whoever succeeds him is truly 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 Majesty's 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 to their own and to some, even a threat."

His gaze jabs each candidate at our table with 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 King Trials must preside here in my dominion. But I have changed that. I decree that the King Trials 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 muttering 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, only, descendants of the Decuria but 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 the future Ruler. Duce Merian will be both your guide and my eyes," he says and tosses 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 danger. 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 forces, the Avangard, with Primus Kelan as their Commander to ensure your safety from start to finish."

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. There you will be tested and Duce Merian will evaluate your performance with the utmost scrutiny."

Merian bows his head, his arms folded behind his back.

"The King Trials begins on the summer solstice. And you will return for the annual solstice ball that will be held here in the Rutheon. 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 Yahveh—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, and the High Queen does the same. In a rolling wave, every docent and every candidate take their chalice and holds it skyward in hail of the High King.

"May only the worthy rule."