Trial

Eira was still fuming about what had happened earlier. But then she noticed something else. The palace was too quiet. Unusually quiet. The footsteps of the guards, the murmurs of servants—all had vanished into silence. Even the occasional clatter of trays or soft hum of maids was gone. Everyone she passed wore tight expressions, their eyes wary, their movements cautious, as if they were walking on pins.

She stopped one of the servants—a young girl holding a mop, clearly startled but trying to keep her composure.

"Hey," Eira called. "Why is it so quiet? Did something happen?"

The girl flinched, then quickly composed herself, eyes darting around to see if anyone else was listening. Servants rarely dared to speak of sensitive matters. But Eira was no ordinary contestant. She was a princess, one favored by the King himself, and rumored to be a strong candidate for the crown.

So the girl whispered, "His Majesty collapsed this morning. On his way to the High Court."

And before Eira could react, the maid bowed slightly and hurried off.

Eira stood frozen. Collapsed? Her mind reeled. She wanted to ask more, but the servant had vanished.

She returned to her chamber and immediately summoned Cassandra to look into the matter. As a maid herself, Cassandra had access to the palace's vast undercurrent of gossip.

When she returned, Cassandra bowed. "The rumors are true. His Majesty collapsed en route to the High Court and was rushed to the Chambers of Healing. The physicians haven't figured out the cause yet. They're using traditional medicine to stabilize his pulse and heartbeat, but that's all they can do for now."

Eira gasped softly. So it was true. She nodded and dismissed Cassandra with a wave.

If the King is ill, Eira thought, then surely the contest would be postponed. Or better yet—cancelled?

She knew it sounded selfish, but she couldn't help feeling relief. She didn't want the King to die, of course. But if the contest were called off… then she could finally go home. Far from vampires. Far from the crown prince. Far from this entire charade.

Just then, a knock came at the door, interrupting her thoughts.

"Princess," a maid said, "you've been summoned to the courtyard at the Western Wing."

Eira blinked. Was this it? The formal announcement? Maybe the contest was being disbanded. Maybe the prince had finally chosen a bride, and they could all return home. Her heart swelled with anticipation.

She nodded and followed the maid. Fortunately, she'd studied the palace map thoroughly. The Western Wing was easy to locate, and she'd already marked out paths that avoided both the royal family and high-traffic corridors.

Her mind was racing with the possibilities. It had already been two weeks since she left home. She missed her kingdom—the scent of sweet apple tea, the sound of wind chimes in the courtyard, her father's warm laughter. Nothing compared to home.

She arrived at the courtyard and quickly realized she wasn't alone. Every other contestant had been summoned as well. So it wasn't just her. The hopeful smile she wore faltered.

Still, maybe they were all being dismissed. Her heart clung to the idea like a child to a favorite toy.

Chatter buzzed among the girls—some whispering theories, others murmuring about the King. Everyone was tense.

"Quiet, everyone!" the moderator called out, her voice sharp and clear. The murmurs died down immediately.

"As you may have heard," the moderator began, "His Majesty, the King, collapsed this morning."

Eira straightened. Here it comes.

"As a result, the contest is now over."

For a split second, Eira's heart soared. Yes! She bit her lip to stop a smile from breaking out. I'm going home!

But then the moderator continued. "However, you will all participate in a new format: a trial based on one of the kingdom's sectors. His Highness, the Crown Prince, will supervise personally and make his final choice from the results of this trial."

Eira's face dropped.

What?!

The word burst from her lips before she could stop it. Heads turned to her, a few girls giggled, others frowned. But Eira quickly schooled her features and bowed her head.

Her thoughts were screaming. This isn't fair! I was already counting down the days to go home! She had even estimated her arrival: three and a half days, with favorable weather.

Now this?

Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them. She blinked rapidly, but one traitorous drop escaped and ran down her cheek. A few girls nearby glanced her way with concern.

But no one understood Eira Truma better than herself. She was done pretending.

"The trial begins now," the moderator announced.

Eira wanted to slap someone. Preferably the woman standing at the front, grinning like she'd just handed out bouquets instead of misery.

But she forced herself to breathe slowly. There were rules. Violations meant consequences. She couldn't afford attention. Not now.

"You have one hour to rest and prepare yourselves mentally," the moderator said before stepping away.

One hour passed quickly. When the contestants returned, the courtyard was transformed. Officials stood on one side, ministers seated on another, acting as judges. Long tables bore stacks of neatly folded garments.

Assistants handed out the attire: loose, deep-blue chiffon pants, fitted with a flexible waistband and ankle cuffs; leather boots that rose mid-calf; fingerless gloves; and dark waist belts.

Every contestant received the same set.

"These are your training clothes," the moderator said. "I believe everyone now has a fighting gear."

"Are we going to fight? Or is this just training?" someone from the back asked.

A judge responded, "It is a trial."

The word hung in the air like a blade.

Moments later, everyone had changed into their gear. The girls stood in rows, some adjusting gloves, others tightening their belts. Their faces were a mix of determination, nerves, and in Eira's case, utter dismay.

She looked toward the far edge of the courtyard, where a tall figure had just stepped in.