Chapter 14
The Grand Hall of the Golden Palace had never shone brighter.
A breathtaking masterpiece of celestial gold and obsidian, the hall was a kingdom within a kingdom, its towering marble pillars adorned with intricate carvings of the Sun and Moon Goddesses. The high-arched ceiling was awe-inspiring, painted with ancient constellations that glowed faintly, shifting and swirling like living stories of old.
Velvet banners in deep crimson and royal blue cascaded from the walls, embroidered with the sigils of the royal family—a golden phoenix rising from flames, encircled by a ring of celestial stars.
At the heart of it all stood the Royal Dais, where the Golden Throne of the King sat upon an elevated platform, its backrest adorned with pure gold filigree shaped into flames, symbolizing the eternal reign of his bloodline.
To his right, Queen Dowgar, resplendent in a flowing silver gown adorned with moonstone embroidery, watched the gathering with unreadable intensity. Her eyes—piercing and knowing—scanned the faces of each princess with an unspoken challenge.
Seated beside her, the three princes held court in their rightful places.
And it was here—**in this grand display of power and beauty—that the selection would begin.
The hall was alive with movement and whispers as 130 princesses from the farthest reaches of the Four Kingdoms entered the hall.
Each one a vision of grandeur, their silk and satin gowns flowing like waterfalls, shimmering beneath the sunlight filtering through the stained-glass windows.
The women were walking embodiments of nobility, each adorned with rare gems and golden crowns, their porcelain skin dusted with shimmering powders, their eyes lined with kohl and lips painted in rich shades of ruby and plum.
Their hair—styled in elaborate waves and braids, pinned with jewels of their homeland—cascaded gracefully down their backs, framing their regal faces.
Some moved with quiet grace, their smiles delicate and reserved, while others exuded confidence, their steps measured, shoulders squared, as if already claiming their place at the throne.
Yet among them, one stood apart.
If the gathering was a garden of exotic flowers, then Princess Selene was the rarest bloom.
Dressed in a deep sapphire gown, its fabric hugging her curves with effortless grace, she moved like a queen among princesses.
Her skin—flawless and luminescent—was kissed with golden powder, highlighting her high cheekbones and striking ice-blue eyes, framed by dark lashes.
The crown of House Joro, adorned with glowing diamonds and sapphire teardrops, rested delicately atop her raven-black hair, which cascaded in soft waves down her back.
Her lips—painted a deep, provocative red—curled into a knowing smirk as she walked past the watchful court officials, her chin high, her every step calculated.
It was clear.
She was here to win.
And she had no intention of failing.
If the princesses were jewels, the royal brothers were the gods who owned them.
At the center of the dais sat Prince Derek, the Crown Prince.
The epitome of power and dominance.
Clad in deep royal blue and gold, his broad shoulders carried the weight of his position with effortless authority.
His chiseled features—a sharp jawline, piercing icy blue eyes, and dark, tousled hair—made him look almost too perfect to be real.
There was an aura about him, a presence that commanded without needing to speak.
The moment he entered, the princesses faltered in their steps, their breath stolen as if they had just beheld the face of a god.
And yet, Derek paid them no attention.
His focus remained stoic and unshaken, his expression unreadable, though his gaze swept across the gathering with quiet calculation.
To his left sat Prince Cason, the Scholar Prince.
Dressed in emerald and silver, he carried himself with an elegance less commanding than Derek, but no less mesmerizing.
With brilliant green eyes, sharp with intellect, and golden-brown curls, he was the kind of man who could charm a woman with a single glance—and he knew it.
His lips curled into a half-smirk, amusement glinting in his eyes as he observed the princesses who fawned over him from across the hall.
Then there was Prince Amir, the youngest but no less remarkable.
Dressed in dark crimson and black, his amber-golden eyes burned with mischief and intensity.
Where Derek was stoic and reserved, and Cason was charming and calculating, Amir was wild and unpredictable—a prince whose smirk held promises of both danger and excitement.
Together, the three of them were the embodiment of royalty.
And they were watching.
Waiting.
For the one who would stand among them.
A hush fell over the hall as King Aldric stood, his gaze sweeping over the gathered nobles.
"Welcome, daughters of noble blood, to the first trial of the Selection."
His voice carried the weight of the kingdom, and all listened in silence.
"The path to the throne is paved with trials not just of beauty, but of wit, of wisdom, and of the strength to command."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Let this be a test not just of your knowledge… but of your worth."
A pause.
Then, he inclined his head toward Mawi.
The royal messenger stepped forward.
"Princesses, take your seats."
With quiet precision, the 130 princesses settled into their designated spots, their gazes sharp and expectant.
Behind them, their maids and attendants lined the walls, their hands clasped in silent prayers for victory.
Mawi turned, his voice clear and steady.
"Before you are three portraits."
The paintings of the three princes, perfectly detailed, were revealed.
"You will have ten minutes to observe them."
"To discern their character, their likes, and their dislikes."
"You will write your answers, and the truth of your insight… shall be judged."
As Mawi spoke, Derek's gaze shifted.
His piercing blue eyes scanned the room, uninterested in the preening princesses, until—
His breath caught.
There.
Among the noble daughters, dressed in nothing but a simple white gown, her long hair cascading freely down her back, sat a girl.
A girl who should not be here.
A girl more breathtaking than the princesses themselves.
Elowen.
She had sneaked in unnoticed, slipping into a seat near the maids.
But he noticed.
He couldn't not notice.
His pulse quickened, his fingers gripping the armrest as he stared.
Her beauty was not one of nobility, nor was it polished or adorned.
It was untamed. Pure. Otherworldly.
Her lips were soft and full.
Her emerald eyes shone like rare jewels.
Her long golden hair framed a face sculpted by the gods themselves.
Derek's breath shallowed.
He didn't hear Mawi anymore.
Didn't hear the princesses whispering, scribbling down their answers.
All he saw…
Was her.
And something inside him shifted.
The timer stopped.
Mawi stepped forward.
The sheets were gathered.
And one by one, they were placed into a great cauldron filled with swirling mist.
As the pages touched the mist, the magic activated.
And soon, before the court, the truth would be revealed.
Who among them truly understood the princes?
And who was merely pretending?
As the mist began to swirl, Prince Derek's gaze never left Elowen.
What was she doing here?
And more importantly…
Why couldn't he look away?