This Charming Game

⚜️~ Part Four~⚜️

"Her royal highness Eira Ashen of Mortira!"

Whilst i was still tracing the rim of my glass listlessly, with that announcement the rest of the room fell silent. Even Penny bit off the end of a sentence too early. Mortira was arguably the greatest power on the continent, the only one who could rival Miraver in its luxury. But it wasn't a country known for its luxury, even though I knew that they produced no great fashions or fine fabrics, but they did produce ghosts. Mortira was a ruthless place. Founded on blood and war, and they were good at it. Rumours followed any of their actions like ravens following an army.

They forced their children to fight to the death-

They drank blood and made flour from bones-

People even said the Mortiran's had the hang of almost any noble death across the continent; their skill with poisons was so well known. They were also meant to be beautiful.

Eira lived up to every one of those whispered stories. With the room so quiet it was easy to tell that every eye was on her. Hair as dark as ebony, falling against pale cheeks, her beauty was ghostly in its ethereal way. Dark eyes fringed by thick dark lashes she took us all in with an appraising look. The ruby red of her dress did little more to drain her of colours, but she could pull it off with ease.

The room remained quiet enough to hear each of her footfalls as she took her place almost at the head of the table. Only one more chair was left empty. There was no other common girl or princess who could rival Eira in beauty or power. That left that chair open for only one person.

"She's magnificent," Rosabet breathed, her eyes still fixed on Eira even as my mind raced, "you have no chance" she told me, as if remembering who she was talking to, but her voice was low and husky in fear and admiration, "none of us do. She is going to win this game. I have no doubt about it."

And in a sick sensation I found myself agreeing with her. We were just mice to her sharp fanged cat, but I had known many mice in my life. I had even considered them my dear friends at home, and I had seen how they could thrive, even with a cat in their midst. If this was a game, then I wasn't going to simply stop playing and roll over.

I was here for a reason.

The trumpets blared, and I knew my reason had arrived.

"Prince Charles, esteemed heir to the throne and charming bachelor!" the herald bellowed, at the end of the table Eira lifted herself smoothly to her feet, was this what we were meant to do? I joined her in leaping to my feet, Asta beside me slowly joining us. Then one by one each of the other princesses clambered to their feet in the creaking of chairs and ruffling of skirts. All but one. The fierce girl in yellow only bared her teeth as her face sunk even deeper into a frown.

But I didn't have to pay her mind, because there he was. The man I had been waiting for all this time. Ever since I had danced with him I had dreamed of seeing him again. But in the last weeks of the journey it had felt less like a dream and more like a nightmare, as if it could all be pulled away at the last second. In a second it was all dreams again.

His golden hair, curing so beautifully across his sunkissed skin. Only made more bronze and precious by the sharp cut of his sea blue suit. He was a statue of an adonis. Muscles barely contained within his ruffled sleeves, soft brown eyes that had melted my heart, and a scowl that shattered that illusion.

He didn't seem happy to see us at all, as if this was some kind of unpleasant surprise, eyes roving up and down the line. I tried to catch his eye, but there was nothing. Not a moment of recognition. No sparks.

He took his place at the head of the table, looking down at all of us. The only moment of recognition came from the gesture of him taking Eira's hand. A sudden surge of bitter jealousy rushed cold down my spine as he raised her hand to his lips. Eira's eyes sparkled, but as he dropped her hand to sit he didn't speak as much as a word to her.

"Bring on the feast." he snapped, irritation clear in his voice, twisting it to something I didn't recognise. And then he didn't say much more as the servants rushed from place to place.

Trays of meats, colourful fruit, sauces and grains filled the table at a furious pace. The steam and scents fogged the air, nonetheless I kept trying to make eye contact, maybe he could show me some little sign he cared, or at least remembered. We were more than the strangers he was treating us as, weren't we? He had told me his dream, about his family- we had a connection. But he was as much a stranger to me as he began to eat.

And the food was good. It was beyond good. It was of a richness I don't think I had ever known. A long way from the poor meals of home, a rabbit and cabbage soup would never have dared to be seen on a table like this let alone being eaten by a table of princesses. I couldn't name half the things I took onto my plate, I just tried to follow Rosabet's example, and passed dishes to Asta. She seemed to be the only one as out of their depths as me, and her eyes flashed to the prince as much as mine did. But neither of us had it returned. So we ate in silence. The only sound is the clinking of cutlery on dishes.

As the wicks in the candles grew short and the dishes were growing so cold, the royal herald entered the room again. But he didn't shout across the room, he instead made his way over to the prince's side. Charles' eyes wouldn't even meet his, instead chains the last morsels of food around his plate. But even as a prince he couldn't avoid the herald for long.

"Ladies and princesses, from across the world," the herald began, "your majesty welcomes you all to his bridal games. Each one of you has something for which you have been chosen."

That felt clear enough, all of us except maybe the girl in yellow. "You are all here to prove that what you have been chosen for is worthy of your prince and his country."

A soft ripple of chatter spread around at that, Duchess Bellona beaming in the direction of the prince clutching at her voluminous chest. Emira Sabiha shook her long dark hair so that her many jewels and golden earrings caught the light and ear. I just tried to smile, still trying to catch those eyes. But my prince's eyes were fixed somewhere else.

"You have to prove why i should marry you." he spoke, his voice rough as if with lack of sleep. His eyes did seem a little shadowed, maybe that was why he seemed so upset. "Remind me why I proposed this to you," and for the first time that night he smiled, "prove your love to me, and it will not matter who you were born, or where your father rules. Because you will rule this country one day, by my side."

for a second his eyes swept across my face and felt myself flush furiously. Was he talking to me? It didn't matter who my family was, he wanted me here.

I could be his queen.