The Guardian Trials were considered by many to be a myth for some time. In fact, so few ever approached the King or his Captain about them that there had to be a Royal proclamation, declaring them a real, indomitable test for knights of all ages to test their worth.
They were a remnant of a time when the Fae still roamed our lands, before King Loxley had recognized them for their evil and destroyed them.
The tests were considered so difficult that if a man passed, he was automatically given a place in the King's Guard, an honor so tempting that many men jumped at the chance. Though few survived the guard for longer than a few short years, the glory such a position presented was too much to pass up, and the monthly allowance given to the knight's family was a much needed bonus for many in our poverty-stricken country.
To the dismay of all but a few of these men, indomitable was not an exaggeration.
The Trials were a bloodbath, strengthened by ancient magic and tainted by the deaths of men over the years, and it became clear that these tests were not for any farmhand seeking a bit of extra gold in his pockets.
Another Proclamation was made, begging the King's people to think before taking on the Trials, and since then few have made any attempts at them. What goes on during this terrifying test is unknown to all but those who have passed them, and those who had been killed by them.
The fact that they remain shrouded in such a thick cloud of mystery turns the Trials into an even more terrifying monster, and though they're no longer thought of as a myth, they are not often taken on. Anything concerning magic is considered cursed by many of the men and women who live here in Aspia, and that along with the King's warning made the once tempting offer hard to consider.
I stumble through the halls of Highland Bluffs, eager to escape the gaze of the one man standing between me and every dream I've concocted since childhood.
Those Trials had been everything to me. I've spent much of my life in Dallfallow Wood, training until the skin on my knuckles was raw and my legs were too sore to move after hours of climbing and kicking and racing away from Amos.
The old man had never divulged what exactly he had gone through when taking part in his own Trials, other than that they were tailored to each individual that took them.
There had always been a tremor in his voice when he reminded me that he had sworn to take the secrets of the King's Guard to his grave. Ever the rule follower, he would choose to strike at me with his sword instead of answer my many questions.
I suppose he thought my time was better spent training for the very trials that had left the jagged scar across his face.
The name Captain Laythe Linthian echoes through my head over and over as though on some sick, twisted loop, and though I make it to the other side of the Regents Quarter's within only a few short minutes, I can't escape his quick wit and easy laugh. Or the demons that prowl at the edge of my sight, digging their sharp talons into the soft tissue of my heart.
The moment he had given his name they had returned, forgotten in the hall as it had filled with my laughter.
I just flirted with the Captain of the King's Guard.
The realization does nothing to calm my racing heart, and the demons I have grown so used to snarl in excitement.
I think back on his electric gaze and my heart races in response.
He had been kind, like a gentleman, and yet smug in a way that proclaimed confidence from years of being obeyed. As I replayed each minute spent with him I recognized his quick wit and new, without a doubt, that I would not be able to simply trick my way into the Trials.
I curse once more as I round another corner. I realize I am nearing the King's Quarters, and I wonder whether his eager wish to walk me back had been a ploy to keep me from bothering his master.
My snort echoes through the hall at the image.
The stones in this part of the castle are more ornate, cut delicately so that they might fit in a sort of pattern. The windows are lined by carefully crafted silk which drapes to the floor and pools together in graceful swirls. As light shines off of the floor I can't help but to admire the ornate way these halls had been handled.
Fit for a King, I snort.
My thoughts linger on the Captain, flickering over every aspect from the exchange that I can remember, though each new detail crushes my confidence further and further into the ground.
His careful navigation of the second arrival, and man who clearly respected his commander.
The tasset belt that had looked so at home hanging from his hips.
The blade that lay against his wrist.
Though he couldn't have been more than a few years older than myself, he was clearly the determined, battle-hardened man I had heard of. Every doubt I had had of those rumors slid off of me and into the shadows as I accepted the truth.
That young man, with the blazing blue eyes and quick smile, was the merciless man who had led King Loxley's armies into battle.
And he was the one standing between me and each of my dreams.
It takes me a few moments to recognize how quick my breaths had become, and I press a hand to my chest as I pass the lavish arch leading into the King's Quarters.
The large sculptures that guard its entrance glare at me, daring me to cross the threshold into the rooms of the most powerful man in all of Aspia, and for a moment I can't help but to wonder at the consequences.
I had stayed in this castle every winter for the past ten years, passing these very sculptures hundreds of times. Not once had I been invited into the halls beyond their snarling faces. The carefully cut edges of the fanged beasts had frightened me as a child, and even now I can't help the shudder as I remember the legends surrounding their formation.
Manducar.
Creatures known to eat their victims whole, building their dens with the bones so that their young might enjoy the marrow.
Somehow, even with these images filling my mind, my breath finally evens out.
I stand straight, passing the stone Manducar with my head held high.
A shiver presses down my spine as their eyes follow me.
For the sake of distraction, I will myself to think of the Captain once more. If only to rid myself of the image of those stone faces, covered in blood.
I remember a conversation I had had with Amos not long before our trip to court two winters ago. It was the first year I had tried to convince the old man that I was ready for the Trials, and he had quickly changed the subject to my impending marriage.
"Perhaps he'll be the one you're married off to and you can seduce your way into his Guard," he had quipped. At the time I had been enraged that he would suggest I couldn't make it on my own, but I shrug the anger off now as I recognize how appealing that option would be now.
I could flirt my way straight into the Trials.
Other Ladies had often bragged over their success in receiving new, expensive gifts from their husbands, but as I remember the muscles lining Captain Linthina's strong arms and the intelligence that set his eyes on fire, I can't imagine something as simple as a fluttered eyelash or a blushing smile breaking past that rough, commanding voice of his.
No. That would never work.
I rack my brain for any way that I might convince such a man that I am ready.
I'm capable.
I am enough.
His hand on my shoulder had lit me on fire, the warmth blazing through me until it had settled in my core.
Now, as I think back on the feeling, a flutter of warmth sparks in me once more.
Of course I would find the one man that could hold me back from my every hope and dream attractive.
The demon man that lingers in the corner of my eye seems to chuckle, and I shake my head in irritation.
This is not what I'm here for.
The sound of his laughter flits through my memory even hours later as I continue to roam the halls. And as I pass creatures from Fae lore, glaring at my passing, I begin to wonder what a world full of their masters, the Faeries of old, might differ from this.
I wonder if it might have been possible for a women to achieve these dreams that drag me down.
***
"Wake up," Aggie's kindly voice pulls me from sleep the next morning.
I look up at her from under the thick sheets, and the surprise I see on her features mirrors my own thoughts.
"I slept in?"
She chuckles warmly.
"Yes, m'lady. The sun rose a few hours ago."
"What?"
"Your Lord father left for meetings at dawn. Something about Ladies roaming the halls on their own."
She smirks at me, flipping the sheets to the end of the bed so that cold air kisses my bare legs. The elderly maid coughs at the sight, looking toward the large wardrobe for the nightgowns she had helped me to hang almost a fortnight ago.
"I slept in."
"Yes!"
Exasperation drips from the statement, and I grin.
"It's about time you get a good night's rest," she smiles back.
"I was beginning to worry you'd dry out the stores of Valerian and then I wasn't sure what we would do for you."
"Chamomile," my suggestion is matter-of-fact, but her frown wipes the smirk from my face.
"You know as well as I do that it doesn't work. Not for you. Now get up, or the other Ladies will start talking. You've spent enough time in these rooms."
The groan I give her is enough to make her scoff, but not enough to keep her from dragging me from my bed.
She yanks on my arm until I flip off and onto the ground with a loud thud. I take in my surroundings. The pillow thrown to the floor in my sleep. The blush window curtains thrown wide open in an attempt to brighten the already feminine stone room.
And then the throbbing in my arm steals my attention away, and I roll over to glare up at the maid.
"That's no way to treat your Lady," I grunt.
She simply crosses her arms at my tone.
"It is when she continues to be a lazy arse. Now get into the bathroom before I choose to dump a bucket of water all over you right here!"
"Aggie!"
"Now!"
I laugh, and the sound coaxes another smile from the wrinkled face of my maid.
After a few more half-hearted complaints I get up, scrambling for the large washroom that resides just beyond my own room and lunging for the warm waters of the bath. The cool tile caresses my feet, but the feel of it does nothing to prepare my for the waters that lap gently in the oversized tub.
I shriek as the frigid water laps at my bare hands.
"What did you think, I was going to lug another round of water buckets up here for you? Get in!"
I snort, pulling the short gown over my head and stepping carefully into chilled water. The metal of the tub is ice cold, and the window nearby does nothing to warm the room as I begin to pour water over my head.
Dismissing the maid so that I might bathe alone, I grab for a bar of soap and begin to wash. My hands slow over the nearly healed scab just over my left collarbone, and I curse Amos once more for the parting gift. Long ago we had agreed to do no more than bruise each other, and for the past two years he had pushed the limits of that agreement further and further.
I suppose telling him I thought I was ready to face the challenges of the Guardian Trials had made him feel the need to push harder. Usually I had no qualm with the aggression, but I couldn't help but wonder what had caused him to be so careless on the day I had left for the King's castle.
I am still thinking on the small cut, rubbing it with my forefinger as I look into the water with a sigh.
A flash of blue in the corner of my eye and a familiar face floats in my mind's eye.
Laythe.
"Would you like me to set aside a-- Well goodness pay attention and I won't startle you so badly!"
Water splashes onto the elegant tiles and I stare up at Aggie with wide eyes. As one of my thin hands dangles over the edge of the tub, the other grips its edge tightly. Cold air kisses the skin, enticing goosebumps as she stares back incredulously.
"Were you sleeping, child?"
"N-no... No I..."
Her eyes harden minutely, taking in my expression as though she could guess my thoughts simply by staring hard enough.
"Who is it?"
I splutter.
"What are you talking about?"
"You've met a boy. Who is he? Out with it!"
She tosses a towel to me and I catch it deftly, standing to wrap it around myself while she busies herself draining the large tub. As she does I take in the room, trying to devise some sort of answer.
"No one," I finally find my voice as the towel covers my bare, damp skin, free of the quivering I hadn't been able to shake only moment ago.
"Oh, posh! You've met someone."
I shake my head, stepping onto the tile and heading for the wardrobe back in my room. Her voice follows me out, taunting me. I can hear the grin in her words as she continues to push.
As I continue to shake my head silently she concedes.
"Fine, fine! Don't tell me. I'll figure it out through the gossip back in the Servant's Quarters anyways, I'm sure!"
The heat in my cheeks lingers until she is long gone, though the sharp gaze of those gleaming eyes remains even then.
Hello, lovelies!
We're finally beginning to really understand why these dreams are so important to our lovely protagonist! I'd love to hear your thoughts! Leave them down below <3
Read, think, comment!
Edited 5/26/17