My head bopping out of the carriage's window frame. My mouth a fly trap as I gawk at the High King's dwelling. A castle for a king is not only his home, but it is designed to repel an invasion with embattlements meant to discourage ambitious assailants. The castle is armed with heavy fortifications intended to defend but still manages the sublime beauty of a palace. An architectural feat.
As we approach the gilded gates, the carriage persists, and the golden arms sweep open with a flourish. Guards in wine-red uniform stand posted at every spaced interval. Beyond, the portcullis, gold-plated teeth rise upwards. We pass through, journeying alongside the virescent green expanse of the front yard, that is triple the size of the fields that sit before my Regnum. The pristine, palaver road elongates to the front where a string of imperial carriages stand idle. My gaze wanders along the extensive dimensions of the castle with structures and additional buildings. Everything so picturesque, glistening, and grand as if conjured from the storybook of a child. The gold-domed towers, the front entrance that is held up with the most ostentatiously detailed pillars. The exterior of the castle is a mirage of gold that has maintained its aged lustre.
In due course, we reach the end, and the coachman leads the carriage to file in with the rest. Eight other men, nobly dressed, stand clustered together. I did not even realise that the carriage had stopped because my door is already wide open. I inhale a deep breath and move to exit. The coachman lends a hand and escorts me down the thick steps. I look to my left—all of them are huddled together beside the line of carriages.
"Well, what do we have here?" one of them announces. A blend of intrigue and disdain in his tone.
Truth be told, I'm not sure who said it. My eyes skim over their fine faces, their intricate suits with embroidery that must have taken weeks to weave. Seliah was right about one thing. They are all outlandishly handsome. But with the leers and sneers that mar their faces; it serves as a warning to their deceptive nature.
Some. Not all. The perception is clear.
A crescendo of marching boots thuds like the beating of drums. We all turn our gazes to the impeccably white alabaster staircase that ascends with an immaculate gradation. Two long rows of guards descend the stairs, uniformed in the same wine-red with a large gold insignia imprinted on their chests. They make their way down to the carriages, with a coachman for each. They aid with offloading the luggage stored in the integrated trunks. Once the red sea culminates, a man dressed in a full white suit follows them, a stately red sash slung across his chest. He stops somewhat halfway on the staircase, closer to the bottom for optimal projection.
"Welcome, welcome our esteemed guests from each of the kingdoms under His Majesty. Which one of you will one day rule," he greets, his frivolous voice rich with mirth. "For the duration of the King Trials, I will be your host and guide. Your Duce. Merian at your service." He bows dramatically and flutters his hand in a majestic flair. "If you will follow me, I will lead you inside to the throne room where our High King awaits."
He spins on his heels and struts back up the steps. The cluster of nobles dilutes as they all pursue the Duce in unorganised clumps. I draw up the front part of my dress and begin the trek up the stairs. Grateful for my short-heeled shoes that are a flaccid balance between decorum and comfort.
"Hera Aurora."
A fellow pureblood approaches me mid-flight and sidles my flank. I recognise him instantly. That twirling, Nordic-gold hair that fits well with his bushy eyebrows and high cheekbones that rest on skin pulled tight like a bolt of fine cloth. Herem Solaris of Regnum Cain.
"Solaris," I greet, bowing my head back at him formally.
"Find no fault in me saying this, but I am both astounded yet unfooled at your advent."
A smile wrangles its way on my face. "And why is that?"
"Astounded that you are the first and only female candidate in the King Trials. Unfooled that because you are. You may be our biggest competition."
I look back at him, those mesmerising, empyrean-blue eyes. There is a flicker of incalculable curiosity over his genial smile. Seliah was right. He is dangerous. His debonair character paired with his brilliant smile is one I remember all too great from the solstice ball and other elite events. His flattery may be genuine, and during our brief encounters; I was amused by his company. But I must beware, for our candidacy has us pitted against each other.
"You hold me in high regard. It feels ill fitting."
He chuckles and nods his head many times. "My father told me that to underestimate an enemy in battle is a fatal mistake."
I glance back at him, wide-eyed. "Are we enemies, you and I?"
"Of course not," he says quickly, blinding me with a bright smile. "I am not nescient of our current positions and where that leaves us. Former dance partners, now competitors. If we cannot be friends, I hope we can at least be allies."
Two types of condescension I expect to face. One, patronising blather that will look to demean me; deem me as nothing less than a weak woman with her female frailty who only received her place in the Trials solely because of a literary default. Second, shallow sentiments and words of amity meant to beguile me into thinking that any of these pruning peacocks are anything but my opponents.
My encounters with Solaris were fleeting, but always pleasant. I can tell that he is a good Nobleman, but that makes him an even better rival.
I pamper on a compelling smile. "I would like nothing more."
We finally reach the top of the staircase where gilded double doors are swept open on arrival. Guards flank the golden giants on either side with blood-red spears in their grasps; a head taller than they are. We are led through to the front courtyard. The sun glares down upon the thick cobblestone walls, leaving deep shadows contrasting with the vibrant reflections.
Duce Merian educates us with an enduring overview of the castle's layout. In essence, a design based on an antiquated structure with gothic features reinvented in a modern style. Since the twelfth cycle, the architecture of the castle has attempted to produce a contemporary reinterpretation of older fashions and traditions, repeatedly imitating antediluvian styles.
The keep, called the Round Tower, extends upwards to produce a more imposing height and silhouette. The interior of the Round Tower was further redesigned in order to provide additional space for the Royal Archives, an additional room being built in the space left by the hollow extension.
The western entrance to the Middle Ward is now open, and a gateway leads north from the ward onto the North Terrace.
The Upper Ward comprises several major buildings enclosed by the upper bailey wall, forming a central quadrangle. The State Rooms run along the north of the ward, with a range of buildings along the east wall, and the private royal rooms. A bronze statue of Urium's first High King on horseback sits beneath the Round Tower.
The Upper Ward adjoins the North Terrace, which overlooks the River Old, and the East Terrace, which overlooks the city. The walls of the Upper Ward are built of stone-faced on the inside with the gothic details in yellow Bath stone. The skyline of the Upper Ward is designed to be spectacular when seen from a distance or silhouetted against the horizon, an image of tall towers and battlements influenced by the movement of the Time of Old.
The State Rooms form a major part of the Upper Ward and lie along the north side of the quadrangle. The Lower Ward lies below and to the west of the Round Tower, reached through Heaven's Gate. The Lower Ward holds the High King Urus's Chapel on the north side.
Duce Merian drones on about the ornate wooden stalls that are decorated with a unique set of brass plates showing the arms of the knights. Because of the castle's position on top of steep ground, it meant that the gardens are limited in scale.
We, the tour group, are finally directed inside the primary entrance. The soaring diamond-crystal walls glazed with opulence, a baroque vaulted ceiling that dares to reach the heavens. The crystalline surface of the floor appears as if it has been varnished with gold. Statuesque guards stand stagnant beside each palatial pillar.
The distance that stretches ahead and the walls that tower above, render us specks compared to the great splendour of the interior. Duce Merian meanders to the left, and we pass through a massive Ionic archway to the enormous and flamboyant throne room.
The throne room boasts royalty with crimson and gold to revel in its glory. Cathedral-like windows run in succession along the crimson walls that herald in a treasure of light that illuminates the vast breadth. On the one side, there is a line of guards, but there are no ordinary guards. These soldiers are gladiator size, and their uniforms are of a darker red, redder than blood, plated with fitted burgundy armour with the same colour cape to add to their grandeur. They stand in a long vertical line, eyes trained ahead as we walk past.
Opposite them is a trail of handmaidens, servants that stand in two rows in cherry red uniforms with white aprons belted around their waists. Their hands clasped in front of them and their gaze locked on the floor.
At the brink, there is an elevated platform where two golden thrones sit; encrusted with several jewels and decorative metals. Both of them occupied. The High King lounges on his throne, his crimson crown bejewelled with blood diamonds that ornate his head. His golden cape pinned at his shoulders sweeps to the floor. Gilt rings glitter along his knuckles.
The High Queen beside him with a crown of blood on her head; the tall tips lengthen like narrow fangs. Her skin is the most resplendent and noticeable feature, since it contrasts greatly with the tawny complexion of her husband. Her skin is deep and dark like thunder sky, a metallic, starlight tone to its black colour, overshadowing the gleaming blood orange dress that flows beside her neatly crossed legs.
To the kings and queens of their kingdoms, we would simply bow, or in my case, curtsey. But this is our High King and Queen. In unison, all eight males bend the knee into a lunge position with their faces to the ground. I pick up my dress and lower myself until both knees meet the floor. I release my dress, allowing it to pool all around me like a sapphire sphere.
"Uh," I hear him say. "The pureblood descendants of my Domuses. It states in the Shalem protocols that both the Decuria and the High Tribunal are to be present for the initiation of the King Trials. I refuted. I wanted you to come as you are. Alone."
"Arise," he commands.
Simultaneously, we all rise to full height with our gaze slightly lowered to avoid eye contact.
"It seems our loss is your gain. With the tragedy of my son's death, the Dophan, the inheritor of my throne. You all stand to be the next High King.... Or Queen."
I can almost feel the strength of his stentorian voice in my direction. Every word he utters with such power that he exudes inexorably.
"The protocols were written by the first and were made indelible. But as I reign, I have the authority to change it at my whim. And I have. At the eventide, a banquet will be held in honour of the initiation, where I will reveal the tests of the first King Trials in Urium history."
I do not know what gives me the gall, but I sneak a look upwards. But the High Queen's gaze is already fixed on me. My eyes shoot back down, quelling the flare of panic.
"Everything will be explained at the banquet. For now, as our security procedure insists, you and your luggage will be searched. Then my servants will escort you to your bedchambers, so you all can seek rest after your long journey here to my Dominion."
My eyes explode wide, then I rein in my fright.
My daggers.
On cue. Nine guards riven off from the others and march stiffly towards us. The other candidates space themselves out and a guard goes to each, patting them down harshly and thoroughly.
In a flash of red, a guard stands before me. His lunar-shaped eyes are orbs of inky black, half-dome cheekbones that sit above an oaken jaw. The top part of his Hades-black hair is tied in a neat ball and the rest is free to fall to his Spartan shoulders that bespeak strength.
He would be inconceivably handsome if those stygian eyes did not fill me with such a fear I have never felt before. He signals with his hand and motions for me to raise my arms. And I do, standing like a cross. He dangerously moves out of the field of my view. Soon I feel his large and strong hands, rough hands, on me but his touch is surprisingly gentle. He does the full scope of my arms, scouring every inch of my torso except places that would trigger major discomfort. He feels his way along my waist as I have to actively repress shivers.
He then lowers, and that's when my wild heart nearly shatters its cage.
His hands slip up beneath my dress and I feel them on my ankle. His hands roam upwards, fingers cold, but his touch wakens my skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake like dragon's breath on my flesh. A lick of fire's tongue. I swear my heart stops once his hands are at the holster. His fingers probing—I bite on the inside of my cheek—he pauses.
I peer down at him, and his silent eyes glance up at me. He says nothing and casually resumes, repeating the same process on my other leg. He then rises gradually, slow and threatening, easily dwarfing me. He stares down at me, his eyes are pits of hellish black.
The eerie fear returns.
He looks at another guard and nods to him as they all file themselves back in rank with the other soldiers. My shoulders slump back down from the pent-up pressure that had me inflated like the Storm Voyager's gasbag. I gloss over the others and three of them are still being searched as I look for the one who searched me. He walks back and the rear of the cape is the only one with a gold imprint on the back—his insignia different from the others.
Why did he not report my crime?
I initially brought the one dagger for my safety on the journey from my Regnum to the Dominion, unaware of the perils that might linger in between. But regardless of the reason, I could be severely punished for sneaking a weapon into the High King's castle.
But he did not give me up.
Why?