CH. 12 The Beginning of Trials
If I'd known "royal mourning" came with this much spectacle, I'd have brought popcorn.
Since the King's death, the palace hasn't slept. Priests chant to the Moon, nobles sob for attention, and the Queen sits behind her veil, all frozen grief and iron control.
Now the courtyard has become something else entirely - a silver circle cut into the earth, runes thrumming with pale fire. The priests call it The Resanarum, the sanctum where kings are made and cowards are erased.
I call it the Glimmerpit. Because that's exactly what it looks like - shiny, dangerous, and probably full of bad decisions.
From above, the nobles flutter their fans like nervous birds, whispering wagers.
"Five coins on Prince Gavin fainting first."
I approve.
Hegar stands beside me, perfectly calm. "Try to be silent," he mutters.
"I am silent," I whisper loudly. "You're just allergic to joy."
---
A crack of thunder silences the crowd. The High Seer raises his moon-carved staff.
"By decree of Her Light," he proclaims, voice echoing across stone and bone, "the Trials of the Blood Moon shall commence. The Resanarum awakens. The First Trial-Courage-begins."
Every rune flares white. The air smells like storm and silver.
"Each Prince," the Seer continues, "shall face the image of his deepest fear. Only true courage may conquer it. He who flees will be devoured by it."
That sounds... promising.
He turns, robes sweeping.
"Each contender may take one Bonded Aid-a companion of his blood or trust-to enter the illusion beside him. Their fates are joined. Should one perish, both shall fall."
I blink. "Sidekicks? We're doing sidekicks?"
Hegar exhales through his nose. "Bonded Aids."
"Same thing. Fancier term."
Prince Gavin strides into the center of the arena, all swagger and gold embroidery. His mask is gone - I suppose mourning removes the need for pretense. His chosen Bonded Aid, a solemn knight named Lord Arec, follows behind.
The Seer touches the tip of his staff to the floor. Silver lines flare to life, spiraling beneath Gavin's feet.
"Step forward, First Prince of Resan. Drink from the Chalice of Reflection."
A silver cup materializes before Gavin. He drinks. For one heartbeat, his face flickers - pale, terrified - before it smooths back to arrogance.
I elbow Hegar. "What did he see?"
"His truth," Hegar murmurs. "The thing he fears most."
"Oh, I hope it was wrinkles."
The floor opens, swallowing Gavin and Arec into light. The illusion begins.
---
Next comes Prince Farro, the loverboy himself, his hair perfectly tousled even during royal death announcements. He kisses a trembling noblewoman's hand before entering - apparently his chosen companion.
The woman looks like she regrets every life decision leading up to this. I relate.
The same ritual follows - the silver cup, the flicker of fear, the descent into light. The nobles gasp and cheer as if this were entertainment.
It kind of is.
---
Finally, Prince Sorien steps forward. Calm, composed, every line of him too controlled. Beside him stands Hegar, stoic as always.
But before the Seer can raise his staff, a voice cuts through the air:
"The Crown forbids a witch's participation."
It's the Queen. Her tone could curdle blood.
Hegar bows. "Your Majesty-"
"No witch shall enter the Moon's chamber. Their presence taints the truth."
Murmurs ripple through the terraces. I glance at Sorien - his jaw tightens, but he says nothing.
The Seer inclines his head. "Then the Third Prince must choose another companion."
Sorien's gaze sweeps the court - cold, assessing - and lands, to my horror, on me.
"Her," he says simply.
I blink. "Her who?"
Hegar's sigh sounds like a funeral dirge. "You."
I laugh nervously. "Oh no, no. No thank you. I'm allergic to responsibility, remember?"
But before anyone can stop it, the Chalice of Reflection appears before me - glowing, humming, beckoning.
The Seer frowns. "The Moon has chosen."
"What?!" I hiss. "She can't just- I didn't even apply!"
Sorien's lips twitch - infuriatingly calm. "Try not to faint."
The Seer gestures. "Drink, Andromeda of the Dark Forest."
"That's Drew, thanks." I glance at the cup. It shimmers like liquid moonlight, rippling with faint shapes - I swear one of them is my face, but... prettier. Perfect. Wrong.
The moment I hesitate, the silver veins beneath my feet pulse violently. The cup tilts on its own, and the Moon's light forces the liquid into my mouth.
It burns like frost and fire.
I see a flash of myself - not the hideous, glorious witch - but my cursed form: beautiful, hollow-eyed, and bleeding silver tears. The vision vanishes, leaving me breathless.
Hegar's voice cuts through the fog. "You should have refused faster."
"Oh, thanks for the tip, Cousin. Bit late."
---
The Seer's staff slams down. Silver light coils around Sorien and me, weaving through our limbs like living chains.
"The bond is sealed," he intones. "Should one perish, both shall perish."
"Wonderful," I mutter. "My favorite kind of commitment."
Sorien glances at me. "Stay close. Don't speak."
"Ha! As if either of those is realistic."
The floor beneath us trembles. The light engulfs everything.
As we sink into the illusion, my last thought before the world dissolves is, I hope my tombstone says: "She died by accident and attitude."