Chapter 11 #2
I can only wonder what I’ve done to provoke their ire.
Perhaps it’s my position as the highest-ranking noble among them.
Or maybe my lingering glances at Prince Keres last night didn’t escape their notice.
I’m grateful to have Titaia at my side and the comforting presence of Nyssa and Myna at my back.
But even their comfort isn’t enough to temper the animosity swirling around us.
To my right, Dehlia fidgets with her pearl-studded necklace, her hands trembling.
Lady Cynna skirts around the gathering, her frost-blue eyes skating over the crowd like a hawk scanning for weakness.
I meet her gaze as she approaches, and for an instant, it feels as though she’s stripped my defenses bare.
There’s an icy edge to her beauty, the kind that cuts rather than dazzles, and her attention lingers on me just long enough to make my pulse falter.
“Princess Aella,” the Arkhadian lady murmurs when she stops nearby, her voice as frigid as her gaze, “it seems the Sorrows are eager to forge bonds that even history warns against.”
Her words drip with pointed intent, wrapped in civility but weighted with something far sharper. I raise an eyebrow, refusing to shrink under her scrutiny. “Lady Cynna, we could say the same of Arkhadia, could we not?”
Her full lips curl—a ghost of a smile, more warning than amusement. Before she can sharpen her claws further, Master Cyril’s voice booms from the front of the room.
“Welcome to the first trial,” he announces, spreading his arms wide like a prophet delivering doom. The flickering auras overhead cast shadows across his face, making his smile almost sinister.
I lean forward, listening intently, while Titaia stares ahead with the grim focus of someone about to face the gallows.
“For the prosperity of Eretria, it is vital that our prince’s future bride display mental acuity, wit, and grace under pressure.
Tonight, you will be tested on those skills. Behind these doors lies your trial.”
The hall plunges into hushed murmurs, competitors exchanging quick glances, alliances and enmities alike stirring under the surface.
Lydia smirks, her confidence almost obnoxious as she exchanges whispers with her attendant.
Cynna, however, remains silent, her gaze unwavering as it flits from the ornate doors ahead to the competitors who stand between her and her goal.
The tension rolls off her in waves, but beneath it lingers controlled readiness.
I can see it in the taut set of her shoulders, the way her chin tilts in defiance.
“You will each be called in one at a time,” Master Cyril continues. “Inside, you will be asked to answer a single riddle. You will have half an hour and three attempts to solve it correctly. Only then will the pathway to the court—and to Prince Keres—open.”
“And if we fail?” Cynna speaks this time, her voice ice sharp and cut to unnerve. Her question earns a ripple of unease from the room. I don’t blame them; the answer isn’t likely to bring comfort.
“If you fail,” Master Cyril says, his smile widening to something almost predatory, “then you will not proceed. And your part in the trials ends here.”
The hall falls silent, every competitor stiffening as their imaginations craft the unspoken implications of failure. My fingers twitch at my side, but the press of the sheathed dagger against my thigh keeps me grounded. For now, at least.
“This is ridiculous,” Lydia mutters loudly enough for me to hear, her voice dripping with derision. “A child’s game for a crown meant to be worn by someone who commands worlds, not wordplay.”
“Worried you’ll lose, Lydia?” I ask, and her sharp gaze snaps to mine. Her sneer deepens, but I revel in the truth behind her performance—no matter how much pomp she gilds herself with, she is no more invincible than the rest of us.
“Princess Aella,” Master Cyril calls, snapping my attention forward like a whip. The eyes of every woman in the hall land on me, blazing with a mixture of anticipation, scorn, and unspoken challenge. Titaia stiffens beside me, sparing me a brief but intense glance. “You will go first.”
I glance over my shoulder and meet Myna’s and Nyssa’s eyes—one piercing and focused, the other clouded with worry.
Titaia explained earlier that she would lead them to the trial’s receiving room, where the competitors would emerge after solving the riddle. Yet, for the first time on this journey, leaving them behind makes me acutely aware of how utterly alone I am in this.
Forcing a smile that I hope passes as confident, I turn back and step toward the doors.
The guards on either side wrench them open, and the doors swing wide with an ominous creak. I can see nothing but darkness within, but the hair prickling at the nape of my neck tells me darkness isn’t the only thing lurking beyond.
I am strong enough for this.
I wrap the thought around myself like a shield and release a slow, steadying breath.
Then I step across the threshold.