Chapter 2
Chapter two
Kaiser
I just want this to be over with already. It’s not the first time I’ve had this thought since my father died, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.
Goddamn outdated ceremonies. Tradition is the only reason we continue to do them.
There’s no point to any of this. Everyone is already aware of how this whole thing is going to end.
Whichever noble daughter has the most magical power is going to win.
This entire contest was created to ensure that outcome.
Yet, we continue to summon these lower-class girls to participate. It’s incomprehensible.
Now, there are dozens more girls to sift through then there needs to be.
It would be even worse if half the group wasn’t being killed off before they even reached the starting line.
So many unnecessary deaths. It’s been less than a day since I was crowned king, yet I already have the blood of my people on my hands.
There are records of past competitions in the library, so I already knew this was going to happen, but there’s nothing I could have done to stop it.
I won’t have the authority to change traditions until I’ve chosen my queen.
I should be in the war room right now, planning our retaliation for my father’s death.
Those goddamn fairies aren’t going to get away with this.
Our two kingdoms have been at war since before I was born.
I refuse to let it be the same for my child.
Even if I have to kill every last Fae in existence, I’ll end this war before my reign comes to an end.
A cursory glance over the waiting girls reveals what station each of them came from.
We don’t provide dresses this early on in the competition, so they’re all wearing whatever clothing they’re used to wearing.
The upper-class women are all wearing elaborate gowns dyed in red and black, while the lower-class women aren’t even wearing shoes.
A few of the more presumptuous women—high ranking nobles, I assume—are even wearing purple, just like me.
Aside from clothing, there are a couple more indicators that give away each woman’s class.
Overall cleanliness and skin pigment are two of the most obvious differences, while calloused hands and posture are two of the more subtle ones.
Either way, it’s clear that there are far more noble girls present than there are of any other class.
Since population size suggests that it should be the other way around, I can only assume I was correct in my earlier assumptions.
Most of the lower-class girls have already been killed off.
There’s not a single woman here that has a lower station than a peasant.
The double doors swing open, and that all changes in an instant. How peculiar. A woman from the serf class has actually made it this far. The books in the library tell me it’s been centuries since this has happened.
The young woman looks out of place and petrified, yet there’s a steely glint in her eyes that suggests otherwise. Her eyes widen as they meet my gaze. Cheeky woman. In any other circumstance, I could have someone of her stature executed for daring to look me in the eyes.
Yet, despite her discourteousness, there’s something about her that draws my gaze.
A subtle glow seems to wash over her skin as she notices me taking her in.
Her cheeks heat up in a lovely blush, and the glow only seems to intensify.
A moment later, it’s gone, and I’m sure it must have just been a trick of the light.
Yet, I can’t seem to get her out of my mind.
Even as she takes her place in line, part of me can’t help but keep glancing over at her.
Her coloring is quite unusual for one of our kind.
Most dragon shifters—myself included—have dark hair and light-colored eyes.
With her, it’s the opposite. Her hair is blonde, and her eyes are dark brown.
It’s just another thing that makes her stand out in the crowd.
This is bad. It’s not a good idea to get too attached to a serf girl. Even if she’s made it this far, she’ll still likely be killed before the second round even starts. Unless—
I shake my head at myself. What am I thinking? Of course, I can’t gift the Amulet of Tarragon to a serf girl. I’m now the king of these lands; I have a responsibility towards my people. I can’t let a brief bit of attraction sway me from choosing the best possible queen.
To distract myself, I turn towards Wilcox, my best advisor. He is standing to my right as I sit on my throne, his posture dignified and proud. “What time of day is it, Wilcox?” I murmur to him.
“It’s moments before nightfall, sire,” he answers, already knowing why I asked.
At nightfall, we are closing the gates to all contestants. Anyone who hasn’t arrived by then will be immediately disqualified. Since this is a competition to choose the most competent woman in the land as queen, anyone with the requisite talent should be able to arrive by then.
“Excellent.” I sigh, leaning back on my throne. “Then it won’t be too much longer until we can get these greetings over with.”
Wilcox doesn’t comment on my distaste for the proceedings. He’s been by my side since infancy and is well aware that I consider them to be a waste of my time. Instead, he merely replies with, “The serf girl will likely be the last to arrive.”
Wilcox, of course, turns out to be correct.
For only a few moments after he’s spoken those words, two maids enter the room.
They lock eyes with Wilcox and bow down.
He acknowledges them with a nod, and they turn around and exit, locking the doors behind them.
No one else will be able to enter. Wilcox turns to look at me, seeking my approval to speak.
With a nod of my own, I grant it to him.
“Greetings,” Wilcox calls out. Any murmuring between the contestants ends immediately.
“I am Wilcox, advisor to the king. His Highness would like to take this opportunity to welcome you all into his home. As of this moment, the competition for his hand has officially begun. If you’ll all step forward to give your greetings one by one, the accepted candidates may proceed to the dining room, where your welcoming feast awaits.
As for the ones who fail to make a good first impression, your belongings will be waiting for you at the front entrance. ”
A wave of nervous energy runs through the low-born contestants. Having not been taught any etiquette, they’d been unaware that they could be sent home if they failed to properly greet me. It was no jest when I said this contest was designed so only a noble could win.
“Additionally,” I add, instantly stealing everyone’s attention, “I’ll be using this opportunity to choose the woman who will receive the Amulet of Tarragon.
For those not in the know, this amulet has existed since the beginnings of these competitions, as a way to take the future king’s opinion into consideration.
Winning this amulet not only indicates you’ve won my favor, but it will also give you a layer of protection that will last until you’re eliminated from the competition.
Of course, it rarely comes to that, as the amulet bearer almost always wins.
It’s an enormous advantage, so do your best to impress me. ”
Immediately, the noble girls start whispering to each other excitedly. The Amulet of Tarragon is something the king normally gifts to his paramour in secret in order to protect her. But seeing as I don’t have anyone like that, I’ve chosen to do things this way.
“Right,” Wilcox interrupts the gossip a few moments later.
He gives me a curious glance out of the corner of his eye.
I know what this is about. I hadn’t informed him that I planned on handing out the amulet this way.
“With that out of the way, we will proceed to the greetings. You will each have a few sparse moments of his Highness’s time. Use them wisely.”
The girls then come up to greet me one by one in the order of their arrival.
They comport themselves in all the ways I expected them to.
There is stuttering and bowing from the lower-class girls, coy glances and fluttering lashes from the merchant-class girls, and confident smiles and flawless etiquette from noble-class girls.
None of them stick out to me in any particular way.
As expected of me, I turn away all the suitors that either stammer their way through our exchange or have the nerve to flirt with me.
I don’t do this because it’s what’s expected of me, however.
I simply cannot tolerate disingenuousness, and a queen needs to be able to project an air of confidence.
They should know everyone here is considered equals until the end of the competition.
Aside from that, I know that sending them home now is only going to save their lives in the long run.
Noblewomen tend to carry stronger magic within them, and they’ve already proven they’re not above violence to get what they want.
I can’t help but wonder how the young serf woman is going to behave once she reaches me.
Although I know it’s likely, I believe I’ll be disappointed if all she does is bow and scrape like the other common girls.
Something tells me that won’t be the case, though.
I saw something special in her in that brief moment where our eyes met.
There is a fire hidden deep within that girl.
I feel that she’s the type to shatter expectations.
Besides the serf girl, only two other women manage to leave any kind of impression on me.
The first is a young noblewoman with dark copper hair and silver-blue eyes named Christine.
I sense an enormous magical power emanating from her.
She behaves eloquently, but I see the flash of greed in her eyes right before she bows down.
The second is an older merchant-class girl named Maya with curly black hair and pale brown eyes.
Her diction and etiquette are the best of the bunch, despite her lack of nobility.
Still, I can’t help but feel uncomfortable around her, and when she gets closer, I understand why.
I smell blood on her. She’s killed someone today.
I end up passing her through, because the rules of the competition allow for murder and because I don’t have any proof. Still, I am going to be keeping an eye on her from now on. If she steps one more toe out of line, I’ll have her head.
The rest of the greetings pass without incident. Before long, it’s time for me to greet the last girl. All the others who have made it are currently waiting in the dining room. The only one left is the young serf woman, the same one who’s been plaguing my thoughts since she first got here.
As I thought, her greeting is anything but expected. Her bow to me is low, but not as low as it should be for one of her class. It would be considered a slight, if not for the equality brought on by the rules of this competition. I can’t help the slight smile that tugs at the corners of my mouth.
“Greetings, Your Highness,” she says.
“Greetings, I am Kaiser Vallath, King of Arendale.” Though I’m sure she knows this, it is custom to introduce yourself before asking for the name of another. “What’s your name, miss?”
“I am Ava Havenbrook,” she replies. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.”
“It’s an honor to meet you too, Miss Havenbrook,” I correct with a soft smile. “I trust your stay in Arendale has been pleasant thus far?”
“It’s a beautiful city,” she admits. “Yet, it’s quite dangerous as well, Your Highness. Earlier on, for instance, I had the misfortune of seeing a carriage crash and catch fire in the middle of the street.”
I frown at her reply. Insulting a kingdom right in front of its king is another borderline slight. Is she trying to inform me about the murders, but lacks the knowledge on how to do so without insulting me?
“I see. How unfortunate. Rest assured, that’s not a typical occurrence around here. The people simply become a bit more restless around the time of a coronation.”
“Well, perhaps the reason the people are restless is because they are led by a king that so blindly follows tradition to a point where their very lives are put in danger. It is not just the contestants that could have been injured in that crash.”
Now that was most definitely meant to be taken as a slight. Is this woman mad? Is she trying to get herself hanged?
No, I realize seconds later. It’s the opposite, she’s aware she has more leeway than usual due to the rules of the competition and is using this as an opportunity to slander me.
Slandering me at this point isn’t going to get her hanged, it’s going to get her kicked out of the competition.
What she really wants is to be sent home.
How very suspicious. A woman of her station should be thrilled to have the chance to marry me. What on earth can she be thinking? I summon her closer with a crook of my fingers.
She’s trembling as she approaches. Good. At least she realizes she’s taken things a step too far. Just before she reaches my throne, however, she trips on a loose piece of stone and tumbles helplessly into my arms.
We stare at one another for a moment, both of us at a loss for words.
I should be pushing her off of me, but instead, I’m awestruck.
The glow I thought I’d imagined earlier has returned with full force, and there’s no doubting it this time.
It’s real. It’s real and it’s beautiful; one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. I want it.
She stumbles away from me with a flush to her features, stammering out an apology. I can barely hear what she’s saying. Every inch of me is taken with her, and all I can think about is how I want to do anything and everything to make her mine.
“I’m s-so sorry, Your Highness. Please forgive me. I’ll leave. I’ll just collect my things from the front entrance and—”
“No.” I cut her off with a wave of my hand. I can’t let her leave. Not after this. Besides, I still need to investigate her strange behavior. “It’s fine, Miss Havenbrook. You won’t be needing to collect your things.”
“B-but, sire—”
“You won’t be needing to collect your things,” I interrupt, “because you’ve passed, Miss Havenbrook.”
“What?”
“Congratulations, Ava Havenbrook. You’re still in the competition to become my queen.”