Chapter 5
?──── Koen ? ────?
A firm knock rattles me from sleep. I blink at the unfamiliar stone ceiling above me, the threads of a dream already slipping away.
Another knock. Then, the door creaks open.
Torin steps inside, already dressed in his guard uniform, sword at his hip. “Time to go.”
I push myself upright on the edge of the bed, rubbing sleep from my eyes. “Go where?”
“The first trial,” he says, tossing a bundle onto the foot of the bed—a sword, sheathed in polished leather, and a curved dagger beside it. “You'll need those.”
My gut tightens as I stare at them. “I...I’ve never used a weapon.”
His brows lift slightly, but he doesn't comment on the admission. Instead, he picks up the sword again, offering it hilt-first.
“Hold it. Get a feel for the weight.”
I hesitate before standing and wrapping my fingers around the hilt. It’s heavier than I expected. My grip feels awkward, unfamiliar. Nothing like light magic, which flows through me with ease...even if I still don’t know how to wield that properly, either. I don't tell him that, though.
Torin studies me in silence. “You’ll manage. Just stay alive today.”
“ That easy , huh?”
The corner of his mouth quirks, not quite in a smile, but close. “If you survive, I’ll teach you how to use them properly before the second trial.”
I nod, swallowing down the nerves and doubt threatening to rise to the surface. “And if I don’t?”
“Then you’ll be dead,” he says plainly, striding toward the door. “But at least no one will know how bad your form was.”
He pauses at the threshold. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to keep going.”
I stand in the quiet room, sword in hand, the weight of it settling into my bones. I flex my fingers around the hilt once, then twice.
I strap on the dagger, take a steadying breath, and follow the echo of Torin’s footsteps in the corridor. I stop when I see him speaking with the princess.
Serenya leans slightly toward him, whispering something I can’t hear, then glances over his shoulder. Her eyes land on me.
“Oh,” she says softly, as if surprised, “I didn’t realize you were busy.
” She turns back to Torin, but the flicker of red in her eyes catches my attention.
She’s been crying. My brows furrow. Seeing the delicate flush in her cheeks and the redness beneath her eyes stirs something beneath my skin.
My magic pulses involuntarily, wanting me to go to her.
I force it down, angry at myself for feeling something so ridiculous. I don’t even know her.
“Never too busy for you, Ren,” Torin says quietly, his tone low, almost conspiratorial. “They assigned me to look after him during the duration of his time here. I would ask if you wanted to walk with us, but something tells me you wouldn’t want that.”
She gives him a small smile. “Thank you. I…” She takes a breath and clears her throat. “I’m fine. I was just on my way to visit my father.”
“Give the king my regards. Alira and I will find you later,” Torin adds, his voice gentle, almost protective. Her smile flickers again, fragile and sad, like the comfort he assumes she’ll feel by his words is just out of reach.
She steps toward me, and the small, teasing light in her expression surprises me. It’s forced, but still makes my chest twist in an unfamiliar way.
“Koen, right?”
I nod, letting a small smirk creep onto my face before I can stop it.
“Yes. Or tavern boy, if you prefer.” Honestly, I don’t know why I say it.
It irritated me when she called me that last night.
Maybe I say it to lighten the mood, or maybe it’s because her eyes look like they could use a distraction.
Even if I don’t particularly like her, I don’t like seeing her like this.
She laughs, soft and quiet, and the sound makes my heart beat harder. I already want to hear it again.
Wait…what? No, I don’t. Where did that come from?
“Tavern boy, it is,” she says, and I watch as her smile falters, just for a second, weighed down by something deeper.
She straightens, forcing her composure back.
“Um…Well, good luck today.” Her words are careful, polite, but I can see the exhaustion and sadness in her eyes that she’s trying to hide.
She tilts her head, and a playful glint appears in her eyes. “It would be awfully embarrassing for your friend if you died during the first trial. Especially after he went through all that trouble to get you here.”
The tease is light, and I feel a pull I can’t quite explain. I have to remind myself: You’re not here for her. You’re here because of drunken idiots.
Torin’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. “Let’s go, Koen. You’re going to be late.”
I glance back at her as she walks away, words trailing in the air behind her.
“See you later, tavern boy.”
I can’t keep my gaze from following her, stubborn, unwilling to let her disappear from sight.
“ Koen. ”
My head snaps back to Torin, finding him watching me with raised brows. His expression hardens, serious now.
“I know you’re here for a competition that may lead to marriage with her, but be careful. I care about Serenya a lot. She’s like a sister to me. If you hurt her in any way—” He stops, locking eyes with me, voice low. “I will kill you. Royal trials be damned. That’s how much I care for my family.”
I swallow hard, deciding not to tell him I don’t even like her. Not that it would matter—something in my chest refuses to be quiet when she’s around.
He begins walking again, voice lightening to a frightening degree after his threat. “Let’s get you to your trial. And hey,” he calls over his shoulder, eyes gleaming. “If you don’t make it back, I won’t even have anything to worry about.”
As I follow, my mind drifts to the teasing edge of Serenya’s voice, the way she laughed, and the slight tremor in her hands that she tried to hide. Annoyingly, I feel drawn to her. It’s an unwelcome feeling.
My boots echo as I walk closely behind Torin, my new sword and dagger strapped awkwardly at my sides. The morning sun filters in weakly through the arched corridor windows, casting golden streams of light across the marble floor. My heart beats harder with each step I take toward the courtyard.
I hear the murmurs before I see the gathering. Hushed voices, shuffling feet, and nervous laughter wrapped in tension. As we step into the courtyard, the conversations stop.
The other five contestants stand in a row on the cobbled stone, spaced evenly beneath the shadow of the high palace wall. They all turn to glance at me with curiosity. I wonder what they see. A rival? A dead man walking?
The moment I take my place at the end of the line, the heavy doors above the stairs creak open.
Queen Zephyra steps out into the sunlight, her presence regal and commanding. A long cloak of black and gold trails behind her, her crown shimmering faintly as she descends the marble stairs with smooth grace.
Trailing her are six glowing figures—tiny pixies with translucent wings. Their light shimmers in hues of violet, gold, and blue.
The queen stops at the bottom of the steps and surveys the line of champions. “Today marks the beginning of the Trials of the Fated. You stand here not just as hopefuls, but as those who will be judged by the gods, by your people, and by fate itself.”
My throat tightens. I keep my posture steady, even as uncertainty gnaws at my core.
“These trials are not merely tests of strength, but of will. Of heart. Of sacrifice,” she continues. “This morning, your trial shall take place in the catacombs beneath the Ancients’ Rest.”
A ripple of unease moves through the line.
“The catacombs are old,” the queen goes on, “and dangerous. Each of you will be placed within a different section. No allies. No help.”
At this, the six pixies begin to float forward, hovering in a semicircle before each contestant . Mine flickers with silvery-blue light and regards me with curious, glittering eyes.
“These guides will open your portals. Within, you will find traps long-forgotten by time and creatures birthed from shadow and dust. You must reach the exit before midnight.”
“And if we don’t?” Lioran asks.
The queen’s expression remains unchanged. “Then your assigned guard, waiting at your exit, will leave. And you will be disqualified...if you aren't already dead.”
My chest constricts, and my palms grow sweaty.
Torin steps forward behind me. He hands me a torch, speaking softly. “I’ll be waiting for you. Get to me.”
I slowly nod, not trusting my voice.
The queen lifts a hand, and the pixies move as one, the tiny runes in their palms pulsing once. In a shimmer of light and color, six glowing portals bloom in midair like rippling water, each one pulsing with magic.
The queen speaks one last time. “Enter, and let the trials begin.”
One by one, the others step forward, their portals swallowing them.
My pixie smiles and gives me a slow nod, hovering just beside the glowing portal. I exhale and step through, into darkness.
The air is thick, damp, and heavy with the scent of stone and something older as I take my first steps into the catacombs. It lingers like the memory of blood, clinging to the back of my tongue until I gag. Every breath tastes metallic, like I’ve been chewing iron.
I stop just inside the archway. Pressing my back against the cold stone wall, I force myself to breathe more slowly .
My lungs won’t listen. I should’ve grounded myself before I stepped in here.
Should’ve slowed down, calmed my nerves, done anything other than stumble into this place like prey wandering into a wolf’s den.
My hand sweats as I grip the dagger Torin gave me earlier. I hold the torch in the other hand, the flame sputtering weakly.
I begin walking, but my steps falter when I hear the screams—high, ragged, and cut short too fast. My throat closes. Somewhere deep, one of the other champions just died. I don’t know who. I don’t think I want to.