A day has gone by since High King Urus announced his mandate for the King Trials. So far, I have spent my time in my royal bedchambers. Anywhere else, I feel overwhelmed or riddled with unease.
Also, avoiding the other candidates. I will be forced to travel with eight other male purebloods. How I treasure the timed moments of seclusion I am gifted before that same gift is torn from my grasp.
For the past few hours, I have laid sprawled on a furry blanket draped over the divan in the lounge part of the room. Reading through the selection. Elrin would be proud of me. The one I have delved into now, is a history book about the original twelve tribes of Urium that bore the diverse peoples of the nine kingdoms. I figured I would get a head start and learn about the native clans and settlements that we will be travelling to.
After a while, my studies are interrupted by timid knocking.
A visitor?
My eyes lift from the book with metal rivets that decorate its corners. "Well come in?"
The convoluted door sweeps aside, and a mouse of a servant skitters inside. I close the book, moving to sit upright.
"Your Eminence," she blurts and dips into a quick curtsey, her head bowed.
I chuck the book aside and blast to my feet. The High Queen strolls into my bedchamber, fingers neatly entwined on her stomach. Simply stunning in a vivacious yellow dress with the gleam of a melted sun, attached with a matching shoulder cape. The dress is embellished with crewel handwork, tiny chips of minerals embossed into the material.
"Leave us," she says.
Her command shunts the little handmaiden out of the room, closing the door behind her carefully. The High Queen moves to stand where the light from the expansive window bathes her in a golden glow. She wears gilded armlets that swirl around each limb elegantly.
"Your Majesty," I say, lowering myself in a show of deference.
"Arise."
I lengthen my spine.
The Queen sashays to the lounge area and occupies an ochre single armchair. She seats herself on the edge, loaning grandeur. Her head is graced with a golden crown that rounds her head from the back and at the front. It elongates like two horns, parallel from each other, both with sharp points.
"Please, sit."
I nod, glance back, settling myself back on the divan.
"I have become increasingly fatigued by the observance of rigid conventionalities. So, I will be brief and forthright to make sure that you understand my qualms."
"I truly did not anticipate that a woman would be a candidate. Even if you were the eldest, I would have thought your father would have sent a younger man or even a boy in your stead."
I smile tightly. "Unfortunately, I'm the only descendant of Regnum Valwa."
She nods understandably. "You must understand that the Trials will not only be a token of diplomacy but punishing and some, even life-threatening challenges. Already you have a target on your person because you are a woman." She crosses her leg over the other. "The Trials will require you to brandish skills of war, one I am afraid not taught to women."
I stifle a smirk, forcing a nod of shared concern.
"I know not of your character or the kind of Ruler you would become. But no one more than I wants to see a High Queen rise with the power of a High King. Nonetheless, you are not trained with the skills that the Herems have been taught since childhood. You are already at a deep disadvantage. Besides that, I fear for your safety in both the Trials and the dangers that might come from foes seen and unseen."
"My Queen, with your qualms raised. Are you suggesting that I forfeit because the chances are odd?"
Doubt flickers in her gaze like a waning flame. "The Trials were conceived with the intention of challenging men, demanding mastery of skills presumed to be within their 'exclusive' domain. My qualm is not about your eligibility, it is about your safety. Perils of the realm, the journey, and the Trials itself. You are ill-equipped against your greatest adversaries, but none greater than those you contend with."
The other candidates.
Her chest deflates, and with it the hope that departs with her breath. " Let not their nobility fool you. Every kind of man is capable of every kind of wickedness. Everything about the King Trials will be your undoing. Do you not see? There is no chance."
I inhale a deep breath. "I will take part as my King decreed. I will not shame my father, nor my Regnum," I forcibly add, "because I fear failure or risking my own life."
"Fear is the enemy of greatness and a chance such as this cannot be easily won. I do this for more than myself. For as long as I have breath, I have the strength and the will to overcome. If I lose, let it not be because I feared to try."
***
I swivel from the expansive window. The colossal slab of byzantine sweeps open and once in struts, Duce Merian. He looks behind him meaningfully. A castle guard comprehends the silent instruction and closes the door with a heavy thud.
"Aurora," he announces jubilantly, dressed in all-white, wearing a velvety doublet with red and gold embroidery.
I acknowledge him with a curt nod.
"How marvellous is this?" he says with a sense of wonder. "I am watching history unfold. Your participation shall be echoed in the annals for future generations to revere. A woman, the only woman, taking part in the King Trials."
I endure in my silence since my response is not required.
"How do you feel?" His eyes are alight, tangibly tantalised.
"I don't think my feelings are of concern, Duce. My participation is not only a direct decree by our High King, but it's my obligation."
An amused smile blooms on his face. "Pragmatic, I can respect that."
I uphold my resolve, turning my back on him to gaze out into the sunlit scenery.
He strolls to my side, slipping out a pensive sigh that somehow provokes me.
"I am certain your jaunt into my chambers was not solely to inquire about my wellbeing. But of matters of courtly importance, yes?"
His smile thrives, harnessing his court-trained charm effortlessly. "It is so. These days, there is scant time for pleasantries. The official commencement of the King Trials will occur when Urium reaches its Perihelion—the point on the world's orbit where it shall be the closest to the sun."
Calculations flit through my mind in nanoseconds. "Before the Draconid?"
He nods deeply. "When stars fall. You are very smart for a savage," he says innocently. "Even your speech affirms it, so eloquent." He moves on obliviously. "The convergence of the King Trials is no mistake. There is an imperative celestial alignment. For there is power in knowing the power of the times."
"That's quite a sizable gap between now and then. What shall transpire between the two points?"
A ponderous look expels his frivolousness, his expression sobering with infallible sombreness. "Though the initiation only begins after many moons. It has already begun." He folds his arms neatly behind his back. "The King Trials are merely in its embryonic stages. What happens now is the assessment period, time for each candidate to be paired with mentors to gauge their capabilities on a varying spectrum."
He gives me a long side-eye, his gaze clinging to my periphery. "Which, of course, a common woman is regrettably deficient in any such skill."
My jaw seizes.
"Have heart." He clasps a pampered hand on my shoulder. "You will be assigned with a worthy drillmaster who will mentor you in the trade of war."
I pivot sharply, emotions simmering beneath a feeble surface. "The assessment period is long, but not long enough to make a fighter out of a farmhand. The Herems are advanced in cycles in WarCraft, and I only have a mere moons?"
He offers an expression of valueless sympathy. "So, fight you must. Learn fast, lovely Aurora, train even harder. You are at a great disadvantage and your opponents will exploit that. They shall show no mercy."
I seethe. On the inside, I smile.
***
The day slumbers in the womb of time, the dawn is yet to be birthed.
Castle handmaidens aid me with my training wear, fastening a leather armor corset around my body. Leather straps connect with the pauldrons. The long-sleeved blouse underneath is light in material, easy to maneuver in despite the organ-crushing armor which is identical in nature to a regular corset, which is a discomfort I am unaccustomed to. My waist-length tresses are tied in a high, strand-less ponytail with a single braid plaited through the center from my hairline until the knot.
When they are finished, I test my mobility, marching in front of the standing mirror, performing theatrical movements. Once I have completed my outfit ensemble, I am led out by two castle guards to a vast interior courtyard at the centre of all the edifices. It's more like a training field that's surrounded by a pavilion with heavy-duty training equipment peppered through the expanse.
It's so early, morning stars blink awake, the dome of midnight blue easing into amethyst.
"Your drillmaster is right over there, Hera."
My steps towards the middle shrink the distance, gradually. But shrink it does towards the towering, broad-shouldered being that looms tall like a lone mountain in the distance. Wind-tousled hair, hellish black, frolics like the tendrils of a fire, a black ember against the pale grey of the training yard. I go deathly still.
His simple stare frays my nerves. There's an uncanny beauty in his fearsome formability like an unnatural calmness in the eye of a tempest. His cold, creamy-white skin is like the rushlight in a vicious storm. He stands tall, a figure carved from stone, every line of his physique exuding strength and control.
"I–"
"I know who you are, he says, his mere voice cracks the atmosphere.
"And what of you?" My eyes skim over him. He's armorless, but the intricacy and golden embellishments of his burgundy uniform boasts his high rank. "You are no mere soldier."
My heart faints, breathing lapsing for a moment. A Primus is the prime rank in Urium's specialised military forces, the Avangard. How in the stars is the highest ranking, top-tier official in all of Urium's armament, has been dumped with the task to be my drillmaster?
"Primus," I articulate awkwardly, the word ill-fitting in my mouth. "How is that a being of your elite status is assigned to oversee my provisional training?"
"I obey every order from my King. Even the ones that bear my resentment."
I wilt at his bold grievance.
I dare to meet his gaze. His eyes pooling in sunlight are like obsidian gems, gleaming like a colourless ocean enamelled by the black of night. Just as vast and its depths just as fathomless.
"You will begin with understanding the basics around range, position, and hand placement of movement. And getting into the best range to apply your internal energy, producing optimum position to stay safe and unbalance your opponent. You must be like an immovable mountain whose foundations are steeped deep."
He begins to circle me slowly, the air around him cold in the summer air.
"Secondly: change, speed, power, and learning how to change with the conditions of the fight, producing shocking speed and power. You have a tall build, but your opponents outdo you tenfold in corporeal prowess. Rely not on physical strength, for it shall fail you, no matter your might. Your advantage will be your agility, to learn to move like water."
He persists in prowling around me, a storm gathering in his tread.
"Comprehensive fighting skill is compounding speed, power, and change. Using circular methods will help develop your sensitivity, fluidity, and honing your reflexes. The movement and focus on positioning are to develop power for you to unleash it in a controlled manner. Proficient fighting skills are more than intense and explosive movements. It's about high-coordination, hyper-focus and being attuned to oneself. The ability to predict your enemy's blow before he even executes it."
"And when—"
"I do not wish to hear your mouth."
Anger overrides my shock. "Good thing I communicate better with my fists. Your rank does not intimidate me—" he seizes my jaw, a shot of pain dissolves my words.
His hold threatens to shatter the bone. Restraining a cry, my eyes flutter fast.
"Your only requirement is to listen and to do."
His taut hold restricts any gratuitous movement.
He releases me, and I stagger from his grasp.
He resumes nonchalantly, "To enhance your agility, other than to employ flexibility exertions. You need to build up your core strength and balance."
He tugs at my arm, a simple pull destabilises me, his eyes assessing my body.
"Your muscle mass invokes surprise." He prods at me again. "The musculature of your body is greatly developed."
"I tend the lands of my father," unnecessarily, I add, "my true father."
"Greatly more developed than one threshing grain with a flail," he adds, his voice saturated with suspicion. His hands are rigid at his sides as he resumes his prowl.
"We shall start from the beginning, learning fighting forms."