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The King Trials: The Sajatai Saga

The death of the High King’s only son initiates the King Trials; demanding the eldest pureblood from each Regnum. Aurora, the estranged and bastard-born daughter of Regnum Valwa, is the only female among eight other Herems. One of noble blood who lived her life in destitution, with her mother and her ill-stricken father and brother. She is blood-bound to compete in the King Trials on the bargain that if she represents Regnum Valwa, her father and brother will receive the treatment they so desperately need. In order to circumvent tragedy, she must not only participate, but she must triumph. However, this is no easy feat, she is faced against ruthless rivals, dangerous mythological beings and creatures, forced to fight in bloody duels with an onslaught of death-defying challenges that forges a woman into a warrior; a scoundrel into a soldier. A chronicle of duty and bravery, a story brimming with riveting action, an enemies-to-lovers romance with war-provoking betrayals that reveal they are all pawns in a much larger game.

Mbali_Xabela · ファンタジー
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27 Chs

Chapter 4

It does not irritate me.

It does not irritate me.

No matter how many times I repeat it to myself. It will not sink in, neither am I able to tune it out. A riot of music and dancing pounds a level below me. The melody of stringed instruments and the heavy echoes of beating drums synchronise in cheerful song. The deafening clamour of joy and spirited singing bellows in unceasing swells, feeling as if the sounds only grow louder and louder.

At the climax, I slap the book down beside me. It was a bore anyway. I am grateful for the short collection provided to me by the captain, but realise now that the only measure of enjoyment I get from books is when Elrin is reading them to me. But now I do not have the forbearance to focus on reading prose and mentally battle the invasion of music. I stand up and I idle towards the window. I look out and decide I desire a better view.

With that in my mind, I walk to the door and exit my quarters.

A rumble thumps beneath me and the walls quake at the reverberations. A percussion of stomping feet hammers with the beat. I can clearly hear them now. The merge of bass and alto voices blaring indistinct and slurred words but singing with the utmost of heartfelt passion.

So similar to the alehouse back home.

I smile softly to myself as I walk forward, passing another cabin—the captain's quarters—and through the wide archway. Then I emerge outside, and I descend the stairway that curves down to the main deck.

It's quiet, vacant. It seems all the crew is down below.

I saunter to the flank. The silhouette of the large gasbag that looms above my head and casts a voluminous shadow on the wooden stretch. Curious streams of moonlight venture in from the corners. The night air nips at my bare skin, dressed in Captain Devwar's billowy blouse as a nightgown, long-sleeved and ending above my knees.

I reach the waist of the ship and I place my folded arms on the head of the railing. The winds are feeling merciful today. The night sky stretches out in a vast expanse of velvet darkness, studded with a tapestry of shimmering stars that seem close enough to touch. The airship floats gracefully through the aether, its dirigible sail and propellers whispering softly against the still night. The gasbag loom above, its surface glinting faintly under the starlight.

I narrow my eyes, trying to zoom into the world below. Shortly, I can barely see anything. The shrouds of silent thunderclouds obscure my sight, dismal in its colour but foreboding in its presence. A sense that it bears foreseeable turmoil. Its very presence is a threat to the voyage. Elbowed by unease, I lift my gaze and it scours through the stagnant tornado of dark grey in the distance, shaded with menacing black edges. A growing storm in the womb of time, a peril ever-looming.

"Don't chu worry."

I twist my torso to face a crew member holding a glass lantern. A lone candle lit inside, burning with an undaunted blaze. Flickering, fiery light reflects on his concave cheekbone. Schwick. He looks young, face untouched by time, with legs that lengthen into manhood. He slowly lowers to a squat to place the lantern on the ground beside him.

"My apologies, lady. I didn't mean to scare ya."

"Lady?" I spit out like a curse. "That's not what you were calling me the other day."

"Arr, that's because I've ne'er seen a woman work the riggin's like a lad."

I snort humouredly and glance at his lantern. "If your duties don't keep you or you have no wish to join the party. You're more than welcome to keep me company."

I look back at him. His craggy jaw—peppered with a mannish stubble—loosens. He gawks back at me, absolutely gobsmacked. His eyes slip down to my visible legs and he blinks fast before he looks away quickly.

He shakes off his confusion. "Uh, bad idea, me hearty. The captain warned us 'bout gettin' too close to ye, lass."

Unsure of how to respond, my reply is resigned to a shrug. "I won't tell if you don't." I straighten myself and situate my arms back on the railing.

He doesn't move. I nod him over. Surprise brightens his loam-grey eyes, a glimmer of interest over his amiable smile. He fixes the collar of his navy-blue jacket and ambles forward to join my side, rigid, leaving enough room for decorum between us.

"How's your brother?

His eyes light the darkness around us. "That rascal doin' fine, a quick learner he be. He's clever, maybe too clever for this rough life."

I sigh loudly. "I know the feeling."