Chapter 12

My royal chambers are high-ceilinged with towering walls plastered with an ochre wallpaper, detailed with light floral designs. There is only one window. But it is so far reaching that it takes up most of the east wall, providing the room with a wealth of golden light that glimmers along the ochre coat. The scenery offers me the sight of a riot of red roses.

I was born in the womb of luxury and birthed into a life of privilege. But the royal bedchambers alone make my entire Regnum feel like a peasant's dwelling. Everything here is huge and the opulence is intimidating. Though I expected no less in the house of the High King. The layout of the bedchamber is unique with the queen-sized bed that stands in the centre of the room. A deluxe lounge at the head with a cream divan and a fully stocked bookcase. The foot of the room bears a wall of wardrobes with my luggage stored inside, attached with an en-suite.

Witnessing the birth of a new day, the sun is like a vast urn pouring an endless stream of golden light into my bedchambers. The red roses beckon my attention, seduced by the beauty of scorching red against the gentle-hued landscaping. The bronzed statue in the centre is sun-drenched, sword glinting in the light.

Thoughts clamour in my mind, mounting qualms take my calm as a hostage, forsaking me in fear's grip. I'm afraid. I'm terrified. It was easy to talk then and mouth platitudes before the realities of my situation manifested into being. I do not know which frightens me more; the enemy seen or the enemy unknown. Ever since I breathed my first, I have been blood-bound to safeguard my Regnum. However, if I perish—the last pureblood—the legacy of Valwa perishes with me. With no brother or son to bear our name, all will be lost. Seliah's illegitimacy is equivalent to my ineligibility as a woman. We would be forced to forfeit our lands and surrender our birthright. Whether I live or die, the outcome is the same for my family. It is only through the King Trials that there is a hope, but that hope only persists if I am victorious—my Regnum is only safe if the crown falls on my head. And it is for that reason alone, that hope, that my faith stokes that flame. It is for that reason alone I am able to conquer my despair, strengthening my defences against darker mediations that seek to overcome me.

If I prevail, then so shall my Regnum.

A knock on the door—my heart jolts.

I swivel from the expansive window. The colossal slab of byzantine sweeps open and in struts Duce Merian. He looks behind him meaningfully. A castle guard comprehends the silent instruction and closes the door with a heavy thud.

"Hera Adalia," 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 like burnt umber, set alight, tangibly tantalised.

"I do not think my feelings are of concern, Duce. My participation is not only a direct decree by our High King, but it is my obligation to my Regnum."

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 into a mute anger.

"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. 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 somberness. "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 various spectrum."

He gives me a long side-eye, his gaze clinging to my periphery. "Which, of course, a highborn woman, is regrettably deficient in such skill."

My gaze stumbles to the ground.

"Have heart, Hera." 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 fragile surface. "The assessment period is long, but not long enough to make a fighter out of a skill-less prude. 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 Hera, 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 armour corset around my body. Leather straps crisscross over my chest, connecting with the pauldrons. The long-sleeved blouse underneath is light in material but billowy, easy to manoeuvre in despite the organ-crushing armour which is identical in nature to a regular corset, which is a discomfort I am accustomed to. My waist-length tresses are tied in a high, strand-less ponytail with a single braid plaited through the centre from my hairline until the knot.

When they are finished, I test my mobility, marching in front of the standing mirror, performing theatrical movements, absolutely relishing in the feel of the voluminous pants, completely ill-fitting, and not too dissimilar from the clothing I wore as a novice in training. The shoes recommended to me are strange; they are black closed-toe, slip-on shoes, malleable and made with minimal lining.

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 tentative steps towards the middle shrink the distance, gradually. But shrink it does and the towering, broad-shouldered being looms tall like a lone mountain in the distance. Wind-tousled hair, Hades-black, frolics like the tendrils of a fire, a black ember against the pale grey of the training yard. I go deathly still. He's the one that searched me in the High King's throne room.

His glower frays my nerves. There's an uncanny beauty in his formability like a calm in the eye of the storm. His cold, creamy-white skin is like the rushlight of a vicious tempest.

"I–"

"I know who you are, Hera," 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."

"Primus."

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. "Then." My voice reduced to a pitiful murmur. "Where shall we begin, Primus?"

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 midnight. 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. "How dare—"

"You will not speak," he says with dangerous calm. "You will listen and you will do."

"Your rank does not intimidate me, and I will not be—" he seizes my jaw, a shot of pain dissolves my words. "Unhand me—"

His hold threatens to shatter the bone. Restraining a cry, my eyes flutter fast.

"You will listen and you will do."

His taut hold restricts any gratuitous movement. I concede a stiff nod.

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."

My mind gropes for a sufficient excuse. "As a child, I took a queer interest in land labour. I would often help the farm hand tend the fields."

"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."