Chapter 20

Today, my last day.

Everything I know will be left behind in the King's Dominion. I thought leaving my Regnum was difficult enough, but today I embark on the unknown. I have only read stories, heard tall tales about the domains both out and within the nine kingdoms. I've heard of the horrors of some people and the beauty of others. But now I will witness my realm, first-hand.

As King Urus instructed; we are to leave all our belongings behind. But of course I will take only three things with me. My two daggers; a motif of home, and the necklace that Burg gifted me; an emblem of my Regnum and a symbol of its strength, which serves as a perpetual reminder. Instead of wearing my usual gowns and garbs, I am dressed in a dark-brown, tunic-styled, long-sleeved garment that ends above the knees with black fitted pants and boots to match. A thick floor-length coat shrouds my shoulders. It's buttoned up to my neck, concealing both my necklace and the daggers forever strapped to my thighs like they are part of my limbs.

The only time I wore something like this was when I was training.

I feel that the initiation banquet should have been called the last supper. A regular guard retrieves me from my chambers. He directs me to the primary vestibule of the castle—the main entrance where all the other candidates await.

My eyes sink to the stretch of polished floors, buffed to a shine. The golden vision is ornamented with a crimson crest of the High King imprinted in the centre of the vestibule—between the mammoth marble staircase and the stagnant gilded giants of the front entrance. Once again, I spot Vince as the star of the show. The other males are encircled around him, their faces avid to his zealous speech spoken in a hushed tone. Even Solaris stands attentive, his attention rapt to his words. All the Herems are outfitted in casual wear, stripped of all adornments and noble embellishments. Simply plain.

Purposefully, I saunter to the left, creeping into his field of view. He looks in my direction and I capture his gaze. Solaris smiles at me warmly and ejects himself from the group. But his abrupt movement unfastens attention from Vince, to shift it on Solaris, then unto me.

Vince rotates his head, and I fall under the thrall of his mesmeric gaze. His face alight, he flashes a cosmic smile, his teeth two rows of brilliant white. "Hera Adalia, how nice of you to join us. From your determined absence, one might think that you were in hiding."

A few haughty snorts spurt from the others.

"Herem Vince—"

"Please, only those inferior call me that. To you, I am Vince," he corrects. "Only my friends call me by name."

I rein in a laugh.

My eyes rake over him from top to bottom and I spare them all a cursory glance. I slay the urge to let out a retort that would slap the smug look off his face. No. As father counselled, I want them to underestimate me, to have them genuinely believe the perception of what all think of me. That I am weak and vulnerable. An untrained woman—a prude—that cannot cope without servants to serve me hand and foot.

I nibble on the corner of my lower lip, feigning a despondent look. A dent to my pride. "Well...If I may share my candour...I am...overawed by everything." I yank my brows together. "I hope you did not take offence. I knew the Trials were going to be trying, but what High King Urus requires of us... is unimaginable."

"Yes, of course," Brennon says dramatically, dragging out his words. "How unimaginable not to have servants to do your bidding. No more lavish foods nor a splendid castle or a Regnum to dwell in. Oh, how will the Hera survive?"

The same as you, hellion. If not better.

I push out a dejected sigh, shrugging exaggeratedly.

Solaris joins my side.

"The Trials is no place for a woman, hence the title, Vasilias," Markiveus says, empathising. "Your role is best suited as the armpiece of the next High King. An ornamental figure that is nice to look at." He chuckles, tapping his temple in gesture. "Nothing inside but a pretty hollow shell."

Cue the derisive laughter....The whole group booms a united guffaw, an echo of sheer scorn.

"You should know your place, Adalia, the place of a noblewoman—" Rimnick says, clicking his tongue in mock reproach like he's scolding a child, "—which is in the bedchamber conceiving heirs to ensure the line of your better. I would be more than happy to show you if you have forgotten where you belong."

"And where is that?" Another jeers, "Beneath you?"

"What other use will she bear?"

My hearing ebbs and their laughter drowns out. Their mouths agape, stretched to the corners of their eyes. But I cannot hear a thing. I can only feel the warmth, heat sweltering within. Idiots. The lot of them.

"Watch your tongues." Vince barks out in stark outrage. "Might I remind you that she is the sole pureblood descendant of Regnum Valwa. A Regnum esteemed throughout the nine provinces for its knowledge and wisdom. Show her the respect that she has deserved."

Rimnick and Vince repay each other in kind; a glare for glare.

A petty chide is not enough to provoke a brawl, but with a monstrous pride that Rimnick oozes. I would not be surprised. But Vince is not someone to toy with, he's from Regnum Ethane; the notorious Regnum of warriors. That same spirit burns in his blood, skills of his lineage undoubtedly enwrought in him. Everyone knows it, and so does Rimnick.

He yields and tears his gaze away, muttering a litany of curse words.

My eyes shift to Vince. Out of courtesy, I thank him with a terse nod, and he responds with a stiff bow of his head.

Solaris's torso slants towards me. "Pay him no attention, he is a vulgar bastard with an affinity for chaos. Satan's spawn he is."

I muzzle a scoff. "Or Satan himself." My stomach growls with impatience. I inhale a calming breath, it douses the fire within. "I thought we were supposed to meet the High King and Queen in the Great Hall for a morning collation? I'm famished."

The percussion of marching boots swells. Duce Merian rounds the flank of the staircase with the military squadron of Avangard soldiers at his rear.

"Come along, Herems and a Hera," Merian announces jubilantly, his words augmented by a resonance. "Your carousine awaits, along with the nine other denominations of people that expect your advent."

Soon we are all shepherded out of the castle. And a long interval of silence ensues as we cut through the middle and lower ward to reach the front entrance. Only three days have passed since my arrival and now, I am to leave again.

"I am no fool," Solaris blurts.

He and I walk behind Duce Merian who leads the way, behind us are the rest of the candidates. Followed by the rowed squadron of Avangardians that pursue us in formation.

"I know that there can only be one victor, thus, any alliance formed now will surely crumble towards the end. We all want to win for our own reasons. That is why possible allies will soon turn into foes."

I glance back at him occasionally.

"That is why I do wish for us to be more than allies, which is I offer you my friendship. Friends are there for each other, they protect one another. And I want to be that for you."

I look back into those empyreal eyes, ever-enchanting, that gleam earnestly. Whether or not his offer is genuine, time will tell who is truly a foe and who is truly a friend. But when I look at him, I remember our evanescent yet unforgettable encounters. Guilt-stricken. Again. Because I abandoned his offer of championship long before anyone breathed a word of the Vasilias Imperii.

But that was a different time, something that neither of us mentions. That awkwardness is a palpable barrier between us since we pretend none of it happened. Too focused on the now to dredge up grievances of the past. Because of it, I want to believe his words. I would be a fool to either accept or deny. We know not the tests of the Trials, but I will seek to gain an advantage in any way that I can. Perhaps an alliance of my own. The duration of it depends on his own sincerity, in the end. I will not betray him.

But if his intention is indeed to deceive me. He will woefully regret it.

In lieu of that, I say, "Herem Solaris, I would like nothing more."

He beams another warm smile and nods triumphantly.

We exit through the last ward, passing through the ginormous double doors. I crest the peak of the mountainous staircase. My gaze examines the far-flung distance. A stria of pink wanders on the rosy horizon, impaled by a row of golden teeth. The gilded gate that protects the castle grounds in its wrought embrace.

At the bottom of the staircase, the carousine awaits. A carousine is an elongated carriage, still with its distinct semi-square shape, but far longer and bigger than the average carriage. A twelve-seater. At least the extra space will lend more comfort.

However, this horse-drawn carousine is fairly plain on the outside, unadorned wood with no beautifications of any kind. I suppose that is the intention to not attract unwanted attention from bandits and insurgents alike. Other than the horses that draw the vehicle, a group of nine bridled stallions stand ready to and fro the carousine. A total of eighteen, one for each soldier present.

My gaze drifts to the rear of the carousine where two coachmen converse with an Avangard soldier. The Primus. The one with stygian eyes. I can tell it's him even from afar by that glossy black hair. Eagerly, I descend the staircase with ease, no long dress to hamper my movements.

I reach the bottom first, straying from the others. I take a detour towards the nattering three. Two inky orbs glance in my direction. He instantly concludes the conversation, dismissing them with a jerk of his chin. The two swivel, and soon they breeze past me.

"You there, soldier—"

"Primus," he firmly amends, tone lashed with hostility.

I flare a brow. "A thousand apologies, Primus."

My eyes cannot help but explore his features. His mountain peak cheekbones appear chiselled by a master craftsman, carved down to a granite jaw. They are of such sharp contours, his mere bone structure sculpted and pared to perfection.

Coherent sentences in my mind jumble into nonsense.

I clear my throat too many times, rebinding my unravelling resolve. "When I arrived at the castle. You searched me and I know you felt... my weapons, but you did nothing, which could have jeopardised you if I was caught. Tell me why you did not report me?"

His eyes are pure black, shiny like he has no irises, just enlarged pupils. Under them, I have never felt such searing scrutiny, discomfort and a strange sense of wonder all at once. How can one feel such a tumult of insoluble emotions with just a simple look? I have seen many beautiful eyes but his...he surpasses them all. Besides its exquisiteness, his inky pools bear something. A truth waiting to be unearthed.

"With respect, Hera," he says, his voice is the depth of the ocean, with the bass of a crag. "I do not answer to you." He spares me one last sphinx-like look and moves to pass, leaving me with the emanation of his musky, earthy-scented self.

With humility. Usually, when I ask something, submission is met with my inquiry.

Curious, I twirl around and observe him as he re-joins the rest of his burgundy, armour-plated squadron. A coachman opens the single door of the carousine and ushers in the Herems. I follow suit. I sidle Solaris's flank. Next in line, he allows me to go before him. I bend my head forward to step inside, and my boots thud on the wooden floorboards. The simplicity of the outside is a cover the true extravagance of the interior that befits our nobility.

Sumptuous crimson seats line the inside in a U-shape. The grouped seating is softened by scarlet cushions and throw pillows to provide for better relaxation. Matching drapes are rose-red wings to the square-shape window holes rimmed with gold-threaded embroidery. Four on each side.

I walk briskly to the rounded crook at the end. I plop down, nestling myself on the cushioned broad bench. Soon Solaris seats himself beside me. The rest of the Herems are fairly spaced out from each other. The silence between us all stretches like a living, breathing force. The carousine lurches and rolls onwards, thumping beneath me. The clatter of clapping hooves joins the dissonance.

Where I sit, I cannot see the view outside. I'm glad I cannot. The High King and Queen did not even bid us a formal farewell. It was expected that they and the Docents were supposed to witness our departure. So I assume something must have happened to fast-track our timeline so abruptly, including our missed morning collation.

Perhaps it is for the best. I'm tired of farewells.