Of Blood & Power

M A R K E T

AZRIEL'S STRIDES WERE THAT OF A NOBLE'S.

Or, at least she hoped it was. Azriel recognized faces as she passed the various baskets and stalls, so she was sure some eyes recognized hers as well. Nevertheless, she pressed on. So far, no one had approached Azriel aghast, wondering how their fellow commoner had come to be wearing these robes. When Azriel finally approached the market square, she saw an impeccably dressed young man (Azriel presumed he was a eunuch), standing on a tall stool, towering over a throng of young noble ladies. "Attention!" his voice rang crisply through the air. The mush of voices all came to a cease, eyes focused only on him.

"I am Master Reeke, the chief eunuch of the royal harem. Forget your nobility now, forget your blood. Viscountess, countess, duchess—no matter. Know two things; nobility is your common ground and you are all beneath the king. Only those of you deemed worthy will even advance to the palace. You must be the ideal height, the ideal weight, and have no facial blemishes. There will also be a thorough physical examination to ensure your virginity. All those passing these tests will be transported to the royal palace." The man looked around. "Understood?"

Each girl nodded her head vigorously. Azriel included.

                                     ***
Each test was violating and excruciating. Every eunuch who carried out their task did so with the type of indifference and precision you take with objects. Not with people. Azriel could see it was incredibly unnerving for some of the girls around her. For any woman to have to go through something like this was a nightmare, yes. But Azriel knew that they thought their titles could, somehow, save them from the humiliation. It could not. Everything took place in a series of large tents that had been put up by the eunuchs for the day. In the last tent, there were some cushions for sitting, iced water, breads, cheeses, cold meats. This was where they would find out if they had passed the tests or not, and could advance to the palace.

Azriel's stomach could only take water. Her mind was swirling. She could only think about how she'd given her title as the Countess of Wharle. It was the title that belonged to her paternal grandfather, the one who had conceived her father in shame, and rejected him. No one had even blinked when she'd said it. Would someone had catch her lie?

"You look sick."

Azriel turned to find the voice. It belonged to a girl beside her. Azriel's mouth almost fell open. She was incredibly beautiful. They both had the same warm caramel tone. But the other girl had higher cheekbones, and slinkier curls. Thick dark lashes framed her glittering green eyes. She had a mouth that wasn't thin, but certainly wasn't too full either, and right now it was drawn in a smile. "My name is Hora. And you are?"

"Azriel," Azriel managed to say.

"Are you sure you'd just like water? Like I said before, you really do look terrible."

Azriel did her very best to laugh. "Yes, just water. It really is lovely." Hora shrugged.

"It shouldn't be short of lovely. This is from the palace." Azriel awkwardly tapped her glass.