The King Trials.

~ The High King's Dominion~

My head bopping out of the carriage's window frame. My mouth a fly trap as I gawk at the High King's dwelling. A castle for a king is not only his home, but it is designed to repel an invasion with embattlements meant to discourage ambitious assailants. The castle is armed with heavy fortifications intended to defend but still manages the sublime beauty of a palace. An architectural feat.

As we approach the gilded gates, the carriage persists, and the golden arms sweep open with a flourish. Guards in wine-red uniform stand posted at every spaced interval. Beyond, the portcullis, gold-plated teeth rise upwards. We pass through, journeying alongside the virescent green expanse of the front yard, that is triple the size of the fields that sit before my Regnum. The pristine, palaver road elongates to the front where a string of imperial carriages stand idle. My gaze wanders along the extensive dimensions of the castle with structures and additional buildings. Everything so picturesque, glistening, and grand as if conjured from the storybook of a child. The gold-domed towers, the front entrance that is held up with the most ostentatiously detailed pillars. The exterior of the castle is a mirage of gold that has maintained its aged lustre.

In due course, we reach the end, and the coachman leads the carriage to file in with the rest. Eight other men, nobly dressed, stand clustered together. I did not even realise that the carriage had stopped because my door is already wide open. I inhale a deep breath and move to exit. The coachman lends a hand and escorts me down the thick steps. I look to my left—all of them are huddled together beside the line of carriages.

"Well, what do we have here?" one of them announces. A blend of intrigue and disdain in his tone.

Truth be told, I'm not sure who said it. My eyes skim over their fine faces, their intricate suits with embroidery that must have taken weeks to weave. Seliah was right about one thing. They are all outlandishly handsome. But with the leers and sneers that mar their faces; it serves as a warning to their deceptive nature.

Some. Not all. The perception is clear.

A crescendo of marching boots thuds like the beating of drums. We all turn our gazes to the impeccably white alabaster staircase that ascends with an immaculate gradation. Two long rows of guards descend the stairs, uniformed in the same wine-red with a large gold insignia imprinted on their chests. They make their way down to the carriages, with a coachman for each. They aid with offloading the luggage stored in the integrated trunks. Once the red sea culminates, a man dressed in a full white suit follows them, a stately red sash slung across his chest. He stops somewhat halfway on the staircase, closer to the bottom for optimal projection.

"Welcome, welcome our esteemed guests from each of the kingdoms under His Majesty. Which one of you will one day rule," he greets, his frivolous voice rich with mirth. "For the duration of the King Trials, I will be your host and guide. Your Duce. Merian at your service." He bows dramatically and flutters his hand in a majestic flair. "If you will follow me, I will lead you inside to the throne room where our High King awaits."

He spins on his heels and struts back up the steps. The cluster of nobles dilutes as they all pursue the Duce in unorganised clumps. I draw up the front part of my dress and begin the trek up the stairs. Grateful for my short-heeled shoes that are a flaccid balance between decorum and comfort.

"Hera Aurora."

A fellow pureblood approaches me mid-flight and sidles my flank. I recognise him instantly. That twirling, Nordic-gold hair that fits well with his bushy eyebrows and high cheekbones that rest on skin pulled tight like a bolt of fine cloth. Herem Solaris of Regnum Cain.

"Solaris," I greet, bowing my head back at him formally.

"Find no fault in me saying this, but I am both astounded yet unfooled at your advent."