The King Trials.

~ The Initiation Banquet~

The royal chambers are high-ceilinged, with towering walls that are of a great distance from each other, plastered with an ochre wallpaper etched 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, a garden tucked beneath the Upper Ward with an unobstructed view of the bronze statue.

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, 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.

 After the High King released us, we were led to our chambers. With hours to spare and fatigue clawing at every bit of my body, I fell asleep. Did not think that I could, but I did. I barely slept on the Storm Voyager with a tempest brewing at most times. 

But when I wake, I rise to my room filled with royal handmaidens to prepare me for the initiation banquet. A bath is drawn for me. Whilst I bathe they fuss about in the primary room. After, they array a myriad of choices for me. I thought I was going to wear the colours of my Regnum but that would be predictable as I'm sure my male counterparts will do the same.

Now I stand before a tall, gaudy mirror in the corner of the primary room. My Achilles-gold hair is pulled down into a simple low bun, my face left natural. Although my skin slightly shimmers from the fragrant oil slathered on my skin, my presence scented with a citrus smell of the chosen perfume. My body is adorned in a sleeveless, glittery black dress, a high collar that rounds my neck. With an alluring open black that flaunts smooth skin, exposing the deep defined lines of training-honed muscles. The dress is simple but elegant, fitted at the torso and it flows out from the hips, whispering to the floor. The black material sparkles like a constellation of stars speckled across the spread of the dress.

Content, I whirl from the mirror, strutting to the doors. Outside, a guard awaits to escort me from my chambers to the Great Hall. Which is a trek that will take several minutes since the rooms allocated to us candidates are in the Upper Ward: the Great Hall is at the epicentre of the castle.

The perimeter of the castle is well-guarded as well as the interior with stationary guards situated at every second pillar that is inlaid with morsels of crystals, a bellow of undying splendour. I notice that in general rooms there are no doors but massive Tudor archways at almost every entrance.

The ceiling is almost unseeable. Everything from the crown moulding, ivory walls until its base is furnished with gold. The cavernous hallways seem to stretch infinitely with many mortal-size statues to ornate the yawning expanse. The staircases both inside and outside were designed to punish the unathletic. The main stairway is a terror, each Persil-white step is big enough to fit a giant's foot. I fear that I nearly lost half my body weight during my ascent, frequently considering on having the guard carry me the rest of the way. But when we finally reach the top, scaling the mountainous staircase was worth it. 

A full view of the vestibule of the castle in all of its majesty.