“What are you doing here?” she shrieks, fidgeting her hair nervously.
“What do you mean, what am I doing here? This is my garden, you know? I could better ask you, what are you doing here? And what made you scream like your fingers were getting cut off?” I hiss, raising an eyebrow.
“I, uhm,” she whispers, looking kind of ashamed. “There was a snake and I, well… yeah. I am a lady, and I don’t think I should be taking care of snakes around your palace.” She shrugs.
Well, this girl or women is something else. Feeling kind of annoyed, I let out a sigh.
“What were you doing here anyway?”
“I was walking through the garden before I went to the palace to be announced as a candidate for the trials,” the blonde girl says, lifting her chin high. It explains why I recognized her from somewhere.
“You?” I scold, but I fight the urge to allow a smirk to appear on my lips. “You’re going to the trials even though you’re scared of a little snake?”
“Well, normally my father takes them away from me when we’re training in the forest, and we don’t have that many at home,” she says, trying to find an explanation for her weird behavior. This is just another spoiled brat. I can’t help but roll my eyes and shake my head.
“Well good luck walking alone, because I am going to head back to the palace.” I turn around, walking away from this platinum blonde girl. “Wait for me!” she interrupts, making me stop. “I am not sure if I will find my way back,” she screams frantically, running over to me.
We walk back to the palace together, both with our lips sealed.
“Gwen, the king would like for you to get ready,” a servant shrieks as she hurries towards us. Her hair is standing in every direction and her face looks red and flustered. The girl next to me, Gwen her name seems to be, sharpens her eyes.
“It is miss for you,” she hisses, lifting her bony chin up in the air. I shoot my face in her direction, narrowing my eyes as I speak the next words very carefully.
“In this palace, everyone who isn’t the king will be called by their name,” I chime in. That isn’t really true, but she better believe it. The servant widens her eyes.
“Thank you, sir,” she stutters, her face reddening even more. “Braxton I mean,” she corrects herself in a whisper, lifting her dress up in a bow before she takes Gwen to the dressing room.
I look at myself in the mirror, my hand reaching for my chin, fingers touching the light stubble that is starting to appear. I look more dead than alive, the purple eye bags confirming mythoughts. I throw a blouse and trousers on and don’t bother to shave. The king doesn’t care about my appearance anyway.
I push the door of the small auditorium open, my eyes wondering off towards the number of people already sitting there.
“You can sit here, sir, next to the other candidates,” a guard that walks up to me announces, stretching his hand in clarification. My mind stays stuck on him calling me sir, but I don’t correct him. I lift my chin in the air, proving myself to be better. I might be a prince but otherwise from calling me sir they don’t treat me as one. I get in line, putting myself in the front row, behind eight other candidates who are looking fine. I follow them as they sit down nervously, tapping their feet, wiping their sweaty hands on the chair. I sit down in the last seat at the end, leaving one empty chair on the left. On my right is a girl with black, short hair, chestnut brown eyes, a nose piercing, and a lot of other piercings and tattoos that go up towards her chin.
“You have some nerve showing up with an attitude like that,” she hisses.
“Like what?” I look at her, locking my jaw, kind of surprised by her reaction.
“Like you own this place. You might be the king’s son, but you’re the same as us. A candidate who needs to do their best to win this trial,” she continues, looking at me from head to toe. “You look horrible.”
I snort, blocking out the rest of the assumptions she makes of me. This girl won from me yesterday, blinding and tying me to the ground, using her shadow signet and thinks she can talk like that to me because of it. Normally, I wouldn’t let her get away with it, but this day isn’t normal, so I look away and start tapping my feet, trying to release some stress.
A door opens and the whole room goes quiet.
The mystery candidate steps through it, lifting her chin every step she makes, her cream-colored dress flowing together with it as a guard leads her towards her seat. The only empty seat left. In the dress is a girl with her hair so blonde, or maybe better described as golden, it looks like it gives light. She has honey brown eyes and far too many freckles to count. She turns her head to look at someone. I turn around to see who she is making eye contact with. I catch a glimpse of someone silently speaking to her.
Fintan, my fighting and signet trainer.
Is this the girl he was talking about when he said that he had to keep two people alive? Another student? Still not having an answer to my question, I decide to let it go for now. Despite the fact that every other girl in this row wears a simple, classy dress like her, she has something bright and shiny over her. I can’t really describe what it is.
“I am glad you all could come. Today I am going to announce the candidates of the trials,” the king speaks up, interrupting my thoughts about this mysterious girl sitting on the left. “But first, I would like to ask you to cheer for our ten candidates for the first and last trials of Drimyé!” He cheers, making a movement with his hands, demanding us to stand up. The bystanders cheer and clap loudly. Some people whistle and some scream names. Some of the candidates turn around to wave or blow kisses. I keep my gaze straight forward, hands balled into fists as the king continues.
“Now we know that there will be ten candidates. I am proud to announce that eight of them won or lasted during a fight with Prince Braxton Lance Dunkeld, who is also a candidate,” he continues, smiling devilishly as he speaks out my whole name for the first time in years. It leaves me fighting the urge to gawk at him. I push the shiver rolling up my shoulders back down. All I ever wanted was for him to look at me like a person. Like hisson, but the formal look in his eyes when he speaks my full name confirms I just transformed from the youngest invaluable prince to another candidate of the trials that goes by a name instead of a title. I drop my shoulders. “But nine doesn’t make ten. I have a surprise for y’all,” he continues, making the crowd go quiet for a few seconds.
“My special guest is also sitting in the front row.”
The bystanders go wild. There are maybe 100 people sitting in this room, but they act and sound like animals.
“I would like to call my first candidate up,” he continues, looking down on his paper. “Aaliyah?”
