The King Trials 2: Beyond.

For the big banquet tonight, I am undergoing a full pampering and beauty regimen with three attendants to oversee my transformation. After bathing with myrrh and fine-fragrant oils. In my bedchambers, I lather myself with a shiny, skin-nourishing cream. At the vanity table, Juwela braids my hair, several plaited locks pulled through thin gold bands. The other decorates my face with cosmetics that naturally augment my features without looking too gaudy.

The third attendant finally returns, and she comes back with a companion, drawing in a wide-ranging assortment of exquisite gowns. Which unfortunately was a wasted effort because my decision is already made. I only need one that covers my tattoos, and this Juwela relays for me, and I entrust her with the task to choose for me.

Once I completed the intricate stage of the treatment, both my hair and face are done. Juwela aids me in the chosen grown. The rose-gold dress is long-sleeved and as tight as a second layer of skin, it has a web of golden netting knitted across my chest and it continues like a cape, pouring down my bare back, the sheeny rose-gold cascade reaches the floor, pooling around my feet.

My hair shines healthily, the free-flowing locks are curly, only the front row is adorned with the golden bands. And by my surprise, Gaius is waiting just outside. I exit with Juwela and the other two attendants at my tail.

I emerge in the vacant corridor, empty except for a royally dressed Gaius.

“Hera Aurora….” he trails off dazedly. He clears his throat and quickly meets my eye. “You look absolutely ravishing.”

I thank him with a half-hearted smile, and I glance down the palatial stretch. “Where are the guards?”

“Active duty, patrolling. Standard procedure for large events held in the bastion,” Gaius informs and offers me his arm. “Quite like a historical event such as this.”

“And I have the tribute of being personally escorted by you,” I say, taking all of him in with a disinterested skim. “The other Herems might begrudge your apparent partiality,” I say, and I lay my forearm on his, our palms connecting and he leads me onwards with the three attendants following.

“I have already escorted the other Herems to the banquet a while ago to their reserved seating. Your Duce Merian, he is quite eager to meet the Ecclesia.”

I glance at him sideways. “Excuse the delay, my preparation… took longer than expected.”

Our gaze clasps, and he gives another full once over. “Certainly worth the wait. But this is good, an opportunity to warn you to be careful tonight. Especially when you meet the Ecclesia, engagement will be minimal since this is a sacred feast. They may not speak to any of you at all, but always be on guard.”

“Be careful how?”

“Behave like your fellow purebloods. Incompetent. Feign imprudence if you must but be the exact opposite of who you are. If the Ecclesia discovers that you know our languages, glibly even. They will have no problem interrogating you, then killing you and your entire convoy.”

I snatch my arm away as if he had burned me. “They dare not. As you said, we are purebloods, descendants of the Decuria, and contenders for the future throne. If you execute us all, you would be but declaring war on most of Urium.”

He exhales heavily, freeing his frustration. “As you said, you cannot go to war with a people and place that does not exist. If the High King were to send more sorcerers to find this place, it was only because we allowed the Hitsches to that they did. And even if they located us, no being has ever breached the gatekeeper’s barrier. So, if you want to test the theory, I advise you pretend to be as foolish as they will assume you to be.”

I fix my gaze forward. “So shall I sit in submissive silence and smile beautifully to my betters? The proverb of my mother. I think I will fare adequately.”

Gaius laughs heartily, casting frequent looks at me. “Many of us speak Arkian and a variety of languages, there should be no reason to boast your knowledge about knowing ours.”

I sneak a glimpse off my shoulder. Intuitively, I lower my voice. “And why have you not… I don’t know, appraised the Ecclesia of this possible threat? Why not tell them or anyone about me?”

Gaius falters into a curious interval of silence. After several meters, he speaks up again. “It is alarming, and you are right. I should have you reported. But I pride myself in having a good read of character. I may not know you, but I know enough to affirm that you are not a threat.”

I nod slowly, thanking him with a small smile.

“Then again, if I am wrong, which is rare. There is a supplementary plan. Either way, Velheim remains protected.”

Gaius guides me to the ground floor of the bastion to a yawning, gilded hall that leads to a kind of ballroom. Floods of exotically dressed people in a kaleidoscope of colours are being ushered in pairs inside with a complex of guards directing the influx.

Linked to Gaius, we breeze inside. My head inclines with each level of the ballroom, three tiers crowding with the masses, each level has both an exclusive and public gallery boxes that overlook the spectacle that roils in full swing.

There is an expansive orchestra that launches into an epic ballad, there are professional dancers suited in spangled outfits that glitter across the expanse like everywhere they are is their own personal stage. There are acrobats that hang from the ceiling, twisted in drapes.

I marvel at the baroque style, pilasters abound with an architectural element used to give the appearance of a supporting column and to articulate the extent of the massive walls, with only an ornamental function, engraved, patterned swirls to decorate the heads of the pillars.

On the flanks are tables decked with platters upon platters of food. Amongst the amassing crowd, servants parade in with fresh appetizers, they weave through, a mix of male and female both in crimson garments. The females are hidden in matching, sequin shawls that cover their heads.

“Uh, Gaius.” Aries slinks through the rising tide of people. “I think I can take it from here. I can show the Hera to her table.”

Gaius expression grows grave, and he looks to me for my answer. I give it to him with a terse nod. Reluctantly, he departs from my side and melts into the crowd before Aries springs up in his stead, outfitted in an attire to match his silver hair.

“What is it you wish to know?” I ask forthrightly, in no mood for any form of pondering or posturing.

“Nothing,” he says sincerely. “I wish to offer remorse. I know my sister spoke with you, and knowing my sister. I assume she threatened you?”

I shrug, unruffled. “A failed attempt.”

“It wasn’t an attempt. Anthia doesn’t try, she only does. Her intention was to never harm you, my sister merely bears poor social skills. Unlike nobles, we’re not rigorously trained in refined etiquette or the art of conversation.”

“Civility is not a skill,” I retort.

“It is for her,” he defends, deliberating walking at a glacial pace. “She means well, I swear to you. Anthia has unique gifting to sense when something’s awry to when something is off with a person, and she has yet to be wrong.”

I look ahead thoughtfully; a captivating element attracts my attention. A gold-plated throne raised many meters in the air at the end of the ballroom with a gilt staircase and crimson steps that lead to it.

“I appreciate it,” I say. Not completely sure what it is. “But no apologies are required. She did nothing wrong, yet.”

“Let’s say this apology is an insurance policy for any future incidents.”

We look at each other and share a rather uncomfortable laugh.

The discomfort between us almost tangible that you can sunder it with a blade, he accelerates his pace and we soon appear at a lavishly crafted, low-laying dining table with sumptuous décor interspaced between the dishes of unusual yet divine-smelling food with goblets and gilded plates.

Around the second half of the table are the Herems and Duce Merian seated at the table on the floor, sitting on inflated cushions. The other half are people ornamented in luxurious jewellery, so much it must only be to flaunt both wealth and prestige, bejewelled in sparkling, precious gemstones with a meld of colours and rarity.

I take the empty seat at the end of the table beside Solaris and opposite Treyton.

“The lovely Hera finally joins us,” Brennon announces, gesturing exaggeratedly at me. “Were you plotting your next, accidental kill or do you take a recess during foreign reveries?”

“For you, I think she should make an exception,” Vince says, vibrant in a fitted, sapphire silk brocade coat.

Solaris nudges me with his elbow. “You look… almost as good as me.”

I respond with a dubious smile, glancing at the dark emerald, an embroidered vest worn over his loose-fitting blouse with billowy sleeves. While casual conversation exchange amongst our side of the table, the ballroom fills until maximum capacity.

Eventually, the host or announcer stands near our table, which is in the centre, and demands for immediate silence. Despite the roaring buzz, an obedient hush descends. On cue, the side doors open, and a small troop of armed guards enter, followed by an extravagant palanquin; a wheelless carriage, enclosed by regal curtains, the vehicle is borne upon the shoulders of porters that bear the carrying poles.

They halt at the base of the staircase leading up to the throne and they set the palanquin down. Two porters each separate the curtain to reveal the being inside, and another rushes forward. With his face to the ground, he lends his hand.

A shrouded being slips out and she places her slender fingers on the servant who aids her graceful ascent. In timed unison, everyone who is already seated at their tables bow their heads in her direction, and those standing, the stationary servers all drop to their knees, even those carrying trays.

She must be the Tigress.

Her skin is painted with a thick white coat, ornate with wavy stripes like tendrils that encroach her shoulders, latching onto her skin from the back. She wears a large, circular hat with a short, triangular head. At the round ends, a translucent veil falls to her wrists, blending well with her pure-white gown that spills off her shoulders.

Only once she ascends to the throne and sits upon it does everything resume again. The host initiates the festivity with a welcome monologue, and expansively motions to all the purebloods. The silence is broken by a chorus of scornful whispers. Solaris and I exchange a look and I glance at the other side of the table, the bejewelled group casting icy glares in our general direction.

The host quickly restores order, summoning silence. A servant brings him a single chalice on a tray and stands beside him, and another comes holding a jug of wine to her chest.

He blesses it with brief prayer before he takes the jug and pours the wine into the chalice until it overflows with wine, purposefully streaming onto the tray. He raises the jug into the air and the entire ballroom explodes into cheers before the orchestra composes another song.

The other half of the table begins to feast, and we are quick to follow suit. Shamelessly, I pile my plate with foods that appear tolerable, a slab of spiced meat that is the size of my head, the corners of the plate peppered with leafy purples.

Solaris elbows me. “Do you think the others over there are members of the Ecclesia? Judging by the heavy assemble of jewels and the seat of significance that they are situated at. Along with us, foreign but highly placed.”

I take a moment to examine them. “It would be my gamble, though it was emphasized that no work-related affairs would be discussed this holy night.”

Solaris bites off a chunk of saucy meat, wiping the sodden residue off his cheek with the back of his hand. After a while into the feasting, a servant drifts by to deposit two huge jugs on the centre. The drink froths, swirling like a tempest with a blend of red and gold.

Treyton extends his neck farther, assessing both jugs. “I have never in my life… seen…a drink that moves?”

Gaius approaches from behind him and stands between him and Markiveus. “That is a traditional drink, made by our forbearers when Velheim was still in its embryonic phase, we call it. Dragon fire.”

“Sounds like my kind of drink,” Vince says, reaching for it.

“Forewarning, dragon fire is built compatible with our superior physiology. If you were to have even from a whiff, you would rue your blunder. It would leave you utterly delirious, your mind warped, senses scrambled, leaving you ashamedly susceptible to manipulation.”

Markiveus tosses him a baffled look. “Did he just give an overextended definition of being inebriated?”

Brennon snorts. “Heavily inebriated.”

“Like a drunk uncle,” Vince adds with a smirk. Without looking back at him, he says, “I am sure our physiology will manage. You may go.”

Gaius nods and returns from where he came.

Vince grabs the one jug and pours himself a generous amount then he sets it down in front of Treyton who looks back at him uneasily, busying himself by focusing on his plate.

“What’s the matter?” Vince asks jeeringly. “Don’t have the stock to take on an ancient drink?”

“If they thought we could not physically consume their traditional beverage. Why send it to our table like bait in the first place?” Brennon questions conspiringly.

“Exactly,” Vince goads, stoking the flame of provocation. “They are searching for what kind of reaction they will get. Whether we are weak, as Gaius so frankly suggested. Or we are strong enough to drink their great, several greats, grandmother’s milk.”

Solaris scoffs. “You of all should know that someone’s measure of strength is not about their tolerance in drinking. What would that absurdity honestly prove and why would they care?”

Vince pierces him with a venomous look before it dissolves, fading into a pointed smile. “Then prove me wrong. Drink.”

Solaris inclines his head at the challenge, realizing that he had willingly stepped into a snare.

Swiftly, Solaris takes the second jug and fills his goblet more than halfway. He sets it back and chugs down the drink, the other Herem encouraging him by pounding their fists on the edge of the table in an on-the-beat tempo.

Solaris’s goblet rises as the ounces shrink. He slams the goblet down and they all roar a boisterous cheer.

Solaris jabs a finger at Vince. “What are you waiting for barbarian, a countdown?”

Vince takes up his goblet and vacuums the drink in record time, buoyed by the excited ooh’s of the other Herems. He licks off the reddish foam on his upper life, quirking his brows at Solaris.

Eager, the others join in, sharing the two jugs of dragon fire amongst themselves. Solaris offers me a taste, but I quickly deny it. Feeling slightly detached, like something is missing like I left something behind.

My mind wanders to Primus Kelan and his whereabouts.

The dragon fire takes its hold of each user faster than I anticipated. I try to talk to Solaris, but he can never seem to follow my words lucidly.

“I want to show you something,” he tells me ecstatically, like a child who just found a foolish discovery.

“What is it?”

“Give me your hand.”

I lift my arm, but I freeze the moment I see a glimpse of the ring-shaped tattoo on my palm. I retract my hand.

“Still…healing,” I scantily excuse.

Solaris blows it off blissfully. Instead, he raises his own hand to me in a demonstration.

“Witness the extraordinary power I possess,” he says determinedly, holding up his quivering hand. “There are five… but now….” He tucks away his thumb. “There are only four!” he burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

Oh my.

I place a hand over my mouth to imprison my own laugh and I force my eyes to look away. And gratefully I did because in the crowd I spot a moving Reinsbure. His gaze honed like a predator on a hunt. That means Kelan is nearby.

I glance at a still-laughing Solaris, wisps of hair cling to his temples.

I place a hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles. “Okay, Solaris, I need you to listen very carefully to me. Stay here for me. And when I return, you are going to bed.”

Solaris’s hysterical fit ends with him pouting angrily at me. “But mother,” he whines, dragging out the word. “I do not want to go to bed! Father always lets me stay up longer.” He erects sharply. “But do not tell him I told you,” he whispers feverishly.

Shock implodes my eyes. I adopt a stern tone. “Stay. Here.”

I rise from the ground, my legs cramping severely on my way up. I give both legs a tiny shake and I dive into the dancing crowd, meandering through the flailing bodies—I smack into someone and a pair of gentle hands catch me by my shoulders.

“Gaius.”

He looks at me, his eyes glimmering with surprise. “Just the one I wanted to collide into.”

“Apologies, I was…distracted.”

A fascinated smile flourishes on his face. “I could use a distraction myself. Would you care to dance with me?”

My eyes nearly tumble out of their sockets. I conjure a courteous smile. “Flattered, but I am afraid I do not dance.”

He arches a brow at me. “I will not begin to believe a woman of your standing does not know how to dance.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “I never said I could not. I just said I do not.”

He nods stiffly. Hopefully, the subtle refusal is dawning on him.

“And who would you deem worthy to have the honour of being your partner?”

I tear my lips apart, but another voice is heard.

“Not you. Clearly,” Vince says from my rear. “Now, accept the Hera’s rejection with—” he clears his throat loudly, trying to muster coherency, rebelling against slurring his words. “Whatever remains of your dignity, and g—go harass another, poor victim.”

“Forgive me, if my request was so unwanted. I will favour us both and make myself scarce.” Gaius smiles good-naturedly and bows to me. “Hera.”

He turns away and disappears into the joyful throng.

I turn to Vince. “What was that?”

“What was…what?” he repeats harshly.

“You could have held back some degree of cruelty. He was persistent, not perverted, sort of like someone else I know,” I say, scanning him from top to bottom.

“It must be the…fire of dragon that has gone to my head, but I should be hearing gratitude not criticism.” He dramatically rotates his head so that his ear is facing me.

“Oh, my hero,” I say flatly.

“Better,” he exclaims. “Now you can reward my troubles by granting your hero a dance.”

Before I can breathe my next, Vince winds his arm around my waist, hand resting above my tailbone. His other hand holds mine aloft, whisking me away in thrilling, wild twirls across the floor, wringing out irrepressible giggles from me.

He slows our speed to match the waltz-like tempo of the current song, leading me in circular movements from one place to another.

“Do not tell me you’re tired already?”

He laughs softly, the exhale of his dragonfire-scented breath tickling the air around my ear. “If I went any faster… you might become breathless.”

I feel his hand sneak between the gilded netting, trailing a languid line with his finger down the bare skin of my back, shudders creeping down my spine.

“Watch yourself,” I advise delicately. “Your present state will not stop me from putting you in your place, Herem Vince.”

“I would love to see you try.” His smile withers and his joyful look ebbs into a pained grimace.

“What, what is it?”

His head tilts to one side, obscuring a wince. “The cursed Xelem. One of them grazed me good in my side. It’s nothing.” He meets my gaze and does a quick peruse over my face. “So you needn’t worry.”

I cleanse my face, masking it with a neutral look. “I was being polite.”

“You—” he blinks his eyes erratically and lapses in a strained silence. He starts to sway back and forth, and I quickly untangle myself from him.

“I told you, I am well. But I think—I sleep now.” His eyes droop close. Numbly, he falls forward and I capture him in an embrace with an oomph, the force of his full weight crashing onto me. He groans into my ear.

“You are heavier than I thought.”

He chuckles absently. “You’ve thought of me on top of you?”

I desperately signal two male servants over. They swoop in and they both share his heft, lifting each limp arm to drape over of their shoulders and they drag him towards the exit.

“Hera Aurora, are you alright?”

Juwela advances to me from my flank with my other two attendants.

I drop my voice to a whisper, “Yes, but I need you to round up a few more servants to take the Herems to their bedchambers, I have a feeling they will require special assistance. And in the morning be sure to have their attendants to check up on all of them.”

She snaps a nod and briskly walks away. I dismiss the other two with a flick of my hand and they follow after Juwela.

I let out a laborious sigh then my gaze falls on a pair of gleaming black eyes staring back at me. Kelan. I nearly wilt under the intensity of his stare, fierce and intimidatingly nerve-wracking. I slowly move ahead, Kelan walks parallel from me, matching my speed. We both cling to each other’s gaze despite the horde of commotion that zips past our vision.

I swivel and shoulder past the crowd to reach him.

When I do, he greets me with a rigid nod. He rips his gaze from mine. “You look…” he straggles off apprehensively. “It hurts to look at you.”

“Wow.” I grin at him, beyond enthralled. Sarcasm coats each word. “You enrapture me with your kind words.”

His gaze is attentive to all ahead of him, scouring the masses.

I skim over the crowd. “I am quite tired.”

“Your dance with Vince must’ve exhausted you,” he says brusquely, his gaze evading mine.

A twinge pricks my gut, but I brush it away. “Would you mind escorting me to my bedchambers, I have had enough excitement for one night.”

He briefly meets my eyes and nods. He leads me through the crowd with his hand pasted on the small of my back, warmth spreading through me like wildfire. Once we depart from the ballroom and hall, and we both make our ascent to the level where my bedchamber is, the noise receding. Until silence is the only thing I can hear.

“How are you faring?”

He glances back at me like he doesn’t understand my question.

I try again. “With everything. It must be strange for you not to be in control, at all. In alien territory, you have no authority, your squadron pint-size in the face of their army.”

He frees a disgruntled breath. “Thank you for highlighting every qualm I have,” he says, his tone drenched in scorn. “I feel so much better.”

I wince slightly. “I only want to know if you are well. A lot has happened to you, you lost soldiers, and now you cannot even bury them or take them back to their families.”

Grief casts a pall over him, darkening his demeanour. “The greatest honour for a soldier is an honourable death. Dying on the battlefield, dying to protect others, and that is what they did.”

I reach for his arm. His muscles tense. I give him a reassuring squeeze and they ease, unknotting.

We round a corner, reaching the last corridor.

“Tell me, what is your happiest memory?”

He flicks me an unreadable look. “My first battle when I was a recruit. I co-ordinated an attack against pesty nomads, victory and their deaths were swift.”

I swallow hard. “Your terminology of happiness differs from mine.” An idea sprouts in my mind. “What about your parents, do you have any memorable times with them before they were taken from you?”

“I do not remember them,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

“Then what makes you happy? Apart from…combat.”

He lugs out a drawn-out sigh. “Nothing.”

His gaze fastens on me, his stare nearly excruciating. “What about you, what makes you happy? Vince?”

My face sours before an impish smile grows on my face. “It seems. He does,” I profess, and I glance at Kelan who looks like he choked on his own breath but with effortless ease, he regains his sombre composure.

“He makes me laugh,” I expound. Kelan’s hands ball at his sides, appearing tortured. “But what I like about him the most is that he knows what he wants, and he is upfront about it. He does not dither, waver. When he aspires for something, he seeks it until it is his.”

Kelan breaks to a jarring standstill.

Then he moves suddenly, backing me up against the wall. A gasp escapes me and he’s right here, pinning me to the surface, his callused hands on either side of my head. Drowning me in the intoxicating fragrance of his smell. Raw energy crackling between us.

He affixes me with an austere look. “Consider this your last warning.”

He lifts himself upright and we resume the walk, tension electrifying the atmosphere.

We soon reach the byzantine doors.

“Would you like to come inside?” I offer hopefully. “The bedchamber has an astounding view of the palace city.”

His head shakes a no, and he turns, marching away from me.

“Uh—I need your help,” I plead to his back. “I need an extra pair of hands to…get me out of this dress.”

Kelan halts. He spins and charges at me like a beast untethered. In a flash, he ducks low and scoops me off my feet and rises with me thrown over his shoulder, his arm secured over my waist.

“Kelan!” I shriek, his name rebounds off the walls.

“I warned you.”

He strides ahead and burst through the double doors, hastily making his way through the bedchamber.

“Let me down! What are you doing?”

He climbs up the steps of the platform with me squirming on his broad shoulder. Kelan grabs my waist and drops me on the bed. I hurl dual fists, but he seizes my wrists and cages them beside me. A bolt of electricity races down from tip to point, sending burning tingles throughout my entire body. My heart slams against its cage as if begging to turn itself over to him completely.

I keep my hands clamped, keeping the tattoos hidden.

“I told you,” he utters painfully, his breaths heavy. “Do not tempt me. If you start something, I will not be able to stop, and you will regret it.” He is so close I can feel the deep baritone of his reverberating against my chest, sharing each other’s breaths.

“There is nothing about you that I would regret. Ever.”

A look of suppressed sorrow flares in his eyes. There’s something in him he fears, something that he is withholding from me.

“Tell me. I can sense something is troubling you,” I murmur.

“Just as you always inform me of what plagues you?” he throws back at me.

I try to pull my wrists from his siege, but he only tautens his grip, fingers pressing into the bone warningly.

I draw in a deep breath, inhaling his scent. “And you accuse me of keeping secrets?”

His eyes penetrate mine, pouring into me. “I would never keep anything from you,” he says so softly, “…. Sleep well.”

His eyes dart to either of my fists, then he frowns before releasing me. He straightens and revolves, briskly making his way out of the bedchamber like he cannot escape me fast enough. I snap upright and stare after him until he vanishes, closing the doors behind him.

I liberate an excited squeal and fall back onto the bed.