Elowen's POV:
The first test had ended, leaving the candidates both exhilarated and exhausted. Selene walked beside me, her pulse quick, whispering reminders of things she had learned. I followed with measured steps, keeping my mind clear, as we were guided through the palace corridors toward the East Court.
A man awaited us at the corridor's entrance. He was tall, lean, and impeccably straight-backed, dressed in deep green-and-silver robes that marked his rank. His dark hair was cropped close at the sides, longer on top, giving him a controlled, deliberate elegance. Sharp cheekbones caught the light as he regarded each candidate with piercing gray eyes. Every movement was precise, deliberate, calm — yet heavy with authority.
"I am Lord Alaric Davenwood," he said, voice smooth, measured, and compelling. "Aide to the Crown Prince. The Queen has requested your presence at today's court proceedings. You are to observe only. Speak if called upon. Is that understood?"
Heads nodded, including mine. Selene's eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement. I only inclined my head, silent.
"Good," Lord Alaric continued. "The court session begins shortly. Follow me."
His gaze swept over the candidates once more — assessing, calculating, almost seeing beneath our masks — before he led the way.
The East Court opened before us like a cavern of power. Sunlight fell through towering stained-glass windows, fracturing into sharp shards of ruby, sapphire, and amber across the polished marble floors. The dais at the far end rose like a throne of authority.
The King sat centrally, broad-shouldered, bearing the calm weight of his years. His robes were gold-threaded, trimmed with crimson, his face stern but measured. Beside him, the Queen sat with elegance and poise, emerald-green silk folding around her frame. Her gaze, subtle and knowing, swept the candidates. When her eyes landed on Selene, a faint, approving smile curved her lips — quick, private, yet noticeable to anyone watching closely.
Between them stood Crown Prince Kael. His presence commanded the room. Dark, angular, and tall, his shoulders squared as though the weight of the kingdom rested on them. His hair was black as midnight, cropped near the nape, longer on top to frame the chiseled lines of his face. High cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and piercing black eyes that seemed to weigh every person before him. He wore black-and-silver garments, tailored to perfection, the silver thread catching the light with his slightest movement. A sword hung at his side — functional, unadorned, but gleaming — a reminder that his authority was absolute.
He did not sit. He did not smile. He did not greet anyone. He merely surveyed the hall, and the room shrank beneath his presence.
Lord Alaric motioned us to a gallery above the floor. From there, we had a clear view of the chamber and all who moved within it. Selene leaned slightly toward me. "This is… exhilarating," she whispered. I simply kept my eyes forward.
Lord Alaric cleared his throat and spoke again, formally announcing:
"Today's court session includes:
A review of the northern trade routes and reports of disruption.
Allocation of military oversight along the southern borders.
Assessment of recent taxation discrepancies.
Discussion of potential internal betrayal among ministers.
All parties are required to present evidence, answer questions, and be judged accordingly."
Murmurs spread across the room. The ministers straightened, ministers' children stiffened, and the candidates exchanged nervous glances.
The first minister stepped forward. "Your Highnesses," he began, voice quivering slightly, "there have been irregularities in the northern trade routes. Goods are delayed, taxes are unpaid, and reports suggest collusion among several officials. We ask the Crown's judgment."
A ripple of whispers followed. Eyes darted toward each other. Several ministers exchanged glances too quickly, too nervous. Kael's dark eyes swept over them like a hawk, unyielding.
"Who among you hides knowledge?" Kael demanded suddenly. The hall fell silent, the question sharp and dangerous.
One man — a minister whose hands shook ever so slightly — hesitated too long. His breath caught. Kael's expression darkened.
"You," he said, voice like ice. "Step forward."
The man stumbled, knees weak, voice trembling. "I… I can explain, Your Highness—"
Kael's hand moved to the hilt of his sword, slow, deliberate. Every eye in the chamber followed, every whisper dying in the tension.
"You have failed your King, your Crown, and your people," Kael said softly, each word slicing the air. "Excuses do not save the guilty."
Before the man could utter another syllable, Kael drew his sword. The motion was swift, precise, merciless. The traitor fell, and silence gripped the hall like a vice. Not a breath. Not a whisper. Only the faint echo of the strike.
Selene's hand found mine instinctively. Her pulse rattled against my fingers. "He… he didn't hesitate."
"No," I whispered back, calm despite the shock. "He never does."
Kael's gaze swept the chamber again, measuring, observing. Then it paused briefly on us — on Selene — before lingering on me, just long enough to let us know he saw and assessed. Not a smile. Not approval. Not softness. Only calculation.
The remainder of the court session proceeded under his cold scrutiny. Ministers trembled. Nobles faltered. The candidates held their breath. Lord Alaric occasionally whispered updates to the King and Queen, his voice measured, his presence calm.
Selene leaned closer afterward, whispering, "I… I can't imagine standing before him like that."
"You would," I said quietly. "And you would do it brilliantly."
Her fingers brushed mine again, brief and grounding, her admiration mingled with a trace of envy — subtle, human, and entirely understandable.