The courtyard was a scene of controlled chaos. The judges were scribbling furiously on their clipboards, their faces a mixture of shock and awe. The remaining candidates looked on in a daze, realizing this was not a test of skill, but a test of something else entirely.
Queen Isolde was practically vibrating with excitement. She grabbed her husband's arm, her eyes sparkling.
"My son, did you see that? Did you?" she whispered, her voice filled with giddy triumph. "The red-headed one, she has the command of a true Dragon Rider! And the silver-haired one, her mind is as sharp as a blade! They are not mere girls, Aiden, they are treasures! Wonders!"
She turned, beaming, expecting to share her moment of genius with her son.
But Aiden wasn't watching the wonders.
He was slouched in a gilded chair at the edge of the pavilion, half-hidden by a large, ornate potted fern. His head was bent, his attention completely consumed by the thick book in his lap. His finger was slowly tracing a line of text, utterly oblivious to the drama, the magic, and the baby dragons.
The Queen's smile froze. Her eye twitched.
"AIDEN!"
The prince jumped as if he'd been struck by lightning. He fumbled with the book, snapping it shut and shoving it behind his back with a panicked, guilty motion. He looked up, his wide eyes meeting his mother's furious gaze.
"Ah! Yes! I saw! I saw it all!" he stammered, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace.
The Queen's voice dropped to a dangerously sweet tone. She took a slow, deliberate step towards him. "Oh, really? Then what did you think, my dear observant son? What was your favorite part?"
Aiden's mind raced, searching for any detail he might have half-heard while reading. "The… uh…" he began, sweating slightly. "The way she… handled the… uh… baby dragons. Very… clean."
The Queen stared at him. The lie was so clumsy, so utterly transparent, it was almost insulting. She didn't yell. She didn't scream. She just gave him a slow, chilling smile that promised a world of pain later.
"Is that so?" she said, her voice dangerously soft. "Well, you can read about… 'clean handling'… later. For now, you will watch. You will observe. And you will help me choose which of these 'wonders' will be serving you for the rest of your life."
She turned her back on him, dismissing him completely, and returned to her husband, her mind already buzzing with plans. Aiden let out a silent breath of relief, but he knew he was only granted a temporary reprieve. He had a feeling his book was going to be confiscated very, very soon.
Queen Isolde raised her hand, and the courtyard fell silent.
"Ladies," she declared, her voice echoing through the air like a royal decree carved into stone, "though you all have shown potential, only twenty among you have demonstrated the excellence required to serve the Crown."
A herald stepped forward, unrolling a long scroll. The rustle of parchment was like a guillotine blade readying itself.
One by one, names were called.
And one by one, girls stepped forward—some with pride radiating from their very souls, others trembling as though walking to their doom.
When the last name was called, a heavy silence crushed those who remained unchosen. Some tried to keep their composure. Others failed—tears streaming, hands trembling, dreams shattering.
Then the gates opened.
Castle guards ushered the eliminated contestants toward carriages that would escort them home. Some begged for a second chance. Others looked relieved to be leaving the madness behind.
But among the twenty who stayed?
Their hearts pounded—not from fear of failure…
…but from the terrifying possibility of success.
Queen Isolde clapped her hands, a sound of finality that echoed across the now-sparse courtyard. Only twenty girls remained, standing in a daze amidst the remnants of the chaotic trials. The other eighty had been eliminated, their faces a mixture of disappointment and relief.
"Excellent! Well done to you girls who have endured!" the Queen announced, her voice filled with a theatrical pride. "You have proven yourselves to be more than mere applicants. You are survivors! Now, go to your lodging and rest. For tomorrow, the second test will begin!"
With a final, commanding wave, she dismissed them. The twenty remaining girls, exhausted and bewildered, followed a guide towards the Grand Guesthouse. The air was thick with unspoken questions about what tomorrow could possibly hold.
Inside the shared dormitory of the guesthouse, the atmosphere was quiet and tense. The five girls who had so clearly excelled found themselves in different corners of the large room, each lost in their own world.
Rina knelt by her simple cot. She wasn't thinking about the strange magic or the baby dragons. She was thinking about her grandmother's medicine. She folded her hands, closed her eyes, and whispered a prayer to the only deity she knew from the stories in her village.
"Oh, great Dragon in the sky," she murmured, her voice a tiny, earnest plea. "Please, let me win this selection. I don't need to be the best. I just need to be good enough. Please… help me help Grandma."
In another corner, Talia was busy. She wasn't praying. She was sharpening a small, hidden dagger with a whetstone, the rhythmic shhhink-shhhink a soothing sound in the quiet room. A confident smirk played on her lips. That ridiculous test was nothing, she thought. A child's game. Tomorrow will be just as easy. And then… I'll find the proof I need.
Seraphine had drawn the curtains around her bed, creating a small, private space. She sat on the edge of her cot, holding a glass of deep red liquid. It wasn't wine. She brought it to her lips, the bitter, coppery tang of tomato juice a poor substitute for what she truly craved. She drank it slowly, her elegant face a mask of distaste. It would dull the thirst, for now. It would keep her safe.
Deep within the castle, in a private chamber granted to her by the Queen, Eira knelt on the floor. Before her was a small, silver bowl filled with water. She chanted softly in Elvish, her fingers tracing patterns in the air. The water in the bowl shimmered, and an image of a stern, ancient elf with a long silver beard appeared.
"Report, Eira Moonveil," the figure commanded, his voice echoing in her mind.
"Subject Aiden is as described," Eira reported, her voice calm and devoid of emotion. "He is cynical and avoids his duties. However, today's events revealed he possesses an unexpected… magnetism. Four other candidates have formed an immediate, intense fixation on him. The variables are… unpredictable. I require more time to observe."
The elf in the water nodded slowly. "Continue your mission. The prophecy must be understood." The image vanished.
And then there was Lyra. She wasn't in the guesthouse. She had followed the prince's procession back to the main castle and had slipped through the shadows, unnoticed by anyone. Now, she stood in a darkened corridor, perfectly still, hidden behind a suit of armor. She was staring at the door to Prince Aiden's chambers.
She wasn't resting. She was standing guard.
A soft, contented sigh escaped her lips. He was in there. Sleeping. Safe. For now, that was all that mattered.