Chapter 32:
The Prince’s Audition
I reach the grand silver gates of the palace and file in line. The guards call people forward one at a time. I take a deep breath and let my muscles relax. I have a legitimate reason to enter – auditioning to be the prince’s assistant. I’ve spoken with Versillian soldiers for years. Familiarity with them should lead to confidence, but all it does is make the risk of being discovered and returned to that tower more palpable.
The two women in front are called through. I step forward, inching closer to the tall gates. The silver bars are capped with decorative gold bulbs. A dozen soldiers stand guard, each armed with swords and pointed halberds. Those long weapons would run me through long before I was close enough to touch their skin. The wall ramparts are crawling with soldiers too, each equipped with longbows. The Palace Guard aren’t hastily trained men who’ve been handed crossbows – they’re elite battle veterans who’ve spent years honing their aim. I won’t be able to outrun them.
There’s only one person left ahead of me. The opportunity to back out is quickly evaporating. I’m nervous, but being the prince’s assistant would grant near unrestricted access to the palace. This is a risk I have to take.
The one thing that nags at me is the very existence of a Versillian prince. From my time in Antiock, I knew of King Tytius, and Regent Evecius’s name was thrown around too, but I never heard of anyone with the title of Prince. I shouldn’t worry about it. No one but Evelyn knows a sorceress is in Lystra.
The man ahead of me is called through and patted down for weapons. I slip both my gloves off into my pockets and remove my cardigan, leaving my arms bare so they have no reason to touch my hands.
A soldier with a short black beard and a clipboard motions for me. Holding my breath, I pass between the gates. The officer’s frame is not much taller than mine, but the two guards assisting him are huge. I stop two feet before him.
“Declare your name and title.” The officer barks the order without looking up from his clipboard.
“Raylia of Corinth,” I say.
He makes a note. “Raylia of Corinth, state your reason for admittance to the palace.”
“I’m-” I catch myself mid-mistake. “I am attending the prince’s assistant audition,” I repeat with a louder, confident tone, hoping they’d assume they misheard my Mephian contraction.
A guard leans over to the officer. “Subject is near five-foot, light build,” he says. The officer’s gaze lands on me for the first time. His lips make a thin line. He motions again with his hand.
The gates clank closed behind us, and my spine stiffens. An iron grip wraps around my bicep – a third soldier. His hand is touching my bare arm. I can’t take my eyes off it.
“Cooperate,” the officer warns.
If he’d taken my wrist instead, he’d be flat on the ground.
The officer leads his men to a small building off to the side. Whether I want to or not, the soldier’s hold forces me to follow into the cramped dingy room.
The door closes behind us, and the soldier releases his grip. I step away from him with a sharp look. He remains by the door – blocking the only way out.
The room is dim, with the only sunlight from a small window too high to look through. I’ve been separated from the populace. This isn’t an office but a holding room – a place to confine and interrogate.
I’m trapped here, alone with four men. Three are large, but the cold, sterile eyes of the officer in charge makes him the most frightening. He looks like he’d order an execution without a hint of remorse. I need to get out.
“Stand before the wall,” the officer commands.
The image of Antiock’s citizens avoiding Trevus and I in our black obans is front of mind. The soldiers of Versillia have a reputation among their own people, a reputation I don’t want to give them an excuse to reinforce. I move back as he instructs. A silhouette of a woman is plastered to the wall beside me.
The officer’s gaze jumps between my frame and the silhouette outline.
“The proportions match,” the assisting guard says. My stomach tightens. The illusion only changes my face, not my frame. He’s the reason I’ve been pulled aside. I wish he’d stop talking.
“The hair is blonde,” the officer says. They’re on the lookout for me after the battle.
“Hair can be bleached.”
The officer motions for me to approach. I obey. Any resistance would only raise their suspicion and their tempers.
He looks into my eyes, taking in my features before reading a note on his clipboard.
“Bratallus, search her,” the officer says.
I spread my limbs and hold my breath. My arms are bare. He should have no reason to touch them.
I watch Bratallus carefully, ready to nudge away if he gets too close to my hands. If he were to be put to sleep, and I somehow managed to touch the other three men before they drew their weapons, I still wouldn’t make it more than a few inches out the building without the archers taking aim.
Bratallus pats my thighs, hips and waist. My arms stay high in the air, as far from him as I can manage.
The officer shakes his head. “Her eyes are far from green.” Green eyes – they’re after me. No – they’re after Jade, the sorceress that split their army and saved their king. I’m a servant girl and nothing more. Raylia has no reason to fear them beyond any other Versillian citizen.
Bratallus completes his search and nods to the others.
They open the door, bathing the room in light and fresh air. I can breathe again.
“The audition is at the western supply gate. You are late,” the officer says.
I nearly leap out the room, not waiting even a second for him to change his mind. I hurry towards the west side of the palace, barely holding back from sprinting away from those soldiers.
The massive five-story palace is bigger than any home I’ve ever seen. Large marble-white stones form the walls, each cut and shaped to lock together with unending irregular patterns. It’s the size of twenty of Antiock’s keeps stacked together, and I can’t even see how far back it stretches. You could go your entire life inside it without feeling confined.
I rush around a marble wall and skid to a stop. Eight women stand side by side, their backs straight and hands folded at their hips. A handful of soldiers and palace servants are scattered about. The man who looks like he’s in charge snaps his fingers at me. My first instinct is to glare, but I suppress the urge.
He motions to an open spot next to the other women. I quickly fall in line. The women are dressed in white obans that match the servants’ outfits. Feeling self-conscious about my casual appearance, I pull the black cardigan back over my shoulders and slip on my woolen gloves.
I mimic the pose of the other women – shoulders straight, eyes forward, and hands folded at the hip.
A trumpet blares to our left. “Behold His Majesty, the Crown Prince of Versillia!” A man announces beside a door.
I lean forward to see around the other woman, but the man in charge snaps his fingers and indicates to keep my gaze straight. I do as he wants. Satisfying my curiosity isn’t worth being dragged out of the palace.
“The prince returns victorious from battle! He brought
His Majesty
King Tytius back from Mephia!”
What?
The door opens, and the trumpet blares again. My stomach tenses. I step forward out of line. I can’t not look.
The figure inside is shrouded in shadow. His black oban is lined with golden thread and fastened with a row of shining buttons. A tall man steps out into the sun. That dark hair, that sharp jaw, those deep blue eyes – Trevus.
His gaze lands on me, moving from head to toe. My muscles tighten, and I stop breathing. Trevus is the prince, and he’s only a couple yards away. His face doesn’t share my shock and surprise – the illusion is working. He’s watching me because I stepped out of line.
I fall back in file, but his eyes don’t leave me. Just three weeks ago, Trevus was an unacknowledged illegitimate child of the king. He gained no status or title from his birth and had to work his way up the ranks of the military. He was a fugitive from his own army, as he broke away to complete his own quest.
Now he stands wearing gold-adorned regalia, bearing the title of Crown Prince with heralds who announce his presence to the public. The king must have declared Trevus his legitimate air. With his mother long gone, he could recast her as a noble lady. The king rescued from Mephia by the forgotten prince – an inspiring story to keep stability during the transition of power.
Trevus rescued my life too. Ripping off the pendant crosses my mind, to reveal my true face. But he knows that I killed his mother. He wouldn’t look at me with joy, but anger, perhaps enough that I’d be thrown to the mercy of the Palace Guard.
With his hands behind his back, Trevus paces down the line of women. “By order of the king, I am to select a professional aid. Time for training is not a pleasantry I have to offer. I expect competence and diligence in all regards.”
This isn’t the position I’d imagined. I won’t be working under some spoiled prince too busy to lower his gaze to me or learn my name. I’ll be working for Trevus, someone so observant that he picked out whether I was feigning sleep even with my back to him. He noticed my every word, picked out my motivation and deconstructed my behavior. I’ll have to pretend to be an entirely different person around him, all while taking opportunities to slip away and search for the julite. I’ll have to stand by his side, pretending I’ve done nothing while knowing I don’t deserve to be near him.
He approaches my end of the line. “You shall work by my side and reside in the palace. As such, all breaks, vacations or sabbaticals are at my sole discretion. Should I require you toil through the night, so you shall do. No task shall be below you. Should I instruct that you scrub my boots, then so shall you do. I am not easily pleased.”
His eyes land on me. “In this position you shall accrue confidential knowledge. Any evidence of espionage will have you tried for treason, a charge with a well-known sentence.”
Why is he looking at me? I fold my hands again like the other women. Is he suspicious already?
“Should any of you have reconsidered, this is your opportunity to depart.”
Many of the women give a small bow before turning and heading back to the front gate. A small room and stipend are not worth such a demanding job. You’d have to be motivated and desperate. This is my chance to get out of the situation, to put distance between Trevus and myself. If I leave now, no one would look twice on my way out of Lystra. But what would I do after that? My hands still hold the curse of isolation. I and two other women remain in line.
Trevus approaches the first – a tall woman with short black hair. “Why should you be selected?” he asks.
“I served as a professional assistant in the Mendara district judging hall for seven years. My shorthand records conversation at the pace we speak now,” she says.
“Impressive.” Trevus turns to the next woman. “What do you wish to share?”
“I accounted for the largest granary in Lystra for five years, during which every transaction was documented and organized,” the second woman answers. She has long chestnut hair, like my
true
hair.
“Top organizational skills.” Trevus nods. His attention lands on me, and he glances at my hands – again I’d forgotten to keep them folded. “What skills do you harbor?”
Both these women are perfect candidates. I’ve never filled out a document in my life, and I’m not exactly sure what shorthand is. I only have one advantage over them – I know Trevus.
“I am observant,” I say.
Trevus smirks. “So you say?”
“You are left hand dominant.” I speak slowly, careful to avoid Mephian phrasing. “Your preference would be to hitch your sword to the right hip, not the left, but in the palace, you have an obligation to your uniform.” He always wields with his left hand. It’s part of my most vivid memories.
I can do this. I’ll become his assistant, I’ll find the julite, and I’ll leave the city. Trevus will never have to know I came so close to him, and old wounds will be left undisturbed.
Trevus rubs his chin. “Not expected, but not incorrect. However, what use is an observant professional assistant who cannot administer?”
“You appear as someone well organized who is not in need of assistance. I am the correct selection, because I shall stay out of your way. I fulfill the post ordered by the king, and I hold no reservations about calling out any foolish mistakes you commit before the consequences manifest.”
He takes a step closer to me, his blue eyes narrowing. I tuck my bare hands behind my back. “You insinuate that I shall commit foolish mistakes?”
“To commit foolish mistakes makes one a person, but to deny their existence makes one a fool,” I say.
He places a heavy hand on my shoulder. I know your heart Trevus. You won’t harm a random stranger half your size. You can’t intimidate me as long as my illusion holds.
“Perhaps you are not aware,” he says, “insulting the royal family carries hefty penalties.”
“Penalties?” I ask.
“Depending on the severity, a premature permanent rest.”
“I do not believe you are an individual who executes others merely for their words,” I say.
His eyes stay locked onto mine. He finds my confidence suspicious. I need to be more careful.
“And if you are, then I do not wish to work under you,” I add.
The corner of his lip tugs up into a smile, and he releases my shoulder. He finds my audacity amusing.
“What are you called?” he asks.
“R- Raylia,” I say. That lie was harder than expected.
“I have concluded the selection,” Trevus says. “You are all dismissed.”
The other two women begin walking back to the gate. I turn to follow them.
“Not you, Raylia,” Trevus says.
I stop.
“Congratulations. You shall begin immediately.”
This is a pretty amazing story she’s bounced back hard.
girl I don’t think that’s why. isn’t she still wearing the gloves?
bro knows 💀
Yay 🎉
That’s really smart of her
Does he know? Merely suspect? Or does he not have a clue?
She really does be crazy lol
Girl, speaking with a prince, whether you know him or not, if you’re trying not to draw to much unwanted attention attention, this ain’t it XD
Not really haha
Wow, many girls went ‘I thought this would be a walk in the park’ lol
probably because you stepped out of line and are wearing gloves. the most suspicious person there lol
I can be a dick, and you can deal with it lmao
Royalty, the biggest rewriters of history
This is all just making me miss best buddy Marcellus
HAAAA
hell yess
So death?
Damn that’s bold saying you’ll call him out on any ‘foolish mistakes’ lmao
Just throwing a skill of his back at him lmao
Likely cause like the soilders your frame reminds him of Jade…
There’s also the fact that the guards and soilders would not take well to realising you are Mephian and a sorceress
I feel Trevus knows it her and he is not mad at her for what happen