On the Eve of the Hunt - III

I've gone through lots of emotions since the Queen stood in front of me with those hard, gem-like eyes.

Nerves, confusion, embarassment, shock, denial, numbness...

Now, truly, I feel fear. With every step of my slippered feet, it grows in my belly. My heart bangs and rattles in its cage. Hands trembling, bunched into fists. Knuckles white, fingernails biting bloody crescents into my palms.

Another emotion when I'm guided through the Hall to the High Table: dismay. This must be a mistake! I'd heard there are usually about fifty candidates. Here there are barely twelve besides the King and Queen!

The guards deposit me behind my seat. I almost vomit onto the golden plate. I swallow hard, gripping the high back of the chair. The other candidates are doing the same. Am I that green colour?

I glance to the gallery where our families wait. Every face is bloodless, pinched, wide eyed. I search for my mother, but the sight of her doesn't bring me courage. I see the same despair I feel stamped on her features.

When the King and Queen arrive, the King booms at us to sit. He's a big man, grey in his hair and beard. Imposing I suppose. But we all turn our eyes to the Queen. After all, it's her occasion. She nods, and I sink into my chair.

Still standing, she tells us, in that foreign-sounding purr, that the custom is changed. This is not a Sacrifice, but a Test. Failure means death. Success demands a different kind of sacrifice; service to the realm as royal heir.

There's a rustle around the room: it's the sound of many spines straightening inside very expensive clothing. Ears pricking forward and straining for details. It's the subtle noise made by the fog of fear lifting, and resolve congealing.

My horror is complete, but she's not done. Keen to secure an heir, and not wait another nine years for this opportunity, if the first Candidate fails, a second will be Chosen. The rest hangs in the air, and a third, and a fourth...

My mother has buried her face in her hands. I think it's in that moment that my failure is certain.

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Word count (excluding notes): 366

Submitted on 14th March at 23.58

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