The sun filtered through the curtains, and footsteps echoed through the stone hallways. Today was the day—the start of the trials. Servants, guards, and nobles alike were bustling about in the early morning to prepare, except for two of the royal children.
Clara's wild ginger hair danced in the wind as she climbed out of a bedroom window.
"Clara! We need to get ready!" Celia cried, hanging halfway out the window. Her green eyes searched for a safe way down, but all she saw was an eighty-foot drop. Her breath hitched for a moment as she glanced at Clara, who was confidently walking along the narrow path toward the slanted roof of the castle.
"Celia, you overthink things! I need to get that arrow before the birds find it; now's my only chance," Clara waved her sister off. A sudden updraft tangled Clara's dress and made her pause, gripping the window ledge for balance.
Celia sighed; she was not about to follow her sister onto the roof. "You're crazy!" she called out, stomping her foot. She retreated from the window and threw herself onto her bed.
Clara laughed but didn't respond. She crawled onto the slanted roof and scanned her surroundings. A glint from a nearby bird's nest caught her eye. "Oh?" she chimed, moving closer. She discovered a silver ring with a green stone embedded in it nestled within the nest.
Clara picked up the ring and grinned; it fit perfectly on her pinky finger. She then spotted her arrow sticking up from a rooftop tile. From her vantage point, she could see her four older brothers in the garden, all dressed in fancy attire. Atlas, the oldest, was flanked by Theo, Jasper, and Lucas. They all shared ginger hair and green eyes, but their styles differed. Atlas's hair was short and slicked back, Theo's was longer and messier with soft curls, and Jasper's was waist-long and tied into a low ponytail. At the same time, Lucas had short, spiky hair.
Clara made her way back along the narrow path to her room, her bare feet reaching carefully for the small gap. Once back inside, she hopped into her room and proudly displayed the arrow.
"I got it!" she shouted with a triumphant grin.
Celia scoffed. "You could have died for a stupid arrow," she muttered, already dressed for the trials in a fancy green dress adorned with gold linings. Clara had a matching dress. Celia brushed her hair while seated on a cushioned stool.
Clara rolled her eyes and tossed her arrow into a crate filled with others. She walked to her side of the room and examined the dress laid out on her bed.
"I mean, if that had happened, at least I wouldn't have to attend this stupid trial," Clara muttered as she began to change. Celia rolled her eyes. A knock came at the door, and Celia called for them to enter. Their ladies-in-waiting—Sophie, Marget, Jewel, and Olivia—entered, all wearing black dresses, white aprons, and white caps that concealed their hair.
"My ladies, it is almost time," Sophie spoke softly while Olivia and Marget moved to assist Clara with changing.
"Then we should hurry," Celia replied, gesturing for Sophie and Jewel to help her with her hair and makeup.
The sisters left their rooms, appearing as mirrors of each other. The only difference lay in their expressions; Clara's gaze wandered anywhere but ahead, a frown creasing her brow, and her cheeks were slightly puffed. Celia wore a small smile and looked straight ahead, walking with grace.
They were joined by their guards, Lue and Ken. Lue was a tall man with broad shoulders, brown hair, and gray eyes; his sun-kissed skin and short, shaved sides gave him a rugged look. Ken was similar in build but had short black hair and blue eyes, with bronzed skin from hours spent under the sun. Both wore plate armor and had swords at their hips.
"We both know Atlas is going to be chosen—ow!" Clara started to mutter but was elbowed by Celia.
"Shush," Celia whispered as they approached the staircase. They passed walls lined with portraits of past families—a long line of royalty, magic, and rulership. Green curtains adorned the walls, and stone-carved statues decorated the halls.
Lue stifled a chuckle, his armor rattling slightly. "Your Highnesses, at least the celebration will be worthwhile," he chirped, trying to look on the bright side.
"As long as there are no... interruptions," Ken added with a soft sigh.
They entered the great hall, where their older brothers, priests, nobles, advisors, guards, and their parents awaited them.
Clara looked around at the extravagant decorations. In her opinion, it was a bit much, but she was ready to get this over with. She had heard that the after-party would feature real chocolate—her mother had told her they had imported it just for this occasion.
Clara and Celia lined up with their brothers. Atlas scowled as he looked down at them. "You're late," he whispered.
"Let them be, Atty," Jasper, who stood next to Atlas, whispered back.
"Yuh, Atty, let us be," Clara mocked and rolled her eyes. Celia tensed and sighed quietly, her smile strained slightly. Atlas huffed and tensed, biting his tongue. Jasper glanced at Clara for a moment, a look of bafflement.
"Ahem, it is time to begin," King Noah cleared his throat, silencing his children. He cast a brief, disappointed glance at Clara before looking towards the head priest, Father Nickles.
Priest Nickles shuffled forward to stand in front of the six royal children. Clara watched him closely before glancing at her parents. She noticed their mother, Queen Zia, lean over to her husband and whisper something to him. Clara sighed. King Noah had long, curly ginger hair that was dulled and graying, and his wrinkles revealed his age. In contrast, Queen Zia was younger, with blonde hair and bright green eyes.
"Let us begin the Trials with a prayer. The long line of the Firesinger family has ruled these lands, blessed by the gods themselves. We ask the gods to continue their blessings..." Priest Nickles chanted, extending his arms and gesturing.
Clara wasn't focused on him; her gaze drifted to the stained glass windows. Slowly, the priest's voice faded as she stared at the colorful glass. Her fingers fiddled with the ring on her finger, hidden behind her back.
"Princess Clara, please step forward—" a voice broke her trance. She looked up at Priest Nickles, who was gesturing to her. The atmosphere in the room was tense; Atlas was glaring down at her while Celia held her breath. Both King Noah and Queen Zia were now standing, their mouths agape and their bodies tensed.
"There must be a mistake—" King Noah raised his voice in protest.
Clara blinked, tilted her head, and stepped forward.
"The gods, make no mistake, Your Highness," Priest Nickles assured him. The sector he had drawn during the ceremony, which Clara had not been paying attention to, was glowing in her direction.
"Princess Clara, you have been selected as the next ruler, heir to the throne, and future monarch of the Kingdom of Sol," Nickles announced. For a brief moment, the crowd was silent.
Clara's breath caught in her throat, and she blinked a few more times. "What..." she murmured, feeling a tightness in her chest and a throbbing in her head. She could sense Atlas's intense glare burning into the back of her head.
The head priest kneeled in front of Clara, holding out the golden crown that would mark her as the heir.
Clara felt frozen, her breath shallow. She gathered herself, bending her head down so that the metal could be placed upon it. Her heart raced.
"This must be a dream, a trick..." Clara thought to herself, but the weight of the crown was undeniably real, and the dread of the future began to settle into her very being.
King Noah relaxed his shoulders and let out a sigh; it was not the choice he had hoped for. He raised his hands.
"Let us celebrate this occasion," his voice boomed over the crowd, which responded with louder cheers.
The celebrations began, but Clara felt as though her tongue had been stolen. The head priest dragged her along to the ballroom, which had been set up for the festivities. Tables, chairs, and the dance floor were all adorned with the house colors of green and gold.
The royal family entered first, and Clara found herself seated at the large central table. To her right sat her father and mother. Atlas was on her left, followed by Theo, Jasper, Lucas, and Celia at the end of the table.
Clara glanced towards the end of the table where her sister sat, her brows knit together in frustration as she leaned back in her chair.
"Smile, dear, at least pretend to be happy," King Noah whispered to Clara.
Clara forced a smile by placing her fingers on her cheeks. "Is that better?" she replied. "Why can't Celia sit next to me?" she asked in a hushed, disappointed tone.
"Because that's the way it is. You're the heir now, and you need to start accepting that you are leagues ahead of her," her father responded coldly. The bitter truth stung; Clara didn't believe it still. Celia would always be her sister.
Grand dishes were served, live music played, and the crowd—a mix of nobles, esteemed guests, dukes, and courtiers—filled the hall. Clara struggled to find any joy in the celebration; the food was excellent, the music even better, but everything seemed to have a sour taste.
"I am not fit to rule... Plus, they'll probably just force me to marry some snobby noble so they can be" the one truly in charge..." Clara thought to herself, tuning out the voices and chatter around her. The party passed in a blur; she recalled some head of state asking her to dance, but she kindly declined to dance with anyone.