The encampment was a hive of controlled, anxious friction. Sentinels moved with mechanical precision, dousing campfires with dirt and hauling heavy packs onto their shoulders. The morning air, once still, now vibrated with the low-frequency hum of impending violence.
Princess Fox stood apart, her silhouette sharp against the rising sun. She drew her Meridian blade of glass; even before she swung, the weapon pulsed with power, resonating with her own ice magic. She looked upon it with fondness, her mind drifting to Prince Landon—it was the first gift he had given her. With a sharp flick, she sheathed it, the leather clicking at her waist. She would not die here. She had an entire life she wanted to live. She was not yet done. Not even close. As her magic began to pulse, the heavy gown she wore transformed; the chest plate slowly solidified into a glistening layer of jagged ice, and a visible frost began to creep across the fabric. The air around her dropped twenty degrees, a localized winter that warned everyone to keep their distance.
Nearby, Princess Bella sat on a low crate, having discarded her high-heeled boots. Her fingers were white-knuckled and trembling as she fumbled with the laces of flat leather boots. She looked like a ghost defeated, her movements jerky and hollow as she went through the motions of a soldier who didn't expect to return. These last days she'd been wondering why she was here. Why she was doing any of it. When she had first arrived at the castle, everything seemed orderly, like she knew exactly what life demanded of her. But the last five days had been so different. She couldn't help wondering what it was all for. Why they had to risk so much. Why it was so important that they had to die to fail and kill to win. She was only twenty, and twenty years were not enough. She may come from a family of warriors, but at this moment she craved peace. If she made it out alive, she would be more careful—far more mindful of how she spent each day.
Back in the castle, the smell of expensive wine within the viewing chamber punctuated the excitement. The royalty sat in a predatory circle around the central Orb, their faces flickering in the reflected glow of the encampment where the princesses prepared for the troll onslaught.
A servant moved silently through the shadows, pouring dark, viscous wine that looked more like arterial blood into silver chalices. The atmosphere was one of callous, lively anticipation—a high-society gala gathering of monarchs who cared little for the sacrifices they demanded of their subjects.
King Elderon didn't reach for a glass. Instead, with a sudden, animalistic jerk, he seized Queen Aurelia's forearm. His teeth sank into her skin with audible savagery. Blood trickled down his chin, staining his collar, yet he didn't look away from the Orb, his blood-red eyes deepening in color with his growing arousal. Queen Aurelia remained perfectly still, her face a mask of stoic marble, though the slight tremor in her fingers betrayed the white-hot pain of the bite. Her red-painted lips were still curved in the perfect smile, unable to show weakness in a room full of vipers.
Nearby, Crown Princess Kayla flinched. Her glowing tan skin seemed to pale slightly, her bright hazel eyes wide with a shock she couldn't quite suppress. Her burnt-orange gown shimmered as she moved to speak, but a heavy, grey hand landed on her thigh. The longer she sat in these kinds of rooms, the worse it seemed to get. The princes were cold and dismissive in a way that she thought was the epitome of cruelty, but the moment they allowed her into the room with real power—the Kings and Queens—she understood she was in over her head. She hadn't wished to stay in the marriage market and risk dying, but at least there, they were prepared for war. She felt lost amongst monsters, like she hadn't spilled enough blood to be in this room.
Crown Prince Hector leaned toward her, the sound of his granite-like skin rubbing together like grinding boulders. Though his face was sharply humanoid and handsome, the weight of his stony palm was an absolute command. He didn't say a word, but the message was clear: Behave.
His actions were not lost on his parents. His movement was subtle, but Gargoleons weren't known for their stealth. King Osric gave the Crown Princess a displeased stare, something he had become quite accustomed to in the past months. They may have gained the prize of the marriage market in her, but it was clear she had been chosen too early. The marriage market had the ability to turn girls into women, and right now they were still stuck with a simpering girl.
Queen Vespera adjusted the straps on her leather bodice, exasperation beginning to take its hold. She knew she would be scolded for Crown Princess Kayla's behavior; she'd been tasked to turn her into a proper Queen, but the girl was resisting, clinging to childish ideologies that had no place in this room—in any room of power.
"A hundred gold coins the squirrely one dies first," a voice rasped, cutting through the wet sound of King Elderon's feeding.
King Quincy of the Shades leaned forward. In his thick, tailored suit, he appeared muscular and imposing, but his face was a terrifying void of gaunt, sallow skin and hollow, black pits for eyes. Beside him, his shadow didn't mimic his lean; it writhed independently against the stone floor, stretching toward the Orb.
His wife, Queen Griselda, sat beside him in a structured white gown that seemed to absorb the light of the Orb, allowing her to stand out amongst the dark room. Her hair was a shock of white-blonde, and her crystalline brown eyes—so pale they appeared colorless—tracked the movement of the girls on the screen with a hunter's precision.
A chorus of cruel laughter echoed around the room at King Quincy's bet. Only two remained silent. Prince Landon sat with his bare, muscular chest heaving, his fluffy ears flattened against his head in a display of mounting distress. His sharp teeth were bared in a subconscious snarl as he watched the Orb, his eyes fixed entirely on Fox. A soft hand rested upon his own, sweeping away his anxiety with a simple touch. His mother, Queen Elara, gave her son a soft, knowing smile.
Unlike other kingdoms, the Beastman Kingdom was polyamorous. She had many beast husbands and more children than she knew what to do with. Her "baby bear" had the softest of hearts and fell in love easily. She had chosen King Magnus, her snake-beastman husband, to be the head of the family; he was decisive and vicious, and did not struggle with morality like some of her other husbands.
As she watched Prince Landon's knuckles whiten in fear for Fox, Queen Elara felt a surge of cold satisfaction. She could accept a great many things, but she had loathed the way Landon once looked at Princess Daniela. In her eyes, Daniela was a vile girl with too much hate in her heart to know what love felt like—a girl whose ambitions would have swallowed her son whole. She was glad his focus had shifted, even if it meant he was now tethered to the fate of a girl currently facing a troll onslaught. To Queen Elara, anyone was better for the future of their lineage than the princess who had previously held his heart.
Prince Landon smiled softly at his mother as his body relaxed. She took her hand away, focusing back on the Orb once more and casting a wary look at Prince Eric, who roughly grabbed another glass of blood-wine.
Prince Eric's fingers tightened around the glass as he tilted his head back, letting the liquid slosh down his throat. He was furious. He could see the man traveling behind Daniela and Jasper—wearing the uniform of their assassins. He couldn't stand Jasper. He looked between the Jasper displayed in the Orb and the Crown Prince Jasper who sat mere meters away from him, hating both in equal measure. Grabbing another glass of blood-wine, he chugged it back desperately, using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away the escaping droplets. His venomous glare directed to the back of Crown Prince Jasper's head. For a moment, he played with the idea of sending a torrent of blood magic straight through the bastard's head. For once they would know which one was the real Jasper. It would feel so good to see him beg for his life, to have him crawl on his knees as he fucked Daniela in front of him, forcing him to watch before he snapped that deceitful bitch's neck.
Crown Prince Jasper, meanwhile, was a statue. He didn't hear the bets; he didn't smell the blood. His gaze was laser-focused on Daniela's image, his predatory grin never wavering. He could feel the bond between them even from this distance—how it snapped into place with finality. Each time he breathed in, it was her scent: the beautiful, sweet, and spicy alluring scent of his woman. It fed his soul in a way that clouded reason.
"Which is the squirrely one?" Queen Thora of the Wendigos asked, her voice as cold as the element she commanded. Her slicked-back, royal blue hair gave her a streamlined, lethal look. She shifted in her loose, ash-gray gown, her bare feet resting silently on the cold stone. Her heeled shoes lay discarded beside her, unnoticed by the room.
King Magnus leaned forward, the light hitting the scales coating his throat. They were a rich, iridescent mixture of obsidian black and royal purple, rising from his crisp collar to dust the edges of his smooth, sculpted jawline. His slitted snake eyes didn't blink as he extended a manicured finger toward the flickering image of the encampment.
"Linden? The name?"
Prince Linden shifted, the scales along his shoulders and back moving under his suit. His snake-like eyes flicked to the projection, his flat, earless head tilting slightly. "That is Heather, Father," he hissed softly. They were identical, their shared scales proof of their thriving lineage.
"Not that one," King Quincy countered, his shadow snapping back to his feet. He pointed a skeletal finger at Selena. "The other one."
Queen Dahlia shifted in her seat next to Michael. Her wine-red hair caught the light of the Orb as she moved, the slit in her seductive black lace gown opening just enough to reveal a flash of pale thigh. She let out a low, melodic laugh that carried no warmth.
"Most of them are squirrely," Queen Dahlia remarked, her voice dripping with fire-mage confidence. "At this stage, it is quite hard to tell which you mean. They all look like prey from here."
The laughter surged again, louder this time, leaking from the viewing room and allowing the passing servants to hear the raucous amusement from inside the chamber.
The focus projected on the Orb shifted once more, zeroing in on another princess who seemed poised for drama and entertainment.
Author's note:
So I've been going back and making edits to random chapters. Some of them might be a little bigger than expected. If that happens. I'll make sure my OG readers don't get lost in the sauce. I will have a chapter that's a brief overview of the changes made. So no one has to go back and scrounge for answers.