Emory’s knuckles are white before the interview even begins. He clenches his fists, wrings his fingers--anything to keep his hands from shaking. He’s been here a thousand times in daydreams, thinking and rethinking through his answers, but he still finds himself unprepared. This interview will seal his fate. He’s submitting himself to the judgement of the entire country, and he’s hyper-aware of that--but what really ties his stomach into knots is the thought of his family finding out. His sister will know that he’s planning to compete against her, to throw out of balance what their mother always wanted for her. His father will know that he has lied for years, and that there will be no Osanos heir if Emory gets his way. His mother will roll in her grave. This is not what she sacrificed true love for.
After several long minutes of his anxieties festering, a voice finally broke through. “Could you introduce yourself to the camera?” Emory looks up at the interviewer, fully noticing her for the first time. She is tall and beautiful and disinterested, like she’s thinking of a million things she would rather do. Em isn’t sure how she ended up here, but he doesn’t have the brain power to dote on this--he’s too busy trying to figure out how to do something as simple as introduce himself. He’s done it a million times, so why is today any different? (Emory knows the answer, of course, but he doesn’t want to think about it.)
The second he knows the camera is watching, Emory feels the weight of the nation on his shoulders. He folds his hands in his lap, hoping no one can tell that they’re shaking. He looks directly into the camera, posture upright, the corners of his mouth nervously upturned. “I am Lord Emory, heir of House Osanos and a personal guard to King Orion Calore.”
Before he can take a breath, the woman throws another distressingly vague question his way. “Why are you doing Crownstrial?” The question is probably simple to most people, but Emory knows he can’t just admit he’s doing it for love. If he says the wrong thing, if people find out that him and Orion have been seeing each other, it could unravel everything Orion has been striving for as king. It would distract from his ideals, cause people to think he initiated Crownstrial for love and not for his belief in equality. Emory knows he can’t have that.
“As many of you know,” Emory continues to stare down the camera, starting cautiously, “I have been a close companion of the king since we were kids. I care about him, and I care about making Norta a better place. I am not competing for power, but as a means of making a difference and standing by my best friend’s side as I always have.”
“Are your words true? Do you mean what you say? Can we trust you?”
Emory’s heart stops in his chest. Is he that transparent? The interviewer looks at him with a steely gaze, the first time she’s looked interested this entire time. He knows it will seem more disingenuous if he insists he spoke the whole truth, knows that he’s an awful liar. He wishes he knew what the nation wanted to hear--wishes he knew what words would have the least consequences. He’s so afraid of the near future that he has to remind himself to breathe, and he’s sure it shows on his face. There’s no time now to be anything but genuine. And isn’t that what he’s wanted for ages? To be openly and genuinely himself?
“Those words were all true, and I mean all of it--especially my loyalty to the improvement of this country. But I did not speak the whole truth,” Emory clears his throat, his eyes darting from the camera to the space behind it, desperately trying to find something to ease his mind. “A part of me is competing because Orion has owned my heart for as long as I can remember. I am in love with him, and I want to be with him, and he does not know. That is a secret I have carried with me for a long time, because I know many people won’t support me because of my feelings. That is a fact I’m comfortable with now. And...from this point forward...I am wearing my heart on my sleeve. Norta can trust that I, as ruler, will never lie about affairs that concern them. I just want what is best for everyone, and I also happen to be in love with the king. That is the whole truth.”
It’s a confession he’s held inside for years, only speaking to ears he trusts--and to Orion himself, of course. He hadn’t planned on confessing to the whole of the nation, but it’s a relief when he does. His expression is earnest, not an ounce of the facade he typically wears. His words are so full of heart that he hardly notices he slipped in a lie--the easiest lie he’s ever told: “He does not know.” He hopes it’s enough to keep Orion safe, but the adrenaline from all of the honesty makes it impossible to know for sure. His heart is beating impossibly fast, his hands start shaking again, his cheeks feels hot, but he is not afraid.
The reaction from the interviewer is anticlimactic to say the least. He almost would have preferred a clear response of disgust, or a harsh opinion. Instead, there is only a sigh, and he notices that she looks half-asleep. His heart sinks immediately, as he realizes that his deepest truth means nothing to the interviewer--and, presumably, to many citizens. But it means so much to him, and he thought it meant so much to others that he concealed it for his entire adult life. It’s a shocking revelation: that he is in fact insignificant. Perhaps he should be relieved, but he isn’t. He just wants someone to care.
When she leaves, Emory immediately assumes he’s done something wrong. If he hadn’t barely heard a “stay put” slip from her lips, he might think the interview over. It’s almost a relief, the silence and the time to be alone. Quite the introvert, times like these usually settle him and help him gather his thoughts. For the first few minutes of solitude, Emory attempts to do just that--but his thoughts are not compliant, and his nerves cannot settle. Instead of calming down, he spends the time thinking of everything he’s done wrong so far. Surely I could have smiled more, he thinks, or at least looked less anxious. I am all silver and trembling--no one will trust me now. He shuffles through every word he’s said thus far, wishing he could go back and make edits. Maybe this was a mistake; he won’t make it a day in Crownstrial, but his life will never return to normal. What a waste, he thinks--but the voice saying it isn’t his own. His father’s voice echoes, what a waste.
After allowing his anxieties to fester for what seems like hours, Emory hears the tapping of heels growing closer. Closing his eyes, he wills this interview to end quickly. When she returns to her seat, he hardly notices the food and beverage she has in hand. He’s too focused on himself again, trying not to drown in a sea of worries that he cannot control. When she speaks once more, Emory is finally brought back to reality. He’s always been a patient person, perfectly content with waiting around for other people, but patience is hard to harbor when he’s so goddamn anxious. He waits for the woman to eat, listening to the shuffle of the note cards. He fiddles with his diamond cuff links, attempting to channel his nervous energy into the small hand movements.
Emory’s breath hitches among the commotion of the note cards scattering across the floor. He hardly hesitates before kneeling to the ground and gathering the cards--it’s instinct, really. The interviewer merely watches him as she takes a small, composed sip of her drink. By the time he’s back to his chair, she has already turned the camera back on. Emory’s face flushes a dark silver as he assumes the worse. Is the entire nation about to see him on the ground, scrounging around for pieces of paper? He hands the woman her note cards, even more unsettled by the fake smile plastered across her face. Before she even looks at the notes, she’s delivering another question--as if she doesn’t even need her cards. “Do you agree with the ideals of our king?”
Finally--an easy question. Emory doesn’t think before answering, “Of course I do,” he’s prepared to defend Orion’s ideals until his last breath. “He wants a better, more equal world--and I know he can achieve it. Growing up side-by-side, we developed our ideals together. I learned from him, and he learned from me, and that is how it will always be. I trust in every decision he makes and plans to make, because I know him better than anyone.”
For once, Emory isn’t worried about whether or not his answer will seem right to those listening. He knows it’s right to him. Suddenly, he feels a lot more calm. Is this what pure honesty is like? He’s almost smiling as he finishes speaking. Standing up for his own beliefs for once is more invigorating than he anticipated. Finally, he feels prepared for whatever comes next--he’s ready for any question, and he knows if he sticks to his ideals he won’t seem as questionable as he did when he started. He watches the final shuffle of the note cards, reading the words on each and hoping she’ll stop on something simple. Eventually, she stops on a question about books. Thank goodness, he thinks--but the gratefulness is cut short when he realizes the interview is actually over.
“Now give a closing remark. Keep it short. I will cut whatever I do not like.”
That’s it? That can’t be nearly enough for citizens to get a clear picture of what Emory is like, or how he will rule. He returns to regretting everything he’s said up to this point. He regrets all of his apprehension, his awkward gestures, his lack-luster expressions, and every word he spoke. It was so unpolished. What a waste, his mind repeats to him again.
With a final deep breath, Emory keeps his words simple. “Thank you for your time,” he gives the interviewer a polite smile before looking toward the camera and giving a curt nod. “And long live the king.”
“Ambrosine Thany here, coming to you live from the Crownstrial arena, where we present the start of our battle royale. Our first two competitors are CYRENE NOR and ZAIRA SAMOS. Zaira was considered a favorite when Queenstrial was still being held as tradition, but Cyrene was not allowed to compete under the old rules. It truly is a meeting between contrasting worlds -- the old versus the new, tradition versus change. As we head to the battleground, place your bets, call your shots! This will be a fight to remember.”
Below the cut is a TRANSCRIPT of the fight between Zaira and Cyrene. The winner is announced in the ending commentary.
Zaira will be the first to go, as determined by a dice roll.
Zaira Samos (+2A. 3D. 40H.) rolled a die with 10 sides. The die showed: 9.
Zaira stands across from Cyrene with a steeled jaw. In this moment, there is no time to think of appearances. Her thoughts are cleared with an inhale as the challenge is declared, and unlike the calculation of her interview, she chooses instead to act only on impulse. She quickly extends a hand to take the starting strike before the bastard Tyros can duplicate herself, manipulating one of the metal bracelets lining her arms into a sharp spike that is sent straight for Cyrene’s shoulder. (SUCCESSFUL HIT. 7 DAMAGE TO CYRENE.)
Cyrene Nor (+1A. 5D. 33H.) rolled a die with 10 sides. The die showed: 5.
Cyrene takes the painful blow with a wince, but recovers relatively quickly. She uses the pause caused by Zaira’s satisfaction to split herself into four distinct pieces, the fifth body remaining her own. Two close in front of her while two run toward Zaira. As one of the offensive clones feints to distract, the other lands a sharp blow to Zaira’s side with practiced force. (SUCCESSFUL HIT. 3 DAMAGE TO ZAIRA.)
Zaira Samos (+2A. 3D. 37H.) rolled a die with 10 sides. The die showed: 9.
She smiles in satisfaction as her attack lands, but it falters quickly when Cyrene splits herself into five separate beings. She is unable to locate the true Cyrene in the heat of the moment, instead finding herself taken aback by two of the clones that come charging at her. She gasps at the blow that is landed to the side of her body, catching her footing after inhaling a sharp breath. One distracts, the other attacks, and she hates them both as equally as she hates their owner. They will not get in her way. She lifts both of her arms and closes her eyes, sending a few of her bracelets flying off all at once in a controlled explosion of dangerous metal shards. (SUCCESSFUL HIT. 7 DAMAGE TO CYRENE.)
Cyrene Nor (+1A. 5D. 26H.) rolled a die with 10 sides. The die showed: 6.
Slowed by the blood trickling down her arm, Cyrene loses precious time and is once again hit with a blast from Zaira. She will not make that mistake again. Gracefully she starts to run as two clones around her dart in between her steps, assuring Zaira will not find the true Cyrene as easily next time. As she does, she manages the two near Zaira with her mind: one twists her arm while the other pulls quite hard against Zaira’s hair. (SUCCESSFUL HIT. 4 DAMAGE TO ZAIRA.)
Zaira Samos (+2A. 3D. 33H.) rolled a die with 10 sides. The die showed: 1.
Zaira is overwhelmed by the sheer force of the two clones. She tries to lift an arm to attack once more, but it is quickly grabbed and twisted behind her back. She then feels a sharp tug against her scalp, gasping at a pace that causes her chest to burn, and she finds herself at a sudden disadvantage. She cannot fight back on a physical field, so she continues to struggle against the clones’ grasps, hoping to find a way to slide out and get back her composure. (FAILED ATTACK.)
Cyrene Nor (+1A. 5D. 26H.) rolled a die with 10 sides. The die showed: 9.
Cyrene laughs as she hears through the ears of her clones the small sound of pain Zaira gasps out. The Samos heir may have had the upper hand moments ago, but in a fight that’s 5 against 1, there’s strength in numbers. Cyrene manages to get to a place behind Zaira, and the clones accompanying her mimic her position exactly, until none stands out from the other. The clones on the attack smile, and with one still pulling Zaira’s throat into a swan-like arch, the other delivers a swift hit to the her throat. (SUCCESSFUL HIT. 7 DAMAGE TO ZAIRA.)
Zaira Samos (+2A. 3D. 26H.) rolled a die with 10 sides. The die showed: 6.
The edges of her lips tug with an urge to either scream or complain, but she cannot give Cyrene the satisfaction. Even if she were willing, the fist that crashes into her throat cuts off all words. She draws in a hoarse inhale, eyes watering at the flare of pain, and she can’t find the true Cyrene among the duplicates that now surround her. With a scream, she twists her shoulder and applies her weight to the side of her body, dropping herself down onto the ground and sending a series of metal shards at the feet of the clones around her, hoping to at least trip them up. Even if she doesn’t land a hit, she’s just glad to be away from the grip that once held her. (SUCCESSFUL HIT. 3 DAMAGE TO ZAIRA.)
Cyrene Nor (+1A. 5D. 23H.) rolled a die with 10 sides. The die showed: 10.
CYRENE HAS UNLOCKED A SPECIAL EVENT IN HER FAVOR.
An announcer’s voice pipes up for the first time within the arena since the start of the round.
’ LADIES & GENTLEMEN — Let’s mix things up. ’
The announcer’s voice echoes through the arena with a harsh laughter that only hints at the danger that is to come for one or the other, but this time ; the favor is for CYRENE as the ground of the arena shakes with several mirrors lifting from the ground. Each mirror reflects off the next, and it is soon apparent that what you might be looking at could be real or fake.
’ LET’S SEE HERE — Lady Samos, can you find who you are truly fighting? ’
Cyrene smiles, truly and with a bit of ferocity, as mirrors rise from the ground and into the arena. It seems the Crown has smiled on her today, and she will not take it for granted. Stretching her power to its limit, she creates a fifth clone, totaling in six Cyrenes on the battlefield. The ones near Zaira shove her back into a mirror, and the sound of glass shattering is apparent. While it loses her a reflective surface, the glass cuts into Zaira’s back, and Cyrene again uses the distraction to disperse her clones, now sure that Zaira does not know which one is truly her target. (SUCCESSFUL HIT. +1 DEFENSE BONUS UNLOCKED. 5 DAMAGE TO ZAIRA.)
Zaira Samos (+2A. 3D. 21H.) rolled a die with 10 sides. The die showed: 7.
When the mirrors rise around her, she feels her head start to ache. The five duplicates of Cyrene steadily become more and more, and this is something that Zaira has never been able to prepare for. A sixth Cyrene appears, but as far as Zaira is aware, there are hundreds of her. When she rises to her feet, she is quickly pushed against one of the mirrors, feeling the glass of its surface shatter and cut into her back, and she screams before landing in a pile atop the shards. She looks around from her lowered position, unsure of which Cyrene is real and what to do next. Making a quick decision, Zaira opts for a mixed defensive and offensive attack by manipulating a few of her remaining bracelets into another burst of metal shards. She hopes that at least one will land on a target. (SUCCESSFUL HIT. 3 DAMAGE TO CYRENE.)
Cyrene Nor (+1A. 6D. 20H.) rolled a die with 10 sides. The die showed: 10.
The advantage given has caused her unparalleled excitement. The game has become almost easy as Zaira barely manages to hit her, even as she sends out shards upon shards of metal in every direction she can find. Cyrene continues to manipulate the mirrors and her surroundings, as one of her clones drags Zaira across the shattered glass beneath her already torn skin. Eventually they pull her to her feet, and one leans in to whisper in her ear. “Careful, Samos. Did you think this would be easy?” (SUCCESSFUL HIT. 8 DAMAGE TO ZAIRA.)
Zaira Samos (+2A. 3D. 13H.) rolled a die with 10 sides. The die showed: 6.
She struggles when she feels her legs grabbed, howling in pain as her body is dragged across the shards of glass beneath her. Zaira winces when the action is over, gasping when she’s forcefully brought to her feet, and she has to fight back the urge to spit when one of the duplicates whispers in her ear -- as if they’ve already won. Not yet. The queen is still on the board. Metal be damned, she sends a hand flying straight at the clone’s face. “I think nothing, bastard. Fight like a dog all you want, but your growling is beneath me.” (SUCCESSFUL HIT. 2 DAMAGE TO CYRENE.)
Cyrene Nor (+1A. 6D. 18H.) rolled a die with 10 sides. The die showed: 1.
The exhaustion of constant movement begins to wear on her, and Cyrene feels her power fluctuate. The clones around her begin to flicker and fade, and it takes all her energy to keep the ones on Zaira from doing the same. When she brings them back, she’s back down to 4 outside herself, and she pauses a moment to breathe. In spite of the exhaustion, it’s strangely exhilarating, to use her power to its fullest extent. (FAILED ATTACK.)
Zaira Samos (+2A. 3D. 13H.) rolled a die with 10 sides. The die showed: 6.
She catches her breath for the first time after Cyrene took the upper hand during the fight, pressing a hand against her stomach and feeling an ache run through her that she’s never known. She cannot deny Cyrene’s power, and she cannot pretend not to know fear in the tension of this moment. Neither can she allow herself to give in without fighting back until she’s left unconscious. “Who taught you to fight?” she asks, limping towards one of the panting clones that does not have a sheen across its surface. “Who made you feel like you mattered?” A bracelet shifts into a sharp line, and she digs it weakly into the side of the tired body in front of her. (SUCCESSFUL HIT. 2 DAMAGE TO CYRENE.)
Cyrene Nor (+1A. 6D. 16H.) rolled a die with 10 sides. The die showed: 7.
Cyrene isn’t tired enough to stop her laughing. Who taught her all her life? The idea is ludicrous, but she recognizes that her world with Seraph has always been quite insular. She ignores the question, figuring that if Zaira wants to know, she can ask after she’s lost. Instead, she ducks behind mirrors until she’s halfway across the battlefield, her clones solidifying once more in Zaira’s presence. “Who let you think you would win?” one clone asks as she drags her nails across Zaira’s cheek. Another laughs behind her, wrapping thin fingers around her throat. “How pathetic will you feel when you lose to a bastard?” (SUCCESSFUL HIT. 5 DAMAGE TO ZAIRA.)
Zaira Samos (+2A. 3D. 8H.) rolled a die with 10 sides. The die showed: 1.
She’s too tired to react. Her words are countered with a sleekness that matches her own, and she must admit that she can respect the other woman’s strength. To fall to a bastard, however? Zaira feels bile creep up the length of her throat, lips pursing in reaction of the pain that is brought by the nails that glide across her cheek, and she nearly gags when fingers wrap themselves around her throat. She keeps her legs steady and she keeps her shoulders rolled back. She holds her tongue, and she does not move to attack. She only stares ahead. She will not lose on her knees. “House Samos. My family has always been behind me. Be proud of yourself, bastard — you’ve done well all on your own. Go on. Show me your teeth.” (FAILED ATTACK.)
Cyrene Nor (+1A. 6D. 16H.) rolled a die with 10 sides. The die showed: 1.
Cyrene is surprised by Zaira’s honesty. She wouldn’t expect the girl to lay down and take it, but it seems she has. That doesn’t bring her any fun at all. “I won’t bite without a chase,” the clone behind Zaira replies. “Don’t you want to hit me a little more? Show everyone what you’re made of? You were a favorite, after all, weren’t you?” Her fingers give a little squeeze, but she stays put, waiting for Zaira’s move. It may be her last, so Cyrene expects her to make it a good one. (FAILED ATTACK.)
Zaira Samos (+2A. 3D. 8H.) rolled a die with 10 sides. The die showed: 6.
She sends an elbow flying out behind her, aimed for the clone that has her restrained. “You’re awfully masochistic,” Zaira remarks with a tired breath, going on to dig her heel into the foot of the clone for good measure. “Weren’t I a favorite? I still am, bastard. Always have been. I can’t say I had my eyes on you before this, but enjoy the glory. How does it taste? Does it make you feel like something more?” (SUCCESSFUL HIT. 2 DAMAGE TO CYRENE.)
Cyrene Nor (+1A. 6D. 14H.) rolled a die with 10 sides. The die showed: 9.
The damage is barely felt through the body of her clone, and she laughs to herself on high as she watches the scene unfold in a mirror. “I don’t need glory to feel good about myself. That’s reserved for the elite, I suppose. At least you’ll be beautiful when you fall from grace, yes? All that silver on your skin attracts such attention.” The clone with her hands on Zaira’s neck drags her until she can hit her once more into a mirror, the back of one this time, the resounding clang echoing through the arena. All the clones seem to laugh in an eerie unison. (SUCCESSFUL HIT. 7 DAMAGE TO ZAIRA.)
Zaira Samos (+2A. 3D. 1H.) rolled a die with 10 sides. The die showed: 10.
ZAIRA HAS UNLOCKED A SPECIAL EVENT IN HER FAVOR.
An announcer’s voice pipes up for a second time, clearly excited.
’ WELL, WELL — it seems we’ve put the fight on an even playing field at last! On her last legs, Zaira Samos may pull a win from this yet. ’
As he speaks, spouts around the arena begin to pour tiny shards of metal into barrels that have been wheeled out, providing ample weapons for a magnetron’s use. This gives ZAIRA a near unlimited advantage of a storm of weaponry at her disposal.
’ You may have dodged simple bracelets, Cyrene — but can you weather a HAILSTORM? ’
Zaira smiles to herself as best she can when metal shards begin to pour into barrels that are wheeled out and placed around the arena. She recognizes that she is on her last leg, as the announcer had stated, but all that matters is how she goes out. She shakes off the damage of her impact against the mirror, tensing her shoulders and inhaling through her nose. Her hands lift, sensing every shard of metal in the area surrounding them, and she brings the shards rising from the barrels and crashing around the entirety of the arena with a dry laugh. “Let’s both be beautiful, Cyrene. You bleed silver, too.” (SUCCESSFUL HIT. +3 ATTACK BONUS UNLOCKED. 5 DAMAGE TO CYRENE.)
Cyrene Nor (+1A. 6D. 9H.) rolled a die with 10 sides. The die showed: 7.
Cyrene feels the impact as the metal crashes into her skin, but it doesn’t matter. It isn’t enough to stop her. In a last effort to make sure Zaira gets no use from her own advantage, Cyrene’s clones tighten their hands around her neck, and for a moment Cyrene thinks it won’t be enough. Yet Zaira slowly fades from consciousness, and the sigh of her relief is palpable, her chest rising and falling far too quickly as the realities of the pain and glory sink in. Cyrene offers the camera a feral, silver-sheened smile. (SUCCESSFUL HIT. 5 DAMAGE TO ZAIRA.)
The announcer blares a horn, and the battle is declared WON by CYRENE NOR.
DATE: March 22nd
TIME: 6:00 PM
LOCATION: El Corazón Bordello
Faces both familiar and not seem to crowd the thick, cloying air of the bar. The lights are low and the seats are full -- standing room only, the man at the door says, and still they come, packing in between chairs and finding a place wherever they can. Though there are drinks to be had and revelries to be enjoyed, as they say, every face seems half-turned toward the massive viewing screen behind the bar. It was installed only in the past few weeks, as new management has decided to make an event of the spectacle -- those Silvers with their poisonous luxuries and deceit. Watch how they dance for the cameras, spinning tales and exerting their power. Watch, and learn.
RYN ANDROS has been working a double. Their very eyes seem to ache in their head, yet they cannot help but linger as they flip the switch to turn the screen on. It flashes for a moment before flickering to something boring, some trivial propaganda about the war. Everyone is used to these sorts of broadcasts. It’s one comes on next that takes hold of their interest. Someone taps on the bar, all irritated impatience, and they whirl, ready to serve them whatever it is they’re so desperate to poison themselves with. Their hands are nimble around the neck of a bottle and they pour, but their ears are trained on the programming behind them. Everyone waits for the pin to drop.
On the opposite end of the bar, a man sits on a stool, all casual demeanor and observant eyes. He scans the room in seconds before returning back to a few key people, people no one else would pick from a crowd -- but NATHANIEL MOORE knows that they are more than they appear to be. He watches, waiting, tense despite his calm appearance, for their reactions. Reds have never been invited to vote on a Queenstrial before, but everything about this one seems... different. Isla had said the new King would help them, but Nate has reserved judgement, and now he watches, waiting for some sign that he would be right to place his trust. He doesn’t take leaps of faith. Not anymore.
Seated beside each other, with silk falling into their laps and luscious smiles on their lips, AURORA DEVERA and DARIO WILKS entertain and dazzle their clientele. Las mariposas have a reputation to uphold, whatever is playing on the video screen, and they do it with grace. Aurora laps up attention like a cat with cream, while Dario’s genuine smile causes cooing from a host of Reds and lower house Silvers alike. Even their eyes waver, though, drawn to the spectacle to come. No one knows what to expect anymore, and it makes customers as nervous as it makes them. Will this new venture succeed? Will the Reds truly get a say? Who can tell, when they still know so little of what’s to come?
All at once, the lights flicker off as a passing server notes the time. The war broadcast ends and a new one begins, with a face both familiar and not -- Atalanta Thany has been mysteriously replaced by her predecessor and cousin, AMBROSINE. With a warm yet impersonal smile, she welcomes her viewers across the nation amid gasps of surprise from all corners. ❝ Good evening citizens of Norta! It is my duty and pleasure to present this year’s Crownstrial, an event to be remembered across the land. The moment our Flame in the North, King Orion Calore, will establish and cement his reign. At the end, he will crown a fellow ruler, to share with him the trials and tribulations of governing our grand country. Now, I could talk on and on, but I think I know what you’re all waiting for. As our Red population will be voting for this Crownstrial competition, the crown thought it would help if you got to know your competitors a bit better. Without further ado, I present to you this year’s Crownstrial -- let the ceremonies begin! ❞
The screen fades to black before slowly focusing in once more. Faces flash by one at a time, each with a chance to introduce themselves --
❝ My name is Prisha, representing House Arven. ❞
❝ I am Lady Sofiya, female heir to House Provos. ❞
❝ I am Lady Leira, first daughter of House Osanos. ❞
❝ I am Cyrene Nor, untitled, baseborn daughter to House Tyros. ❞
❝ I am Lady Romilly, first daughter of House Gliacon. ❞
❝ I am Lord Slate, lone heir to House Blonos. ❞
❝ My name is Valeria Macanthos, and I am King Orion’s personal guard. ❞
❝ Hello citizens of Norta, I am Lady Calista of House Eagrie. ❞
❝ I am Zaira Anais of House Samos -- twenty one years of age. ❞
❝ My name is Lei Nolle, and I will be competing for House Nolle. ❞
❝ My name is Vezina, first daughter of House Carros. ❞
❝ Citizens of Norta, my name is Nyssa of House Samos. ❞
❝ I am Lord Emory, heir of House Osanos. ❞
One by one they say their names, their titles, and each face holds a different story. Vezina Carros captures both casual and calm, Zaira Samos holds a secret in her smile, and Lei Nolle cannot quite catch your eye, even when staring into a camera. The brightest flash of personality hides within these introductions, and as they come together, a simple black screen shows clean, white text. Simple. Not flashy. CROWNSTRIAL.
No questions are answered on camera, yet a narrative may be drawn from the answers nonetheless. ZAIRA SAMOS speaks with the Silver tongue of one born to rule, and her answers are as pretty as the pale flush to her cheeks. There is a warmth to her that has never been present when she’s physically in the room -- but for the broadcast, for the crown, she shines as brightly as the metal she controls. For those who look and listen deeper, they notice that her words are quite pretty -- and equally vague, promising change but not the direction she looks toward. She is quite careful, but the message is clear: do not underestimate me.
The unsure bachelor rises next, from the ashes Zaira has left. SLATE BLONOS is sincere almost to the point of liability -- and in truth, there are many who will not believe it at all. He is simply too honest, his eyes too wide, and his impression of a deer caught in the headlights ( as genuine as it might have been ) is cut together so masterfully, it casts just a hint of suspicion. There’s something in the way he looks to the left of the camera, sometimes, or maybe something in the way he stumbles over his answer about telling the truth. The cut is imperceptibly fuzzy around the edges, and it’s clear the video maker has plans in store for him.
Combating the unsure footing left by the Blonos heir, the camera cuts to a woman with such confidence it sears through the camera. It surprises anyone watching that the interviewer didn’t step back, with that fierce gaze piercing theirs. CYRENE NOR does not bandy for the cameras, yet she commands presence and interest nonetheless, her voice holding the purring edge of mystery and adventure that fascinates. It doesn’t matter if she’ll make a good queen -- she makes good TV. She says she can do what no one else can thanks to information no one else can reach, and when she does, her eyes meet the camera for the first time. It’s a clever spell, one that will fool most, but not all who watch her as she promises to bring forth the darkness of the city and eradicate it.
A smile is the first thing that catches attention as the camera cuts to SOFIYA PROVOS, clad in daring fashion and straight, white teeth. She talks fast enough that she gets out the most information about her platform, and for those who understand rule and politicking, it is intelligent, straightforward -- hell, it’s damn near brilliant. Her words, however, bore the crowd that watches for entertainment. She wins approval just a bit, because the excitement in her eyes shows promise, and because they’ve seen her before, on the screen beside the Princess. Beyond that, she speaks over the heads of most of the citizenry she wishes to rule. If Sofiya wants to rule, she will have to do more than that to impress the masses.
It takes a moment to recognize the competitor that follows. Many are still reeling from the introduction to Sofiya’s sharp mind, and when LEI NOLLE introduces herself, she’s so soft spoken almost as to go unnoticed. It’s clear that they had little footage to work with, yet the elders, the traditionalists, see something in her. A queen who would bow to her king in all things. A submissive queen who would bring them back to what they were, before this young ruler and his foolish idealism and naivety. She earns some haphazard support in that regard, but not enough to make her memorable. The moment her clip flashes from the screen, she is forgotten, notable only in passing as the person to replace the storm that is Kassiopea Nolle.
VEZINA CARROS half-lounges in her seat, though she doesn’t mean to -- she doesn’t exactly present herself as a regal persona. Her dialogue, however, is moving. There’s something in her raw honesty that captivates more than Slate’s had -- and her speech about her mother tugs on the heartstrings of the nation. Through the Feats, even the Red population has been able to see the truth in her words. Vezina has never done what her family wanted from her, and now that she is, it’s an arc that the people can rally behind. Those who lost friends or family to the bombing feel in their hearts the same message she’s giving now, and it garners support with many of them. Besides, everyone loves a tomboy-turned-princess, and what’s better than princess unless you’re being Queen?
The interviewer has not been a presence thus far, so it surprises many to hear them addressed in the next fade in from black. NYSSA SAMOS sits with regal bearing and her head held high, admonishing rudeness that none can see. It leaves her vulnerable to vitriol, and the crowd is affected by her anger -- a queen should not be angry, after all. The speech cuts to her discussion of how she once manipulated others, and the hatred grows in many hearts, her assurances seeming weak in the wake of her own admitted dishonesty. It seems as if she will be cast the villain, but the tone shifts slightly, and the music softens. Nyssa speaks of her admiration of Orion and his goals, and when she describes change, she means it. She leaves them waiting on the edges of their seats, wanting to know more, wanting to know who to believe. The girl with stars in her eyes or rage in her heart? Only time will tell, the video seems to tease.
The warm eyes and soft curls of VALERIA MACANTHOS greet Nortans next, as she proves her devotion to the crown on national television. It’s a romantic premise, a guard falling in love with her then-prince, now king, but the way she says it with no romance involved only intrigues them further. It isn’t a fairytale -- it’s more of a soft thing, a protective thing. Valeria’s eyes seem to flash when she mentions it. All remember the tragedy that struck the royals over a year ago, when Prince Orion’s guard was killed. Valeria gathered a sympathetic cause during that time, and that carries forward even now, as the people feel a soft spot within their hearts for her once more. Perhaps not love, yet, but what a perfect love story it would be, no?
The fiery river of her hair preceeds LEIRA OSANOS, as personable as she is not. There is a force to her personality, to be sure, but she is unconvincing when asked if she agrees with the changes the king is bringing forward. This intrigues many, for the simple fact that it will produce televised drama, but it does not endear them. She captures the minds of the old world Silvers as easily as she loses the Reds who will vote for Orion’s consideration. With every word, something is gained and something is lost. It’s clear that Leira has made her decision on what is most important to her to keep. The question becomes, is it the right one? For many, the answer is no -- she earns friends and enemies alike by the end of it, a polarizing force.
It’s almost impressive, how the following competitor manages to terrify despite her petite physique. On camera she looks almost frail, but when she moves, there’s a strength to her that defies all sense of logic. PRISHA ARVEN is a power and she makes it known, early on and without mercy. She doesn’t pretend to smile and preen -- she commands respect on reputation alone, and the Arvens have always been something to be feared. She does not try to win hearts, but she does want to win minds -- and her devotion to the crown is nothing less than ironclad. She speaks of a united front, a formidable force, and to those who have been caught on the war front, the idea of a stronger ruling duo appeals greatly... if only for the opportunity to scare their enemies.
The screen cuts once again to someone new, someone far more believably delicate than the last. CALISTA EAGRIE holds her hands in her lap, her posture pristine and her smile soft. The footage is cut together to illustrate her almost dream-like description of Norta’s future, her admiration for the king, and the far-off stare she sometimes gets, one heavily associated with House Eagrie. There is a mystery to her -- what does she know, what will she know -- that earns her support, a dark horse with a white light shining from her heart. She seems naive but devoted, open-hearted yet mysterious, and the contrast between what is expected of her House and what she’s delivered keeps people on their toes. Everyone wants to know the future, and especially to Reds who don’t really understand how Eyes work, the idea of a Queen who can see what’s coming appeals greatly to them.
ROMILLY GLIACON is the next to pop onto the screen, with a cold distance that no one can truly be sure is an act. Is she playing up the nature of her House, or is she always so removed, even as she speaks of the future? She talks about understanding how to build strength even from the weakest of points, about how watching Princess Adeline and the other royals all her life has garnered an interest in ruling in the future. About how fire and ice make a great pairing, and when she laughs, the country laughs with her. She is a little bit awkward, a little bit cold, but she is beautiful and she is close to the royals. She might have been forgettable as Lei, if not for those, but they will elevate her into the middle of the pack.
There is a sultry laugh that comes before the vision of black has truly faded, and AREUM MARINOS is behind it. Her eyes are on the camera as she speaks, and her voice, for all that she is a Banshee, is neither grating nor foul. Instead it is hypnotic, almost, purely of her own charisma as she discusses the joy it brings her to compete in a Crownstrial of her own free will. The choice is a powerful enough one that it has certainly swayed her to the King’s side, and her approval of his future decisions seems clear, just as it is clear that she will not take a back seat to them. In Areum, it is obvious that Norta would find a leader, rather than a follower. Her celebrity, beauty and charm appeal to very many.
Last but not least, EMORY OSANOS comes to life before all of Norta. His smile is all charm, but his shoulders hunch in slightly, unconsciously -- and to those who are looking for it, he is nervous. It’s a sweet tale, best friends who may become more, but when Emory licks his lips and begins to speak about truth and omission, every room falls silent. I am in love with him, and I want to be with him, and he does not know. Crownstrial has always, even as Queenstrial, sold the illusion of love, but never has it been so plainly stated from the outset. There is a flurry of sound as whispers and shouts roar into life, everyone with something to say on the matter. Some are outraged that the King’s personal guard would take advantage of his station -- others are swooning at the star-crossed lovers they’ve found in this tale. Emory has stolen the show, for good or ill, and as the broadcast fades to black and Ambrosine fans her face, it’s clear that this was the climactic ending she was waiting to reveal.
❝ And there you have it! Your competitors for the Crown, your future King or Queen, perhaps, has spoken. The battles have been selected and will now be revealed -- place your bets now, and don’t forget to tune in for the main event! Round One begins in two days time. ❞ With that, the ending theme plays, and Ryn flicks off the screen to the sound of furious discussion behind her.
THIS IS THE START OF CROWNSTRIAL. We will be releasing the four linked biographies within the hour, all of which will be open for application. Things to keep in mind:
Stay tuned to see the bracket of who has been paired for opening battle royale. When the bracket is released, we will also be releasing how the scheduling and the actual fights will progress both IC and OOC. This will come later today.
Starters from this point to the beginning of Crownstrial will be dated between March 22nd and March 24th. You are more than welcome to place starters anywhere in flashbacks as well, as long as they are dated for the accurate timeframe of the plot you want to start in.
Question 1. The interviewer shuffles through their bag before crossing one leg over the other once they have found exactly what they were looking for. They seem to show little regard for your time and could careless how long it takes to get the interview started. You could be on a tight schedule, but it would appear that you will likely run late the rest of the day at the rate the interview is going. They glance up with the slightest smile on their face before looking back towards the note cards in their hands. Again — Time is a concept they have no intention of comprehending at this moment, so when they finally clear their throat, there could be a bit annoyance in your answers given the fact you have every right to. “ Could you introduce yourself to the camera? “ That is all they ask from you. They could have done so sooner, but they go back to their note cards with little direction when to start. They glance up again and wave a hand as if to signal some type of response on your end with a single finger pointing towards the camera. A red light soon appears to show that it has began recording.
A soft smile, a whispered thank you for the Red that opened the door for you, a slight nod for the guards behind the camera equipment before you gather your dress beneath you to sit. Today you need to look soft but also regal and it is a difficult balance when your house colors are restrictive to the types of things one would see at either a funeral or a lavish ball. Still, with delicate lace round your shoulders and your bosom covered up, a slit that isn’t too high or revealing, you manage the overall look. Your hair is swept loosely away from your face, jewelry simple, silver pieces without much flash. You, at the very least, feel comfortable in your skin today. Azure eyes flick up to the face of the man who will be asking you questions, his face powdered so heavily you can smell the chemical weight of the compound. He has a haughty air, as if he reigns over you. In any other situation you might recoil in disgust but you hold your composure, back straight against the spine of the chair but not too rigid, you are relaxed, hands resting in your lap, one leg over the other as if you are merely chatting with a friend, except you have no friends so this is only what you’ve practiced in front of a mirror for hours on end, after watching girls with actual friends do so.
The man is trying your patience very quickly, his eyes meet yours over the top of his cards and you smile for him, baring teeth just before he flicks away from you once more. You are almost amused, rather than irritated and begin to slouch only slightly to save you from an ache that might come later if he continues to dawdle so. It is a power play, one of Jacob’s favorite words you remember. The man holds all the cards, literally, and if you snap he wins. A test, perhaps not even part of Crownstrial officially, but one nonetheless. Finally he gives you a prompt and you oblige with grace befitting a woman of your name and stature, main branch or not. You straighten out of that comfortable slight slouch and gaze into the camera with all the care you hold in your heart, this time your smile is not a showing of glittering fangs but a flame to draw in the moths that so desperately need light and warmth. “Good morning, citizens of Norta, my name is Nyssa of House Samos.” She omits her title because it means little to her, or to the people who will vote later. She’d say she’s delighted to be here but that felt like too much, like pandering, however true. Without the change in rules you wouldn’t be here at all.
Question 2 & 3. You have barely finished your sentence when the interviewer shoots another question out without regards if you had anything else to add. “ Why are you doing Crownstrial? “ The question is simple enough that it should be brief and easy to answer with honesty being the best policy in this moment. However, the interviewer tilts their head to the side to show that their is a brief moment of disbelief. “ Are your words true? Do you mean what you say? Can we trust you? “ The heaviness of the interview becoming rather apparent as you could swear that there is a smirk on the edge of the interviewers lip before they blankly stare towards you ; the red lip from the camera is still flashing at you. This is the moment where reality sets in, and you can feel the weight of country’s eyes staring at you. They may not see this at this very moment, but you swear that you feel as if this is a live stream to the world. You give what you perceive as your own truth and give your best expression to the camera.
You slip your hawk’s eye gaze back to him, the imp as he cuts off the last of your sentence. It is ironic, considering how loathe he seemed to be to begin and now he can’t seem to staple enough respect together to let you finish a single sentence. But the annoyance, or lack thereof, doesn’t read on your face. YOu are not so simple as to be annoyed, to wrinkle your brow at how rude he is. You are a different sort of creature, a predator does not begrudge their prey the games they play to remain living after all. Let them have their fun, for in the end you know you will rise above, with their neck between your teeth. Why are you doing Crownstrial? An obvious question to ask, to force the competitors to justify themselves with honeyed words and outright lies, even if some told the truth it was a trap of a question. What comes out of your mouth will anger your family but you have no warmth for them anyhow, those that have disregarded your value since birth, those that support someone like Zaira. You want a better world for them too but you wholeheartedly believe they will not live to see it. “Before the rules were changed I was not allowed to compete.” You pause to let that settle, still smiling in that sweet, demure and yet honest way you have perfected. “Now I have the chance to do so. Perhaps you’d want me to say that now I have the opportunity to show my worth but I know my value. I am competing, though that word grates, because I want better for the people of Norta, All of them, and I fear there are too many who would disagree with that. So I’m here because I want to be, I believe in myself and my country and I will do everything in my power to bring about the positive change we all need.” She stops herself there, her words almost a challenge to the other competitors and an affirmation for herself.
The interviewers look of disbelief is almost enough to laugh at but you hold back, if only to offer some amount of the respect he has spit on so far. “ Are your words true? Do you mean what you say? Can we trust you? “ He set you up for the perfect response and you can’t help it now, you lower your eyes and let a small laugh escape you, feeling a tingle of adrenaline down your spine. “Perhaps it would help me to mention how truly disrespectful you’ve been thus far, purposely trying to waste time and get a rise out of me, and I’m sure, the other competitors. I doubt many are willing to confront you about it, to be seen getting annoyed over something so simple. But please know, you’re rude and I am quite displeased but you do your job and I’ll do mine. My job is to take care of the people, Red and Silver, and I would not want to win by deception or manipulation. It’s true that up until recently I was exactly that person, manipulating others to get information or status in some way. But the King has opened the door to that cage and I’m free now to speak my true mind. I assure you, I will continue to be honest and truthful. So far our rulers have been anything but, we need change and I’m ready to provide that.”
Question 4. The longest sigh rolls from their interviewers lips as they quickly pause the recording once you’re done giving your answers. They get up and head for the door with little said in your direction. They are gone for a total of ten minutes before returning with food and water in hand ; something you could have desired if asked. “ Let us pick up where we left off. “ They take a bite from their food, browsing the note cards once more. They open their mouth to respond, but decide that finishing their bite is best. A hard swallow follows as note cards soon flood the floor as they slip from the interviewers lap. They glance up at you to see your response, expecting you to retrieve the note cards from the floor. The red light flashes on and another smile takes over the interviewer’s face. “ Do you agree with the ideals of our king? “ Every question seems to either set you up for a successful interview or a complete fail as everyone will be able to read your expression in this type of situation. You do not have seconds to react as the camera never stops recording. You make the best of the interview expecting more to come, but that seems to be the last question for you.
The sigh is almost childish and you again stifle a grin, feeling as if in this game of chess you are winning. His exit sings of needing to regain composure lost and it is music to your ears. But perhaps those watching would perceive this differently, perhaps your aggressiveness will look unfavorable to those who may want a soft queen. But you are not soft, not when this requires so much and this interview is likely to be the easiest part of Crownstrial. You can save your bleeding heart for when it is needed but right now, for yourself more than anything, you choose to be strong. When the interviewer returns, with his lunch, you do no more than raise an eyebrow. Later you’d have to learn more about who he is, and why he appears to have been raised in a barn. Even Jacob has better manners and he’s full of enough disdain for Silvers to be purposely rude. Maybe he knows this man? What a dreadful, and yet honest, thought. “ Let us pick up where we left off. “ You nod in agreement and adjust your position, switching your legs to avoid losing circulation. You fidget a bit with your silver rings before letting your hands clasp together on your knees, leaning forward a bit, less formal now. He chews like a cow, you think, just before he drops many of his cards, looking up so innocently. The intent is to see what you’ll do, will you help him even though you’ve just been vocal about how awful he is? If you don’t stoop to your knees to pick them up you may be painted as thinking you are above him (which you are) or being too spoiled to do him the favor of picking them up. But you will not get on your knees for this man. “With all due respect Sir, I would not want to emasculate you by getting them for you, you are quite capable of retrieving them, yes? I believe we should start doing more for ourselves instead of relying on others to do them for us.” you remain seated as the cards are indeed retrieved and the interview continues.
“ Do you agree with the ideals of our king? “
You almost sigh in relief with this question and it must be obvious, you are much too physical a person to hold everything in all the time. Especially now that you feel you don’t have to. “I have not had the privilege of speaking with the King at length about his ideals but it appears quite clear what his immediate goals may be. Changing Queenstrial to Crownstrial was a near revolutionary step and he did not waver despite immense displeasure from his court. He opened up the competition to be about more than raw power, so he sees the necessity of a ruler that is more than their ability. As well, he opened up the competition to any gender which speaks volumes to his character. That he desires a true partner and not just a body to wear a crown is--it’s truly wonderful. It fills me with hope that we will see a ruler beside him that is exactly what our country needs at this point in our history. I think the King is walking down a very treacherous and difficult path but I’d be honored to walk it beside him. It is more than me admiring the man, I want more for our people and he has taken the first steps to give them that. I don’t want to just hold his hand and smile while he makes the speeches and risks his life. A true partner in everything is what I’d desire, I would not cower behind like a pretty wife. I am not going to sit still and look pretty, I want to work with him, not for him.” You are rambling too much now and quickly adjust your posture, a small furrow in your brow the only sign of your concern over your words. “But the simple answer is Yes, I agree with the ideals of our King, most ardently.”
Question 5. The interviewer gives one last glance over cards that you can easily see that ask about your hobbies and passions, which would have painted you as relatable, but they stick with the harder ones. The light continues to flash for what seems like hours when the interviewer reviews a few things in their lap then points to the camera again. “ Now give a closing remark. Keep it short. I will cut whatever I do not like.“ There is a superiority in their tone as they look at you, and you could swear they are trying their best to get a reaction out of you. It is ultimately up to you on how you respond, but patience will get you far in moments like this as the red flashing light is a reminder of those that are to watch soon enough. You give your answer. The interviewer grabs their things with a quick push on the camera to cut it off. Anything that happens next is ultimately up to you as no one is watching.
A quick glance at the interviewer, whose gaze you rarely let trail from your own, shows you a glimpse of the cards. Hobbies and Passions are printed boldly and yet he doesn’t ask you those. You agree with that choice somehow, even if it might paint you as relatable it would be boring and quite useless when it came to the people you wanted to reach. In a country on the brink of true rebellion and revolution they did not want to hear about your love for embroidery or architecture, they wanted to know if you were going to do anything, say anything important. “ Now give a closing remark. Keep it short. I will cut whatever I do not like.“ You smirk at this, his power play back and a smack in the face if you hadn’t been waiting for it. You have words in mind, subtle to anyone still blind but glaring for those who might be paying attention.
You face the camera, clear your throat and know deep in your bones that these may be the last words you get to say if anyone figures it out that disagrees. “People of Norta, I compete for you. Whether or not I finish with a crown I will be your champion and I will fight for the change we all so desperately need. Please, put your faith in me and we will watch a new dawn rise together.” Treasonous, but as soon as the red light stops blinking, which it does almost immediately, you rise and leave without so much as a curtsy. There is no turning back now.
All her life, she’d been primped and primed for interviews, speeches with the all the necessary qualities that one would look for in a queen. Grace and intelligence were bestowed upon her, mind formulating ideas, even if she could not will her power to be anything greater than what it had always been. She had been so close to asking her sister for aid regarding the later, but with that loss, every lesson on how to act seemed to be lost in her mind. It felt too soon, Calista’s barely scrambled together sanity hanging by a thread. But she can’t fail now, if her sister is watching down on her, she wants her to finally feel proud. Deep breath in, toss of her sable curls, and she’s walking to the room.
Despite being told that the interviewer would be there waiting to start immediately, the onyx haired woman seemed largely unprepared, on in no place to hurry along. Calista perches herself on the designated chair, legs tucked together with her hands resting on her lap in a loose lock. Nerves bounce upon her skin, and each moment that the interviewer spends wasting time promotes irritation. She’d gotten herself into a state of composure, and time slipped away slowly as she continued to wait. When the interviewer was finally ready, and then looked at Calista expectantly, she wanted to laugh. Patience had been taught to her as a child, she used all measure of it in that moment.
“Could you introduce yourself to the camera?” It’s a simple enough question, and the lady forces any nerves from her throat. No frailty will be accepted, if she wanted to be queen, she needed to be admired and not mocked. Her aunt continually congratulated her on the public face she gave, visiting the red orphanages was genius, but there had been no games in her heart and she took little of Liora said to heart. All her life, there had been a dependency on her aunt, who filled the mother shaped whole in her life - but in need of someone to blame, Calista had chosen her. Hurt of course flashed across the elder woman’s features, but she was still there encouraging her niece. She purses her lips, lifting a delicate smile onto her features, not enough to look fake, but a glimmer of one, which makes her appear genuine. Looking directly into the camera, words filter softly from her mouth, “Hello citizens of Norta, I am Lady Calista of House Eagrie.”
The words are barely spoken before the interviewers is moving on, and once again she thinks of the other person’s tardiness. Perhaps that itself was some form of test, so that they could get a measure of how much patience she held. Her hands remained on her lap, eyes never drifting from where they ought to be aimed. Liora always told her to never look at her hands, or to fiddle, and over exaggerations of the hands could make her look erratic or out of control. Measured actions had to be taken, all of which had begun from the countless lessons where she was forced to sit straight for several hours, dance with books upon her head, neck elongated as a signal of grace and prestige. The Eagrie’s were a high house, although Calista often wondered why.
Another question, another answer. “Why are you doing crownstrial?” A calculated breath, eyes briefly acknowledging the interviewer before glancing back at the camera. Not long ago, her answer would have been different - she was certain. Her aunt wound have been there moments before she entered, giving her words of wisdom. Instead, Calista had blocked out her aunt in particular, and refused to swallow her oaf of a father’s words, for he seemed to get over Guinevere far too quickly, or perhaps he didn’t truly care...Calista was the horse he’d always bet on to win the race. “There are a number of reasons why I am doing this. Firstly, it seemed a natural step for me to taken, given that I was the firstborn daughter of the Eagrie family and at that time, the entire trial was named something else entirely. I do believe in trying for my family, but I am undoubtedly doing it for myself as well. I have come to admire the King, first from afar and now his actions have spoken of a new age, I’d like to join him in that conquest. I believe that I have the heart, and would do everything within my power to be the Queen that Norta deserves.
“Are your words true? Do you mean what you say? Can we trust you?” Difficult questions were anticipated, and she thinks of the way in which the red woman had initially recoiled, ushering along her daughter who was too innocent to know better. She had been judged at face value, lumped with the rest and deemed that she was no better. Calista loved her fine things, she loved the luxury of the life that she lived, but she did not believe that those considered lesser by their blood, were truly that different or were any less important. “I know that in a world of darkness, we have all grown cautious of strangers. How can I say anything that you can truly believe? All I can do is be myself. Benevolence can be an outer mask, with darkness pulsating within a heart, but I have not come her to lie. I do not have the heart to deceive you about something so important. If it is I who wins, I would want to be trusted and not marked as someone speaking falsehoods.”
The longer that the interview continues, the more weary she grows. Her life has been built up to this moment, a grand architecture of do this, and do that, her desires laid out on a plate. She wanted to be queen, she wanted to be his. Adoration filled her, an unquenchable smile would lift onto her features, Calista lit up in his presence although he likely didn’t notice. The harsh reality was that in a competition of power, she was undoubtedly weakest contender. Emotion made her stronger, and in wake of Guinevere’s departure, she had seen more things - but not enough to challenge the likes of Zaira Samos. The thought of the Samos heir made her blood curdle, there was no kindness in her.
Calista continues to wait, for what seems like a lifetime. She’s uncertain as to whether or not she is still been monitored, but the interviewer is notably absent from the room. It had been a fleeting excuse, and Calista had virtually been told to sit tight and wait. Again, perhaps they were trying to test her patience. Time allowed her mind to once again fall to her sadness, and she wanted nothing more than to finish the interview so that she could relieve the emotion which was building in her heart. Give her the ocean to wash away her pain, salt waves to pull her under and wait for her to arise. She thinks of the waves, the way they brush upon the shore, as she wills herself to remain calm.
When the interviewer returns, Calista smiles softly once more. “Let us pick up where we left off.” She avoids raising her eyebrow, when the interviewer begins to tuck into a baked good. The action makes the severe looking woman almost seem wholesome, but she knows better than to fall into a trap of trusting the mere visage of a lady.In other circumstances, she was perhaps a delightful woman, but her saccharine voice was starting to grate on Calista’s nerves. “Do you agree with the ideals of our king?” The question sparks a tremor in her heart, and she forces aside the gleeful smile, she cannot look as though she is childish and girlish, running after the king so foolishly. She was raised with poise and dignity, she could muster it around him, so could certainly supply it in an interview.
“From what I have seen, the king is keen to incorporate change within his rule. I imagine that he wishes to leave the world better than he found it, and I’m certain that he will. He inspires many, and those who he has not, will soon see that he is doing what he believes is best for the people. Radical changes have already been put into place, but I do believe it is the kind of change that was needed for Norta to survive. It is no secret that many suffer, we are not all blind to it, and if they too can be helped then I think they should be.” Admiration is etched upon her features, lifting into her eyes. She believes in him, she always has. His father was a good king, but Orion could be better.
There are numerous cue-cards in the woman’s hands, but she seems to avoid most of them. Calista wonders whether it’s been a good interview or a bad once, since she appears to be omitting the questions of hobbies and interests, hopes for the future and all the generic ones which would have been recited against a looking glass by many of the ladies. “Now give a closing remark. Keep it short. I will cut whatever I do not like.”
With a nod of her head in acceptance, despite the brashness of the woman’s tone, Calista formulates a response. “These events will set change in motion, and I am certain we will all be stronger for it. The rebuilding of this world into something both peaceful and beautiful is all that I can hope for. The Norta which we deserve is on the rise. Thank you for your time.” She could have taken the moment to speak more of herself, on why she should be chosen or the people should love her. But desperation was unfavourable, and whilst her hopes were bordering that same trait, she could not bring herself to act upon it. In wake of tragedy, Calista felt humbled.
As sluggishly as the interviewer had set up, the ending came in quick succession. Recordings halted, a dismissal was issued and the woman was compiling her things. A sigh of relief her chest, although the gown which she wore felt constricting. With a soft goodbye, Calista left the room with tears in her eyes. She wanted to ask Guinevere if she was watching if she approved, but it would only fall on silent ears. No one was there to listen
uncertainty has never been slate’s friend, and yet here he was in the nicest clothes he owned sitting across from a camera with the very emotion he didn’t want to feel humming through his veins along with his silver blood. he was trying desperately not to fidget, not to show how nervous he was, but he was only succeeding about half the time. he tried not to question his own decisions, that could lead him done far too many dark paths than he cared for, but with each passing nanosecond slate found himself that much closer to wondering how the hell he convinced himself to do this.
question one. the interviewer shuffles through their bag before crossing one leg over the other once they have found exactly what they were looking for. they seem to show little regard for your time and could careless how long it takes to get the interview started. you could be on a tight schedule, but it would appear that you will likely run late the rest of the day at the rate the interview is going. they glance up with the slightest smile on their face before looking back towards the note cards in their hands. again — time is a concept they have no intention of comprehending at this moment, so when they finally clear their throat, there could be a bit annoyance in your answers given the fact you have every right to. “ could you introduce yourself to the camera? “ that is all they ask from you. they could have done so sooner, but they go back to their note cards with little direction when to start. they glance up again and wave a hand as if to signal some type of response on your end with a single finger pointing towards the camera. a red light soon appears to show that it has began recording.
slate was glad he had nothing more pressing to get to than his books, not that the person in front of him would care either way. there was something frustrating about how little they clearly cared, acting as if his time was worth absolutely nothing to them or worse, something that they wanted to take as much as possible of. he briefly considered that they were trying to cause him to be more anxious than he already was, but he dismissed that based on their complete lack of interest alone. however, even if it wasn’t their intention he was still getting more worked up with every moment of silence and he worried that at this rate crownstrial would be over by the time they even asked him one question.
finally they spoke, short and sweet with no real direction at all. slate forced his face to remain a smooth mask despite his desire to draw his brows in confusion. he glanced at the camera just in time to see the little red light blink on, and plastered on a wide, polite smile despite suddenly feeling like a thousand eyes were on him. “i am lord slate, the lone heir to house blonos.” the lie rankled, and rethinking it he wasn’t sure that asserting himself as the only heir of a high house would help or hinder him.
question two & three. you have barely finished your sentence when the interviewer shoots another question out without regards if you had anything else to add. “ why are you doing crownstrial? “ the question is simple enough that it should be brief and easy to answer with honesty being the best policy in this moment. however, the interviewer tilts their head to the side to show that their is a brief moment of disbelief. “ are your words true? do you mean what you say? can we trust you? “ the heaviness of the interview becoming rather apparent as you could swear that there is a smirk on the edge of the interviewers lip before they blankly stare towards you ; the red lip from the camera is still flashing at you. this is the moment where reality sets in, and you can feel the weight of country’s eyes staring at you. they may not see this at this very moment, but you swear that you feel as if this is a live stream to the world. you give what you perceive as your own truth and give your best expression to the camera.
the next question came rapid fire, barely giving slate time to breathe before he’s expected to have another fully formed answer to give to the camera. he considers all the reasons he’d signed up for this, well aware that taking too long would make it look like he was coming up with a story. there were too many angles he could take that would only damaged his chances so he went with the most direct. “i’m doing crownstrial because i believe in what king orion is trying to do, and he deserves a partner beside him that supports the direction he’s attempting to take this great country.”
slate refused to let their obvious disbelief trip him up, just as he refused to swallow the lump rising in his throat. the wrong move here, looking too nervous or unsure, could be more detrimental to him than anything he says, and he was well aware of it. “i don’t make a habit out of lying,” that was a lie in and of itself, but the people didn’t know that. and besides, in his mind this was very different than any of the other lies he’s told over the years. “and i’m not changing that for this or anything else. i wouldn’t say something if it wasn’t the truth.”
question four. the longest sigh rolls from their interviewers lips as they quickly pause the recording once you’re done giving your answers. they get up and head for the door with little said in your direction. they are gone for a total of ten minutes before returning with food and water in hand ; something you could have desired if asked. “ let us pick up where we left off. “ they take a bite from their food, browsing the note cards once more. they open their mouth to respond, but decide that finishing their bite is best. a hard swallow follows as note cards soon flood the floor as they slip from the interviewers lap. they glance up at you to see your response, expecting you to retrieve the note cards from the floor. the red light flashes on and another smile takes over the interviewer’s face. “ do you agree with the ideals of our king? “ every question seems to either set you up for a successful interview or a complete fail as everyone will be able to read your expression in this type of situation. you do not have seconds to react as the camera never stops recording. you make the best of the interview expecting more to come, but that seems to be the last question for you.
slate could feel some of the tension leave his body as the red light went out, a welcome respite from the weight of a million eyes. he adjusted his coat as they left, barely hearing the murmured instructions to wait. with the camera turned off he allowed himself to fidget in the quiet, shifting in his seat and smoothing down his jacket so many times that he might has well have been an iron. finally they came back, a glass of water in one hand and an apple in the other. slate wasn’t particularly hungry or thirsty, but he would have considered it common courtesy to extend an offer to him. the socialite in him saw the act for what it truly was: a power play. they were trying to show that they could do what they want, and make him squirm at the same time.
he wasn’t going to fall for it, nor was he going to fall for whatever they were trying to pull when they dropped their cards. the part of him that was raised to be polite and proper at all times reared it’s ugly head as the interviewer crouched on the ground and gathered their cards, but he squashed it with the insistence that this was what was best. they flash another smile as they return to their seat before giving slate his next question, finally one there was no need for him to overthink. “as i just said, i absolutely agree with the king. norta’s customs have remained unaltered practically since it was formed, and king orion is finally doing something about it. clearly not everyone agrees with him, but he’s doing the right thing, and i wholeheartedly support it.”
question five. the interviewer gives one last glance over cards that you can easily see that ask about your hobbies and passions, which would have painted you as relatable, but they stick with the harder ones. the light continues to flash for what seems like hours when the interviewer reviews a few things in their lap then points to the camera again. “ now give a closing remark. keep it short. i will cut whatever I do not like. “ there is a superiority in their tone as they look at you, and you could swear they are trying their best to get a reaction out of you. it is ultimately up to you on how you respond, but patience will get you far in moments like this as the red flashing light is a reminder of those that are to watch soon enough. you give your answer. the interviewer grabs their things with a quick push on the camera to cut it off. anything that happens next is ultimately up to you as no one is watching.
slate sees them flip past simple cards, easy cards, without so much as a pause. part of him is glad, the more questions they ask the longer the whole thing will take, but he also knows that part of a good public image is being someone people can relate to, an opportunity the interviewer is deliberately denying him. after what feels like ages they speak again, another power play that slate has no choice but to play right into it. closing remarks were something he’d come prepared for, unlike everything else that had been asked of him so far.
he let his smile shift from the polite one he’d been wearing for a majority of the interview into a grin full of excitement as he addressed the camera. “i’d like to thank the citizens of norta, and you,” he added, letting his eyes move to the face of the interviewer that the camera couldn’t see for a brief second before returning his full attention to the machine. “for their time and this opportunity. long live the flame of the north.” as soon as the camera was off slate was up and out of his seat, heading for the door with not another word to the interviewer.
The dress Leira wore has been tailored for her, to her mother’s specification. Floor length, light blue dress adorned with light blue lace and embroideries. It had been finished a day before the explosion and was the last thing that her mother gave her. Her makeup was more bare today than normal with a light pink blush, lipstick two shades darker than her lips, a blue eyeshadow that matched her dress and a hint of mascara. Red hair had been curled and braided into a loose French braid with lilies scattered in her bright tresses. Every part of her appearance had been planned but her and Lady Osanos long before the Queenstrial had been morphed into the Crownstrial.
Nausea bubbled in the pit of her stomach and the taste of metal hung heavy in mouth. She wanted to find her mother, to ask for advice, to remake their plan for her becoming queen, to teach her how to be perfect all other again. Her throat tightened and images of her mother’s corpse held close to her and Emory as their sobs muffled the sobs and screams around them appeared in her mind. Tears threatened to ruin her makeup before the interview even began. Could she do this without her mother? Was it possible to be perfect without the constant encouragement of her mother? It felt impossible. No, it felt wrong to go on without the largest part of her heart and to fight for the goals her mother taught her. However, the thought of abandoning the largest piece she had left of her mother made the nausea that plagued her worse and bile rise up her throat.
Question 1. The interviewer shuffles through their bag before crossing one leg over the other once they have found exactly what they were looking for. They seem to show little regard for your time and could careless how long it takes to get the interview started. You could be on a tight schedule, but it would appear that you will likely run late the rest of the day at the rate the interview is going. They glance up with the slightest smile on their face before looking back towards the note cards in their hands. Again — Time is a concept they have no intention of comprehending at this moment, so when they finally clear their throat, there could be a bit annoyance in your answers given the fact you have every right to. “ Could you introduce yourself to the camera? “ That is all they ask from you. They could have done so sooner, but they go back to their note cards with little direction when to start. They glance up again and wave a hand as if to signal some type of response on your end with a single finger pointing towards the camera. A red light soon appears to show that it has began recording.
As if by instinct, she folded her hands in her lap once the camera started rolling. She smiled, despite the pain that clouded green eyes. Every moment of her life led to this one, every lesson her mother gave her led to this. Every time her mother pulled her aside and whispered in her ear led to this. Every time her mother staged an act of kindness or too loud whisper of Leira’s kindness to their servants to make her more appealing the public and more importantly, to the prince. Her mother planned every moment of her life so that Leira could be the queen one day. However, Lady Osanos would be the only one unable to witness it. Forcing thoughts of her mother away, she straightened her back and squared her shoulders.“I am Lady Leira of House Osanos. I am humbled to have been given this opportunity to compete to become the next queen of Norta.”
Lungs tightened, anxiety and sorrow worked together to pull the strings of her body, yet, she kept her breathing steady, a skill long ago taught to her by her mother. In truth, except for fleeting moments with Lei, she struggled to breathe, her lungs suddenly oxygen adverse. By now, she expected the ragged breathing her lungs tried to force on her. But. now was not the time to let her mourning affect her breathing could she let it ruin her makeup with tears akin to the ocean.
Question 2 & 3. You have barely finished your sentence when the interviewer shoots another question out without regards if you had anything else to add. “ Why are you doing Crownstrial? “ The question is simple enough that it should be brief and easy to answer with honesty being the best policy in this moment. However, the interviewer tilts their head to the side to show that their is a brief moment of disbelief. “ Are your words true? Do you mean what you say? Can we trust you? “ The heaviness of the interview becoming rather apparent as you could swear that there is a smirk on the edge of the interviewers lip before they blankly stare towards you ; the red lip from the camera is still flashing at you. This is the moment where reality sets in, and you can feel the weight of country’s eyes staring at you. They may not see this at this very moment, but you swear that you feel as if this is a live stream to the world. You give what you perceive as your own truth and give your best expression to the camera.
It had been a question no one had ever bothered to ask Leira. Rather they asked her mother and she gave the same answer, verbatim, each time she was asked. Leira opened her mouth and repeated what her mother had said countless times before, “Is it not a lady’s job to compete for the king’s hand?” But the words felt wrong leaving her mouth and she paused. “I’m sorry.” Tears welled in her eyes. “That’s what my mother always said.” With her hands still folded, she barely lifted the hand on top and manipulated the tears out of her eyes before they could grace her face and ruin the makeup she painstakingly applied. “This, me competing and becoming queen, it’s all she ever wanted for me. Everything she taught me and told was because she wanted me to become queen someday.” More tears threatened to escape the corners of her eyes and once again, she used her powers to move them. “I didn’t want to disappoint her before, but now that’s she’s gone, I cannot even entertain the thought of not fulfilling the one duty she asked of me.” Now, she paused once more. “I can’t imagine her disappointment yet I know that not fulfilling her death wish would destroy me.” A single tear rolled down her face, the only one she missed when trying to use her powers to remove the tears. She didn’t more to wipe it, rather, she let it roll down her face to keep from smearing her makeup.
At the next question, she sucked in a breath. “I wouldn’t ever lie about my mother.” As she spoke, her voice remained steady. She straightened her lips into a line, disbelief that anyone could ask if she lied about her mother apparent in green eyes. The thought of lying about her mother to advance herself caused the nausea to return to her stomach. Her mother deserved the best even in death and lies did not fit into that category.
Question 4. The longest sigh rolls from their interviewers lips as they quickly pause the recording once you’re done giving your answers. They get up and head for the door with little said in your direction. They are gone for a total of ten minutes before returning with food and water in hand ; something you could have desired if asked. “ Let us pick up where we left off. “ They take a bite from their food, browsing the note cards once more. They open their mouth to respond, but decide that finishing their bite is best. A hard swallow follows as note cards soon flood the floor as they slip from the interviewers lap. They glance up at you to see your response, expecting you to retrieve the note cards from the floor. The red light flashes on and another smile takes over the interviewer’s face. “ Do you agree with the ideals of our king? “ Every question seems to either set you up for a successful interview or a complete fail as everyone will be able to read your expression in this type of situation. You do not have seconds to react as the camera never stops recording. You make the best of the interview expecting more to come, but that seems to be the last question for you.
Hunger joined the feelings of anxiety and sorrow in her stomach. However, she ignored the sensation the best she could. Eating could wait until she felt the crown had already been placed on her head. She stared at the floor, eyes avoiding the food and careful to breath through her nose rather than her mouth. Her stomach betrayed her with a growl.
When they dropped the note cards, she kneeled to pick them up, despite the thought of her mother’s disdain at the action. From the time she was young, she prided herself on her kindness, even if every action had a motive, be it to boost her ego or to make an interviewer report kind thoughts of her to the king. She returned to her seat as the red light blinked on.
The question was simple, easy enough to answer. Or it would have been a few weeks ago. Until a mere week ago, her thoughts of the king rang outstandingly positive. He advocated for the better treatment of Reds, something she supported. However, his image was now forever locked to the sight of skin healers running past a dying woman and her sobbing children to him. Yet, she kept her lips upturned in a smile as she spoke, “While I have some ideals that do not align with those of our great king, I have some that do not, as well. However, that is common with all people. No two people have the exact same opinions on multiple matters. It is the mark of a healthy relationship to have differing opinions but find a way to compromise.”
Question 5. The interviewer gives one last glance over cards that you can easily see that ask about your hobbies and passions, which would have painted you as relatable, but they stick with the harder ones. The light continues to flash for what seems like hours when the interviewer reviews a few things in their lap then points to the camera again. “ Now give a closing remark. Keep it short. I will cut whatever I do not like.“ There is a superiority in their tone as they look at you, and you could swear they are trying their best to get a reaction out of you. It is ultimately up to you on how you respond, but patience will get you far in moments like this as the red flashing light is a reminder of those that are to watch soon enough. You give your answer. The interviewer grabs their things with a quick push on the camera to cut it off. Anything that happens next is ultimately up to you as no one is watching.
She turned to face the cameras, lips still curled into a smile. “I would like to thank the people of Norta, both Silver and Red alike, for the chance to become your next queen and fulfill my mother’s dying plea.
As the camera turned off and the interviewer left, Leira’s smile fell. She slid off the chair onto the floor and sobs wracked her body, her tears allowed to freely flow for the first time since the interview began. “I just want to make you proud, Mama.” She whispered.
When Valeria had told her mother than she’d be competing in Crownstrial Valeria was concerned that her mother would have a heart attack. And the long, terrible, silence that stretched between them after she’d told her had almost convinced her that she’d been right. And then she’d let out the highest pitched scream Valeria had ever heard. She prattled on about how amazing this opportunity would be. How proud she was of her. Most all of it went in one ear and out the other for Valeria. She wasn’t doing this to compete for the throne. She was doing this for Orion. To protect him from the cruelties of the Silver court. It was all for Orion.
Which was how she found herself in the most ridiculous dress she’d ever seen, hardly breathing. He mother had practically had to squeeze her into it and no amount of complaining would deter her. The worst part wasn’t even the dress though. It was interviewer. Valeria hadn’t liked them the moment she’d set eyes on them. Add in the fact they were making her wait and Valeria was in a foul mood and fighting to hide it. Her relief was almost palpable when they sat down and asked their first question, ridiculous as it was.
Q1: “Could you introduce yourself to the camera?”
What a ridiculously easy question. Straightening and painting on a convincingly pleasant smile Valeria nodded. “My name is Valeria Macanthos and I am King Orion’s personal guard.” She tilted her head a little, subtly letting the interviewer know it was their turn to talk again. And they wasted no time in asking the next questions. Almost rapid fire, it nearly tripped her up.
Q2 & 3: “Why are you doing Crownstrial? Are your words true? Do you mean what you say? Can we trust you?”
Valeria’s smile dulled but only enough to, hopefully, let the viewers know how serious she was about her next answers. “I’m competing for King Orion. We’ve been friends for many years and...” Valeria took a calculated pause, tangling her fingers together tightly in her lap. “I simply wanted him to have an option to marry someone he knows will always be on his team.” Valeria opts to lock her eyes on the interviewer as she answers the next question. Hoping the truth of her words is echoed in her intensity. “I am not known for being a liar, nor would I ever lie where it involves King Orion. And I never say something I do not mean. It is not in my nature. My father has always said that I am not one to beat around the bush.”
The lack of a reaction to her answers from the interviewer unnerves Valeria but she keeps her thoughts to herself, glad that they’ve turned off the camera and left her alone to breathe. Gather her thoughts. There’s no one in this room aside from the interviewer and her but it feels like the whole world is there with her. It’s unnerving. Even when the interviewer returned with a meal (the gall) Valeria wasn’t bothered by it. In their attempt to unnerve her they’d simply given her the alone time she needed to gather herself up again for round two. As the interviewer settled in and ate Valeria watched them, her face impassive. It was clear this interviewer was playing a trying game. Briefly she wondered if there would be some contestants who cracked but she brushed it aside. She would not be one of those people. She watched as the cards fluttered to the ground, unsure if this too was a ploy. If she bent down to help would she be perceived as weak or kind? If she didn’t would they think her rude? If it was a ploy, it was a damned good one. Picking the lesser of two evils Valeria stood and gently bent at the knees to gather up the cards the interviewer hadn’t picked up already. “Is the fish greasy again? The cooks here are fantastic but they can’t seem to make good fish. It’s always so greasy.” The interviewer made no response, just took the cards from her and settled back into their seat, clearly moving to continue the interview.
Q4: “Let us pick up where we left off. Do you agree with the ideals of our king?”
It took all of Valeria’s personal will power not to reply with the first thing that popped into her head. Of course she agreed with Orion’s ideals. There was no one else out there that Valeria had ever felt the need to throw her lot in with. He was a visionary. A leader. So she smiled and spoke. “King Orion...I knew from the minute I met him that he was a man worth following. And every day since he has become King I can see that I was right. He is not perfect, no, but there is no one else in all of Norta that cares so deeply for all of his people. There is a greatness in him and I will follow him where ever he goes.” She nodded and untangled her fingers, laying her hands flat on her lap, her gaze affixed firmly on the interviewer. True to form however, the interviewer wasted no time in moving on to the next question.
Q5: “Now give a closing remark. Keep it short. I will cut whatever I do not like.”
How rude. And terrifying. A closing remark? What on Earth was she supposed to say? Vote for me? I promise not to turn the king into a puppet for my sick and twisted pleasure? I promise to be fair and just? Those were the answers she figured the other competitors would say, the answers that would all be lies. And Valeria refused to be like them. Wiping the sudden indecision off her face Valeria replaced it with a fiery look. “Long live King Calore.” Simple and straight to the point. And for the first time since the interview began Valeria felt like it had been the best answer out of them all. She inclined her head to the interviewer smiled again. “Thank you for your time and consideration.”
A beat and then then the camera was off and the interviewer was out of their chair. Valeria followed them and pushed out her hand to them. “Thank you for your time.” And she meant it, mostly. Their questions had been hard but Valeria appreciated that. It would weed out the weak ones first and Orion deserved a strong partner. For the first time since Valeria had met them the interviewer smiled as they shook her hand. They didn’t speak as they exited the room in a flourish, leaving Valeria to stand on her own.
