Princess Paloma, of War royalty, was only eight years of age when she secretly fled the Meadows for the Isle. Her parents wanted her not to live a life under subordination, especially after the cruel death of her aunt: Princess Jolial. But Death found her anyway.

In the Grand Hall, she was standing in a ruby red colored gown and cream colored heels. Her eyes were glued to the floor when Stefan called on her to introduce herself. Hands shaking, she slowly approached the king’s table.

“I am Paloma. Daughter of Prince Jelal, niece of Princess Jolial, the Last Heir.” She said slowly, voice shaky. “I am not entirely sure why I’m here, but I am honored.”

Paloma bowed then returned to her place in the line.

As she did, the council looked in awe.

“Paloma, Paloma, Paloma.” Stefan repeated, head shaking. “In the Isle, they write poems about your beauty.”

A shy smile crept across Paloma’s face, followed by a red blush. “That, they do.”

“That is your answer, my Princess.”

A small crease formed across Paloma’s forehead.

“Your beauty is why you are here.” Stefan clarified. “A beautiful face like yours could never stay hidden.”

Stefan turned towards Mel. “Don’t you agree, my child?”

Prince Mel slowly nodded. “I have never seen such a face to die for.”

Paloma’s small smile turned into a full on grin. “That, they say.”

Satisfied at the exchange, Stefan then turned his attention to the woman next to her.

Lady Violet.

***

Violet has only wanted one thing in her life: power. Of Isle and Gardenia royalty, Violet felt owed. If it wasn’t for Queen Ura’s betrayal, the last Incarnate of the Goddess Fer, she would be the Mistress of Gardens. Instead, she was only Lady Violet. For Violet, she needed to be the next Queen of the Meadows.

When it was her time to introduce herself, Violet put on a show of confidence.

“I am Violet. Of the Court of Rebirth. Sister of Lady Manar, the Guardian of Vanar and Gardenia.” Violet announced loudly, voice filled with pride. “I wish to be considered for I am rare.”

Prince Mel sat up in his seat. “How?”

With a smirk, a vine with white roses suddenly emerged from her left palm, making its way towards the King’s Table. As it did, the room fell silent, with everyone watching the vine creep up towards the table and wrapping itself around Mel’s left wrist.

“I am one of the last of my kind.” Violet responded proudly.

“Makarian Witch.” Mel gasped.

Violet nodded. “Flows through my veins, wraps itself around my bones, Makar Magic bleeds from me.”

The floor began to shake.

“When I was four, the Makarian Garden came to me. It chose me. Fer chose me. I am of Beauty and Magic.”

The two then locked gazes.

“Impressive.” He smiled. “Beauty and of magic. Are you the only Makarian Witch in your family?.

“Yes.” She breathed, with a slow nod of her head.

“Your sister?”

Violet raised her eyebrow. “Which one?

“Manar.”

Violet shook her head.

“Is she as deathly as they say? Poisoning everything in sight. Taking the lives of men.”

Violet let out a tiny chuckle. “Don’t believe the stories you hear, my prince.

Prince Mel, satisfied, leaned back into his seat.

“And your cousin?” Someone shouted suddenly.

It was Lord Flip.

Violet folded her arms across her chest. “My cousin?”

“Swy.”

Violet frowned. “Swy hasn’t been seen since she was just beginning to walk.”

Stefan looked down the table and made eye contact with the elder lord.

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Lord Flip shrugged. “Just curious.”

“She’ll never come here.” Violet added, before turning her attention towards Stefan. “She’ll never forgive you, my king.”

Stefan’s face hardened.

“Even though Queen Ura betrayed her family for you.”

***

The tension in the room was suddenly thick. Stefan’s mood quickly took a nosedive as he was confronted with the memories of war. Ura was not to be trusted, he told his father. She’ll take it to him, he told his mother.

Stefan shook off the dark memories and returned his attention back to the floor.

“Princess Lyn.” He shouted, causing everyone to slightly flinch. “You’re next.”

Prince Mel’s face immediately lit up.

Princess Lyn was wearing a sky blue, tight fitted dress and a white tiara.

“Yes, my king.” Lyn murmured. “I am Princess Lyn, a Princess of Truth.”

All of the council members immediately sat up in their seats. They heard the stories.

Princess Lyn took a deep breath before continuing. She always loved this part.

“Do you really want to know who I am?” She began singing, her voice melodious and angelic. “Do you want to know who I am?”

The room fell silent.

Everyone’s eyes were suddenly glued to her. All of them in trance, except for Stefan.

“Do you want to know who I am? Do you really want to know me?” She continued, her voice deep and smooth.

A sense of calm immediately washed over the room, as if her voice massaged the tension out of everything. A soothing lullaby.

As she continued singing, she maintained eye contact with the king, who watched her in awe.

“Do you really want to know me?” She purred, eyes twinkling. “I am a Princess of Truth. Of Voice and Lullabies.”

Stefan’s eyes slowly drifted down her body, salivating at how her dress clung to her body. As he did, she slowly swayed her hips, using her abilities to lure him in. The tempo quickened, and with it, her movements.

Lyn always loved this, loved being a Seraphi, a descendant of Arra’s Chosen and gifted with the Power of Lullabies.

"You’ll never know who I am…" she sang slower, her eyes narrowing with the promise of something dangerous, something intoxicating. “You’ll never know.”

“Enough.” Stefan gasped, breathless.

Lyn immediately stopped singing, breaking the trance she momentarily held the room in.

Stefan cleared his throat. “Princess Lyn, you are already acquainted with my son.”

Princess Lyn nodded. “I am.”

Prince Mel smirked.

“Thank you for coming, Princess Lyn. I know Sonusa was a long way.”

Sonusa was The Captured City, a city guarded by Akarian soldiers. In the War, King Barr and his family were forced to leave by Stefan. Instead of killing them, he allowed them to leave under the promise they’ll never return.

Princess Lyn nodded then returned to her place in line.

It was Priestess Corrine’s turn.

***

“I am Priestess Corrine.” She started, eyes lasered on King Stefan. “I am a Virgin Mage from Jalaria.”

Prince Mel's eyes widened.

“As a Virgin Mage, I am a Conjurer of Terror. I am Terror and only know Terror. I have no place in a palace that rules. I am an Invoker of Fear, and destroyer of Peace.”

Prince Mel suddenly stood.

“I have no idea why I’m here but I am honored.” She added, then gracefully bowed.

Prince Mel looked back at his father then back at Corrine.

“My grandmother was a mage.”

Corrine lowered her head and smiled. “We revere Queen Wilma in Jalaria. Our Queen. Our…”

“Can you do it now?” Prince Mel interrupted, his pulse quickened. “Can you conjure something?”

Corrine stepped back.

“Don’t, my child.” Stefan warned, then turned towards his son. “Don’t ask her to do that.”

Mel turned toward his father, eyebrows raised. “Why?”

“You don’t want everyone in this room seeing your true nightmares.”

Mel conceded. “Priestess Corrine, would you have dinner with me tonight?”

Several of the other ladies let out a whimper.

Stefan let out a small chuckle.

Mel had never been alone with a Virgin Mage, but he was dying for it. Growing up, his grandmother would always tell him stories of the life she lived before his father was born.

“It would be an honor, Prince Mel.” Corrine answered, lying through her teeth.

Deeply satisfied, Mel returned to his seat.

The room then turned their attention to the last women, the twins. Olara and Dara.

***

Olara and Dara both truly didn’t want to be there, but Mother had other plans. Together, in their emerald colored dresses, they stepped out of line. For King Stefan, this wasn’t their first meeting. For Prince Mel, he had only heard salacious rumours of the twins from the South.

“I am Olara.” The taller one announced, then pointed at her sister. “And this is Dara. We are Ladies of Judgement, descendants of the original families who pledged their loyalty to our Goddess Reyna.”

“And what do you two bring to the table?” Mel asked, unexpectedly.

“Excuse me.” Dara asked, speaking for the first time.

Prince Mel sucked his teeth.

“Look around the room. We have two princesses. A Makarian witch. A Virgin Mage. What do you two bring?”

“Fate.” Olara laughed loudly, uncouthly.

The other women grimaced out of embarrassment.

Lord Flip’s ears perked up.

“Believer in the old tales, are you?” Mel asked, then rolled his eyes.

Olara stopped laughing. “You don’t believe in Fate? How foolish!”

Mel waved her off. “Fate is just an old tale the Gods would tell us to keep us on our good behavior. If Fate was real, where is she?

“Maybe, she’s watching right now.” Dara answered, slowly. “We also bring Judgement, if that does not satisfy you.”

Mel raised his eyebrows.

Dara gestured to herself. “I’m the human companion to Ada Hiar, Daughter of Judgement and Queen of the Dowers.”

That caught everyone’s attention.

“And you Olara?” Mel asked.

“I’m the companion to Masch, Son of Judgement. Prince of Retribution.”

“In our union, we would unite Judgement and Death, once and for all.” Dara added.

Prince Mel leaned back in his seat with a smug smirk. “You both know I can only marry one.”

Both nodded. “We are aware.”

“Olara and Dara, that is the old language. Dagger and Plague. Should I be afraid?”

Dara and Olara both began smiling.

“Not at all.” Olara murmured.

Mel suddenly stood and stepped away from the table. He walked in long strides towards the women to inspect each one closely.

“You smell lushful like a rose garden.” He told Violet.

“You are truly otherworldly.” He told Corrine.

“Gods would die for your hand.” He told Paloma.

“It’s nice to see you again, truthfully, and with honor.” He told Lyn.

When he reached the twins, he only said Dagger and Plague.

***

After the introductions, the women were shown the rooms they would be staying in for two months. Olara and Dara were shown a room on the second level by a servant with the name of Ren. The room was bleak and gray, of little lighting and dark furniture.

As soon as Ren exited the room, Dara let out a loud sigh.

“I hate this face, sister.” Olara groaned, as she plopped face down on the bed. “And this name, Olara. Dagger.”

Olara scrunched her face.

Dara laughed. “It’s fitting, dear sister.”

Olara raised an eyebrow.

“Everything you touch, you destroy Olara.”

Olara rolled onto her back. “Who do you think he’ll choose?”

“Based on first impressions?”

Olara nodded.

Dara shrugged her shoulders. “But may the best sister win, dear sister.”

Olara raised herself on her elbows.

“May the best sister win.” She repeated, eyes peering into her sister’s eyes.

Then suddenly their eyes both blackened.