The large courtyard of the palace was alive with anticipation. The Queen's Games were about to begin, and eleven noblewomen, each dressed in their finest gowns and jewels, stood prepared before the King.
One by one, they stepped forward with rehearsed elegance, bowing before King Ronan, their noble Parents or guardians standing proudly beside them. Some curtsied low, others batted their lashes, hoping to leave a lasting impression.
But Ronan's attention was elsewhere.
His gaze was fixed at the entrance, scanning the towering gates of the courtyard. His fingers drummed impatiently on the armrest of his throne.
Where was she?
Travis, sitting beside him noticed his distress. He leaned in. "She's late." He said stating the obvious.
Ronan's jaw tightened, but his lips curled slightly.
"Of course she is."
"We'll wait for her." His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.
Travis and the other council members exchanged looks, but they knew better than to question their king.
Then, finally, the gates swung open.
A collective murmur rippled through the courtyard as Selene stepped inside.
Unlike the others, who had arrived with their noble families, Selene walked in accompanied by Varrin and Cassandra—her make-believe uncle and aunt. Their smiles were polished, their presence commanding, as they moved through the hall gracefully.
It was customary to greet the King upon arrival, so they made their way to the dais, where Ronan sat—a pillar of unshaken authority.
Varrin and Cassandra bowed deeply.
Selene?
She barely dipped her knees, offering nothing more than a lazy, half-hearted curtsy.
"Your Majesty," she drawled, her voice sultry.
This simple action of hers immediately angered the council.
A sharp murmur rippled through the them.
Disrespect.
One of the elder nobles shot to his feet, before stepping forward. "You stand before the King, girl—"
But Ronan raised a hand, silencing him instantly.
His golden eyes burned into Selene, his lips curling upward, mood instantly lifted just by the sight of her.
"You're late, my lady." His voice was smooth, dangerously low.
Selene tilted her head, smirking.
"That's probably because I'm not a lady."
The tension in the hall snapped.
The council men stiffened—scandalized, barely able to contain their outrage.
"Insolence!" someone hissed.
"She mocks the crown!" another spat.
One noble even stepped forward, his face red with fury. "Shall we remind this woman how one properly greets the King?"
But Ronan?
He simply leaned forward on his throne, elbows resting on his knees, eyes locked onto Selene like a predator assessing its prey.
His amusement deepened.
So did something else.
Desire.
It showed in his gaze, dark and intrigued, hot as flames.
"Oh?" His voice was a murmur of wicked delight. "Then what exactly are you, Selene?"
Her smirk widened, unbothered by the scandalized whispers around her.
"Wouldn't you like to find out?"
A muscle in Ronan's jaw tightened.
His fingers tapped once against the armrest of his throne—the only sign of restraint.
Because gods, he wanted to drag her closer.
The council fumed.
The court was in chaos.
And Ronan?
He was aroused.
"Bold as ever," Travis murmured, shaking his head.
Selene curtsied again before going to take her place among the other women, who shot her venomous looks filled with jealousy. But she hardly paid them any mind.
She didn't come here to make friends.
She came to win.
And so, the games began.
---
First Trial: The Test of Intelligence
A council member stepped forward, clearing his throat.
"A Queen must possess wisdom above all else," he declared, his deep voice echoing through the courtyard. "She must be a beacon of intellect, able to guide her King through war and peace alike."
His piercing gaze swept across the women.
"Each of you will be asked a question of diplomacy, war, and ruling strategy. Your answers will be judged on their merit and clarity. Speak wisely."
Murmurs rose in the Courtyard. Some of the noblewomen exchanged nervous glances, their hands tightening on their gowns. Questions on Diplomacy wasn't exactly thought in finishing schools.
But one among them stood tall, her expression carved from stone.
Lady Vivienne of House Lockhart.
Unlike the others, there was no worry in her gaze—only cold determination.
Her voice cut through the air, sharp as a dagger. Loud enough for the other ladies to hear.
"I will win these games and claim my rightful place as Queen. No one—" she let her gaze land on Selene, her eyes narrowing—"will stand in my way."
The words hung between them, a silent challenge.
And Selene?
She only smirked.
The first trial had begun.
The councilman lifted a scroll, reading from it aloud.
"The Kingdom of Velnor, an ally, has requested aid for a war they are waging against the Roven Empire. However, the Roven Empire is a greater power, one that could turn their attention to us if we intervene. If you were Queen, what course of action would you take?"
Silence fell.
One by one, the noblewomen stepped forward to answer.
Lady Vivienne, daughter of House Lockhart, was the first to speak.
"I would send immediate aid to Velnor. They are our allies, and to refuse them would be dishonorable." She spoke with confidence, but her words were predictable.
A few of the council members nodded approvingly, but others remained impassive.
Lady Evelyn of House Vale was next.
"A compromise must be sought. I would send resources but no soldiers, so we are not seen as aggressors."
A safer answer. Thoughtful, but lacking boldness.
The council exchanged glances.
More women answered—each carefully crafting their responses to sound diplomatic, cautious, pleasing. None dared to suggest anything that might upset the council's expectations.
Then—
"Selene of House Reelthorne," the councilman called, his tone neutral.
Selene stepped forward, unhurried, her expression unreadable.
For a moment, she let the silence stretch. She could feel all the gazes locked on her.
And then, she spoke.
"Sending immediate aid is reckless."
A sharp murmur spread through the court. Lady Vivienne turned to glare at her.
Selene continued, her voice steady yet sharp.
"The Roven Empire is greater than Velnor. If we send troops, we risk provoking a war we are not prepared for. But denying aid would make us appear disloyal, ruining our alliances. The true power lies in strategy, not blind loyalty."
She stepped closer, her green eyes locked onto the councilman's.
"Instead, I would send emissaries to Roven, offering them a diplomatic solution. A trade agreement, perhaps, or a mutual enemy to turn their attention to. At the same time, I would send Velnor covert aid—supplies, information, mercenaries who bear no connection to our kingdom. That way, we weaken Roven without drawing their wrath, while keeping Velnor indebted to us."
The hall fell deathly silent.
The councilmen exchanged startled glances.
One of them, an older man with silver hair, cleared his throat. "You would deceive both sides?"
Selene tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable.
"A Queen's duty is not just to act, but to outthink. Wars are not won with swords alone. They are won in the shadows, in whispers, in carefully placed pieces on a board."
A longer silence.
Even those who disliked her had to acknowledge the ruthless brilliance of her answer.
The councilman inhaled sharply, setting down his scroll. He did not praise her, but neither did he dismiss her.
"Three women have failed to provide a sufficient answer. They are eliminated."
Gasps rippled through the noblewomen as three names were called. Lady Evelyn was one of them.
Selene, however, simply turned to look at Ronan.
He had not taken his eyes off her.
Their gazes locked across the hall—for a moment, nothing else existed.
Then, with perfect grace, Selene turned and returned to her seat.
Ronan exhaled slowly, amusement flickering in his golden eyes.
"She's Remarkable," he murmured to Travis.
"Indeed, Your majesty." Travis replied.