The Trials of the Crown

I choked on the blood pooling in my throat, my lungs punctured and useless.

They thought I was dead. That they’d finished the job.

Not quite. But soon.

And I welcomed it.

There was nothing left to fight for.

They’d defiled my wife, tortured my daughter, and butchered my son. They made sure I saw everything and heard every scream while I sat chained and powerless.

My voice had gone hoarse from screaming, my wrists raw from pulling at iron shackles.

No one came. No one ever would.

They had dragged us into the forgotten belly of the castle, a place untouched by time.

Someone had helped them, let them in.

Someone betrayed the crown.

With my death, Iron Forge would be left without a monarch. No heir. No fallback.

Only chaos.

The vultures from the other two territories were likely circling already.

This is what the bastards wanted. Those men with the teardrop tattoos at the corner of their eyes.

One of them, young and red-haired, said, “We did our job. Let’s leave this place.”

The older one snarled. “Not without what I’m owed.”

The others agreed. They wanted their money.

Of course they did. It was always about money. The true rot beneath all things.

He was here to pay them.

“Why?” I rasped. My voice cracked like brittle parchment. Blood leaked down my jaw.

He turned, and I saw the flicker in his eyes. He hadn’t expected me to still be breathing.

He walked over slowly and crouched beside me like a man comforting the dying.

His voice was soft, almost worshipful.

“Because kindness weakens thrones,” he said. “And yours was crumbling the moment you opened your heart.”

He leaned in closer. “Chaos was necessary. Blood was necessary. Only in the ruin of the old world could she rise. The true queen.”

His hand brushed the blood from my mouth with grotesque tenderness.

“Your death is unfortunate but necessary. You were never meant to rule.”

Then he pulled a knife from his coat and dragged it across my neck.

And the darkness?

It welcomed me like an old friend.

“Penny, please come in here, will you?”

I wanted to roll my eyes at the nickname, but I didn’t. She was my mother, and if she caught me I’d get the wooden spoon. You’d be surprised how much pain one little kitchen weapon could inflict.

If only I could get them to call me by my birth name, Penelope.

I stepped into the kitchen and immediately sensed something was wrong. The scent of pot roast hung thick in the air, and my mother clutched her small statue of the Priestess Xandra, her fingers running over the stone.

Her light-brown hair was swept into its usual bun; a few strands had come loose, framing her gray eyes. She was usually calm, but not today.

Pot roast meant comfort. Xandra meant bad news.

The kitchen was small and green, the color of boiled peas. The pale-yellow curtains against the windows didn’t help. My mom swore the place was beautiful. My father and I never had the heart to tell her otherwise.

My father’s dark-brown eyes dropped to the floor. He ran a hand through his raven-black hair, a nervous habit he had passed down to me. The smile he usually wore was nowhere to be found.

“What is it?” I asked.

My parents exchanged one of their married-forever looks. Silent communication. A shared dread.

“Just tell me already.”

My dad sighed. “The ruling family was murdered last week. There is no one left to claim the throne.”

I’d heard whispers in the market, but the confirmation made my stomach twist.

“And?”

“A message came from the palace while you were out feeding the animals,” he said, his voice tight. “The Trinity has assumed temporary rule…until a new king and queen are crowned.”

He stopped again, his jaw clenched.

I turned to my mother. She held Xandra like a lifeline.

“The Trinity issued a mandate,” she said. “A lottery was held. All eligible men and women between eighteen and twenty-one were entered.”

She swallowed.

“Your name was selected, Penny.”

But I already knew the answer. Ignoring a mandate wasn’t an option. Not when it came from the Trinity. Not when defying them meant losing your land, losing your citizenship, and possibly losing your life.

They called it a lottery, but it didn’t feel like chance. The officials showed up too quickly after the royal family’s demise, too prepared, like they’d already known who they were choosing. Maybe the council picked us like chess pieces and just sold the lie that it was anyone’s game.

“How long do I have?”

“You leave in a few hours,” my father said. His voice held, but his eyes betrayed him.

My mother wrapped her arms around me.

“It’ll be okay. This is a chance to be queen. Yes, it would mean an arranged marriage, but think of all the good you could do if you win.”

Her voice tried to be hopeful, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

I stepped back, gently breaking her hold. Her disappointment at the gesture was obvious.

Still, I didn’t apologize. I was allowed to be upset. I had every right.

“It’ll be fine, Papa,” I said. “I’ll manage. I guess I’ll go pack now.”

I gave them a weary smile and left the kitchen.

Instead of going to my room, I slipped out to the pond behind the house. I sat at the edge, dipped my toes into the water, and let the sun warm my face.

I didn’t need to look to know the voice.

Thomas White. My best friend, with those ever-amused, chocolate-brown eyes and a mess of wavy, brown hair he never quite bothered to tame. He dropped down beside me, sunlight catching in his curls.

“You’re lucky your birthday’s two weeks away,” I said. “You didn’t get entered. You don’t have to surrender your life to the crown.”

“If I had been eighteen already,” he teased, “we could’ve married and saved everyone the trouble.”

He pulled off his boots, rolled up his jeans, and dunked his feet beside mine.

“How’d you find out?”

“I stopped by your house. They said you were out and asked me to give you space. Then they told me.”

His voice stayed light, like if he smiled enough, it wouldn’t feel so heavy.

“I don’t want to go, Thomas,” I whispered. Saying it aloud made it real.

He wrapped an arm around me. “It’ll be okay, Pen.”

I groaned. “How many times do I have to tell you to use my full name?”

“Infinity, Pen. Infinity.”

We stayed like that, laughing and talking, until the sun dipped low.

“I’ll see you soon,” I said, hugging him.

He tugged lightly on my ponytail. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

When I finally made it to my room, I began shoving clothes into a bag with no rhyme or reason.

A knock sounded.

“Already said goodbye to Thomas?” my dad asked, poking his head in.

I nodded.

“It’ll be all right, sweetheart. Odds are, you won’t make it to the end.” His grin was crooked. “Not because you couldn’t, but because I doubt you’ll bother giving it your all.”

He wasn’t wrong.

“I’ll miss you, Papa.”

“I’ll light a candle tonight and pray Xandra watches over you.”

“Thank you,” I said quietly. I didn’t share their faith, but I respected their hope.

My mother appeared behind him, her voice small. “A car from the palace is here.”

It was happening. And there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop it.