Chapter 4 The Tributes Arrival
The strange pulling feeling disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving a dull ache beneath Seris’s ribs. She stumbled slightly on the uneven stone path of the courtyard, her breath catching in her throat.
The feeling had been so sudden, so personal, that she stopped without thinking. Her eyes lifted toward the dark, towering spires of the central palace.
“Keep moving,” a guard barked from the side, his gloved hand resting heavily on the handle of his sword.
“No talking,” another guard added, his voice cutting through the warm morning air. “Stay with your assigned group. Move along, tributes.”
The sharp orders broke the strange feeling of the moment.
Seris took a slow breath to steady herself and lowered her eyes back to the stone ground.
It’s just fear, she told herself, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her oversized sleeves. This place is designed to make people imagine things.
Focus on surviving.
The long line of girls was led through a huge arched doorway that seemed to swallow the morning light. They walked through hallways made of polished black stone until they entered a reception hall that looked beyond anything they had imagined.
The room was enormous, surrounded by huge white marble pillars that stretched to the high ceiling. The ceiling was painted with the bloody history of the Alkov dynasty. Golden banners showing the roaring imperial beast hung between the pillars, moving gently in the draft.
But despite its breathtaking beauty, the hall felt like a tomb.
Royal guards stood perfectly still every few steps, their polished armour reflecting the flickering torchlight like cold, watchful eyes.
A sudden rustle of silk echoed from the grand staircase at the far end of the hall.
“Kneel,” the lead guard ordered.
Dozens of girls immediately dropped to their knees, the fabric of their grey dresses brushing softly against the spotless marble floor.
Seris knelt with them, keeping her head lowered, her forehead only inches from the cold stone.
Two sets of footsteps approached.
One was light, calm, and steady.
The other was heavier, accompanied by the soft dragging sound of ceremonial robes.
“Rise,” Queen Isolde’s voice rang through the hall.
It was a beautiful voice; clear, smooth, and totally without warmth.
For a moment, nobody moved.
The fear in the room felt alive, holding the girls frozen where they knelt.
“I said, rise,” the Queen repeated, a hint of impatience entering her voice.
Slowly and nervously, the girls stood up.
Seris kept her eyes lowered, but tilted her head just enough to look.
Queen Isolde stood on the lower step, dressed in a gown of midnight blue decorated with silver thread. Her pale face was flawless, and a crown of braided platinum hair framed her sharp features.
Beside her stood High Priest Overn. Deep lines covered his aged face, and his hands were hidden inside his crimson robes.
Isolde gave the girls a small practised smile that never reached her calculating eyes.
“Welcome to the Imperial Palace,” the Queen said, spreading her hands in a warm gesture. “You have been chosen because your bloodlines are valuable to the Empire. When I look at you, I do not see captives. You are not prisoners here. You are honoured, guests.”
Besides Seris, several younger girls let out quiet sighs of relief. Their stiff shoulders visibly relaxed.
But Seris only felt the knot in her stomach tighten.
Honoured guests do not arrive through gates guarded by men holding whips, she thought.
“The Empire will provide everything you need,” Isolde continued, her voice calm and soothing. “Comfort. Education. Complete protection. You will lack nothing within these walls. All we ask in return is your cooperation and loyalty to the throne.”
The Queen did not mention the Rite.
She did not mention the Beast.
She did not mention the violent energy surges that had frightened the capital only hours earlier.
She did not mention the “life force” the Priest had spoken about inside the dark sealing chamber.
High Priest Overn stepped forward. His old eyes moved across the crowd of young women with a look that felt heavy, almost sad.
He raised his old wooden staff.
“The gods favour those who accept their duty willingly,” he said, his voice echoing through the marble hall.
“May your presence bring peace to the Empire. May your souls protect the throne.”
The words made the hairs on Seris’s arms stand up.
Protect the throne.
From what?
The girls were led away from the grand hall and taken deep into the eastern part of the palace grounds.
When the heavy iron gates of the East Wing slowly opened, a collective gasp spread through the group.
It was a paradise hidden behind stone walls.
Beautiful terraced gardens were filled with colourful and exotic flowers that somehow bloomed even at such a high altitude. Fountains of clear crystal water flowed into tiled pools, their gentle splashing creating a peaceful sound that covered the distant noise of the city below.
The living quarters were luxurious. Each girl had her own room, furnished with soft carpets, fluffy beds, and silk curtains.
Yet as Seris walked down the sunlit walkway, she glanced between the rose bushes.
Behind every beautiful archway, partly hidden by the shadows and greenery, stood armed guards.
Their eyes never left the girls.
“This is nicer than my family’s entire estate,” the nervous girl from the carriage murmured, running her hand along a carved marble railing.
“Look at the silk. Maybe… maybe the rumours were wrong.”
“Of course they were wrong,” another girl from a minor noble house said quickly, though her voice shook with a desperate need to believe it herself.
“Nobody builds a place like this for people they plan to kill. We are probably going to become court ladies.”
Seris walked past them, her face quite calm.
She said nothing.
She didn’t want to destroy their fragile hope, but she knew the truth of the world far too well.
Her father’s estate had been beautiful, too.
The gardens had always been carefully maintained. Tea had been served on silver trays.
And in the end, they had traded her life for gold without a second thought.
Beautiful cages, Seris thought, watching a colourful bird hop along the edge of a fountain, one foot tied to a golden post with a thin thread, are still cages.
Suddenly, the warm morning air became ice-cold.
Seris froze on the stone path.
The strange pulling feeling beneath her ribs didn’t just return; it tightened like a real hand squeezing her chest. A sudden wave of loneliness and exhaustion crashed over her, so strong that it stole her breath.
But those feelings weren’t hers.
