Page 78 of Heart of the Raven Prince

This is not a test of any innate power I possess; this is a challenge only for my mind. My will. Endurance. This is going to be about endurance.

I hold my arms out straight, and the moment I do the weight of the apple increases. Grunting, I nearly drop my arms, but I clench them tight. Letting out a shaky breath, I hold firm. Still as a statue, I focus on the glittering gold apple in my hand and the court begins to dine.

Cutlery and crystal clinks around me, filling the hall with the gentle sound of dinner. It’s a few minutes before my arms start to burn. A minute more before they begin to tremble. The fae eat while the vampires sip idly from their glasses. At four minutes, sweat is beading over my brow and running down my face. I feel my arms beginning to lower. Grunting I hold them up higher, blindly hoping that at any moment she will tell me I can lower them.

She does not. Instead, she turns to Caden and says, “Tell me about the fall of Gaelynn.”

I nearly drop the apple. Caden has not moved, but I cannot afford to look at him. He will distract me too much.

“There is nothing to tell,” he says, his voice devoid of any emotion. “It fell the same as every kingdom before it.” Arawyn turns her attention to me, her ruby eyes glittering as she sits back in her chair.

“That’s no fun. You know how I love to savor a win. Tell me, my son, how did you kill the king and queen?” she asks. My breath hitches; my arms tremble.

Does she know who I am?

Panic seizes me but I remain resolute even as my ears begin to ring; even as I try to block out his answer.

“I slit their throats.”

Tears brim my eyes, clouding my vision as I blink furiously against them. My throat constricts with the tight hand of grief. I shove those jagged emotions away before they can cut me further. My arms are shaking in earnest now, and I focus only on continuing to hold this apple—which is becoming heavier with every passing minute.

“I’m curious how long it took for them to choke on their own blood,” Duvessa says. I barely stop myself from hurling the apple directly at her face.

“Answer her question, Caden,” Arawyn says. After a grim beat of silence Caden drags in a ragged breath and then describes in harsh detail how he murdered my parents.

Endurance.

The dinner continues around me while I remain a living statue at the center. Arawyn and Duvessa pepper Caden with questions about the conquest of my home. I am powerless to do anything but listen. Every question he answers only seems to add weight to the apple. The longer I hold it, the more a small, but acute pain begins to seep from the gilded fruit. My tired muscles scream and I make it only five more minutes before I am stifling a shout as my arms flop to my sides.

“I did not instruct you to lower your arms,” Arawyn snaps before shifting her gaze to Caden. “You expect me to believe she is trained? She can’t even follow one simple command. Raise your arms and try again.”

Clenching my jaw, I raise my shaking arms and hold them straight before me. Seven minutes this time. Seven minutes before the searing pain infects me, like hundreds of white-hot needles stabbing into my arms. Seven minutes of listening to the detailed death of my homeland at the hands of the man who just held me while I slept. The moment my arms drop to my sides she barks, “Again.”

She doesn’t even give me a full ten seconds between each round before she is demanding more. The dinner carries on around me as I am given the single instruction again, and again. I get no reprieve, no time to rest between each failed attempt. All of it is accompanied by Caden’s constant tale of how he slaughtered my people.

Sweat trickles down my naked body as wine and blood are filled into goblets. Vessels stand around various vampires that prefer their dinner from the source. The fire in my arms is all-consuming and the ache in my heart is an ever-bleeding wound. Someone, I think Duvessa, begins counting loudly during my attempt, letting out a shrill caw of laughter when my arms fall.

“Again.”

I don’t know how long the trial has lasted, I only know that I'm slick with sweat and my vision is beginning to double. My body is pushing well beyond its reserves of strength and my mind is on the verge of snapping. The last time I remember being this exhausted was when my father trained me for three days straight on very little sleep, but even then, I was allowed breaks for water and rest. This time when I fail, my weak hands spasm open and the apple tumbles. I fall to my knees, nearly tipping off the pedestal as I grapple to keep hold of the gilded fruit. Caden jumps up, his chair screeching behind him and his mother sneers, “I did not give you permission to rise. Sit. Down.”

Breathing heavily, I turn and finally look at him.

He looks fractured, like he is moments away from shattering. I know this night is torture for him as well, but I cannot focus on that right now. I can barely think beyond my physical pain and the grief clouding my mind. Instead, I give him a slight nod, before slowly pushing myself up. I stumble once, my knees trying to give out underneath me, but I am finally able to stand. Swaying on my feet, I ready myself for the next barked command. Instead of ordering me to try again, Arawyn tilts her head and sighs. “I’m growing bored of this.”

Oh, thank the fucking gods.

I’m not foolish enough to believe my trial is over, but I am relishing this moment to let my arms hang limply at my sides as they burn in agony. Sweat drips down my face and off my chin as I breathe heavily and watch her. Tilting her head to Duvessa, she asks, “What do you think?”

“Tell her to balance it on her head,” Duvessa laughs, her eyes glazy from the copious wine she’s consumed tonight. There is a loud, splintering crack. Caden is gripping the thick wooden table in front of him so tightly he snaps a chunk off. The queen doesn’t even bat an eye.

“Well? You heard her.”

My arms are shaking so hard I can barely move them. Grunting, I slowly raise my arms and place the apple on my head. I hold back a sharp shriek of pain the moment it touches my scalp. It feels like hundreds of burning insects are crawling over me, boring and wiggling into my skin. The sensation is nearly debilitating, and I have to grab the apple to keep it steady.

But I am not weak.

I let out a breath and pull the very last dregs of my resolve as I do everything I can to focus on anything but the pain. I think it would hurt less if I were to rip my arms off my body or peel the skin from my bones. I’m clenching every muscle with strength I do not have left to keep myself as rigidly still as I can. I easily believe I have been doing this for hours, or days, years even. The crowd has long since grown silent, everyone simply studying me, waiting to see when I will crack.