The Chosen - Carsil Castle
Before the sun even thought to rise, six women were pulled from their beds. For four days they had shared a single grand chamber, silent as shadows despite the closeness that confinement demanded. Each morning they were washed, fed, eased into plain dresses, and paraded in a tight cluster through the castle courtyards and library. The maids and attendants spoke only when necessary, but their silence was no shield for their stares. Curious eyes clung to the women’s every step, polite on the surface, ravenous beneath it. They were the castle’s freshest rumor, the mystery everyone wanted to taste.
Yet the women gave them nothing. They lounged, read, and observed the scenery with serene interest. They never slouched, never whispered among themselves, never let so much as a frown crease their features. Their faces remained smooth, open, unreadable, exactly as they’d been trained. They were the best of their cohort, and this was why they had been chosen. Even so, the simple fact of their presence, their unveiled faces, their quiet elegance, was enough to spark whispers that spread like wildfire through the stone halls.
This fifth morning, though, broke from the routine.. They were scrubbed until their skin tingled, then lined up like dolls awaiting assembly. On their first day, attendants had swarmed them with measuring tapes; now the purpose of those numbers revealed itself. Waiting on each bed were gowns, exquisite, extravagant things, prepared while they bathed. The dresses were of every color and cut, picked to compliment them perfectly.
Their skin was oiled and coaxed to a soft glow, their hair curled with painstaking precision, their faces powdered into flawless masks. Then came the corsets, laced tight enough to steal their breath, followed by the scratch of stockings and the layers of stiff, supportive undergarments needed to carry the gowns’ elaborate weight. Piece by piece they were constructed, until finally they were eased into the finery itself, swallowed whole by silk and brocade.
Not one of them uttered a complaint. Not one dared ask a question. Their faces stayed fixed in those flawless, practiced masks: pleasant, composed, unshakable. They offered small, gentle smiles when met with a gaze, dipped their heads when spoken to, and answered only what was asked of them, exactly as they’d been trained.
More than anything, they observed. Quiet. Patient. Ready. They understood what they were being shaped into, and the role they were expected to fill and they were prepared to play it perfectly.
As the first rays of sun brushed the horizon, the girls were guided from their chamber and, for the first time, through an unfamiliar wing of the castle. Their silken slippers whispered over velvet carpets as they crossed the opulent corridors, descending marble staircases with straight backs and polite, practiced smiles. They were the very image of youth and beauty.
Servants and courtiers paused mid-stride to stare, murmuring behind their hands. In return, the girls lifted dainty, gloved hands in small, gracious waves. They knew the intensity of these stares would fade soon enough. In a few days they would trade their finery for the anonymity of tan robes, faces veiled save for their eyes, their beauty once again hidden from the world. But for now, they gave the castle exactly what it wanted: A spectacle.
At last, they were ushered into the great hall, the massive mahogany doors swinging wide to reveal a room of breathtaking grandeur. A monumental crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, scattering prisms of light across the swirled white-and-gold marble of floor, walls, and columns. Rich mahogany panels crowned the ceiling, matching the imposing doors. At the far end, atop a raised dais, sat four enormous chairs, so vast they seemed ready to swallow their occupants.
The women glided gracefully down the hall, their skirts brushing the floor, silken slippers whispering against the marble. The servants who had guided them fell back to line the walls, leaving the women to traverse the final stretch alone. They held their perfect line until they reached the dais, where they spread out, faces lifted toward the thrones. Then, in a motion practiced to perfection, they sank to their knees, bows deep and reverent, foreheads nearly touching the polished marble in a display of flawless submission.
After a long, deliberate pause, the King’s drawl cut through the hall: “Rise.” Instantly, the women obeyed, moving as one seamless unit, eyes lifted to the figures seated before them. Not a single muscle twitched, even as their corsets bit into their ribs with each shallow, controlled breath. Their gazes swept over the occupants of the thrones with carefully measured interest. They had been trained to remain politely attentive, never gawking, no matter how extraordinary the surroundings.
The thrones themselves were magnificent: solid gold, wide enough to seat three men each, with backs soaring at least ten feet high. The backs were ornate carvings, twisted into curling tendrils of flame that seemed to stretch and leap toward the ceiling, as if the thrones were molten flames frozen in place. Piles of lush velvet and satin pillows, shades of deep purple, emerald, and periwinkle, cushioned each seat, some embroidered with glittering jewels that caught the chandelier’s light and sent sparkles across the hall.
On the right two thrones, the princes lounged among their pillows, legs crossed, exuding boredom. The King, in contrast, perched on the edge of his throne, leaning forward with his chin resting on the back of his hand, elbow propped on his knee. His golden crown, the largest of the four, shimmered with diamonds, rubies, topaz, and amber, the jewels melting into the swirling flame-like design. He tapped his fingers against his jaw, eyes fixed on the women with an unreadable expression.
On the far left, the Queen sat straight-backed, head angled slightly toward the girls. Only her bright hazel eyes and a strip of creamy skin were visible beneath the concealing tan robes. Hands folded neatly in her lap, she seemed carved from stone, motionless aside from the faint rise and fall of her chest and the occasional blink.
The women’s gaze flicked between the four figures before them, careful not to appear either overly curious or, just as dangerously, indifferent. They lingered in silence for a few tense moments. At last, the King leaned back, mimicking the languid posture of his sons.
“Tregan,” the King said, nodding toward the women. “You first.”
The prince nearest the King rose, smoothing the crisp lines of his fine blue tunic as he descended the short stairs at the dais’s side. He moved deliberately, pacing in front of the women, eyes narrowing as he examined each face in turn. The women remained perfectly still, allowing him to inspect them fully, unflinching. Once he reached the end, he circled behind them without a word, leaving them exactly where they were, before finally stopping at the point where he had begun, near the stairs, frown still etched across his features.
“The second one in from the left,” Tregan said, his tone flat as he turned to ascend the stairs onto the dias once more. He took his seat once more, eyes narrowing as he studied the girl he had singled out. She stepped forward from the line, lowering herself into a precise curtsey.
Her skin was golden, flawless, unmarked by even the slightest blemish. Chocolate-brown hair tumbled to her waist, half-drawn back with a pale blue bow that perfectly matched her gown. Her deep brown eyes were framed by thick, dark lashes, and her full, pink lips added to the quiet elegance she carried. Of average height among the group, she possessed curves that the gown had been tailored to accentuate, every line designed to display her form without excess.
The King’s gaze lingered on her, appraising and unflinching, before he gave a slight nod. A servant hurried forward, taking her gently by the elbow and leading her away, out of the hall and out of sight, leaving the others to wait in tense, silent anticipation
“Beck,” The King said, motioning to his other son to stand once the woman was gone, out the doors the way they had entered.
The younger prince at the end of the dais now stood and made his way to prowl in front of the women.. He did not move to go down the stairs to assess the women as his brother had. Instead, he stepped to the edge of the dais, directly in front of the woman on the far right and waited for her gaze to lock with his own.
“Her,” He said, gesturing with his hand to the woman in question. The same woman he had seen in the second round of the auction. He had known when he first laid eyes on her she would be the one. While all the women wore similar stoic, serious expressions, there was something in this woman’s eyes that intrigued him. Something cunning. Something intelligent. Tregan, of course, had chosen the woman from the fourth round. Beck was not surprised. The woman had barely stepped out onto the stage when Tregan had declared her as the prime candidate. He supposed that was something they had in common: They had already decided who they would choose the first time they saw them.
The woman Beck chose stepped forward, curtseying the same way that the prior woman had. She offered a small smile up at the prince and he returned it briefly before returning to his throne. This woman had delicate alabaster skin and cheeks that were always slightly rosy. Her eyes were a deep, dark blue and lips, while a little thin, were naturally a beautiful shade of red. Her hair was so light it was almost white, tumbling to just beneath her shoulders.
The blonde woman watched as The King assessed her and once again signaled for a servant to come forward. She let the middle aged man take her elbow and lead her away out of the hall. She struggled to come to terms with what had just happened. Under her calm facade, her heart thundered ferociously. He had chosen her as his first wife and the implications of what that meant had her mind reeling. While the eldest son, Tregan, was heir to the throne, meaning she would never sit as Queen, she was still going to become the chosen Princess of Prince Beckett, second in line to become King of Carsil. This is what all of her training had been for but that didn’t mean it would become real. Every single girl she’d been raised with had been trained for this chance. The servant let go of her elbow once outside the hall and let her follow him back up through the castle.
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She noticed that people of all kinds, some finely dressed and some in little more than rags, had lined some of the halls to get a glimpse of her. She realized they probably knew that she was chosen, being the second escorted out of the hall, and the news would spread through the kingdom. She was barely able to contain the deep blush that unconsciously came to her cheeks at the realization. She offered small waves and smiles to the people, mostly men and the occasional robed woman, gawking at her as she was led away to her new quarters..
The servant led her to a new area of the castle, far away from the chamber she had shared with the other women. He turned down a long hallway lined with windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. The carpet was a deep blue with embellished golden swirls. Every third window was a scene in stained glass all the way down the considerable length of the hallway. There were golden statues and pedestals holding glass cases with various artifacts and jewels inside. There were no onlookers in this part of the castle, aside from the occasional guard stationed along the walls, and she realized they must have entered part of the royal family’s private quarters. The hallway was absolutely breathtaking. It was as bright as being in the courtyard and the stained glass sent colored, dancing lights across the floor and adjacent windows.
At the end of the hallway, the servant stopped in front of a set of huge white doors carved with beautiful vines that had been inlaid with gold. She glanced across the hall to a matching set of doors. On the dead end wall of the hallway, between the matching doors, was a gigantic portrait of Prince Beckett wearing the Royal clothes of his house, fine clothes of flaming reds and oranges. He sat upon his throne in the painting, appearing to contemplate something in the distance. It was a striking rendering of the young prince and she found herself having to tear her eyes away as the servant cleared his throat. She looked away from the portrait between the two doors and slightly raised her eyebrows at the servant. He bowed to her and gestured to the door to her right.
“Your quarters from this day forth, my lady,” He said, curtly.
Then he gestured to the identical doors across the hall.
“Your betrothed's quarters, our Prince Beckett of House Reagant,” The servant said, bowing low to her before straightening and turning toward her room and pulling open the doors.
If she hadn’t been so thoroughly trained to keep her emotions in check she would have gasped at the sight. The room, in itself, was larger than most houses throughout the kingdom. The receiving room alone could have fit nearly half of her class back at the training hall. The room was bright and cheery thanks to an enormous window cut into the domed ceiling. She walked through the room, the carpet matching the blue and gold one of the hallway. The room was circular with two smaller sets of ornate doors leading deeper into her quarters. They were thrown open wide to reveal a view of the rooms beyond that were equally breathtaking. The carpet ended at the doors and a marble floor began in both the bedchamber and the powder room. She went left, to the powder room first, marveling at the gold woven through nearly every surface within.
There was a huge window behind the washtub that was half stained glass and half clear glass. The lower half was a stained glass underwater scene, a multicolored school of tiny fish swimming through multiple shades of blue water. She approached and realized that stained glass covered her body, just below her collarbone. This allowed her privacy to bathe but when she stood, she was still allotted a view of one of the gardens below.
There was a pure gold wash basin set upon a marble pedestal with a circular mirror set into the wall behind it. The mirror was designed to look like the sun with shards of multicolored glass of yellows and oranges attached around the outside to look like its rays. The walls were a white plaster from midway to the ceiling and with the lower half being made of the same white marble swirled with gold as the floor.
She returned to the receiving room, noting the servant stationed by the doors they had entered, now closed. His expression was unreadable as she ran her hands lightly over the ornate furniture, taking in every carved detail before slipping into the bedchamber. It was the most exquisite room she had encountered in the castle so far.
Tiny, circular windows traced the upper half of the room’s curved ceiling, letting in just enough light to create a warm, intimate glow. To one side, a large closet stood open, already lined with row upon row of gowns. She would have lingered, inspecting them, but her attention was drawn elsewhere, to the true centerpiece of the room: the bed.
It dominated the left wall, enormous and rounded, draped in deep purple and accented with gold that matched the room’s lavish decor. Her cheeks flamed as she turned toward it, forcing herself not to dwell on the thought of who she would soon be sharing it with. Swallowing her embarrassment, she moved past the bed toward another set of open doors at the rear of the chamber, curiosity nudging her forward.
The final room, only entered by walking through the bedchamber, was the largest of the four she had been given. It also had gigantic floor to ceiling windows that made up three of the four walls of the room. On the one directly ahead was another large stained glass scene, the biggest she had seen yet. There was a table made of fine wood and set with five chairs, obviously for taking meals and there was a smaller table in one corner, surrounded by hanging plants and with a delicate tea set atop it, obviously to spend morning tea and gaze out at the same garden the powder room overlooked. There were large bookshelves stocked to the brim with hundreds of books and a cushy lounge off to the side for reading.
She was drawn to the large stained-glass window, aglow with sunlight streaming through its intricate colors. It depicted a striking woman with blue-black hair cascading to her knees, clad in a flowing white gown. Her piercing blue eyes tilted upward, and a pale hand reached outward, as if toward the very room itself.
Around her, golden flames intertwined with autumn leaves caught in a swirling wind, dancing in harmony across the glass. The sky behind her was a swirl of purples, pinks, and blues, with both the setting sun and rising moon visible, a moment suspended between night and day.
The woman lingered, captivated, unable to look away. It was the most exquisite work of art she had ever encountered, and as she drank in every detail, tears welled in her eyes, drawn forth by the sheer, overwhelming beauty of it.
Eventually another servant came in behind her, feet shuffling on the marble floor, pulling her out of her admiration. To her surprise, a woman, clad in the tan robes indicating she was married, stood silently behind her. When she turned toward her, the woman bowed deeply and motioned for her to follow. She led her into the bedchamber and shut the door to the receiving room where the male servant still stood by the doors.
“My name is Remy,” The woman in robes said in a quiet voice once the doors were shut. “I have been assigned as your personal handmaiden.”
The young woman stared at the robed woman, Remy, in surprise. She realized she hadn’t really conversed with anyone since arriving at the castle. The other chosen women hadn’t seemed inclined to speak to one another. Their duties here were far more important than idle chatter. They took in each detail of their trip and new home with vigor but they awaited their duties silently.
“Well…,” She began in response, breaking eye contact. “OK. Thank you.”
Remy began moving about the room, checking drawers in the elegant cabinet in the corner and nodding to herself in apparent satisfaction of its contents. Then she moved to the large closet attached to the bedchamber.
“Are you hungry, my lady?” Remy called from inside the closet, voice slightly muffled.
The soon-to-be Princess didn’t reply, thinking about the question. She hadn’t eaten breakfast before she was dragged down to the Great Hall and it was now about midday but her stomach hadn't growled in protest at all. Her nerves were likely the culprit, the day's events still leaving her mind reeling. She thought about asking for food but the thought of sitting still and eating something made her nauseous.
Remy emerged from the closet carrying two frilly gowns and laid them on the bed. She turned to The Princess when she was done smoothing out their fabric.
She moved to Remy’s side to examine the gowns that had been selected. One was a stunning muted red with a modest, square neckline and gauzy skirts that fluffed out fully from the waist. The other was a pale purple satin with a V-shaped neckline, though not cut deep enough to be considered scandalous. It was more of a straight gown with significantly less gauzy, frilly material to its skirt.
“I thought they both complimented your skin tone nicely,” Remy said, looking between the dresses and the young woman’s body. “But now that I have them up close to you, I think the red one would suit you more. The purple may make you look colorless. The red can compliment your rosy cheeks.”
The young woman ran her hand down the fine material of the red gown and nodded. She didn’t really know much about these fashion choices though she had been taught some in training. She knew this part of her life, wearing gowns and makeup, were but a fleeting moment before she would be covered up in tan robes forever. That’s why she didn’t pay much heed to these lessons and was grateful for another woman’s advice.
Remy took her nod as agreement and immediately gathered up the purple gown and hung it back in its place in the closet.
The soon-to-be Princess cleared her throat as Remy emerged and the handmaiden met her gaze questioningly.
“Excuse me,” She managed, trying to maintain eye contact this time. “Where will I be wearing this gown exactly?”
She knew it was wrong to voice her questions. She was taught to do as she was instructed no matter what and act grateful to be doing it. But she couldn’t help herself, too many thoughts and feelings were tumbling through her mind, she needed some clarity on what was to happen now that she was the Prince’s chosen bride.
Remy stared at her for a moment, hard eyes assessing her from beneath her masked face.
“You will be dining with the Prince tonight,” She answered, gesturing to the gown. “It is important to look your best for your first private meeting with him.”
The young woman nodded, carefully keeping her face a cool mask of non-emotion as she thought through what that meant. She wasn’t about to ask any more questions but Remy continued her explanation without further prompting.
“You will dine with him privately every night this week as will the chosen bride of Prince Tregan,” She explained. “It is important to get acquainted during this time. At the end of the week you will be measured for your wedding gown and also for your matron robes.”
When she mentioned the robes she flourished her hand down her body, indicating her own robes as reference.
“Then,” Remy continued, “After that, you will be wed in three days time. There are already plans being made for the big event. Most of the more important Dukes and Lords of the Kingdom will already be well on their way here for both weddings. I imagine the first of them will be arriving either tomorrow or the next in preparation. They would want their chance to catch a glimpse of the royal prizes.”
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