The Kingdom of Vivelle once had many races and creatures living within. Though it was plagued with bloodshed. Cruellest of all these creatures were the humans. They made slaves of those they deemed lesser than them and called it civilised. That does not mean that humans were alone in their cruelty. Territories and boarders were fought over in long battles. Villages were plundered for riches and innocents killed for sport. Every race committed atrocities in order to gain more land, more food and more power.

This was called the First War of Vivelle.

~The History of the First War of Vivelle. Volume One. Chapter One, Verse One.

My father looks at us with a slow, annoyed glare.  His eyes meet ours individually as he looks at each daughter. Eventually, stopping on me.  He lets out a thoughtful huff before looking away.

"My wonderful daughters," he finally speaks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. My chest flutters with nerves as his deep voice echoes around the large throne room. His fingers stroke at the armrests of the golden throne. The beautiful throne. It enchants me every time I look at it.

It is made out of solid gold and shaped in the image of a large tree. The seat of the throne is cut into the middle of the twisting, golden tree roots. The backrest of the throne begins to travel up the trunk of the tree. Also cut into the golden tree roots are steps that lead up to the throne. Two smaller chairs are embedded into the curling roots. They are right at the front of the golden tree and there is no need for any stairs to get to them. One chair is slightly larger than the other. They are both empty.

The throne cut into the trunk is so small against the tree itself. The golden trunk continues up high before it spreads into hundreds of branches which twist and hang from the ceiling. It is so intricate with its thousands of tiny gold leaves hanging from it. I am still amazed by this throne. Every time I look at it, there is a small detail I have never seen before. Then there is its glow. Even though there are no light sources shining on it, the gold is always glowing.

My father clears his throat and my eyes snap back to him and not the cascading branches of gold hanging from the ceiling high above. He is looking at me a raised eyebrow and tight lips.

"As I was saying," he almost growls. "This time in two weeks, one of you will be sitting on that throne." His head nods to the lowest root throne and I have to try not to scoff in disgust. That is not the throne any of us want to sit on. We want to sit on his one. But a woman is not deemed worthy enough to be able to sit there. We aren't allowed to rule. It fills me with revulsion. That having daughters is such a crime for a king that he must sacrifice all but one as his punishment. That even though we are the daughters of the King and Queen and have royal blood flowing through our veins, the crown must go to any husband we will marry. Not any of us. Though it will still be our duty to carry on the bloodline. As soon as we marry, our husband will be the King's official son and heir to the throne. 

"Before any of you even sit on the throne, however, you all must go through the Queen's Trial." My heart starts racing just thinking about it and a dull, uncomfortable ache settles in my stomach. I'll either die or be the only one left out of all my sisters. Either way is it an ending I am not very fond of.

"As Shaelyn is now eighteen, all of you are of age. The trial is set to begin soon." I gulp. "But before the trial begins," he sighs. "I must pick and declare my favourite daughter." We all gasp at the same time and my sisters mutter under their breaths. That is something we hadn't been taught about the trial, yet doesn't surprise me.

"Why?" Cordelia asks. I look at one of my younger sisters.

"I am to chose which daughter I wish to win the Queen's trial. I must pick the daughter who I believe has the most chance of winning and who I believe will be the best queen."

"And which queenly qualities are you looking for father?" I snarl. "Will you pick intelligence and skill or will you be picking wide hips and a woman who doesn't mind spending her life lying on her back?" Some of my sisters glare at me angrily, knowing I am talking about them. Rayana lets out a snorted giggle, hiding it with coughs.

"We know he won't be choosing you," Cordelia snaps at me with an angry look. I glare back at her.

"Enough!" my father booms at all of us. Our gazes all lock back on him. I don't let him forget my question as I glare at him with a risen eyebrow.

"My choice is not to be questioned," he tells us but glares at me. "I will be announcing my decision at the ball tonight. Now, this is the ball that marks the beginning of the Queen's Trial. All your years of training has come down to these next two weeks. So I want to tell you all now that I do not have a favourite. To be honest, I don't care which of you win. But it is tradition." The fact that he does not care really isn't a surprise to me. He hates us for not being boys.

"That is everything I wanted to tell you. You may leave," he growls. I turn to go. "Except you, Illyana." I sigh and turn around to face my father. My four sisters rush out of the room quickly, running down the hall and out of the door. I watch as they leave me.

My eyes glance around the room just before I turn back to my father. It is made up of shining marble in shades of light and dark greys. The floor is mostly a light grey and so shiny it is reflective. Darker grey diamond patterns link across it with small silver circles on each point. Large beams rise down the sides of the room. They are also made up of the shiny light and dark grey marble. The walls have large archways surrounded by layers of dark, smooth stone which outline great windows. Around the windows, dark black curtains are held aside by silver chords. The ceiling is also a dark stone which has lots of beautiful carvings decorating it.

The great doors that lead into the throne room are heavy stone and have similar carvings that the ceiling does. It slowly shuts as my last sister leaves.

"Illyana," my father sighs once the door has heavily shut and my sisters are gone. I turn to face the throne of gold again. I stand on top of a set of stairs. It starts out as a wide, grand staircase with a black rug falling elegantly over the light grey marble stone that they are made up of. The staircase then splits off into two directions. They curl around before meeting up and creating a little balcony in front of the golden throne.

"Yes, father?" I reply. He shakes his head, standing up and walking elegantly down the golden steps in between the winding roots. He stops at the smallest of the golden thrones.

"Do you want to sit on this throne?" he asks. I glare at him. The smallest of all the thrones. The slightly bigger one is for the King's eldest son. So if I were to become Queen Victorious, then any son I may have would sit on the bigger throne. They would have more power than me as soon as they took their first breath.

"No," I say. "I want to sit on that one," I tell him, looking at the main one built into the golden tree. He laughs, but there is no humour in it.

"I know you do, but it is not possible." He sighs. I shake my head. "Only a male can rule."

"A woman can only obey," I sigh back at him. He nods his head and pats me on the shoulder.

"This is the way the world works, Illyana. If it was kind, my son would have lived and none of you would have had to go through this." I let out a humourless laugh on my own.

"If you hadn't forced mum into having another child straight after she gave birth, then your son may have been born healthy and she might still be alive."

"Don't speak to me like that young lady," he growls. I shake my head in anger.

"Look, father," I growl. "Mother had five children in the space of five years!" I shout. "You never gave her time to heal after each birth before you forced her to go through it again and again. She spent the last few years of her life as your baby machine and as a result of that, she didn't even get a chance to watch the children, you forced her to have, grow up! Can you imagine the pain she would have gone through? You were so desperate for a son that you killed my mother because women are not good enough. Yet we are seen as the mad ones?" I laugh in disbelief. "When my mother literally sacrificed her body and freedom for you. All so you could have a precious boy. Explain that to me, father?" He doesn't say anything. "And her sacrifice meant nothing," I snarl, "Because out of the five of us, only one is allowed to live. She died for nothing but your fear of having daughters instead of sons. So, father, I am going to make you a promise." I take a step toward him, looking into his eyes. "I will not die in this trial," I say to him. "I also will not allow you to chose me a suitor," I spit the last word, "to take my rightful place on the throne and use me like you used my mother. I am the eldest royal child and the First Blood runs through my veins. I will be queen, or I will destroy everything you have worked for and I will destroy this kingdom."

We stay silent for a few moments before he grins darkly.

"Oh Illyana," he sighs. Walking back up to his throne and sitting back down. "Though I may tell your sisters otherwise, you have always been my favourite daughter. But don't think too highly of yourself. You are but a woman and you have very little power in this world. You don't even have The Gift. That decreases your value enormously. So do as you are told or you may not make it through the Queen's Trial at all." His smile is dangerous and it lights up his handsome face. I smile sarcastically back at him. "Now, you had best get ready for tonight's ball. Which is also an excellent way for you to meet your possible suitors."

"You'll be choosing tonight, won't you?" It is more of a statement than a question.

"Yes," he grins cruelly. "So you can be wed as soon as the Queen's Trial ends." I scowl at him and feel anger burning through me. So much so, that it has my clenched fists shaking.

"I'll have a dress sent up for you, one that shows off your wide hips," he taunts. I glare at him one final time before storming away. His cruel laugh follows me out of the room.