Bloodright

Chapter 1

Under the relentless vigil of the moon, Raiah stood alone in the courtyard, swallowed by the castle's looming shadows. The King's commands, as bitter to her taste as winter ale, echoed in the hollow silence, a harsh reminder of the gilded chains that bound her to this place. Once she had been free, a spirited bird soaring through colorful skies. But now, she was a pawn in the King's grand chessboard, a player cloaked in the relentless certainty of duty.

A grim determination hardened her almond-hued features, turning her normally expressive eyes into impenetrable pools of obsidian. The King's orders were commands she was obliged to follow, yet each one was a shard of ice that chipped at the fiery spirit beneath her soldier's armor. In this palace of polished lies and gleaming half-truths, she was but a figure carved from stone, her purpose defined by others. Yet, within her beat the heart of an Ardiyan, a legacy carried not in golden insignia or royal decree, but in the steady rhythm of resilience, pulsing like an unseen drum.

Thus, when dawn broke with its golden smile and the courtyard awoke in anticipation of the day's grandeur, Raiah dressed herself in the uniform that was as much a part of her as her own skin and accepted the King's orders as she always did–with the calm resilience of a seasoned soldier.

Her gaze, sharp as an eagle's, assessed the guards under her charge. She was a symphony of authority and grace, her words were orders that danced on the wind, her gaze was a beacon guiding her soldiers, her touch, a testament to her unwavering commitment. The soldiers didn't fear her–they respected her, each pair of eyes darting to the woman in subtle hopes that she would praise them with a solid nod of her head.

The sun had climbed higher in the sky, casting the training grounds in stark light. With the scent of worn leather and steel lingering in the air, Raiah's command echoed amongst the ranks. The soldiers moved as one, a testament to her stern discipline and uncompromising standards. As she surveyed the sea of uniformed men and women, her gaze as unwavering as a seasoned hawk, a page hurriedly approached, his breath coming in gasps.

"Captain Raiah," he panted, an official parchment clutched in his hand. "The King requests your presence in the Throne Room, posthaste."

With a curt nod, Raiah handed over the reigns of the training to her lieutenant. The call of duty was ever-present, like an insistent drumbeat she couldn't ignore. Leaving behind the soldiers, the rhythm of their drills fading into a mere echo, she walked through the stone corridors, her boots echoing off the cold, unforgiving walls.

The Throne Room was a spectacle of power and intimidation, its grandeur as imposing as the King himself. The King, swathed in royal velvets, sat upon the gilded throne with a look of impatience that barely concealed his disdain.

"Raiah," he began, his voice resounding in the vaulted hall, "the Emperor's Competition is no trivial matter. It's a matter of international reputation, of royal prestige. I need you, as Captain of the Guard, to ensure everything goes smoothly. You must be vigilant, composed, and above all, focused."

He leaned back, studying her with a calculating gaze. "There are rumors," he continued, his voice dropping a notch, "that the rebels are growing restless in the lower districts. They may aim to disrupt our grand event. You must quash any rebellion, maintain the peace, and ensure our competition is not marred."

"I understand, Your Majesty," Raiah replied, her tone steady, her gaze unflinching. "The safety of the competition and our guests is my primary concern. The rebels will not disrupt the event."

"See that they do not," the King retorted, ending the conversation with a finality that was as chilling as it was clear. The challenge was set, and Raiah, with her hatred covered by her resilience, accepted it with the grit of the true soldier that she was.