Page 19 of Cursed By Gold

The trees around me sway gently in the evening breeze, their leaves rustling comfortingly. Fireflies light up the darkness around me like stars, and crickets chirp in harmony with one another—all these things making me forget my troubles, even if just for a moment.

But despite their calming presence, reality soon creeps back into view like a ghostly mist, and all too soon, I find myself standing at a small back gate of our property.

I stand there for a few moments, lost in thought, when I hear a rustle of movement from behind me. I whirl around in surprise, only to see Lucius perched atop the stone wall that runs along the edge of our property.

He smirks as he catches my eye, then leaps lightly down from his perch and saunters towards me. "What are you doing here?" he asks, amusement lacing his voice.

"I could ask you the same thing. After all, it is my home."

He chuckles before leaning in close and speaks quietly enough so no one else can hear us. "Actually, I've been looking for you since you left the party. There was quite the commotion after you left."

Careful not to give anything away in case someone is secretly listening, I reply, "Oh? Anything of interest?"

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of folded paper, which he quickly slips into my hand before stepping away again with a mischievous grin.

"No one knows what exactly happened," he says with a shrug, "but I heard the King was looking for someone. Someone who made quite the impression." He gives me one last wink before disappearing back over the stone wall.

Bewildered but intrigued, I unfold the paper in my hands and read its contents carefully: An announcement for an upcoming trial to determine who will win ownership of the rare Bodian crown—considered one of the most valuable jewels in all of Ovehan Kingdom!

This crown has eluded me twice already, and the thought of a third attempt sends a shiver down my spine. But as I tuck the letter safely away into my pocket, questions swirl in my mind. Who would dare put out a job to steal the crown if it’s that important? And why would he be offering it as the prize for the tournament? It doesn't add up. Someone powerful and desperate must be behind this, and I need to know who and why.

I make my way deeper into the garden, seeking solace among the flowers and trees. Each failed attempt to steal the crown has been a reminder of how close I’ve come, yet how far I still am. This trial might be my last shot, but it feels like walking into a trap set by unseen hands.

I find a secluded bench under a large oak tree and sit down, letting the tranquility of the garden envelop me. Whoever orchestrated this must have a reason, and I intend to find out. Isit a ploy to lure out thieves and miscreants? Or perhaps someone wants to test the cunning and skill of the participants, hoping to recruit the best for some larger scheme? The possibilities are endless, and each one more dangerous than the last.

As I sit there, the weight of my previous failures hangs heavy in the air. This tournament could be my path to redemption, or just another twisted game in the web of power and deceit that surrounds the crown. But one thing is certain: I have no other choice but to enter and fight with everything I have. The stakes are too high, and failure is not an option

***

I slowly shuffle through the massive crowd of eager faces with dreams of entering the King’s Tournament. People of all shapes, sizes, and ages stand in clusters, hoping to be individually chosen as contestants. I take a deep breath and instantly regret it. My nose fills with overwhelming clouds of perfumes, sweat, and something so bitter, but I can’t put my finger on it.

Approaching the entrance, a sense of dread washes over me, anticipating the inevitable rejection. I cautiously step into the building, eyes immediately drawn to a woman in armor seated at the table. The two wooden doors behind me slam shut, amplifying the sound of my footsteps as they echo off the bare walls. The chatter from the crowd outside fades away, leaving an eerie silence. With each step, I feel my insignificance in the grand scheme of things, a small figure in a vast, indifferent world.

There’s no way I’ll be selected. I’m surrounded by beautiful women, strong and able men, and people of all classes who appear much better than I am.

The woman raises her eyes from the sheet of paper she’s writing on and looks directly into mine. She smiles, herexpression at once both kind and austere. "Name and purpose for entering the tournament?" she asks, her voice carrying just the right amount of authority.

"My name is Scarlet Marheart," I begin, my voice shaking slightly as I speak. "I just want a chance to compete."

The woman nods, setting down her quill and leaning forward. "Very well. What is your shoe size, your weight, your height?"

I’m surprised by the list of questions she asks and the amount of detail she’s looking for. I hesitate, unsure why she needs to know all that about me.

"What do my shoe size and weight have to do with entering the tournament?" I ask cautiously, curious as to why those details are so important.

The woman smiles and puts down her quill. "It helps us choose the best candidates who are suited for the tournament. It will also make it much easier when providing uniforms for the ones chosen," she says in a gentle yet firm voice. "Now, if you please, let us continue."

I nod, understanding that this woman isn’t going to answer any more questions until I respond to hers. Taking a deep breath, I start listing my details. "Shoe size, eight. Weight, one hundred and twenty. Height, five five." I watch as she writes down my answers in neat, precise lettering, her quill moving swiftly across the parchment.

"Are you sure you need all of this information? It seems a rather odd way to select people."

"The questions came from King Remme himself. Only he knows his reasons," she replies smoothly, her tone leaving no room for further debate.

I pause for a moment, taking in the woman’s words. King Remme's involvement adds an unexpected layer of intrigue and authority. Nodding slowly, I understand that these questions are not mere formalities but part of a larger, more calculated plan.

Taking a deep breath, I begin explaining why I should be chosen to compete in the tournament. "I’ve been training with a dagger since I was a small child and know a bit about healing," I say, trying to keep my voice steady and confident. "I am confident in my abilities and believe they would be an asset to any team."

"What if there are no teams?"

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