by J. McSpadden
The High King had requested her presence because of her beautiful penmanship and was offering her family a year's amount of Moon Tax prepaid. Her entire family would be able to eat everything they gathered and grew for a whole year. It seemed too good to be true. She had been chosen by the High King.
With a smile on her rose painted lips, she dipped her metal-tipped pen into the vial of deep emerald ink and got to work with enthusiasm.
It wasn't until her eyes had skimmed the twelfth name on the list that her pen stilled and her mouth seized up. Her eyes flipped from the record before her to others pushed to the side to make sure she was reading it right. One paper had two-hundred names listed and was called Families to Attend. A second list was labeled Audience Attendees and Possible Volunteers, which had over one-thousand names listed. On the last record, there were only twenty names written down in scrawled black lettering. The stark label read: Aspera Munera - Praetorian Trials.
Twelve lines down from the top she read the name Luke Donner—her twin brother. It couldn't be true; it wasn't possible. Emma wasn't an idiot; she knew full well that being inside the walls of the High Court was an honor as much as it was a danger. She needed to get the job done and vacate the premises with her note of reward snug in hand, but to do that, she had to write down every name listed on a slip of paper and drop it into its coordinating envelope.
Her pen remained frozen until the entirety of green ink held in the feed had dripped all over the tabletop. A flash of flame from the shifting wood pieces in the crackling hearth nearby sparked an idea in her head, and before she knew what she was doing, she'd taken the envelope with her brother's name on it and thrown it into the fire. She grabbed a blank envelope from the stack and carefully began to write a different name on the back, but before she could finish, the heavy wooden door behind her opened.
Fear stilted her movements, though she tried to appear natural as she politely turned to greet them.
"Hello," Emma squeaked, swallowing down the lump in her throat as she saw who'd entered.
"Why would you do that, my dear?" the High King said, his tone clear and controlled. "Each and every name chosen for the Praetorian Trials is done so carefully, specifically, and with clear intent. To toss aside a single name is to disrespect the kingdom. Are you trying to disrespect me?"
"No, Your Majesty," Emma said, trembling from head to toe.
"I don't think you do respect me, or the kingdom. If you did, you'd know that I chose you specifically for this job, just as I chose your brother. To go against my wishes is to go against Aspera, and I don't tolerate traitors of any kind."
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I didn't mean any disrespect."
The High King reached across the table and lifted the last envelope Emma had been working on. "You should've completed the job I asked of you, dear. I have a feeling you might not like the direction you're about to head in."
Emma wasn't even able to register his statement before a chilly metal collar was clipped tightly around her neck and a sharp, stabbing pain seared through her chest. Her body convulsed, and she flew back onto the floor, but the pain didn't cease. Her eyes went wide as she watched a gloved hand shove a thin metal tool straight into her ribcage, the pain so acute she knew she was close to passing out.
"Please, please, make it stop! Don't kill me, I don't want to die!"
"Oh, my sweet girl," the High King said as he leaned over her hunched body, grasping the pen still clenched in her hand. "You aren't going to die—far from it. I'm giving you a gift, a token of forgiveness. You see, I didn't ask you here for your penmanship. The letters have already gone out."
Emma's mouth fell open as her vision went blurry.
"Your family will be so happy once they receive your letter."
"My letter?"
"Yes. The letter you wrote to your family telling them about your devotion to your High King. You've decided to remain in my service, to serve your king as a dutiful subject should. But don't worry; your family will never come looking for you. They will be very well taken care of, never having to pay the Moon Tax again. Your brother, I can only assume, has already received his letter. He will take part in the Praetorian Aspera Munera. And you—you will help me populate my new army."
High King LeMarc's words ran together in Emma's brain as her blood pumped frantically through her veins. Every bone felt like it was on fire, like it was being ground to fine dust under the crushing pressure of a thousand stones. Moving wasn't an option, so instead, Emma remained slumped on the wooden floor, staring at the beautiful reds and oranges of a brilliant sunrise through the bay window.
"The Ephidra Lily serum has fully spread through her system by now. You may take her down to the dungeon holding." The High King said to his guard. "I would like to watch her punishment myself before she's shipped out with the others."
As the High King rattled off his demands to the guard, Emma watched brilliant rays of sun spread its orange fingers across the glory of Alpha Quarter. Her pain was beginning to recede, and she allowed herself a moment of relief until she realized the soldier regarding her wasn't an Equestrian.
"I'll be certain to make sure she's well taken care of," the man said, his red leather attire loud and squeaky as he approached Emma and told her to stand.
She attempted to move, but her legs still felt like wobbly jam.
"Move, you Asperian lump!" the guard barked, pulling the short metal rod from his hip and touching it to the choker around her neck. Electric shocks raced through her extremities, sending wave after wave of anguish through her body. She wanted to scream, to beg, but all words failed her as the guard kept the metallic rod held against her neck restraint.
"Now," the guard said, "on your feet. I can do this all day, little girl, but your punishment will be more enjoyable for me to partake in if you're awake. I like to hear my conquests scream."
As soon as he removed the rod from her collar, the pain evaporated, and she scrambled to her feet, staring at her reflection in the window. Tears slipped down her cheeks as her new reality settled in—this was no nightmare, at least not one she'd be waking up from. She was no longer just a subject of the High King's court. She was his captive—without hope of rescue.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jessie McSpadden grew up in San Diego and went to school to work in film. After moving to Los Angeles, she found herself without a job and an abundance of time. She turned her mind toward writing. Praetorian Rising was born of her love of music, life experience, obsession with food, and a little bit of fantasy dreaming. Jessie now lives in Los Angeles with her family and pug. She works in the film industry by day and a writes every possible minute in-between.
