Chapter 2

Adreanna

Aila and I were born on September 22, making the winter solstice our time to enter The Becoming. Aila was born at 6:40 pm, and I was born at 6:45 pm. She was born before the Autumn Equinox peaked, and I was born just after. Our mothers insist that knowing these things are important, though Aila and I have yet to find a use for our odd birth times.

We walk into The Ritual Center hand in hand, approaching the registration desk with restrained enthusiasm.

“Names?” demands the nasally voice of a mousy looking man.

“Aila Cosima and Adreanna Merridan…” I tell the man in a shaky voice.

“And which are you?” he asks, inspecting me with a sneer.

I’m accustomed to the nasty looks, having received them my whole life for no obvious reason. Around the time I turned twelve, I decided to do something to earn the looks. After all, if everyone wants to judge me, I may as well give them a good reason.

I lift my chin defiantly before answering the snobby man.

“I’m Adreanna, and this,” I lift Aila’s hand, “is Aila.”

“Very good. Follow the arrows.”

He types away on his computer after handing us red badges with the number 922 on them. The Becoming happens in birth order, with those closest to the previous solstice entering the sacred rings first. The summer solstice was on June 21, with the winter solstice being today, December 21. Because of this, Aila and I can expect to be middle-of-the-pack as far as timing. Meaning, we will be here until midafternoon at least.

Aila and I follow the arrows, hand in hand, until we reach a door guarded by two imposing men.

“Badges?”

Aila and I hold up the red cards, which I now notice have our names on the back. One of the men scans them with a handheld device before nodding to the other.

“Straight ahead, find the red square in the floor seating and locate your names. The ceremony will begin in half an hour.”

“Thank you,” I mumble, dipping my head as we pass the two men.

Aila snorts and elbows me once the doors close behind us.

“What was that for?!”

“You were totally checking them out!”

“Was not!”

“Suuure.”

“Fine, maybe a little… what can I say, tall, muscled, and hunky is definitely my jam.”

“You and me both, girl. Don’t forget to share, though…”

“Forget? Never! We’re soul mates, baby, that means you come first, and the boys come second,” I whisper, winking at Aila, who smirks suggestively in response.

We quickly find our seat, which are, as expected, next to each other. Once seated, we look around, watching as various people filter in. The observation decks are filling up with parents and family of those scheduled to undergo The Becoming today. Down lower, before the sacred rings, a group of important looking people in formal robes are seated. Groaning, I remember one, very important detail. The four princes were also born on September 22.

“Grand.” I mutter.

Aila looks at me, a confused frown on her face.

“What’s wrong, Na?”

“That,” I tell her, tilting my chin towards the lavishly dressed entourage.

Aila pales as she inspects them.

“The royals… No.”

“Yes.”

“Well shit… They’ll be in our cohort, won’t they.”

“Unfortunately… so will their little bimbos.”

Aila groans and flops back in her chair, pouting adorably.

We’ve had to deal with the royals in passing, due to the fact that all of their schooling takes place in Azreth. Supposedly, it’s to ensure an equitable balance of power between the courts, allowing all four heirs to interact with the populace and learn without undue influence. In reality, it means that they get to parade around looking down on those of us who are considered lesser. Of course, the royals don’t attend the public institutions, so we, thankfully, only had to deal with them in passing.

Unfortunately, the women who were chosen at birth to be their consorts once they reached age if they didn’t establish a soul bond before their 25th birthdays did attend the public schools. Meaning we had the unfortunate pleasure of dealing with them from primary school right through the two years of higher-education studies required of all Azreth citizens. They are not, in any way, shape, or form, pleasant people to deal with. And even more unfortunate is the fact that their birthdays also fall in the month of September… September 21st, to be precise. Which makes them part of our cohort.

There are six cohorts at every Becoming, one for each month since the previous solstice. The cohorts enter the rings in groups of ten. The rings are an imposing set of ritual circles in the center of the large arena that is The Ritual Center. There are eight circles in total, with a pentagram in the center, and a triquetra in the center of the pentagram. The ritual is performed by the thirteen members of the council, who also happen to be some of the most powerful, magically gifted beings in the entire continent, if not the entire world.

“Thirteen, eight, five, three. That’s some serious sacred geometry,” I mutter.

Aila nods her head in agreement. Somewhere in the crowd, our mothers are watching, though I can’t pick them out in the sea of eager faces.

“Is it just me, or do there seem to be way more people than usual?” Aila asks, tilting her head towards the stands.

“Definitely not just you… probably cus the royal assholes and their concubines.”

“Probably.”

When the ceremony begins nearly thirty minutes later and the seats beside us remain empty, I think we’ve dodged having to deal with the royals. Unfortunately, I am proven wrong as the first group filters into the rings. The eight of them, the four royals and their future consorts, slink into their chairs, giggling as they take their places. Aila and I roll our eyes as the assholes squeeze past us without even an ‘excuse me.’

“Oh, look, it’s the Loser Lesbians,” says Veronica with an ear-piercing cackle.

“Oh, look, Ai, it’s the rabble of racist royals and their little tramps, best be careful not to get to close, you might catch something.”

Aila giggles, shaking her head.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure none of the tramps have ever touched a real dick.” She responds haughtily.

“Ugh, the lesbians think they know about dick. The only tramps here are you, slutlings.” Says Michelle with a devious chortle.

“Oh, honey, I get more dick in a morning than you have in a lifetime… don’t think we haven’t noticed that little fire boy over there won’t touch you.” I taunt, dipping my head towards Cyrus, heir to the Fire Court.

He ignores us, resolutely watching the ongoing ritual. Michelle growls and flounces into her seat, attempting to stomp on my booted foot but not making an impact, which causes Aila to giggle again.

It’s no secret that the princes are forbidden from having carnal relations with their future consorts until after their 25th birthdays. They can have sex with anyone else in the world, but the magic that binds the consorts to their princes would effectively tie them together should they have sex. The council deemed pairing the princes with potential consorts necessary, but left them free to search for their soul bound mates as much as they want, prior to their 25th birthdays. On their 25th birthdays, they’re required to marry, one way or another.

I feel bad for the position they’re in, I really do, but they don’t make it easy, being such assholes to everyone around them. Still, the princes aren’t bad looking, not at all.

Cyrus, the little fireling, has deep, copper hair that seems as wild as fire and tanned, olive skin. His amber eyes shine with an inner fire that can silence most people with a single look. He’s always seen in shades of red and orange, the formal and stiff uniforms hiding much of what must be an amazing physique. I saw the man bend over once, and man, that ass, is something that haunts my dreams.

Then there’s Calder, the water heir. His hair, which is shoulder length, is as pale as Aila’s, but where hers is a silvery gold, his has a bluish tinge. Everything about the man is pale, from his skin, to his ice-blue eyes and clothes. His form is lithe and clearly muscled, reminding me of the swimmers who streak through the pools at swim meets.

And Aaron, oh, he’s a dreamy one. His dark hair is always close-cropped, and his eyes are the coppery hazel of fallen leaves. His skin reminds me of the brown clay we used in my art class, and his muscles bulge in all the right places. When you think of Earth Domain, he is exactly what pops into your mind, or at least, into mine.

And last, but definitely not least, is Zephyr, the prince of air. The man moves like he’s floating, gliding everywhere he goes. I’ve seen him fight, and it seems to be impossible for anyone to land a hit on him. His long, silken hair is so pale that it almost seems translucent at times, and it’s always moving, as if a soft breeze is constantly surrounding him, even when the air is still. His skin is a pale ivory, lighter than even my own, and his eyes are a soft silvery color. Whenever he looks at me, it feels like he’s looking straight into my soul… and like whatever he sees disgusts him to no end. He’s built similar to Calder, but with a little less girth. If he wasn’t so damn tall, then he could probably be mistaken for a very flat-chested woman when his hair is down, he’s just that pretty.

The women, though, those damn consorts. They’re disgustingly graceful little shits, and gorgeous, too. If I didn’t hate their miserable attitudes so much, I might actually be attracted to them. Michelle is paired with Cyrus, Veronica with Aaron, Trisha with Zephyr, and Amber with Calder.

Aila taps my leg, breaking me out of my reverie as the August group begins shuffling up to the rings, ten at a time. I take a moment to glance around, groaning at my luck, because, of course, there are 10 prior to September 21, meaning I get the pleasure of spending my time in the rings with the eight moronic musketeers.

Aila smirks at my groan.

“Just noticed?”

“Yep.”

“You already suspected though, surely?”

“Of course, but I had hoped… Guess I should know better by now.”

Aila shrugs and gives me a brief side hug before straightening up.