Before the chaos could settle into anything resembling logic, another stretcher came down the stairs.

  This time it was a woman, nearly thirty by the look of her. Her condition was identical to the first candidate: unconscious, pale, drenched in sweat.

  The murmurs barely had time to swell again before the two white-robed officials returned. Without giving anyone a chance to speculate further, they calmly read out the next five names.

  The five called stepped forward as if walking toward an unseen cliff, confusion written plainly across their faces.

  Ferir was relieved that he wasn't among them.

  Maybe after a few more rounds, there would be more clues about this bizarre Manner” test.

  Or maybe it would only grow stranger.

  The next round, and the ones after it, unfolded exactly the same as the first. A few candidates were carried back down unconscious. The rest never returned at all.

  Some began to whisper that whatever awaited upstairs was a form of mental torture, something that pushed the mind past its limits until the body simply shut down.

  Ferir swallowed hard, a flicker of regret rising in his chest for not having paid closer attention to those dusty books on mental resilience and psychological defense.

  Groups of five were called again and again, each announcement tightening the knot in the room. By the time the sun had climbed well past noon, barely more than ten candidates remained.

  Servants brought in light refreshments, delicately arranged and strangely inviting, but no one had the appetite to touch them. Ferir reached into his bag and brushed his fingers against the sweet potatoes his mother had packed. They felt cold, stiff, almost stone-like.

  Kevin’s name was called in the second-to-last group.

  That meant Ferir was in the final one.

  Kevin moved swiftly, not looking back when Ferir tried to say a wish of good luck as he passed.

  Perhaps the words had worked. When that group returned, only one person was carried out on a stretcher, and it was not Kevin.

  Only four people remained in the waiting hall now, all of them standing at the foot of the staircase. Ferir felt a cold sheen of sweat spread across his palms. Perhaps in five minutes, he too would be carried out on a stretcher, declared unfit, punished for a lifetime for the crude, unceremonious behavior he had displayed without even realizing it.

  He shook his head, forcefully banishing the foolish thought from his mind.

  The two figures in white continued with their procedure, calling names one by one and instructing each candidate to ascend the stairs in order.

  Ferir was first.

  At the top of the staircase, he found five identical doors lining the upper floor. In front of each door stood a white-robed attendant, motionless as statues. Ferir was guided to the first door on the right.

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  The attendant guarding it bowed politely, then spoke.

  “Your trial will begin the moment you step through this door. There is only one thing you must remember once you enter: You are stepping inside as a Ruler.”

  Ferir’s mind had not yet caught up with the meaning of those words when the attendant opened the door and gestured for him to enter.

  “As a Ruler?” Was that just another way of saying this was some sort of role-playing game?

  The door closed the moment Ferir stepped into the room.

  The interior was surprisingly spacious.

  Along the left wall stood another door, tightly shut. At the far end of the room, directly opposite the entrance, a wide window let in warm daylight. Thin curtains fluttered gently in the breeze drifting in from the royal gardens.

  A neat work desk was placed before the window, the chair turned away from the light. To the left of the desk stood a bookshelf, while to the right was a large, elegant cabinet.

  In front of the desk, at the very center of the room, was a small seating arrangement. Two velvet sofas faced each other across a low table. On the table, to the right side - the guest’s side - sat a cup of tea already prepared, its faint aroma filling the air.

  It looked very much like someone’s private study.

  But how was Ferir supposed to know whether “The Ruler” was the owner of this room, or even acquainted with its true owner? Without certainty, he could not sit down. According to noble etiquette, the seat on the left when viewed from the entrance belonged to the host, while the one on the right was reserved for a guest.

  Just then, the door along the left wall swung open.

  The person who stepped out was a strikingly beautiful woman, her features bright, her smile effortlessly captivating.

  The moment she saw him, she placed her right hand over her chest and bowed deeply in greeting.

  “Your Highness, forgive me for keeping you waiting.”

  It took Ferir several seconds to tear his gaze away from the breathtaking woman who had just appeared. By reflex, he almost bowed in return. Almost.

  Then he remembered. He was not a commoner boy here.

  He was a Ruler.

  So instead, he gave a slight nod, restrained and measured.

  “My pleasure.”

  The woman bowed again. When she straightened, she extended her right hand gracefully to the side in invitation.

  A gesture to be seated.

  So she was the host.

  Ferir moved stiffly toward the sofa on the right and sat down quickly, careful not to hesitate too long. The woman made it clear she was of lower standing. Only after he had settled did she take her seat opposite him, her posture fluid, almost unreal in its elegance. Her beauty and elegant demeanor made it difficult to think about anything else.

  Her eyes flicked briefly toward the cup that had been prepared earlier. She clapped softly twice.

  A maid entered at once, removed the solitary cup, and replaced it with a steaming teapot and two fresh cups.

  As the woman poured tea into his cup, Ferir suddenly became aware of how parched his throat was. Downstairs there had been no water, no tea, nothing at all. He had been too tense even to notice.

  He lifted the cup. The urge to drain it in a single gulp rose like a desert storm.

  But something stopped him.

  The woman smiled, serene as a still lake hiding unknown depths.

  “Please enjoy our tea, Your Highness. These are the youngest leaves, handpicked at dawn from our plantation. The flavor is exceptionally refreshing.”

  Ferir had already lifted the cup. To hold it without drinking would be discourteous. So he pretended to take a sip, but didn't let a single drop fall into his mouth.

  He was glad he had done so.

  The beautiful woman watched him drink with a quiet, knowing smile. Then she said nothing.

  Silence settled between them, thick and deliberate. Ferir sat rigid on the sofa, tried to find something dignified to say, something suitably ruler-like to dissolve the stillness.

  Just as he parted his lips, the woman straightened abruptly. Her arms opened wide in theatrical delight.

  “Congratulations. You have passed the trial!”