The next day, Ed stood on the Choosing Field of his ancestors with his father and siblings. It was the one time a year the High King left the floating castle and traveled to the nearby High Mountain Knight District. The High King's castle floated above the magnificent Lofte City in the hollow shell of Mount Isabella. Surrounding this glorious feat of engineering, at variable heights, floated 52 city-sized platforms, the light magically curving around them. Hence, they left no shadow. Each maintained a locally generated and optimized atmosphere, climate, and ecosystem. These were busy military bases, constantly upgraded and well-maintained.

  On the left of the castle sat the platforms for the combat caster and magic support military bases. On the right, the knights, as well as specialized military and police units comprised of those without the capacity for knighthood. Each nation had a platform devoted to it, with High-Mountain having the largest for both groups. Each branch of knighthood and magic also had a specialized platform. There was nowhere in the universe safer than the busy spaceport of Loftcity.

  The High-Mountain royals, except the king and his wife, were stationed on the impressive High-Mountain platform, with its carved purple stone streets, statues inlaid in gold, and re-homed ancient monuments. In the center lay a multi-tiered amphitheater so large and grand it made even the rest of the otherwise gaudy platform seem drab by comparison. The Ancient Choosing Field of Saint Castile sat small and insignificantly in the center. In addition to the royal family, 26 rune-inscribed standing stones looked their age despite the best maintenance money could buy.

  Standing tightly together, the top knights crowded in the stands in ways that fire marshals would have frowned upon had they been invited. Every young knight, competitive by nature, dreamed of selection. However, only the best would make it to train and qualify at the foot of Castile Castle. Fewer still would be granted permission to attend this yearly event. A specialized analytic team ensured all likely candidates were available for selection. To simplify a rather complex ranking system, Knights earned and lost points based on their lifetime performance. This score was only revealed during certain events and circumstances.

  In a likewise overly complicated manner, royals earned points to spend on knights for their coteries. However, points were only maintained from one ceremony to the next. Before the choosing, they were not told how many points they had, nor how many points each knight was worth. If a royal went over budget, that family member would lose all points and would have to begin again the next choosing. Points could not be saved for the following ceremony. The ability to accurately assess one's own worth and that of one's knights was essential to the process.

  Edward had once been fairly accurate in his estimates, but Sir Enots's phobia was distracting to say the least. In front of the crowd, the white knight did his best not to vomit from anxiety, often failing and melting the front of his reinforced helmet. Since they were mentally connected, Edward was also anxious before the impressive crowd of his peers.

  He had once loved to entertain crowds. It was the only part of his role as prince that he enjoyed. It was art and free-spirited peace that he coveted – such a bleak contrast from the bloody job as a knight. He'd loved performing his mother's songs and even some of his own, which he was pretty proud of. His best-selling albums sold well, beating out professionals and helping win the hearts of savages before their forced civilization. Even his father approved of his second occupation as the masses' hearts and minds grew more compliant with every note.

  While his job was prince and knight, his true passion was music and the stage. He craved the spotlight like a starving savage craved salvation from the Thirteen. It was a small sliver of freedom from predestination stolen from him by an innocent white knight.

  First, the High King made a few selections to add to his crowd of zealots. The twins were up next, first Isabella, then Marshal. Like their father, the twins happily stripped away personality, leaving only the empty shells of knights. It was only a matter of time before one of them orchestrated a successful regicide as the High King once had. Regicide was practically a family tradition.

  A tradition his brother Philip had done his best to escape from by marrying out of the family. Not that the marriage kept him from the choosing ceremony. His wife, Princess Penny of Heimheim, watched with the High Queen from the small family viewing box. There was only a mere foot on each side of them that didn't have a knight standing in it. Like all his life choices, Philip kept the selection safe and straightforward. He had plenty of points remaining when he completed his selection.

  Richard was next; his selections were brave, and he lost only four points. It was only a matter of time until he overextended himself, but he was a lucky man. He had a loyal brother who watched his back and treated him like family. The pair was a family unto themselves.

  Less than a year apart in age, Richard and John were inseparable for most of their lives. As if duty-bound, John cleaned up the messes Richard made. Rushing ahead, Richard conquered planets. Detail-oriented and governance-focused focused John followed and set up new political systems and economies. Together, they compensated for each other's weaknesses and worked more efficiently than their other siblings.

  The problem, as Ed had heard from Nina that morning, was that Richard had accidentally captured a planet held by the other major empire in the universe. After he’d cleaned up the mess, eased tensions, negotiated peace, and set the political system in place, John had taken the blame with their father. As such, the ceremony for the dead coterie knight, tragically “lost to war,” was scheduled for later in the week. Unsurprisingly, the now jittery John made selections that Edward suspected their father had instructed him to. It was difficult watching the once analytical and confident John look so weak before the hopeful knights and spectators who watched the popular broadcast.

  Forcing the grin on his face to hold, Edward watched as Charlie made his selections. More cunning than loyal, Edward strongly suspected Charlie would begin murdering his family by finishing off John. Jealous, Charlie had always hated John for having Richard's love and devotion. Even as a younger brother, Ed did not trust his paranoid brother not to plot against him. The sickly sweet, murderous aura that oozed off of him was impossible for even non-psychics to notice. Of all his brothers, Ed knew Charlie was the most cruel and was so for his own entertainment.

  Too soon, the best knights were selected, and it was Edward's turn. Behind him, Stone vomited in his helmet, melting the face plate off a second one in a week. His face serene, Ed wondered, “Why was everything in my life going so wrong when everything was perfect for so long?” He'd once been the darling of the family, powerful and charismatic; he could do no wrong. The possibly seventh son of a seventh son in line of seventh sons (some argued he was the seventh sibling, but the sixth son).

  Now he was being forced to choose a Mechmian as his second knight when he could barely control his feeble-minded white knight, with a witch's curse preventing him from everyday speech. Even worse, the blue knight was in the force Richard had taken the claimed planet with, intertwining him with that controversy. John was a mess because of the knight he was about to choose.

  His eyes moved forward to see Nina making vague threatening gestures at him in the crowd. Her voluminous black cloak outlined her petite frame in the crowd. The announcer finished the opening spiel, and the crowd went silent, waiting for him to speak. He needed to build tension without looking unsure. It was a thin line to walk, but the universe was watching. The better the show, the tighter the reign, and the safer the people were. Edward hoped he'd be able to project the name aloud as he had before he'd gotten the less-than-useless knight behind him.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  With the confidence he didn't feel, Edward called out, “I summon Sir Theodore Locke Acogson, blue knight of Mechma, and conclude my selection.” He manipulated the sound in the air so that everyone heard him as if he were beside them, having a conversation. The crowd politely clapped. Most had probably not heard of the sniper who worked in a clandestine unit. He was a niche choice, and his unit's famous leader overshadowed any mention of the other unit members.

  The clapping died as the crowd was silent, and they looked around. For a moment, Edward panicked; his family was trapped on the specialized field until the named arrived. If the selection were off planet, he'd never hear the end of it. His father still occasionally complained about an uncle who had once made that mistake before his unfortunate death some twenty years before the twins' birth.

  “Again, Me? “ Are you quite sure?” came a disinterested voice amplified over the stadium. “Why would he select me?” I'm a blue knight. No one chooses the blue for the first ten coterie picks. Even Ed isn't that idiotic. Is he? For Gosh's sake, he is, isn't he? I should have learned when we were pages together never to underestimate how stupid he can be.”

  The crowd booed as the blue knight, uniform splotched with grease and grime, quickly made his way to the center ring. He tried to hop the fence, but just barely missed, his toe catching the top, causing him to land flat on his face. How was he a knight?

  Crystal eyes wide, Ed paled, almost hoping the selection would fail. Why had he chosen the bumbling idiot? Had Nina tricked him? Again? Had his father implanted the idea? How could he forget how annoying Ted was? At least Stone was feeling better, which helped dispel the anxiousness. Everything would be better once Blue was there. He always knew what to do. Damn, it. Stone was leaking feelings again. Doing his best to keep a stiff upper lip, Prince Edward waited for disorder incarnate to make his way over.

  As usual, his childhood rival was a disheveled mess of a Mechmian. His duster was covered in grease splotches, his out-of-fashion short hair slightly tousled, and the tie that went from his high collar to inside his chest plate was crooked. While it wasn't illegal for a Mechmian to not be perfectly groomed in accordance with one of the monthly fashion publications, it was challenging to find one that wasn't a subscriber. The worst part was that Ted did subscribe, but he just couldn't be bothered.

  “Good afternoon, Ed, Stone. Lovely weather they've designed for the event, eh?” the oblivious blue knight stated apathetically as he waved at the white knight, who suddenly relaxed. Locke was there so that everything would work out. Locke would know what to do and take over all the problematic things. This palpable relief increased Ed's jealousy. Why could he not inspire his own knight in such a way?

  The Mechmians had spent a thousand years breeding out emotions in favor of cold logic, and it showed in their conversations with most of them. However, in recent generations, the Mechmians had shifted to controlled emotion as emotions increased creativity, which fueled innovation. Their religion explicitly called for non-stop improvements and innovation; thus, the strategy was altered. Ted was the third generation since the change and spent his childhood smiling. To see him so apathetic and different felt worse than a surprise stabbing from Nina.

  “Now is not the time for the default Mechmian conversation, Ted. Take a knee. You're supposed to be smart,” Ed chastised through gritted smiling teeth. He gave the crowd a winning smile, and the long cheer that followed gave him time to wonder why he'd made such a terrible decision that he already regretted. Or would have regretted had his idiot while knight not desperately wanted his emotional support Mechmian back. The pair were unhealthily codependent.

  Face as blank as an empty canvas, Sir Acogson quipped, “We must stand on ceremony, even whilst kneeling. Just hurry up about it,” much to the delight of Stone, who considered this statement incredibly profound. At least one of them did. Ed just wanted the ceremony over so he could recover from the emotional damage Ted always seemed to cause.

  Eyes on the crowd and with a chipper smile, he didn't feel Ed sounded entertained and benevolent as he corrected, “Those aren't the words, and that's not taking a knee.” He was a Castile, and there were no better actors in the universe. He could work a crowd sick to his stomach with second-hand anxiety.

  “The words don't matter in this case,” the man bluntly, but slowly explained as he took a knee and removed the visor that covered the upper half of his face.

  Ed could feel the revulsion and dislike wafting from the knight like a stench. The blue knight was doing his best to suppress his desires despite the disinterested tone of voice, “I, Sir Theodore Locke Acogson, blue knight of Mechma and Acog Industries, humbly submit to the Choosing of High Prince Edward Edmond Castile, purple knight of High Mountain and of the Thirteen Nations United Under High Mountain. Me mind shall belong to thee to do with as ye will. Me body shall serve ye all me remaining days.”

  The blue knight hated the idea but was committed to the performance. As if he were afraid to lose an arm, Ed placed his hand on the other's head. The thick, dark blond hair was a mess, reflecting the jumbled mind beneath. Thoughts raced by too quickly for Ed to catch in several constant hums of thought. It felt like he was about to cage a wild beast with nothing more than an undersized rusty cage.

  The blue knight's head raised, and their eyes met. This was part of the ceremony, of course, but it almost seemed funny that it was the only part of the ceremony the disheveled knight remembered. A brief chuckle escaped Ed's lips as he waited for the signal to proceed. A part of him hoped his selection would be refused.

  “Ye should trust me methods a wee bit more,” Sir Acogson said softly in the usual Mechmian apathetic voice, “I trust thee. I truly am willing to do what must be done. The suicide mission would have been fun, though. The lads will be fine without me.”

  Though the blue knight's lips failed to smile, Ed could see the other smiling from the intelligent brown eyes that never stopped flickering back and forth. Perhaps the mischievous boy was still in there somewhere. The thought was comforting, but also the most frightening thing Ed could think of. Teddy was insane, a condition that ran in his family.

  The selection judgment panel seemed to take a long time. It was tempting to look away. Prolonged eye contact with another man was not something Ed particularly enjoyed. Had it taken this long for the others?

  Dressed in golden gem-crusted armor, the chairman's voice boomed as it had many times before in the ceremony, “We who have been charged with the sacred duty to oversee the royal selection process, find historical precedent dictates knights are judged until they take a knee. Therefore, we must sanction this selection despite the initial points disparity. You may continue with the process.”

  It was clear they'd argued among themselves from the tone, but the crowd cheered at the revelation. The universe would be talking about this selection for an age. His father would be extremely pleased, as even mentioning the Castile name would further cement the psychic hold on the populace. A grand reveal after heated deliberation was entertainment gold.

  “Are you ready? Ed inquired, trying to ignore the projected excitement and relief of the white knight behind him.

  “No, but do it anyway,” came the reply.

  Pure, unadulterated pain. That was the word his siblings always used to describe adding additional members to the coterie. Sewing the minds together was agonizing to hear the others tell it. A poor selection could kill the royal, the selected, and everyone else in the coterie or leave them comatose with no hope of recovery. It happened at least once a generation, though they'd been lucky so far. That was the purpose of the ceremony: to ensure compatibility. Even with it, there was a chance that some or all could die despite the precautions. It was considered odd that the entire current generation had reached adulthood. This was a fact the High King was rather proud of.

  Ed's poor decision-making had led to few chances to mess up, but he hadn't thought it so bad when he acquired Sir Enots. To him, it was like stepping down on a foot that had fallen asleep. The psyonic tendrils on both sides seemed to reach out for one another, and all he had to do was stitch them together with the proverbial needle. They'd be sore afterwards, but the pain wouldn't be unbearable.

  The connection was slow at first. Mechmian minds were vast, and Sir Acogson, for all his faults, had a place on the list of the top 1% of Mechmian minds as measured annually. The pace picked up as Sir Acogson's mind began to assist. Mechmians were considered processing and storage in coteries. Though challenging to integrate, having one drastically increased one's abilities.

  When it was done, blood flowed from every orifice as it had after seeing his father. However, this time the specialized field was there to aid in recovery. Closing remarks and performances followed as the royals and their coterie were attended to by medical personnel. Soon, they'd have their first mission together.