Obren’s 3rd-person POV

Obren, a prince of Canna, had drawn straws many times in the past, but never had the stakes been so high. This time it wasn’t about who would go first or last either in childhood games of years gone by, or in sexual liaisons from more recent years. It wasn’t about who would help pitch the army tents versus dig the holes for the latrine. Or fill them in, later, when breaking camp.

This time, the rest of his life was at stake. Not life or death, itself, but the direction his life would follow, and its potential to bring him happiness.

Obren’s 3rd-person POV

Obren’s stomach twisted into a knot as his father, King Rogan of Canna, offered his closed fist. Obren drew in a deep breath, understanding, to the marrow of his bones, that any plea to avoid this choice was pointless. A straw must be drawn, and as the older of the two brothers, he would draw first.

Not that the order of drawing mattered. Whether or not he drew the short straw would be down to luck. The luck of the draw would decide his life’s path. His hand twitched as he checked a nervous impulse to smooth down his already neatly styled blond hair.

(picking up immediately after the action in the prior snippet)

Obren’s 3rd-person POV

Treaties had been signed, and a complete series of intermarriages between the realms would solidify their fledgling peace. The three realms had agreed on this course of action.

Obren closed his eyes, shut out the sounds of his father’s heavy breathing, and focused on preventing the quiver building in his gut from reaching his hand as he lifted it. He paused and opened his eyes. Was there any possible stratagem he could employ to boost his chances?

“Just pick one,” Lale hissed. “Let’s get this over with.” Lale, being Obren’s younger brother, was as invested in the outcome as was Obren.

(Skipping ahead just a tiny bit from the previous snippets.)

Obren’s 3rd-person POV

Obren swallowed, squared his shoulders, and snatched one of the two straws sticking up from of Father’s fist. He stepped back and stared at the stick, but it gave him no information.

No useful information, anyway. Length could be both absolute and relative. He could see that the absolute length of his straw was about six knuckles long. But it was the length relative to the straw remaining in Father’s hand that would give the answer.

Lale strode swiftly forward and grabbed the remaining straw. The brothers stood staring at one another for ten solid beats before slowly raising their hands to compare straws.