by Eve, Jaymin
My mother had gifted me only one thing, a name from her two favorite flowers, telling the nurse moments before she hemorrhaged and died on the operating table, leaving me an orphan. Apparently, she never mentioned a father, and so far no one had come forward to claim me.
“Violet Rose Spencer, you have five minutes to make your way to the matron.”
This time the voice sounded annoyed, but I didn’t bother to rush. I wasn’t a ward of the state anymore. I’d turned eighteen last week, and they couldn’t kick me out. I was only here waiting for my final paperwork—which was probably what this summons was about—before I moved on to college. State college of course, but for the first time I would have control of my life. Freedom to make my own choices, instead of being shuffled around foster and group homes at the whims of people who wanted to play “family” with me.
“Vi!” Meredith yelled, rushing across the room. Meredith Mossman, with her waist-length strawberry-blonde hair, big blue eyes, and curves for days, was the closest thing I had for a friend in this shithole, having been one of the five other girls I shared a room with. “There’s someone in the front room waiting for you. A man I’ve never seen before.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He’s kinda hot in an old dude way.”
That gave me a moment’s pause, because the paperwork shouldn’t require a stranger’s input. And a hot stranger at that. Maybe the matron was finally getting some. Might improve the old bitch’s temperament.
“Only one way to find out,” I said, linking my arm through Meredith’s and dragging her along with me. It felt safer not to face them alone.
The matron had an office at the front of the group home. This was where she dished out the good and bad news, disciplined us, and hid away when she was just over kids for the day. And considering Mission State Home was one of the largest in Michigan, housing fifty kids at all times, she was often hiding.
There was a real potential for violence and corruption with this many children under one roof, albeit a large roof, but the matron managed to keep it under control. One thing I could say about this place: I’d never felt unsafe. Unlike many other places I grew up in.
When I knocked, the matron looked up, as did the man who was sitting across from her in the padded chair. The nice chair. If you didn’t get to sit in it, you were stuck with the rickety old stool that was propped in the corner.
“Violet, please come in,” the matron said as she waved me in. “Miss Mossman, you’re dismissed.”
Fuck. Looked like my moral support was gone. Meredith gave me a commiserating stare before backing out of the room. The matron got to her feet then, crossing around the desk to close the door. I noticed that she was dressed very nicely, in a tweed skirt suit, the jacket closed over her round figure, the buttons looking like they were working very hard to keep all of her shit contained. Her steel gray hair was slicked back, her lips a garish red, and despite the fact that she still looked every one of her sixty years, she was presenting quite the polished front.
“Violet, please take a seat.” She waved magnanimously toward the stool, and I sighed as I pulled it out.
I’d been doing my best to ignore the man sitting there, because men in general made me wary, and strange men were at the absolute bottom of my list of trustworthy species.
Pulling the stool in closer to the desk, I kept a decent distance between the man and me. Despite not staring at him, I still noticed from the corner of my eye how nicely he was dressed. His black fitted suit appeared to be without a single wrinkle or mark. Flawlessly fitting to his broad shoulders.
Additional impressions I got while not staring at him was that he was mid-forties, rich, and bored. He just sat there, waiting for the matron to stop fussing, his eyes half-lidded and empty.
“Are you sure I can’t get you anything to drink, Mr. Wainwright?” she asked.
He shook his head, letting out an almost inaudible sigh. “No, thank you, Madam Bonnell.” He lifted his wrist and a gleaming watch came into sight under the cuff of his suit. “I’m on a tight deadline, as I explained last night when I phoned, and I really do need to be on my way.”
He turned to me, and I was finally forced to acknowledge his presence. “Violet Spencer, are you ready to leave?”
He sort of looked about me, like he was searching for something before lifting dark brown eyes back in my direction.
I refused to let my emotions show on my face, working very hard to keep it blank. “Excuse me? Go where?”
At this, the matron cleared her throat. “Apologies, I haven’t had a chance to speak with Violet yet, and as such, she has no idea this is happening.”
I narrowed my eyes on her. More likely that by the time she got the phone call last night, she was half-way through her Schnapps and Jeopardy, and had forgotten to tell me right until this moment.
I cleared my throat, a weird feeling swirling in my stomach. I had a decent radar for danger, but that wasn’t the vibe here. Still, I was nervous to know what this was all about.
Mr. Wainwright shot the matron a disparaging look—a look he did very well—before he reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He leaned closer and held it out to me.
Warily, I reached out and took the paper, marveling at how thick and heavy it was. I’d never seen paper like it before. My hands shook as I opened it, because for the life of me, I had not a single clue what was happening here.
The writing inside was hand done, in a sweeping, spectacular calligraphy.
Dear Violet Rose Spencer,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been randomly selected from a ballot of over 15 million orphans and foster children for a chance to attend the prestigious Arbon Academy. Our college has a long tradition of producing the finest leaders, professionals, and royalty the world has ever seen.
This is an opportunity of a lifetime. Offered once every five years.
Your tuition, room, food, and essentials are all covered under your scholarship, and you will graduate with the chance to secure a job in whichever field you desire.
Our representative will oversee your passport and travel arrangements.
We look forward to having you at Arbon academy.
With kindest regards,
Principal Dean Morgan
Advisor to the monarchy.
I read it twice.
“Is this a fucking joke?” I asked the man, my voice wavering as I fought between anger and confusion.
The matron gasped. “Violet. Language!”
Yeah, for sure. Because the previous twelve or so years of chastising me in regards to language hadn’t worked, but one more shot was the ticket.
Mr. Wainwright didn’t seem to care. “I promise that this is not a joke, Ms. Spencer. Do you remember entering the ballot? It would have been about this time last year.”
The matron leaned over her desk. “Yes, you had to go in for blood and a cheek swab, remember? To ensure that you were in good health to be part of it.”
The blood part sent the memory hurtling to the forefront of my mind. I hated needles. It was a full blown phobia, so Meredith had held me down—she’d literally sat on me—while they took the blood.
“The princess ballot,” I said softly. Mr. Wainwright glared at me then.
“We discourage the use of that name. The fact that some of the previous ballot winners have married into royalty is mere coincidence of circumstances. We make no promises on your future beyond providing the best education and opportunities.”
I snorted. “Okay, sure. Except that all of the ballot winners have ended up as royalty in some form, so yeah. Pretty sure calling it the Princess Ballot is appropriate.”
He didn’t answer, but there was a flicker of something in his dark eyes. That sight bothered me, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint why that was. I turned my eyes back to the paper. The princess ballot was famous around the world, and not for one second had I ever expected that I would be chosen. Being chosen was like winning the lotto. As the lett
er said, over fifteen million people, between the ages of fifteen and twenty-two, were entered. Eligible to finish their school or college at the academy.
Arbon academy was the most exclusive, prestigious, and out of reach school in the world. Its location was a closely held secret, somewhere in Europe, and it was the college of choice for royalty and the children of billionaires. How did I know all of this? They had given us a full speech about it when we were eligible to enter.
Fifteen million.
“Ms. Spencer?”
I met the gaze of the man here to change my life.
“How can I trust this is real?” I said softly. “You could be anyone with a piece of paper and expensive suit. I’d prefer not to end up on the black market or in the sex trade.”
There was no way I was lucky enough to be chosen for this. It had to be either a joke, a mistake, or something untoward. The matron cleared her throat, her face splotchy and red like I’d just embarrassed her. But the man, again, didn’t seem annoyed.
“I have another message for you.”
Reaching down, I noticed for the first time that there was a briefcase at his feet. He pulled from it a small device. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before, about the size of a mini-laptop, and when he opened it a familiar face appeared.
Familiar only because I’d seen him on television dozens of times in the past few years.
“Good morning, Violet,” the face said, and I jumped because I’d thought it was a video recording, not a video-call.
“K-king Munroe,” I stuttered. “Your Majesty.”
Holy shit, I was talking to the King of the Americas!
He smiled, probably well used to bumbling morons. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said easily. “I wanted to personally congratulate you on this opportunity. It has been twenty years since we’ve had an American chosen, so this is very exciting for the entire country.”
It was real. Holy fucking fuck.
“For your safety, we will not be announcing your name,” the leader of the Americas continued, and I paid attention. “But it will be known that an American will be joining the ranks of the upper elite, attending Arbon academy.”
“I have no idea what to say,” I admitted honestly. “I think I’m still in shock.”
I’d probably be in shock for the entire four years of my college degree.
Oh my god! I was going to have the best education in the world, and it was all free. Free food and room and essentials for the next four years. No working five jobs just to get by, while trying to study and better my life.
Tears pricked at my eyes then—I hadn’t cried in years, but right now, I allowed myself this moment of weakness. All the while finishing my conversation with the most important man in our country.
When Mr. Wainwright returned the small device to his leather bag, I just sat on my rickety stool like a stunned idiot.
“Do you have any other questions?” he said, and I lifted my gaze to meet his fully, for the first time.
“Just one: when do we leave?”
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