by Kiera Cass
In my head, it worked out perfectly. In my head, everyone was happy. . .
It was ten minutes until the Report came on, and we were all in place early. I couldn’t imagine we were alone in not wanting to miss a second of this announcement.
“I remember when Queen Amberly was chosen! Oh, I knew from the beginning she would make it.” Mom was making popcorn, as if this were a movie.
“Did you go in the lottery, Mama?” Gerad asked.
“No, sweetie, Mama was two years too young for the cutoff. But lucky me, I got your father instead.” She smiled and winked.
Whoa. She must have been in a good mood. I couldn’t remember the last time she was that affectionate toward Dad.
“Queen Amberly is the best queen ever. She’s so beautiful and smart. Every time I see her on TV, I want to be just like her,” May said with a sigh.
“She is a good queen,” I added quietly.
Finally eight o’clock rolled around, and the national emblem rose on the screen along with the instrumental version of our anthem. Was I actually trembling? I was so ready for this to be over.
The king appeared and gave a brief update on the war. The other announcements were also short. It seemed like everyone there was in a good mood. I guessed this must be exciting for them, too.
Finally the Master of Events came up and introduced Gavril, who walked straight over to the royal family.
“Good evening, Your Majesty,” he said to the king.
“Gavril, always good to see you.” The king was borderline giddy.
“Looking forward to the announcement?”
“Ah, yes. I was in the room yesterday as a few were drawn; all very lovely girls.”
“So you know who they are already?” Gavril exclaimed.
“Just a few, just a few.”
“Did he happen to share any of this information with you, sir?” Gavril turned to Maxon.
“Not at all. I’ll see them when everyone else does,” Maxon replied. You could see he was trying to hide his nerves.
I realized my palms were sweating.
“Your Majesty,” Gavril went over to the queen. “Any advice for the Selected?”
She smiled her serene smile. I didn’t know what the other women looked like when she went through the Selection, but I couldn’t imagine anyone being as graceful and lovely as her.
“Enjoy your last night as an average girl. Tomorrow, no matter what, your life will be different forever. And it’s old advice, but it’s good: Be yourself.”
“Wise words, my queen, wise words. And with that, let us reveal the thirty-five young ladies chosen for the Selection. Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in congratulating the following Daughters of Illéa!”
The screen changed to the national emblem. In the upper right-hand corner, there was a small box with Maxon’s face, to see his reactions as the pictures went across the monitor. He would already be making decisions about them, the way we all would.
Gavril had a set of cards in his hands, ready to read out the names of the girls whose worlds, according to the queen, were about to change forever.
“Miss Elayna Stoles of Hansport, Three.” A photo of a tiny girl with porcelain skin popped up. She looked like a lady. Maxon beamed.
“Miss Tuesday Keeper of Waverly, Four.” A girl with freckles appeared. She looked older, more mature. Maxon whispered something to the king.
“Miss Fiona Castley of Paloma, Three.” A brunette with smoldering eyes this time. Maybe my age, but she seemed more . . . experienced.
I turned to Mom and May on the couch. “Doesn’t she seem awfully—”
“Miss America Singer of Carolina, Five.”
I whipped my head back around, and there it was. The picture of me just after I’d found out Aspen was saving up to marry me. I looked radiant, hopeful, beautiful. I looked like I was in love. And some idiot thought that love was for Prince Maxon.
Mom screamed by my ear, and May jumped up, sending popcorn everywhere. Gerad got excited too and started dancing. Dad . . . it’s hard to say, but I think he was secretly smiling behind his book.
I missed what Maxon’s expression was.
The phone rang.
And it didn’t stop for days.
CHAPTER 6
THE NEXT WEEK WAS FULL of officials swarming into our house to prepare me for the Selection. There was an obnoxious woman who seemed to think I’d lied about half my application, followed by an actual palace guard who came to go over security measures with the local soldiers and give our home a once-over. Apparently I didn’t have to wait until getting to the palace to worry about potential rebel attacks. Wonderful.
We got two phone calls from a woman named Silvia—who sounded very perky and businesslike at the same time—wanting to know if we needed anything. My favorite visitor was a lean, goateed man who came to measure me for my new wardrobe. I wasn’t sure how I felt about wearing dresses that were as formal as the queen’s all the time, but I was looking forward to a change.
The last of these visitors came on Wednesday afternoon, two days before I was to leave. He was in charge of going over all the official rules with me. He was incredibly skinny with greasy black hair that was smoothed back, and he kept sweating. Upon entering the house, he asked if there was someplace private we could talk. That was my first clue that something was going on.
“Well, we can sit in the kitchen, if that’s all right,” Mom suggested.
He dabbed his head with a handkerchief and looked over at May. “Actually, anyplace is fine. I just think you might want to ask your younger daughter to leave the room.”
What could he possibly say that May couldn’t hear?
“Mama?” she asked, sad to be missing out.
“May, darling, go and work on your painting. You’ve been neglecting your work a bit this last week.”
“But—”
“Let me walk you out, May,” I offered, looking at the tears welling up in her eyes.
When we were down the hall and no one could hear, I pulled her in for a hug.
“Don’t worry,” I whispered. “I’ll tell you everything tonight. Promise.”
To her credit, she didn’t blow our cover by jumping up and down as usual. She merely nodded somberly and went away to her little corner in Dad’s studio.
Mom made tea for Skinny, and we sat at the kitchen table to talk. He had a stack of papers and a pen laid out next to another folder with my name on it. He arranged his information neatly and spoke.
“I’m sorry to be so secretive, but there are certain things I need to address that are unfit for young ears.”
Mom and I exchanged a quick glance.
“Miss Singer, this is going to sound harsh, but as of last Friday, you are now considered property of Illéa. You must take care of your body from here on out. I have several forms for you to sign as we go through this information. Any failure to comply on your part will result in your immediate removal from the Selection. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said warily.
“Very good. Let’s start with the easy stuff. These are vitamins. Since you are a Five, I’ll assume that you may not always have access to necessary nutrition. You must take one of these every day. You’re on your own now, but at the palace, you’ll have someone to help you.” He passed a large bottle across the table to me, along with a form I had to sign to say that I had received it.
I had to stop myself from laughing. Who needs help taking a pill?
“I have with me the physical from your doctor. Not much of a worry there. You seem to be in excellent health, although he said you haven’t been sleeping well?”
“Umm, I mean . . . just with the excitement, it’s been a little hard to sleep.” It was almost the truth. The days were whirlwinds of palace preparation, but at night, when I was still, I thought of Aspen. It was the one time I couldn’t avoid him coming into my mind, and it appeared he wasn’t eager to leave.
“I see. Well, I can have some sleep ai
ds here tonight if you need them. We want you well rested.”
“No, I don’t—”
“Yes,” Mom interrupted. “Sorry, honey, but you look exhausted. Please, get her the sleep aids.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Skinny made another note in my file. “Moving on. Now, I know this is personal, but I’ve had to discuss it with every contestant, so please don’t be shy.” He paused. “I need confirmation that you are, in fact, a virgin.”
Mom’s eyes nearly popped out. So this was why May had to leave.
“Are you serious?” I couldn’t believe they’d send someone out to do this. At least send a woman. . .
“I’m afraid so. If you’re not, we need to know that immediately.”
Eww. And with my mother in the room. “I know the law, sir. I’m not stupid. Of course I am.”
“Consider, please. If you are found to be lying. . .”
“For goodness’ sake, America’s never even had a boyfriend!” Mom said.
“That’s right.” I grabbed that rope, hoping it would end this discussion.
“Very good. I’ll just need you to sign this form to confirm your statement.”
I rolled my eyes but obeyed. I was glad Illéa existed, considering that this very land had nearly been turned to rubble, but these regulations were starting to make me feel like I was suffocating, like there were invisible chains keeping me down. Laws about who you could love, forms about your virginity being intact; it was infuriating.
“I need to go over the rules with you. They are very straightforward, and you shouldn’t have a hard time complying. If you have any questions, just speak up.”
He looked up from his stack of forms and made eye contact with me.
“I will,” I mumbled.
“You cannot leave the palace of your own accord. You have to be dismissed by the prince himself. Even the king and queen cannot force you out. They can tell the prince they do not approve of you, but he makes every decision on who stays and who leaves.
“There is no set timeline for the Selection. It can be over in a matter of days or stretch into years.”
“Years?” I asked in horror. The thought of being gone that long set me on edge.
“Not to worry. The prince is unlikely to let it go for very long. This is a moment for him to show his decisiveness, and allowing the Selection to drag on doesn’t look good. But should he choose to take it that way, you will be required to stay for as long as the prince needs to make his choice.”
My fear must have shown on my face because Mom reached over and patted my hand. Skinny, however, was unfazed.
“You do not arrange your times with the prince. He will seek you out for one-on-one company if he wants it. If you are in a larger social setting and he is present, that is different. But you do not go to him without invitation.
“While no one expects you to get along with the other thirty-four contestants, you are not to fight with them or sabotage them. If you are found laying hands on another contestant, causing her stress, stealing from her, or doing anything that might diminish her personal relationship with the prince, it is in his hands whether or not to dismiss you on the spot.
“Your only romantic relationship will be with Prince Maxon. If you are found writing love notes to someone here or are caught in a relationship with another person in the palace, that is considered treason and is punishable by death.”
Mom rolled her eyes at that one, though that might be the only rule that worried me.
“If you are found breaking any of Illéa’s written laws, you will receive the punishment tied to that offense. Your status as one of the Selected does not put you above the law.
“You must not wear any clothes or eat any food that is not specifically provided for you by the palace. This is a security issue and will be strictly enforced.
“On Fridays you will be present for all Capital Report broadcasts. On occasion, but always with warning, there will be cameras or photographers in the palace, and you will be courteous and allow them to see your lifestyle with the prince.
“For each week you stay at the palace, your family will be compensated. I will give you your first check before I leave. Also, should you not stay at the palace, an aide will help you adjust to your life after the Selection. Your aide will assist you with final preparations before you leave for the palace, as well as help you seek new housing and employment afterward.
“Should you make it to the top ten, you will be considered an Elite. Once you reach that status, you will be required to learn about the particular inner workings of the life and obligations you would have as a princess. You are not permitted to seek out such details before that time.
“From this moment on, your status is a Three.”
“A Three?” Mom and I both exclaimed.
“Yes. After the Selection, it’s hard for girls to go back to their old lives. Twos and Threes do fine, but Fours and below tend to struggle. You are a Three now, but the rest of your family remain Fives. Should you win, you and your entire family become Ones as members of the royal family.”
“Ones.” The word was faint on Mom’s lips.
“And should you go to the end, you will marry Prince Maxon and become the crowned princess of Illéa and take on all the rights and responsibilities of that title. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” That part, as big as it sounded, was the easiest to bear.
“Very good. If you could just sign this form saying you’ve heard all the official rules, and Mrs. Singer, if you could just sign this form saying you received your check, please.”
I didn’t see the sum, but it made her eyes well. I was miserable at the idea of leaving, but I was sure if I went there only to be sent back the next day, this check alone would provide us with enough money for a very comfortable year. And when I got back, everyone would want me to sing. I’d have plenty of work. But would I be allowed to sing as a Three? If I had to pick one of the career paths of a Three, I think I’d teach. Maybe I could at least help others learn music.
Skinny collected his forms and stood to leave, thanking us for our time and for the tea. I would have to interact with only one more official before I left, and that would be my aide: the person who would guide me through getting from my house to the send-off to the airport. And then . . . then I’d be on my own.
Our guest asked if I would show him to the door, and Mom consented, as she wanted to start dinner. I didn’t like being alone with him, but it was a short walk.
“One more thing,” Skinny said with his hand on the door. “This isn’t exactly a rule, but it would be unwise of you to ignore it. When you are invited to do something with Prince Maxon, you do not refuse. No matter what it is. Dinner, outings, kisses—more than kisses—anything. Do not turn him down.”
“Excuse me?” Was the same man who made me sign a form affirming my purity suggesting that I let Maxon have it if he wanted it?
“I know it sounds . . . unbecoming. But it would not behoove you to reject the prince under any circumstances. Good evening, Miss Singer.”
I was disgusted, revolted. The law, Illéan law, was that you were to wait until marriage. It was an effective way of keeping diseases at bay, and it helped keep the castes intact. Illegitimates were thrown into the street to become Eights, and the penalty for being discovered, either by a person or through pregnancy, was jail time. If someone was even suspicious, you could spend a few nights in a cell. True, it restricted me from being intimate with the one person I loved, and that had bothered me. But now that Aspen and I were over, I was glad I’d been forced to save myself.
I was infuriated. Hadn’t I just signed a form saying I’d be punished if I broke Illéan law? I wasn’t above the rules; that was what he’d said. But apparently the prince was. And I felt dirty, lower than an Eight.
“America, honey, it’s for you,” Mom sang. I’d heard the doorbell myself but was in no rush to answer it. If this was another person asking for an autograph, I didn’t think I’d be able
to handle it.
I walked down the hall and turned the corner. There, with a handful of wildflowers, was Aspen.
“Hello, America.” His voice was restrained, almost professional.
“Hello, Aspen.” Mine was weak.
“These are from Kamber and Celia. They wanted to wish you luck.” He closed the distance between us and gave me the flowers. Flowers from his sisters, not from him.
“That’s awfully sweet!” Mom exclaimed. I had almost forgotten she was in the room.
“Aspen, I’m glad you’re here.” I tried to sound as removed as he had. “I’ve made a mess trying to pack. Could you help me clean?”
With my mom there, he had to accept. As a general rule, Sixes didn’t turn down work. We were the same in that way.
He exhaled through his nose and nodded once.
Aspen followed me down the hall. I thought about how many times I’d wanted just this: for Aspen to walk in my house and come to my room. Could the circumstances have been any worse?
I pushed open the door to my room and Aspen laughed out loud.
“Did you let a dog do your packing?”
“Shut up! I had a little trouble finding what I was looking for.” In spite of myself, I smiled.
He went to work, setting things upright and folding shirts. I helped, of course.
“Aren’t you taking any of these clothes?” he whispered.
“No. They dress me from tomorrow on out.”
“Oh. Wow.”
“Were your sisters disappointed?”
“No, actually.” He shook his head in disbelief. “The moment they saw your face, the whole house erupted. They’re crazy about you. My mom in particular.”
“I love your mom. She’s always really nice to me.”
A few minutes passed in silence as my room went slowly back to normal.
“Your picture. . .,” he began, “was absolutely beautiful.”
It hurt to have him tell me I was beautiful. It wasn’t fair. Not after everything he’d done.
“It was for you,” I whispered.
“What?”
“It’s just. . . I thought you were going to be proposing soon.” My voice was thick.
