"Beatrice!" my mother squeals excitedly while shaking the bedcovers. "Wake up, this is important!"
I grumble, and open my eyes. The light in the room blinds me, and I groan. "W-what's going on?" I mumble.
"The envelope's arrived. You'll need to fill it out."
I focus in on my mother's face. She is smiling from ear to ear, and her cheeks are flushed with exhilaration. Of course she would be full of energy. A chance like this would happen only once in a lifetime. Prince Tobias Eaton and his half-brother, Prince Uriah, were of age and eligible for a random selected amount of girls in the country fulfilling the age requirement. I could be one of these girls.
"Okay, Mom. I'll be downstairs in a heartbeat. Just let me get dressed." She nods, grinning, and closes the door behind her. I sigh.
I wasn't exactly sure if the Selection was my scene. I'm just Beatrice Prior, the unruly sixteen-year-old girl in the second to last caste, Dauntless. What would the princes want from me?
I quickly open my drawers, and scan for some clothes. The Dauntless caste wears black clothing to demonstrate their cause for bravery and strength. Being the second-poorest caste, next to the caste-less, we have to be strong to survive. Only a fraction of us survive in the poverty, and our only way out of this life is marrying out, enlisting in the royal guard, or being selected. My older brother, Caleb, married out to Erudite, the caste dealing with sciences and technology, and never looked back. I slip into a black V-neck shirt and black jeans, and head downstairs.
My mother is bouncing up and down eagerly, and she inhales sharply as she catches sight of me. "What took you so long? I need you to write the application." I shrug, and take the gold envelope. "To the Prior Family" is written in an intricate calligraphy in the middle. I brush my fingers over the script, and then gingerly open the envelope.
The paper is deliciously thick and soft. I unfold the letter with trembling hands, and read aloud. " Dear Beatrice," I begin as my mother squeezes my shoulder. "You, along with the other eligible girls in the country are given the opportunity of a lifetime. Prince Tobias Eaton and Prince Uriah Eaton are of age, and are looking for wives. You could be one of them. Please fill out the ticket enclosed, and you might be one of the twenty girls selected to enroll in the competition to win a prince's hand. Drop this ticket into the ballot at the closest town square by next Monday. Good luck. Sincerely, King Marcus Eaton."
I glance nervously at my mother, who nods, and whispers, "Go on." I grope for the ticket inside the envelope, and take it out. With a pen, I sign my name, birthdate, and caste. My mom gives me my headshot, the only headshot in fact we could afford to print, and I stick it on the designated spot. I bite my lip, and hand the ticket to my mother.
Together, we rush into the square, where several of my friends are situated. They too, are both thrilled and cautious, dropping their tickets into the ballot. My mother and I, holding hands, wait for the crowd to decongest. My mother stuffs the ticket through the small slot, and exhales, satisfied. I however, am staring off into the space, where a small glimpse, the shadow of a majestic castle is shown. What have I gotten myself into?