Disclaimer: I own no part of The Selection series.

This story will be told in a similar fashion as the original books. This will be the first story of a series which will cover "The Selection", "The Elite", and "The One". Thank you for your support, I hope you enjoy it!

Xxxx

He ran a trembling hand through his cropped, honey blonde curls. A perfect representation of himself staring back from the mirror. His charcoal suit was crisp and fit against his body, portraying the image of perfection on the outside, but not the wave of nervousness beneath. This is nothing. He tried to reason. This isn't the first time you'll be on TV. No, but it was much worse this time, he would be announcing the 35 women – girls – who would be joining him. He'd known the time was coming, the Selection was tradition, yet it had snuck up on him still and he felt a familiar nausea at the idea, at what was to come.

A gentle thud sounded on the door to his bedroom. When he didn't respond, the door was pushed open, a stuffy voice breaking his silent worry. "Your Majesty?"

Ah, Thedric. "Are they ready for me?"

The balding man gave a quick jerk of his head indicating that they were, in fact, ready for him. Maxon drew in one last, steadying breath. "You may go, I believe I'll be able to find my way just fine." He gave his butler a smirk, one that he didn't entirely mean. The possibility of burying himself back beneath the covers of his bed was high.

"Of course, Your Majesty." The man bowed himself from the room, leaving Maxon alone once more. When he was sure his butler was gone, he took his own leave. The short heels of his oxfords clicked as he walked down the overly empty hallway. It seemed everyone was waiting for today's announcement. He took the four flights of stairs in silence.

At the sound of his entrance into the soundstage, his father turned, eying him. Maxon nodded his own head by way of greeting, trying to ignore the glare that settled in his father's eyes as he made his way to his own seat. As the seat of his pants touched the crushed velvet of the chair, they were on. He forced his lips into the practiced smile he wore all too well as his father – the King – spoke at the podium. He listened half-heartedly to the updates on infrastructure and the war – the rebels, things he already knew too much about from his days closeted with his father and his advisers. When the politics of it all finally came to an end and King Clarkson took his seat, Gavril bounded on stage.

With a charming smile and enthusiastic wave at the cameras, Gavril made his way to the royal family. Maxon listened as the Master of Events spoke with his father, asking him about the Selection, how his father pretended to not have a hand in all this. Even Maxon was sure he knew how at least some of the girls had been chosen.

Maxon registered the change in Gavril's voice and realized he was now speaking to him. "…share any of this information with you?"

"Not at all." Maxon replied, forcing his face into one of excitement. "I'll see them when everyone else does." And then Gavril moved on once more, addressing the queen – his mother – this time. Before he knew it, the interrogation was over and the emblem of Illea flashed onto the nearby television. He shifted in his seat just slightly, sitting a little bit taller. He couldn't give way to his nerves, not yet. He knew if a camera wasn't zoomed in on his face now, it would be any moment. The images of girls began flashing across the screen and he tried desperately to commit them to memory. He hoped it would calm him, give him the image of feeling prepared, but it was fruitless. The pictures gave way to the next too quickly and they all faded together. Blonde turned to brown and back again and it was all he could do to remember even their castes.

Some of them did look quite intriguing. They were women he wouldn't mind spending a little alone time with. Bariel, in particular, caught his eye. He could have easily gotten lost in her china-blue eyes, but then, like the others, her face faded too. He had no idea how many pictures he had already seen and kicked himself, wishing he'd kept track. He'd be getting to know them soon enough, for now, he was ready for the torture to be over.

Another young woman appeared. Leah, they said her name was? Her skin was tan, based on her province, Dominica, he guessed that it was natural. It was quite unlike his fair skin from too many days spent inside the palace. Her picture disappeared and the girl who replaced it was different than the others somehow. America Singer, Gavirl had said. Her picturesque blue eyes were light compared to her blazing red hair. What captivated Maxon the most, however, was her expression. It held a kind of joy that couldn't be faked and he couldn't help but wonder just what had caused such a toothy grin.

When America's picture went away it wasn't replaced, instead, the screen faded to black. Of all the girls he had seen that night, America was the one still on his mind. Perhaps it was because she was the last one to be shown or maybe the fact – he realized – she was the only redhead of the group.

Xxxx

Maxon was grateful when the last camera powered down, the last questions were asked by his mother "What do you think?" "Did you see anyone you like?". They were pointless questions, really, his mom of all people should understand that. But then, he was aware of how excited she was to have a daughter. He knew nothing about these women other than what they looked like and their arbitrary number.

His dad was speechless which wasn't entirely unexpected. They'd never been close if you could call it that. Instead, the distance between them was filled with a coldness that never came close to breaking. Maxon couldn't help but feel as though his father resented him. If Maxon had never existed, King Clarkson wouldn't have to give up his throne.

With the thoughts of it all, he couldn't help but feel exhausted. He stripped quickly, folding his suit coat carefully and laying it over the back of his desk chair. His pants came next and were deposited in a similar fashion despite his desire to leave it all in a puddle on the floor. Truly, there was nothing stopping him. His butlers would be by in the morning to clean anyway, it just wasn't who he was, it wasn't who he was raised to be.

It was times like this Maxon was grateful he had dismissed his butlers years ago when it came to dressing. He was capable of clothing himself, three other men weren't necessary. The mere idea of it was distressing to him. Now, it reminded him of the girls that would be filling his house in just a matter of days. They'd be receiving the same help the royal family was entitled to. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it for what felt like the millionth time that night. Now wasn't the time to worry about such things, to worry about them. He'd be thinking of them all plenty over the next weeks, months. Oh, he hoped it didn't take that long.

He flipped back the down covers and slid between the silk sheets. The mattress molded to his shape, curving around each of his muscles. In the comfortable quiet of his sanctuary, he drifted to sleep quickly.

Xxxx

He'd buried his head in work during the coming week, anxious to focus on anything but what was about to happen. He listened to his father talk about rebels, about their movement toward the palace. He bobbed his head along like a good little prince should. He said all the right things, he did everything he was expected to and let the puzzle pieces fall into place. It was the illusion the king needed, that his son was learning, was preparing to run this country without really taking anything away from the king himself. It was how his father would have wanted it. Maxon knew he would never have full control of the country, not while King Clarkson still lived.

Maxon had had ideas for the country, plans on how to change things, but how many of them could he really implement? Could he really change anything or would he merely be a puppet for his father to control? It was something that hung over his head frequently. Some days he felt like it wasn't even worth trying for, nothing would change anyway. Today was one of those days. The king had once again promised to give Maxon control over the advisory meeting just to steal it away when he wasn't satisfied how Maxon handled things.

His mother was useless, Maxon loved her dearly, but she was blind to all of it. She had no control, she was merely meant to hang on the king's arm and look pretty. Maxon wasn't about to complain to her or beg for changes that wouldn't come. He wasn't a child anymore. He took the beatings like a man and he never let anyone know, not even her. He was afraid it would shatter her already fragile heart.

Xxxx

Maxon, dressed in a white dress shirt and navy-blue pants, wandered the palace halls after the meeting. He hadn't bothered to slick his hair back like usual, instead, he let the tips of each hair curl. It was the most rebellious he was allowed to be and even that was questioning it. As he entered the small dining room, the one reserved for just family, he found he was the last to arrive, yet again. His father looked up at him through his lashes as he took a bite of egg. Beside him, his mother beamed. Maxon couldn't help but smile back at her, at the genuine love she reserved for him.

He pulled a seat out, careful not to scrape it against the marble floors. When he was seated, he laid a napkin out across his lap, heaven forbid he ever spilled. "How are the preparations coming along?"

"A selection of guest rooms along the second floor have been set aside for the Selected." King Clarkson replied, fully looking at Maxon for the first time in hours.

"Good, Good." He nodded as if to affirm his words. "They'll all be together then?"

"It's for the best. They'll all be in the same place should there be another attack."

When there's another attack.

"You've heard more then? The rebels?" The Queen interjected. Maxon noticed the hint of fear in her eyes she tried – but regularly failed – to hide.

"Southerners were last spotted in Denbeigh, just past the border of Kent."

"Have any soldiers been dispatched to the area?" Maxon spoke once more. He knew another attack was coming, they happened frequently. It was only a matter of time.

King Clarkson set down his fork, wiping his mouth before he spoke again. "Merely a select few. They are monitoring the situation, it is unusual to see them in a more central area."

"Yes, it seems they like to come through Tammins."

"If they are making their way here their estimated arrival would be shortly after the Selected join us."

"An attempt to scare them? You know how determined they are to see this end." They aren't the only ones.

"Perhaps it'll make your choice easier." His father scoffed quietly at his own joke.

Maxon couldn't help but be appalled. Was the king suggesting it would be easier if the poor things were murdered? Or was he simply hoping several of them would be begging to be sent home? Maxon couldn't believe the second option was much better. "Perhaps." He said simply, mirroring his father's statement. He excused himself quietly, pushing away from the table and his still rather full plate of food.

He found himself in his room once again, wishing he could leave the palace, once again. Instead, he quickly unbuttoned his clothes and switched them out for a pair of sweats and a simple t-shirt. It was far too casual, something he couldn't be seen wearing in public, not even outside this room, but at the moment he didn't care. Through a series of secret passages, he found his way to the first subfloor. At the bottom of the steps was a series of doors. One led to theater room while the another opened into a type of exercise room.

He took the second door into the room that was hardly used. Occasionally guards would come here to sharpen their training and stay fit, that's what the room had originally been meant for anyway. Yet, Maxon found a type of comfort in this place and it showed. The sinewy muscles that embellished his otherwise lean body certainly didn't come from reading paperwork.

Raising his fists in front of him, he found his rhythm in the speed bag and let the punches fly. He reveled in the sound of his flesh hitting the leather, how his fist connected with it just before it completed its arc toward him. Sweat dripped from his forehead and his clothes clung to his body. Each breath came out raspier than the one before it until he finally had to step away. With his hands on his knees, he breathed deeply, glancing for a second at the watch on his wrist. Two hours had passed in this room without him even realizing it. With the hem of his T-shirt, he wiped the sweat from his brow.

With a step intended for the doorway, he found an off-duty guard staring at him. The guard fell into a deep bow as soon as Maxon's eyes landed on him.

"Your Majesty." The deep voice reverberated. Maxon gave a nod of his head, dismissing the man while leaving the room. He left the way he came, hidden passages and secret doorways, anything that meant he wouldn't be seen in such unsuitable attire.

Thedric was in his room by the time he returned, straightening things that truly didn't need to be straightened. His head turned at the sound of Maxon's entrance and he noted the sight of his master.

"Should I prepare a bath?"

"Please."

Thedric stepped into the adjoining bathroom and within seconds water began to fill the luxurious tub. Meanwhile, Maxon sat in a nearby, overstuffed armchair, holding his head in his hands. His mind couldn't help but be full of the women he'd seen, the women who'd be living in his home in a matter of days, the women he'd choose from. He found himself trying to place names with faces, even as he slipped into the bathtub. Sosie, she'd had dishwater brown hair, he was sure of it. Then, there was Tiny and her nearly black hair. The flaming redhead he'd seen at the end with the strange name. From there, he wondered what the girls were here for, how many of them were actually interested in him and how many were merely in it for the position, the title, the money. What a miserable, loveless life he could lead if he picked incorrectly.

The balmy water surrounding him washed away the sweat but did little for his mind. He'd hoped the steam would help clear some of his worries, but oh, how wrong had he been. He suspected they'd continue to plague him until they were here. After that, would it be better or worse? How he wished he could be normal during times like these. Even the life of a seven must be better than this. He'd love to feel the dirt beneath his fingernails or the satisfying pound of a hammer clenched in his hand. At least then he'd have more freedom than he did now.

Xxxx

It was time. He tucked himself away in his third-floor bedroom and waited for the girls to arrive. From where he sat on the balcony, his view was unobstructed but the Selected would have a hard time seeing him, not unless they really looked.

Slowly, ever so slowly, they began to trickle in. From his vantage point, he couldn't make out any features, It was merely a train of blondes and brunettes in their standard issued black outfits, uniforms really. By all appearances, they were entering as equals only to have their differences accentuated and pitted against each other. It was truly the lion's den and Maxon didn't know if he was the lion or the victim.

He stayed that way for what felt like hours. They came in groups from anywhere between 3 and 5 girls with spaces between each arrival. They all walked quietly, not sure how to speak to one another, to the others they'd be competing against. Even from where he was, he could feel the nervous tension between them. As the third set of girls entered, Maxon sat up a little straighter, something had caught his eye, long red hair. He appreciated the difference she represented. It was a reminder that they were all individuals down there.

A rapping on his door startled him sometime later. He stood from where he had settled down and made his way to open the door. He could have called to the knocker, told them to come in, but no, this was better. He needed to get his blood moving again, keep his mind in the moment.

"Thedric." There was a hint of pleasure in his voice as he smiled at the older gentleman before him. "Is it that time already?"

"It will be shortly, Your Majesty. The King and Queen have yet to make it to the formal dining room. Your father has been indisposed in an impromptu meeting for some time."

Well, then. Thank you for inviting me, dear old dad. "I see. Thank you for the summons."

With a nod of the head, Thedric backed out of the doorway and Maxon followed closely behind him. The two of them walked in silence, not necessarily walking together but in the same direction. Sure enough, Maxon was the first to arrive in the formal dining room. It was reserved just for times like this, a small dinner as a family and nothing more. This would be the last dinner like that. Over the next few weeks or months they would be eating with the Selected and after that, they'd be eating with his…wife. The thought was nearly too much to bear and he was grateful to see his parents walk in before he could spiral into the thought too much. They walked into the room arm in arm with a gentle smile at one another before taking their seats at the small table.

Food was placed in front of them almost immediately. It was only after a bite of steak did his father speak. "Have you seen them, Maxon?"

"No." He lied, his father wouldn't want to hear he'd been practically spying on the girls from his room. "I'll see them soon enough."

"Are you not excited?"

"On the contrary, the dessert will be much sweeter if eaten all at once."

"Quite right." The king pointed his fork at him with a subdued smirk upon his lips. Across the table, Maxon saw that his mother held a similar expression.

"You have many beautiful women to choose from, we'll see if your choice is as easy as mine was." The king smiled again as his wife playfully slapped him on the arm.

"Old age leaves only the best memories behind." She commented. "We had our times of struggle, as much as I'm sure you will." Maxon nodded, happy to see some semblance of love between his parents as the queen continued on. "Don't forget, these girls are just as afraid as you are, if not more. Becoming Queen is no small matter, no small job, and it may scare them away before they even realize it."

"Perhaps they'll narrow down the Selection themselves." Maxon teased. "All 35 will run screaming from the castle at the sight of me and we'll have to bring in a second round."

His mom reached across the table, squeezing his hand. "Give yourself more credit than that, dear. They'll see what a wonderful person you are, and it will be that much harder to get rid of them."

Maxon raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Let's hope they see past the crown and glittering jewels before they come to that decision.

"Yes, let's hope."