The line of Clermont girls waiting to submit their applications is extremely long, and my neck itches underneath the lacy collar of my blouse. As I reach to scratch, Ryan's strong fingers catch my wrist, stopping me.

"Don't do that." She hisses, "It isn't ladylike."

"But it's uncomfortable." I whine. The blouse isn't the only problem — the swirly blue skirt makes me feel exposed, and I have to constantly keep myself from rubbing off my makeup.

Ryan has been like this a lot lately. In the past few weeks, I've learned a lot of useless information — like how to dance and curtsy. I want to stop, but Ryan's ignored me. She's also ignored my repeated questions about how she knows all about how to sing and perfectly apply makeup.

The line moves forward, and Ryan anxiously rearranges my dark hair. "Why are you so worried?" I snap, "I'm sure your plan is infallible."

She bites her lip. "This is important, okay? If everything works out, it'll prove to Dap and Devon that I'm a competent leader too."

"How are you so sure that I'll get in?" I ask, "I mean look at these girls. Some of them have way too much makeup on, but some of the other girls are naturally pretty."

"Trust me, I have a plan. And just because some of these girls are Twos and look like they applied their makeup with a paintball gun doesn't mean that they're guaranteed a spot."

"You've been saying 'trust me' a lot, and yet you won't tell me how you know half of this stuff."

She shrugs, "Some things are better left unsaid, and I need to make sure you seem innocent."

"Right, because I'm super innocent. Should I mention that to the guards? Tell them to not worry about any security issues that involve me?"

"Don't be sarcastic." She snaps, "This is serious and if you took actually tried to lift your feet when you dance then you wouldn't trip. And do I need to mention that if you read the French book I gave you, everything would be much easier?"

"Ryan, you're supposed to be posing as my mom, not actually acting like it." I growl at my fake mother. She's been driving me up the wall with her constant nagging. Did she ever learn that people are more inclined to be helpful when they aren't being threatened into it?

"It's true. I'm only trying to help—"

"Don't give me that. Pinning me up against a wall and choking me until I give in, isn't giving help. That's called abuse." I say, glaring across the street at a park. Clermont is beautiful. I think I would love living here if I actually had a choice in the matter.

A tall guy catches my eye. He's hogging an entire park bench, which is earning him a few dirty looks from other pedestrians looking for a place to rest. He looks really familiar — I recognize that shade of honey blonde hair and I think I've seen that square jaw before, but it couldn't be him

This guy is wearing jeans and a grey hoodie, instead of an expensive suit. He catches me staring, and he lazily waves in my direction.

I blush furiously, and look away, and gather up my courage to glance at him again. He's left the bench, and he limps slightly when he walks.

"Abby? Have you been listening to anything I've been saying?" Ryan grabs my arm and her fingers tighten painfully around my elbow.

"No." I say absently, and I notice that the line has shortened drastically. "But it's almost my turn."

The bored-looking woman at the front office takes my form. I have to sign in a bunch of places to confirm that everything on my application is true. I try to ignore the fact that every signature is a lie.

I'm shuffled along to get my picture taken. "Smile." Ryan whispers into my ear. "Everything counts."

I smile obediently and the blonde guy haunts my thoughts.


We walk home in silence and as we walk into "our house" I catch my breath in wonder, again. When Ryan said we would be staying at a safe house in Clermont, I thought that meant we'd be living in a decrepit old shack. I didn't expect to live in a house that clearly belonged to a Three.

Although a thick layer of dust covers the floor, it can't hide the rich quality of the wood — I think it is oak. The walls are painted a pale peach colour and the ceilings are easily 15 feet high.

"You're doing it again."

I look over at Ryan, "What?"

She sighs, "Acting like you've never seen a proper house before, acting like a Seven. When you get picked you can't gape at the pretty staircases and the lovely fireplaces in the palace."

I look at her sharply. "When I get picked? Did you see how many girls were submitting their entry forms? I have, like, a one out of a thousandth chance."

"I have a—"

I slam my hand on the wall, only a few inches from her face. "Don't," I say cutting her off. "Don't say you have a plan and then not tell me. I deserve to know. Why? Because it's my life. What if Justin does choose me? I'll be married to a guy that I don't even like!"

Ryan rubs a hand over her eyes. "Fine." She says quietly, looking around cautiously even though we are alone. "As you know we have maids and guards in the palace that are loyal to us. On the night before the candidates for the Selection are announced on The Report, a guard will sneak into the office where the files of the Selected girls are kept, and switch your file with whoever was chosen from Clermont."

"And what if they notice? Or what if the guard is caught?"

She smiles, "I've already thought of that. They won't notice because everyone will be too worried about the rebel attack that will happen that night."

I snort, "Clever, but say they do notice. What happens then?"

"Then someone else gets picked." She says shrugging.

"I don't believe you. What's Plan B?"

"If I told you all of my plans, nothing would work. Be happy with what you've learned." She snaps, and I back off. When Ryan's voice gets cold and hard, it means she's stressed and I know it's a good idea to slowly back out of the room and let her relax. Ryan's not particularly kind when she's stressed out and she doesn't have any qualms about beating up people who tick her off.

"Thank you for telling me." I say, "I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

"No you're not." She calls.

"Why not?" I ask irritably.

"You owe me for telling you my plan. 50 curtsies. Now."


I take another bite of popcorn and readjust the ice packs on my knees. I never knew that excessive curtsying could be so painful. Of course, Ryan doesn't seem to care. In the past two weeks she's been trying to cram things into my brain in order to prepare me for the Selection and thanks to her efforts, I can barely walk and French phrases frequently insert themselves into my thoughts.

The Report is just beginning on the television and my palms begin to sweat and my stomach twists.

"Ryan, it's on!" I yell. She dashes into the room and plops herself down on the couch. I wince when she bumps my knee.

"Ouch! Do you—"

She shushes me and focuses intently on the screen." The famous Report host, Vladimir Fadaye walks onto the stage, closely followed by the Royal Family. King Gerald, Queen Olena and their daughter Princess Katerina take their seats off to the side of the stage, while Prince Justin sits beside Vladimir.

He's handsome. There's no doubt about that. His dark hair is neatly combed and his brilliant green eyes sparkle underneath the stage lights. He looks nervous and a jolt of shock runs through me when I realize I actually feel sorry for him.

I mentally slap myself and the empathetic feelings disappear. Stop it. I remind myself, He probably has everything that he could possibly want. He doesn't need your pity too. Besides, you can't even like him. And then the insulting voice pipes up in my head, and in French too. Que sera, sera — what will be, will be.

Sometimes I hate that voice, and it's only gotten more annoying since I've learned a bit of French. It's hard to ignore a voice that can speak in two languages.

"So Your Highness, how do you feel about the Selection? Are you excited?" Vladimir asks and I focus my attention to the television.

Justin laughs uncomfortably, "I suppose I am excited, but it's also kind of nerve-wracking. I mean one of these girls will be my future wife."

"Ah, I know the feeling well." Vladimir replies lightly, "Have you asked your dad about how he got such a lovely wife?" Ryan grunts and I'm surprised to see how pale her skin is, and I'm even more surprised to see how her eyes glitter with tears. Her fists clench and unclench, and she shifts slightly. I quickly turn my attention back to The Report.

Justin laughs, "It was my bedtime story growing up."

Vladimir laughs with him, "Well, best of luck Your Highness. I suppose we should move on, and reveal the lovely ladies that will be competing for your heart."

The screen changes and picture of a pretty blonde girl with a beautiful smile fills the screen, and from his box in the top right corner of the television, Justin grins.

"Miss Elena Ivashkov, from Allens, Four." Vladimir calls.

I grab another handful of popcorn and watch as more girls are revealed. Justin looks pleasantly surprised at each new picture.

Suddenly, a picture of a girl with long dark hair and wide grey eyes appears.

It's me.

The popcorn sticks in my throat and I choke. Beside me Ryan whoops.

"Miss Abigail Tamblin, from Clermont, Three." Justin's face breaks out into a wide smile and he look genuinely happy to see my image.

I look over at Ryan and her eyes are no longer filled with tears — they're sparkling excitedly. "I guess we don't need Plan B." She says smugly.


Thank you for all of the reviews for the last chapter! Yay!

prnamber3909: I hope you enjoyed this update. Thank you for reviewing!

Melody: Hmm . . . I'm new to fanfiction so maybe I hit the wrong button. Abby caught my eye in The Elite and I was kind of disappointed that Kiera Cass didn't go into detail about her. Thanks!

winterprincess: Well Ryan's definitely an overachiever so she's going to push Abby. Although I don't think Abby's very cooperative! :) Thanks for reviewing!

Cute Irish gal: When I saw your review I started squealing like mad. Thanks for all the encouragement!

ilona18: Thank you so much! I've recently read Divergent so I'm not surprised that I unconsciously added a few Divergent elements. I hope this chapter answers your question — let's just say Ryan DOES have a Plan B, but it's a lot nastier than her first plan.