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Belladonna Holmes, 2, Angeles
Bella could safely say that she was not pleased about any of this. The whole thing had been a disaster from beginning to end, and that was the truth.
From the moment her parents had forced her into this whole stupid process, she'd had a terrible feeling about it. It had been her desperate wish that she wouldn't be called, that she would have completed her end of the deal by entering, and there would have been no consequences. But nothing ever went the way it was supposed to.
So now she was here, in this godforsaken train compartment with a too-peppy aide and a scowl dark enough to shut down any attempts at social interaction.
Of course she was the one who had to be alone. She was sure the other girls had been able to take their planes with one another. But lucky her, because she was from Angeles, she didn't have to meet up with the other girls. She was taking this journey alone, for now.
Bella sighed deeply and readjusted the poppies pushed into her curly hair. Her shirt was a little wrinkled and the hollows under her eyes were absolutely ghastly, but did she care?
Not a single bit.
She pulled a cigarette from the pack in her back pocket and lit it. The closer they got to the castle, the more antsy she got. Wendy, her aide, looked up from the novella she was reading opposite from Bella in the compartment.
"No smoking in the train, if you please," she trilled, plucking the cigarette from Bella's fingers. "You'll have to stop that once you reach the castle, Lady Bella. Wouldn't want to taste like an ashtray if the Prince takes a fancy to you!"
A silvery laugh escaped the redhead, and Bella arched an eyebrow.
"I couldn't give a shit what the Prince thinks of me," she replied coldly, leaning back in her seat. "But thanks for the advice."
The words came out mocking and snarky, but her aide didn't seem to notice.
The train gradually glided to a stop with a slowing chugging noise and Bella made eye contact with Wendy.
"We're here?" She asked just in case. Wendy beamed back and fluffed her red hair.
"Yep! You're just going to step out and head down the carpet to the car that will take you to the castle. There is, of course, a crowd waiting for you, but then you'll be able to meet up with the other girls."
Bella slouched in her seat, nerves fluttering despite the fact that she assured herself she was not afraid. How could you be afraid of the impression you gave in a competition you weren't even invested in?
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she slid on a masking pair of sunglasses, pulled her mouth into a detached frown, and braced herself. She let the burly bodyguard grab her bag and made her way down the train's aisle. The rest of the carriage was empty, and she idly wondered why they couldn't just send a car in the first place so she didn't have to face the crowds.
Bella paused briefly in front of the doors, steeling her nerves, and then she stepped out.
Immediately, a roar came from the crowds in the terminal, and she fought not to wince. They were barred by rope barriers, but several people threw themselves towards her, shrieking until they were red-faced.
Bella couldn't tell if they wanted to cheer her on or kill her and take her place. After all, she was sure many of them would kill to be in her shoes.
She gave a detached wave, ignoring the cameras steadily zooming into her face. They were close, looking to catch any flaw in her look that magazines would spend weeks afterward criticizing. Bella tried to shrug it off and stride forward confidently.
She was surprised as people began throwing something at her, and opened a hand to catch a fistful of whatever it was.
They shone radiantly in her open palm, and her lips stretched into a smile despite herself. Poppy petals, matching the ones in her hair.
They loved her. For whatever reason they had in their addled minds, they loved her.
Bella let the petals fall from her fingers and waved to the crowds, who seemed to swell in approval.
Even if she had been stubbornly set against this whole thing, their enthusiasm was contagious, and she laughed out loud, brushing her hands against the outstretched hands of the crowds. People tried to hold onto her, gazing adoringly at her, and she paused to sign some autographs.
Photos of her own face were shoved in front of her, which struck her as somewhat odd, but she signed them, if only to appease the girls in front of her.
"I'm hope I'm in the Selection just like you!" One girl confessed.
"If that's what you want," Bella replied, not wanting to crush the younger girl's dreams.
"You're so beautiful," another one exclaimed brightly.
The Selected girl laughed. "Thank you."
"Are you in love with the prince?" A girl asked, starry-eyed.
Bella snorted. "Hardly."
It wasn't the answer the girl was looking for, and the fan recoiled, face etched in disappointment.
And it reminded Bella of who she was. The disappointment. She was just the local drunk party animal, the rich girl spending too much money.
Her smile faded, and she backed away from the crowds, suddenly detesting the way they shrieked and jumped to get her attention. They didn't even know her, they'd probably hate her in a matter of hours. Bella knew tabloids, she knew how quickly they would turn on her once the tabloids got a hold of her history of DUIs and ugly passed-out flash photos. She gritted her teeth as she realized just how screwed she was.
This whole thing had been a curse on her. The spotlight had been turned on her, and now she would pay for her parents' foolish deal.
Lips curled in disgust, Bella swept past the crowds, head forward, chin lifted. She just wanted them all to go away and stop looking at her.
And maybe if she pretended she didn't care about them, it would hurt less when the magazines turned on her and no one looked at her with awestruck gazes.
Bella looked back once before she stepped into the car, watching them with their mouths open, screams ringing in her ears. They still loved her, even if she had ignored the majority of them. Even if she didn't want to be here, and there were thousands of more deserving girls in Angeles. They loved her.
Bella got into the car and slammed the door, not looking back again.
...
Leonie Caverly, Likely, Two
Leonie craned her neck to see out the window as the car pulled away from the last of the crowds. They appeared to be headed down a long gravel pathway, and she could see the palace, if she twisted in just the right way.
"Isn't this so exciting?" She gushed, turning to the other girls in her car.
The blonde opposite her, Leta, grinned. "Boy, is it ever! I can't wait to meet the prince!"
Luca, who was crammed in the seat next to Leonie giggled, a crystal sound, like bells clinking together. "He's so handsome! I hope he likes me!"
The brunette, Cara, smiled a little. "I just hope I make it past the first round of eliminations. I would hate to go when he doesn't even know me."
"I'm sure you'll be fine," Leonie assured her, as the car glided to a stop. "You're absolutely gorgeous!"
All the girls began taking off her seatbelts, and Leonie hurried to join them.
"We're here?" She asked to no one in particular. The car door opened, and her question was confirmed. "We're here!"
Excitement built in her, and she squealed brightly, ushering Luca out so she could take in the castle in all of its glamor.
"It's even bigger than I thought it would be!" She exclaimed, hopping so she could catch a glimpse of the tall towers. The bunches of tiny yellow flowers in her hair shook loose as she did this, but she didn't notice.
"Welcome to the palace," a man dressed in a sharp suit announced, walking down the palace steps. The suit was white, contrasting with his dark skin, and had a floral print in a bold pink.
"Thanks!" Leonie replied excitedly. "I love your suit! I think it wouldn't look as good on me, but I'd sure love the print on a dress! What's your name? I'm Leonie, I'm from Likely! Maybe you heard, they were shouting it back at the terminal! Isn't that cool? No one has ever shouted my name before! I'm like some kinda celebrity!"
The words tumbled out of her mouth in her enthusiasm, and she paused to take a breath.
"My, my," The man said, laughing. "You're a little ball of energy, aren't you? I'm Oliver, I'm the resident style manager."
"That explains the suit!" Leonie cried, pleased she had connected the dots. "I'm not much for fashion, so we'll probably spend a lot of time together!"
She laughed self-deprecatingly, and then bounced forward curiously.
"Are we going in now?" She asked, glancing back at Oliver. He looked really friendly, and boy, it really was a sharp suit. Maybe she could get one just like it.
"Slow your roll, Lady Leonie," Oliver said, herding the rest of the girls forward. "We'll all get there, no need to rush. If you'll all follow me."
She hurried after him, finding her shorter legs put her at a disadvantage in comparison to Oliver's long strides.
"Wow!" She said, gaping at the interior of the castle. "It's beautiful in here! Did you design it, too?"
Oliver smiled. "No, I'm afraid I'm restricted to clothing. But I'm glad you like it. Here at the castle, we strive to-,"
But Leonie was already headed in another direction, observing an old-looking vase. Then a tapestry. Then a footman walking in the opposite direction.
The group finally came to a stop in front of a row of tables with mirrors. Leonie drank in the arrangement, fascinated with all the new sights and sounds to enjoy. People bustled everywhere, organizing cosmetics and pots of something or other. They brandished hairbrushes and curling irons and something that Leonie later learned was a diffuser. One girl with curly dark hair sat slouched in the vanity labeled with a one on it, smoking a cigarette
"Wow!" Leonie breathed, turning a slow circle.
"Moira, take Lady Leta to station two, Bebe, take Lady Luca to station three," Oliver ordered. "Cady, take Lady Leonie to station four, stat!"
Leonie was whisked away by a tall brunette before she could hear the rest of what he said, grinning widely as she was seated in a chair numbered with a four. Cady, the girl who had brought her over, paused in front of her.
"Let's see," she mused to herself. "A skin treatment for that damaged skin. You spend a lot of time in the sun?"
"Yes!" Leonie replied happily. "I'm a nature photographer, I just got back from Argentina! It was lovely there, I-,"
"That's nice," Cady said, chewing loudly on her gum. "Lets see, your nails are absolutely awful, but we can fix that. Your hair needs trimming, those split ends make me want to vomit."
"That's not very nice," Leonie replied, smile fading for the first time since she had been selected. "There's no need to be rude, Cady."
"Hmm," Cady grunted, popping her gum and leaning Leonie's chair back so her head rested on the rim of a large bowl.
It filled with cold water, and Leonie relaxed as Cady began performing her miracles. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the attendant pumping out some kind of purple crap into the hollow of her hand.
"Whoa, what are you doing?" She lifted her head, trying to see Cady's hands.
"Deep conditioning. Your hair is crispy and dead, I'm going to do a deep treatment," Cady sighed irritably. "If you'll let me."
"Hey, hey, okay. Chill out." Leonie settled, and let her hair be treated with all sorts of serums without any argument. Until Cady took her hands and began rubbing her palms with a sweet-smelling cream. "Hey, what are you doing now?"
"Giving you a manicure. Your hands are covered in calluses and your nails are broken and dirty."
Leonie frowned. "They're not that bad."
But she knew they weren't the cleanest either. All the time she had spent traveling and taking pictures hadn't left much time for self-care. Frankly, it had sort of slipped her mind.
Time passed, and Leonie watched her nails be painted a pleasant pink.
Her head jerked up as the glint of sharp scissors caught her eye. "Okay, okay, what is this now?"
"It's called a haircut, Lady Leonie. I thought a Two like you would be more informed, my lady," Cady said sarcastically, trimming at the ends of Leonie's buoyant curls.
"I know what a hair cut is," Leonie huffed grumpily. Her silence lasted only a second and she met Cady's gaze in the mirror. "But uh... how short are you planning on cutting that?"
"Just a trim, my lady."
By the time it was done, her hair was looking shiny and revitalized. Her curls gleamed under the light, forming perfect loose spirals. She thought that would be the end of it, until Cady came at her face with a fingerful of green goop, and Leonie jerked away.
"What are you doing now?" She asked, leaning away from the goop.
Cady huffed loudly, rolling her eyes. "It's a skin mask, Lady Leonie."
"What's wrong with my skin?"
"It's dry and sun-damaged, Miss. This is a treatment for that."
"Oh. That's bad?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Leonie permitted the green goop to be spread across her face, even if it tingled so cold that it sort of burned. The price for beauty, she supposed.
Clearly a lot of changes come with being a Selected, she thought to herself. She'd have to get used to that.
Because a future queen must be able to adapt, and Leonie would try her hardest to step into that role. Prince Everett would never consider her a candidate for queen if she didn't first consider herself a candidate for queen.
Smiling as her green-faced reflection, Leonie tried to sit up straighter, like Queen Oriana. Like she was bearing the weight of a crown, of a country. It was difficult to imagine, but perhaps in the near future.
If she managed to survive this makeover.
...
Prince Everett Schreave
Everett readjusted his tie, frowning at his reflection.
"Stop fussing," Oriana smiled from behind him.
"I'm not fussing. Do I look like I'm fussing? I'm not fussing," he said shortly, smoothing down a piece of hair.
"You look very handsome."
He turned on her, expression unimpressed. "You're my mother. You're obligated to say that."
She pried his fingers away from where they plucked at one stubborn piece of hair, holding onto them comfortingly. "Of course I am. Doesn't mean it's not true."
Everett allowed himself a bit of smile, and he relaxed in her grip.
"I'm not happy about this," he reminded her, pulling away from her to re-examine his reflection.
"I know you aren't, darling. Try to be patient," Oriana said softly. "Don't scare all the girls off in one go."
Everett rolled his eyes. "I know, I know, no more than seven."
Oriana frowned. "I distinctly recall the number being five."
"Yes, well, I've changed my mind," Everett said, setting his jaw. "It's my Selection, and I already hate some of the girls."
Oriana's lips tightened, as if she were trying to repress her words. However it only lasted a moment before she could help but speak her mind.
"That Magdalena girl from Paloma," she started mildly. "I don't like her."
"Me neither," he said grimly, running his palm along his jaw, feeling for stubble.
Oriana tilted her head, a questioning gesture as he fretted over the way his hair sat. "I thought this didn't matter to you?"
"It doesn't," he said briskly. "But if I don't at least look good, Father will never let me get away with the attitude." Not to mention the fact that this was his only chance to make the right impression in front of his future wife. How terrifying.
Oriana's lips pursed disapprovingly and then she reached for the pile of papers scattered across his desk.
"Let's go over them one more time," she said, making Everett groan.
"Preminger," he sighed, as the girl's picture was flashed.
"Isla," the Queen corrected.
"Uh... some Four? From...Fennely?" Everett said, wracking his brain for the name.
"Cara."
"Whatever." His eyes lit up as he recognized one of the girls immediately. "Belladonna. Of Angeles."
"Lady Belladonna," Oriana reminded him, but her eyes shone with approval. "Good. How about this one?"
"Clementine of Zuni," he recalled.
"Good. Have you apologized to your brother yet?" She asked casually, flashing another picture.
"Mag-, Lady Magliore. That's quite a mouthful of a name," he commented, hoping if he didn't answer she'd stop asking.
"I think it's a lovely name," Oriana chided. "And I'll that as a no, then. Why haven't you talked? You've had all day."
"Lady Tabitha," Everett answered absently after glancing at the picture being held up. "I've told you already. He doesn't want to see me."
"That's Lady Fionna," Oriana corrected. She put the photos down so she could make eye contact with her son. "It's not going to get any easier, Everett. Just go talk to him."
Everett sighed loudly and let his head loll.
"I would," he defended. "-but Cal leaves the room every time I enter."
"No excuse," Oriana scolded, shaking her head and holding up another picture. "I've seen you chase some girls around for weeks just trying to get them alone. Don't give me that answer."
"Lady Clare," Everett sighed. "Look, Mother, it's only been two days. He just needs more time."
"I think it's you that needs more time," Oriana observed quietly.
Everett threw her a dirty look. He hated it when she could read him like that. It made him feel vulnerable and bare, like she had stripped him away from his bones.
"Don't be nosy," he said, readjusting his tie for the umpteenth time and rechecking his reflection. Just as immaculate as the last time he'd checked, but there was still nervousness all across his features. That was no good.
Everett heaved a sigh, trying to steady his cursed nerves. This was foolish.
"Do you think they're done with makeovers?" He asked absently.
"Oliver will ring you when he's done," Oriana said, just like she had the last four times he had asked.
"And then the party," Everett finished. His expression soured. "Where they all get to drink and eat, and I sit in the corner and talk to them, one by one."
"Try not to sound so excited," Oriana said dryly.
Everett gave her a look, and she smiled, squeezing his shoulder.
"I'm proud of you, Everett," she murmured, looking at him tenderly. "I know this isn't what you wanted, and I'm proud of you for doing the best you can with this situation. Your father isn't the most... agreeable, and I know it has been difficult for you, but I promise everything will work out."
Everett found himself feeling something very close to emotional and shut it down immediately. But he allowed himself half a smile.
"Thanks," he said very quietly, staring downward.
Luckily he was saved from struggling through a heartfelt confession by Oliver knocking and poking his head in. "Your Highness? They're ready for you."
His heart leapt in his chest and he got to his feet, twice as nervous as before. He raked his fingers through his hair, realized he messed up his hair, and hurried to flatten it. He felt frantic and vulnerable despite how hard he had tried not to care.
"Everett." Oriana's voice was calm, and jarred him out of his panic. "Take a breath. Stand tall. Be yourself."
He inhaled, exhaled, and straightened his expression into one of uncaring laziness. His reflection stared back at him, unimpressed. Perfect.
Keep it together, Schreave, he thought harshly, lifting his chin. You've only got one shot at this. Don't screw it up.
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Aha! I've returned! Sorry it was so long to this update, but I was on spring break and my muse was totally dead.
I haven't decided if the next chapter should be all Everett's POV, or just the girls, or a mix like this chapter. Feel free to give your opinion in a review and tell me what you'd like to see in the format!
I think I've officially written for every girl submitted to me, except for Stefanie Russel, but I promise she'll make it in. Let me know if I haven't written for your girl yet. For those of you who had characters in the earlier chapters, they'll all be making returns, so no worries.
Also, my Selection would have taken place before Maxon's, and will not be quite as televised as his.
Until the next time!
