Fallout
In the last chapter, Ernest talked Louis into going to a bar together. Both got drunk, and on Louis' side, things got out of hands. The Report was broadcasted, including the Selection announcement, and the two brothers swore to never talk about what happened on that Friday night. The chapter was set a week and a half ago. The Selected's POVs are not set parallel.
Chapter 08
»Don't you want to be an old cat library with a library? «
The Old Library of Illéa Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles
Prince Louis of Illéa
The fire was quietly crackling, the sun was setting and the golden light that filled the old library was slowly but steadily leaving the room.
Of course, the fire wasn't necessary. It was warm enough, and there were heaters, but just like cigarettes, the fire calmed Louis. It probably was the healthier method, and the one that wouldn't end in a monologue by one of his family members on health and cancer.
Sometimes, a voice in Louis' head wanted to shout back that there were so many people who wouldn't mind that, but every single time, he silenced it. Louis turned a page, but now that he thought of that again, his attention left the old pages. He smiled a bit. Yes, he wasn't going to give in and make the truth die with him.
People might not like the ugly truth, but he had learned to face it long before his siblings did—even if that had been a childish accident. Looking back, that night that gave him night terrors probably had been the best and worst thing to happen at the same time. Even if the memory was slightly triggering.
Louis placed the old book—one called 'Pride and Prejudice' written by a Jane Austin from the times before humanity faced destruction a third time—aside and smiled at the old, large library. It was one large treasure, wasn't it? All what was written in these beautiful, magnificent books had survived hundreds of years.
If there was one thing Louis would always be indefinitely and genuinely grateful for, then it was that books existed.
By now, Louis had recovered from the traumatising memory (or rather lack of) that had happened, partwise because neither Ernest nor him had ever touched it again. Hopefully Ernest would want to dodge trouble by not telling anyone. Unlike him, Louis did not break the law. It had been one case of underage drinking and probably more, but that had been under pressure and…
Who was he lying to? Ernest was too good with talking people into things.
Louis placed the book next to a few blue roses—most certainly a master product of science—and excited the library a mere second before the old hall clock would announce that it was six o'clock.
He was late, and he didn't like that, but never, Louis would show that to anyone. Instead, he paced his walk calm and steady, as if he was early to arrive at his destination, the room most commonly used for the King's counsel. Twice, he knocked before he could hear Xander's voice asking him to come in.
"Awesome," Ernest commented, "we're all here."
All evidently did not include 'all'. Three people in their family were missing—their mother, their father and youngest sister—but Ernest didn't seem to expect them. Louis suppressed a comment of such regards.
"Apologies for my lateness," he spoke instead, and took a seat next to Sophia. Unlike his older brothers, her choice of clothing—a blue floor-length dress—was appropriate for their status. As usual, neither Xander nor Ernest opted out for the work wardrobe that Louis chose regularly. Army habits, Louis presumed in Xander's case. Laziness, he thought for Ernest.
"No worries," Sophia replied with a sweet smile that she had learned from her mother ages ago. She was growing to look more and more similar to her, in posture and expression, but not in values.
"We have made decisions for some provinces, and final selections down to ten as maximum for others," Xander added.
"Which provinces have been decided to be final?" Louis inquired. "Or all of them? What do you mean?"
"There are only three provinces where we don't have a definitive front runner," Xander replied.
"Here I go," Sophia hummed and pulled the first staple of thin paper folders to herself. "I'll introduce them. The first one of the final Selected is Waverly's representative," she replied. "Lady Veira Schreave."
She handed Louis the folder—followed by rising and getting what Louis presumed to be a copy for the others—and he opened it careful. He remembered Veira; such a beautiful young lady when they had last met during the Christmas ball. A One, he noted, and descendant of Brenton Schreave. She would do well among them, and be a role model for the other Selected. For sure, she wouldn't be in for the money either; Veira was a fashion icon that regularly spent lots of money. Louis traced the photo that was attached to the file. Definitely, such a lady should only wear the best of the best clothes.
"A socialite and good friend of mine," Sophia introduced her. "I think we all know her, so an introduction isn't exactly necessary. She knows protocol and etiquette, probably has most Instagram followers out of all Selected and the ward of the governor of Waverly; she's his niece. Her parents passed away in the first year of the Unrest."
"You stayed near the Schreaves when you lived in Waverly, didn't you?" Ernest remembered. Yes, unlike Ernest and Louis who had been forced to stay among the commoners, Sophia had lived among the safe and wealthy elite of Waverly.
"Indeed," Sophia nodded.
"Phineas—that's the governor of Waverly—politely asked when I introduced the plan to them, and if we compare her to the other applicants of Waverly, she stands out most." He paused. "Her father was with Vic when it happened."
And all of them knew what that meant. All of them knew when it was that Veira's father passed away.
"I don't see an issue with her," Ernest pointed out. Louis nodded in agreement.
Veira's file was closed and placed onto the bottom of what would be a new pile that included all final choices of the royals. The next folder, Sophia handed him, was marked with Likely. They hadn't sorted them, huh?
"Leila Sinclair, Two, from Likely," Sophia introduced the next girl. Going by the attached photo, she was also a blonde. Had there even been a photo part for the application? Didn't Sophia insist to leave that out? This probably was something that had been attached later on, by the government, he concluded. If they wanted a photo, they at least should give each of the applicants the choice to do on their own, rather than going onto it at random…
"On her mother's side, she is a Vanderbilt," Sophia introduced her. She was a descendant of yet another founding father of Illéa? Unlike Veira, they weren't distant blood relatives though, Louis noted. "Her father comes from a family with a strong military legacy. She currently works as firefighter, and has done a bit of child modelling, although she stopped to focus onto her studies."
Louis nodded. Leila Sinclair sounded like a decent woman, similar to Veira. He wasn't too fond of the modelling—Louis was absolutely on the side that believed that actors, singers and models that used their fame to become Twos weren't real Twos—but he was glad to hear that Leila had changed her mind about that.
"Unlike Veira, she actually applied through normal ways," Sophia joked. "Her form is attached, but the short summary of her essay is that she cares a lot about making a difference and helping people, which is why she became a firefighter. She has mentioned her belief that people with privilege have a large responsibility."
"With great power comes great responsibility," Louis quoted from one of his favourite comics.
Sophia nodded. "Yeah, kind of like that. She seems to be a bit of an idealist. I haven't seen her in forever though; she hasn't been around society in a while. I believe it's because she prefers her work over it which I, uh," she hesitated, "probably don't support as much, but Xander thinks that she's Likely's best candidate, including yesterday's final batch."
The Crown Prince nodded. "Exactly."
Unlike Sophia, Louis could understand Leila's apparent lack of interest in society very well; he sympathised with her. If he could, he would take many jobs over living as a prince…
They gave the girl from Likely their consent; everyone agreed that Leila Sinclair was the second Selected following Veira Schreave. They anonymously decided onto Yukon's Selected who was yet another case of a girl of good family and background, and went on to Sonage.
"Our current candidate here is Harriet Tailor," Xander introduced the brunette. Finally, a change of hair colour came, Louis noted. "Hotel heiress to the Tailor Hotel chain, a Four. Unlike the previous Three, she actually has shown excellent school results, particularly in maths, and while I expect her to be behind Leila Sinclair and Veira Schreave, I expect that she knows business etiquette."
"She's definitely an upper-class woman," Sophia added. "I know her. A little bit too much looking down at poor people, but she makes it up with her resumé. Speaking of that," Sophia chuckled, "she is one of the girls who wrote a job application."
Ernest laughed, and Louis couldn't help a chuckle as well. One couldn't write a job application to become a queen, he thought, but evidently, neither of his siblings cared too much about that aspect.
"The only thing I am a little bit worried is her family situation; her parents are divorced and her step-mother is a born Six; from what I've heard she's a gold digger," Sophia remarked with a sigh. "I know I shouldn't judge but… I'm not sure if I want to relate to people who only come for the money…"
Louis sighed. "It took you long enough to realise that that's a thing," he thought.
"Seriously?" Ernest replied loudly, with visible disdain. "Sophy, people said the same about grandmother when she participated in the Selection."
Louis almost expected Sophia's ashamed eyes to dart to him, but while he did agree with her opinion, he wasn't going to defend her. It wasn't gold digging that was the reason for his infamous dislike for the lower castes.
"Louis?" Sophia eventually whispered sheepishly. "I'm sure you can explain this…?"
"You know," Louis began, "the reason why I dislike the lower castes so much is not related to that."
"What do you mean?" Ernest asked, rising an eyebrow. He probably thought that Louis looked down on them simply because of numbers.
"They're pretentious. Pretentious, complaining and selfish," he clenched his fist under the table. "They don't understand the luxury they have."
"Luxury?" Ernest repeated indignant. "Are you kidding me?"
"I have been there, Ernest," Louis reminded him. "Unlike you, I didn't live with a wealthy and acclaimed Three who happened to be among mother's closest friends. I lived with Sevens. Sevens who didn't even know who I was. I was a Seven for two years," Louis hissed. "I worked from dawn to dusk on a farm among scat and stinking animals. Every single day of the week, for three years, because you messed up, if I may remind you."
"Then you should know their situation!" Ernest insisted.
"Oh, I do," Louis laughed out, "and I would take it back any time, if I could."
That comment silenced his older brother, leaving him stunned. Sophia had withdrawn into her seat as well, looking aside from the argument. As usual, Xander stayed quiet during the whole conversation. As usual, his opinion probably flipped between both sides as often as the speaking person changed.
"I would take living on a stinking farm over having to watch every single word I speak, and yet finding myself hated by every single person in the country, for speaking what I believe in."
Ernest looked down. Did he remember their conversation from Friday two weeks ago? Louis had come to realise what his 'role' was. He spoke the truth—even if people didn't like it. He wasn't an idealist and optimist like Sophia. He didn't try and change society like Ernest. He looked beyond the horizon, unlike Xander. Louis' heart raced.
"I would take the hard work and exhaustion over staying awake a whole night worrying about things I said a year ago. I'd take the disdain of higher castes if it meant that being honest wasn't a crime against society. I'd take the hunger over being hated for having money. I'd take the dreams that never come true over having no dreams at all. I wish I could say "I don't want this anymore," but I can't. I can't just become a Seven, because I'll always be Louis Illéa, the son of a king, no matter who wins a war." Louis paused. His heart stopped racing. It felt good to tell Ernest, who always complained about his attitude, the truth. "I was a Seven for two years, Ernest. If I could, I would go back."
Xander ended the discussion in the least decisive way possible. "This isn't a discussion about the caste system," he reminded them. "This is about the Selected, and all of them will be Threes, if they want it or not. We will see if Harriet Tailor's stepmother is an issue or not, and deal with her accordingly. Are there any objections left, unrelated to said relative?"
There weren't. Harriet Tailor joined the growing pile of Selected.
The next Selected came from Midston, as Louis read on the file. Gabriella Jespersen, a Seaman during her apparent time in the Illéan military. Louis concluded this from the name written on the full file and the attached image.
"Isn't that a military honour?" he asked, particularly directing the question to Xander.
Xander nodded. "A purple heart."
Gabriella—or Rie, what she seemed to prefer going by the file—had an excellent school record—in academics and athletics—and was born a Seven. She enlisted to the coast guard around the same time as Xander, he noted—but was dismissed soon after her training (which, going by the military file that was attached as well, she completed with flying colours).
Louis figured out why very soon. Gabriella Jespersen had stepped onto a landmine and lost both legs during the explosion. Now, she was an unemployed Eight living with her parents in Midston, her home province.
"I see why you like her," Louis immediately pointed out. "I assume this one was your decision, Xander?"
The Crown Prince nodded. "Yes. She has an excellent track record, and I will not let an injury sustained while serving my country be an obstacle in any way."
"Agreed," Louis nodded. "Unless she has trouble with the lessons, she sounds like an excellent candidate to me."
Tables turned, because Ernest shook his head. Now he was against the lower castes, and Louis was promoting one of them. "Xander, look at the realistic things. If she needs a wheelchair because she doesn't have legs, then she will cause more problems than help in any way. How in the world do you think that'll work? This isn't a job interview—you're looking for a wife. Sorry, but that entails some more… physical things as well, in case you didn't know."
Evident by Xander's immediate dismissal of Ernest's opinion, that didn't matter. "Her medical record claims that no organs were damaged, and I don't see any further problems. Like everyone else, she'll go through a medical examination during the next month. If an issue appears there, we'll hear about it."
Gabriella Jespersen was placed onto the pile without any further ado.
"I support the decision as well," Sophia added joking. "Even though it appears that none of you care about my opinion."
She gained three annoyed glares by her brothers, and sighed in response. She placed another file in front of everyone, this time from Calgary. "Andreia Jensen. A police detective from Calgary, hailing from a military family as well. She wanted to join the Air Force," she explained, "but as we all know, they weren't the best example of functional during the Unrest."
"They were hacked and wiped from the face of the Earth," Ernest muttered under his breath.
"Exactly," Louis nodded. "Give us more?"
Unlike Gabriella Jespersen and Harriet Tailor, Andreia Jensen was another blonde. Her employee file described her as efficient, rule-obeying and role model detective, and her parents were both notable members of the army and air force. Another case of wanting to do more for the country, Louis noted.
Nobody had anything to oppose her; Louis could understand Sophia's and Xander's tendency towards the current Selected. Ladies of good family origin or ladies that served the country, knowing how to live among the elite and passion for the country—qualities that a queen needed.
As much as he hated to admit it, his mother probably lacked one of them. Since nobody of them had anything to oppose Andreia Jensen, she wandered onto the pile of official Selected. Yukon, Calgary, Likely, Midston, Sonage, Waverly. Andreia Jensen, Leila Sinclair, Harriet Tailor, Veira Schreave, Gabriella Jespersen—or was it Rie?
"Besides the fact that we need name tags," Louis pointed out, "Jespersen's preferred name appears to be Rie. Protocol would make her Lady Gabriella Jespersen. As what do we refer to the ladies if they have a different preferred name? Lady Gabriella or Lady Rie, in this case?"
"I would say," Sophia spoke up, "in any official case, it's definitely Lady Gabriella—the full first name. Mother was often called Lys, but she has never been referred as anything else but Lady Lysandre Wilde, Crown Princess Lysandre of Illéa and Queen Lysandre of Illéa. If we come to the point of using nicknames, I presume that it'll only be private. Does everyone agree?"
Everyone did agree.
"Ingrid Katheryn Blachard, Three, from Belcourt. One of the fewer Threes who didn't leave her neighbour hood. Brother passed away during service, father was shot by rebels. Home-schooled," Sophia summarised. "I added her because I believe she would be a good representation against the prejudice of the upper class escaping the war, since she stayed at home."
"That sounds like a good idea," Ernest nodded. The others agreed too.
"Next up is Nereida Statten, from Bonita. Remind me again, why her?" Sophia turned to Xander.
He mustered the file curious as well, but Ernest spoke up first. "Connections in her home, status among the people, lack of any opposition towards the caste system, personality, we can't have fifty-five thousand girls that are openly good choices."
"Right," Sophia nodded. She looked slightly confused—of course she did; Sophia probably had forgotten her in the middle of the whole excitement about the Selection.
Louis began skimming through the file. Nereida Statten really didn't seem like anyone noticeable. An adoptive child of unknown, presumed unmarried, parents, Nereida was a Five ever since she had been adopted, she had a sister and was a dancer. The essay was, however, very well written—this was a Three's work, Louis thought—and definitely made it seem like Nereida Statten was a good candidate. If they really needed someone 'not special', then she probably was a good choice.
That was if he was assuming that Nereida Statten did write this.
"Are you sure she wrote that essay?" Louis questioned. "It says that she was home-schooled and primarily focused on her dance training. I cannot believe that she wrote the essay."
Curious, Sophia took the file herself and seemed to read the essay that Nereida (apparently) had written. She handed the file to Xander, evidently questioning her choice.
"Maybe…" she paused. "I see your point, Louis, but we have to admit that we didn't consider the possibility that someone has someone else write their essay. There's no rule against it."
"It makes me question her abilities, if she has to ask someone else to write it."
"I mean," Ernest spoke up, "we all know that I'm not the best at formal writing, but what difference does it make if we're training them either way? She's among the definitive candidates. Even if Sophy and Xander did this when they were overtired, the others probably didn't stand out more. Bonita isn't Illéa's most developed province."
"The intelligence on her points out that she, apparently, was known to have a rich boyfriend…" Xander frowned. "They weren't able to figure out his identity; most friends of her apparently never met him. The boyfriend idea seems to come from her younger sister, but she has confirmed it."
"Rich boyfriend?" Sophia repeated.
"The assumption is a Three, maybe from work, or a wealthy Four. It'd be unlikely to be a Two; that would have gotten to the public, or we could look at military records..."
"If it's a Three, then he probably helped her," Ernest leaned back. "I still don't see the issue with having someone else write it, but a boyfriend?"
"I'm not done yet," Xander replied. He turned a page in the intelligence report on this particular woman. "She came in yesterday. The alleged boyfriend hadn't been in Bonita in months, and broke up with her through a letter. She signed up as a form of revenge."
"That doesn't sound like a good motive," Ernest pointed out.
"It's better than money," Louis replied. "Can I have the report?"
Xander handed him the file. Louis knew exactly what he was looking for—aside of anything problematic (such as Harriet Tailor's step-mother or Nereida Statten's boyfriend), they also focused on the girls' attitude towards the government. Since Nereida Statten only had been chosen yesterday evening, the report probably wasn't very detailed. A side note stated that her father was known to the Two who had written the report, hence the detail. Her adoptive father seemed to be an established pianist.
"The report doesn't seem to state that she has anything against us, the government or so," Louis pointed out, relieved. For a moment, he had been worried that by being a bit of a filler, Sophia and Xander had been easier on her and she was against their government. "She's got no political affiliations or similarly. Never voted in province elections."
"That would make it easier to teach her," Sophia pointed out. "I mean, it sounds mean, but if she has no opinions and so on, she'll be more open to things we do and go through. Plus, she's a Five. People might compare her to grandmother."
"Grandma is a musician though," Ernest pointed out. "She once said herself that she's as much a dancer as a frog."
"Please, grandma is a beautiful ballroom dancer. Better than you," Sophia insisted laughing.
"Is that a dare?" Ernest rose his left eyebrow.
"Maybe?" If Louis didn't know better, they were flirting. Fortunately, they weren't.
"Well, my waltz is much better than yours."
Sophia laughed out. "When was the last time you danced a waltz?"
"Oh, a few months ago, on the beach with a beautiful young lady?"
The princess rolled her eyes. "Please don't tell me you slept with her afterwards?"
"On the beach? Nah. Too sandy."
Louis did not Like Ernest's implication. "Do your dance battles some other time. We have girls to select. Bonita is Nereida Statten, alright. Next?"
Sophia dropped the file onto the pile, still eyeing Ernest who leaned back with a proud grin. He probably did sleep with that poor girl. He probably also dumped her on the next morning, like his one-night stand Friday night two weeks ago. The memory made Louis flush.
"Well, this one was recommended by someone in the Provinces Services Office as well. Sawyer Roth, Four, from Fennley."
"Fennley?" Louis repeated. "Weren't most cities in Fennley occupied by rebels at some point? Any larger, at least?"
"That's why the officer recommended her; she's got a reputation of being absolutely against the rebels, but still caring about people close to her. She's popular as well. She is in high school—she missed a lot because of the occupation—but I think her reputation has… something."
"Reputation?" Ernest asked, rising an eyebrow.
"She fights anyone who gets into her way, if I may quote the official."
Xander interrupted. "Roth is among the candidates that aren't decided yet. There are a few other candidates from Fennley; I see Sophia's point, but I am also a little bit worried about whenever she would be able to fit in a less… violent lifestyle."
"She's a Four though—she's literally in the middle," Ernest remarked. "Going by her file, she seems to be the type to have friends on all sides. Maybe she'd be good to bridging the caste gap between the Selected?"
"Still—if she's still in high school…" Louis replied. "Ernest, you cannot have a crown princess who goes to high school. I'm sorry, but that is a no."
"We can have someone tutor her. Look at you two; you missed schooling too," Sophia remarked.
"Still—how does it look?"
"We are giving everyone a chance?" Sophia shrugged. "I'm worried enough that people will catch on the fact that we aren't spending a month with security checks…"
"You could have been honest," Louis replied. "The whole idea around the lady-in-waiting thing will only cause confusion and anger from the press. I'm calling it. Does she have any experience that's of value?"
"She's a part-time worker in a restaurant that is managed by her father, and a DJ."
"These are borderline Six and Five jobs," Louis pointed out. "The caste system isn't there to annoy people—it's to keep the economy stable. It's borderline illegal."
"Borderline," Xander repeated. "It's within legal area."
"Still—people will ask questions. Am I the only one who wants to avoid scandals?"
"You aren't," Sophia shook her head, "but I'm more interested in the description. She sounds like a fighter—someone people would look up to. I mean, you'd probably judge Xander as lawful good. She sounds like chaotic good; it'd be a good add on for publicity."
"Pardon me?" Xander turned to his sister. "What are you talking about?"
"… Stuff. I don't know; I picked it up on Tumblr," Sophia shrugged. "The thing is—I think she sounds good. Besides, if she turns out bad, we still need some people to throw out early. We were considering having the first elimination on the girls' second or third day in the Illéa Palace."
"Hm?" Ernest looked up. "What do you mean?"
"As you know, the official announcement of the Selected will be on one of the last days of March. They will move to the Illéa Palace on March 31st or so, and have their public debut on the following day, on father's birthday ball."
"If he holds one, it is," Sophia added. "I hope I'll be able to talk him into it. Things look good right now, but who knows…" She looked aside. "Otherwise, I'll make up something."
"How and when will you do the elimination, though?" Louis straightened his back. He didn't like the fast approach—what if they missed the right girl? Sure, there were already a few candidates he wasn't so sure about, including this Sawyer Roth, but the Selection was about love… Did Xander seriously want him to go and marry one of these women? How was he meant to do that? They all probably hated him, or were interested in Xander! Put them next to each other; Xander was the heir. Serious, strong and definitely better looking than Louis was. What did he have? Books, a terrible image and mommy issues.
"Louis?" Sophia spoke up. "Hey, are you alright? You're a bit too white for my taste…"
"I…" Louis hesitated. No. No, he wasn't going to tell Ernest or Xander that. Maybe he'd talk to Sophia later, but not now. This wasn't anything they'd ever hear. "I'm fine, thank you for asking."
"So… how and when does the elimination happen?" Ernest overlooked Louis' tension. As always, he didn't care. What a good brother, huh? "Are you seriously just going to go by test results?"
Xander shook his head. "No, but we'll take them into consideration. Sophia will look at how the girls are doing, and we'll meet them on the day they arrive, or something like that."
"We do need a formal first meeting for the cameras, but honestly, that's stupid. Everyone will be awkward," Sophia explained. "My idea was to do that, get it behind us, and then spend the evening together. I was suggesting to invite some friends of us; it'd make it more personal. At least one of them will become a part of our family after all."
The idea of a stranger marrying Xander was weird. Louis shuddered at the thought of having to meet and live with a stranger in their house, but then again, what was he expecting? This was what they always had to expect. It always had been known to them, so why was he worried?
"Sophy," Ernest spoke up, "all your friends are billionaires. It'll intimidate them."
Not all were, Louis wanted to correct, but Ernest probably didn't care about how valid his comment was.
"You have slept with all your 'friends', Ernest. I am afraid to tell you that such is not a better choice."
Ernest sighed and turned to Louis, rolling his eyes. "I have not slept with all my friends, thank you. I'm straight, and pretty happy with that."
"You never know for sure," Sophia hummed.
"Oh," Ernest laughed, "I do. I'm straight for sure, and Louis—your only friends are books and your horse. Don't you want to be an old cat library with a library?"
"No, Ernest, I am very well aware of my responsibilities—unlike you. Do you have anything against books? You probably could learn a lot from them."
Xander sighed. "This is enough," he spoke with a louder voice than before. He silenced the two brothers. "If you have friends you would like to invite, tell me. I will decide."
Sawyer Roth wandered onto the Selected pile, without anyone caring whenever she was actually adequate for the Selection or not. They continued with Bankston—a Three onto whom all fortunately agreed, and went on to Dakota.
"You should have organised these files," Louis pointed out.
"Believe me, if you read about so many people as I did, you would have given up by now too, Louis," Sophia replied. "Dakota. Anastasia Collins, Three, Bio-environmental engineer at I-TEC. Excellent academic track record, intelligent, promising. Decent family. Has nice ideals and looks good."
"Sounds fun," Ernest rolled his eyes bored. "Next?"
"I don't have anything to say against her. Any background issues?"
"She lives alone but has contact to her family. Intelligence says that it's a bit strained but, I mean, we aren't exactly the best example of a loving family," Sophia glared at the brothers. It was Ernest's fault, Louis wanted to say, but she'd probably just shush him. Anastasia Collins wandered onto the file without any further comment, despite Ernest's apparent opinion that she was boring. To Louis, Anastasia sounded like exactly the type of woman they needed—what was Ernest complaining about? Was he worried that he couldn't sleep with every single of the Selected? Oh, of course, he was. Ridiculous.
"On that hand, another good choice working for I-TEC too, Jaira Phillips from Whites. She looks cute."
"This is Xander's Selection," Louis pointed out neutral.
"In case you confused it," Ernest added laughing.
Sophia joined him. "I'm just a confused bisexual," she joked.
Xander did not laugh. "Sophia, we are not selecting someone just because they look cute," Xander pointed out.
"Are you jealous of her?"
Xander blushed. "I'm not!" He was. "Go on," he added quickly.
Probably even more because out of the royal siblings, Sophia was definitely the one with the strongest relationship track record. Ernest's fifty thousand one nightstands didn't count; Sophia's relationship had been meaningful, and not just physically. Louis remembered how long she had cried after breaking up with her last boyfriend… Oh great. Please not again.
"Well, it's another great academic track record, and—"
"Question," Louis interrupted her. "Did you two select them, or did only Sophy do this?"
"I did most of them; Xander skimmed over it," Sophia replied humming.
"I have a country to run, Louis," the Crown Prince reminded him.
"We should have taken more time on this…" Louis muttered under his breath. The whole organisation was crappy at best…
"She's similar to Anastasia Collins. Intelligent, dedicated, wants to do more for the country. I-TEC is good at selecting their employees, I guess," Sophia replied. "She enjoys reading, by the way."
"I never said anything against Jaira Phillips," Louis replied. "But anyone who appreciates books must have a good character."
Ernest groaned. "Please tell me you have more than just perfect students, Sophy."
As if on cue—Jaira Phillips was chosen as Selected as well—Sophia smiled and dumped another file onto the table. Minerva Loren Whitefield, from Allens, the title read. Louis took it before Ernest (who proceeded to complain); Minerva (another one who preferred a nickname—Minnie) was a business graduate who currently interned at I-TEC as well.
"Lots of I-TEC people, huh?"
"They profited during the Unrest," Xander pointed out.
"She has served too," Louis remarked. "Not very long though. Is there a reason why?" He flipped through the pages to find her military record. "Oh, I see. Health stuff, but nothing that'd affect her ability to be queen, per se." Louis wasn't very convinced though, but he knew very well that Xander was, if he had to choose, on soldier's sides. Minnie Whitefield definitely had a good starting point, and it wasn't like anything else on her résumé was bad.
"The intelligence has noted that she'd definitely get along with your party habits, Ernest." Sophia's voice was far too happy and cheerful for the nature of the subject. "I'm sure you'd get along."
Ernest shrugged. "Whatever. Go ahead."
Why the sudden change in opinion? He had been alright with the first girls, then absolutely annoyed by the following ones, and now, he didn't care? Louis looked to his brothers while they continued discussing a candidate for Yukon that they ended up dismissing as unfit. Ernest was tense. He wasn't half-lying as he often did; he was sitting up straight. His eyes were focused on the papers, and he almost seemed to be worried that someone was watching him—that was the way Louis usually behaved, not Ernest! What in the world was going on with him?
Had he done something?
Probably.
Was it worse than usually?
Definitely.
But what? There wasn't much that Louis could do—as long as Ernest didn't say anything, he was just having some secret that seemed to pressure or worry him. If he started digging, he'd probably just get into trouble, or Ernest would tell their family about that Friday night…
"Let's take a break," Xander suggested. "We all need to be focused onto this."
The others agreed. Grateful, Louis leaned back, but his eyes remained with the already Selected girls. He had gone into this meeting wondering about the publicity, the organisation and his 'role', as Ernest called it. Here he was, contemplating the possibility of him falling in love. It was strange, he thought. He never expected to marry for love—such a privilege, or the illusion to it, was only there for the heir. Any younger siblings? Their marriages hadn't been pure romances. Why wasn't he glad to be given the chance?
Probably because these girls signed up for Xander, not for him. If they even signed up for him, it was…
"Louis?" Sophia asked quietly. Louis looked to her; the rest of the siblings had left the room. They took the 'break' thing serious, huh?
"Yes?"
"What's up?" Sophia asked, before taking a seat next to him. "Are you worried about the cameras and attention of the Selection?"
Louis hesitated to answer. Sophia always came to him—he didn't even need to ask for help—but was that right? Sure, out of the five siblings, she had the least problems but still… Well, Louis thought, if she wanted to help, then he might as well talk to her.
After all, thanks to Xander, he didn't have a mother for that anymore.
"I… I'm not sure what to think of Xander's plan for Ernest and me, with the Selection." Louis blushed. Why in the world couldn't he just say 'Xander's plan for me to marry'? What was so difficult about it?
"You know, you aren't the only one worried," Sophia assured him.
"What do you mean?"
"One of Xander's closest friends started a betting pool on the Selection. Most bets are on Xander being an awkward muffin."
"That doesn't help me."
"Alright," Sophia replied with a nod. "What exactly are you worried about?" She fiddled with her chiffon dress.
"… I don't even know. I can't imagine anything."
"Well, no one knows about Xander's plans but us. You can just start out with watching from the side lines. Maybe someone likes books too? Jaira Phillips did, didn't she?"
"Yes but…" He paused.
"But?"
"I don't know," Louis shook his head. "I can't imagine that anyone would actually be interested in me. I can't imagine me being interested in anyone."
"That's fine," Sophia replied. "Nothing is a must, you know. Just stay by the sides for now, and see how it goes. If nothing happens, that's fine too—you're only nineteen, I get that."
Louis bit on his lip, suppressing his answer—their father had been eighteen, as per tradition, when he met his wife. Age didn't matter—not for royals at least. That wasn't an excuse.
"Just go and see how it goes, okay? I'll make sure that Xander doesn't pressure you into anything you don't want."
Louis nodded. "Thank you," he said even though he didn't genuinely mean it. There was just too much that he didn't know how to explain.
/ / /
Baine Mansion, Parral, Paloma
Zarah Baine
Zarah Baine, a born Six, knew both sides of the coin. She had seen how the rich lived and how the poor suffered. Zarah herself probably still lived on the dark side of the coin but then again, she was glad to know that if she ever needed help, she had two Twos as aunt and uncle. Considering the fact that she was a Six and currently was in the living room of a fancy building owned by the major of Parral, she was pretty well off. Well, besides the fact that she still had two jobs because she didn't want to rely on her aunt and uncle. That was more personal pride though. Plus, it helped with her image for the charity work she usually did, and it just felt right. As if she was slapping her life into the face of upper castes who thought they had a reason to look down at her.
She turned a page of the folder she was reading while nipping on her glass of water. It was the plan for a charity event in a nicer part of the town that was meant to collect additional money to restore a sports centre that just wasn't among the government's top priorities.
"This is boring," she pointed out.
"Of course, it's paperwork," Xaviour Perez, her boyfriend, replied.
"I didn't mean that," Zarah replied, dropping the folder down. "Like, it's just nothing that really grabs your attention? If I had millions of dollars on my bank account, I'd just go to look nice, drop a thousand and leave. It's nothing that touches your heart."
"Sounds fun."
"I heard your manager wants you to come," Zarah shot back.
Xaviour groaned. His manager probably was right; it'd be good for the singer's popularity, but he failed to have the enthusiasm that his girlfriend had. He leaned against Zarah's shoulder. "Then do make it interesting, honey."
"I'm trying," she replied. "Anything new from him about us?"
Xaviour shook his head. "He still doesn't want us to go public. Too much drama about me dating a nobody, he says."
"Welp," Zarah shrugged. "He knows that my uncle's the major, doesn't he?"
"Doesn't make him less a caste-superiority prick," Xaviour shrugged. "He doesn't like that you're not a Two, and he doesn't get that it's damn expensive to buy you up to being a Two. Your uncle needs the money for his next campaign, but my manager doesn't get it."
"Prick," Zarah agreed. "Seriously, though, I mean, yeah, I do a Six's work, but I'm hanging at charity galas like you do. Where's the difference?"
"People's mindset, apparently."
Zarah dropped the folder. "About that though, I was thinking of applying for the Selection."
"What?" Xaviour turned to her. "Am I not enough for you?"
"No, honey, you're a keep," Zarah shook her head. "More like, Selected are super popular and I'd be a Three. I just need the caste, and then I leave as soon as possible. No one said that I gotta stay there to become a Three. You know Abby Moon? She left the Selection as one of the first, but she still scored a Two in the first days, and she became lady-in-waiting to the Queen. I did my research."
"Oh, I see your point," Xaviour nodded. "Did you speak to your parents though?"
"Not yet, I wanted your opinion first, but it sounds like a realistic thing. Famous singer dates former Selected. Totally something that could happen, right?"
Xaviour nodded. "Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. The money you get could go to your sister's caste too. Then your uncle and aunt don't need to stress about you two being Sixes anymore."
"Then I'd probably need to stay in for more than a week though."
"What do you think about the royal family?"
Zarah shrugged. "I don't know. Rules are meant to be broken, but I think there's a line and the rebels overstepped that."
"I meant them as humans, not the government versus usurping rebels situation," Xaviour laughed. "Believe me, I have had so much press talk about that, I'm done with it."
"I guess… Louis is a jerk."
"He's a stupid child."
"That too, and a jerk," Zarah decided, before pushing her boyfriend aside. She dropped her leather jacket on the floor, threw the beanie aside and probably hit a glass or something expensive. Oops. Whatever.
"My sister is sleeping over at a friends' house today," she told Xaviour. "Are you staying?"
"What about your aunt and uncle?"
"Still on their holiday. They're coming back tomorrow morning."
"Cool, I am," Xaviour replied, before awkwardly smiling. He looked aside. "So, what do you think of the royals? Besides Louis?"
"I guess it's cool that the Crown Prince served in the military and that he didn't make, like, a big thing out of it. Sophia's a bit too much perfect little princess, and God knows what Victoria does nowadays." Zarah shrugged and dropped back onto the couch. "Why?"
"… I'm worried," Xaviour admitted.
"About what?" Zarah laughed. "That I'll ditch you for one of these guys? Nah. Took me long enough to get together with you, I'm not going to do this again."
"But what if the Crown Prince likes you?" Xaviour worried. He sat up straight, unlike Zarah's terrible posture, and looked down.
"Then I'll make sure that he'll change his mind," Zarah laughed. "Xav, seriously, if it wasn't for my family, I'd probably have joined the rebels. Like, they actually stood up for what they believed in. That's awesome, to be honest."
"So… you'd have hurt people?"
"Nah. That's the boundary I don't like, but protest? Definitely, I'm in."
"I'm still not sure though…" he sighed. "I don't want to lose you, honey."
"Don't worry, you won't. I know where you live and have decent orientation."
"That's… not what I mean."
Zarah leaned back and dumped her legs onto Xaviour's. "Plus, if I join the Selection, people will pay attention to me. I can do something to stop people discriminating onto the lower castes, you know? I just need to get in."
"Paloma is huge," Xaviour pointed out. "How do you plan to do that?"
"Well, I'm a Six but I do philanthropy. You know, that isn't something that happens every day. I'm sure that looks good."
"… It's a lottery."
"It's called Selection. It's called 'the Selected', Xav. I'm sorry but, you know, I doubt it's random."
"Hmhm."
"Anyone believes that the Selection is real and true love exists is a hopeless romantic."
Xaviour cringed. "So, I am a hopeless romantic?"
Zarah laughed and turned around to him, pulling him closer. "Yes, you are."
Xaviour opened his mouth to respond, but he had no time to respond; Zarah kissed him already. He was her boyfriend after all, and she didn't want people to think he belonged to anyone but her. If she needed to play along in the Selection, that was perfectly fine.
"… But," he hesitated. "I… Are you really just trying to get a higher caste? There are other ways than dating a total stranger…"
"I am," Zarah sighed. "Why in the world would I want to end up with a prince?"
"Because he has much more money and everyone wants to be a princess?"
Zarah deadpanned. She pointed towards the leather jacket on the ground, the beanie and the pair of plateau heels she had been wearing. "Yeah, because a princess would totally wear these heels."
Xaviour opened his mouth to respond, and closed it again. "Okay. Okay. Okay…"
"I mean, I really just need to be a Three, so if it worries you so much, I'll just make sure to make a terrible impression and get eliminated first or so."
"… Just don't get into trouble, honey."
"Haven't I already told you that I won't?"
"It sounds like you will though. I'm sure that you'll get into trouble for… I don't know. Something."
"My aunt and uncle are politicians. My sister is a high school student. I drive and do secretary work. There's nothing interesting to get in trouble for. My parents died in a car accident—I don't have any connection to the rebels."
"You have a secret boyfriend, and that's against the law?"
"Having a boyfriend isn't."
"Yeah but—"
"It'll be fine. I'll make some cool friends, have fun and I'll be back soon."
Xaviour sighed. "Alright. Whatever you want, honey."
Zarah smiled content. To her, the whole plan would absolutely work. She just needed to get up to caste Three, and there she was, a totally eligible girlfriend. Besides, she'd probably make some good money, and then could see what to do with the rest of her life. She wasn't planning to settle down anytime soon.
"But now, to other things. I'll talk this through with my uncle tomorrow."
"Sounds like a good plan," Xaviour nodded, not very convinced. He probably just worried too much about losing her, Zarah concluded. Such a naïve sweetie. Her naïve sweetie.
/ / /
Rosy's apartment, Minnesota, Sota
Euphrosyne "Rosy" Tillings
"This is fine."
Rosy was lost at the first sentence of the royal messenger. There were so many things that didn't make sense, that she had to ask him to repeat things multiple times—and she was intelligent. It didn't help that Rosy had spent ten minutes pacing up and down the hallway of her small apartment before finally opening the door a millimetre.
"This is fine," she reminded herself again.
To be fair, that wasn't her fault. She hadn't grown up with friends surrounding her, and a loving family who encouraged her but rather as weirdo in the corner who didn't get what emotions even were despite a perfect test score, and parents yelling at her for not being their dear oldest child. Too bad that she was dead now.
"This is fine." Why did she not feel like it was? She wasn't panicking, but something told her to be worried. Better listen to the messages that she received, Rosy thought.
No, genuinely, Rosy missed her. Her sister had been awesome, incredible and the best she could have asked for, but nope, she had to die in a damned bombing. Good job, government, they were absolutely protecting the people. Not. They had failed in doing that, the AirForce had bombed the building in the middle of the Great Unrest. Including her sister in it. Who had burned to death. Absolutely perfect work, government.
"Uh… uhm…" She stopped. "So… what do you mean?"
"I am here to offer you a position in the lady-in-waiting training programme I just explained, ma'am."
"Uh, yeah, I heard that… but why me?" There was absolutely no reason to ask her. Sure, she had a good academic track record, worked at a research lab with good reputation and was in her second year of uni already… but yeah, why her?
Rosy's parents did lots of socialising and socialite work, trying to establishing themselves despite being music producers, but Rosy? She hid behind books and brains. Biology was much more her preferred topic than the latest gossip or something.
"Your Selection application has gained the interest of the committee in charge of it."
"Oh." Rosy blinked. "But I didn't apply for the Selection."
"… You are Euphrosyne Tillings, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am…?" Rosy hesitated. Oh gosh. What in the world was happening? Had this been her mother? Sure, she knew that they had been in a bit of a crisis thanks to lack of demand for music written during the civil war, but they still had lots of inheritance and all…
"Then we've received an application by you."
"But I didn't…?"
Wordless, the messenger opened a folder. The first page was a Selection application. Rosy had seen it when one of the letters had arrived at her own home, but she hadn't ever filled it out. It ended in the rubbish bin because TV? Princess? Queen? That wasn't her.
But the details were all correct. Address, telephone number, birthdate, social security—everything perfect. However, Rosy recognised the handwriting. She had been right; it was her mother.
"That wasn't me, my mother filled this out."
"Did she?" the messenger asked surprised. "I understand. I will inform the palace and—"
"But… uh…" Rosy interrupted him. "Pardon, but would you mind giving me some time to consider? I'm not particularly interested in the Selection but the programme sounds interesting."
"Uh, really, I should just report this and—"
"If it's an issue," Rosy added, trying to be convincing (and probably failing), "then just don't mention that I didn't fill in the form?"
"Ma'am, really, I'm not sure if that's such a good idea."
"Please," she sighed, "my parents are bugging me every single day about being more like my sister. This was part of it, and if I just did the programme—even if I don't pass—I'd have an excuse to let them go."
"Ma'am, I really can't decide this. I need to report the incident."
"Then do that but ask, okay?" Rosy forced a smile. "Please?"
"I can try but… I cannot promise anything, Miss."
"Awesome, thank you, come back if you have an answer!" Rosy slammed the door closed.
She didn't mean to be impolite but this was… awkward? Annoying? Terrible? A torture of social settings that she absolutely detested, as much as she hated the royals for authorising the attack onto a place where rebels and civilians were?
Something along these lines.
"Alrightie, Rosy, just breathe," she told herself. "It'll be fine. This might be the best way to get into mum's good graces without doing anything social. I get to see my sister again, and she might stop wanting me to be Thalia's copy too."
As much as she loved her older sister who had always been smart, kind and beautiful, she couldn't ever be her again. The beautiful music producer-turned-model had died, and ever since, her parents wanted her to be Thalia 2.0.
But she wasn't.
She was Rosy, the shy and awkward girl who wanted to be a scientist because that was something that actually made sense. Her parents were far too obsessed with mixing with Twos. Even Rosy—who knew about social settings as much as she knew about skydiving (okay, no, skydiving was physics. Soccer!)—knew that the wealth of Twos who had become Twos by fame was as fickle as a flame in rain.
But for now, it made money and status, apparently.
"And, I mean, you might even be able to befriend with some of the royals? No… they're too public. Maybe someone who works there, and has an idea of the military? I could finally know who authorised the bombing…"
She pulled out a notepad and a pen, her mind already somewhere else. She needed to write down to remember to demand to know from her mother why she thought it was alright to sign her up for the Selection. She didn't need that spotlight—it was frightening!—or some prince to compete for. Romance was just not on her thing.
"This is fine," she reminded herself again. She probably should actually be panicking. That whole idea wasn't thought out well at all, but the messenger's response was somewhat relieving. The fact that she hadn't been intending to sign up at all was probably going to stop herself from being accepted, so all was going to be fine.
She'd just forget the whole incident.
Except, yeah, three hours later that Rosy spend reading and studying for university, writing this and that, the messenger returned with a pleased smile, announcing that he had gotten the alright. Could she pack out of this?
"Please, just take a seat in the lounge," Rosy insisted, before hurrying into her bedroom and finishing the last thing she knew to do.
Tarot cards.
Please, the messenger would probably not understand how true the cards could be, and just walk off, like everyone else, wouldn't he? Quickly and swiftly, with trained hands, she laid a tarot formation (a simple one—she really didn't have the time for more), and skimmed over the cards.
The Star, the Wheel of Fortune and the Fool.
The Fool representing herself, the Wheel of Fortune representing the turn of events and the Star representing the future.
"… So, you think I should do it?" she whispered. The Fool meant that she was to embark on a journey, and the Wheel of Fortune indicated that said journey would be one blessed by luck. The Star presented an ideal, wished outcome.
So she should, Rosy concluded.
With a deep breath and the three tarot cards in her hand, she rose and joined the messenger who was patiently waiting in the living room.
"Please… excuse that, I had to do something quickly," she replied. "Please, do tell me more."
One more time (which probably wasn't the first time he explained this to Rosy), the messenger explained what was going on. What she would be expected to do, and what she could expect in return.
And Rosy nodded and nodded. She made a few notes, asked questions. This was almost like research or so, well, almost. Taking in information wasn't difficult. It was easy, it was what she did every single day. Signing her name wasn't either, and discussing meeting times wasn't difficult either. Basics. Easy. Nothing difficult.
What really was difficult was calling her mother after the messenger left. Five times, she almost called her, but ended up not doing so. Instead, she ended up sending one big text message, erased it four times again and rewrote it.
It ended with one brief message sent via text to the mother that had always favoured one girl above the other two, and was the reason why Rosy's younger sister now ignored her talents in favour of copying Thalia and gaining their parents' favour.
Rosy: Please don't submit something in my name again. I'll be going away for a few weeks and probably won't be able to contact you. Just don't do that again.
/ / /
Dearest Sophia,
Please do apologise my informal response, but I was excited to hear about the news of the forthcoming Selection. I have spoken to Carlos, and he shares my feelings about visiting you. I am entirely sure that Carl and Luigi would love to see you five again, and meeting the Selected will be a good exercise for Carl as well. I was considering coming for Adrian's birthday, but I understand that with the Selected's arrival, you probably don't want to host another four guests and household. I do wish to congratulate him to his birthday though—maybe mid-april? What are your plans?
You must tell me how Adrian is doing. I have not heard of him since his large formal notice; it's so unusual for him to not keep in touch. Is he with your dear grandmother? How is Jonathan doing? I hope you all are doing well; you must be so strong.
How is poor Victoria doing? I believe I have not seen her in almost a decade! I very much hope that she is improving; you know that she is always welcome here. I hope she is readjusting to life and is receiving the help she needs? Carlos worries that she's too enclosed in the Illéa Palace, and I must admit that I share his concern.
I also very much hope that Ernest and Louis will adept adequately to the Selection. I understand that both will be in a very much strange situation, and you can assure them my uttermost support. How are you handling the situation? Imagine, you'll soon have a sister-in-law!
Please do also tell me how Xander is fairing. I am concerned with Adrian's behavior, but I cannot help but understand him. Lys was his life after all. Is he handling his responsibilities well? I do remember so well that he and Louis always preferred work over public engagements…
Yours affectionately,
Amelie Savoy
/ / /
Author's Note
I promise y'all that not every chapter will be 10k from now on. This and the next chapter were originally mean to be one chapter… Oops. Yeah. It's split for now. I got off track. Sorry.
The letter is chronologically set... somewhere? Idk tbh. It's more like an obvious foreshadow / teaser :P
You got a chapter early because I'm on a trip for the next three days, including my Friday (probs Thursday for most of you). I don't want to forget to upload, so you get it early. Something I'll need to discuss though is, that after debating this since writing chapter 5, I've decided to add 2 years to everyone's age. This doesn't change the timeline of the story, everyone is just two years older. I think for most of the characters, this'll be more realistic (i.e. the ones who were in the war, the fact that Vic had been present at meetings with the king's advisors (1311, y'all, better than nothing). I'll be making edits next weekend (Slyther was so sweet to check through chapter 6 and 7), if you wanna help tell me. The Selection age range thus is 20 - 24 (with Xander being 22).
Out of my head, I only know that there is one case where the age up two years won't happen-that's Sawyer; she'll only get one year to fit into the new age range (two years of occupation are also worse (hence her still being in school) hahaha I want angst). If you'd like to discuss the age of your OC (anything between 20-24 is a go), I'm open to it, but I feel like it makes sense in most cases.
Complains can be sent to me, but please do acknowledge that I feel much more comfortable like this, and I've been debating this since February.
In other news, next chapter: »Maybe Helena would offer refugee? «
