AN: Let's thank Milly for the end of scene two and the inspiration for the scene prior.


Chapter Thirty-Four

Friday, November Twenty-Second

There is a black dress hanging atop the bathroom door when Mare returns from lunch. It's long with a sheer cloak-like covering attached to it. It's the style of dress Mare likes. She just doesn't want to be wearing this dress in front of everyone.

Princess Charlene is dead and that's what this dress is for.

Now, Mare wasn't never close to the late princess, unlike the likes of the former selected Tabitha Fontaine and Cora Holland, but she knew the girl and knew she was still a child. Mare didn't look up to the girl as a leader of her country, but she knows that many did.

Mare might not have shed a tear at the death of Charlie's passing, but she knows that many have.

Mare breaths, twisting the bracelet over and over and over again. She's going to have to speak on the Report. She has to talk to the country she has no major connection to, about their princess, who she knows even less about.

There's a fast, hard knock on her door. Mare opens it. It's her senior maid.

"Lady Mare," she steps in, holding notecards and silver jewelry, "Please hurry up and get dressed. We must go over Illéan mourning customs and the speech Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Gwyneth prepared you."

Mare takes the dress off the hanger and heads to the bathroom to get dressed. She slips it on and smooths it down thirteen times before she's satisfied. Mare looks at herself in the mirror. The dress is simple, solid black with no fancy embellishments. It makes Mare blend in. It doesn't single her out.

She steps out, grabbing the small teardrop necklace and simple rings her senior maid brought in. Her senior maid ushers her towards her vanity, insistent on doing Mare's makeup while she explains what Illéa does with grief.

"So, Illéan tradition dictates one month of solid black clothing for every year you've known the deceased. Since you met the late Princess Charlene this year, you should finish out this month and next month out of respect for her passing. Longer, if you win the heart of Louis Schreave, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there."

"I doubt I'm winning Daniela," Mare comments, "I haven't spoken to Louis one-on-one in weeks."

"He's been stressed, Mare." Daniela reasons, "Louis has a lot on his plate."

"So do I Daniela." Mare responds, "and I don't want to give up my dreams and my family in France to lead a country who only knows me as the foreigner selected."

"They don't see you as that一" Daniela tries to dissuade Mare, but stops lying, "Okay, they do, but that's no reason to quit."

"I want to become a lawyer, Daniela. I want to work for justice and pick who I represent." Mare tells her, "I can't give up everything I worked at for a country and a man who I'm not in love with."

Daniela sighs, "Alright. Let's just get through the Report. I'll pack your things while you are gone."

Mare stands, hugging the older lady, "Thank you, really. I'm grateful for all you've done for me."

"No problem." Daniela laughs, "You remind me of my last selected when she was your age: dedicated and determined."

"What happened to her?" Mare asks.

Daniela lets go of the hug, "She became Queen."


Mare steps into the almost barren Women's Room. She would've been here sooner if she didn't have to open and shut the door multiple times. Mare looks out at the room. Madi and Marie are talking about her trip back home. Briar sits, reading a book. Mare takes a seat in between the three of them.

Before Mare can say or do anything else, Empress Gwyneth and Queen Rosalind walk in, decked in all black as well. They've only seen both of them like this during the Halloween Brunch, three weeks ago. They both hold somber expressions. Briar puts down her book; Madison and Maria both stop the conversation. The four selected, Mare included, watch the mother-daughter duo, awaiting instruction.

"As you all are now aware, tragedy has struck the Schreave family and all of Illéa. Tonight, on the Report, we will be sharing news about her death to our great nation." Gwyneth starts the conversation, but Rosa continues it, "I hope you all have memorized your speeches. Each of you will get five minutes to talk about Charlie. I know you all haven't known Charlie as long as anyone else has, but we are using the entire time on the Report about her, so please, do a good job. I'm not asking as the Queen, I'm asking as a mother."

"Girls," Gwyneth wraps up the conversation, "Let's head out."

The selected stands. A sea of black dresses walk out the door in a line. His Majesty and His Royal Highness, King Jonothan and Prince Louis, stand right outside the door. Louis asks, "Are you all ready."

Six heads nod at different paces but display the same message: we are ready. Everyone walks to the limos out front. On the walk outside, a thought crosses Mare's mind, 'This is my last Report'. The French native wasn't used to watching it in the first place, but she'll miss it.

Mare sits in the limo near the window. She looks over at her notecards over and over again, making sure that the words are committed to memory. When the limo stops, Mare gets out and heads to the Report's bathroom.

Mare closes her eyes. Breathes in. Breathes out. Breathes in. Breathes out. She stood in the bathroom, outside the Report studio, after a night of restless sleep and confusion. Now, her eyes were glued to her mirror's reflection. She had reapplied her lipstick for the fourth time by now.

'This is going to go wrong,' her mind echoed. 'You'll look wrong, get it right, quick, it's a minute left to go. This is why I can't be Queen. I could never be Queen.'

"Mare, are you alright?" Maria, also in the bathroom, asks.

"Yeah," Mare closes her eyes, squeezing them shut before she forces them open, "Everybody has been so gloomy... scary. I wish I was Madi and got to see my family now."

Not that she could—college and all would stop her even if she left—but Maria understood the sentiment.

"Moi aussi," she muttered in French.

A voice echoes from the studio. "We're live in two, on your position now!"

Mare squeaks, "I'm not ready!"

Maria takes her hand, too fast, and pulls the lipstick out of it. "You look fine. Don't worry. We're all worked up. You fit in just fine."

She pulled her out, into the cold air of the Report studio. The other girls were ready, and only the two of them were missing.

Mare gulps. "Sorry, make up drama,"

Gwyneth softly smiles, for the first time since Charlie's death was announced. "No worries."

"We are live in three, two, one..." The voice of Ryan Fontaine is too happy, too cheery. It's not right, but the Royal family and the selected walk out, in their mourning attire.


Everyone on screen is wearing black and they've dressed her in all white. Biggest piece of symbolism if you asked Charlie, but she couldn't be asked. Charlie has a duty to do. There is a gun in her hand and words just past the camera for her to read. They've prepared her for this; she knows what to do and what'll happen if she doesn't do them.

The gag they have dangling around her neck is white, covered in spit stains, but it's white nonetheless. Instead of her usual attire, they have her in a simple, white dress. Her hair has been combed out and she wears no makeup. Charlie Schreave looks angelic, a far cry from what she usually is.

She can hear the Report playing back on one of the monitors. Her brother is on there, talking about her. He's relaying memories of them playing games and having lessons together. The memories aren't recent, but Charlie can remember them like they were yesterday; it's the only thing keeping her going.

"Darling," it's the voice of Marilyn, her soon-to-be ex. Charlie would break up with her if she wasn't stuck with her 24/7. Marilyn brought her here, got her tied up in this room. She held a gun to her head and threatened to shoot. That's what she's doing now, but the threat is silent. Marilyn continues, pulling the black mask over her face, "are you ready for your angelic debut?"

Charlie wants to scream, to run, to fight. Though, she doesn't know where she is, only that this was Marilyn's and the rebellion's original plan. Charlie doubts that Lynn ever loved her, but she can't voice her suspicions due to the gun to her head.

All that Charlie does is nod, her fear hidden by tiredness.

"We're in!" The exclaim of an older man at the computer signals their leader.

Their leader, an older Asian lady, signals for Charlie to start reading off the cards behind the camera.

"Single father William Dunham, thirty-seven and his two children, ages seven and five. Veronica Grey, eighty-seven. Taylor James and his new fiancee, Avery Addams, both twenty-two. Beatrice Wilde, twenty-one and her twin toddlers. Francesca Hart, nineteen. Bella Corso, ten." Charlie lists off the names, eyes locked into the camera, "These are the citizens' bodies we can recover from the attack on our base. The palace slaughtered hundreds of it's own people, people who just wanted change in their home. We are declaring war on the palace; we will reign supreme. Or, my name isn't Charlene Alice Schreave, Princess of Old Illéa and daughter of the New Illéa."

The video cuts off and she can't hear anyone she loves anymore. They were silent during her announcement and those five minutes before they cut in may be the last time Charlie will ever hear their voices.

"Come with us Charlie." Their leader gives the command first, "You did good. I'll escort you to your quarters."

Marilyn takes off the mask but keeps the gun to her, "Let's go, babe."