I heard the bucket tip before I saw it's aftermath, and if anything, it only made me more angry. Slowly, I turned around the face the youngest of the King family, who looked smug and content standing on the other end of the spilled cleaning water.

I looked down at the knee's of my pants, now soaked with soap and cold water. With a sigh, I stood, leaving the cloth I'd been using to clean the legs of the furniture in the entry room on the floor beside my feet. For a minute, all I could do was stare at the nine year old boy and try to figure out why he felt the need to do the things he did, but when nothing came to mind, I moved into action.

Without a word to the boy, I walked over and picked the newly emptied bucket up from beside him on the floor, my shoes splashing in the puddle that'd been created. I made my way to the closet that held all of the cleaning supplied as dropped the bucket on the floor, snatching the mop off of the hook on the wall.

Dylan was still standing in the same place I'd left him when I came back to the entrance, only then, his mother was standing behind him. I swallowed, suddenly feeling guilty for the mess that hadn't even been my own.

Mrs. King looked up at me when she saw that I'd come into the room, and her eyes darted from the puddle of soapy water to me in the course of a single second. For a minute, I had no idea what would happen—Mrs. King was always kind of a wild card in the sense of you never knew what reaction to expect.

She was a bombshell in the looks department, and so it was easy to see why her husband had plucked her from her family of Fives and brought her into the live of Three's. I figured the simple fact that she knew what it was like to be of the lower castes made her slightly more forgiving towards me, yet still, I couldn't stop my heart from racing while I waited for her to speak.

"Well, I suppose if you're cleaning it up then there's no harm done," She said, sighing.

I nodded, moving quickly to mop up the water. Dylan watched me from his spot next to his mother, but I didn't so much as turn to look at the boy. He was always testing my patience in a way that only a spoilt brat could, and I knew that one day he'd push me too far, and I'd get myself fired for scolding the boy. Until that day, I made myself bit my lip to hold back harsh words, and I cleaned up after the boy like the maid I was.

When the mess was gone, I went back to the closet and hung the mop back on the nail that was twisted into the wall, grabbing for the bucket again. I squeezed a good amount of soap from the bottle before closing the door to the closet and lifting the blue bin into my arms. When I went to the kitchen to fill it with water, I found Miss Marion cleaning the stove, and I slowed my brisk pace to a walk. I put the bucket in the sink and turned on the tap, drumming my fingers on the plastic edges of it while I waited for it to get at least a quarter full.

Miss Marion cleared her throat from behind me, "oh, really, child, is it too hard to keep your clothing dry while you're on the job? That's not very presentable, you know."

"It was an accident," I said, not offering her any more information than that. I peered down into the bucket, waiting, losing more of my sanity with every added word that came out of the old woman's mouth,

"I'm sure." She said, "I think you ought to do that bathrooms on the second floor when your done with the entryway."

I blinked, moving my eyes from the bottom of the bucket to the window above the sink. Outside, the King's front lawn was being tended to my a man with a lawn mower, and for a few seconds, I did nothing but watch him zig zag across the grass.

"Hello? Am I talking to myself," Miss Marion said, making me turn around and shoot her a look. She gaped, "That's not the kind of look a young girl should be giving her—"

"Her what?" I said, rolling my eyes, "elders?"

I shut off the tap and pulled the bucket out of the sink, leaving Miss Marion standing next to the oven with a look on her face that I wasn't able to place. She'd always been touchy about her age, and I would have bet money that she'd been planning on using the word I superior or one of it's synonyms before I'd budded in. While I marched back to the entryway, though, I didn't care.

Dylan and his mother were gone then, something I was grateful for. I knew that, if my job hadn't been necessary for my mom and I, I'd have quit ages back. But unfortunately for myself, it was more than necessary, and I had no option of quitting for pleasure.

I dropped back to my hands and knee's, feeling the cold wet fabric of my pants on my shins, and I picked the cloth up off of the ground. After dipping it into the refreshed warm water, I returned to the task I'd been working on earlier, which was wiping down the legs to the tabled that lined the walls in the front room.

Sometime between when I'd moved on from the left side of the room tables to the right side ones, Sharron King had come down the staircase and stood on the bottom landing. I could feel her eyes on my back while I scrubbed at the muddy bottom of the last of the decorative pieces of furniture.

"I think there's a speck of mud on my shoes," She said from behind me, and I slowly turned around to look at her. From my place on the floor, I had to twist my neck in a way that had my looking straight up at her. Her blond hair was styled in a way that told me she was not planning on staying in today, and I wondered if maybe her and her friends were planning on watching The Capital Report together whenever it aired.

I had no doubt in my mind that Sharron and all of her friends had filled out their applications for the Selection last week, and they'd probably all sealed them with a lipstick-smeared kiss, as well. It'd been almost a full seven days since the deadline for the applications had passed, and tonight was when 35 girls from each province of Illéa were to be announced on the T.V. It didn't air until 8, and I was sure my mom would have made popcorn or something like that for the occasion.

"Mind giving it a little scrub for me?" Sharron said, smiling down at me in a way that would have appeared sweet if I didn't know it was fake. I bit my lip, treading through the territory carefully. I swallowed whatever pride I could have had in that moment and dipped my cloth into the bucket beside me, wringing it our before I put it to Sharron's left heel and wiped the small smudges of dirt from it's plastic. When she pulled her foot away, she looked down her nose at it to check my job. "Awe, you're a doll."

I didn't say anything to her—there was nothing that I could. In the back of my mind, I was screaming at her, saying a hundred things at once, in which 80 of them contained curses. I quickly turned away from her when tears of frustration rimmed my eyes, and I brought the cloth in my hands back to the legs of the table in front of me.

Sharron wasn't gone just yet though. Instead, she settled into a seat on the second to lowest stair beside the table I was cleaning, resting her head in her hand while she watched me. "I want you to clean my room after this. I'm going out, so I won't be there for you to get in my way."

I gave her a nod so that she'd know I heard her, but I didn't say anything. Half of me was grateful to have an excuse not to clean the bathrooms on the second floor, but the other half of me wanted to trash her room more than I wanted to clean it.

"And don't even think of pocketing anything," she said, her voice suddenly turning stern.

I frozen, the cloth in my hands stopped moving against he wood of the table, and I craned my neck to look at the girl. I'd never once taken anything from her room, or any other room in the house. The accusation in her tone caught me by surprise in a way that left me gaping at her in both horror and confusion.

Sharron gave me a smug look, "If my pearl bracelet just happens to turn up, now, leave it in my jewelry box where it belongs."

She stood then, walking back towards the front door. I watched her until she was gone, completely out of view, but my shock never faded. Miss Marion walked in just then, and she looked from me to the door that I was staring at. I jumped to my feet before she could say anything to me, moving towards the bathroom to dump what was left of the water in the bucket.

I spent the remainder of my shift cleaning Sharron King's room spotless, right down to he headboard on her bed. When I was shrugging my jacket over my shoulders, getting ready to walk back to the bus stop and head home, I got a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach. With a frown, I set out to find Miss Marion before going to the bus.

She was putting away the last of the cleaning supplies in the closet when I found her. At first, she had no idea that I'd walked up, and I stood just behind her waiting for her to look up. I'd almost lost my nerve in those few seconds, and just when my feet were beginning to itch to move, she turned and looked over at me.

"What?" She snapped.

I swallowed, "Just wondering if you've seen a pearl bracelet at all while you were cleaning."

I watched her face carefully, and though I'd never call myself an excellent reader when it came to expressions, the look she got then was easy to decipher. It was guilt.

Miss Marion stretched her neck so she held her head high, "Afraid not. Why? I doubt you could afford such a piece of jewelry."

"No reason," I said, dropping my eyes to the floor. With nothing else to say to her, I twisted on my heels and started back towards the front door, leaving Miss Marion standing outside the cleaning closet.

When I got home that evening, it was already almost seven thirty, and my mom had dinner ready and out on the table for us. I walked in the door and hung my jacket on the rack just inside before slipping my shoes off and heading into the kitchen to join her.

"Looks great, mom," I said, sliding into the seat across from her and admiring the chicken salad she made. There was already a serving of it on my plate for me, and I dug right into it within seconds of sitting down.

"How was work?" She asked, sipping at the glass of water she had in front of her.

I shrugged, "I think Miss Marion is stealing from the Kings."

My mother frowned, blinking at me. She was quiet at first, and I could see the gears in her head turning while she processed this. My mother had had my job before me, and that had meant that she had worked with Miss Marion back when both of them were in their early thirties. Still, my mom didn't look surprised to hear the information so much as disappointed. "Well, that's unfortunate. Did you tell Mrs. King? Or Mr. King, I suppose?"

"No," I said, frowning, "I guess I have to, though, don't I?"

My mother nodded swiftly, "Yes, I think you do."

We both finished off our plates fairly quickly after that, and I carried our dishes back to the sink. The clock told me it was bordering on seven forty-five, and just when I was looking away from it, my mom shrieked, "You're checking to see if it's eight yet, aren't you?"

I snorted, filling the sink with water so that I could wash the dishes. I could hear her feet hitting the floor behind me while she did her little dance, and I let out a groan. "Mom, I just want to see who wins, that doesn't mean that I want to win."

"Do you?" She said, coming up behind me.

"No," I said, for what felt like the hundredth time.

My mother frowned, watching my hands scrub at the plates and utensils that were before me. Her eyes were like hawks on my hands, and after only a minute, I began to squirm under her gaze, "Can I help you?"

"Yeah," She said, drumming her nails on the counter, "just admit you want to marry the prince."

"Mom," I whined, letting my eyes drop closed for a few seconds, "I really, really do not."

"Whatever you say," she said, finally walking away. She left the room and headed into the living room, where I heard the television click on.

When I was drying the last of our dishes, her voice carried through from the living room, and she sung the words like a song, "Only five minutes until the Report."

"Thanks for the information, mom." I said, rolling my eyes. I hung the dampened dish towel on the bar that protruded from the oven before I walked into the living room and collapsed next to her on the couch, using my feet to kick my socks off.

We watched the ending to a show I couldn't even name, and when it's credits finished rolling, the beginning of the Report began to play.

The Illéa Capitol Report was the one show that every teenage girl in the nation wouldn't go without, and likely their parents, either. It brought every bit of gossip of the Royals Family to the people's own living room, adding in the political crap for the dad's, I figured. Every Friday night, everyone was likely doing the exact same thing—and that was sitting in front of the T.V. screen watching the Reports live show.

"Good evening, Illéa. In just two weeks, 35 lucky young women will be off to Angeles to compete for the hand of our adored Prince Roman." Gavril, the host of the show, said, his eyes on the camera. "Tonight, we bring you a specially crafter episode of The Capital Report: the first in the series of selection-oriented ones that will follow. Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we reveal to you those lucky women."

There was applause in the background, coming from excited members of the audience. My mother bounced in her seat beside me, obviously excited. I laughed, shaking my head at her. I understood why my mom was excited, but I didn't quite grasp the reasoning behind it. While the host of the Report continued his chatter about the importance of the Selection, I watched my mother stare at the screen with a smile wider than the T.V. screen itself.

"And now," Gavril said, and the camera slowly began zooming out, "I introduce to you the Crowned Prince Roman of Illéa. Roman, how are you doing tonight?"

I could practically hear the thousands of squeals that came from the girls at home, who sat in front of their televisions gaping at the Prince as he walked out. Roman Séear was beautiful on the outside, but I was as close to positive as I could be that he was anything but beautiful on the inside. His hair was black and always went un-styled, and his arms were wide enough to inspire a certain level of intimidation. He walked onto the stage next to Gavril with a crooked smile, waving at the camera in front of him before sliding onto the chair across from the host.

Prince Roman had been a headline in the news lately, for a lot of things that were less than princely. Just the week before the Selection applications had gone out, he'd been pictured galavanting, as the papers had put it, with an unnamed woman outside the castle walls. Prince Roman had become notorious for sneaking out of the castle, despite the risk it had on his life and well being. It was as if the life of riches and nobility were simply not enough for him, and he didn't want it.

"I'm fantastic, Gavril, how about yourself?" The Prince said, tugging at the edges of his jacket. Everything about that boy screamed money in a way that I could have only dreamed, and I could envy settling into my chest the more I stared at him.

"I'm wonderful, thank you," Gavril said, "Now, you must be a little nervous about this, right? I mean, you're going to meet the woman who you'll marry in just two weeks!"

"It's a bit nerve-wracking, yes," he said, nodding, "but I'm confident it will all go well."

"Good," Gavril said, reaching next to him to grab at a paper that'd been sitting on the table. He turned to the camera, then, "now, the moment everyone has been waiting for. These girls are about to enter the competition that will change their lives forever, whether they marry our beloved Prince or not."

Gavril cleared his throat, eyeing the paper in his hand. I felt oddly calm while I waited for him to read off the names, but I couldn't deny the flutter in my stomach while he did. I might not have wanted to be in the Selection, but something about the glamour and riches that it could have brought me made it thrilling. "From Kent, Miss Quinn Bealtey, a three."

The girls photo popped up onto half of the screen, leaving the other half showing only the prince. I imagined he'd be able to see the photo's, too, just on a different screen in the filming room. The girl who was on our television then was gorgeous, with blonde locks and blue eyes—I felt like everyone else had already lost the competition. Prince Roman kept his face still and free of any telling emotions, but I wondered if he saw the same beauty that I did in that girl.

As Gavril continued reading the names, my mind was boggled and turned upside down at each of the photos. I couldn't believe that it'd been a lottery that had chosen the girls on the screen—every one of them was beautiful in way that said they were made for the television. They were so pretty, I thought any one of them would have made a perfect Queen standing next to Roman.

Half way through the names, Gavril cleared his throat, "From Whites, Miss Caroline Garett, a four."

Another photo came onto the screen, but Gavril spoke over it. "From Allens—"

My mom gasped, reaching over and snatching my hand from my lap. I jumped at her sudden movement, watching her bounce up and down in her seat, exclaiming, "This is it, this is it!"

"Shh, mom!" I said, shooting her a look. She snapped her jaw shut, and the two of us looked back at the T.V.

I'd missed Gavril reading off the name, but I looked back in time to see the photo on the screen. For a second, I could do nothing but stare at the T.V. and see the girl's brown hair, falling in tangled locks above her shoulders. At first, I didn't recognise her, but when I did, I jumped to my feet and felt my mouth drop open. I had no words, no thoughts except one: me.

My mother was quiet for what felt like the longest time after that. Though Gavril continued reading off the names, entirely unfazed, my mom and I weren't paying attention in the slightest. I turned to look at her, swallowing, "that… that was me."

"That was you," She said, nodding. She met my eyes, and I saw how wide hers were, how shocked her face was. There were thousands of people living in the same province as us, and thousands of those people were eligible for the Selection, and somehow, it was me who was picked.

At some point while I was blankly staring at the ground, absorbed in my own mind, the phone rung, and it didn't stop for days.