A/N: Hellllllooooo fabulous readers! Here we have it - the Selection announcement! Now things can really kick off! Because it is official announcement time, that means that submission are officially closed, even to those who gave me partial forms or interest statements. I apologize that your creations will not be featured, but I hope you still find enjoyment in reading along. That said, I have five wonderful guys that we were briefly introduced to last chapter, and I cannot wait to explore them with you all!

I will be deleting Chapter 2 containing the submission form, so please do not be alarmed if the chapter numbers suddenly change! It's just accommodating the shift! Thank you all so much for your continued support and readership. Can't wait to hear what you think of Delia's introduction!

The Thing About Selections: Part Two

The thing about Selections is that they suck.

That's it. They suck. Period. End of story.

What? Were you expecting waxed-on poetics and some sob story about watching sisters fall into sham relationships with abusive assholes ruining all hopes of future love? The others have that covered, the whiny little drama queens they are.

Besides, Delia wasn't having a Selection for love. Far from it.

Delia wasn't using her Selection to find a husband. She wasn't even using it to find a boyfriend. Nope. Delia needed this Selection to get out of love. So it didn't matter to her if she was corrupting the institution of the Selection, that ridiculous relic of a sexist, oppressive regime from generations past. It didn't matter if no one took the Selection seriously ever again (and they shouldn't. Selections suck).

Of course, Delia couldn't say any of that on live TV.

The speech written on her notecards was definitely Elodie's work. It was written with so much unfailing optimism, full of the hope at finding something new and exiting in this 'great adventure', that Delia wanted to gag. No one wanted to hear the truth though, so blasting sunshine and rainbows up the public's asses was what Delia was stuck with.

Literally everyone in the studio was more excited about this Selection than she was. The camera crew, stage lighting, even the sound technicians looked thrilled to be there. Why was everyone so goddamn happy? Didn't they know that this entire set up was bullshit?

Midas Fadaye was buzzing in his seat while make up ladies chattered excitedly around him, helping him run his lines and bounce questions. Midas lived for the drama, and for love stories. He had been through two other Selections during his run, and no one thought there would be another for a very long time. Delia needed to start mentally preparing for Reports now, that way maybe she wouldn't look like she was dying every time she was asked a question.

Delia's grip on her notecards tightened, wrinkling the paper. Her head was killing her, her thoughts far too loud and far too bitter. Why did she decide to show up sober? She could really use a hit of something strong right now, anything to take the unbearable edge off.

"A penny for your thoughts?"

Delia looked up to see her father standing in front of her. He looked as professional as always: three piece suit and tie, salt and pepper hair slicked back, salt and pepper beard neatly trimmed. Delia had never seen him look anything less than put together. It was something she secretly envied, not that she would ever tell him.

"I thought that you were gonna deal with this?" Delia complained, knowing full well she sounded like a toddler but she could not be assed to care. How was she supposed to go up in front of a camera - the harsh studio lights making her head pound even harder - and announce that she was having a Selection when she was already convinced this was the worst mistake she had ever made? And that was saying something given her year's worth of bad decisions.

"This is your Selection, therefore this is your responsibility," Dad said with finality, letting Delia know that she was absolutely not going to get out of this one. This totally would not have happened if Mom were here. "There comes a time when we all have to do things we don't want to do. It's part of growing up."

"You don't think I'm a grown up?"

"Darling, I know you're not a grown up," Dad said, teasing in a way that only he could get away with. "That's not a bad thing. You deserve to enjoy being a teenager. When I was your age, I was dealing with traumas and responsibilities that I would not wish on anyone, not even my greatest enemy. You should enjoy this time. This is the time to make mistakes, to go out on a limb and try new things, have new experiences, do things you would not otherwise do."

"Dad, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if you're having second thoughts about the Selection, then it's not too late to call it off. No one has been officially Selected; no one would get hurt. We could find something else to talk about tonight, go through our usual news and pretend like nothing happened," Dad proposed, and he made it sound so simple, so easy. Delia wanted to give in. "You have your whole life ahead of you to settle down. Don't feel like you have to to rush into marriage now."

Oh, don't worry Dad, I have no intention of getting married, Delia wanted to say, the words on the tip of her tongue. But if she let him know her plans, there was no way he would let her go through with the Selection. Still, it hurt to lie to him. As much as she kept doing it, it still never got any easier.

Instead, Delia smiled at her father as best she could. Dad nodded and patted her denim-clad knee. She had been waiting for him to say something about her outfit of choice. Most girls, when announcing their plans to get engaged, dressed up or at least put effort into their appearance. Delia had decided to go with a more comfortable vibe: an oversized cream sweater, worn jeans, black combat boots, and her unwashed hair thrown up into a top knot. Dad was probably just grateful that she had shown up with most her skin covered.

"Think about it," Dad said, then headed over to greet Midas.

That was the problem: Delia had too much to think about these days. Her thoughts made her brain more congested than Heathrow at holiday time. The only thing that made them shut up was drugs. Drugs and a shit ton of alcohol.

Why, oh why, wasn't she drunk right now?

Delia leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and let the sounds of the stage crew on carry her far far away...

.o.O.o.

The bar was fancy. Fancy because it was inside a country club somewhere north of London where the cheapest drink was fifteen pounds and the youngest man in the room was at least triple Delia's age. The women weren't too bad, but Delia wasn't really looking. No, she was busy trying to find one girl in particular.

Found her, Delia sighed with relief as she made her way through the crowd, shouldering past a woman wearing what had to have once been a baby seal across her shoulders to get to the tall brunette with the pink butterfly barrettes.

"Eeeek! So glad you could make it!" Poppy squealed, cutting off Delia's circulation as she pulled her into a hug. But then again, Poppy didn't know how to dial herself down.

Poppy DuChamp was always overly-excitably, overly-friendly, and overly-open with anyone who would lend an ear to her latest and greatest escapades. She had made it her life goal to be just as famous and rich as her father at half his age. When your father was the long-time live-in boyfriend to the Queen of British Empire, as well as a billionaire in his own right, that was a lofty goal. Delia never told Poppy that though. Better to let her dream.

Right now, Poppy was on the war path to be Britain's next top model. She certainly had the body for it; she had been starving herself for months straight. Delia had heard about it in gruesome detail since the start. She hated what Poppy was doing to herself, but Poppy seemed pretty damn happy in her skimpy designer dresses hanging around her skimpy model friends.

Speaking of, she had one of those model friends with her right now: a waif of a girl with a genuine enough smile. Delia didn't bother to put her face to memory. Poppy would have another new friend in a week. That was how Poppy worked. Everyone was expendable, except for Delia.

"Delia, darling, this is my good friend Theodora Davies. We model together."

The waif smiled brighter, her cheeks flushing as she curtsied in her six inch heels. It was a miracle she didn't trip.

"Pleasure to meet you, Your Highness." Delia smiled kindly enough and Theodora blushed fiercer. Then she turned to pull at the woman behind her with her back turned to them. "This is my sister, Artemisia."

Artemisia could not have been any different than her sister. Literally. Where Theodora was light and airy, Artemisia was made of earth: solid and grounding like a mountain, with a presence so large and commanding that she must have had her own orbit. It was the only way to explain why Delia felt the need to be closer her, to pay her more attention.

Artemisia, however, like the mountain, was completely disinterested in what eveyrone around her was doing. Her smoky blue eyes traveled the room at a breakneck speed, as if to say 'anything is more interesting than being here with you'. Her dark hair was pulled up in a braided crown, with just the right amount of dishevelment that let anyone in the room know that she hadn't bothered to put much effort into it. Her button-down was also half-undone, showing the slip she wore underneath and just the right amount of cleavage while her jeans were on the skeptical side of clean. And then there was the skeptical looking bulge coming from the left hand pocket of her leather jacket...

"Misa! Did you - " Theodora hissed, her voice high-pitched and scandalized as she glared at her sister. "Did you bring a gun with you?"

"Didn't have time to drop by the flat," Artemisia replied with a shrug, leaning over to lovingly pinch Theodora's cheek. "I got off a plane from Cairo and ran straight here just for you."

Delia had a feeling that her appearance, gun and all, was a personal statement. She probably didn't give a fuck what anyone in this room thought.

It only made Delia like her more.

"Oh…my God! Is that Freya Jackson?" Poppy squealed, slapping Theodora's arm in violent excitement. "It is! And she's talking to Hale Garner!"

Delia had no idea who those two people were, but from the way Poppy and Theodora were spazzing out, they had to be important to the fashion world.

"We have to go!" Theodora insisted, pulling on Poppy to follow.

Poppy cast an apologetic look Delia's way. Delia already knew what was coming next.

She sighed. "Yeah, go ahead."

"You really don't mind?"

"No, go do your thing."

"You're the best friend a girl could ever ask for!" Poppy cried, throwing her arms around Delia's neck and placing a smacking kiss to her cheek. "My soul mate, my lover for life, I owe you!"

It was all fluff and mindless sentiment. Poppy would have gone without Delia's blessing, but it was nice of her to act otherwise. Delia watched them scamper off as fast as they could in their ridiculous clothes. Delia hadn't made it in time to watch the actual show, so she had no idea what the theme for this lingerie-looking stuff even was, but it wasn't like Poppy had noticed. Sometimes having an airhead for a best friend had its perks.

"Sorry about Poppy. She's…excitable," Delia apologized to Artemisia, though she hardly looked like she cared. She twirled her glass of amber liquor around her fingers, watching the vortex swirl perilously close to the edge. Delia tried again. "So, my best friend and your sister are friends?"

"It appears that way," Artemisia hummed in agreement, though her attention was far away from the girls falling over themselves in six inch heels. Now that it was just the two of them, Delia had the pleasure of full force of Artemisia's magnetic stare. It was enough to make even a grown man nervous. Delia swallowed, her pulse jumping as Artemisia extended her hand. "I'm afraid I missed introductions. You are?"

That was a new one. Usually people knew who Delia was the second she walked through the door. But Artemisia seemed like she genuinely wanted to know.

"Do you really not - " Delia cut herself off, shaking her head and accepting Artemisia's hand. Her palm was warm and rough with callouses, so much different than all the soft politician's hands Delia was used to taking. But Delia didn't mind. In fact, she welcomed the change. "Cordelia Schreave. But everyone calls me Delia."

If alarm bells were going off in her head, Artemisia did not let it show. She kept herself cool as she replied, "Artemisia Davies. But everyone calls me Misa."

"Ar-te-mis-i-a," Delia weighed each syllable on her tongue, rolling them over as she found the right rhythm. "I like it. Sounds exotic. Dangerous."

"Maybe I am, Cordelia," Misa purred, leaning in close enough for Delia to catch a whiff of spice and musk and a little bit of earth. But as appealing as she smelled and looked, Delia could not help but frown at the sound of her name. Misa noticed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just - I don't like my full name. Always kinda hated it. I don't even know why I said it."

"Well, I like it," Misa said, the arch of her brow daring Delia to contradict her. "Cor-de-li-a. Sounds perfect to me."

Maybe, if everyone said it like Misa did, with just the right amount of intrigue and flair, Delia could like her full name after all.

"I hate country clubs," Misa said abruptly, scanning the room with intense disapproval. Delia had to agree; country clubs really were the worst, most stuck up places. Misa leaned in even closer, her breath tickling Delia's face. "I know this is may sound forward to your refined ears, but would you like to get the fuck out of here?"

Forward or not, it was the best thing Delia had heard since arriving. She smiled.

"Yeah. I would like that a lot."

.o.O.o.

"YOUR HIGHNESS!"

Delia startled out of her memories. Damn. She hadn't even realized she had shut her eyes. And yet, there she was, careening forward off her chair, neck nearly snapping in violent force from waking herself up.

"Sorry," she mumbled, hand going to hold her pounding temple. She hated this part of coming down.

"As I was saying, we go on in five if Your Highness would be so kind as to take her mark," the sassy stage manager repeated, hands cocked on his hips, a frown on his lips. He could get over himself. He wasn't the star of this show, she was. People were going to tune in to see her: Cordelia Schreave, Princess of Illéa. He could take those dagger eyes elsewhere.

The guy stormed off, probably to bitch to Midas or whoever else was around to listen. People loved to shit talk her these days. It was all the rage.

Delia stood on uneasy legs and made her way on stage. She was acutely aware of the live audience watching her, of the reports silently, patiently waiting for her to make a spectacle. But she couldn't see them over the stage lights that washed everything out, she couldn't hear them over the ringing in her ears. Thankfully, someone passed her a couple ibuprofen and a glass of water. She gulped them down, thanking the kind soul who took pity on her. It was going to be a long hour; Delia could feel it in her bones.

Midas sauntered on stage to a few cheers and claps. Everyone adored Midas as they had adored his uncle, Gavril. Delia wondered what Fadaye would take over the Report once Midas retired, which would be soon if the growing amount of silvery-grey hair on Midas' head was any indication.

"Lovely to see you, Your Highness. Radiant as always," Midas greeted Delia with a smile bright enough to blind and an ostentatious bow. From anyone else, Midas' words would have been construed as sarcasm. But Midas had always been over the top.

"Awww you're such a liar," Delia replied snarkily, but Midas just let it roll off his back with a laugh.

"So feisty! I can see that these young men will have their work cut out for them."

"We're not on air yet, Midas. No need to pull out the charm."

"I'm always charming, Your Highness. It's who I am."

Delia rolled her eyes and turned back to the crowd she could not see while Midas let last-minute touch ups be done to his already-pristine face.

"Be nice to Midas. He's trying to make you shine."

Dad must have snuck on stage when she wasn't paying attention. She had almost forgotten that he had his part to play on the Report as well. The whole point of it was to update the country on the different goings on in the government. Most of the time, Delia just slept through it. A bad habit, sure, but she had worse.

"I don't want to shine," Delia protested quietly. "I just want to get this over with as quickly as possible."

"You need to get used to being in the spotlight, darling. It's only going to get worse from here."

Delia didn't have time to ask what the fuck her Dad meant by that. The camera man started counting down from ten, letting everyone know there were just seconds until they were on the air. Cast and crew starting hustling off stage, Midas painted on his signature smile, and Dad sat up a little straighter. Delia just hoped she didn't look like she was going to pee her pants.

Red lights blinked on the cameras. They were live.

"Good evening Illéa and welcome to this week's edition of The Report! I'm your host, Midas Fadaye," Midas greeted with excessive enthusiasm. "Tonight we have a lot to cover! From the results of recent governoral elections to our relations overseas, our beloved king is here to catch up up to speed. And then, a special treat: Her Royal Highness, the Princess Cordelia Schreave, has a special announcement for all the eligible young bachelors of the land. All this and more when we come back. Stay tuned!"

The red lights blinked off, but they wouldn't stay that way for long. There would be two minutes max for the usual sponsored commercials to play before it was Dad's turn in the hot seat. And then it would be her turn.

Was it too late to run off sick?

Dad performed wonderfully, of course. He and Midas had both been doing this shtick together for thirty plus years with endless rapport to fall back on.

"So, I hear the royal palace will be entertaining the newly-elected Governor of Allens pretty soon?" Midas asked.

"Yes. The First Family of Allens should be arriving in Angeles tomorrow afternoon," Dad replied.

"And how are we feeling about this?"

"I'm very excited, yes," Dad said with a genuine smile. Everyone knew that he had been eagerly awaiting their arrival since Elodie announced it. "It's been a while since I last saw them. Mathis Reinhardt has become a very good friend over the years, and of course, I grew up with his wife, Josie. I haven't seen Jordan in quite some time, but he was always a bright young man; I'm looking forward to working with him."

"Can we expect Her Majesty the Queen to be there for the welcome celebrations?"

"Unfortunately Finnley will still be out of the country. She's over in Portugal with Hayden, seeing Auden off."

"Ah yes, the arranged marriage," Midas said with renewed interest, leaning forward in his seat. "Very shocking, at least I know I was shocked when I heard the news. How has the royal family been adjusting to this new development?"

"It was a shock to me as well, Midas. Don't feel alone in that," Dad assured, getting a laugh out of Midas.

"You make it sound like Her Highness called all the shots."

"Oh, she did," Dad said with a chuckle and a shake of his head, like he still couldn't quite believe it. "From a young age, Auden always knew what she wanted, and she went after it. I tell Finnley all the time that if I had half her decision making abilities then I would be able to get so much more done."

"You do a wonderful job, Your Majesty. Does he not?" Midas asked to the crowd, who gave roars of applause in return.

Dad actually looked bashful, waving away the praise. "I guess what I am trying to say is that if this is what Auden wants, then she knows it is what is best for her. She's an adult who is more than capable of standing on her own two legs. And while I will greatly miss having her around all the time, I know that she is on her way to doing great things. I can only hope that the Royal Family of Portugal will open their arms to her and see her as the incredible young lady I know her to be."

"Have you ever met these royals?"

"No, I have not, but I have heard nothing but good things about Queen Amantia and how she runs her nation. I'm sure her son is just the same. Auden would not have picked someone she would not have gotten on well with."

"Does that make you nervous?"

Dad arched an eyebrow, teasing, "Should I be nervous, Midas? Do you know something I don't?"

The audience laughed without prompting, and this time it was Midas who waved the laughter away.

"Regardless, we wish our princess all the luck in the world."

"Hayden actually has a message she wanted me to share with you, if that's alright?"

"Of course! Do you mind if we put it on the big screen?"

The screen behind them lit up, the pixelating display sharpening to reveal Hayden standing on a balcony overlooking some mountain. It was a beautiful sight to behold...if there was much of it shown. In typical Hayden fashion, she had chosen to take up most of the screen with her body, showcasing her latest outfit that no one cared about.

Hayden blathered on about the view from her window and how awesome Portugal was and how much fun she was having. The bland run down of how fabulous her jet setting life was like and oh didn't everyone wish they could be her? There was nothing about Auden or her prince or how things were really going, just well wishes and exchanges of 'I love yous' at the end.

"Oh, how sweet!" Midas cooed when it was over, clapping his hands together. "You really do have the sweetest girls."

"I am very blessed," Dad agreed. Were his eyes...misty? There was way too much touchy-feely nonsense going on. Delia was going to puke.

"Speaking of sweet girls, it is an honor to have you on our set tonight, Your Highness."

It took Delia a second to realize that Midas was talking to her now, not her father.

"Yeah. Glad to be here, Midas," Delia said as nicely as she could.

"Now, your father told me that you have something important to announce, is that right?"

"That's right," Delia replied, hoping her smile didn't come off as a wince. Her heart rate spiked as she realized that the cameras were now zoomed in on her and not her father. It had been so easy to do this when she was the invisible one on the couch. Now, all eyes were on her: her father's, Midas', the audience's, and the entire nation's.

"Don't be shy! Everyone wants to know what Princess Cordelia Schreave has to say!"

This time, she did wince. Cordelia. Four harsh syllables said with far too much enthusiasm. Wrong. Completely wrong. No one said it right. No one said it like -

"Well, we're waiting!"

How long had Delia been stalling? How long had she been staring at the notecards in her hand like a complete idiot? How long had she been frozen on camera? How long had Midas been feigning patience with that overly-cheerful smile?

Why did she fuck everything up?

A hand on her shoulder grounded her. Delia looked to see her father with nothing but support in his eyes. His words from earlier came back to her. It's not too late to call it off.

"I wanted to tell everyone that I've picked my Selected," Delia found the courage to say, still looking at Dad instead of the camera. If he was disappointed in her choice, he didn't let her know. He just kept his hand where it was and smiled at her, encouraging like he was her whole life...even when she didn't deserve it. Oh, if he really knew why she wanted this Selection...he would be disappointed beyond belief.

"Have you really?" Midas exclaimed, enthusiasm bursting forth as if this was the first he'd heard of it even though he already knew what she was going to say. "Do tell more!"

"Um...well...it seems like a real diverse group of guys. Lots of different things to choose from - all good. I think this will really, um, expand my horizons..." Delia rambled. Why didn't she just look at her note cards? Dad cleared his throat, and then she remembered, "Oh! And I'm really excited to meet them all. The royal couriers will go door to door to alert the Selected this evening and bring them all to the palace by Monday."

"Sounds like things are really picking up," Midas said, salvaging what he could from that train wreck. "Do you think you're ready for such a huge change?"

Delia felt Dad's hand on her shoulder tense. If she were looking at his face, she would no doubt see the start of disapproval. If he were to look at her face, he would begin to see the start of irritation.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Just that, with a Selection comes a vast amount of change. You'll be going from just you and your family living in the palace to sharing that space with thirty five young men."

That was not what Midas meant at all, but Delia played along. Maybe, if she answered this question well enough, he wouldn't continue down the path she could feel him leading her toward.

"I did it once before with Elodie's Selection. I think I can handle this one. Plus, Kase makes enough mess for ten men so I think I've gotten my practice in."

That made the audience laugh. Maybe she was doing something right after all.

"Yes, that's something," Midas laughed along. "But then there is the shift, going from a teenager to a young royal in a committed relationship. Do you think you'll find any obstacles along your journey from point A to point B?"

There it was. Delia had been holding her breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Foolish her, she thought that maybe this time she would get to escape questions like these, questions that only painted her in a negative light. No one cared about her, or her feelings, or what she wanted. They only wanted to hear about the drama, about the vices, about if she was going to keep making headlines for more than just Selection-related reasons.

They didn't know what she had been through. They had no right to judge her, the bastards.

Delia hated all of them. They could go to hell.

"By obstacles, you mean will I still be going out drinking and smoking and partying?" Delia cut to the chase, her smile now more venomous than sincere.

Midas, not expecting to be called out, got red in the face with embarrassment. "Well, not to be crude - "

"I don't plan to change who I am for any man, Midas," Delia cut him off, hearing the pitch rise in her voice as anger took over. "I am who I am, and anyone who doesn't like that can suck a dick."

There was a crippling three seconds of silence where everyone, including Delia, thought 'did she really just say that on live TV'? But once those three seconds were up, Delia was flying up off the couch and storming off the stage. She ripped off her mic and threw it at the nearest wide-eyed stage crewman.

There. They had their spectacle.

From the wings, she could hear Midas laugh awkwardly, "Let's roll to the slideshow of contenders, shall we?"

She should've known better. She should have fucking known better.

Selections, no matter how they're used, suck. Delia was stupid to think that this one would be any different.