Chosen: A Selection Fanfiction

No Chance

My jaw drops. It takes me a few moments to process this information. Me? I was Selected? I'm going to the palace? How was this possible?

Juliet whips around to face me, slipping off the couch. She points a threatening finger at me. "You are leaving!"

"It wasn't my choice!" I retort. My twelve-year old sister shakes her head, tears threatening to overflow. "It was your choice to enter the form! Why do you hate it here?"

"You entered, Elliot?" My dad says, sounding heartbroken. I nod, feeling ashamed and guilty, but just the slightest, tiniest bit happy. I'm leaving!

"Baby, why did you enter?" My mom asks softly. I turn on her.

"Because I hate it here, Mom!" I exclaim, feeling terrible when I see the look on her face. "I hate working in the restaurant. I hate how Juliet and Beckham are both just...so perfect, so pleasing. I feel like a failure!"

"Maybe I should go..." Harlow says slowly, inching her way out the door. I've never loved her more.

"I had no idea you felt that way." Beckham says to me carefully, his voice low.

"Why can't you guys be happy for me?" I say, exasperated. "I'm going to meet the royal family. I might become a princess."

Juliet scoffs. "You have no chance."

"Thanks, Juli." I roll my eyes. "Listen, I'm going to go to bed early. Goodnight."

The thing is, I agree with my little sister. I have no chance, and sooner or later I'm just going to have to return here anyway.

oOo

During the next two days, Juliet gives me the silent treatment yet again. My parents speak carefully around me, as if they're scared of saying the wrong thing. Beckham is the only one to treat me normally, and even then, he seems slightly reserved.

Gareth and crowds of other assistants from the castle arrive to prepare me for the Selection. It's overwhelming, really. A lady keeps questioning me and my family, as if I had lied on my application. A palace guard even comes, which for some reason thrills Juliet. A woman named Margot calls us multiple times, asking if I need anything and what were my preferences for this and that and if I'd like to do this and that. It annoys Dad endlessly, but Mom finds it exciting.

Harlow and Juliet beam with excitement when ladies come to our house – our house! – to measure me for clothing. Juliet prances around with large swatches of luxurious fabric draped across her small body, pretending to be at a ball.

Three days before all the Selected leave for the castle, a man shows up at our door. Beckham opens it. "Elliot, it's for you!" He calls, not sounding surprised in the least. He has bronze hair cropped short to his scalp, and he's massive and built. He has these big meaty hands that disgust me when he holds one out to shake mine.

"May I speak to your mother and you in private?" He inquires politely. Juliet sags visibly at the notion that she's not allowed, and sulks to her bedroom. Mom took Meat Hands to the kitchen and shooed Dad out. "Can I get you a drink? Tea? Coffee? Water?" Mom offers, which he declines. He pulls out a stack of papers with too many words and a delicate black pen, and organizes them on our kitchen table. He clears his throat, prepared to give a speech that he's probably told tens of girls.

"Miss Starling, this is going to sound rather abrupt and quite brutal, but as of last Friday, you are now considered property of Illéa. Taking care of your body and mind from now on is a necessity. There are several forms for you to sign as we continue. Any failure to obey these rules will result in your immediate removal from the Selection. Is this clear?"

I nod, unsure of whether or not to speak. Meat Hands nods as well. He explains that he has doctor's notes, and then gives me more forms to sign. Once I finish, he clears his throat again.

"I am aware that this is a personal question, but each girl is asked. I must have confirmation that you still are, in fact, a virgin."

Mom opens her mouth to retort something, and then shuts her jaw, eyes widened. I swear I hear Beckham outside the door. I bet he's furious with that question.

I nod vigorously. "I wouldn't dare break the law."

Meat Hands nods approvingly. "Only one last thing. You are going to be with the prince and future king of Illéa. You are to obey anything he commands you to do or asks of you. Anything. You will not say no to him, understood? Whether it breaks the law or not." He gives me a knowing glance, and my stomach twists. He means that if Prince Adrian asks for a kiss, or more...even more, I'm not allowed to say no.

I am property of Illéa.

I nod, too mad and confused to speak. My mother tightens her lips, but Mean Hands nods again and gives me a stack of paper for Mom and I to sign, then politely says goodbye and leaves promptly. As soon as he leave, Beckham and Juliet burst into the kitchen.

"What did he say?" Juli asks excitedly, at the same moment Beckham exclaims,

"How dare he ask that?" Juliet glares at him, angry at him for not telling her the question.

"He just asked a couple questions about my health and stuff." I explain vaguely to Juliet. She rolls her eyes, obviously let down by the lack of thrilling questions. Beckham looks enraged, and is about to rant when Mom distracts him. "Is Harlow coming for dinner?"

His face is consumed by his grin and lovey-dovey look in his eyes. "I invited her last night. I hope you don't mind." I watch my brother carefully. He really is handsome, with his ruffled black hair since he's constantly running his hands through it. One of his habits. He has these dark violet eyes that light up when he's excited or passionate about something. I've always been jealous of his and Juliet's eyes. His skin is tan, like mine, and his smile is bright and warming. I can see why Harlow fell in love with him. He's even more charming when he's talking about her. Yet another thing that makes me jealous. I want what he and Harlow have. They're smitten. Maybe that's why I dislike her so much.

Mom smiles. "Of course I don't mind." She knows just as well as I do that they're going to end up marrying. It sickens me slightly.

I toss my long curls over my shoulder. "Glad that Harlow's coming over and all, but if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

I promptly leave the kitchen and enter my bedroom. It's small, which makes sense, since our entire house is small. We do fairly well, but we are still Fours. Right in the middle, which is how I always feel. Nothing special. I have a small bed in the corner, along with my white bureau, the ragged baby blue carpet that Juliet spilled grape juice on, my mirror on the back of my door, and my white desk with the matching chair. I have a short bookshelf at the foot of my bed, which is filled with my favourite books, loved and worn. I quickly undress and put on my pajamas, which are one of Beckham's old t-shirts, extra-large and well-worn, and plaid pajama shorts. Then I select my favourite novel, Tuck Everlasting. The cover is bent and the pages rifled, but I settle on my bed and begin to read, trying to forget about the Selection.