Royal Obligations

Chapter 1: One Way Ticket

I sit on the dirty old rug, watching the illéa report on the oldest television money can buy. Allison, a six year old orphan, was leaning on my crossed legs as I braided her brown hair.

"I can't believe you girls are watching this crap again." Ms. Torrean scoffs at the television. "I honestly don't find what is so special about The Report."

It's not special to you because it reminds you of what you can't and never will have.

I couldn't say that to her aloud, though. I learned at a very young age not to talk back to Ms. Terrean. Sometimes I slip and a nice beating comes after it.

I watch The Report as Prince Forrest and Prince Harlan walk onto the show. They weren't identical, but you could see the resemblance in their eyes. Forrest looked more like his father while Harlan looked more like his mother. It was a great in-between. Forrest with his dark hair and striking green eyes, and Harlan with his light blond hair and bright blue eyes.

Callie, a fourteen year old girl, sighs dreamily as she sees them. "I wish I was old enough for their selection."

"It's not like you'd be chosen anyway." Alex, another fourteen year old snaps back at Callie. "We're practically eights, they would never let someone like us through the system."

"It's supposed to be a lottery thing!" Callie argues back.

"That's bullshit and you know it." Alex rolls her eyes and I glare at them both.

"Watch your mouths around Allison." I shoot at them and they shut their mouths. I'm the oldest here and I've also been here the longest. They both respect and fear me for it.

But Alex was right. We were practically eights. Just because that caste didn't exist anymore, didn't mean we weren't still treated like where we belonged. If anything, this is worse. We aren't even placed in a caste anymore, us sevens and eights. We are just there. Outsiders. People who aren't compatible with the system.

"Shh! It's starting." Allison says as I finish her braid off with a hair tie at the end.

"Illéa! It it time for our lovely tradition that has carried on through Illéan history for centuries." The new host, Uriah, tells us as he looks straight at the camera. Well, straight at us anyway. His ravel black hair was slicked back while his bright blue suit brought out the pale in his skin. Not the most appealing thing he could have worn.

"I'm here with the twins," Uriah says with a smirk and turns to the two princes. "And I think all of Illéa is quite thrilled we have another double selection."

What I was sure was a remote control that did all the clapping, Forrest and Harlan did not seem to mind.

"They are so dreamy." Callie says sadly and frowns at the screen.

I open my mouth to tell her that someday she will find someone just for her someday, but that was a lie. In situations like ours, your parents are either most likely dead or simply just didn't want you.

"Are you two more worried or excited for your upcoming selection?" Uriah asks and both boys grin. Harlan seemed poised and polite, while Forrest was blatantly bored and cocky.

"I must admit Uriah," Harlan chuckles. "I am a little nervous. So many woman and my brother and I are expected to find our wives out of this thirty five. It is very nerve-racking, but all the same exciting."

Uriah turns to Forrest for an answer and he smiles charmingly. "I'm not worried at all. I am quite anxious knowing that my future wife will be here, in my home, in a few weeks."

As Uriah goes to ask another question the television goes black. This was followed by sighs, moans and groans while Ms. Torrean stood over the television with a drink in her hand. "I was getting a damn headache." she snaps at us and everyone stops their complaints. "Why don't you all do something more resourceful like cleaning this filthy place." when we just sit there and stare at her she scowls. "NOW!"

While I get up slowly and calmly, all the other girls shoot up from their places and scatter.

"Cornelia," Ms. Torrean saunters over to me.

"It's Cordelia, ma'am." I say, my back straight.

Ms. Torrean waves me off. "Same thing, same difference. I got a letter in the mail today for you."

I blink and just stare at her. "Excuse me?"

Ms. Torrean stumbles over to a chair and plops down on it. She takes a long drink before fumbling for a letter inside her bathrobe. "I already looked at it," she says handing me the opened letter. "And let me just tell you, the day you become queen of illéa will be the day King Clarkson rises from the dead and donates food to the poor. As in: not only is it not happening, but it's near impossible."

Her words don't hurt me anymore. Did they sting when I was little? When I was lost, when I was looking for someone who loved me and cared about me.

When I actually believed in love.

Yes. They did hurt. But not anymore, I know too much now.

"Thank you ma'am," I say. "But may I still enter? Just for entertainment?" I ask and Ms. Torrean waves me off with her bottle. "I don't give a flying rat's ass what you do."

I nod and swiftly ascend the stairs to the former broom closet that was now my room. I earned that room, being the technical mother around here.

I sit on my bed, which is actually a cot but a bed all the same, and take out the letter.

I admire it with a smirk. It's less like a letter, and more like a one way ticket.

And I fully intend to leave and never look back, unless it's with a crown on my head and a prince on my arm.

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