The Selection Stories Collection

by Kiera Cass

  I was feeling better now that it was half over, and I sat next to Maxon with the best posture I could muster. Every once in a while, he’d poke or tickle me, making my smile grow bigger until it burst into laughter. I hoped the photographer was catching the moments just before my face scrunched together, otherwise this whole thing was going to be a disaster.

  From the corner of my eye, I noticed a waving hand, and a moment later Maxon turned as well. A man in a suit was standing there, and he clearly needed to speak to the prince. Maxon nodded, but the man hesitated, looking to him and then to me, evidently questioning my presence.

  “She’s fine,” Maxon said, and the man came over and knelt before him.

  “Rebel attack in Midston, Your Majesty,” he said. Maxon sighed and dropped his head wearily. “They burned acres of crops and killed about a dozen people.”

  “Where in Midston?”

  “The west, sir, near the border.”

  Maxon nodded slowly and looked as if he was adding this piece of information to others in his head. “What does my father say?”

  “Actually, Your Majesty, he wanted your thoughts.”

  Maxon seemed taken aback for a split second, then spoke. “Localize troops in the southeast of Sota and all along Tammins. Don’t go as far south as Midston, it’d be a waste. See if we can intercept them.”

  The man stood and bowed. “Excellent, sir.” As swiftly as he’d come, he vanished.

  I knew we were supposed to get back to the pictures, but Maxon didn’t seem nearly so interested in it all now.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  He nodded somberly. “Just all those people.”

  “Maybe we should stop,” I suggested.

  He shook his head, straightened up, and smiled, placing my hand in his. “One thing you must master in this profession is the ability to appear calm when you feel anything but. Please smile, America.”

  I raised myself up and gave a shy smile to the camera as the photographer clicked away. In the middle of those last few frames, Maxon squeezed my hand tight, and I did the same to his. In that moment, it felt like we had a connection, something true and deep.

  “Thank you very much. Next, please,” the photographer sang.

  As Maxon and I stood, he held on to my hand. “Please don’t say anything. It’s imperative you’re discreet.”

  “Of course.”

  The click of a pair of heels coming toward us reminded me that we weren’t alone, but I kind of wanted to stay. He gave my hand one last squeeze and released me, and as I walked away, I considered several things. How nice it felt that Maxon trusted me enough to let me know this secret, and how it had sort of felt like we were alone for a moment. Then I thought about the rebels, and how the king was usually quick to point out their sedition, but I was supposed to keep this news to myself. It didn’t quite make sense.

  “Janelle, my dear,” Maxon said as the next girl approached. I smiled to myself at the tired endearment. He lowered his voice, but I still heard. “Before I forget, are you free this afternoon?”

  Something kind of knotted in my stomach. I guessed it was a late batch of nerves.

  “She must have done something terrible,” Amy insisted.

  “That’s not what she made it sound like,” Kriss countered.

  Tuesday pulled on Kriss’s arm. “What did she say again?”

  Janelle had been sent home.

  This particular elimination was crucial for us to understand, because it was the first one that was isolated and not caused by rule breaking. She had done something wrong, and we all wanted to know what it was.

  Kriss, whose room was across from Janelle’s, had seen her come in and was the only person she’d spoken to before she left. Kriss sighed and retold the story for the third time.

  “She and Maxon had gone hunting, but you knew that,” she said, waving her hand around like she was trying to clear her thoughts. Janelle’s date really had been common knowledge. After the photo shoot yesterday, she gushed about their plans to anyone who would listen.

  “That was her second date with Maxon. She’s the only one who got two,” Bariel said.

  “No, she isn’t,” I mumbled. A few heads turned, acknowledging my statement. It was true, though. Janelle was the only girl to have two dates with Maxon besides me. Not that I was counting.

  Kriss continued. “When she came back, she was crying. I asked her what was wrong, and she said she was leaving, that Maxon had told her to go. I gave her a hug because she was so upset and asked her what happened. She said she couldn’t tell me about it. I don’t understand that. Maybe we’re not allowed to talk about why we’re eliminated?”

  “That wasn’t in the rules, was it?” Tuesday asked.

  “No one said anything to me about it,” Amy replied, and several others shook their heads in confirmation.

  “But what did she say then?” Celeste urged.

  Kriss sighed again. “She said that I’d better be careful of what I say. Then she pulled away and slammed the door.”

  The room went quiet a moment, considering. “She must have insulted him,” Elayna said.

  “Well, if that’s why she left, then it isn’t fair, since Maxon said that someone in this room insulted him the first time they met,” Celeste complained.

  People started looking around the room, trying to discover the guilty party, perhaps in an effort to get them—me—kicked out as well. I gave a nervous glance to Marlee, and she sprang into action.

  “Maybe she said something about the country? Like the policies or something?”

  Bariel sucked her teeth. “Please. How boring must that date have been for them to start talking policy? Has anyone in here actually talked to Maxon about anything related to running the country?”

  No one answered.

  “Of course you haven’t,” Bariel said. “Maxon’s not looking for a coworker, he’s looking for a wife.”

  “Don’t you think you’re underestimating him?” Kriss objected. “Don’t you think Maxon wants someone with ideas and opinions?”

  Celeste threw her head back and laughed. “Maxon can run the country just fine. He’s trained for it. Besides, he has teams of people to help him make decisions, so why would he want someone else trying to tell him what to do? If I were you, I’d start learning how to be quiet. At least until he marries you.”

  Bariel sidled up beside Celeste. “Which he won’t.”

  “Exactly,” Celeste said with a smile. “Why would Maxon bother with some brainiac Three when he could have a Two?”

  “Hey!” Tuesday cried. “Maxon doesn’t care about numbers.”

  “Of course he does,” Celeste replied in a tone someone would use with a child. “Why do you think everyone below a Four is gone?”

  “Still here,” I said, raising my hand. “So if you think you’ve got him figured out, you’re wrong.”

  “Oh, it’s the girl who doesn’t know when to shut up,” Celeste said in mock amusement.

  I balled my fist, trying to decide if it would be worth hitting her. Was that part of her plan? But before I could move at all, Silvia burst through the door.

  “Mail, ladies!” she called out, and the tension in the room flew away.

  We all stopped, eager to get our hands on what Silvia was carrying. We’d been at the palace nearly two weeks now, and with the exception of hearing from our families on the second day, this was our first real contact from home.

  “Let’s see,” Silvia said, looking through stacks of letters, completely oblivious to the almost-argument that had taken place not seconds ago. “Lady Tiny?” she called as she looked around the room.

  Tiny raised her hand and walked forward. “Lady Elizabeth? Lady America?”

  I practically ran forward and snatched the letter out of her hand. I was so hungry for words from my family. As soon as it was in my clutches, I retreated to a corner for a few moments to myself.

  Dear America,

  I can’t wait for Frid
ay to come. I can’t believe you’re going to get to talk to Gavril Fadaye! You have all the luck.

  I certainly didn’t feel lucky. Tomorrow night we were all getting grilled by Gavril, and I had no idea what he would ask us. I felt sure I’d make an idiot out of myself.

  It’ll be nice to hear your voice again. I miss you singing around the house. Mom doesn’t do it, and it’s been so quiet since you left. Will you wave to me on the show?

  How’s the competition going? Do you have lots of friends there? Have you talked to any of the girls who left? Mom is saying all the time now that it’s not a big deal if you lose anymore. Half those girls who went home are already engaged to the sons of mayors or celebrities. She says someone will take you if Maxon doesn’t. Gerad is hoping you marry a basketball player instead of a boring old prince. But I don’t care what anybody says. Maxon is so gorgeous!

  Have you kissed him yet?

  Kissed him? We’d only just met. And there’d be no reason for Maxon to kiss me anyway.

  I bet he’s the best kisser in the universe. I think if you’re a prince, you have to be!

  I have so much more to tell you, but Mom wants me to go paint. Write me a real letter soon. A long one! With lots and lots of details!

  I love you! We all do.

  May

  So the eliminated girls were already getting snatched up by wealthy men. I didn’t realize being the castoff of a future king made you a commodity. I walked around the perimeter of the room, thinking over May’s words.

  I wanted to know what was going on. I wondered what had really happened with Janelle and was curious if Maxon had another date tonight. I really wanted to see him.

  My mind was racing, searching for a way to simply speak to him. As I thought, I stared at the paper in my hands.

  The second page of May’s letter was almost completely blank. I tore off a piece of it as I wandered. Some girls were still buried in pages of letters from their families, and others were sharing news. After a lap I stopped by the Women’s Room guest book and picked up the pen.

  I scribbled quickly on my scrap of paper.

  Your Majesty—

  Tugging my ear. Whenever.

  I walked outside the room as if I were simply going to the bathroom and looked up and down the hall. It was empty. I stood there, waiting, until a maid rounded the corner with a tray of tea in her hands.

  “Excuse me?” I called to her quietly. Voices carried in these great halls.

  The girl curtsied in front of me. “Yes, miss?”

  “Would you happen to be going to the prince with that?”

  She smiled. “Yes, miss.”

  “Could you please take this to him for me?” I held out my little folded-up note.

  “Of course, miss!”

  She took it eagerly and walked away with a newfound energy. No doubt she would unfold it as soon as she was out of sight, but I felt secure in its odd phrasing.

  These hallways were captivating, each one more ornate than my entire house. The wallpaper, the gilt mirrors, the giant vases of fresh flowers all so beautiful. The carpets were lavish and immaculate, the windows were sparkling, and the paintings on the walls were lovely.

  There were some paintings by artists I knew—van Gogh, Picasso—and some I didn’t. There were photographs of buildings I had seen before. There was one of the legendary White House. Compared to the pictures and what I’d read in my old history book, the palace dwarfed it in size and luxury, but I still wished it was around to see.

  I walked farther down the hall and came upon a portrait of the royal family. It looked old; Maxon was shorter than his mother in this picture. He towered over her now.

  In the time I’d been at the palace, I had only ever seen them together at dinners and the Illéa Capital Report airing. Were they very private? Did they not like all these strange young girls in their house? Were they only all here because of blood and duty? I didn’t know what to make of this invisible family.

  “America?”

  I turned at the sound of my name. Maxon was jogging down the hall toward me.

  I felt like I was seeing him for the first time.

  He had his suit coat off, and the sleeves were rolled up on his white shirt. His blue tie was loosened at the neck, and his hair that was always slicked back was bouncing around a bit as he moved. In stark contrast to the person in uniform yesterday, he looked more boyish, more real.

  I froze. Maxon came up to me and grabbed my wrists.

  “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” he pressed.

  Wrong?

  “Nothing. I’m fine,” I replied. Maxon let out a breath I didn’t realize he was holding.

  “Thank goodness. When I got your note, I thought you were sick or something happened to your family.”

  “Oh! Oh, no. Maxon, I’m so sorry. I knew that was a stupid idea. I just didn’t know if you’d be at dinner, and I wanted to see you.”

  “Well, what for?” he asked. He was still looking me over with a furrowed brow, as if he was making sure nothing was broken.

  “Just to see you.”

  Maxon stopped moving. He looked into my eyes with a kind of wonder.

  “You just wanted to see me?” He looked happily surprised.

  “Don’t be so shocked. Friends usually spend time together.” My tone added the of course.

  “Ah, you’re cross with me because I’ve been engaged all week, aren’t you? I didn’t mean to neglect our friendship, America.” Now he was back to the businesslike Maxon.

  “No, I’m not mad. I was just explaining myself. You look busy. Go back to work, and I’ll see you when you’re free.” I noticed he was still holding on to my wrists.

  “Actually, do you mind if I stay a few minutes? They’re having a budget meeting upstairs, and I detest those things.” Without waiting for an answer, Maxon pulled me over to a short, plush sofa halfway down the hall that rested underneath a window, and I giggled a little as we sat. “What’s so funny?”

  “Just you,” I said, smiling. “It’s cute to see that your job bugs you. What’s so bad about the meetings, anyway?”

  “Oh, America!” he said, facing me again. “They go round and round in circles. Father does a good job at calming the advisers, but it’s so hard to push the committees in any given direction. Mom is always on Father to give more to the school systems—she thinks the more educated you are, the less likely you are to be a criminal, and I agree—but Father is never forceful enough to get them to take away from other areas that could manage perfectly with lower funds. It’s infuriating! And it’s not like I’m in command, so my opinion is easily overlooked.” Maxon propped his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. He looked tired.

  So now I could see a bit of Maxon’s world, but it was just as unimaginable as ever. How could you deny the voice of your future sovereign?

  “I’m sorry. On the plus side, you’ll have more of a say in the future.” I rubbed his back, trying to encourage him.

  “I know. I tell myself that. But it’s so frustrating when we could change things now if they’d only listen.” His voice was a little hard to hear when it was directed at the carpet.

  “Well, don’t be too discouraged. Your mom is on the right path, but education alone won’t fix anything.”

  Maxon raised his head. “What do you mean?” It almost sounded like an accusation. And rightly so. Here was an idea that he’d been championing, and I’d just squashed it. I tried to backpedal.

  “Well, compared to the fancy-pants tutors someone like you has, the education system for Sixes and Sevens is terrible. I think getting better teachers or better facilities would do them a world of good. But then what about the Eights? Isn’t that caste responsible for most of the crimes? They don’t get any education. I think if they felt they had something, anything at all, it might encourage them.

  “Besides. . .” I paused. I didn’t know if this was something a boy who’d grown up with everything handed to him could grasp. “H
ave you ever been hungry, Maxon? Not just ready for dinner, but starving? If there was absolutely no food here, nothing for your mother or father, and you knew that if you just took something from people who had more in a day than you’d have in your whole life, you could eat . . . what would you do? If they were counting on you, what wouldn’t you do for someone you loved?”

  He was quiet for a moment. Once before—when we’d talked about my maids during the attack—we’d kind of acknowledged the wide gap between us. This was a far more controversial topic of discussion, and I could see him wanting to avoid it.

  “America, I’m not saying that some people don’t have it hard, but stealing is—”

  “Close your eyes, Maxon.”

  “What?”

  “Close your eyes.”

  He frowned at me but obeyed. I waited until his eyes were shut and his face looked relaxed before I started.

  “Somewhere in this palace, there is a woman who will be your wife.”

  I saw his mouth twitch, the beginnings of a hopeful smile.

  “Maybe you don’t know which face it is yet, but think of the girls in that room. Imagine the one who loves you the most. Imagine your ‘dear.’”

  His hand was resting next to mine on the seat, and his fingers grazed mine for a second. I shied away from the touch.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, looking my way.

  “Keep ’em closed!”

  He chuckled and went back to his original position.

  “This girl? Imagine that she depends on you. She needs you to cherish her and make her feel like the Selection didn’t even happen. Like if you were dropped on your own out in the middle of the country to wander around door to door, she’s still the one you would have found. She was always the one you would have picked.”

  The hopeful smile began to settle. More than settle, it started to sag.

  “She needs you to provide for her and protect her. And if it came to a point where there was absolutely nothing to eat, and you couldn’t even fall asleep at night because the sound of her stomach growling kept you awake—”

  “Stop it!” Maxon stood quickly. He walked across the hall and stayed there for a while, facing away from me.