#multi-fic

First time he took notice of it – the accordion – was at the Covey’s house. Unlike the uncle’s own instruments, which were safely tucked away in their cases, this one hung from a two-inch nail in a secluded corner of the house.

Haymitch didn’t know its name at the time. Accordion. Let alone how to use it. But the rows of ivories on one side, black and white, were so similar to those of a piano, it drew him in.

Like a moth to a flame.

The sight so engrossed him, he never noticed Clerk Carmine until the man was already in the doorway.

“Oh!” Haymitch said and took a step back, away from the instrument. “I didn’t touch it or anything. Just looking. Tara and I, we … She’s in the bathroom.”

Getting no reply, he cleared his throat awkwardly. Scratched the back of his neck. Face flushed.

“Mad… I mean, Ms Constance”, he said, just to fill up the silence, “she taught me. The piano, that is. I’ve always loved it.”

“What do you love about it?” Clerk Carmine asked.

Wait. Was that a real question? Genuine curiosity? Did the uncle actually care for an answer this time? From him?

It was all so unheard of, he wasn’t sure. Maybe. But it could just as well be a trick question. A trap.

“Um”, he said and sent a quiet prayer to his girl that she would wrap things up in the bathroom. “I suppose it’s because …” Crafting his reply as carefully as Tam Amber would one of Burdock’s cherished arrow tips, he tried for a steadier voice when he said, “Because a single melody can say everything the heart can’t. Some feelings are just too big, I guess. Too raw and tangled up, but music translates them. Builds bridges between people. And no one can take a song away from you”, he added, like an afterthought. “Not once it’s in your soul.”

The seconds stretched out when he finished. One more painful than the previous.

Jeez, Haymitch thought. This man must really enjoy watching me sweat.

Luckily, that’s when Tara showed up and Haymitch jumped on the opportunity to leave the house with her – before he blurted out something even stupider.

But it wasn’t stupid. Or at least not as stupid as usual. Something he said must have struck the right note – no pun intended – for only two days later, Tara carried the instrument with her, when they met up at her rock.

She beamed from ear to ear and hoisted the strap higher up on her shoulder.

“They gave it to me!”

Clerk Carmine had showed her the basics last night. The buttons. The bellows. Different tricks and techniques. At the end of the lesson he said, almost reluctantly,

“Why don’t you let that boy of yours teach you the rest of the keys? If he studied under Constance, he can’t be completely hopeless.”

The closest to approval, Clerk Carmine would ever give him.

Tara was a dedicated student. A fast learner. She had a real knack for it and quickly surpassed Haymitch’s modest level of skill – if you could even call it that.

The instrument became one of her most treasured belongings. Never far at hand.

And she was just dying to learn the piano too. To play a real one, just like Haymitch had when Madam was still alive.

The accordion was exciting in and of itself but it wasn’t the same and the keys available, provided only about a quarter needed for a piano.

Haymitch salvaged a piece of coal from ma’s fireplace and “borrowed” half a chalk at school so he could draw up a map of the black and white ivories in a corner of the lake house floor.

Cross-legged on the boards, Tara then moved her fingers over the imaginary keys and Haymitch hummed the notes to her. Eventually they both did. Notes, and later songs.

The uncles had taught Tara all the Covey songs they knew and Tara, in turn, taught Haymitch. Some of which he actually recognized because Sae had sung them when he was tiny.

“Here is the place where I love you.”

The last notes of Haymitch’s valley song had no sooner swelled and died before the mockingjays picked it up. Hidden in the trees around the lake they multiplied it. Made their own renditions.

They never did when he made mistakes, so that was approval on the highest level. Balancing the accordion on his lap, Haymitch slowly flexed his fingers. Couldn’t help but feel proud.

Tara gave him a smile and a kiss. She loved it that they had this in common. A passion for music.

“If my uncles could hear you, I just know they would have a kinder opinion of you”, she said.

“Oh, don’t make me audition, please”, Haymitch said and Tara kissed him again, chuckling.

He carefully settled the accordion at his feet.

“I wish we had a piano too.” His throat closed up at the thought.

“We will one day”, Tara said. “Somehow. Until then … The mayor boasts a piano. I keep thinking, maybe Clerk Carmine and Tam Amber can work out some kind of deal with him. To let us practice at their house. Once I get the hang of it, we could play for free during dinners or gatherings. That would be swell, wouldn’t it?”

“Ma will never allow it”, Haymitch said. “She thinks I spend too much time away from home as it is. But we could ask the orphanage. If Madam’s old piano’s still there, that is. Maybe they’ll let us play for the kids?”

“The Foresters don’t like me”, Tara confessed. “They believe I’m a bad influence, running around the district with a boy.”

“Ollie, then. He’ll put in a good word for you, I’m sure. Or maybe Leonore could. His ma just adores her.”

Ollie Undersee and Leonore Donner had always had a soft spot for each other, but lately, they’d been practically glued at the hip.

You walked by the mayor’s garden these days and there they were. Cross-legged by the hutches. Leonore always with a bunny held in her arms and a blissful smile on her face.

“He’s one kiss away from asking for her hand, I think”, Tara said.

“Yeah …”

She gave him a playful side-glance.

“Before you ask for mine?”

Haymitch shook his head.

“That’s not possible. I just gotta find some way to get past your uncles first”, he said, only half-joking. “For all I know they’re looking up legal ways to have me exiled at this very moment. Or hoping I’ll contract the plague or something, before the big day.”

“No”, Tara chuckled. “I think you’re growing on them.”

Yeah, that’s likely, Haymitch thought. But then again, who knew? Maybe ten years from now or twenty years from now, the uncles would finally accept the fact that he and Tara were more than just a fluke. A phase.

“We’re meant to be”, he said, speaking the thought out loud. “We just are.”

Tara laced their fingers together. Brought them up for a kiss.

“‘If I know what love is, it is because of you’”, she said.

Haymitch smiled at the quote. Not technically a Covey song but close enough. It came from a small clothbound book of poems by the long dead. They traded for it at the Henderson’s bookshop and since then, the two of them had gone out of their way to try and turn those pages into songs.

An activity so all-consuming, time flew. Needless to say, it drove his mother nuts.

Haymitch couldn’t say he cared much for poetry, before he met Tara. The fine arts and great thinkers of old, weren’t exactly a top priority among their teachers.

What good were rhymes and sonnets and hexameter when you were destined for the coal mine?

If he was going to read, he’d rather invest time in something useful.

Like how to keep pipes from freezing or which mushrooms were edible. Stuff like that.

“It sounds like gibberish to me anyway”, he confessed, the first time Tara recited one of her favorites. “Just a lot of words, piled on top of other words.”

But his rare and radiant girl gave him a change of heart. He already enjoyed listening to her voice, and eventually she taught him to appreciate poetry. Love it even. With a lot of patience and even more kisses.

“It’s OK if you don’t understand every word”, she said. “It’s all about the emotions. Just like music.”

She twirled a tall piece of grass between her thumb and forefinger. Blew on it softly, eyes on the lake.

”I think it’s driving Clerk Carmine into an early grave” she said, “that he can’t actually forbid me from going here with you. All alone.” She sing-songed that last bit.

Haymitch nodded.

The two uncles’ arrival into Tara’s life had certainly made things more complicated.

For one, Haymitch hardly ever got to touch his girl in public anymore.

Because whenever they kissed or held hands or whatever – on the square, at the grocer’s, outside the bakery – Clerk Carmine and/or Tam Amber had this diabolical ability to materialize ten feet away.

And every time it happened, Haymitch could see his own value drop even further, in the two men’s eyes.

Like a hopelessly bad investment.

His relationship with the uncles was strained enough as it was, so he made an effort to try and keep things PG.

As long as they saved their lovey-dovey stuff for the woods, they’d be OK, right? Out of trouble.

Not!

Because as it turned out, Clerk Carmine and Tam Amber weren’t the only ones keeping an eye on them.

It happened two months ago. Give or take. Tara was finishing up dinner at the Covey’s house and the plan was to meet up after. Savoring a few moments together before curfew. Just like most nights.

He’d wolfed down his own serving of cornbread and bean stew with wild onions, ruffled his brother’s hair before running down to the Donners’ sweetshop.

Ma and Amadeus both loved taffy, and for Tara: multicolored gumdrops. Her favorite. She called them rainbow gumdrops and swore she could tell the flavors apart, although they all tasted exactly the same.

With the taffy stuffed in a side pocket and the little white paper bag in his fist, he then headed straight for the woods.

Mind already on Tara, he didn’t see the woman seated on their rock. Not until it was already too late.

“Hello, boy”, Sae said and stopped him in his tracks. Frowning, Haymitch found himself hiding the bag of gumdrops behind his back. Like something incriminating. Contraband.

Which was ridiculous! He had every right to buy candy if he wanted to.

“Um, hi, Sae. I was just, on my way home.”

“Were you now?” She sounded almost amused. Hands knitted against her lap.

He gave the bag a helpless wave.

“Want a gumdrop?”

”No, that’s quite alright. Come.” She patted the space beside her. “Sit.”

Haymitch groaned inwardly but obliged. What choice did he have?

“I haven’t done anything”, he muttered, moments later, perched on the very edge of Tara’s rock.

“No, of course you haven’t”, she said, disarming.

It never ceased to amaze him how much of her lived in Louella. The eyes. The smile. Uncanny. The thirteen-year-old was really just a spunkier, smaller version of her mother.

“Don’t worry”, Sae said. “You’re not in trouble. I just wanna talk.”

And not just any talk, it turned out.

The Talk.

Not about the birds and the bees. Haymitch knew how babies were made. They had sex ed in school. Very basic, but yeah.

Last year, some old goat of a doctor arrived from the peacekeepers’ base. Half-blind, half-deaf, he garbled his nonsense to a dead quiet class.

The “lesson” enraged Tara, and for good reason. She knew of Clerk Carmine and his partner’s struggles, and Barb Azure’s before them.

It was all Haymitch could do to keep his girl from burning that base to the ground after, because to hear this doctor tell it, sex was something between a man and a woman only, with the sole purpose of producing hard-working miners and/or tributes for the Hunger Games.

Anything else was unnatural. Sinful, even.

You had to be properly married first of course. Sex wasn’t about pleasure or anything. And birth control? Not technically illegal, but expensive. Surrounded by mystery. Shameful. Selfish. Disloyal to the country that fed you.

So it then fell on Sae McCoy, District 12’s head midwife, to shoulder the role of educator. In the biggest of secrecy, she did her best to help remove some of the stigma surrounding sex.

She taught people about STI’s, Plan B and the importance of proper protection, all in the hopes of reducing the number of unwanted pregnancies – and misery in general.

Haymitch had always admired her for it. Just like he admired Tessa March for treating people who went under the lash, for free.

Course, his dumb ass never stopped to think that this quest of Sae’s, would one day include him.

Him and Tara.

He’d never felt so mortified! Not even when he got chiggers at age six and Maysilee nicknamed him “Itchy Itchy Haymitchy”. Even after they became friends it was something she snickered about fondly. Especially after she’d dared him to do something and wanted to throw him off his game.

Sae just talked and talked, unfazed by his silent suffering. Ears burning, Haymitch fixed a patch of weeds with his gaze. Willed the ground to split open, so that he may jump for cover.

Finally, he could not take it anymore.

“I’m a virgin, Sae! I’m only sixteen! Tara’s only seventeen! All we do is kiss! It’s totally innocent!”

Well, kind of. Sort of. Pretty much. Maybe things had heated up, just a little, these past couple of weeks.

It was really the uncles’ fault, Haymitch reasoned with himself.

Being forced to tone it down for their sake – no hugs, no kisses, not even holding hands in public – was driving them stark raving mad.

Him and Tara both.

So when they finally got a moment to themselves, lying on a warm bed of pine needles, perhaps a button had come undone. Or two. Skin touching skin, where before there were always layers of fabric in between.

Still, though! And how could Sae even know about it, either way? Was she following him? Had she seen it on his face, somehow? On Tara’s?

Bloody woman! Sae always butted into his business. Especially when he went out of his way to try and hide something from her. She saw right through him. Every time. Too bad she didn’t do poker. She could’ve made a fortune with that sixth sense of hers.

“You really don’t have to worry about us”, he said. “Honest. I … I’m not even thinking about … that, yet.”

Sae gave him a pointed look.

“If you’re gonna lie, boy, at least lie better.”

“I’m not lying!” he lied.

“Look. What you’re feeling now, those urges, it’s all perfectly normal. Believe it or not, Haymitch, but I was young too once. I felt the same way, when I met my sweetheart.”

Ugh. That sure was a picture he could do without. Sae and Mr McCoy, rolling around in the hay. It was like picturing your parents having sex. And they had six children, so they must be going at it constantly. Gross!

His feelings probably showed on his face, for Sae smiled.

“Don’t worry. I won’t go into detail. I’m not here to lay down the law and tell you what to do or not do. There’s no point in it. Not really. I just want you to know that I see this all the time. Every year, when the reaping’s drawing closer, youngsters like yourself fall into each other’s arms, believing it’s their last chance. They jump into the deep end, with no plan whatsoever. I just want you to be smart about it. Do it for the right reason. And the right reason is not ‘Better do this now before we’re dead!’”

She reached inside her dress pocket.

“Don’t be a knucklehead, alright? Promise me?”

Haymitch’s eyes dropped to the outstretched packet. His face turned crimson.

“Promise me”, she pressed, “or maybe you’d rather I speak to your ma?”

“Alright!” he barked and snatched the package. “I promise! God!” He huffed and examined it more closely. Turned it over, nose crinkled. “Never mind that I’m not doing it”, he said, surly. “I can turn these into … party balloons or something. It’ll be a fine art project.”

“That’s up to you”, Sae said. “There’s a usage guide inside. I want you to read it, thoroughly and come back if you have any questions. And remember what I told you: always pinch the top of it before you put it on so there’s space and afterward, make sure you …”

“Yes, Sae! Yes, Sae!” Haymitch groaned. “I won’t forget for as long as I live! And I’ll read all the fine-print, I swear!”

Rubbing his forehead, he slipped the package in his pocket, where it struggled for space with the gumdrops.

”Can’t believe you want me to have sex.”

“Oh, don’t be deliberately dense, boy”, she retorted. For the first time that day, there was a tinge of irritation in her voice. “If I got my way, you’d be abstinent until you were at least 27.”

“27?!”

Tara giggled her little socks off, when he recounted the mortifying exchange, half an hour later. She pulled him in for a kiss, and that’s when she revealed she actually had a similar conversation with her ma, not a week ago.

“It’s good to know they care at least”, she said. “Looking out for us. Making sure we don’t get hurt.”

”Snooping’s more like it”, Haymitch muttered. “We still got brains, even if we are teenagers.”

They talked about it. Sex. Something they both looked forward to, like mad. Despite what he told Sae.

In the end, they decided they better wait.

Ma would kill him. The uncles would beat the living crap out of him, then kill him.

They were still young. This was only the beginning. They would get through the reaping, just like last year and the year before, and eventually move past it. They had all the time in the world to love each other. Body and soul.

But then one day, only a couple of weeks ago, they sought shelter here at the lake house during a sudden downpour, and it sort of just … happened anyway.

It was sudden, unexpected, that heat building up, but at the same time: not. In that moment, the pieces just fell into place. There was no other way to put it. They just knew.

And no one could say they did it for the wrong reason.

So, he guessed Sae had it right all along. Like always.

So annoying.

At any rate, he was grateful for Louella’s ma. Grateful that she caught him by the scruff of the neck and sat him down to talk things through. Honestly, during that time with his girl, he kind of regretted he didn’t ask Sae more questions when given the chance.

It wasn’t planned, but it wasn’t rushed either. They took their time, especially Haymitch – remembering Sae’s words that, contrary to the deep-rooted myth, sex wasn’t supposed to hurt for the girl. Not even the first time. Not if you did it right.

While the rain drummed softly, soothingly, against the roof, they figured it out together. One kiss, one touch at a time, and it was every bit as amazing as he always imagined it would be.

Haymitch used to believe that, as the guy, he was expected to lead this dance. To be the active part. The driving force.

But Sae was right. It was a give and take and – if anything – Tara took charge. Something he was secretly grateful for. Relieved. Her setting the pace put his mind at ease, thus making him braver.

He never imagined you could feel this close to another human being. They always were, but not like this. It really felt like a before and after.

That moment together, it would forever belong to them. No one could take it away. No one.

Afterward, they built up a fire. The hearth was full of old ashes, with a neat pile of dried wood stacked aside it. Wrapped up in the same old blanket, they toasted marshmallows over the embers.

Hand in hers, Haymitch watched the flames dance over his love’s face. She felt him looking and gave him a warm smile. Hair still damp from the downpour.

“Will you still marry me?” she asked. “Now that I’m spoiled?”

It was said playfully. A throwaway joke. But Haymitch’s chest tightened. He hated it when she treated herself like a punchline.

Too many already did. Low-lifers in both the Seam and downtown, who viewed her as trash. Who would indeed judge her for enjoying sex and think of her as ruined, because she hadn’t abstained until marriage like a “good girl”. Whatever that was.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that”, he said. “It’s not funny. If someone else said it … I’d punch them in the mouth. Seriously.” He squeezed her hand under the blanket. “When we turn 18”, he promised, voice soft. “If you’ll have me.”

Their lips found each other again. A little tender and swollen, from earlier.

“‘Tara Abernathy’”, she murmured, eyes smiling into his. Her breath carried the scent of melted sugar. “Or maybe you prefer ‘Haymitch Baird’?”

“Don’t care”, Haymitch said, and he meant it. “As long as I get to marry you, you can call me whatever you want.”

A family of their own. The thought sent a thrill through him.

Some people in Twelve chose to go it alone. Unmarried. No kids. The wiser route, probably. The reaping wasn’t going anywhere.

But he couldn’t help it. He really wanted children. They both did.

In a perfect world, there’d be six little souls at his dinner table. Just like the McCoy’s.

The Abernathys and Chances had dinner at Sae’s sometimes, and he always loved it there. So crowded but never a dull moment.

Sure they fought sometimes, Louella and her brothers and sisters. But the sense of belonging, of togetherness, was absolute. Unbreakable.

Many would get overwhelmed by such a large family. By the idea of a life where you were never really on your own, but Haymitch welcomed it.

There was just something about a full house that appealed to him. The noise. The chaos.

He never much liked being alone. Wasn’t at all used to it. He was always with his family. Or his friends. Or his love.

Six kids, though. That just wasn’t possible. A sweet but unattainable dream.

Even if the Hunger Games didn’t exist, how would he ever manage to provide for a family that large? Eight people. Nine, if you counted ma in her old age.

No, a brood he’d never get. But a couple at least? That should be doable.

“Would you rather have a son or a daughter?” Tara asked once, but that didn’t matter at all. Not to him. Boys. Girls. They could be whatever they wanted.

“Haymitch …”

His girl’s voice brought him back to the present.

“Mm?”

She pointed up ahead.

“Look who’s joined us”, she said, in a loud whisper.

He followed the line of her finger. Expected a mockingjay.

Over by the lake, perched on a pink flower, sat a magnificent butterfly.

Orange wings. Orange and black. A pattern so intricate it seemed almost man-made. Like a fine piece of fabric.

Tara smiled.

“That’s a monarch”, she said. “Isn’t she beautiful? Maybe she heard you play.”

The butterfly wiggled its antennas their way, as if taking in every word. She moved her wings idly. Resting.

“I love butterflies”, Tara said. “Not the mutts concocted in some Capitol lab. Real ones. And they don’t sting or bite. That’s just a common misconception. They live on nectar. Great pollinators too.”

“Aren’t they poisonous?” asked Haymitch.

“Just to predators. Not us humans. The monarchs only get to feed on milkweed, when they’re wee caterpillars. That’s why they store a poison similar to the foxglove’s digitalis that the Marches uses to treat heart problems.”

Eyes on the butterfly, a soft smile played on Tara’s lips.

“I’ve always really admired them”, she said. “They’re such tiny creatures and yet they travel these massive distances. Thousands of miles. They’re a lot like geese, only the monarch migrates just once in their lifetime. What’s so remarkable about them is that despite having never done the trip before, they instinctively know the way. Like our lady over there. She embarks on her journey, with no prior experience. She flies into the unknown, guided only by the clues around her and some inner strength or compass that she may not fully understand but trusts. Incredible, right?”

“She sure is.”

Tara gave his hand a soft squeeze.

“Doves are a symbol of peace”, she said.

“Yeah, I heard.”

“Do you know what butterflies symbolize?”

He shook his head.

“Hope.”

The word formed a smile on Haymitch’s lips. A sad one that quickly shrunk.

“That’s nice.” His eyes dropped to their linked hands, but Tara wouldn’t let him delve into dark thoughts. Not for long.

“I’ve an early birthday present for you.”

He looked up just as she dug inside her dress pocket.

His birthday wasn’t until August. Late August. Still, this wasn’t unprecedented.

Sometimes, during particularly bad years, she gave him his gift early. Before the reaping. And despite the addition of the uncles to her family, a Quarter Quell year got to take the prize as far as bad tidings were concerned.

Twice as many kids.

He didn’t voice his thoughts though. Not here. Never here. It was their unspoken agreement.

At the lake house, the Games didn’t exist.

“Here.” She held out a small package, wrapped in a scrap of dove-colored fabric and tied with a dappled green ribbon. “For you, my darling.”

Haymitch’s eyes creased in a smile. He was just about to accept it, when something else caught his attention, for the first time today.

He brushed a thumb over her fingertips.

“Been helping Tam Amber out?” he asked.

Spots of paint coated her nails. Parts of them anyway. Orange paint. A shade, not so different from that of the monarch butterfly.

“What? Oh”, she said. “Yeah. Big commission. Some rich folks in town. Tight deadline. Come on. Take it.” She placed the gift in his hand. “Tam Amber made this too. I traded eggs for the metal and helped him design it.”

Besides playing a crazy good mandolin, Tara’s uncle was the best hand forger in District 12. Everyone’s go-to blacksmith. Haymitch couldn’t imagine what he’d made for him, the slacker Abernathy boy who ran after his precious niece.

He carefully untied the bow. Thin and cool, the fabric ran through his hands like water.

The object that slipped into his palm didn’t register at once. It was a thin strip of metal, shaped like a C.

His fingers naturally gripped the curved back as he examined the colorful animals facing off at the opening.

The head of a snake hissed at the beak of a long-necked bird. He flattened out his hand and saw that their enameled scales and feathers traveled around the piece until they merged and became indistinguishable.

Two small rings were welded on, one behind each head. For a chain, maybe?

“It’s beautiful”, he said. “It’s to wear, right?”

“Well, you know I like my pretty with a purpose”, Tara replied cryptically, making him work it out himself.

He turned it over in his hand, then gripped the C again, this time covering the animal heads with his fingers.

Then he saw its purpose. The smooth steel edge wasn’t solely decorative.

“It’s a flint striker”, he concluded.

“It sure is! Only you don’t have to have flint. Any decent sparking rock like quartz will do.”

“This is perfect”, he said. “Thank you.”

He ran a finger over the fine metalwork of the feathered neck. The striker caught the sunbeams and that’s when he noticed another detail.

On the back. In minuscule script. He squinted at the words.

For H. I love you like all-fire. T.D.

Warmth spread throughout his chest. A smile spread on his lips. All-fire was Covey-talk, but the expression was theirs.

He reached for his girl’s paint-stained hand and like so many times before, he said the words back.

“I love you like all-fire too.”

Their kiss tasted of heat and summertime. Of lazy days in the sun. Of sweet water and pine needles and the breeze brushing through the morning woods.

The scent of honeysuckle in her hair went straight to his head and he found himself chuckling into the kiss, for no reason at all.

With the flint striker in one hand, he cupped Tara’s cheek with the other. Pulled her closer as they kissed and kissed and kissed. His heart so full of her, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Unaware that it was his last moment of true happiness, for many many years.

Chapter One: Nesta 

Nesta huffs as she pushes her shoulder into the door, faltering slightly as the door flies open, she stumbles as she steps into the door. Adding the door jamming to never ending lists of to dos. She dusts off the snow on her coat, grateful for the fire in the fireplace that was already warming her numb hands. 

She looks around the small shack of home, Elain was probably out in the back deciding where to plant her garden for the upcoming spring and Feyre out in the woods like normal. She could hear her father's snores through his closed door. Her sisters were too young to remember but they used to live in a two story house, when they were fours. Her father was a well known business man who fell in love with a five, they were the perfect family, until their mother died. 

She didn’t realize what was happening to her father until she came back from school and he was packing up their belongings. They sold the most of their furniture and clothes, only taking what they could fit in this small house. They were branded sevens and then that was that. 

Nesta started working as much as she could to provide for her sisters. Only to come home to help them with their school, she wanted better for her sisters. She wanted them to climb the caste system to have a better life than she did with her two waitressing jobs and seamstress job. 

“How was work?” Elain’s soft voice came from the kitchen, where she shook off her cloak and set a handful of herbs on the kitchen table. Nesta smiled at the thought, Elain could nurture a rose bush in a blizzard and it would thrive. “I warmed up some soup for you, it should be still hot.” 

Nesta glanced over to the stove, where a pot stood ready for her, but she turned back to Elain, setting her small clutch bag with her paycheck of the day on the kitchen table. “I am not hungry, I ate at the restaurant,” Nesta replies. 

Elain turns towards her older sister, narrowing her usual soft eyes, but Feyre bursts through the door a minute later. “Turn on the TV!” Feyre says, pulling off her boots, and rushing towards the television that sat on a table that has books under one leg to keep it even. 

“What's the rush? Is something happening?” Elain asks cautiously, following Feyre into the living room and sitting down on the floor next to her. Nesta follows leaning against the wall as the static changes into an image of the royal family. 

“A girl in town was talking about it, apparently her mom cleans a four house and learned about-,” Feyre stops as the king begins to speak. Nesta chuckles at her sister, Feyre was always getting herself into mischief. 

Nesta watched the King of Prythian and his son, Prince Rhysand, stand above a large group of threes and fours, maybe some well known fives. “I have come here to announce some happy news amongst all the talk of war and poverty,” the King announces, turning to wave his son forward, Nesta doesn’t miss how he glances towards a large man not much older than he. The prince didn’t like whatever the king was going to say next Nesta concluded. 

“My son will take part in something every generation before him has taken part of, The Selection,” The King booms loudly, as the crowd below cheers, he smiles proudly before gesturing to the crowd. “I met my own wife, a seamstress from seven, and it is my greatest pleasure to announce we will be accepting girls from every caste.” 

More screams came through the screen probably from every girl that was in the crowd that had longed to be the one Prince Rhysand fell for. Nesta can’t help but snort, causing Elain to turn towards her. She had a knowing look in her eye. 

“The only restriction we have is that you must be eighteen by June 1st,” The king adds. 

Feyre huffs, she wouldn’t be eighteen until that winter. Nesta knew she wasn’t that disappointed, the only real reason she would want to go to the castle is because of the food, horses, and forest surrounding it. “You must sign up! We can go tomorrow, make a day out of it!” Feyre says, turning to face her sisters. 

“I couldn’t be away that long,” Elain replies, but they both know she really means she couldn’t be away from her garden that long or from her father, she was the only one that would still take care of him. Feyre turns expectantly at Nesta, “What's your excuse?” 

Nesta smirks, “Someone has to work around here, and cook, and clean, oh and school you,” she retorts, pushing herself off the wall, “Speaking of school, we should get some sleep, it's late.” 

Nesta curled up on the sofa with a book as Elain and Feyre made their way into the room they all shared. This was their nightly routine, they would go to bed and Nesta would stay awake reading until her eyes grew heavy with sleep and she would fall asleep out here near the fire. 

~*~

Her worn shoes squeaked with every crunch of the snow, her wool socks still damp from the long walk to the tavern. This was her second least favorite job, her least was being a seamstress. She couldn’t count how many times she had prick her finger. 

“Did you hear the good news?” Nesta turned to see the baker's daughter dumping out the stale bread from the day before that didn’t sell. Nesta smiles in greeting, she was a year younger than Nesta and was a kind soul. Nesta had befriended her last spring and would stay and mindlessly chat with her before work but right now after being on her feet all day and dealing with old men who had far too much to drink she couldn’t deal with it. “The prince is getting married.” 

Nesta nods, shoving her hands into her pockets to save some warmth. “I’ll be rooting for you, Liz,” she replies, her cheeks burning from the wind. “If anyone in this town deserves a prince, it's you!” 

“You’re too kind, Nes,” she says, walking over to hand her a few loaves of bread. Nesta stared at them hesitant before finally reaching out to grab them. She dips her head in thanks, Nesta would have never taken it if it was for her but it was for her sisters. “Have a good night, say hello to Elain and Feyre for me!” 

Nesta nods, slipping the bread into her bag and turning on her heel to start the cold long walk back to her cabin. Someone grips her bicep pulling her back and slamming her against the cold stone of the tavern. She's about to yell out when she recognizes the familiar smirk of none other than Tomas Mandray. 

He was a grade above her when she was four, but didn’t take any notice of her until he met her in the tavern a few weeks ago. He had come every night for the next two weeks to talk to her, it made her feel special. “I heard you talking about the prince,” Tomas whispers in her ear. 

She chuckles when she smells the alcohol on his breath, he got jealous and rude when he was intoxicated but from what she knows of him he was harmless. “Getting jealous? You haven’t claimed me yet, Mandray,” she replies, knowing that he never would, even if she was level with his status. 

He chuckles, “Like you would be picked,” he retorts, “The king only said that to throw a bone to a limp dog. Everyone knows the problems he has with the queen, he would never wish that upon his son. Sevens are more as a lass result mistress.” 

Nesta swallows, turning her cheek away from him and shifting her weight away from him. He glanced down and then back up at her face, chuckling slightly, “You weren’t actually going to enter, Nessie,” he retorts, reaching a hand out to push back a strain of hair behind her ear. 

His cold fingers brushing against her ear making her feel sick. She turns quickly, catching off guard enough to slip away. “Why would I try to marry a prince when I have bar rats following me for my attention?” She calls back to him with a wave of her hand, glad that he wasn’t following her. 

She was furious the way home, the burning of her cheeks not just because of the cold winds. She was angry at Tomas for his insecurities, he was mad because no girl would look his way if they had a chance at being a queen. She was mad that he felt the need to take it out on her because she would never amount to anything. 

The house was quiet as she stepped in, she laid her cloak and socks by the fire to hopefully be dry by tomorrow. She sat back on the sofa gripping her book as she thought about what it would actually take to make it to The Selection. 

~*~

“Where did you go so early?” Elain asks, raising an eyebrow, as Nesta slams the door shut behind her. Nesta turns quickly, not noticing Elain in the rocking chair in the corner, she peers down at Elain, “It’s not nice to scare people, Elain.” 

Elain chuckles, “stop changing the subject, I know you don’t work Thursdays aside from some sewing work.” 

Elain had her there, Nesta did not have a reason to leave but she did, she woke up before the crack of dawn to have her picture taken and sent to the king to decide if she was pretty enough to be a Queen. She regretted going but it's not like anyone would know. 

“I went into town to see if they had any fruits to make a pie,” Nesta replies smoothly, taking off her cloak and hanging it by the fire. “Unfortunately, they were either too bruised or too overpriced.” 

Feyre walks through the door biting into an apple, “Last day to sign up, are you sure neither of you want to marry a prince?” she asks. 

“I think I’ll pass,” Nesta replies, walking into the kitchen, hoping to never bring up her trip downtown ever again. 

And she wouldn’t, well not until the next night. 

She sat in the corner of the sofa with a book in her hand as Feyre and Elain guessed how many girls from each caste would be accepted into The Selection. “I don’t think there will be any below six, only a few from five, and the rest from four, three, and two,” Feyre comments, as the music blared from the speaker, the crowd waiting for the king and prince to come out and announce the girls. 

“I think there will be one from each, they have to show equality through the castes,” Elain replies softly, there was more to her thought though. “There's talk of riots, they have to do this more than ever.” 

Nesta glances up from her book at her sister, Elain knew more than she let on, everyone shared their secrets with Elain. Wherever she went people would spill their life stories to her. She didn’t get to say anything, as the music stopped and the clapping began as the king and prince made their way to the center of the stage. 

Nesta begins to read again, only catching a few names here and there. They seemed fancy and posh, she would look up briefly seeing their smiling faces appear on screen. “Only three girls left,” Elain comments. 

Nesta closes her book, the next girl appears on screen; she is a five with copper hair and bright green eyes. The next girl is a light blonde girl with pale blue eyes, she looks frail, the number below her name concludes what everyone was thinking. She was from six, the malnourished of her concluding that she was not a well known six. There's a low murmur through the crowd, she must have been the lowest caste announced. There's a pause before the last picture appears, “Nesta Archeron, caste seven,” the king voices boom. Nesta was not sure if it was the crowd that had gone completely silent or if it was her own world stilling around her. 

The silence does not last long, the King begins his final speech while Elain and Feyre turn quickly to face Nesta. “Did I just-,” Elain stutters, “Did you really? Why didn’t you tell us? Nesta you got accepted. You are going to the palace!”

Feyre turns around quickly to stare at her, “You entered!” she cheers, quickly being shushed by Elain, it wouldn’t be good to wake father now. “Are you going? Please tell me you are going.” 

Nesta shakes her head, “No, probably not,” she replies softly, not wanting to allow herself even the thought of joining. “Who would take care of you guys?” 

“We would get a stipend,” Feyre replies quickly, “Nes, think about the food.” 

“Think about the garden,” Elain retorts. 

So that's what she thought about, she thought about the pretty dresses and the fresh air and the pastries. She thought about the library the palace must have and how many books she could read in the span of her being there. She wouldn’t be there for long, she knew that, but at least she could get away. She could escape the horrors of being a seven, working three jobs, all the drunk men from the tavern. 

So she found herself accepting the offer, packing a small trunk of her best dresses and her favorite books the night before she left, her sisters sitting on the bed watching her. “Take the red dress,” Elain says, nodding in approval, “It’ll look beautiful with your hair, especially if you braid-,” 

Nesta turns towards Elain, “You think I’ll be able to braid? We all know you’re the finest braider,” she replies, folding the dress and setting it on top before shutting the lid satisfactional, “You’ll write, if anything is to happen to you or father, you’ll tell me? Right?” 

“Right,” Feyre retorts, “And on your way home you’ll steal all the fincist pastries?” 

“Of course,” Nesta replies, reaching over to pull her sisters into a hug, “I don’t have to go, you know. It's not too late for me to tell them I changed my mind.” 

“Are you kidding? Of course you are going,” Feyre replies, ending the discussion before it even began. She slept in the bed with her sisters that night, squished and barely any covers, but she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else the night before she left.

The next few days blurred by into weeks, as she adjusted to being in the palace with maids to help her dress and a mattress that felt like a bed of feathers. She didn’t think that she would ever get used to the tight corsets and the integrated lace or the high heels. 

She didn’t even let her mind go to the manners or the people she would have to encounter when this “competition” actually began. It wasn’t meant to be a competition, or at least it wasn’t broadcasted as a competition, but the few times she had met the fellow girls already they treated this as a competition. 

There’s a sharp knock and then two ladies enter the room, “Good morning, Lady Nesta,” the one with pale skin and dark hair says, as she moves towards her wardrobe. “I am Beatrice and this is Hana. We will be your maids throughout your time here.” 

“We are very excited to have you, I come from the caste seven so the possibility of having someone from my own home town be princess would be incredible,” Hana says, as she moves to look through the dresses the castle provided for Nesta. “You’ll look incredible in this red one.” 

Nesta smiles as she slips out of the bed, “I brought that one, it was my mother,” she says, reaching forward to feel the fabric.

Hana and Beatrice look at each other, “Then this is for sure what you are wearing to meet the prince,” Hana says, smiling and reaching forward to squeeze Nesta’s shoulder. “Shall we talk about your hair next?” 

Hana pulls Nesta toward the vanity, sitting her in the chair and beginning to brush through her hair. “I am thinking of a braid? You have such lovely hair-,” Hana begins to discuss what she could do with her hair and all Nesta can think about is how she misses home. 

Hana finishes up the braid and Beatrice helps her dress in the red dress, all Nesta can think about is her sisters at home and how much they would love to be here right now. Or how much she would love to be home with them, it was rare but there were a few occasions that she was invited to a party as a seven, Elain would braid her hair and Feyre would critique her dresses until they found the perfect one. 

There's a soft knock and then a squeaky voice yelled excitedly, “Ladies, hurry hurry! You have five minutes until show time!” 

“Show time?” Nesta asks, looking over at Beatrice and Hana nervously, she didn’t realize it would all be televised. Beatrice smiles at her comfortingly while pushing her out the door, Nesta wants to fight back, wants to go back into her room and never leave again. 

She turns around quickly, unsure of what her next move should be, when she slams into another person. She falters back slightly, looking up at the tall man she ran into, she recognizes him from the night the competition was announced. He was the guard standing next to Prince Rhysand. She opens her mouth to apologize for running into him but his deep voice cuts her off before she can even get a noise out. 

“Down the hall and to the left, I would suggest you watch where you're going, wouldn’t want you running into the prince like that. You’ll lose your chance for the crown,” he says bluntly, stepping around her as if she was a piece of trash in the hallway, and continuing down the hallway. 

She watches him until he rounds the corner, her first thought when she saw him on the television was that he was handsome, but seeing him in person and how he treated her. She shook her shoulders out as she moved down the hallway, you’ll lose your chance for the crown, caught her attention the most. He didn’t say a chance for the prince. She found herself curious as to if he thought they were all in it for the glory of being queen or if he thought her being a seven she would only want the money. 

She turned the corner and was immediately swept in by the crowd of people, pulling her every which way, placing her in line with the other girls. The hustle and bustle making her forget all about the mean mystery guard all together. 

Chapter Two: Cassian 

Cassian wakes up with a holt, his forehead slick with sweat as he pulls the blankets off his body. His breathing catching in his throat as if he was drowning. The nightmares seemed to only be getting worse and worse with the coming anniversary. 

He leaned his elbows on his knees, putting her forehead in his hands, his stomach clenching as he saw the bodies from his dreams, from his memories. He jumps to his feet, moving to the bathroom, he couldn’t bear to be in his own skin. The orders he gave burning into his memory. 

The cold sink burning his skin as he gripped the sides, reaching forward to splash water onto his face. The memories burning the back of his eye lids, unable to be washed away no matter how much water he splashed onto his face. 

He glances up, looking at his reflection, the water dripping down his chin and the bloodshot eyes. He was sick at the sight of himself. Sick of the fact he was holed up in this castle with a prestigious position after everything he did. Everything the king made him do. 

He balls his hand in a fist, the overwhelming memories and the agonist he was feeling flooded through him. He reaches forward, shattering the glass with one punch, the pieces littering the sink. The blood trickled down his hand as there was a sharp knock on his door pulling him from his own thoughts, his own downfall. 

He steps back, looking at the mess around him, reaching forward to grab the towel. He wraps his hand, moving swiftly toward the door swinging it open. A tall blonde pushed herself off the wall across from his door, “You look like hell,” Mor retorts, pushing past him and walking into his room. “Your room is a disaster.” 

Cassian shakes his head, “I am not really in the mood for round two,” he replies drily, gesturing towards the door, “So if you don’t mind, I have things to do.” 

She chuckles, turning towards him, “It's been years, Cassian. You know you’re not what I fancy anymore.” Her eyes narrow as she glances down to the towel wrapped around his hand. “What did you do?” 

“Why do you always assume-,” he begins but she reaches over in one swift motion and whips off the towel. She reaches forward to examine the bloody knuckles. He winces as she dabs the end of the towel against his bloody bruises. “Listen, it's not a big deal, I can-,” 

“You can handle it? How long has this been going on?” Mor asks, just above a whisper, as she looks up at him. They have known each other since they were children, brought up together along with Rhysand, Mor is a close relative of the King. She was sent here to be taught by the same tutors as Rhysand when she was ten. Cassian knew there was something special about Mor from the moment she met her. He was the first person she told when she knew she no longer fit the social norm. He was supportive of her, even pretending to be courting her, allowing her to meet with three by the name of Amara. The rules of Prythian condoning the relationships she seeked. 

Her family found out, sent her away to France, on the premise of being sent to the best school in Europe but Cassian knew the truth of her quick departure. She had come back last summer, uneasy and different, as if she was being suffocated by the world around her. The norms of society drowning her, suppressing her. 

He confided in him how he felt with every mission he was sent on and every success he had in the eyes of the King. How he felt when he was finally brought back, given his title, and the dark room corner of the castle to call his own. It was a prison, a way for the King to keep a close eye on him to have Cassian at a constant beck and call. 

“You know you don’t have to be alone in this,” Mor replies, reaching a hand up to push a strain of hair away from his eyes. The touch was kind, they had been through so much together, always found each other with sad eyes and broken pieces needing to be put back together. 

He grabs her wrist, with a soft grip, dropping it to her side. The demons clouding his mind were something of his own creation and something he had to face alone. He wouldn’t let anyone else be a part of this destruction. “I know you’ll always be here, Mor.” 

She smiles, “Good,” she says with a new sense of chipper, “Because today, we get to pick the future wife of our dear friend Rhysand.” 

He rolls his eyes, as he begins to push Mor out of his room. “Unfortunately for you, you have to do that on your own. I am busy,” he retorts. 

She turns to glare at him, “You’re going to be busy for the next few weeks?” 

He shrugs, giving her a cocky smile, yelling a simple yup as he shuts the door. Trapping himself with his demons once again. 

~*~

Cassian’s breath hitched as he pushed himself up the hill, pumping his arms with every stride, the sun beating against his skin as the sweat dripped down his back. He wanted to keep going, push himself beyond the limits mind set for him. 

As he clears the hill, he sees Rhysand standing in the middle of the training field, holding a sword and a shirt. “Thought you could use this,” he replies, throwing the shirt towards him then he shrugs towards the sword in his hand, “And I could do this.” 

Cassian laughs, slipping the shirt on, before moving to grab his own sword. “I am starting to think you don’t want the new guests to see me and want me instead,” he retorts, rolling the sleeves before twisting the sword in his hand. “Should I go easy on you, as well? They can witness what an incredible swordsman you’d make in battle, or perhaps in a duel for their honor?” 

Rhysand shakes his head, letting out a bark of a laugh, as he stands across from Cassian. “I think they’ll be more impressed with the shiny jewels in my gold crown atop my head than anything below it,” he says, moving quickly to jab towards Cassian. 

Cassian swiftly dodges, despite the effort Rhysand put into swordplay he spent more time in diplomacy and meetings to be equal to Cassian’s level. He gives his friend a concern glance as he sends him an easy defense. “I know you didn’t want to do this, I am sorry,” Cassian says grimly, “Do you really think all of them are in it for the crown?” 

Rhysand blocks easily, scowling as he slashes towards Cassian's left arm. Cassian lifts his sword just in time for Rhysand’s sword to clash against his. “Don’t look where you're going before you move, it's your tell,” Cassian says, twisting and knocking behind his knee, he falls onto his back with a grunt. “Something you can use in the next few weeks to come.” 

Rhysand raises an eyebrow towards him, “Don’t you sound ominous,” he retorts, wiping his forehead as he reaches forward to grab the hand Cassian extended towards him. Cassian pulls him to his feet. “Again?” 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Cassian replies. 

“Would they really miss me?” Rhysand retorts, moving towards the rack to put the sword away. 

Cassian snorts, “Yeah I think the thirty or something girls here to all fight for your love to become Queen would notice,” he says, dropping his own sword by the rack. He had his own plans today and none of them involved getting anywhere near the new guests. 

“You think this is a bad idea?” Rhysand asks, turning to face his friend, and running a hand through his hair. 

Cassian sighs. “No,” he replies, “I think it's a horrible idea, one that you should have said no too.” Cassian turns to face Rhysand, “But I've known you for a long time, I know you can handle whatever your father throws at you. Even if it is an arranged marriage of sorts.” 

Rhysand chuckles, but Cassian knows it's forced, he was still trapped in his own thoughts. “There are thirty-five girls in there all here for you, any guy would be lucky to be in your position,” Cassian says, clapping his friend on the back. Rhysand gives him a bitter smile and the two part ways both leave unhappy with the way things are.

~*~

He exits the King's office with anger fueling through his bones, the King had sent a maid to find him after he finished dueling with Rhysand. Cassian couldn’t say no to the King, so he had spent the last few hours trapped in the King’s office as he discussed the upcoming assignments. 

He didn’t mind the mindless assignments that the King gave him, as long as he wasn’t commanding men to their death or basically becoming a hitman he was fine going to the different caste system to keep an eye on the rebels or to see what the rich folk were doing in two and three. 

However, this was all new low for the King, his new assignment was digging into the backgrounds of all the girls while also keeping an eye on them throughout their time in the castle. He figured he would add a few more men in the halls, especially where the prince’s room was located, but of course the King had other ideas. 

He knew that the rebels were a threat, that any of these girls could be a part of one of the many rebel groups littered through the caste systems. He also knew that he didn’t want anything to do with these girls that were blinded by the crown. He doubted any of them actually cared to learn anything about Rhysand. So purposefully being around them was not something that Cassian was looking forward to. 

He moved down the hallway, he wanted to at least accomplish one thing before the meet and greet tonight. He moved down the hallway, slamming into a small frame, he reached out to steady her elbow. He drops his hand quickly when he sees the done up hair and the fancy gown. She opens her mouth but he beats her to it, “Down the hall and to the left-,” he says, adding a comment that he probably shouldn’t have but after speaking with the King he didn’t want any of the ladies to feel welcomed. Especially ones that came from a caste system of four and up. 

She closes her mouth, nodding in thanks, as he steps around her and down the hall. He could see the hurt in her eyes but he summed that up to her never having anyone snap at her before. He moved down the hall, quickly turning on his heel when he saw Mor walking down the hall. “Cas, wait up,” She says, jogging down the hall to catch up with. “Heading to the meet and greet?” 

He rolls his eyes as she wraps her arm around his. “I guess I am now,” he retorts. 

She chuckles, squeezing his arm, as they turn the corner towards the large room the filming would take place. “Good,” Mor replies, “We can guess who we think is going to win based on their first impressions.” 

“I doubt we will be able to see the character based on one appearance,” Cassian says, as he looks around the room, it was crowded with people he had never seen. They were bustling around setting up the camera equipment. He moves towards the back of the room, he would be able to see everything clearly without appearing on the television. 

“We won’t be able to hear anything from back here,” Mor complains, getting on her tippy toes to be able to see over everyone's heads. He switches spots with her, allowing her a clear view of the stage, all he needed was to know what they look like and their names to be able to research them better. “Can’t we get closer?” 

“You can,” he retorts, “I don’t want to be anywhere near that stage.” 

Mor can’t say anything else because the girls start filtering in from a side door. The line up against the wall, all in their fanciest dresses and done up hair. Half the girls were staring up at the stage, waiting for the prince and King to make their entrance, while others were eyeing the cameras while running their hands through their hair. They were waiting for their big moment on camera. His eyes fell on the girl who he had run into earlier, she wasn’t looking at either, staring at the ground with her eyebrows furrowed. 

He wanted to look at her, examine every mannerism and detail of her face, there was a mix of emotions he couldn't read. She was nervous, that was obvious, but there was a lot more to her than he first decided. The door across from the stage opened and the King and Queen entered, followed closely by Rhysand, who looked sick with nerves. 

Rhysand was cool under pressure, but this was a new form of torture brought about by his dad. Rhysand knew first hand the differences his parents had, how his father got when he was angry, the stem of the differences brought about by how both grew up. The King as a one and the Queen as a seven, one above homelessness. The King would constantly bring up the fact that in seconds the Queen could be back in poverty. 

Rhysand and the Queen sit while the King stands up to greet the girls. “It’s a pleasure to see you all here today, it's nice to finally see your lovely faces in person rather than just pictures. The Queen and I are very lucky to be able to open our home to such incredible individuals,” he says, chuckling as he looks back to the cameras. He turns back towards his family, extending his arm out and beckoning Rhysand towards him. Rhysand reluctantly stands up and stands next to his father. “I’ll stop chattering on and allow my son to meet his potential wife!” 

Rhysand smiles tightly towards his father, as he claps Rhysand on the back, moving behind him to sit next to the Queen. “I think my father said it well enough, I am very excited to meet you all,” he says, turning towards the ladies and then motioning for the guard by the stairs so that they can begin. 

As the girls move forward, the guard announces their names and caste, he wasn’t sure why it was necessary but he guesses the King wanted to make sure that all of Prythian remembers how many lower caste girls he chose. 

“Clare Beddor, Caste Five,” The guard announces. A small girl with light skin and even lighter hair moves up to the stage, towards Rhysand, you can obviously tell that she is nervous both from the meeting the prince and from the cameras as she glances at them. Rhysand reaches forward for her hand, saying a few words to her, she smiles softly a red tint to her cheeks. 

A few more girls come up the stage that are less memorable, two girls from caste five and three from four, until Vanserra Beron is called. Everyone knew about Vanserra Beron, she was model from caste two, crawled her way up from her station as a six. Although she didn’t make that fact known publicly very often. She winks at the camera as she struts towards Rhysand. She reaches a hand out, confidence washing off her in a large wave, as Rhysand takes her hand she says that makes him bark out a laugh. 

“They would make beautiful babies,” Mor states. Cassian chuckles as he writes the name down on the list, not bothering to write any characteristics, he’d remember her name. “My vote is for her, she's the only one thats had him have a reaction.” 

Cassian doesn’t have time to respond when the next name is called. “Nesta Archeron, caste seven.” He writes down the name, glancing up when he sees the dirty blonde girl in the red dress, she moves across the stage with confidence. Not as much as Vanserra but when she moves her hand out to shake Rhysand hand rather than have him lean down and kiss it like all the girls before her, she catches Cassian eye. Rhysand seems shocked at first before breaking out into a smile and shaking her hand back. 

“I take it back, I am rooting for that one,” Mor says determinedly. Cassian can’t help but agree.

Chapter Three: Nesta 

As soon as Nesta entered the room she was pushed into a side room where all the other girls were already seated and chatting. She takes the only chair left in the corner next to a short blonde hair girl and a tall, lean, dark skinned girl with long flowy black hair. “Did I miss anything?” she whispers to the dark haired girl. 

“No, we were all brought into this room and they haven’t said anything yet,” the dark haired girl says, turning to face Nesta, “I am Rita, caste six.” She says the last part with an eye roll. So she noticed how they branded each of the girls and wouldn’t let them forget where they came from. 

“Nice to meet you,” Nesta says, sticking out her hand, “I am Nesta, labeled as a seven, and feeling very out of place.” 

Rita shakes her hand, “I think we’ll be good friends, Nesta,” she replies with a smile. 

They turn as a tall, lanky woman with long blonde hair clears her throat. “I am Ianthe,” she says, clapping her hands together in excitement, “I’ll be here to help you ladies through all the trials you’ll face throughout the competition. Think of me as a mother hen.” 

Rita scoffs and covers her mouth to stifle her laughter. She turns to Nesta with a raised eyebrow as if to say, “Is she serious right now?” A short and plump girl turns in her seat to glare at the two of them, shushing them quietly. Rita puts up her hand in apology. 

“We will be taking you girls one by one into that room right over there to have a doctor examination, just to make sure you are in pristine condition!” Ianthe exclaims, twirling to look at all of the girls with excited smiles. Rita looks back at her with wild eyes. Nesta snorted in response, this lady was treating them as if they were show horses. 

“But before we begin. I would like to go over some rules with you all,” Ianthe says. Nesta raises an eyebrow. “Firstly, we know that not all of you will get along but if it is shown that you have physically or emotionally harmed another competitor you will be sent home. Second, you will not be allowed to go home or leave the estate. Not until the prince himself has determined you are not a fit to be his wife. From this point forward, you are Prythian property.” 

Nesta bit her lip, curling her hands around the chair, they had mentioned that this could go on for months or years. She had always thought that if she determined it wasn’t going to work out that she could leave. She could decide when she wanted to see her sisters again. 

“Third, if you are found out to be in a relationship with someone other than the prince, it will be determined Treason and you will be put to death. All ties must be severed and your heart can only belong to the prince, himself.” 

Nesta’s eyes widen, Treason. Not that she had a lover at home or was even going to fall madly in love with someone here but to be put to death. It would weigh over all of their heads as they moved forward through the competition. 

“And lastly, I recommend that you do what the prince says no matter what he asks upon you,” Ianthe says, a furrow eyebrow as she rubs her hand together. “It would not be in your best interest to say no to the prince.” 

Nesta swallows at that, how far did they want them to keep saying yes. She turns to Rita who is looking as puzzled and disgusted as Nesta. Ianthe tells them that they are trapped here until the prince sends them home and then tells them they can not say no. 

Ianthe claps her hand, regaining the attention of all the girls, “Are we ready to be examined? Remember, ladies, the future queen is among us! You might be sitting next to her right now!”

 The chatter begins again as the girls talk excitedly with one another. One by one being called into the next room to be examined. Nesta turns towards Rita as she says, “One mention of being queen and they all forget that we are prisons.” 

There was a darkness behind her words that Nesta wasn’t sure she wanted to find more about but she was alone in this strange world and it would be nice to have a friend to talk to through this mess. Not that Nesta thought she would be staying long enough. 

Soon Nesta’s name was called and she made her way across the sea of girls and into the small room. She sat on the bed as the doctor sat across from her. “Lady Nesta, correct?” he asks, peering up at her over a file. She nods in response. “You’re from caste seven?” She nods again. “How has the altitude been treating you? It can be a hard adjustment for anyone below a five.” 

She sucks in a breath, “Fine, I think,” she replies with a slight shrug, “I don’t see a difference yet.” 

“Come to me if you do, I can give you some medication to help with the headaches and lack of appetite.” He says, making note of something in her file. “You haven’t had proper nutrition since you left the caste four, I’ll prescribe you a multi-vitamin to take every day, It’ll help you gain weight while you are here.” 

Nesta became all too aware of how the dress hung from her shoulders. How her collar bones protrude through the dress and the waistline which once clinged to her mother was draped like a paper bag on her body. She wrapped an arm around her waist, self conscious. “Other than that, you seem to be in perfect health. I’ll be here if anything is to occur throughout your stay.” 

Nesta can’t help but hear how he says throughout her stay, as if he knew that she wouldn’t be here for long. He knew that she wouldn’t be king. She shakes her head, she was reading too much into the situation. Her subconscious knew that she wasn’t going to be here for long. 

“One last question and then you will be free to go,” The doctor says, turning to face her completely and looking up from where he was writing. He extends a piece of paper to her, “Read over it and then sign it when you're done, don’t worry all the ladies have had to sign it.” 

She takes it from his extended hand, glancing over the piece of paper, she grips the paper as she reads the words. “It's a contraction to make sure I am a virgin.” 

“Of course,” the doctor replies as if it was obvious. “It's against the law as well as the fact that if you were to become pregnant we would want to make sure that it would be the princes.”

Nesta’s mouth drops as she signs the document and hands it to the doctor. All she wanted was to leave the room, leave the castle, and never return. She wanted to be back home being hit on by bar goers rather than here where she was the property of the prince. She wanted to be back home with her sisters trying to talk hush to not wake their dad. 

She doesn’t hear anything else the doctor says just has to get out of the room as fast as she can. She thanked him for the time, opening the door back to the sea of girls, the excitement bounced off the walls as Ianthe prepared them for what was to come as soon as they left the room. 

Nesta gripped her gown, as they all stared at Ianthe, who was standing in front of the door. Her hand hovering over the handle, toying with the excitement in the room. “Something to remember ladies, you being here even for a week will change you and your families lives forever. You get a stipend for every week you get to be here.” 

Nesta felt her eyes bore into hers, it was as if Ianthe knew that she was the lowest caste here. She couldn’t help but feel that Ianthe was bitter that they were all here fighting for the prince. She wondered if there was anything between the two of them before all of this began. 

She opened the door and the girls filed out in a single file line. She found herself next to Rita again who gave her a comforting smile. “Ready for the beginning of the rest of your life?” Rita asks, mimicking Ianthe chipper voice. 

Nesta chuckles, “More like ready to sign my life away.” 

The royal family parades out from across the room, up to the stage, Nesta can’t help but notice the nerves that eased off of the prince. She couldn’t imagine what he was feeling, she knew that she wouldn’t be picked and would be able to go home, but he was the one making the decision. The one who would have to marry someone at the end of this all and live this rest of his life with one of these girls. 

The king begins his speech but Nesta finds herself staring at the ground. She can feel the girls around her fixing their hair and straightening their dresses as they move up the line closer and closer, one step closer to their first impression with the prince. 

She glances up as it gets closer to her time, some girls walked up shyly while others oozed confidence. Some made a show for the cameras while others were solely focused on him. She didn’t envy the position that he was currently in. 

“Nesta Archeron, caste seven.” 

She moves up the stairs, careful not to trip, before moving across the stage towards him. She stretches her hand out, he looks down at it confused, she falters. Was she not supposed to shake his hand? Was she supposed to give him a hug? She regrets not watching what the other girls did. Before she can take her hand back he places his in hers and gives it a solid shake. “Nesta?” he asks, and she nods her head, “I am glad to have you here.” 

She can’t help but smile back as he lets go of her hand and she moves past him and off the stage. She takes her spot next to Rita, who bumps her shoulder, she looks over at her and Rita gives her a wink. “You definitely made an impression,” she retorts. 

Nesta chuckles in response, she was fine with making an impression, she didn’t see herself as a queen and definitely did not see herself getting married to Prince Rhysand. Something inside of her knew it wasn’t a fit as soon as their hands touched. She was curious about him, about the sadness behind his eyes and how such a small gesture as shaking hands seems forgein to him. 

She glances around the room the first time since entering she notices all the cameras pointed towards the stage. She's glad she didn’t look before, she would have been too nervous by the time it was her turn. She wonders if Elain and Feyre watched her. Of course they did, she would probably have a letter from them in a week's time discussing her hair and how the prince was in person. She wonders if she’ll be allowed to write them at all. 

She spots two people standing against the far wall. The guard from earlier who was quick to bolt away from her and a girl who was probably a little taller than Nesta, with golden blonde hair and bright eyes. She talked quickly to the guard with an excited smile. She even got him to laugh a little. She couldn’t imagine the brute from earlier actually laughing, she wouldn’t have pegged him as someone who had emotions like that. 

“Thank you all for tuning in tonight to help my family welcome the lovely ladies beside me to the castle. I am as excited as you are to see who my son will pick to rule beside him,” The king announces. “For the next week, the ladies will be joining my wife in the women’s room where they will all begin to learn about the duties a queen will face. With this knowledge they will face many challenges along the way.” 

Nesta did not like the sound of that. She didn’t want to face any challenges, especially ones that would include her being televised. She was hoping that the cameras were far enough away that they barely saw her as she met the prince. 

As the camera’s shut off and the crew begins tearing down the set, there's a huge wave of relief that goes over the girls. It's like they can actually be normal now, they can just be girls that get to wear pretty dresses and live in a castle. However, the relief doesn’t last long as Prince Rhysand moves down the stairs and towards the girls. 

She glances down the line of girls, it was as if they were all holding their breath as he moves down the line, stopping in front of Vanserra. He says something to her as he extends his hand, she bats her eyes before taking it. All the girls, including Nesta, couldn’t help but watch as they left the room. 

“Of course he would pick her, she’s insanely gorgeous,” a voice says disappointedly down the line. The girls beside her start chatting with her about what they would do if they were pulled away or they were thinking up what was happening with the two of them. 

Rita rolls her eyes, turning towards Nesta, “Wanna head out of here?” 

Nesta raises an eyebrow, feeling the first genuine smile appear since being here. “Are we allowed too?” she asks, glancing around the room as the crew continues cleaning up and the girls begin to clump together in small groups to talk. 

“Why wouldn’t it? We aren’t leaving the castle without permission, we are simply exploring our new home,” Rita replies, with a slight shrug, “There’s thirty-five girls, they won’t miss us. The real question is what do you want to see.” 

Elain would want to see the grounds, all the flowers that were beginning to bloom, the roses bushes that went on for miles. Feyre would want to see the artwork and the kitchens, scarfing down every pastry while admiring the paintings through the halls. All Nesta could think about was the library, she had heard stories of the library, how it held every book published, even ones in different languages. If she was here long enough she’d brush up on her french. 

“The library,” Nesta says, turning to her friend with the first surge of excitement. They slipped out of the room, Nesta glancing behind her shoulders to make sure they weren’t being followed by any girls or palace guards. She followed closely next to Rita, “How do you know where the library is?” 

Rita gives her a mischievous smile, “I’ve done some exploring, what else were we supposed to do?” 

She turns down the hall, stopping in front of large wooden doors, “Ready for your dreams to come true?” Rita murmurs, turning back to smile at Nesta, before pushing the large doors open. There's a creaking noise and Nesta turns down the hall to make sure no one is heard. 

“No one is going to yell at us,” Rita says, pulling Nesta into the library, as she pushes the door closed behind them. The only light in the room is the moonlight beaming through the tall windows. “And if they do, we can say we got lost.” 

“I don’t think they will believe that,” Nesta says, but her mind is too focused on the rows and rows of books. She reaches out to rub the spines, feeling the thick layer of dust on her fingers, it was a shame that the library wasn’t used more often. 

She could spend hours rummaging through the library, probably even days and she would not see the end of it. She knew it would probably take someone a lifetime so read a quarter of the books. She wanted to read them all. “I wonder if they are set up in a certain order, perhaps by publishing year or specific genre.” 

“By genre, there is a map in the middle of the room that explains where everything is but I am not sure how up to date it is,” a new voice says as the door opens wider allowing a stream of light to fill a small section in the large room. 

Nesta turns quickly, recognizing the shape of the prince, he steps into the room so she can see him fully. She glances over at Rita and then the two books in her hands. She smiles at the prince sheepishly as she says, “Would you believe us if we told you we got lost?” 

He laughs, in what she hopes is genuine, as he shakes his head. “No, but I do understand that some of you would be curious and go exploring,” he retorts, watching as she begins to put the books on the shelf. She wasn’t actually going to borrow them, just wanted to find a place to sit and start going through them. “You don’t have to put them away.” 

Nesta pauses, glancing over at him, she wasn’t sure if he was being sincere or not. He was a royal, she heard the stories of the King setting people up just for them to fall. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t want to ruin them,” she replies, it wasn’t a lie. 

“Please, I insist. Any of the girls are welcome to take books if they choose too,” Rhysand says, glancing back towards Rita to include her in invitation. “I am afraid that the majority of the books have gone unread, it will be nice to put the collection to use.” 

Nesta falters, before adding the book back to the small pile in her hand, “I thank you,” she says, turning towards the prince. “There’s not a lot of books to borrow in my province, most go their whole lives making due with only knowing a few words and sentences.” 

“I apologize, which province do you come from again?” He asks, curiously. 

She doesn’t feel as if he was judging her, quite the opposite actually, he was the only person so far that she didn’t feel was labeling her. “Seven,” she replies easily, “Most kids start doing factory work or cleaning as soon as they turn thirteen. They don’t have time to learn.” 

He nods, rubbing his chin. “I am sorry to hear that, I didn’t realize that was such a struggle.” 

She can’t be mad at him or even upset with him, when she was a caste four she had no idea what the caste below her were struggling with. She was just an oblivious thirteen year old that was going to school and then coming back to her nice sized house and a mother that would do anything for her and her sisters. 

She had packed the majority of her books when they moved, even grabbing some of her sisters kid books. She took the rule of a teacher for her sisters, she would wake them up early before going to work to teach Feyre to read and stay up late to listen to Elain discuss her botany books. 

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” she replies, turning to face him and giving him a small smile. “Isn’t that why we're all here? To show our different backgrounds and represent our provinces?” 

He chuckles at that, “I can definitely tell that I am going to be learning a lot throughout this experience,” he retorts, glancing behind. “It's getting late and I am told that you’ll have a busy day tomorrow. Can I walk you to your room?” 

She nods, exiting the library with three books and a new hope. If the most she could do while here was to bring awareness to the unjust treatment given to the lower castes then she would happily leave when the time came knowing that she did something to hopefully better the community. 

Chapter Four: Cassian 

Mor chatted on about the women and who she was rooting for, talking about their gowns and their hair. As if that was all it took to win the competition to become Queen. “I think Rhysand taking Venserra was a positive sign,” Mor states as Cassian looks around the room, out of the corner of his eye he sees a swish of red through one of the doors. Unnoticed by all, except him. “Unless, do you think he's sending her home?” 

Cassian pauses and turns towards Mor. “Do you really think he would send someone home the night of? Especially Vanserra?” he questions. 

She smirks at him, “Especially Vanserra? Do I sense that someone fancies one of the girls?” she says, as he glares at her. They both knew what would happen if either of them connected with one of the girls. He had no interest in risking his life and position for a woman who would take part in such a competition. She pretends not to notice his look, “Besides, for one it would be a total power move and they have history, he already knows that she isn’t compatible.” 

He raises an eyebrow at Mor, “And where did you read that? A gossip magazine in france? He’s met her twice before, but I doubt anything has come of it. He's known since he was fourteen that he was destined for the selection.” 

Mor humphs at that. “Why don’t you want to guess? There has to be one girl that you think would be perfect for Rhysand,” she inquires with a determined look on her face. Cassian knew that he wouldn’t be able to get away from her unless he gave her an answer. 

He pondered over the girls, he wouldn’t be able to probably guess until he knew more about them. Cassian knew that his friend was more into intelligence than good looks, he wanted a partner that would keep him on his toes. Someone that would debate him on topics, to help him see both sides of the dice. He wouldn’t know this until he saw them more, spoke with them, which would be easy with this new assignment from the king. 

He pegged a few as just well known women, such as Vanserra, that were only in it for the exposure. He knew that at least half were in it for the chance to be queen but fine with being a three, for the fame, and the money that was waiting for them when they got home. However, he also knew that Vanserra knew politics, he bet the only reason she was here was because of her relations with mayors and councilmen. 

“The one in the green dress,” he finally concludes. He knew of her, that her name was Isabel and that she came from caste four, he knew of her father more. He had encountered him on one of the useless missions that the King had sent him on. Her father was harmless and he assumed so was she. 

“Which one?” Mor purses, going on her toes to look over where all the girls were chatting together. He wondered how long they would wait here, waiting to see if the prince was coming back to steal them away. “Oh? Really? I think she seems too shy for him.” 

He shrugs his shoulder at that, “I guess we will see tomorrow,” he retorts. He glances around the room, the girl in the red dress gone from the group. He glances back towards the exit, rolling his shoulders before turning back towards Mor. “Duty calls. I’ll see you at breakfast.” 

He moves through the crowd of camera men packing up their gear swiftly for someone of his height and weight, as he exits the room he looks down the hall. He knew he wouldn’t see any sign of her, but perhaps she just stepped out for some air. 

The halls were empty and he can’t help but feel disappointed. She treated Rhysand as an equal, he could see the fire in her eyes. He didn’t want that fire to be fueled by the rebels. He moves down the hallway, hearing voices getting fainter and fainter. 

He sees the blur of red move again, turning left down the hall towards the library. He frowns, why would she and whoever she was with have to do with the library. “Cassian!” 

He glances behind him, stopping when he sees Rhysand walking down the hall towards him. He notices the creaking noise of the library door and then clicks shut. “Have you seen any of the girls? I was hoping to talk to one of them and she disappeared,” he retorts. 

Cassian walks along with Rhysand, nodding towards the library door. “I think you’ll find a few in there,” Cassian says. Rhysand smiles in thanks, before moving forward to the door. Cassian moves down the hall, pausing as he watches Rhysand talk with whoever was inside. He didn’t expect any of the girls to attack the prince the first night, not even a rebel would act so quickly if they went to the trouble of getting a girl into the program. 

He moves into the darkness of the hallway as a girl appears down the hall. He recognizes her as Rita, the dark skin and purple dress a give away. He hadn’t been able to do too much research on her yet but seeing how her and Nesta Archeron decided to sneak away they would be first on his list. He knew it would most likely be written off and labeled plain curiosity but with the state of the world right now and how the rebels were acting more and more he couldn’t be sure. 

She moves down the hallway, the opposite way of her room, as he steps forward to follow her but as soon as he steps into the light Rhysand and Nesta emerge from the library. He pulls back into the shadows as they talk in the hallway. He's too focused on watching Rita’s form disappear down the hall. 

The King was clear in the assignment that he did not want Rhysand knowing that Cassian was sent to spy on him as well as all the girls. Nesta and Rhysand move past him, as they pass Cassian notices the books in her hands. He raised an eyebrow, the library was off limits to everyone except the royal family, no one Maybe she was a winning contender. 

~*~

He blinks his eyes, rubbing them as they burn, he knew they were red and bloodshot. He hadn’t slept well the night before and he knew that deciding to pull an all nighter wasn’t smart. The King could pull him aside at any moment to ask what he found out, the King would expect him to pull an all-nighter to learn everything about these girls. 

He looks at the pile of folders that he pushed to the side of his desk. He was able to get through more than half of the girls, the only bad thing about some of them was that they stole a lipstick when they were younger. Some spent their afternoons doing charity work while others were always looking for the next big thing. He looked over at the two folders left, Rita and Nesta. He knew he needed a clear head to examine their folders thoroughly, they were the only two so far that showed any sign of rebellion against the rules. 

There's a knock on the door and then Rhysand peeks his head in, “I thought you’d be here, early morning?” he asks, sitting down in one of the chairs across from him. 

Cassian looks around to make sure that none of the folders was showing his true purpose before looking back up at his friend. “More like a long night,” he retorts, running a hand through his hair as he sits back. “What about you? How many ladies did you end up spending time with?” 

“Just the two,” Rhysand says, he lets out a sigh as he crosses his leg. “I want to try to meet with all of them after breakfast and send home a few. Then I’ll start one on ones, they need something to talk about during the televised interviews.” 

Cassian stares at his friend. “You’re acting like it's a chore,” he retorts. 

Rhysand runs a hand through his hair, “It is,” he replies, “It’s exciting but now I need to continue to learn how to run a country while trying to find a wife and also take into consideration thirty-five girls feelings.” 

Cassian laughs at that, “Not to mention that you’ll be having your first official date, your first kiss, and-,” 

“Okay, okay,” Rhysand says, cutting him off, “I don’t think it needs to be publicized that my parents barely let me talk to girls growing up because I was always going to take part in the selection.” 

Cassian can’t help but smile at his friend's misery as he stands up, “Come on, I’ll give you all my tips and tricks while we walk to the dining hall. I am sure all the girls are already there waiting for you.” 

Rhysand groans as he follows Cassian out of the room, “What were all those files on your desk?” he asks quizzically. 

“Don’t try and change the subject, I’ll teach you how to be a heartbreaker by the end of this,” Cassian says, but Rhysand just gives him a look. “New recruits if you must know, your father has been making me do thorough background checks before anyone can head to training.”

Rhysand nods and Cassian feels horrible for lying to him but he wasn’t sure how Rhysand would react to him looking into the womens background. Cassian pauses outside of the dining room door, “I don’t think you need me to tell you that you’ll make the right decision, but I do,” he retorts, clapping Rhysand on the back. 

Rhysand chuckles, “Only took you about twenty years of friendship to be nice to me? Maybe I should have started the selection earlier,” he says. 

Cassian rolls his eyes, “Last time I ever give you a pep talk,” he retorts, pushing the door open, “Now go in there and break some hearts.” 

Rhysand rolls his eyes, as soon as he walks in the girls stand up in greeting. He waves his hand dismissively and they all sit down again. After they’ve all settled he says, “I am sorry I wasn’t able to talk with more of you last night. If you don’t mind, before we begin I would like to invite each of you one by one up here to join me for a conversation.” 

Cassian looks around, the girls beginning to turn to one another to chat excitedly. Rhysand moves forward to grab the first girl on the end and bring her over to the small couches. Cassian looks over the girls faces, going over their names and background. 

His eyes stop when he recognizes Nesta Archeron in the far corner, it was as if she put herself somewhere she thought she’d go unnoticed. She was turned away from the girls, her focus solely on the book in her hands as she flipped through the pages. It was one of the books she had borrowed last night, he could make out the faint title, Prythian War. 

The girl goes back to her seat and he realizes that he's missed four girls already. Vanserra comes up next, swaying her hips, as she takes the seat beside Rhysand. “I’ve missed you,” she says, leaning forward towards him. Cassian wants to gag as he turns away from them, trying to give Rhysand as much privacy as he can. 

He doesn’t hear Rhysands reply, he doubts that Vanserra did either by how she laughs loudly and then looks over at the girls. A couple of them looked envious, their meeting either went poorly or they were nervous for what would happen for their own. 

“I would love to see you again soon,” Vanserra says as she stands up and straightens her dress. She turns and walks down the short set of stairs, turning briefly to add, “You know where my room is.”

Cassian looked over at Rhysand with wide eyes, she had crazy written all over her. He chuckles when Rhysand looks away from her and turns to Cassian with a bewildered face. He was used to diplomats and proper ladies, these girls were out to kill. 

A few more girls go by, some just as flirty as Vanserra and some more reserved. He catches on to Rhysand extending an invitation to stay after breakfast to some of the girls. He’s not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. 

The girl sits down, nudging Nesta who looks up from her book. She smiles shyly at the girls around her before setting her book down and making the walk up towards Rhysand. “You look tired,” Rhysand says as she gets close enough. “Is your room not to your liking?” 

Cassian mentally faced palms, he really had some work to do to help Rhysand. Nesta chuckles, taking her seat. “No, the room is great. I almost didn’t come for breakfast because I was so comfortable,” Nesta replies, “I stayed up most of the night reading, I got through the History of Prythian and halfway through Prythian War. I can’t wait to write to my sisters about it.” 

“You have sisters? How many?” Rhysand asks curiously. 

“I have two younger sisters, Elain and Feyre. They would much prefer I write about the art or the garden rather than a history book,” Nesta replies easily. Cassian can’t help but notice how she's just talking with him rather than trying to flirt or get something from him. He couldn’t help but feel suspicious. 

“You should write to them, I’ll make sure it gets them by tonight. I think we have a photo book that displays all the art in the palace as well as a copy of all the flowers we have in the garden. I am sure that will please you all,” Rhysand says. 

“Really?” Cassian could hear the genuine surprise in her voice. “I am sure they would love that, the books would describe the beauty better than I ever could. I bet by the time I get home I’ll have my own palace garden and art.” 

Cassian frowns, she wasn’t expecting to become queen. He wondered if that was because she was disinterested in the prince, only here for a mission, or perhaps didn’t think she would make it far because of her caste. 

He gets pulled from his thoughts when they say goodbye. He watches her walk back to her place, picking up the book again, a ghost of a smile on her lips. He can’t help but smile as he turns towards Rhysand with a raised eyebrow. 

Rhysand smiles back and Cassian realizes that this is the first time he actually looks like he is enjoying himself. He has a new sense of energy as the rest of the girls file in, only faltering slightly when the last girl moves to her seat. 

Rhysand stands, glancing at his father, before addressing the girls. “I appreciate you all for letting me intrude on your breakfast, I hope you enjoyed the food,” Rhysand says, there is a murmur that floods through the girls in approval. “I won’t keep you any longer, I know my mother and Ianthe have plans for you ladies.” 

Cassian watches him swallow and then turn to glance at him, Cassian furrows his eyebrow. Rhysand turns back to face the girl, “If I asked you to stay back, please stay seated. The rest of you can follow my mother-,” he gestures towards the queen, who stands up and smiles at the girl. “So you can get started on your day.” 

The girls stand up looking at each other confused as they make their way towards the door, Vanserra looks back to give him a small wave. While Rita and another girl gently nudge Nesta in the correct direction as she continues to read, only looking up with bright eyes to share something she read. 

As soon as the door shuts, Cassian looks back to the girls in the room. He counted ten of them, as his friend began his “it's not you, it's me” speech. He felt bad, seeing the girls' disappointed faces didn’t help the matter, it was bad enough to break up with one girl but ten? He couldn’t imagine how hard it was for Rhysand, but he was relieved that he would have ten less girls to watch.

Not edited - any feedback would be appreciated, I love hearing from you guys!