The Selection series 1-3. Кира Касс
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Maxon needing to find someone who actually looked regal and photographed well with him, someone who would look nice on a stamp.
And now we were all lined up in identical cream-colored, cap-sleeved, drop-waist dresses with a heavy red sash across our shoulders, taking pictures with Maxon. The photos would be printed in the same magazine, and the magazine staff was going to make picks. I was kind of uncomfortable with it all. This was the thing I’d been bothered about since the beginning, that Maxon was looking for nothing more than a pretty face. Now that I’d met him, I was sure that wasn’t true, but it got to me that people thought that Maxon was like that.
I sighed. Some of the girls were walking around, munching on no-drip foods and chatting, but the majority, including myself, were standing around the perimeter of the set erected in the Great Room. A huge golden tapestry that reminded me of the drop cloths Dad used at home was hung up against a wall and spilled across the floor. A small couch was off to one side and a pillar was on the other. In the middle the Illéan emblem stood, giving the whole silly thing an air of being patriotic. We watched as each Selected paraded across the space to be photographed, and many who watched were whispering things they liked and didn’t or what they were planning for themselves.
Celeste walked up to Maxon with a sparkle in her eyes, and he smiled as she approached. The moment she reached him, she put her lips to his ear and whispered something. Whatever it was, Maxon leaned his head back with laughter and nodded, agreeing with her little secret. It was strange to see them like that. How could someone who got along so well with me do the same with someone like her?
“All right, miss, just face the camera and smile, please,” the photographer called, and Celeste immediately complied.
She turned herself toward Maxon and placed a hand on his chest, tilted her head down, and gave an expert smile. She seemed to understand how to use the lighting and set to her best advantage and kept moving Maxon over a few inches or insisting on changing their pose. Where some of the girls took their time and made their turn with Maxon last—particularly those who still hadn’t secured a date—Celeste appeared to want to show her efficiency instead.
In a bolt of speed, she was done, and the photographer called for the next girl. I was so busy watching Celeste run her fingers down Maxon’s arm as she exited that a maid had to gently remind me it was my turn.
I gave my head a tiny shake and willed myself to focus. I gathered up my dress in my hands and walked toward Maxon. His eyes shifted from Celeste to me, and maybe I imagined it, but his face seemed to brighten a bit.
“Hello, my dear,” he sang.
“Don’t even start,” I warned, but he merely chuckled and reached his hands out.
“Hold on a moment. Your sash is crooked.”
“Not surprised.” The darn thing was so heavy, I could feel it shifting every time I stepped.
“I suppose that’ll do,” he said jokingly.
I fired back, “In the meantime, they ought to hang you up with the chandeliers.” I poked at the glittering medals across his chest. His uniform, which looked almost like something the guards would wear, only far more elegant, also had golden things on his shoulders and a sword hanging off his hip. It was a bit much.
“Look at the camera, please,” the photographer called. I looked up and saw not just his eyes but the faces of all the other girls watching, and my nerves shot up.
I wiped my moist hands on my dress and exhaled.
“Don’t be nervous,” Maxon whispered.
“I don’t like everyone looking at me.”
He pulled me very close and put his hand on my waist. I went to step back, but Maxon’s arm held me securely to him. “Just look at me like you can’t stand me.” He squinted into a mock pout, which made me crack up.
The camera flashed at just that second, capturing us both laughing.
“See,” Maxon said. “It’s not so bad.”
“I guess.” I was still tense for a few minutes as the photographer shouted out instructions and Maxon shifted from a close embrace to a loose one, or turned me so my back was against his chest.
“Excellent,” the photographer said. “Could we get a few on the lounge?”
I was feeling better now that it was half over, and I sat next to Maxon with the best posture I could muster. Every once in a while, he’d poke or tickle me, making my smile grow bigger until it burst into laughter. I hoped the photographer was catching the moments just before my face scrunched together, otherwise this whole thing was going to be a disaster.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed a waving hand, and a moment later Maxon turned as well. A man in a suit was standing there, and he clearly needed to speak to the prince. Maxon nodded, but the man hesitated, looking to him and then to me, evidently questioning my presence.
“She’s fine,” Maxon said, and the man came over and knelt before him.
“Rebel attack in Midston, Your Majesty,” he said. Maxon sighed and dropped his head wearily. “They burned acres of crops and killed about a dozen people.”
“Where in Midston?”
“The west, sir, near the border.”
Maxon nodded slowly and looked as if he was adding this piece of information to others in his head. “What does my father say?”
“Actually, Your Majesty, he wanted your thoughts.”
Maxon seemed taken aback for a split second, then spoke. “Localize troops in the southeast of Sota and all along Tammins. Don’t go as far south as Midston, it’d be a waste. See if we can intercept them.”
The man stood and bowed. “Excellent, sir.” As swiftly as he’d come, he vanished.
I knew we were supposed to get back to the pictures, but Maxon didn’t seem nearly so interested in it all now.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
He nodded somberly. “Just all those people.”
“Maybe we should stop,” I suggested.
He shook his head, straightened up, and smiled, placing my hand in his. “One thing you must master in this profession is the ability to appear calm when you feel anything but. Please smile, America.”
I raised myself up and gave a shy smile to the camera as the photographer clicked away. In the middle of those last few frames, Maxon squeezed my hand tight, and I did the same to his. In that moment, it felt like we had a connection, something true and deep.
“Thank you very much. Next, please,” the photographer sang.
As Maxon and I stood, he held on to my hand. “Please don’t say anything. It’s imperative you’re discreet.”
“Of course.”
The click of a pair of heels coming toward us reminded me that we weren’t alone, but I kind of wanted to stay. He gave my hand one last squeeze and released me, and as I walked away, I considered several things. How nice it felt that Maxon trusted me enough to let me know this secret, and how it had sort of felt like we were alone for a moment. Then I thought about the rebels, and how the king was usually quick to point out their sedition, but I was supposed to keep this news to myself. It didn’t quite make sense.
“Janelle, my dear,” Maxon said as the next girl approached. I smiled to myself at the tired endearment. He lowered his voice, but I still heard. “Before I forget, are you free this afternoon?”
Something kind of knotted in my stomach. I guessed it was a late batch of nerves.
“She must have done something terrible,” Amy insisted.
“That’s not what she made it sound like,” Kriss countered.
Tuesday pulled on Kriss’s