The Selection: One of the Selected

3: The Illéa Report

A/n: Hello, this chapter is about a week or so after Quinn handed in her application and met America: I didn't want this to get boring, so I skipped ahead. It's just a few days before the Report announces who has been chosen. :)

'Quinn! Quinn!'

I was awoken in the unpleasant way of Poppy bouncing on my bed, and I rolled over, pulling the pillow over my head. 

'What do you want at this early hour?' I complained, and I heard Poppy scoff.

'Early hour? It's, like, midday already. And sunny,' she grinned, while I was still being jogged to and fro on my mattress. I threw the pillow at her and she squealed, rolling to the floor. 

'But seriously. You need to get up, as I'm sure in the palace they don't allow everyone to have a lie-in.' And the welcome sound of her footsteps fading down the hallway (but not the click of the door, as she had left it open) filled my ears. 

'Poppy, I won't get picked! We told you how many people were at the Services Office on the first day!' I shouted after her, but got no response. 

                                                                                        ~ * ~

That evening

We were crowded in the lounge; Aziel, mother and father squeezed on the sofa, and Poppy and I in front. 

'Ooo, the last Report before the selected is announced! Are you excited, Quinn?' Mother asked.

I wanted to be, I really did, but I couldn't help asking myself if I was doing this because my family needed the money, or because I was hoping for a chance. 

Before I could answer, the national anthem blasted out the TV and Aziel fumbled with the remote to turn it down.

We fell silent as the camera panned across to the king with his advisors, and, on the left, was the queen with Prince Maxon. I stared at him for as long as I could before the screen cut to elsewhere; his cropped honey blonde hair, his brown, nervous eyes, his tailored grey suit. 

The king was discussing the small recent rebel attacks, and the war being faced in New Asia. 
His advisors discussed matters that seemed fascinating to my parents, but Aziel was picking at a loose thread on the arm of the chair, Poppy's eyes were watching out the window, and I was examining my dirtied nails. 

Eventually, the Master of Events arose from his seat to speak, and all eyes flicked to the screen. When he said that there were thousands of girls who had submitted their names, I was sure I saw Maxon shift in his seat and wipe his palms on his trousers. 

The advisor raised his hands, and finished with, 'We could not think of anyone more qualified to guide us through this exciting time than our very own Mr Gavril Fadaye!' 
As soon as the name left his lips, the room through the screen broke into a smattering of applause; even mother began to clap, before she realised we weren't actually there and abruptly stopped. 

Gavril seemed to dance into the shot, wearing a sharp blue suit and sporting a gold pin on his lapel.

'Gooood evening, Illéa!' he sang, flashing bright white teeth. After he made a brief introduction, he concluded it with, 'And now, I get the chance to be speaking with the man of the hour, our Prince Maxon!' 

The screen showed Maxon walk over to Gavril, and sit down at a chair beside the interviewer. 

'Nice to see you again, Your Highness.'

'Thank you, Gavril. The pleasure is all mine.' As Maxon spoke, I saw Poppy clap her hands with excitement just at hearing his up-tight voice.

Gavril asked a few more questions, some made Maxon laugh while others caused him to squirm uncomfortably. As soon as it had finished, father shut the television off and sent us to bed.

'But father, it's only-' I paused while I leant into the kitchen to check the clock strung high on the wall, '-quarter to nine!' I protested, but he shook his head, not budging on his decision. 

'Oh, fine,' I shrugged, and Aziel sauntered up the stairs, Poppy following without complaint. She always would follow mother or father's orders, no matter what they were, without so much as a grumble. 

Once I was in my pyjamas, I went to slip downstairs to get a drink of water, but I paused at the top of the steps.

'Three days. Three days.' I could hear father urgently insisting. 

'She has to get picked. I don't know how long we can last on the tiny savings you left us with!'

'I left you with? I didn't fire myself for...for goodness sake!' there was the sound of a glass being slammed onto the coffee table. Father only used glasses for an alcoholic drink. 

My plans of getting water were abandoned and I scurried back to my room.

'Was that...was that one of the kids?' mother's voice said from downstairs.

 Maxon's pov:

This was like a form of hell. Father had insisted  that I looked through some of the photos taken of the possible candidates. I did not want to, but more than that I did not want to argue with father, so at this point I was flicking through the images. Over make-upped faces, faces coated with dust.

There was a red headed girl, who looked as if she was full of love. For me? For...someone else? The next photo made me laugh out loud. It was a girl, with black, straight hair that looked so smooth it could be oil running down her shoulders. But her expression, her green eyes squinting and her face contorted in shock, was what made me chuckle. The light was glinting in her eyes brightly, as if directly aiming for her pupils. 

'Maxon, is it not a little rude to be laughing at a woman's face?' Mother walked straight into my room without knocking, disappointment written all over her face.

'Oh, no, mother, look,' I pushed the photo over my desk to her, and a smile found itself onto her lips.

'Hmm, that is...unfortunate. I thought you didn't want to look through the photos?'

'I don't, but a few images can't hurt...'

She clearly saw the large pile of pictures next to my hand, but didn't acknowledge it.

'Your father?'

'It appears so.'

'Hmph...' and, with a small smile, she left.

As soon as she was gone, I dropped my head to the table and sighed. It was so nerve-wracking, and I couldn't talk to anyone about it without seeming unprofessional. 

How did father cope? Actually, that was probably by drinking and I wasn't about to become an alcoholic. What would I do?

A/n: I probably won't do many/anymore parts in Maxon's point of view, but as Quinn isn't at the palace [yet], then I thought I would write how he reacted to her photo :)

Thanks for reading, and sorry this chapter is a little long! (maybe)