The Crowns Choice

❦ Chapter Eight: Atlas ❦

Someone knocked on the door just as I was downing the last of a glass of water, the cool liquid soothing my dry throat after a long day of chores. I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand and glanced toward the door, half-expecting it to be one of the neighbours needing help with something or maybe even Lyla playing some prank. But when I opened it, I was greeted by a man dressed in finely tailored clothing, a stark contrast to the worn, practical clothes I had on.

He was an advisor—I could tell by the emblem stitched onto his cloak, the royal insignia gleaming in the evening light. My heart sank. This wasn't just a casual visit.

"Atlas Everheart?" he asked, his tone formal, but not unkind.

I nodded, gripping the door handle a little tighter. "Yeah, that's me."

He cleared his throat, holding up a parchment. "I'm here on behalf of the royal Selection. We'll need to take your measurements and gather some information for the upcoming events."

I blinked at him, feeling like I'd just been thrown into icy water. Measurements? Events? It was all becoming too real, too fast. Before I could even process what he was saying, my mum appeared behind me, her hands still damp from whatever she'd been cleaning.

"Good evening," she greeted the advisor with a practised politeness that made me realise she'd been expecting this. "I'm his mother. Let me help you with that."

The advisor gave a curt nod, clearly relieved to deal with someone who wasn't as stunned as I was. I stepped aside, letting my mum take over, while I found myself staring blankly at the table, my mind struggling to keep up.

"These are the measurements we'll need," the advisor was saying, listing off things I couldn't quite grasp at the moment. "Chest, waist, inseam—"

My mum's calm, assured voice answered him, asking questions, making notes, and all the while, I sat there, feeling like an outsider in my own life.

Lyla peeked out from the kitchen, her eyes wide with curiosity. She must have sensed something big was happening because she stayed unusually quiet, just watching from a distance.

"Atlas," the advisor addressed me again, snapping me back to reality. "We'll need you to be present for the fitting tomorrow. It's crucial for formal attire."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I didn't even own anything remotely "formal," and the thought of being measured for it felt like I was being sized up for something I didn't want to wear.

The advisor continued to drone on about schedules and expectations, while my mum handled it all with grace. She even smiled, as if this were just another day, not the day her son got dragged into a royal Selection he didn't even want to be a part of.

When the advisor finally left, leaving behind a list of instructions and a promise to return the next day, I just stood there, staring at the closed door.

Mum turned to me, her expression a mix of concern and forced optimism. "It's going to be alright, Atlas. We'll get through this."

"Get through what?" I mumbled, shaking my head. "This is insane, Mum. I'm just a Five. What do they want with me?"

She sighed, reaching out to touch my arm. "You're not just a Five, Atlas. You're my son, and you have as much right to be in this Selection as anyone else."

"But why me?" I asked, more to myself than to her. "There are so many others, better options, better choices..."

Mum's eyes softened, and she tilted her head, trying to catch my gaze. "Because they see something in you, something special. Don't doubt yourself, Atlas. You've got more to offer than you think."