His Choice (The Selection)

Chapter Twenty Eight

Wrote by firerose11

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"Did you hear about Sarah's engagement?" Abigail whispered next to me as we sat in the plane with thirteen partly excited and mostly peeved girls. "Savannah said that she wasn't even back a day when her former boyfriend proposed."

I shrugged. "I hope she finds happiness with him, and they have tons of little talkative kids that will run around annoying the rest of us."

She scowled before a smile managed to break through and she cracked up. "He's likely the sort of guy who let's his wife do all the talking for him. "

Bexley shot us a dirty look across the aisle, but Abigail just leaned over me, sticking her tongue out at her.

"I forgot to thank you for the beautiful new dresses I received. I think the color's going to be all the rage after the Selection ends," she said with the friendly smile that a teddy bear gives someone before they ripped them apart in a horror movie.

The other girl snorted, snapping her magazine. "I can assure you that carrot and pea will not become popular."

"That just proves in," Abigail muttered softly before settling back in her seat. "Spoiled little brat-queen. I hope Charles kicks her pampered little butt out of the competition before I get sent home."

"Ember!" Savannah called, head popping over the top of the seat in front of me. "Did you see the new polls for the Selection?"

I didn't even get a chance to reply. The tabloid magazine was shoved into my head to reveal a wonderful close-up of me in my sweaty work-out gear.

"That shows that the paparazzi are everywhere," my seat partner remarked, "but I really think that it's the best picture they've taken of you. You know, besides the ones where you and the prince were sharing massive amounts of spit in the most unsanitary way."

I gave her a look to which Abigail merely shrugged and popped in her earbuds. Figuring I wasn't going to get anything else from her, I looked at the magazine.

The Public's Favorite, Not The Queen's Favorite

Much to the extreme dismay of Queen Celia, Baffin's Selected remains in the running for Prince Charles's hand.

Miss Ember Shields of Baffin and the daughter of the potential next governor of that province was chosen for the prince's Selection. Her time at the palace has caused quite the stir, reminding some of the older generation of former Queen America's Selection.

So far, Miss Shields has managed to befriend several of her fellow Selected, causing for many amusing tales, made an enemy of at least the Queen's favorite candidate for her brother's hand, and been seen on several occasions with our prince.

The public is lapping up this young lady's story as she grows closer to the crown. While she may be from one of the richer and more influential families in Illéa, she is not afraid to get her hands dirty, personally making sure that one of her maids was all right after an unfortunate accident.

We are all eager to see if Ember Shields can remain n the running for the prince's heart, or if one of her many rivals will steal the crown out from beneath her.

I curled up my nose in disgust. My father had to be lapping up this story and similar ones like a kitten with a bowl of milk. Sick of looking at the poll on the next page where the numbers next to my name and picture showed a large margin between me and the remaining Selected, I tossed the magazine back to Savannah.

"It's so exciting, Ember," she managed to whisper quietly. "Just think: once you win this thing, I can say that I knew you during the Selection."

I muttered something in return that didn't quite register and leaned back in my seat. Closing my eyes, I prepare myself for the last moments of true rest I would get for the next two weeks.