The Elite ✓

eleven | teardrops

"Rudeness will repel, where courtesy would attract friends."

illéan royal etiquette booklet

*

I'm peeking out of the corner of my eyes when my maids throw the doors open in an overdramatic manner, and I'm left wondering what they could possibly have in store. Their faces remain stoic as they practically float around the room and begin dusting the premises.

"Time check," Chauntelle asks while readjusting the mismatched covers of the highlighters on my dresser. The etiquette book sits next to it and I'm wincing in utter horror. She's made herself busy, moving her body from one station to another: The verdict is in, and she's waiting to tell me.

Jane speaks next, glancing at the clock tower as she pushes open the balcony doors, "Nine antemeridiem," her feet shuffle softly on the ground, "Time to wake up, Lady Holly."

I glue my eyes shut as if they were allergic to sunlight, the exhaust reeling me in, but just like the past two days, the deep slumber was nonexistent. I wanted nothing more than a cure to my insomnia. Lately, my visit to Esteban had taken over my thoughts, and I was left wondering how I could possibly convince Lucas to waltz out of the palace, let alone to grounds I knew I shouldn't have been on in the first place.

It wasn't as if I had multiple opportunities, anyway. With the televised dates and the excruciating workload on, really, everyone's shoulder, our timings never really did match. And when King Maxon and Lucas took an inventorial trip to New Asia to catch up on their progress and possibly anything remotely related to Gregory Illea, I truly hadn't seen him in a while.

With light, classical tunes sifting through the air, I made my way done to breakfast, twirling the stray piece of satin on my dress over and over.

Today marked the first day since Denise' shocking departure that I had actually eaten with the group. Though the news no longer bothered me as much, I generally woke up a full hour after what was expected of me and ended up isolated. All eyes were on me as I dragged a floor-length regal gown in a yellow ombre to my seat. And the stares continued throughout the meal, especially as America gestured me to take King Maxon's seat.

Emmett gaped at my audacity.

"She wakes up on time? Breakthrough of the century." America teases me, half-buried in the irresistible strawberry muffin she swears by. I throw my head back in laughter, it felt good.

I glance at her, waving the magazine Chauntelle handed me prior to breakfast, "She was too busy screaming."

"Congratulations on being the fan-favourite of the Elite, by the way." America smiles, "But I take it that you have something else on your mind."

America is too good at reading signals.

I turn to her in confusion, "What would you do, if a possible, yet risky and illegal alliance had a relatively high possibility of helping Illea in the future?" My voice is shaky and almost a whisper; The other girls don't notice my sudden urge to cry or the jerky movements of my hands as they attempt to suit my grim expression.

"Holly," She places her hand on top of my fidgety one in as a friendly gesture, "Being a Queen, a leader, everything, requires a risk. But a risk is a risk, and an unsuccessful one can result in one's utter downfall." I take a sip of tea, brows furrowed. She continues, "I remember taking a massive, massive risk in my time. Nicolletta, August and Georgia. And it paid off."

"But if it doesn't work?"

"Then it doesn't work." She notes.

*

For once, my maid's aren't in my room and I'm given the time of day. Not only has this palace become boring, but it's also lonely, too. The girls are more close-knit with one another than they are with me, which is unsettling.

Slowly, I unlatch the lock on my balcony doors and push them open. The sun shines directly in my eye, and it stings, but I only push myself farther, hands gripping the railing, body leaned out. My face is tilted towards the sky and I breathe what I think is fresh air.

"I can't do this," I whisper. "I can't do this," My tone escalates and volume increases as I continue to speak. "I can't do this. No. I can't. I can't do this."

I say it over and over again, louder each time until I'm fully screaming. The anger inside me is flaring, and l push the thoughts out of my mind. "Do I, or do I not want to be here?" My voice is sore, creaky, even.

"I do." I say, "Because I think I'm actually starting to like the one person whose life I can't stand."

It's true. I can't take this life: I can't give up myself, the personality I want to please the public; my lifestyle, the way I dress, my privacy. My sanity. It's all an illusion to the eye, and everyone who isn't just winning for the crown is just about fed up with what goes on behind closed doors.

I jerk back when I spot Will from the corner of my eye. He's halfway through my door, "Elope?" He asks.

He thinks I'm talking about him.

*

ALL 'WILL' SUPPORTERS, DON'T KILL ME!

Hey, what's up. Hoping you all had a good/restful break bc I definitely had a great day blowing into a plastic trumpet as loudly as possible while being drenched in rain, my year's turning out great already. No, but seriously though: I'm hooked on this new series and thinking of alternate endings (because the original one was full on terrible) has become a hobby. Cheers.

Pick your poison, guys!

Comment down below which of the remaining Selected you either like or dislike the most:

Holly, Sarah, Mia, Genevieve, or Emmett?

soph x