The Unexpected Crown

Twenty-eight

"The competition is smaller. That means it becomes more competitive in a sense. It is my job to weed out those of you who are unfit to rule. So let's get to work, shall we?" Miss Jenkins shrieks, snapping a pointing stick into the palm of her hand.

We all shuffle into the ballroom, but instead of being met with guards to dance with, we find what seems to be stations. One for correct posture while walking, one to pour tea, one to eat properly, and one to arrange a set of flowers for a specific event. I watch to gauge the girls reactions, but it seems that only Raven and Della seem frightened to walk with five books on top of their heads.

I stumble only once. As Miss Jenkins was placing the seventh book on my head, she bumped into me and fell over, sending me wobbling to keep my balance. The others do fairly well. Posture might be the skill Bianca is best at. Erica of course woos the crowd by gracefully walking with nine books in five inch heels.

As the day goes on, both the Queen and Hunter have stopped by to see how we have done so far. Queen Georgia was friendly, smiling at each of us. Hunter was indifferent to us all. Watching us carefully as if this what he is basing his entire decision on. Halfway into his visit, he calls over Miss Jenkins and whispers something to her. Her eyes widen slightly but she nods, rushing away for a short bit to return with a clipboard and pen.

I try to observe the while arranging a stunning bouquet of flowers for the Spring Ball. Hunter leans forward to murmur with Miss Jenkins every so often making her furiously scribble something down on her paper.

Soon he leaves, offering me a wink as he makes his way across the floor and out the door. I smile softly as I add in a violet tulip.

"Time!" Miss Jenkins shouts, causing each of us to stop and step away from our flower arrangements.

She hustles over to the door that Hunter just left from and tapes one of her papers up.

"Here is a ranking of where you stand. His Highness is wanting things to be different; therefore, each of you can see where you are according to the preparedness to become a Princess. His personal feelings towards each of you is not taken into account. So someone in last could still win." Miss Jenkins steps aside so that we can see the list.

1. Corrine
2. Erica
3. Megan
4. Noelle
5. Raymie
6. Raven
7. Della
8. Aurora
9. Bianca
10. Lorelei

I smile when I see that Bianca isn't last but it is quickly wiped away when Erica both steps on my foot and hits my shoulder.

"Oops. I slipped." She sneers as I force myself to not react.

"I'm sure. Walking gracefully can be such a difficult task, but you'll get there one day." I smile falsely at her as I her eyes throw daggers at me.

She trots out the door with Della and Aurora on her heels. Trying their best to assist her in any way possible. Those of us still standing by the paper chuckle at the sight, including Miss Jenkins.

Sobering up, Lorelei's mood instantly shifts and she looks at her friends for guidance. Noelle did the best out of their small clique, but she seems to be at a loss over her trembling friend-now crying softly at her standing. Raven tries to calm her down, similar to the grand display Erica and her groupies pulled. The other four of us turn to face Miss Jenkins, ready for our next task.

"Oh! That's all for now ladies. Just discuss gown ideas with your maids for tomorrow. Ever since the late King Maxon hosted the Halloween Ball for his Selection, photographs of the Prince being involved in some sort of celebration preparation has always thrilled the press. Your maids will tell you more about it." Miss Jenkins concludes quickly, rushing towards a handful of maids ready to clean up the room.

"Maybe you could give Bianca and me lessons, Corrine. I hate to think that someone like Megan is doing better than us." Raymie nods towards the black haired girl who skips through the doors and touches each curtain as she passes by it.

"Why is she still here?" I enquire. She is not the sort of person who any citizen would be proud to call 'Queen'. If the King took away her maids, I'm not sure how long she could survive on her own.

"Her father, I think." Bia frowns, narrowing her eyes at the retreating girl. "I think she's up to something. No one can be that obtuse to everything!"

"Very true. Let's not forget about the fact that she wasn't that surprised when she heard about your kidnapping and she was obsessed about your time spent there when you came back." Raymie added, swaying back and forth.

"It could just be a coincidence. She has nothing against me. Voice your concerns with Hunter if you're that worried." I try to add, but their words still hit me hard. What if she is plotting against me?

~~~

My maids flit around my room so quickly that it makes my head ache. I close my eyes and all I see are more papers being handed out to me with different sketches of dresses, each more horrific than the last. It's not that my maids aren't talented - they definitely have more skill in their pinkie than I have in my entire body - they are just struggling with creativity. They can't get out of the idea of nature. A flower is pretty, but very typical. A tree is not even an idea. The yellow sun would just wash me out.

I lounge on a day bed with a cup of tea in my hand. The other hand rubs my temple, trying to coax away a headache. I most likely look like a spoiled, ungrateful, child, but I can't help the exhaustion that has took hold of me since I've come back to the palace. The haunting thoughts of Megan trying to knock me out of the competition also rattles me to no end.

"Miss, please look at this one!" Sarah holds out a blue sketch and I take it lazily.

My eyes widen at its gorgeous design. Blue silk is wrapped among layers of more blue fabric. Gemstones drizzle their way down the gown like water droplets. It's simple, but clear that I'd be water. I rack my brain if I've seen similar gowns, but I only come across the late Queen America's signature blue gowns. I would not want to copy the iconic woman's dresses, but perhaps the opposite could attract attention.

"Would you be able to make a flame? Not quite the yellow of the sun, but layers of red and orange, maybe a dash of blue?" I ask with a quirked eyebrow.

Sarah only smirks and nods once before turning toward her mess of ideas. She takes a few minutes to scribble and color before she hands the paper to me giddily.

"That's the one."