Royal Obligations

Chapter 2: The Switch

Dear Wandering Musings,

Some people say you are born with luck. Some believe in objects that magically have the force of luck infused inside them. You know what I believe? I believe that all of this luck business is bull crap. Luck is just something you say to a person when they win a prize, or if your selected for the selection. If luck is an actual supernatural essence human beings are born with, I was left bare and cold.

My point being, you can't win the selection with luck. You would think I would be worrying about actually getting selected in the first place, but I have a plan for that one too. They say it's a lottery, that girls are chosen at random. But I have done research, years and years worth of research on this damn country, and all these selections had perfect looking girls. They were all gorgeous and stunning, none of them had a nose too large, eyes too far apart, eyebrows too close together. They were perfect on the outside, and Illéa didn't really care if they were ugly on the inside.

I'm not saying I am drop dead gorgeous. Because I really am not that special. But I'm pretty enough. I'm pretty enough with my blue eyes and pink skin. My dark eyelashes and my hair just a little too thin. Not only that, but they need a sob story in this selection. The foster girl with no family nor real home, the foster girl with no one and no one to really care for her. Maybe she will get a better life, maybe she will be the next queen of Illéa. My life is not a life one would brag about, but it is a life someone would use to their advantage.

***

"I can not believe I had to take you for these pictures." Ms. Torrean scowls as she sees all the mothers pampering and fixing up their daughters. Seeing the mother-daughter relationships around my province used to bother me. When I was little, I was practically seething with envy when a mother would be taking her daughter for a nice haircut.

Ms. Torrean smokes her cigarette and the mothers and daughters around us give me and Ms. Torrean looks of judgment. I ignore them and fix my dress, making sure one button too many was undone. You could call me revealing, but I like to call myself inventive. Strategizing.

My light blue dress was pathetic, but it was the only nice one Ms. Torrean had. Granted, I had to take in the waist a few sizes, but it was innovative. I looked pretty good for an outcast, if I do say so myself.

"Cordelia-" The man calling out the names stops. "Um, no last name."

I didn't have a last name because I wasn't important enough to have a last name.

I stand up and smooth out my dress and I can feel Ms. Torrean glaring at my back. "Hurry up, girl. I'm going to miss my show."

I nod before sitting down in the small booth, fixing my blond hair so it looks wavy and healthy.

"Smile." says the man behind the camera, a man that sounded tired of taking pictures of girls in the Sumner province.

I had nothing to smile about. Nothing to even hope for. I wasn't even entering in this stupid selection for love, because I don't believe in it. I don't believe in hope. I don't believe in true happiness.

But I smile anyway. I put on the most successful fake smile I have ever plastered on my face in my entire life. This smile was a switch. It was the switch. No more Cordelia No Last Name. This smile was the smile of Cordelia Schreave, future princess of Illéa. The girl who used to cry herself to sleep when she was little and became the grown woman who does as she's told and never argues.

I have put on the mask of Cordelia Schreave, and I don't ever plan on taking it off.

***

When we get back to the home and Ms. Torrean is safe out of sight, all of the little girls I find that are near close to a family rush to hug me.

"Cory!" Allison hops so I reach down and pick her up.

"How was it?" Callie asks and tugs on my dress. "Was it exciting? Do you think you'll get selected?"

I laugh softly and look down at her. "It wasn't anything special. They just called my name and took my picture. And I have no idea if I will get selected, but I'm confident." I smile at her sincerely and she smiles brightly at me back.

"Braid my hair!" Allison cheers and wraps her small arms around my neck.

"You got it," I say and walk into the closest thing to a living room we have here. Callie turns on the oldest television money could buy while I sit on the carpet. Allison leans against my crossed legs as I begin to braid her hair. A re-run of yesterdays The Report flashes on the screen, and the same routine replays once again in a limbo I cannot seem to escape.