Chapter 10: Narrowing the Ranks

The palace felt impossibly vast in the late afternoon light, corridors stretching in endless lines of polished marble and gilded arches. Everleigh moved carefully through them, her footsteps soft but deliberate, each echo a reminder that she was alone now. The first cut had left her reeling, but it also made something painfully clear: she could not rely on anyone but herself. Rowan was nowhere to be seen, and the comfort of his presence was only a memory.

She clutched the edges of her dress as she walked, her mind replaying the faces of those dismissed. Half of the girls gone, tears and whispers lingering in the hall like a bitter perfume. The thought of the smaller second cut looming over them tightened her chest. Every misstep mattered. Every glance, every word, every small imperfection could mark her for dismissal.

As she rounded a corner, she caught sight of Krystal, standing near the far end of the hall, her posture flawless, her expression carefully neutral. The other girls whispered as they passed, casting nervous glances at her. Krystal’s reputation as a natural rival had begun to solidify, and Everleigh felt the tension coil in her stomach. She did not approach; she did not engage. Instead, she focused on her own footing, her own movements, letting nothing shake her concentration.

The afternoon lessons were less forgiving than those of the morning. The instructors moved like clockwork, demonstrating etiquette, posture, and poise in ways that demanded precise imitation. Everleigh followed each movement as best she could, but without Rowan’s gentle guidance, her progress felt halting. Her hands were too stiff during the delicate bowing exercises; her balance wavered on the smallest pivot; her answers during conversational drills were cautious, sometimes hesitant.

Yet, with each stumble, she corrected herself, forcing her movements smoother, her posture straighter, and her voice firmer. She could hear the quiet murmurs of the other girls—some impressed by her persistence, others noting her errors with subtle judgment—but she refused to falter. Every lesson, every trial, every corrected step was a quiet victory in itself.

By mid-afternoon, exhaustion had set in. Her muscles ached, her feet were sore from the polished marble, and her mind throbbed from constant vigilance. She paused in a side corridor, pressing her hand against the cool stone wall, and allowed herself a small, private breath. Survival demanded more than strength; it required strategy, awareness, and unwavering determination. She would not fail. Not now, not ever.

The attendant overseeing the group approached, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. “Gather in the central hall,” she commanded, her voice crisp and unyielding. “The next cut will be announced shortly. Pay attention, and do not falter in your composure.”

Everleigh’s stomach tightened. She adjusted her shoulders and followed the other girls into the hall. Thirty-five of them remained, all standing in tense silence, waiting for the verdict. Some whispered quietly, sharing nervous reassurances; others stared straight ahead, their eyes rigid with fear and determination.

The elder, Elder Thalos, returned, his presence commanding as he stepped forward. His gaze swept over the line of girls, precise and evaluating. “You have survived the first phase of Selection,” he said, his voice filling the hall. “Your performance in lessons, composure, and behavior has been noted. However, the path ahead is unforgiving. Today, we must narrow the ranks further.”

Everleigh felt her pulse quicken. The air was heavy with tension. Five girls would be sent away this time—a smaller cut, but no less significant. The pressure was suffocating.

He began to call the names, each one a sharp sound cutting through the stillness. Everleigh recognized a few, girls who had struggled during lessons or faltered under scrutiny. When the first name was called, the girl stepped forward, trembling, her eyes wide with panic. An attendant handed her a slip and guided her toward the exit. Quiet sobs rippled through the line as other girls followed, five in total.

Everleigh held her breath as the last name was read. Relief washed over her in uneven waves. She had survived the second cut. Only thirty remained. She allowed herself a fleeting sense of accomplishment, but it was immediately tempered by the realization that this was only the beginning. The academy awaited, and the true trials would soon commence.

The attendants moved to organize the remaining girls. “Prepare yourselves,” one instructed. “You will be escorted to the academy. Tonight marks the start of your formal training.”

Everleigh followed silently, her body stiff from fatigue, her mind racing with anticipation and fear. The palace corridors felt endless as they moved through them, each step echoing like a drumbeat in her chest. The academy awaited, a place she had only glimpsed in passing, yet it promised challenges far greater than anything she had encountered so far.

When they reached the carriage hall, the girls were divided into small groups. Everleigh climbed into one of the carriages, her hands gripping the edge of the seat as the vehicle jolted forward. Outside, the palace gardens gleamed in the soft evening light, their fountains and hedges bathed in gold and shadow. She pressed her forehead to the window for a moment, letting the sight ground her. She was leaving the palace proper behind, entering the world where the real Selection would unfold.

The ride was silent, the other girls absorbed in their own thoughts, some whispering nervously to one another, others staring at the passing scenery with rigid composure. Everleigh focused on her breathing, counting silently, preparing herself mentally for the challenges that lay ahead. She would need every ounce of focus, every bit of resilience, and every lesson she had learned in a single day to survive the academy.

When the carriage came to a stop, the girls were guided out and into the academy grounds. The building was impressive, larger and more austere than the palace itself, with towers rising high above and a courtyard lined with stone statues of past queens and princesses. Everleigh took it all in, her eyes wide despite her exhaustion. The academy was both beautiful and intimidating, a place where only the strongest, smartest, and most adaptable would thrive.

They were led inside, each girl escorted to a shared room with simple beds and basic furnishings. Everleigh claimed a corner, taking a seat on her bed as she surveyed the room. The other girls were quiet, some unpacking small belongings, others sitting in tense silence, waiting for instructions.

She let herself breathe fully for the first time that day, running a hand through her hair. She was among the thirty chosen. She had survived two cuts in a single day, navigated the palace, and maintained her composure under constant scrutiny. Yet she knew the true test was only beginning.

As she lay back on the bed, exhaustion overtaking her, Everleigh allowed herself a single thought of Rowan. She pictured his smile, the reassurance in his eyes, and the memory of the river where their paths had first crossed. He was not here, but the memory lent her a quiet strength. She would face the academy alone, yes, but she would not fail. She would endure, she would adapt, and she would survive.

The lights dimmed, and the room settled into a hushed quiet. The echoes of the day lingered, the pressure of the Selection hanging heavy in the air. Everleigh closed her eyes, her resolve firm. Tomorrow would bring new lessons, new tests, and new rivalries. But she was ready. She had survived the palace and the first cuts. She would survive the academy.

And somewhere deep within her, a spark of determination burned brighter than fear.