Chapter 8: The First Cut

The girls waited in the grand hall, the echo of their footsteps bouncing off high ceilings and polished marble floors. Everleigh shifted from foot to foot, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her mind a tangle of thoughts. Only a day had passed since she’d arrived at the palace, but it already felt like a lifetime.

Her gaze wandered over the thirty-five other girls who had made it this far. Some stared straight ahead, lips tight with determination; others whispered nervously, hands wringing in their laps or clutching the edges of their dresses. Everleigh’s stomach knotted as she thought of Rowan, the only familiar face in her past life. She wished he were here, his teasing grin and easy charm a comforting presence in the midst of this suffocating formality.

Her eyes darted across the hall, scanning the crowd. Where is he? she wondered, the thought pulling her away from the immediate task of standing perfectly still. For just a moment, she imagined him appearing at the far end of the hall, pushing through the attendants with that confident stride that had always made her laugh and sigh at once.

A sharp tap of a polished slipper against the marble brought her back to reality. “Focus!” The attendant’s voice snapped like a whip. Everleigh blinked, startled.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said quickly, straightening her back and clenching her fists to steady her shaking hands. The woman moved on without a word, but the moment left a heat in Everleigh’s cheeks and a fresh surge of anxiety in her chest. She could not afford to appear distracted here—not with so much at stake.

The elder’s voice carried across the room, calm yet commanding. “You have completed the first phase of the Selection. Your evaluations have been tallied, and the results are ready to be announced.”

The hall fell silent. Every girl held her breath. Some glanced at one another, eyes wide with anticipation or fear. Others closed their eyes, muttering prayers under their breath.

Everleigh’s throat felt dry. She couldn’t stop her heart from hammering against her ribs. The memory of the tests—the mirrors, the writing, the health evaluations—flashed through her mind. Each moment of scrutiny, every whispered note from the attendants, every judgmental glance weighed heavily upon her.

“Half of you will not continue,” the elder said, his eyes sweeping the line of girls like a hawk. “This is the first cut. Listen carefully. Those whose names are called will return to your homes, your families, and your villages. Those who remain shall continue toward the crown.”

The tension thickened, wrapping around her like a cloak. Everleigh gripped the edges of her dress, knuckles white, forcing herself to breathe steadily. She could not let panic take over.

The first name was called. A girl near the front stepped forward, trembling. Her dark hair was neatly braided, her face pale with anxiety. A small sob escaped as an attendant handed her a slip of paper and guided her toward the exit. Behind her, another girl, her shoulders stiff with pride, followed reluctantly. Names were called one after another, the sound of dismissal echoing painfully through the hall.

Everleigh’s stomach churned. Every step the girls took away from her made the reality of the process sharper, more cruel. This was not just a competition—it was a separation of those deemed worthy from those who were not.

She tried to focus on her breathing, slow and deliberate, but her mind kept wandering. She imagined Rowan watching from somewhere outside, wishing she could show him she could survive this. The thought made her chest ache with longing and fear.

The attendant’s sharp voice broke through her daydream. “Everleigh, eyes forward! This is not the time for distractions!”

Her head snapped up. “Yes, ma’am,” she whispered, cheeks burning. She lowered her gaze, aware of the prickle of heat across her skin. She couldn’t let herself be singled out again. Not now, not ever.

Names continued to be read, each one slicing through the hall like a knife. Girls clutched at their dresses, some collapsing in tears, others walking with stiff determination. Everleigh watched as friendships she had only just begun to notice were torn apart in seconds. The atmosphere was a mix of quiet sobs, whispered prayers, and the crisp, authoritative commands of the attendants.

Thirty-five names were called. Half the girls had been dismissed. The hall seemed emptier now, but the air was heavier than ever. For those who remained, the weight of the Selection settled like a stone in the chest.

Everleigh exhaled slowly, relief washing over her in uneven waves. She had survived. She was still in the running. Yet even as relief took hold, another emotion crept in: dread. She had seen the faces of those dismissed—the hopelessness, the fear, the shame. She did not want to be in their place again. Not in any future test.

An attendant approached, her eyes sharp, her movements brisk. “Let this be a lesson. The palace does not forgive hesitation. The crown does not forgive weakness. Remember this as you move forward.”

Everleigh nodded, swallowing hard. She could feel the truth of the words deep in her bones. Every glance, every word, every choice would be weighed against her. There would be no room for mistakes.

The remaining girls were herded into a smaller chamber to rest and prepare for the next phase of the Selection. Everleigh sank into a chair, her hands pressed into her lap. Her legs ached from standing, her mind raced with worry, and yet she felt a fierce determination ignite within her. She could not fail. She would not fail.

The room was a mixture of whispered speculation and quiet sobs. Some of the girls had already begun sizing each other up, their expressions calculating. Everleigh realized, with a sinking feeling, that the trials were not only of skill or beauty—they were also about politics, alliances, and appearances. Every smile could be a strategy; every word, a test.

As she listened to the whispers around her, Everleigh allowed herself a small, private thought of Rowan. If only he were here to steady her nerves, to make her laugh and remind her of who she truly was beneath this suffocating formality. The thought gave her strength, a secret tether to the life she had left behind.

But there was no one here to help her. She was on her own now, surrounded by girls she barely knew, in a palace that measured worth in ways she was only beginning to understand.

The first cut had taken its toll. Half of the girls gone, half of the dreams shattered in an instant. Everleigh’s stomach twisted at the thought of what the next phases would demand. There would be no mercy, no comfort, no second chances. And yet, she survived.

For the first time since arriving, she allowed herself a small, steadying breath. She had made it through the first challenge. It was only the beginning, and the path ahead would be treacherous. But she would endure. She had to.

With her chin lifted, Everleigh stood as the attendants began organizing the remaining girls. The room buzzed with a low tension, the quiet energy of competition. Half the girls were gone, and for those remaining, the true fight had only just begun.

Everleigh clutched the fabric of her dress and whispered to herself, a promise in the stillness: I will not fail. I will endure. I will survive.

As the attendants led them toward the next chamber, Everleigh forced herself to walk tall, her shoulders back, her steps deliberate. The palace was vast, and the Selection had only begun. But she would not falter. She would not break.

Half the girls were gone. The rest were still standing. And Everleigh would fight to remain among them, no matter what it took.