Chapter 9: Shadows of Rivalry

The palace halls felt emptier now, the echoes of departing girls fading into the distance. Everleigh moved through them carefully, her steps measured, her shoulders stiff with fatigue. She had survived the first cut—the ruthless culling that had dismissed half of her peers—but the weight of what she had endured pressed on her chest, reminding her that this was only the beginning.

Her new quarters were modest but orderly, a single bed with crisp linens and a small window that offered a view of the palace gardens below. The sunlight poured in, but instead of warmth, it brought a sharp clarity: she was not among the dismissed, but that meant nothing if she failed the challenges ahead.

Everleigh dropped onto the bed with a soft sigh, stretching her aching limbs. The room smelled faintly of lavender and polished wood, a stark contrast to the dirt and smoke of her village. She let herself close her eyes for a brief moment, imagining Rowan’s face, his easy smile, the way he had rescued her as a child by the river. The memory was a comfort, though bittersweet—he was not here, and the world she had entered was not one where familiarity offered protection.

A knock at the door startled her.

“Everleigh, it’s time,” came the crisp voice of an attendant. “The others are gathering for lessons and instruction. Do not be late.”

She nodded, rising and smoothing the fabric of her dress, her mind already bracing for the afternoon ahead. Each step toward the hall felt heavier than the last, the reality of palace life pressing down like a tangible weight.

When she entered the main room, the remaining thirty-five girls were already assembled. The atmosphere was tense, a mix of relief, exhaustion, and simmering rivalry. Some whispered quietly, sharing relief at surviving the cut. Others surveyed the room with sharp, calculating eyes, as though measuring threats.

Everleigh scanned the crowd quickly, taking in the new order. Most faces were familiar from the lottery and initial trials, but the dynamics had shifted now that the first elimination had thinned the ranks. There was an unspoken hierarchy forming, and Everleigh realized she would need to navigate it carefully.

Her gaze settled on one girl immediately: Krystal. She stood near the center, tall and poised, her posture flawless, her dark hair perfectly styled. There was a cold arrogance in the way she moved, a confidence that radiated from every measured gesture. Her eyes flicked over the girls with subtle disdain, and Everleigh’s stomach tightened.

Krystal’s smile, when it appeared, was sharp and deliberate. It was not a smile of friendliness but of calculation, a signal to the others that she intended to dominate this small world of remaining competitors.

The attendant stepped forward. “Today you will begin lessons in etiquette, posture, and social presentation. These skills are as vital to your survival here as beauty or intelligence. Attention, grace, and composure are observed at all times.”

The girls were divided into small groups for instruction, and Everleigh found herself in a cluster with a few other girls she recognized—some anxious, some aloof. Krystal, of course, was in the same group.

Everleigh forced herself to breathe steadily as the lesson began. The instructor, a woman with sharp eyes and a voice like steel, demonstrated the proper way to bow, the delicate position of hands, and the subtle shifts of weight to convey elegance. Everleigh mimicked her movements carefully, every muscle alert, every step precise.

Krystal’s eyes followed her the entire time, a subtle smirk tugging at her lips. At one point, as Everleigh stumbled slightly in her balance, Krystal leaned toward the nearest girls and whispered, loud enough for Everleigh to hear, “Looks like some of us still haven’t learned even the basics. Surprising they let her through the first cut.”

The words stung, sharp and deliberate. Everleigh’s face burned, but she refused to let herself falter. She lifted her chin, steadying her breathing, and returned to her posture, forcing her movements smoother, more deliberate.

The instructor noticed nothing—or pretended not to—and continued demonstrating. Everleigh’s mind, however, refused to let go of the humiliation, the sting of Krystal’s eyes on her. She’s testing me, sizing me up, Everleigh thought. I’ll show her I can endure.

As the afternoon wore on, the lessons shifted to conversation skills. The girls practiced introductions, formal speech, and polite responses. Krystal continued her subtle attacks, using clipped comments and pointed glances to unsettle Everleigh.

“You’ll have to speak more clearly than that if you want a prince to notice you,” Krystal murmured, her voice barely audible but sharp as a blade. “Though perhaps you won’t be noticed at all.”

Everleigh’s jaw tightened, but she met her gaze steadily. “I intend to be noticed,” she said softly, careful not to draw too much attention but firm enough that Krystal’s expression faltered for a fraction of a second.

Other girls glanced between them, sensing the tension. Some looked impressed by Everleigh’s quiet defiance, while others whispered among themselves, anxious to see what would happen next.

By late afternoon, the lessons ended, and the girls were given a short break before dinner. Everleigh retreated to a quiet corner of the hall, running her fingers along the fabric of her dress and letting herself breathe more freely. The first cut had been brutal, the social maneuvering even more subtle but no less dangerous. She understood now that surviving the Selection required more than endurance—it required strategy, resilience, and careful observation.

Her thoughts drifted again to Rowan. She imagined him here, walking beside her, offering some clever advice or a quiet joke to ease her nerves. The memory brought a bittersweet pang; he was nowhere in this gilded world, and she would have to face it alone. But the thought also lent her strength. She would carry the knowledge of his support in her mind and let it bolster her determination.

Dinner in the palace hall was an exercise in patience and observation. The girls were seated at long tables, the food elaborate and rich, far removed from the simple meals of her village. Each dish was arranged with meticulous care, and Everleigh took careful bites, mindful not to draw attention to her lack of experience with such cuisine.

Krystal, predictably, used the opportunity to assert dominance. She leaned back slightly in her chair, raising an eyebrow as she watched Everleigh fumble subtly with a delicate utensil. A faint, almost imperceptible laugh slipped past her lips, just enough for Everleigh to catch it without anyone else noticing.

Everleigh forced herself to smile politely and continued eating. She reminded herself that each small interaction was a test in itself, a measure of composure and grace. She could not allow Krystal’s intimidation to throw her off balance.

By the end of the meal, Everleigh had begun to observe the subtle alliances forming among the girls. Some whispered to one another, sharing gossip or strategies. Others watched quietly, calculating and patient. Everleigh realized that beyond the lessons, beyond the trials, the palace itself was a battlefield—a place where words, gestures, and expressions carried as much weight as beauty or intelligence.

Later, in the quiet of the late afternoon, the remaining girls were led back to their chambers to rest. Everleigh lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the day’s events in her mind. She had survived the first cut, endured the early lessons, and resisted Krystal’s subtle attacks. But the awareness that the Selection had only begun settled heavily over her.

She closed her eyes and whispered a promise to herself: I will not falter. I will endure. I will survive.

The palace was vast, the challenges relentless, and the rivalries already forming. Everleigh knew that tomorrow would bring new tests, new judgments, and new trials of endurance. But for the first time since arriving, she allowed herself a small, cautious hope. She was still standing. She had survived the first cut. And she would fight to remain.

As night fell over the palace, the chandeliers casting soft golden light across the halls, Everleigh lay in her bed, listening to the distant echoes of the other girls settling into their chambers. She thought once more of Rowan, of the river where their paths had first crossed, and of the promise she had made to herself: she would not fail. Not here, not now, not ever.

The shadows of rivalry had begun to lengthen, stretching across the palace halls. And Everleigh knew that she would have to be stronger, smarter, and braver than ever before to survive the days ahead.