The Lottery

LIORA'S POV 

Heather takes a whole ten minutes to casts her whitestone into the urn, as she carefully aims to rest it right beside the Emperors'. When she finally steps back, her face is gleaming with confidence, seems like she has succeeded. Violette takes her time to pray for her stone before casting it. The two who come after her do the same. Lady Eleanor immediately urges us to make haste.

At last, it’s my turn. My stomach is tied in a tight knot as I step forward to the urn. I cast my whitestone, watching it sink slowly through the thick liquid, settling down at the bottom.

My stupid mind wants to beg the goddess that I be the one mated to that impossibly handsome, powerful Emporer. But I know what’s possible and what’s a foolish dream that is.

So instead, I pray for a love that comes naturally, one where neither me or my matched mate will have to force feelings or pretend to care about the other. A love that burns inside me as fiercely as the image of the handsome Emperor burns inside my mind.

I turn away and walk back to my seat, but I can’t help stealing glances at the man. There’s something about his beauty, so pure, so timeless, it almost feels unfair, like he was painted by a master’s hand to torment the rest of us. A part of me aches to touch him, to be noticed by him.

Am I really any better than Heather, craving his attention so badly?

The answer seems obvious when I spot Heather with Violette and a group of desperate princesses trying to push past the guards for a closer look at the Emperor. The guards are not having it, snapping for them to stay back, which, I’ll admit, is oddly satisfying, especially since he doesn’t so much as glance their way.

Then there’s a commotion as Heather, never one to accept “no,” demands to be let through, loudly insisting her father’s prophetess already foresaw she’d be his mate. The guards block her and the rest, asking everyone to please wait until the lottery is properly finished.

Still being forced back to her seat, Heather cups her hands around her mouth and screams, “I love you so much, Your Majesty! I would die for you!”

Well that speaks volumes considering how selfish Heather is, although the Emperor’s gaze barely flickers in her direction.

Lady Eleanor calls for everyone attention at the front as the line of casting whitestones ends.

"Esteemed Candidates,” her voice resonates clearly, carrying to every corner of the vast hall without need for shouting. “The casting of the whitestones is complete. The goddess Isolde has received your prayers, and your deepest desires.”And now, the moment we have all awaited. The goddess will now reveal her chosen."

I swear a tremor runs through the hall, as the earlier ripples of excitement completely dies and now everyone looks anxious.

"As it is required," Lady Eleanor continues, “I will read the initials of every two whitestones that surface atop the urn’s sacred waters. When your stone rises, and your initials are called, you must stand immediately to be recognized by your destined partner,"

With that, she steps gracefully back toward the gleaming urn at the hall’s center. Two servants approaches, one carrying a slender fishing rod, that will be used to fish out the whitestones without disturbing the sacred liquid. The other carries a silver tray, polished to a mirror shine, along with a pristine white folded cloth. She will be the one to receive the precious stones and present them to lady Eleanor for the reading.

Everyone in the hall holds their breath as the first two whitestones show at the surface and the servants carefully fish them out and place them on the tray.

Lady Eleanor wipes them before reading the initials. "The first pair of initials are... and H.R..."

Woah! That's Heather Roderick! 

Heather boastfully rises from her seat and makes swaggering gestures while flaunting her sparkling robes to us, as lady Eleanor cleans the other stone. With baited breaths, we all await to hear the other initial. The prophetess must really have been right, she'll get mated to the mighty Emporer. That's why her whitestone rose up first.

Lady Eleanor turned to the second stone. "And the other initial is… T.D."

For a heartbeat, the world seems to have stopped. Shocked, loud murmurs erupt around the hall. Holy little baby Jesus! Tedmod? Prince Tedmod? The black sheep? Did Heather just get matched with the unwanted prince Tedmond! 

Heather’s confident smirk withers in slow motion, her jaw dropping so wide you half expect a bird to fly in.

"N-no. No, that’s… that’s not… this isn’t possible!” she stammers, voice cracking halfway through each word.

She stomps up the altar steps, tripping on her fancy robes, and demands to see the stone. Lady Eleanor, simply holds it out. Heather squints at the initials and her face immediately drains of color, and then she collapses, fainting right on the cold marble steps of the altar before the watching crowd, arms akimbo.

Prince Tendmond, her supposed match, does not even look angry, nor surprised. A resigned sigh escapes him as his gaze drops to the floor and he drops back into his seat.

Servant carry out an unconscious Heather, her so-called friends—Violette, Piper, and Lindsay—laugh wickedly, celebrating the stunning turn of events that no one had expected. 

"Though we have just witnessed a grievous moment, the ceremony must continue.” Lady Eleanor says and gestures at the servants and they meticulously go back to the task of fishing out the whitestones. Two pairs emerge and are quickly placed on the tray. Lady Eleanor wipes each one before holding them up to call out the initials.

None of the sets she announces next are familiar to me, and, surprisingly, everyone involved seems to accept their matches without fuss, except for one girl who, heartbreakingly, bursts into tears after failing to be paired with a famed prince.

I look back to our Emporer. Unlike everyone of us that are all anxious the man just sits with a calm expression on his ridiculously beautiful face. How can he be so calm when his mate can be called out any time.

Lady Eleanor's voice brings me back when her voice calls out the initials C.L.

All eyes snaps to Prince Callum as he gracefully rises, offering a courteous wave to the crowd. 

And the partner’s initials are… L.W.”

Linda Williams! Pipers and Lindsay's distant cousin! she leaps up, her face filled with joyous disbelief as she waves at Callum whose mouth has dropped open in a perfect “O” 

"No way! That thing?!” Her cousin Lindsay explodes, jumping to her feet. “She’s uglier than a troll. She can't possibly win a famed prince!”

"She also has no real royal blood. How did the urn even pick her? Did it run out of good options?” Piper hisses, rising to her feet as well in support of her sister.

I swear, if looks could kill, Piper and Lindsay’s glares would roast Linda on the spot. Linda’s radiant smile dies instantly. 

“I will ask you both to sit down immediately. Only the matched pair may decide to accept or refuse each other.” Lady Eleanor's voice commands authoritively from the front.

Grudgingly, the two twins sink back into their seats, scows on their pretty faces. The entire hall is tense, all eyes fixed on Prince Callum who clears his throat awkwardly before speaking. "This...this is not what I expected.” He even glances toward Linda. “I cannot be with someone like you.”

Linda sinks back into her seat, burying her face into her palms and starts to sob. The glee on Piper and Lindsay’s faces are unmistakable.

More matches are read, none shows pure happiness of being matched with the other though none openly reject their matches, not until Piper's initials are read and she's matched with the nephew of a powerful Alpha. Which is obviously not good enough for her. Her screams of rage tear through the whole hall as she curses at her supposed match violently. Lady Eleanor has to order the guards to drag her out of the hall.

But karma is not yet done.

Lyndsay’s initials are called, only for lady Eleanor to announce that she has been mated to no one. That she'll have to try next time.

The hall explodes into laughter.

Princess Violette’s laughter is loudest, her confidence growing as she has now realized she is the last famous princess still unmatched, her chances of being matched with the Emperor are now fater than a pig.

When her initials are read, she gets to her feet and blows kisses extravagant kisses toward the Emperor, and beams, “It’ll be me, my love!” 

Wish I had even a fraction of that kind of confidence.

Lady Eleanor waits patiently for her to finish her lovey-dovey performance before announcing her supposed partner's initials. "...and the other initials are E.N.”

Gasps of disbelief fill the hall alongside instant cerebration from princesses of lower standing. The Emporer has not been matched with any of the famed princesses!

Hilda grips my arm in gee. "All the famous princesses are out. My mother’s prayers are working.” She grins.

"If none of the famous princesses is the Emporer's mate, then who is?" the lady seated behind us asks in astonishment. 

This lottery, it seems, is full of surprises none of us were ready for.

Prince Elon rises, a smile appearing on his face. He seems pleased, even honored, to be matched with a beautiful famed princess. Violette, however, goes pale, then red, then every color between. She stands for a long moment, frozen, eyes wide, disbelief etched into every line of her face, as if the words haven't fully reached her ears. 

“Recast my whitestone,” she demands, her voice shaking with anger.

“That’s not possible, dear,” Lady Eleanor responds firmly.

Prince Elon bristles. “You’re rejecting me?” he snaps. “I’m the most renowned prince here, and you act like you’re too good for me?”

He looks personally insulted.

“You’re insufferable,” Violette snaps back. “Has no one told you how hard you are to look at? Trust me, you’re the last person I’d ever choose to be mated to.”

Laughter breaks out among the crowd. But then, Violette does something unexpected.

She pushes through the surprised crowd and move quickly toward the Emperor. Guards move forward to stop her.

“Return to your seat, candidate,” Lady Eleanor orders but Violette ignores her and drops to her knees in front of the Emperor, her voice breaking as she pleads, “My Emperor, please, before the lottery, my father sent you a letter, recommending me as the one worthy of your choice. Surely you remember?”

Is that even allowed under the lottery rules?!

Lady Eleanor’s patience finally snaps. “Get her out of here,” she barks at the guards.

The Emporer's guards grabs her roughly by the arms, hauling her to her feet.

“I beg you, choose me." She pleads loudly even as they drag her towards the exit.

"Please, candidates let's all calm down!” Lady Eleanor orders, trying to restore some semblance of order to the chaos in the hall as everyone argues in confusion and shock. Curious stares turn the Emporer. The goddess hasn't choosen any of the prestigious Princesses as his match but he appears to be very calm. No hint of surprise or discomfort mares his face. Does that mean he'd be truly accepting of a mate of lower standing? 

Lady Eleanor announces more and as each pair of initials is read, the hall collectively hold its breath, every girl internally clutching her heart, secretly hoping it would be her name alongside the Emperor’s. Yet each time, the second initial belong to some minor noble or some prince, disappointment ripples like a wave.

Then when she raises this one stone, everyone seems to knows without a doubt, it’s the Emperor’s stone because her eyes narrow into playful slits and a mischievous smile curls her lips that juggles the anticipation of every soul present.

“The first initials are… L.V. That's our Emperor, Lordlin Varno,” she announces.

You could hear hearts thrumming like war drums.

" It will be me." Hilda, crushes my arm with her overenthusiastic grip. I barely notice because my own heart is hammering so loud I am pretty sure it's about to burst through my ribs.

Lady Eleanor take more time than necessary to clean the other stone, prolonging the agony.

" ...the Emporer's mate initials are...." She smirks at everyone's anticipation.

The entire room shoots her the most annoyed glares. Even I can’t help shooting her a glare that could melt dragon scales. Can we get to the point already?

“L.R.” She finally announces.

Me.

I feel all the blood rush from my body and surge right into my chest. 

Gasps fill the hall as all eyes flicker wildly among the noble faces, hunting for the owner of those letters.

I. am. The Emperor’s mate.

Lady Eleanor fixes me with a piercing look. “Owner of the initials, please stand so that all may see you.”

Easier said than done. My legs have turned to jelly, my brain short-circuited into a glorious mess of shock, excitement, and “please just let me vanish now.” Twitching and wobbling, I force myself up, it feels like I’m learning to walk all over again.

Hilda’s grip intensifies, from an eager squeeze to a full-on death clamp. “It’s you? He picked you?” Her voice breaks, thick with disbelief and betrayal.

Every head swings toward me. I feel like fresh meat under a wide circle of hawk eyes. I wish fervently for invisibility right now. What was the goddess THINKING?

From the front comes a loud scoff: “How could the goddess do this? She must be blind!” The woman doesn't even bother whispering.

That kicks off a wave of murmured accusations “impossible,” “disgrace,” “bastard" like they just caught me committing some unforgivable crime rather than becoming the Emperor’s chosen mate.

Honestly, can’t they see I’m just as shocked and confused as they are? My face is probably screaming “What the actual heck?” louder than everyone.

And there, across the hall, the perfect statue of power and beauty, my mate, looks up. His dark eyes lock on mine. My heart somersaults, ready to launch itself to the stars.

"You can now take your seat, my dear. So we can get done with the rest of the matches." I all but collapse into my chair. I’m barely convinced this is real, my mind’s somewhere between “I must be dreaming” and “someone please check if I’m still breathing.”

Even as Lady Eleanor calls out the rest of the pairings, I feel every pair of eyes stabbing me with invisible knives. And not the imaginary kind, actual “I-will-poison-your-food if I get a chance” stares. Hilda, who was moments ago glued to my side, now sits beside me stiffly, staring so hard at the front she might burn a hole through the air.

"You said you did not want the Emperor," she hisses, voice trembling with anber.

I want to shout, “How is any of this my fault?” but instead, a bitter laugh escapes me. I’ve just been chosen to be with the man every woman here covets.

I meet her angry eyes and quietly correct her, “I said I didn’t have a specific man in mind… not that I didn’t want the Emperor.” she only scoffs.

And then, as if the fates have a wicked sense of timing, Lady Eleanor announces Hilda’s match. Not a prince. Not even a known Nobal man. Just… a very startled-looking squire in the back row. Hilda’s face crumples, her anger collapses into tears, and soon she’s sobbing so loudly.

I reach for her shoulder, but she jerks away, shoulders shaking, refusing to look at me. 

Lady Eleanor's voice pulls me to the front as she reads the last match before announcing. “Tonight, after sunset, the palace grand ballroom will host the Dance of Hearts gala.” She smiles. “The purpose of the gala is to give the partnered mates a chance to accept or reject each other on their own accord. A single table will be set for each couple partnered in the lottery. The two couples are expected to dine with each other if they accept each other. If one doesn't accept his or her partner, they are free to join the table that the one they desire is at, and try to convince them to choose them instead. It's a three hour event, and whoever one offers to dance with in the Dance of Hearts is from then their destined partner. Once the clock strikes midnight, everyone should have made their choice or will not get a chance to go to the Island of luck. You can all now disperse and meet your match."

Did she just say we can meet with our matches? Right now! In broad daylight. In front of everyone?!