The Pageant

“You’re not supposed to dress like that at a wedding.” Lyra looked at me in disapproval. “All your pieces and bits are hanging out. You’re supposed to be here in support of our friend.”

I leaned toward Lyra. “My mother made me wear this,” I whispered. I adjusted the bodice of my tight-fitting gown, but nothing could stop me from spilling out of it. “She thinks they’re watching us and every public outing is an opportunity to win points.”

Lyra rolled her eyes. “Your mother is disgusting. I can’t believe she wants you to enter that thing and marry that filthy beast!”

I sighed. “She’s ambitious. She also doesn’t like starving.”

“Who does? Just pull that thing up, Gwyn.”

I grimaced and pulled the dress up. Lyra had a point. The female guests around me were covered from their necks to their wrists. This was the fifth wedding I’d attended in as many weeks. I should know better.

I did know better, and so did my mother. But she wanted me to get invited to the Pageant, and I didn’t want her and my younger siblings to die of malnutrition.

I shivered, cutting off the thought, and turned my gaze toward the front of the old-fashioned church. It was one of the few that remained from before the Great War. The stained glass above the pulpit was miraculously intact. The late-afternoon sun splashed through, splaying multicolored lights across the gleaming wooden floor.

The groom, adolescent acne flaring across his cheeks, nervously adjusted his suit as the music began to play.

Tavi, my friend since childhood, took her first halting steps down the aisle. She looked beautiful in her white lace dress, but her skin was pale, and her eyes were wild beneath her veil. Her hand shook, and her father grasped it, urging her forward.

Tavi barely knew her fiancé. She’d first met him three weeks ago.

Lyra frowned then crossed herself. “Here we go again.”

* * *

“How was the ceremony?” my mother asked. She poured a thin soup into my bowl.

I scowled at the watery broth. One lone carrot sank hopelessly toward the bottom. “Awkward. Tavi looked petrified.”

My mother snorted then remembered herself. She smoothed her complexion into its usual mask of attractive superiority. “Tavi should be petrified. That boy is a bony disaster. Her parents spent every last dime on that stupid wedding, as if it’s going to help anything. The only thing that boy will give her is a baby they won’t be able to feed.”

“It might be better than the alternative.”

Mom scoffed. “Really, Gwyneth? Being a princess is a worse fate?”

I put down my spoon. “You’ve seen the prince, right? And heard all the stories about him and his family?” A rhetorical question. My mother knew all about how King and Queen Black, together with their one son, had come down from the North to “save” the settlements. The tale had been shoved down our throats every day since they’d conquered us.

My older brother, Balkyn, and my father had never come back from the Great War. And still, my mother was oh-so-eager to marry me off to the prince. Ridiculous.

“Mommy!” my younger sister, Winifred, screeched from the living room. “It’s on. Come quick!”

I groaned and followed my mother to the television. It was the only electronic device that still worked, and that was because the government wanted it that way.

Winifred and my younger brother, Remy, were seated next to each other on the love seat. I ruffled Remy’s hair as he clutched his blanket, his wide eyes fixed on the screen.

“They’re talking about the contest.” Winifred arranged her stuffed animals next to her so they could watch. “Do you think they’ll show the prince?”

“They always show the prince, Winnie.” I stoked the fire then flopped down on the floor in front of my siblings, pulling my knees toward my chest. I eyed the wood supply, which was low again. My mother used the logs too quickly, and Winnie and Remy didn’t understand. They only felt the cold and wanted comfort. I would have to go out for more wood tomorrow and scold them all about using it sparingly.

The prince’s official image flashed on the screen, handsome and foreboding. The Dark Prince. That was what we all called him, a name we would never say in public. He wore a long black robe and a gleaming crown. He cut an impressive figure with his square jaw and broad shoulders, as if he’d been born into nobility instead of having slaughtered his way into it. His sable eyes shone out of his stony but striking face.

“He’s so handsome. I wish I could marry him.” Winnie sighed. She was only eight and didn’t remember the war.

“He’s scary.” Remy hid under his blanket.

I agreed with Remy, but I kept my mouth shut lest my mother smack me upside the head.

“Shh.” Mom settled herself between my brother and sister just as the image faded and the update began.

“The news you’ve all been waiting for is finally here,” the narrator said. “Please stay tuned for an official broadcast.” The images on the screen showed the royal family—the king, the queen, and the prince—waving to adoring onlookers at a midnight parade. Propaganda. Then there was a group of young women wearing gowns, eagerly smiling as a long line of paparazzi took pictures of them. The last image was of a young woman kneeling, a crown being placed on her head.

The promotional sequence panned out, and Mira Kinney, the government-sanctioned television personality, smiled out at us from her news desk. Her blond bob was impeccable, as was her smooth skin, red sheath, and white, even teeth.

“This just in, fellow settlers—the Pageant has officially begun. The contest is law. Rollout begins immediately. Contestants will be notified of their invitation beginning tonight at midnight. That’s right—tonight.”

My mother put a hand over her heart.

Mira checked her notes, or pretended to. I had a feeling she knew all the details of this story, the juiciest since the Great War. “All unmarried young women of age in the settlements—those aged seventeen and eighteen—were considered.”

I swallowed hard. I’d just celebrated my eighteenth birthday last week.

Mira smiled broadly at the camera, flashing those teeth. “The contestants for the Pageant have already been hand-picked. For those who’ve been lucky enough to be selected, participation is mandatory. This is an opportunity you don’t say no to, ladies.”

Can’t say no to. That was what she meant.

“Every settlement in the land will be represented by two contestants. Fifty young ladies will be competing for the ultimate prize—an engagement to the prince.”

My mother fanned herself. Winnie hugged her favorite bear. Remy sunk further under the blanket, and I wished I could join him.

Mira beamed at the camera. “Once the contestants have been notified, more details will be forthcoming. For now, wait for that doorbell to ring, settlers. It could mean the beginning of a very exciting future for your family.”

We all slept, or pretended to sleep, in the living room. Winter was coming, and we’d closed off the upstairs of our townhouse to conserve heat.

I watched the dying fire, trying not to pay attention to the time as it passed. I willed the doorbell not to ring.

I knew my mother was awake, but I ignored her. The last thing I wanted to hear was her conjecture about who would be picked from our settlement or, worse yet, her hope it would be me.

She had to hate the royal family as much as I did. She mourned Balkyn and my father, just like me. But our money was long gone, and the weekly rations from the government were insufficient. There was no work for either of us. The government had been reclassifying jobs and hiring the most qualified applicants first.

Before the war, my mother had been a stay-at-home mom, and I’d been a student. Neither of us was the most qualified for any of the government’s super-competitive positions. I’d taken to hawking our family’s knickknacks and china at the local black market, using the money or goods I received for firewood, milk, and bread.

At this rate, we weren’t going to last long.

As if hearing my thoughts, my mother sat up. A lock of glossy auburn hair escaped her bun, and she tucked it behind her ear. “I know you think I’m a monster for hoping you’ll be chosen.” She kept her voice low, careful not to wake my brother and sister, who were curled up close to the fireplace.

“I don’t.” A lie.

“Don’t pretend, Gwyneth. We shouldn’t bother with civilities like that anymore.”

I eyed her cashmere sweater and scoffed. “You seem pretty attached to your civilities.”

She stroked the luxurious fabric of her sweater. “I miss our way of life. Who wouldn’t?”

Before the war, my father had run a successful bond-trading business. I’d gone to private school and had riding lessons. Balkyn had attended a prestigious private college. Winnie and Remy had had a full-time nanny. My mother spent her days volunteering for various charities and sweating out imagined toxins at hot yoga, while one maid had cleaned our home and another one had stocked our refrigerator.

The dying embers gleamed in the fireplace. All that luxury seemed like such a waste, now.

“If I could do something to change our situation, I would.” My mother squared her shoulders. “But I’m too old for pageants, and I haven’t found someone suitable to…take care of us.”

“You don’t even know if Daddy’s dead.” My voice was low, but it shook. “You can’t get remarried.”

“It’s been five years. I don’t think he’s coming back.” She pulled the sweater close against her chest.

“You still can’t—”

“I won’t let my children starve,” she snapped. “You’re not a mother. You don’t understand.”

I watched Remy’s chest rising and falling, Winifred snuggled against him for warmth. “I understand more than you think.”

She shot me a quick look. “Then if you get selected—and Gwyneth, you are absolutely stunning, so you have a good chance—please try your best. Please don’t be…”

Stubborn? Superior? Fresh? All the things she’s accused me of being over the past five years?

“Difficult.”

“I won’t be. I didn’t run off and elope, did I?” I’d thought about it. Drew Baylor, loyal to a fault, had even asked me if I wanted to. I’d turned him down. I had to take care of my family, and getting married at eighteen was not my idea of happily ever after.

And yet, if I somehow got invited to this godforsaken contest, that was exactly what I’d be fighting for. To marry a filthy Northerner.

“You heard what they said. The winner gets an engagement to the prince.” I kept my voice low. “It could mean sanctuary for all of us.”

She nodded, exhaling deeply. “I know. That’s why I’ve been taking such pains with your appearance. I knew they’d be watching you and the other girls. You have a chance, a real chance.” She checked the time. “You should get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“Mom, wait.” I took a deep breath. “The odds aren’t good, even if I am selected. We’re going to run out of things to trade sooner rather than later. What… what are we going to do?”

My mother’s dark-brown eyes glowed in the firelight. She was so beautiful, but there was something fierce about her features, as if she might turn on you at any moment and make a designer handbag out of your hide.

She shrugged. “We’ll think of something. We always do. We’re Wests.”

* * *

I’d just fallen into a light sleep when the doorbell rang. I cracked one eye open as my mother scrambled for the door. Remy and Winnie didn’t move, both in a deep slumber.

I looked at the clock. It was midnight.

I was cursed, born with my mother’s good looks.

She spoke in low tones to whoever stood on the other side of the door. A large envelope was pressed into her hands, and then the courier was gone.

Mother clutched the envelope, beaming, and waved for me to meet her in the kitchen.

I obeyed, my legs heavy as lead.

Two hectic spots of color flushed her cheeks. “That was a sentinel.”

“Obviously.” I eyed the envelope. “What did he say?”

“You’ve been selected for the Pageant.”

I sucked in a deep breath. “When does it begin?”

“Tomorrow morning.” She put the envelope on the table. “We have to get you ready, Gwyn.”

“Am I…leaving?”

She nodded then pushed the envelope toward me. “He said it was for you.”

Shakily, I opened it, careful to avoid a paper cut. I didn’t want to see blood. I didn’t want to think about it, either, not where I was about to go.

I slid out the embossed letter, its fancy script printed carefully on parchment paper. Hands shaking, I clutched the message as I read.

Dear Ms. West,

Congratulations! After a search across the settlements, you have been selected as a contestant in The Pageant, representing Settlement 4.

The Committee has selected each participant on the basis of achievement, presentation, and a review of your academic and family history.

A government representative will come to collect you tomorrow morning at six a.m. Please be prepared. It’s not necessary for you to pack any clothes or toiletries as these will be provided by The Royal Family. However, contestants are allowed to bring one small parcel with personal belongings.

The winner of The Pageant will be chosen by the Royal Family, including Prince Black and his committee. Contestants will be judged on their merits. The grand prize: an engagement to His Highness, to be followed by a royal wedding.

We look forward to getting to know you better over the coming weeks.

Sincerely, King and Queen Black.

I scoffed. I’d been picked on the basis of my family history? My family had fought to keep the Blacks at bay, to drive them and their shadowy supporters back to the North.

“What did it say?” My mother was breathless as I put the letter on the table.

“They’re coming for me tomorrow morning at six. And I don’t need to pack anything.”

She watched me carefully. “What else?”

Our gazes locked across the table. “If I win, the prince will propose. And there’ll be a royal wedding.”

My mother crossed herself, something I’d never seen her do before.

“Why did you do that?”

Her dark eyes glittered, and she pursed her lips. “Because we’re about to make a deal with the devil.”

I shivered. “We don’t know what they are, Mother. Not for sure.”

She rummaged through a cupboard. “I thought we weren’t pretending anymore.” She brought out a bottle filled with amber liquid, poured two shots, and slid one into my hand.

“You’re letting me have alcohol?” I sniffed the liquid, wincing as it burned my nose.

She clinked her glass against mine. “For courage.”

I sighed. Courage was something I’d struggled with since the strange royal family had taken over our land and our lives. I’d tried to be brave and keep our family afloat, but I lived with fear every day—fear for my family’s existence, fear that my father and Balkyn were never coming back, fear that my younger brother and sister were going to end up slaves.

And now, I was headed to the palace in the morning, to the home of the very people responsible for our predicament. Courage, indeed. “I’ll drink to that.”

My mother finished her shot quickly then sighed. “You’re fortunate to be beautiful, Gwyn. That’s why you were given this opportunity.”

I frowned. “But it’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “It is, indeed. Far better to be clever than beautiful, my mother always said.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“Good thing you’re both.” Mother eyed me. “Your looks can’t save you in the end. Only your wits can do that.”

“I know.” I grimaced. “I’ll do what I can to win. I know what it would mean for our family.” I’d rather stick a hot poker in my eye and eat spiders than marry the prince, but I wasn’t in a position to be picky.

When he’d left for the war, I’d promised my father I’d take care of the family. I would give my life to keep that promise. He’d done as much for me.

Mom’s gaze held mine. “Good girl. Do your best, but never forget where you came from. Never forget who you are, and never, ever let yourself forget who they are.”

“They’re the reason Daddy and Balkyn are gone. I could never forget.”

“Your father told me something before he left, something I should pass on to you.”

I put the glass down without drinking, which I’d heard was bad luck, but at this point, what could it matter? “I’m listening.”

She put her hands on my shoulders and faced me. “You are a West, and that means you’re a survivor. You’re going to make it through this. I know you will.”

“It’s a beauty pageant, Mom, not a prison camp.”

She arched an eyebrow. “It might be more cutthroat than you think. The competition’s going to be fierce.”

My stomach flipped. “You think it will be…dangerous?” I’d thought it would be boring and sort of posh, a bunch of girls sitting around on velvet couches and eating tarts.

“You haven’t seen a lot of the world. I blame myself and your father. He wanted you all to grow up in a bubble. Safe, happy, protected. You don’t know how brutal the world can be, Gwyn. The royal family are creatures of the night, and the settlements are starving. Every girl in this competition is going to be fighting for their lives, for their family’s lives. Of course, it’s going to be dangerous. You’ll be surrounded by people trying to knock you down or elbow you out of the way, darling. Or worse.”

I decided to try the drink. The tiny sip burned as it worked its way down my throat.

“Back to what your father told me. Being a West means being a survivor, but sometimes surviving is the worst thing. It means you live through terrible times and see things you wish you could unsee. You’ll live to see your friends and family suffer. But you’re a West, and that means you don’t give up, and you don’t get to roll over and hide your eyes. So if something bad happens during the next few weeks, speak up. Stand up for what you believe. But for the love of all things holy, stay alive.”

I had more of the drink. The burning in my throat distracted me from the throb in my head. “Why are they doing this? I’m sure the prince could have any girl he wanted. They brought thousands of them down from the North.”

“But those aren’t human girls, and they aren’t settlers. The royal family is smarter than that. It’s been five years, and we still haven’t accepted the new government. They must know the settlements are planning a revolt. This is their way of binding us to them, one of our own becoming a princess. One of our own to someday become the queen and rule over the settlements.”

I nodded. “It’s a way to appease us, to make us feel like we’re their equal.”

“All while keeping us enslaved, waiting on our rations, our men dead or imprisoned.” My mother fingered the necklace my father had given her, a solitary diamond on a gold chain. She would have to sell it soon. And probably do things a lot worse than that.

“Do you think they’re still alive? Daddy and Balkyn?”

“Sometimes at night, I think I can feel him or hear him and your brother, but it’s only the wind. If they’ve gone on, I know it’s to a better place. But we aren’t ready to join them, Gwyn.” She smiled and tapped me on the chin. “Not just yet.”