The Selection (Selection - Trilogy)

flashbulbs went off again, capturing Maxon and Natalie smiling brightly.
    “Natalie, bring your chin down just a touch, please. That’s it.” The photographer snapped another picture, filling the room with light. “I think that will do. Who’s next?” he called.
    Celeste came in from the side, a general group of maids still swarming around her before the photographer started up again. Natalie, still beside Maxon, said something and kicked up her foot flirtatiously behind her. He responded quietly, and she giggled as she walked away.
    We’d been told after yesterday’s history lesson that this photo shoot was merely for the amusement of the public, but I couldn’t help thinking that there was some actual weight to it. Someone had written an editorial in a magazine about the look of a princess. I didn’t get to read the article myself, but Emmica and some of the others did. According to her, it was about Maxon needing to find someone who actually looked regal and photographed well with him, someone who would look nice on a stamp.
    And now we were all lined up in identical cream-colored, cap-sleeved, drop-waist dresses with a heavy red sash across our shoulders, taking pictures with Maxon. The photos would be printed in the same magazine, and the magazine staff was going to make picks. I was kind of uncomfortable with it all. This was the thing I’d been bothered about since the beginning, that Maxon was looking for nothing more than a pretty face. Now that I’d met him, I was sure that wasn’t true, but it got to me that people thought that Maxon was like that.
    I sighed. Some of the girls were walking around, munching on no-drip foods and chatting, but the majority, including myself, were standing around the perimeter of the set erected in the Great Room. A huge golden tapestry that reminded me of the drop cloths Dad used at home was hung up against a wall and spilled across the floor. A small couch was off to one side and a pillar was on the other. In the middle the Illéan emblem stood, giving the whole silly thing an air of being patriotic. We watched as each Selected paraded across the space to be photographed, and many who watched were whispering things they liked and didn’t or what they were planning for themselves.
    Celeste walked up to Maxon with a sparkle in her eyes, and he smiled as she approached. The moment she reached him, she put her lips to his ear and whispered something. Whatever it was, Maxon leaned his head back with laughter and nodded, agreeing with her little secret. It was strange to see them like that. How could someone who got along so well with me do the same with someone like her?
    “All right, miss, just face the camera and smile, please,” the photographer called, and Celeste immediately complied.
    She turned herself toward Maxon and placed a hand on his chest, tilted her head down, and gave an expert smile. She seemed to understand how to use the lighting and set to her best advantage and kept moving Maxon over a few inches or insisting on changing their pose. Where some of the girls took their time and made their turn with Maxon last—particularly those who still hadn’t secured a date—Celeste appeared to want to show her efficiency instead.
    In a bolt of speed, she was done, and the photographer called for the next girl. I was so busy watching Celeste run her fingers down Maxon’s arm as she exited that a maid had to gently remind me it was my turn.
    I gave my head a tiny shake and willed myself to focus. I gathered up my dress in my hands and walked toward Maxon. His eyes shifted from Celeste to me, and maybe I imagined it, but his face seemed to brighten a bit.
    “Hello, my dear,” he sang.
    “Don’t even start,” I warned, but he merely chuckled and reached his hands out.
    “Hold on a moment. Your sash is crooked.”
    “Not surprised.” The darn thing was so heavy, I could feel it shifting every time I stepped.
    “I suppose that’ll do,” he said jokingly.
    I fired back, “In the meantime, they ought to hang you up with the chandeliers.” I poked at the glittering medals across his chest. His uniform, which looked almost like something the guards would wear, only far more elegant, also had golden things on his shoulders and a sword hanging off his hip. It was a bit much.
    “Look at the camera, please,” the photographer called. I looked up and saw not just his eyes but the faces of all the other girls watching, and my nerves shot up.
    I wiped my