SO!

It's been a hot minute, Selection fandom. How are you? Hyped? Giddy? Here to harrass me about a BA update? Ha ha ha, classic y'all.

Jokes aside, I'm THRILLED and TERRIFIED to be back, because I've been nursing this idea for at least half a year, and I really want it to go well. There is quite a bit of world-building to get used to, but anything not clumsily-exposition'd to you guys will be on my profile, and you're welcome to PM me other questions.

There are also two (count 'em: 2) pinterest boards on my profile, octaviastareyes, also linked on my profile. Further information will come in the next chapter, posted next week on Saturday (August 17), so stay tuned.

Happy reading!

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Silas laughed as he ducked under the spire of glass impaling the space where his head had been, and used it to swing onto a ledge on the edge of the arena.

"Is that all you've got?" He taunted, sweeping his hand to destroy said spire and send the shards hurling straight for Stelle like throwing knives.

His sister growled, her lips pulling over her teeth, and batted the shards away. One of them managed to slip out of her reach and clipped her across her cheek, leaving a stripe of ruby blood.

Stelle used a thick branch of glass to smash the ledge under Silas's feet and send the stone crumbling. Caught off guard, he threw his hands out in a panic and summoned a landing pad of glass. Despite his reaction time, his ankles still thrummed with the shock of the head-on landing with the unyielding glass and he swore aloud.

"Messy," Stelle called as she jerked the glass towards her and stole it from underneath him.

Silas landed on the floor with an oomph but jumped back to his feet, undeterred, beckoning for some of the glass across the arena to rise to his command.

"Slow," Stelle snapped, using a wave of glass to slam him to the side with no mercy.

He just barely sent out his magic to shove the wave off him and into Stelle, giving him time to get to his feet. He tasted iron in his mouth, probably from when he bit down on the inside of his cheek during that first landing.

Stelle was on her feet almost immediately, the glass pooled around her ankles. Neither sibling made a move for a tantalizing second, and then Stelle threw her hands forward and tried to redo the same trick, with the overwhelming wave. Despite seeing it coming, Silas was forced desperately redirect it at the last moment, sending it to the right in a spray of glass. Never relenting, Stelle followed up with a razor-sharp javelin that nearly punctured his skull.

"Jesus, you nearly killed me," he shouted, dropping to the ground.

"Next time, don't duck," she hissed, icy eyes flashing.

From ground-level, he noticed the pools of glass still available behind her, and reached out to send ribbons of glass wrapping around Stelle's ankles and slithering up her body.

She shrieked, her strategic mind fleeing at the serpent-like sensation, and Silas used the lapse in her concentration to collect the rest of the glass and overwhelm her.

Spitting blood, Silas got to his feet and stalked towards Stelle, his vice-like grip on the glass keeping her trapped down on the floor.

Pulling the iron dagger out of the sheath strapped to his thigh, he squatted over where Stelle was writhing on the floor and held it lazily to her throat. She instantly went still, her jugular jumping under the point of his blade

"Checkmate," he drawled. Her chest heaved with rage, but she was forced to admit that she had lost this round.

"I yield," she bit out, fury etched in her face. "Let me up, now, Silas."

"Relax, sister dearest," he responded easily, relaxing his grip on the glass. "You're free to go."

Stelle instantly threw the weighty glass off her in a brutal shove that sent it shattering clear across the arena, and stormed away.

"Someone's a sore loser," he called mockingly after her. He received a vulgar gesture in response, and laughed.

"You know, you really shouldn't rile her up like that," came an amused voice from behind him.

"Why not?" Silas grinned, absently waving his hand to gather up all the glass and form a neat cube. "It's not like playing nice with her is gonna do me any favors. She's trying to kill me, and no amount of groveling would change that."

Faris snorted, arms crossed over his chest. "I'm just saying, it wouldn't kill you to be a little sympathetic. She did lose the crown, after all."

"Boohoo," Silas said, falling into step with his younger brother. "I mean, you lost the crown, too, technically. But I don't see your temper tantrum."

"I didn't lose anything," Faris scoffed. "We all knew Dad was never going to choose me as heir. I'm too–,"

"Pacifistic?" Silas suggested, pulling his shirt off as they walked. He mopped his sweaty forehead with it and then tossed it into the laundry bin in front of the weapons room.

"I was going to say artistically-inclined," Faris corrected, wrinkling his nose. "Stelle's different. I mean, Mom told her basically every day of her life that she would be Queen one day. And she's pretty suited to it, if you think about it."

"Well, maybe that was true then. But Mom's not here anymore," Silas said matter-of-factly. "And Dad picked me, so she's just going to have to deal with it."

"You know Stelle," Faris sighed. "She always gets her way. Maybe she'll try to murder you for the throne."

Silas chuckled. "I'd like to see her try. She can't even beat me in a fight."

"Liar. I saw her beat you just the other day," Faris corrected, bumping shoulders. "Don't get too big-headed."

"Don't worry about it. With both you and Stelle in the house, I'm in no danger of that," Silas replied, grinning. He glanced around and frowned when he noticed an important absence. "Hey, where's your little shadow? Is the brat in lessons?"

"Don't call him that, Rori's a sweet kid. And he adores you." Faris shot him a dark look. "Not that you've given him a reason to."

"I'd prefer if he did hate me," Silas retorted. "He's a nasty little gremlin."

"No, he isn't. Drop it, Si," Faris said flatly. "Besides, he'll be out of lessons any moment, and I don't want him to hear your whiny bullshit."

As if on cue, the sound of tiny, frantic footsteps echoing on stone became audible, and they both stopped in their tracks to listen to it. They grew louder, and then suddenly a blur of blue silk and curls slammed into Faris's legs.

"Faris!" His little voice came out muffled due to his face being planted in the fabric of Faris's shirt.

"Hey, kiddo," he said, ruffling the brunet curls on the kid's head. "How were lessons?"

"Good," Rori said. His wide, long-lashed eyes trailed to Silas and he sort of shrank behind Faris. Silas thought idly that if Rori could stick to Faris forever, he probably would. "Hi, Mr. Silas."

"Don't call me that, kid," Silas said gruffly, clearing his throat. He wasn't generally fond of Rori or Rori's mom, and didn't really make efforts to hide it. "Just Silas."

"Hi, Silas," Rori amended, peering up at him with doe eyes.

This was why Silas hated spending time with the stupid kid. He was so damn hard to hate, with his big, dumb eyes and his rosy fucking cheeks. But if he acknowledged Rori as his brother or half-brother, or whatever the hell, he'd never forgive himself.

It was one of the few things he and Stelle still agreed upon. Even now. That they'd never betray their mom like that. Rori wasn't part of the family, not in Silas's mind.

"Listen, Faris, I'll see you around," Silas said, backing away. "I gotta shower anyway."

"Silas," his brother said disapprovingly, a hand resting on Rori's head. "Stay a bit."

"Nah, you two have fun, though," Silas told them, not missing the way Rori's giant eyes widened with hurt. "Bye."

Rounding a corner, he strode quickly through the empty halls to escape the disappointment on both of their faces. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't be good like Faris, who cared for Rori even when both Silas and Stelle refused to. He wasn't good with kids, and wasn't good with affection, and certainly wasn't good with the way Rori always looked at him, like he hung the stars.

His eyes probably bothered Silas the most, out of everything. Yes, they were big and sparkly, or whatever the hell, but the most important part was that they were brown. Not the vitreous blue that he, Faris, and Stelle shared with their parents. No, Rori had brown eyes like his mom. Lysandra. And that was who Silas really hated.

He'd hated her back when his father had first introduced her as their new mom. He'd hated her after the royal wedding. He'd hated her when she'd moved in. Hell, he had a feeling he'd hate Lysandra even if they had just met on the street.

Here's why: His mom had been brilliant. She was bright and fierce and everything the empire deserved.

Here's what Lysandra was: Not brilliant. She was meek and passive and vain and she'd never ever come even a little close to replacing Karia. No matter how much his father had tried to force everyone to accept her, no one had. Not Silas, not Stelle, not even Faris. Not the other nations either, except for her home country of Haixin.

Really, it probably wasn't her fault. It wasn't like she'd killed Karia, or done anything to Silas, except exist. But that didn't change what her presence in the castle meant to him.

Shaking off the clouds of darkness gathering in his mind, he stepped into his room and headed for the bath. Frankly, the less time he spent thinking about Lysandra or his mom, the better. He was far from the angry, reckless, hurting kid he'd been in the wake of her fresh death, but it still didn't do him good to dwell in it.

Sunday was the only night they were all forced to eat together. Before Rori and Lysandra, they had eaten together every night. The dinners were light-hearted, enjoyable affairs, like a normal family. Now they were awkward, short, and generally detestable.

When Silas came downstairs, hair still damp, everyone was already there. His dad and Lysandra sat together, with Rori on Lysandra's right, followed by Faris. On the king's left was Stelle, who refused to look at him as he approached.

"Ah, Silas!" King Alastor beamed at him, his eyes crinkling with the action. "There you are. Sit down, let's begin."

Silas slid into his seat without a word, and everyone picked up their forks.

"So, how did the sparring go, son?" Alastor asked. "You won, of course?"
Stelle's knuckles whitened while Silas mumbled assent.

"Good, good. A king should be able to defend himself, you know," Alastor said, just like he did every other fucking time he mentioned sparring.

"I know, Dad."

Silence reigned, only interrupted by the screech of metal on porcelain as Lysandra sawed through Rori's steak for him.

"Soriel, why don't you tell everyone what you learned in lessons today," Faris spoke up, his eyes sweeping the faces around the table.

Rori bounced in his chair happily. "I learned about the beginning of the empire."

"Did you?" Lysandra cooed in her soft, girly voice. "How smart you are, Soriel!"

Silas rolled his eyes; the kid hadn't even said anything yet. What was there to praise? He nearly made disgusted eye contact with Stelle, just out of habit, and barely remembered to look away.

"I learned how all the nations came together because of Grandpa," Rori continued, his face set in concentration as he tried to recall the information. "Which was 'cause the other countries, like Darthern, without magic got jealous of our magic. So he got all the other magic places to form the empire, like Haixin, where Mama is from!"

"That's right! Open up," Lysandra said, trying to feed him a mouthful of rice, which he dodged.

"And the empire is called Hya–Hyla," Rori's brow furrowed with frustration, "–Hylalus. Hysalus."

"Hyalus," Faris corrected gently. "The Hyalus Empire. Good job, Rori. Did you want to–,"

"I've been meaning to speak to you all," Alastor interrupted, causing irritation to steal over Faris's face. "Especially Silas and Stelle."

Both siblings looked up, surprised to be targeted.

"Stelle, I've been in negotiation with Primor Kshatriya," Alastor started. "About the future of Prithvi."

That threw Silas. Primor Kshatriya was the head of House Kshatriya, the family that ruled over the nation of Prithvi, to the east. Although it was normal for all ten Primors to be in contact with the king about the workings of each nation, it was strange for him to mention Prithvi in particular.

"What about it?" Stelle asked suspiciously.

"We've agreed that you might be a good match for his son," Alastor said carefully.

There was a pause as they all processed that, and then Silas and Stelle both shouted, "WHAT?"

"I'm not being married off like some sort of pawn!" Stelle snarled, slamming her utensils down.

"She can't marry Madi, he's my best friend!" Silas yelled.

"Both of you, quiet!" Alastor roared back. The abrupt fury sent both of them back into their seats, shocked into silence. He took a deep breath, reclaiming his cool. "First of all, Silas, I wasn't talking about Lord Madhavaditya. I was referring to his younger brother."

"Mehul?" Stelle and Silas chorused.

"Mehul," Alastor confirmed calmly, his hands steepled. "What do you think, Stelle-bell?"

She sat back in her chair, eyes narrowed to slits. "No."

The king's eyebrows rose. "No?"

"No?" Silas whispered, awed by her audacity.

"Oh no," Faris mumbled.

"That's not a request, Stelle," Alastor said coldly, his face darkening like a thundercloud. "It's already been arranged, understand? You and Mehul will be married at the end of the year, and you don't get a say."

Stelle's lips whitened as she shook with the force of her anger, but even she could see the threatening light of danger in Alastor's blue eyes.

"Damn, that's hard," Silas spoke up, feigning sympathy. "I'll miss ya, Stelle-bell, I really will."

She whirled on him. "YOU–,"

"Speaking of marriages, Silas," Alastor said before Stelle could unleash the torrent of verbal lava doubtlessly awaiting him. "I've decided it's time for you to be married as well."

He dropped his fork. "What?"

It was Stelle's turn to laugh coldly, but he couldn't even be mad, consumed in shock.

"I'm only twenty one!" he protested desperately. "What do you mean? I don't need to be married."

"You're ready to be king soon. As my heir, it's important that you find a partner before you ascend to the throne," Alastor said. "I've decided to hold a Selection for you."

"A what?"

"It's an old tradition," Faris spoke up, his voice carefully even. "From the beginnings of the empire. Basically, three girls from each nation come and compete for your hand, and you eliminate them until you find a wife."

Silas's mind whirred as he tried to decide how he felt about this. Maybe it would be interesting, maybe he'd enjoy it, maybe–

Nope, he hated the idea.

"I hate that idea," Silas said flatly. "I don't want to get married yet, Dad."

"Listen Si, us men, we're never quite ready for marriage," Alastor said reassuringly, with a patronizing chuckle. "But when you meet the right girl, it'll be fine. You'll be thanking me."

"Can't we just wait a few more years?" he blurted out desperately. "We can all make it about Stelle and Mehul–,"

"Shut up, Silas," Stelle bit out, her eyes dark with rage.

"–and then in a year or two, we can talk about me and this. Doesn't that sound good, Dad?"

"We're doing it this year, Si, no arguments," Alastor said firmly. "And, I've decided to put Stelle in charge of organizing it."

Silas and Stelle stared at each other, the former horrified, the latter starting to smile slowly.

"Dad, no. Please no." Silas took a deep breath. "Dad, I really, really don't think that's a good idea. Please reconsider."

"No, Daddy, this is a really great idea," Stelle assured him, her voice suddenly sugary-sweet. "Thank you for the opportunity."

"That's what I like to hear," Alastor said, clearly pleased with himself. "You and Lys can plan together, Stelle-bell."

"Ooh, sounds fun!" Lysandra chirped, her face lighting up.

Lysandra and Stelle controlling his love life? Silas felt a little sick. His head was sort of swimming.

"I need to go," he forced out, getting to his feet in a daze.

Alastor's brow knitted. "Silas–,"

"No!" he snapped. "This is your fault! Don't."

"I'll go, Dad," Faris could be heard saying behind him as he stormed out of the dining room and let the doors slam behind him.

Ignoring him, Silas stomped down the hallway, heartbeat loud in his ears. Everything was crashing down in his brain, his thoughts at a million miles an hour. How could this be happening? How could his quiet life, training to fight, learning from his dad, how could it all be going up in smoke under him?

"Silas, wait up!"

"I don't want to talk about it," he spat, but he slowed down.

"Listen, Si, don't worry about Stelle," Faris said as he caught up. "Dad won't let her get out of line."

"Dad will be too ecstatic she's not biting all our heads off to care. She'll be able to get away with anything," Silas countered bitterly. "He probably feels bad about the whole Mehul thing."

"Well, the Mehul thing is good, if you ask me. Hopefully she'll be in Prithvi for the majority of your Selection, so she can't actually terrorize you too much," Faris consoled, slinging an arm around Silas's shoulders. "Gotta get some quality time with her future husband, right?"

Silas laughed weakly at that. "I guess so. God, that's crazy. She looked so pissed."

"But just think, once she's married, she's gone," Faris said. "You just have to hold on for a few months."

"Yeah, out with Stelle, and in with a wife," Silas said distastefully. "Imagine me as a husband. Doesn't that make me sound old?"

"Well, if everything works out, presumably you'll like your future wife," Faris said. "It's really not as bad as you make it out to be."

Silas hesitated. "I think it is, Faris. I don't think this is actually about me."

"Really? Thirty girls fighting to marry you kind of seems like it's about you," Faris pointed out, squinting.

"No, I don't mean that. I mean this Selection." Silas sighed. "I'm pretty sure some of the other nations are getting… restless. During the Primorium last month, Primor Incini mentioned something in passing, about no longer needing the empire."

Faris inhaled sharply, a hand shooting up to cover his mouth. "You mean like disbanding? Being separate nations again? What about Darthern?"

"Think about it. The empire was founded because Darthern was posing a threat to magical countries, right? But they haven't made a move since Grandpa was still king," Silas said slowly."I can sort of see what they're talking about."

"We can't disband," Faris mumbled, raking a hand through his hair. "We're–we're an empire, we're Hyalus! And we're House Gaffreys, it's our job to unite Hyalus, just like Grandpa."

"I know." Silas looked sideways at him. "I think that's exactly what Dad is doing right now."

Faris's eyes scanned his face. "You think this is all a distraction?"

Silas's lips thinned as he shrugged. "I can't say for sure. But it seems like it, right?"

Faris exhaled heavily, eyes wide. "That's… a pretty strong accusation. If you're right, we're talking about keeping revolution at bay, here, Silas."

"I know," he said grimly. "That's what I'm afraid of."

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The form is on my profile, and it's a hefty one, so get a head start! Submissions will remain open for a while I think, still haven't decided how long.

Notes on submitting:

- NOT IN THE REVIEWS! PM me your form please!

- You may only submit one girl (for now), please don't make her OP

- You may submit a girl who is related to one of the ruling houses, but NOT from the houses Song, Kshatriya, or Torrid. Otherwise, they can be anyone else in the nation. If you choose to make her from a ruling house, please make sure to check in with the other people in your nation to make sure you're not both the daughter of the Primor of Mortefierro, etc. Please also keep the family members of the ruling house consistent between applications!

- There is some stuff you won't be able to fill out until next week when the second chapter goes up. Don't sweat it!

- Diversity! Guess what! I world-built all these diverse, nuanced nations based on the real world, which, (get this), has diversity! It's not hard, you can do it!

- I reserve the right to reject your form if it is not filled to my standards

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