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Chapter Text

“To whom it may concern,

A recent census has confirmed that there is a person of unmarried status between the ages of 16 and 20 currently residing in your home. We would like to make you aware of an upcoming opportunity to honor the great nation of New America. Our beloved prince, Leandro Alejandro Nuñez Cuesta Espinosa, will come of age on July 28th. As he ventures into this new part of his life, he hopes to move forward with a partner, to marry a true Child of New America. If your eligible child, sibling or charge is interested in possibly becoming the spouse of Prince Lance and the adored monarch of New America; please fill out the enclosed form and return it to your local Province Services Office. One individual from each province will be drawn at random to meet the prince. Participants will be housed at the lovely New American Palace in Angeles for the duration of their stay. The families of each participant will be generously compensated for their service to the royal family.

As you already know, The Selection is the most anticipated event of a generation. We cannot wait to meet the future face of the New American Royal Family, will it be you?”

*

“I’m not doing it. I looked it up and legally you can’t make me.”

“I haven’t even said anything yet!” Shiro shook his head, the grainy image of his uniform glitching out at the sudden movement.

Keith’s holoscreen, like everything else he owned, was old and secondhand. There was a crack in the side from when he’d dropped it once. Ever since the images or sound would become distorted at odd times, but it could still receive calls and broadcast from public access, so Keith had no need to replace it. Not that he could afford a replacement anyways.

“And this ensures you won’t,” Keith folded his paint-smeared arms over his chest. “Call it a preventative measure.”

These calls were hard to set up. Shiro was only allotted so much time to phone home (frequent calls could lead to homesickness) and sometimes he didn’t even get to use it. The enemy wasn’t about to call a ceasefire just to let the man speak with his mother. If Shiro was out when it was his time to use the military holophone then he was out of luck. He’d just have to wait until next month. Even on the occasions he actually did make it to the station he couldn’t guarantee Keith he’d be able to call him. He had a family too after all, and they took precedence when it came to call time. Not that Keith minded of course, they didn't need to call, not when they wrote letters to each other almost daily.

“I might have planned not to mention the Selection,” Shiro chuckled, “not when I’ve already sent out an essay on it, which clearly you’ve already seen.”

Yes, Keith had seen it. Three whole pages on what an amazing opportunity he would be throwing away by not entering. It wasn’t as if Shiro was wrong about that, but that didn’t mean Keith was willing to sell himself off to be part of the royal family’s playthings especially when there were actual issues that needed to be addressed in the nation. Anyone with half a brain could see this was all a way to distract the public... unfortunately it was actually a good one.

The Selection offered one of the few chances for someone to improve their lives with almost no effort. Just being drawn elevated your caste to a 3, the second highest level for a commoner, and if you won the damn thing you and your entire family would become 1s, in other words, royalty. The only caveat being that you would have to marry the prince, a small sacrifice for a life of luxury and status to some. Even those who couldn’t compete or didn’t get picked could find themselves rooting for the hometown favorite.

“Well, you should know that I’ve decided not to enter,” Keith said firmly. He was going to stand his ground on this one. He didn’t even want to consider it. “The law says I have to enter my own name, no one can enter for me and nothing you can say will make want to enter.”

“Keith, did you even read my letter?” Shiro asked raising an eyebrow.

“I saw the first sentence and pitched it,” Keith said, thinking about the wadded up paper ball on his desk. In truth he couldn’t bring himself to throw it out, he couldn’t throw out any of the letters Shiro wrote to him even if he refused to read one. He’d probably stuff it in his desk drawer with the rest of his friend’s correspondence. “I need to focus on applying for the Garrison scholarship anyways.”

“There’s no guarantee you’ll get that scholarship, Keith,” Shiro warned him as he did every week. “especially since you still need a letter of rec from an officer or official. Have any ideas of who you’ll ask?”

Keith shifted on the old beat up couch, deciding to focus his gaze just past Shiro’s left ear. “Uh, no, I haven’t, but I think I have a better chance of getting that scholarship than selected. I’m a 5, remember?"

That gave Shiro pause. Everyone knew the whole Selection was a sham. How could it be a random draw when most of the participants were 2s and 3s despite the majority of the country’s population being in the lower castes? Keith was a 5, born into a life of artistry and poverty. Where others had clean, filed nails and smooth palms Keith had stained cuticles and clay crusted to his forearms. They could both list off at least a dozen names of local 2s and 3s who had better chances of being chosen than Keith.

“Maybe so, but this is a once in a lifetime opportunity Keith. If I was eligible I would have at least signed up,” Shiro sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“If you’d signed up they would have just cancelled it and held the wedding for you and the prince a week later,” Keith snorted. Hey, it was only the truth. Shiro had been born to a pair of teachers, and as a 3 had grown up well educated and well nourished. Many young women lamented the fact he’d decided to join the air force, and not just for his rank. 

“Did you get that from my mom?” Shiro scowled but Keith could see the amusement in his eyes. “Okay, but let’s say you do get selected-”

“If I get selected then I can’t go to the academy in the fall,” Keith interrupted him with this reminder, “and I’d rather not lose my spot for some plain prince just because you’re deployed.”

“Prince Lance isn’t plain and you know it.” Shiro corrected him stiffly. Keith rolled his eyes. “And I’m sure the academy will let you start the next year with your scholarship. Besides, I’m way too old to be eligible for the selection.”

Keith huffed knowing he was right. “What if I don’t get the scholarship but get selected? It’s not like I stand a chance of winning anyways, and if I do get Selected that will mean going to the palace. If I’m at the palace that means I can’t do commissions and if I’m not doing commissions then I’m not making money. If I’m not making money then I fall behind on saving up for a loan deposit. Do you see the problem here?”

“If you get selected you won’t even have to take out loans,” Shiro informed him. “Members of the selected are very well paid for their duration. Just a week in the palace could probably buy you your first two terms at the Garrison.”

Keith chewed his lip. This was also true. “Fine, okay, but what if I don’t want to be in the palace? More importantly, what if I don’t want to be the future accessory of the royal family? I don’t think any amount of money would be worth that.”

Shiro pressed his lips into a thin line, it was his ‘Keith you’re being difficult’ face. “What if I could offer you something more than money?"

“You’re halfway around the world,” Keith cracked into a grin, twisting his arm around so he could rub off some of the clay dried to his elbow. “What could you offer me?”

“What about a letter of rec from me and my commanding officer?” Shiro said tentatively.

Now that got Keith’s attention.

It wasn’t long before Shiro was being called away to duty and Keith was left alone, staring at that letter with disdain. He wasn’t sure who he was mad at more, the Selection for existing or Shiro for making such an offer. Shiro knew Keith was desperate to get in, but… he was also right about the Selection elevating him instantly.

But then again, Keith supposed that things could be a lot worse for him.

Most orphans became 8s within days. When Keith lost his father 2 years ago he realized he had no family to take him in, but he was fortunate enough to be sponsored by some former patron of his father’s work for acceptance into a government aid program. It wasn’t much, a tiny, gritty apartment and weekly allowance. He knew he should be grateful, most provinces didn’t have relief programs for youth, if any at all, but every time a check came in the mail and he worked out his weekly budget he felt bitter. This allowance was a fixed rate for every home no matter how many children or the condition of the residents. It was meant to stop people from taking advantage of the program, but Keith was damn sure that all the restriction did was ensure it was nearly impossible for those on aid to save up enough money to get off of it, or that those who were on it would lose it when it wasn’t enough to cover everything.

On the surface that didn’t seem right. Why would a program be designed to only ruin those it was supposed to help? But then again, lawmakers salaries were determined by how much money they saved on the budget. The less money they spent the better.

Keith didn’t like the castes. He knew why they were set in place, the castes had been the easiest and quickest way to restore order in a young, chaotic country. Still, he didn’t like the idea that those without homes were immediately labeled as untouchables and put on the same tiers as criminals. Hell, criminals were treated better than most 8s. At least in jail you were given shelter and food. 8s had no way of elevating themselves and no way to provide for themselves… or at least no respectable way. He saw them often begging in the streets for scraps of food or money, and though Keith wanted to help them he knew he couldn’t afford to do so.

A step above the 8s were the 7s, and being a 7 wasn’t much better than an 8. 7s were laborers, the farmhands, construction workers, lumberjacks, miners. 7s had homes, usually associated with their jobs as the law required housing for these professions, but they didn’t provide food. Starvation was common, but at least they were employed.

6s were domestic workers like secretaries, janitors, waitstaff, housekeeping, seamstresses, cooks, clerks. Growing up Keith had known a few 6s. His father often employed local families of 6s to help him clean up their studio when they had the money to do so which was sparingly. Even so, it was easy to see the gratefulness in their eyes when they came over.

Keith was a 5. As a kid his father taught him to sculpt and spin clay into pots and cups. His father was a talented sculptor, and though Keith had inherited some of his ability, he found himself more driven towards his mother’s craft: painting. Keith had never known his mother, and his father didn’t talk about her much out of grief. All Keith had to learn from were her old notes and journals and works. In a way he felt connected to her through that. He couldn’t recall her face, but he knew how she sketched. Unfortunately painting alone wasn’t a reliable way to provide for himself, so these days he mostly sold his pictures on mugs or pots or bowls.

4s were the next step up from Keith. 4s were business owners, real estate agents, jewelers, farm owners, managers. They had stable (if not always substantial) income. Their children were often tutored professionally, and well fed. They might not be rich, but they were at least living better than most. Being a 4 was considered the New American dream in a way, but crossing the gap between the lower castes and 4s was like swimming upstream, constant opposition.

If the gap between 5s and 4s was a stream, the one between everyone 4 and under and the 2s and 3s is an ocean. 3s were the great minds, teachers and inventors and philosophers. 2s were full out celebrities, athletes, actors, models, and the military. That was one upside to joining the service, instant life improvement, but you had to do whatever the government told you to and plenty didn’t come back, which proved to be an effective deterrent for those who only joined for material gain.

The topmost tier were 1s, the royal family. The king, queen, and their children were the focus of many a tabloid, especially within the past year or so. Keith almost felt sorry for them after such a whirlwind time. First there was Marco’s selection which had become ripe with scandal. Marco made his choice on a bride in less than a month. When she was found to be pregnant very shortly after the wedding the country became suspicious, though any rumors were squashed when the new princess and infant died in childbirth. After that Marco abdicated, making Prince Louis the next heir to the throne.

Prince Louis however had another plan for his life apparently, because the day after his own selection was announced he eloped… with a palace maid. Nobody knew where he went, but the palace reported that he too had abdicated and was now happily married. So, the crown fell squarely on the couple’s next child, Princess Veronica, and keeping true to the country’s tradition, Veronica would host her own Selection to find her husband. Or she would have, had she not been already married at this time to the Italian prince. After Veronica next in succession would have been Princess Rachel, but Rachel, following in Louis's footsteps, abdicated, although not for a lover, but over her desire to pursue a religious vocation. And that left one available royal child and a whole country starving for a Selection.

Keith stared down at the application he’d been mailed. He shouldn’t even be considering this, he had no desire to be whisked off to the palace and take part in a royal reality show. Yes, there was an appeal to becoming prince consort he supposed. There was title, luxury, authority, and not to mention that Shiro was right, Prince Lance wasn’t exactly unattractive, but to gain that how much would he lose? He didn’t want to be the husband to a king, forced to live constantly in his shadow, silent and obedient lest the cameras capture something incriminating.

He sighed and dragged his hands over his face. Morning light filtered in from a window, streaming pure gold across his shabby wood floor, seeming to brighten the worn out color. Keith wasn’t sure how old this apartment was, but the floors were splintery, forcing him to wear socks or shoes everywhere he went. Everything here was old, and even what wasn’t often still looked it. Keith himself felt older here than when he was anywhere else. Maybe that’s what tragedy did to a person, stole just a bit of their life with each loss.

He recalled what Shiro had told him after pitching his offer: “Wouldn’t it be nice to have more?”. The answer he knew was supposed to be ‘Yes’, but he didn’t know if Shiro’s idea of more was the same as Keith’s more. Shiro hadn’t grown up hungry. Two parents, quality education, extracurriculars, the academy. Shiro had Keith’s more in many ways. The thing standing between Keith and that was this damn paper.

“It’s just a form,” Keith mumbled to himself, clicking his pen. “It’s not like you’re getting on the damn plane.”

He carefully printed in his name, age, caste, place of residence, hair and eye color, and education. He was enrolled in an independent studies program offered by Shiro’s family. He met with Shiro’s father or mother (depending on who was teaching classes that day) twice a week at their home and then would be given independent study materials to complete on his own. Usually, he crammed everything in on the first day, leaving the rest of the week free to complete commissions. In recreational activities he was proud to portray himself as a painter, sculptor and member of his local fencing team, and while he opted out of saying Shiro had illegally taught him how to fly a plane, he did list that his aspiration was to be a fighter pilot in the military. Surely that would catch some attention before they cast him aside for someone with class.

It was harder than he thought it would be to put down that he had no parents and lived on his own. He had to fill out that he was a ward of the state, complete with a case number and identification documents. It felt almost shameful. He was used to identifying himself as a part of the lower castes, he didn’t care what people thought of him there, but being parentless felt like some stain. Probably because while learning one’s caste garnered judgemental reactions, learning one was an orphan… well… Keith had yet to come across someone who had a halfway decent response.

Keith was glad to see that the applications had no formal essay questions on why he thinks he’d make a good prince of Illea or why he’d be a good match for Prince Lance. He knew Shiro wouldn’t accept anything less than a full response, and there was nothing he could think to write other than ‘I wouldn’t’. Hey, it was the truth, and that should’ve counted for something.

Finally he reached the last page of the form, and despite the gravity of the words in front of him it felt the simplest to fill out.

‘I do hereby certify under penalty of law that I am who I have described on these forms and promise to fulfill my duties as a member of the Selection should my name be called’.

Keith carefully copied the statement, making his signature big enough to stretch beyond the box he had been given, a Hancock as Shiro would’ve called it, not that either of them knew what that meant. Perhaps it was just one of those phrases that was used for so long it lost all its meaning, or maybe it was never meant to have a meaning at all. There many things like that, it seemed to Keith as he slipped the paper inside their manilla envelope. Now the only thing that mattered was ensuring Shiro fulfilled his end of the bargain.

*

It would be another week before he could call Shiro again.

“You’ve completed everything on the forms?” Shiro asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes sir,” Keith grinned, holding up the papers to the screen so he could see, “not a question left unanswered, and I took each one seriously, I promise.”

Shiro narrowed his eyes rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll have my dad be the judge of that. You better hope you’re telling the truth, or else you won’t be getting that letter of recommendation. I’ll head out and intercept the mail plane myself if I have to.”

“Wait,” Keith breathed, “does that mean-”

Shiro nodded. “I sent it out this morning. Major General Holt wrote a stellar review of you based on my description. You’ll get that scholarship for sure.”

Keith leapt to his feet, whooping, his enthusiasm making Shiro laugh. Finally everything seemed to be going right for him! With any luck, he’ll have his award letter before the end of July. He could kiss this dirty little apartment goodbye.

“When is dad taking you down to the post office?” Shiro asked once Keith had finally settled down. “He told me this week was going to be pretty busy.”

“Uh, yeah,” Keith ran a hand through his hair, racking his brains to remember what Mr. Shirogane had told him in their last phone conversation. “He said it’d be maybe the Friday after next, one of the last days to submit an application.”

Shiro whistled. “I’d hate to see the lines that day."

“The lines are long every day.” Keith informed him. “I went out today to buy more paint for the Hampshires’ commission. I can’t believe they’ve ordered another painting, this had got to be their 3rd one this year.”

“Ah, but work is work,” Shiro reminded him. “I remember you were saying you’d been struggling to find anything to do this summer.”

Keith nodded, fidgeting with the paint smeared hem of his shirt. The summer was usually his busy season, everyone’s busy season actually. There seemed to be more events to work with at this time of year than any other, and that was on top of the holidays and birthdays people might request something for. If Keith could get it he’d always chose commissions over making pottery for a retailer. There was nothing worse to him than sitting in his studio with hundreds of ideas buzzing under his skin and forcing himself to make 200 of the same cup.

“Yeah I’m not complaining or anything.” He said, smiling a bit at the blue splattered over his hands. “The Hampshires pay well, and they give me a lot of creative freedom. I think they used to be clients of my dad.”

“Well, you’re just as talented as your parents,” Shiro said, stretching in his seat. The sudden movement caused the old device to fizzle for a moment. “It doesn’t surprise me they found it best to pass on their patronage to you.”

Keith frowned. “Do you think they’re only hiring me because of my dad?”

“What?” Shiro looked surprised Keith would ask something like that. “No, I think they’re hiring you for your work. Your father sculpted more for them, you’ve always painted. If they were only hiring you as a way to pay homage to your dad would that upset you?”

Keith shook his head. It wasn’t tribute to his father that bothered him, but he wasn’t sure he could voice his feelings. “Nevermind, it’s stupid.”

“If you’re sure,” Shiro said, eyeing him. “Listen, I have to go, but keep me updated on everything, especially if your name gets chosen.”

Keith smirked. “Sure, if I get selected you’ll be the first to know, I promise, Shiro. And thank you.”

Something in Shiro’s face softened. “No problem, Keith.”

*

Keith fidgeted with his hands. He hated waiting in lines, and Shiro had been right, the lines today were longer than ever. That combined with the summer heat was doing little to lift Keith’s mood, but the excitement of the crowd was more than a little infectious.

“I remember when they announced the selection for the current queen,” Mr. Shirogane smiled fondly, fanning himself with his hat. “They only had it open for girls then, so I didn’t enter myself, but my sister did and I was the one who was stuck escorting her down to the province office. Of course, it wasn’t so hot on that day, but the lines were just as long. Nothing could dampen my sister’s spirit of course.”

“She didn’t get selected though, right?” Keith asked, going on his toes to peer over the crowd.

“Goodness no,” Mr. Shirogane chuckled, “Alysson Camberts was the girl from Sumner selected. She was a 2 and her father was a basketball player. I don’t remember how far she got in the selection though, she wasn’t very popular even in her hometown.”

“Who did you root for then Mr. Shirogane?” Keith asked, half interested, half just wanting to keep the conversation from going stale.

“Oh I rooted for Queen Sofia, though she was Lady Sofia then,” Mr. Shirogane hummed, taking a few steps forwards as the line began to move along, “and I’m not just saying that because she won, I was hoping for her from the beginning. I just always thought she was very real and down to Earth, you could always tell she was genuine in everything she did and I thought we needed someone like her on the throne.” He nudged Keith gently. “Just like we need someone like you up there.”

Keith couldn’t help but grin a bit. It didn’t matter if being the king was the last thing Keith ever wanted to do, knowing Mr. Shirogane had confidence in him always made him glow. All the Shiroganes had a unique ability in the way they spoke and interacted with others that made them feel like they truly had faith that you could do anything. Their praise was always truthful and genuine, and it was what made them such great teachers.

“Thank you sir, but I don’t think I’d do very well leading the nation,” Keith replied, “I’m too impulsive and my manners aren't the best.”

Mr. Shirogane waved him away. “You can always teach manners, and don’t discredit yourself. Impulsive, yes, but it means you’re passionate. If you learned to apply it towards the right things I think you’ll find you can accomplish more than you ever thought possible.”

Keith shrugged his shoulders, looking away to hide his smile. It sounded like something Shiro would say.

Mr. Shirogane soon got caught up in conversation with someone in the line next to them, leaving Keith to just watch quietly.

Keith had never seen so many people his own age in one place. He could pick out a few faces in the crowd, like Kristy Lovewell, a 2 who’s portrait he’d painted last year, and Zinnia Keys, a janitor who helped her family keep the halls of the local art museum spotless. Even if he hadn’t known their castes, he would’ve been able to figure it out based on their attire. While Kristy wore shimmery clothes and what might have been a pound of makeup, Zinnia simply wore a nice shirt, and by nice Keith meant no holes or stains. They were easy to sort into upper or lower castes, as were most people. When you have more than enough to cover your bills you can afford to keep yourself clothed much better than others.

Keith didn’t look terrible though, but only because Mr. Shirogane had arrived at Keith’s door with a new shirt and new jeans. They weren’t like his paint splattered studio clothes either, these were nice material, soft and probably way out of his budget. He’d tried to refuse, insisting that his nice button up he wore to formal occasions was perfectly fine, but Mr. Shirogane wouldn’t have it. He knew damn well Keith was too big for that button up 2 months ago when he’d attended the end of school year banquet.

‘Consider it a gift from my wife and I,’ He’d said, thrusting the bag into Keith’s hands, ‘for being one of our star pupils and so supportive of our son. He’s the one who suggested we go and get you something nice after all.’

That’s what had done it. Anytime the Shiroganes needed Keith to do anything all they had to do was bring Shiro into it and that was it. It didn’t matter what it was, Keith would do anything, or well, almost anything.

Finally they reached the entrance to the office, which was just as packed inside as it was outside. They were directed by a security guard into a second line where they waited again to have their forms processed. At least this line was in the air conditioning, Keith thought as he poked his head out to see around to the front of the line. A couple was borderline yelling at the poor clerk while their daughter cried off to the side.

“Our Jessibelle turns 16 on July 29th, the day after the prince!” The man spoke firmly. “She should be allowed to compete, this is an outrage!”

“Sir,” The clerk said in a calm but tired voice, “the rules are very clear that participants must be at least 16 by the 14th of July, when the names are drawn. She is too young to be Selected.”

The girl’s mother let out a ‘hmph’ sound. “Darling, I think we should go, clearly we must speak to someone higher up about this, someone who will take our family name into stock.” And with that she grabbed her daughter’s hand and whisked her away, hissing about not crying in public as they passed.

“Oh dear,” Mr. Shirogane murmured as he watched them head out the door, “that was quite the scene. I understand their frustration, but to cause such a ruckus.”

Keith nodded quietly, keeping his opinion that there was no way in hell anyone could understand being that upset about anything as stupid as the Selection to himself.

The line trickled slowly, but thankfully peacefully, down until they were finally in front of the desk.

“Let me see your forms dear,” The clerk smiled, her tone now animated that she wasn’t being yelled at. Keith handed her the manilla envelope, his mouth suddenly dry for some reason. She took out his forms and gave them a once over. She was probably to make sure everything was signed and dated correctly. “Alrighty, everything looks set, just give me a moment.” Her fingers flew across the keys of a keyboard at a rapid fire speed, but she kept her eyes trained on the screen. “You’re in supplemental housing, correct? I’ll need to see your sponsorship papers.”

Keith faltered. He hadn’t thought to bring those, but fortunately Mr. Shirogane came to his rescue, pulling a folded up piece of paper from his breast pocket.

“I have a copy of them right here,” he said, handing them to the clerk before explaining to Keith, “as your tutors we have them on file for the Department of Education. I had a feeling you wouldn’t think to bring them.”

Keith mumbled out an embarrassed thank you, shoving his hands into his pockets. He should’ve known they’d need them as a ‘Certificate of Trust’ like they were used everywhere else, as if those in poverty couldn’t be trusted with anything.

Keith watched the clerk swivel around in her chair and slip the sponsorship papers into a machine. After a few moments there was a beep and she removed them, refolding them carefully.

“You’re good as gold.” The clerk chirped brightly.  “You can take this-” she gave the sponsorship papers back to Mr. Shirogane, “and you can take this.” She quickly tore off a receipt that shot up out of a small little box and handed it to Keith. “That’s the proof that you have entered your name into the Selection, and the tear off slip at the bottom is for the photographer. Best of luck to you! Now, it looks like booth number 5 is open if you’d like to head over there for your photo. Have a lovely day.”

“Thank you,” Keith smiled, nodding his head. When he turned away he took a deep breath, glancing over to where several little booths were set with photographers helping candidates pose on stools, their smiles big and hopes undoubtedly bigger. For many this was their one shot at ever rising above their station, and they'd be damned if they didn't do everything in their power to ensure they stood as best a chance as possible.

“You ready?” Mr. Shirogane asked.

“No.” Keith muttered honestly, and Mr. Shirogane chuckled.

There photographer was totally engrossed in his camera, not even looking at them as they approached, yawning as he lazily extended his hand for Keith’s slip. Keith climbed up on the stool, running his fingers through his hair to give it a little life after being stuck to his forehead from sweating out in that line.

“Alright, ready?” The photographer asked, aiming his camera up.

“Ready.” Keith confirmed, and the photographer began counting down. Keith pulled his lips up into a smile, still in disbelief that he was actually doing this, actually allowing for his name to be entered into the world’s stupidest, dumbest-

Shiro.

Just as the shutter went off Keith caught sight of Shiro, still in his military uniform, and smiling slyly, walk up behind his dad, and he could feel his face just light up at the thought that Shiro had come all the way here for him.

Nobody in all of New America could’ve had a bigger grin than Keith’s.

*

Chapter Text

“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were going to be back.” Keith said, still grinning from ear to ear.

They were sitting together on the Shiroganes’ back porch, enjoying the sunset together and catching up. They’d spent most of yesterday and today helping Mrs. Shirogane with summer yard work (‘Why hire a 7 when we can do it ourselves, right?’ was code for ‘It’s summer, we’re not making any money from tutoring right now and we can’t afford to hire a construction company’) and hadn’t much of a chance to really talk. Keith hadn’t seen Shiro in the flesh since he’d flown out with his squadron over 6 months ago, and though he’d rather have a call over no contact, it felt so good to have his best friend there with him physically. Shiro had been there for Keith through thick and thin. He’d been endlessly patient where others were quick to give up.

“I wanted to surprise you.” Shiro smirked, leaning against the support beam.

“Well, you certainly did.” Keith chuckled.

“I’m proud of you for going through with it,” Shiro said, “entering the Selection. It means a lot to me.”

“Which I can’t figure out why,” Keith huffed, “but just to clarify I only did it to get those letters of rec. It’s not like I actually like the prince or want to compete.”

“Of course,” Shiro rolled his eyes, “I wouldn’t dream of saying anything contrary.”

“Heh, good.” Keith crossed his arms over his chest. He could hear the closing song from a sitcom on the TV and knew they’d be called in to watch the Report soon.

Keith detested the Report, an hour long program that broadcasted news directly from the palace. It aired every friday on the public access channel so pretty much anyone with a TV could see it. It wasn’t an obligation to watch, but it was often unwise to miss. Naturally, Keith skipped it most weeks, but since he was staying with the Shiroganes there was no way he could get out of it. He’d probably end up tuning out most of it since they’d just be covering the Selection. They wouldn’t pull the names for another week or so, but everyone was too excited about the world’s stupidest beauty pageant that they’d ham it up tonight.

“What if you do get Selected?” Shiro asked.

“I’d refuse to go.” Keith answered simply. “I’d hole myself up in my apartment, or I’d run away.”

“But you’re legally obligated to compete.” Shiro pointed out. “That form had a binding contract on it. If selected you have to come to the palace whether you want to or not.”

Damn, did he always have to blow holes in Keith’s plans? “Fine, I’ll go and be as rude and obnoxious as possible until they kick me out.”

“What if word of your behavior gets back to the academy?” Shiro smirked. “And then they rescind their acceptance letter, that is, if you get in.”

Oh he had Keith there. “Are you saying I have to play fair until the prince loses interest in me?”

“Only if you get selected,” Shiro said, shrugging, “I just wanted to point it out to you in case you get it in your head and screw up royally. ”

Keith cringed at the pun, hating Shiro’s shit-eating grin. Nobody who makes jokes that awful had any right to look so smug. “That was awful.”

Shiro laughed. “Okay, maybe so, but I’m serious Keith. If you do get selected you’ll have to at least try or risk being disgraced. Think about the potential consequences of insulting the future sovereign before you open your mouth.”

“It’s not like they’ll let me stay anyways.” Keith mumbled. “They usually kick all the 5s out by the second night. Remember what happened with Prince Marco?”

Shiro grimaced. Prince Marco’s Selection had been nothing but a farce. It had seemed that early on the prince had set his eyes on a particularly famous (and gorgeous) 2 from Angeles. He made drastic cuts, eliminating everyone under a 3 by the end of the first week, and then kept picking off the other girls each day. Many weren’t even given a reason as to why they were sent home. Keith tried not to hold it against his wife, she actually seemed like a very charming and kind woman, and in her short reign had been working on projects to help the mentally ill by providing free programs for those in the castes 5 and below. It was a shame she died before that could come to fruition.

“I don’t necessarily think that what Prince Marco did was… well, good,” Shiro said, “but maybe he just met her and realized that was all he wanted. When you know you know.”

Keith bit his lip and looked away. That was what his father always said about what it was like to meet his mother. He knew she was The One from the moment he laid eyes on her. It was like I’d never seen color before, he explained in an awed voice one night after Keith asked him about his mom, and then I saw her and everything seemed to make sense. Keith had grown up on that and on those old Disney movies that had been passed through his family. But then life shoved all it could on him, and Keith grew wary of any ‘get love quick’ schemes.

Besides, Keith had another theory to explain the haste of Prince Marco’s choice.

“Some call it efficient,” Keith huffed, “I call it breasts.”

Shiro choked on his own tongue just as his mother called them in for the Report, and Keith escaped into the house before Shiro could reprimand him for such a crude joke.

The national anthem was starting play as Keith settled down in the big armchair, letting the Shiroganes take the couch to themselves as a family. Mr. and Mrs. Shirogane sat nestled close together now (married for 30 years, yet just as in love as always), but Keith knew the tradition was for Shiro to wedge his way between them, which he did again tonight, much to his parents amusement. Keith couldn’t help but grin, 23 years old and just as big of a dork as ever.

Keith hummed along as the last few bars of the anthem played. Maybe it was silly, but no matter how much he found fault in the way this country was run, he couldn’t help but feel pride for it whenever the anthem played. He could relate to how this nation was built on the ashes of nothing without a single ally to aide them.

As the flag faded away the screen showed a shot of the camera panning across the cheering live audience in the Report studio. “Citizens of New America, give a warm welcome to your host, Coran Wimbleton Smythe!”

Mrs. Shirogane slapped as Coran stepped out onto the platform, waving and smiling to the crowd. Coran was the Report’s lively and bubbly host, having taken over for the retiring host a few years ago. He was an Altean actually, so he carried an accent and wore his cultural markings with pride. There were rumors that the studio chose an Altean to help the refugees of the shattered Altean nation feel more at home here, especially since Coran had held an advisory role with the Altean King Alfor previously. Keith wasn’t so sure how much it had worked, but he’d liked Coran a whole lot more than the previous host.

“Good evening New America!” Coran beamed. “How are you doing?” He leaned forward, flourishing his hand to his ear as if he was trying to hear better. The audience (including the Shiroganes) called back a resounding “goooood!”

Keith couldn’t help but smile, he always enjoyed Coran’s theatrics.

“That is excellent to hear,” Coran clapped once, straightening up. “I for one am doing just fine, and we have an amazing show planned for you as I know you’re all eager to hear about the upcoming Selection-” here he gave pause, allowing for some whoops and a quick flash to where Prince Lance sat, grinning- “but first we have some important announcements, so just hang in there! For now, let’s take a moment and listen the minister of finance update us on our great nation’s economy.”

“Ooh I wish they were announcing the names tonight,” Mrs. Shirogane gushed happily, “I want to see which lucky duck from Sumner is going to be selected, although I think we all know who.” She gave Keith a wink.

“There were a lot of people there entering on the day we went,” Keith said, not wanting to get her hopes up, “and it’s probably been busy like that all week. It wouldn’t surprise me if a good 90% of the eligible population submitted their names.”

She waved him away. “It doesn’t matter how many names are entered, if it’s fate you’ll be drawn, right boys?”

Shiro and Mr. Shirogane chorused their agreements and Keith sighed. He knew they were probably just trying to rile him up, but it did sort of bother him. The idea of chaining himself to the crown had absolutely zero appeal to Keith. If he were to be drawn it wouldn’t matter if he won or lost, his life would be forever altered and his name and face known across the nation. Many of the Selected from Prince Marco’s Selection were still regarded as important women, and those who didn’t marry the prince would often still marry into powerful families such as politicians or celebrities. They were considered prizes, but Keith was sure he’d only be able to see himself as the prince’s leftovers.

For some people though, that appealed to them. Even if they didn’t win they were almost assured a life of prosperity and importance. They would be forever elevated out of whatever their old life had been and into a unique social status. Yes, Keith wanted out of his current situation, but he wanted to do something that mattered. Being a trophy wife (or husband in his case) did not fit that criteria at all, but being in the military did. Would he be able to join the military even if he was selected? He hoped so, not that he was thinking he was going to be selected or anything, just if he was…

The screen showed a quick flash of royal family’s reaction to the minister’s words. Keith didn’t understand a word of what he was saying, but if the royal family felt the same they didn’t show it. The queen sat serenely to the right of her husband, her hand resting gently in his, their fingers laced together. The king seemed totally engrossed in the graphs and numbers, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. As for Lance… on the surface he appeared to be listening, brows slightly furrowed and jaw set as if in concentration, but as a daydreamer himself Keith could tell from his eyes that the prince must have been a thousand miles away from the studio in his mind. You could just see the distance in his eyes.

It still felt so odd to see the royal family so close. Before the studio had to squeeze in 3 extra chairs, 4 after Prince Marco married Princess Jacqueline. The only face they’d ever zoom in on then was the king’s, so you only saw the rest of them at a sort of distance, but now that 7 had been reduced to just 3 Keith felt like he was uncomfortably close.

Keith gave Prince Lance a once over, trying to remember the last time he truly looked at the prince. The prince had certainly matured over the past few years, he was no longer the fidgeting little boy who would be reprimanded via game of sibling telephone. The queen would tell Marco, Marco would tell Louis, Louis would tell it to Veronica, who would deliver their mother’s warning to Lance. Lance would pout and lean forward to try and catch his mother’s eye, but the queen would keep her eyes forward. Keith could vaguely remember his father pointing out how Lance probably didn’t think he needed to be on set. After all he was the youngest, fourth in line for the throne, his ascension had always seemed unlikely, until suddenly he was the only heir.

The royal family above all seemed the most shocked over this turn of events. Where Marco and Louis, as the most likely candidates for the crown, were given impeccable education and flattering images of strong leadership in the media, Prince Lance was allowed a little more freedom. His attendance wasn’t required (or seen) at several important events, and he didn’t grow up with his name in the news for supporting different charities or taking tours of military bases. The king and queen were probably relieved that Lance wasn’t old enough to have had a true scandal, but there were rumors surrounding his vacations.

But now Lance was clearly kept on a much shorter leash, always with the king and queen as if he was attempting to soak up everything he could about being a monarch. Over the past year his public image was bolstered with visits to hospitals and foreign summits and new projects, and though sure, the tabloids would talk, more reliable news sources voiced opinions of tentative hope in the prince. Keith, however, didn’t think many were as convinced as the New American Chronicle. If the way the prince spoke about current issues, uninformed and often unprepared, was any indicator, Lance’s figurative crown was still much too big for him.

“Well I think that wraps up the last of our official announcements,” Coran said as he escorted the Minister of Justice from the stage (Keith couldn’t even remember when she’d gotten up there in the first place. Hadn’t they just been reporting on trading tariffs?), “which means we can finally get to what everyone watching has been waiting for. Come on down here Prince Lance!”

The camera once again swiveled to show the royal family as Lance rose up from his chair, grinning, bending down to let his mother kiss his cheek before making his way over to where Coran sat in an interviewer’s chair. He shook Coran’s hands, thanking him warmly before taking a seat in the chair he was provided, the hot seat as Coran usually referred to it.

“Prince Lance,” Coran greeted him after the crowd began to wind down, “so! How are you feeling? Nervous perhaps?”

“Not at all,” Lance grinned, one knee bouncing up and down as though if he didn’t give it something to do it might wander up to rest on his knee; a most improper way to sit. “I’m quite excited to take this next step into adulthood and what better way to do it than with a true New American at my side.” With this he flashed the camera a wink that made Mrs. Shirogane and Shiro (the big sap) let out a soft, melted sigh.

The crowd cheered, and Keith had no doubt in saying that every eligible person who entered would have thought that was just for them. Even Keith could almost believe it for a moment.

“I think we can all agree there,” Coran replied, “but just what are you looking for in a future spouse? Any hints?” He leaned in a bit, wiggling his eyebrows for extra effect.

Lance cracked up a bit. “Well, I’ve got to be honest, I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking for, but I think when I meet him, her, or them, I’ll know. So ask me in a few weeks Coran!”

The Shiroganes let out another set of sighs.

Keith wanted to vomit.

“Clearly you must have some idea!” Coran said. “But I’m sure that even if you don’t you’ll make a most magnificent choice.”

“Oh I don’t know,” Lance challenged with a mischievous grin, “I can’t possibly believe anyone who settles for me could be a sane individual.”

The crowd laughed, settling in for what was sure to be an entertaining interview. The prince may not be known for his intellect when it came to the political ring, but he could certainly deliver for the public when he needed to.

Keith studied the prince, taking in his emotive, bubbly personality. He always seemed to be moving, whether it was nodding his head, tapping his foot, or bouncing his knee, he could never seem to just be still. Even when he was talking his hands seemed to be everywhere, as if they could convey whatever translation was lost verbally. Keith wondered if he was like that all the time, always bursting at the seams. He wasn’t sure he could handle that, Keith needed things to be still every once in a while. Constant motion only made him feel uneasy.

And there was something else that bothered Keith about the prince: he just couldn’t seem to relax. It wasn’t just the fidgeting, it was the way he seemed to sit in his chair. He just seemed so tense and rigid. His clothes were starched too stiff, his hair so frozen by hairspray it didn’t even rustle when he moved his head or laughed. Lance seemed to be aware of this, because occasionally a hand would flutter up as if to run fingers through it, but half way up would remember this and suddenly change direction, to his ear or chin maybe.

Keith narrowed his eyes as he watched. He decided it was a good thing he wasn’t a 2 or a 3 with connections, it was a good thing he was just an orphaned 5. He knew there wasn’t a chance in hell they could ever be compatible with one another.

*

All too soon, Shiro’s time in Sumner came to an end. He spent the week he was given greeting his old friends, spending quality time with his family, and give Keith a few brush ups in fencing. Even with months in between their last match, Shiro could still serve Keith his ass on a silver platter, but Keith was learning, he even managed to beat him a few times. Those were proud, golden moments, but now it was time to say goodbye again for god knows how long, and Keith found that he wasn’t ready.

Usually only the Shiroganes went to see Shiro off, but this time they brought Keith along, knowing how much it meant to both boys. Keith was silent as they rode up in Mr. Shiroganes car to the Sumner province air force base. The Shiroganes had started up a lively conversation and he didn’t want to intrude on what would be their last moments with their son for a really long time. The military didn’t give out permission to visit home very often once you’d started your 4 year stint.

Keith kept quiet when they pulled up at the base, didn’t speak as he helped unload Shiro’s bag from the trunk and onto a cargo cart. He lagged behind the others as they entered into the administration building, keeping his eyes on the walls where pictures of squadrons and generals were hung with pride. Keith wondered if one day he’d be up there, right alongside them, grinning as he prepared to take off for an exciting mission.

They waited in the lobby, the Shiroganes chatting amicably and Keith wandering around the small room. It smelled odd, not unlike a plane itself. It was both an off putting and comforting scent, stale air and car exhaust but also rain and sunshine. Maybe it was just what the clouds smelled like, and the pilots who flew through them dragged it in so much on their clothes it just stuck around. Keith wouldn’t mind smelling this all the time.

“They changed my role.”

Keith jumped. He’d been so engrossed in the lobby’s smell he hadn’t noticed Shiro walking up behind him, report in one hand, military cap in the other.

“They did?” Keith asked. “What are you doing now?”

“Before I was just patrol at the base,” Shiro said, flashing the paper to Keith, “but now I’m flyn’ with the big boys.”

“Let me see that.” Keith said, trying to snatch the report from his hands, but Shiro held it out of reach.

“Ah ah ah,” He laughed, going up on his tip toes and dangling it over his head, “this is for classified personnel only, and since you’re not even a cadet yet you certainly don’t qualify to read this, not that you’d understand it anyways.”

Keith managed to yank it out of his hands with only a few wrinkles in the page. “Whiskey Hotel to Mike Echo, what does this mean?”

“I warned you,” Shiro chuckled, taking it back, “you wouldn’t understand it, I barely do and it’s a report for me. Basically, it says I’ll be transferred to General Holt’s pilot crew, which means I’ll be the one flying them out every day, which should be exciting, more exciting than patrol at least. On patrol crew all anyone seems to be able to talk about is work, like a bunch of robots. I feel like General Holt’s son is the most human of them all, so it’ll be nice to be able to talk with him about stuff.”

From the look in Shiro’s eyes Keith could tell that ‘stuff’ meant way more than average everyday conversation. He was smitten.

“Yeah?” Keith said slyly. “What are you going to talk to him about? If he’s had a girlfriend before?”

“What?!” Shiro spluttered, growing red. “No! I-I’d never! I was just going to-”

But Keith was laughing too hard to hear what he going to say. He almost didn’t hear them call Shiro’s name. Almost.

“Well, duty calls.” Shiro said, giving Keith one last hug. “You’ll behave, right?”

“Yes dad.” Keith rolled his eyes, pretending to hate this. “You’ll write to me, right?”

“Everyday, if you want.” Shiro chuckled.

“Not everyday,” he mumbled, a little embarrassed, “but calling would be nice.”

“Alright, I promise.” Shiro paused for a moment, as if he was debating whether or not he wanted to continue something, and then rested his hands on Keith’s shoulders. “I just want you to know that no matter what happens over the next few weeks and months, that I am extremely proud of you. I always knew that you were meant to do something amazing, and that the fire in you cannot be stamped out or hidden. I hope one day the whole world will see that radiance the same way I do.”

Keith blinked in surprise, but before he could ask what Shiro meant, the general came back and gave Shiro a glare as if to tell him to move it.

“Goodbye Keith,” Shiro smiled, pecking the top of his head, “I’m going to miss you, and not just when you’re here and I’m deployed.”

Keith rubbed the spot where Shiro had touched as Shiro kissed his mother goodbye and shook his father’s hand. He replayed that sensation over and over again in his head as he watched Shiro follow the general and other soldiers onto the waiting plane, as Shiro gave them one last wave before disappearing into the cockpit, as the plane taxied down the runway and rose into the sky, leaving nothing but questions in his wake.

*

Adjusting to life without Shiro was much easier this time. The first day had been a little rocky, he kept expecting for the knock at his door that meant Shiro was there to pick him up for a sparring session or pilot lesson, but it never came. The first time Shiro had left for deployment Keith had felt so out of place. It wasn’t as if he spent most of his time with Shiro in the first place, but he was so used to seeing him at least every other day that it sort of hurt to not have him there. Shiro was probably the person Keith was closest to, and not being able to just walk over when he wanted to talk was so… weird. The same empty feeling returned this time, but it was smaller, not so bad, and had faded away by the afternoon of the second day.

It helped that Keith threw himself back into his work. Nothing could distract him like the spread of paint on paper or the squish of clay between his fingers. It was summer, which meant the Great Feast was coming soon and commissions were beginning to pick up. Keith even opened himself up to ceramics and sculpture work just to ensure he could bring in the most clients. It was true he preferred to paint, and that was the bulk of his requests, but he didn’t mind breaking into another medium every now and then. Anything to keep him out of retail supply.

The days trickled by slowly, stacking up as weeks with June fading to July and the heat forcing him out of his stuffy studio. He found new places to work, his favorite of course being the provincial gardens. As he walked home, backpack of supplies slung over his shoulder, Keith realized the gardens of the Sumner Province Museum of Art was a great place to go if you needed to clear your head, but it wasn’t the cheapest. Then again, Keith found that for him general admission was always free… so long as he didn’t get caught.

Jumping the fence to get into the botanical garden that surrounded the museum hadn’t been Keith’s idea actually, it had been Shiro’s. They had needed to do a last minute study on some statue, but Shiro knew Keith couldn’t afford to pay to get in. One successful attempt became two, and two became three, and soon it became something they’d do, just the two of them. If Keith wanted to talk to Shiro in a quiet place, that was where they’d meet. If Keith got a perfect score on his test, or went a whole month without getting in any fights, it was where they’d go to celebrate. Shiro would always be under that stupid statue, with two bottles of pop.

That was another one of their things: pop. Keith, as a 5, never had a lot of opportunities to drink anything fancier than tap water, which was a shame because he loved soda. He loved the taste, the way it fizzled against his tongue. On holidays he used to put it on his wishlist, and even if it was all he got from his father that year, he loved it all the same. That was why when Keith was a boy, Shiro would bribe him with soda pop. Hell, it still worked now that Keith was full grown.

Unfortunately, Keith didn’t have any soda today. Even if he had, it wouldn’t have stayed cool on the walk to the gardens. It was maybe a mile from Keith’s apartment and the late June heat would’ve brought it down to lukewarm all too easily. Shiro had a small insulated lunchbox he always tucked them away in, Keith wished he’d have asked Shiro for it before he left.

The gardens hadn’t been too busy, but Keith wished he would’ve saved this visit for Friday. It would be completely deserted on Fridays as undoubtedly everyone would be crowding around their screens to catch the weekly Report, something Keith usually skipped. He’d much rather spend a peaceful evening working on a project, but alas, the Shiroganes had been kind enough to invite him over to an airing party for the Selection announcement, and he was never one to refuse an offer for free food. Only the Shirogane family could make Keith change his date in the gardens.

The sun was beginning to set as he turned into his housing complex. Hopefully that would mean his tiny apartment was aired out now. He had a small fan he could use for his bedroom, but it would be no match for the blistering summer temperatures. He glanced upwards, scanning for any heavy clouds. They could use a good rainstorm to cool down the dry earth, but the sky was as clear as ever. He sighed, running his paint stained hands through his hair. Maybe he could wrap up some old ice packs in the fridge and sleep with those in a pillow or something. That was probably a bad idea, but he despised waking up covered in sweat.

As he got closer to his apartment he noticed a little yellow car parked outside and frowned. It looked an awful lot like the Shiroganes family car, but what would they be doing here so late? Nobody in the complex had a car that he knew of, not even the landlord. Maybe it was another resident’s visitor who just happened to have a similar car? But as he approached the passenger door opened, and out stepped Mrs. Shirogane.

“Mrs. Shirogane, what are you-” but Keith’s voice trailed off when he caught sight of her face. She was crying. Before he could ask any questions she had wrapped him up into a tight hug, burying her face into his shoulder.

“Keith,” she sobbed, “I’m s-so sorry.”

He wanted to ask what she could possibly be sorry for, but then he took one look at Mr. Shirogane’s face as he walked towards them.

*

It’s funny how the world keeps spinning even when you fall apart. When you’re lying out on the floor, shattered, people keep walking by, places to be things to do. You still have to go to your appointments, to your job, even if it feels like your chest is oozing out with the invisible ache of your torn heart. You can take a moment but not a minute, can’t risk falling behind.

So Keith didn’t. On Tuesday he broke open his paints and he finished the Hampshires commissioned painting, and over the next few days finished 2 more small pieces he’d been working on. He sold one of them to a family of 4s, and decided the other would make a better exposition work for potential work. He needed a watercolor painting that reflected his skills better than the one he was currently using anyways, it was a little old.

On Wednesday he made his way down to the marketplace and painted a busy morning for one of the shopkeepers who wanted something lively on the walls for her store. It wasn’t easy, because across the street was a newstand with the headline ‘PILOT ERROR CAUSES FATAL CRASH’. He refused to put them in, replacing them with a fake orange stand in his painting, but even so, he couldn’t escape the buzz of conversation around him. People were fascinated over the story, wondering why the Garrison had assigned one of it’s youngest officers to such a mission. Prodigy or not, his experience just wasn’t up to snuff, clearly. As if they knew anything about who Shiro was.

It rained on Thursday, so Keith cleaned out his studio. There wasn’t any need to, it was perfectly fine the way it was, but sorting through old paints and cleaning all his brushes made him feel like he was accomplishing something. He even tried arranging his easels and chests and drawers, but hated anything he changed so he put it all back by the end of the day. He even tried scrubbing everything to lift all the years of paint, clay, and god knows what stuck to them, but he had little success. All he managed to do was stir up the dust in there and sneeze himself nearly hoarse.

On Friday he slept until well after noon (poor choice) and ended up being late to presenting Mr. Hampshire with his commission. He must have looked like a mess, hair uncombed, and chest still heaving from running up the street, but Mr. Hampshire didn’t seem to mind, complimenting him for his work and paying him right there. Keith wasted no time in depositing most of it into the bank, portioning out only what he needed to cover living costs and some extra for new supplies. He usually would have gone straight to the store to purchase what he needed, but it was getting late, and he needed to get ready for the Shiroganes.

Keith had said it was okay, he could watch the Report in his own home, but the Shiroganes insisted on having Keith over to watch the Report tonight anyways. It was a quiet affair, no one was in the mood for talking, the mood too dim for the festive mood the rest of the country must be enjoying. Keith watched the way the audience on the Report raored with approval as the prince and Coran stepped up onto the stage, beaming and waving. It didn’t seem fair, that everyone else was happy and excited, blissfully unaware of the searing emotion in Keith’s chest.

“The moment you’ve all been waiting for,” Coran said, “let’s meet the next queen or king of New America!”

The crowd roared as a small view of Lance’s face popped up in the corner to show his reaction to each picture.

Had this been under any other circumstances Keith was certain Mrs. Shirogane would’ve squealed, but instead he felt her squeeze his hands.

“Sir Rolo Swiftly of Angeles, 2.” A picture of a young man that looked vaguely familiar appeared on the screen, accompanied by a round of applause.

“Is that… the boy from the-” but before Mr. Shirogane could finish his sentence they moved on to the next Selected.

“Sir Aubin Chess of Waverly, 3.” Keith glanced at Lance to see his reaction. The prince had leaned over to his mother, commenting on something. Keith decided it was better to keep his eyes off the screen, glancing out the window. He didn’t want to see either the Selected or the Prince right now, he didn’t even want to see Coran.

“Miss Nyma Steppes of Sonage, 2.”

“She’s pretty.” Mrs. Shirogane murmured. Keith was about to voice his agreement when they announced the next name.

“Sir Keith Crafter of Sumner, 5.”

Keith’s heart stopped.

Suddenly Mrs. Shirogane was screaming, throwing her arms around Keith and holding him tight. Mr. Shirogane was whooping, slapping him on the back. He didn't catch Prince Lance's reaction because all he could focus on was his picture on the screen, smile big and genuine, eyes bright. He looked ecstatic, brimming with joy, and some dumbass thought that joy was for the prince.

Goddamnit.

Chapter Text

Keith stared at the pictures illuminated on the screen. The doctor said it was the inside of his jaw, the roots of his teeth that was hidden beneath the gums.

“See here, you have wisdom teeth,” Dr. Crestfall said, using a gloved finger to point to the back of his jaw, “we’ll have to get those removed sometime or else they’ll cause some serious damage.”

“I don’t really have the money.” Keith mumbled, scratching his head.

“The palace might be willing to do it while you’re there.” The doctor said. “No reason for you to spend any money when the care you could get there would probably be better and not cost you a cent. Anyways, other than those teeth and some underdevelopment from lack of nutrition, you’re perfectly healthy.”

“Great,” Keith sighed, slipping off the examination, “awesome.” Well, there went his hope of having some illness that would take him out of the competition.

Before Keith could step foot in the palace he needed a clean bill of health. Thankfully, this physical was covered by the king and queen because there was no way Keith could’ve afforded this on his own. He’d never been to a real doctor’s office before, the closest thing had been the low cost vaccination clinic he went to as a child, that and the time he’d spent two days in the hospital after spiking a 104 degree fever as a child, but that was the extent of Keith’s health history.

“There is one last thing I have to ask you.” The doctor said, taking a seat and removing his glasses. He let out a quiet breath of air as if gathering himself for this next part. “This is rather of a sensitive nature, but nonetheless important… Are you a virgin?”

Keith nearly swallowed his tongue. Weren’t they just talking about teeth? “I know the law, doctor.”

Yes, Keith knew the law very well. Sex outside of marriage was punishable by jail time, or worse depending on the situation. Illegitimate children were made to be 8s, and unwed mothers often suffered exile from their families. The law was supposed to prevent the spread of disease and the unwanted fraternization between the castes, but as far as effectiveness it wasn’t the greatest deterrent.

“Good,” the doctor’s face broke into a relieved grin, clapping Keith on the back, “in that case I’ll prescribe you some supplements and you should be on your way. Oh, are you sleeping well?” Dr. Crestfall asked, flipping the machine off. The x-rays faded to black without the illumination. “I imagine the excitement of all this would keep you awake.”

Funnily enough that was one thing that Keith didn’t struggle with. His days were so stuffed with preparatory activities and packing that when his head hit the pillow it was lights out. He didn’t waste a minute thinking about the palace, or the prince, or his ‘competition’. His body may more or less property of the royal family, but he wanted to keep his mind to himself.

“I sleep alright.” Keith shrugged.

“Well, if that changes,” the doctor scribbled something on a pad of paper, “the third one in this is a sleep aid, don’t hesitate to fill it if you need it. You need to take care of yourself. When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow,” Keith mumbled, taking the slips of paper the doctor handed him, “I still need to, um, finish packing. And a meeting with a representative so if you don’t mind.”

“Oh no! Not at all.” The doctor leapt to his feet and opened the door. “I wish you the best of luck, and congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Keith said, slipping off the table and making his way into the hall. There were guards already waiting to escort him out of the office and into the car.

This was how it had been all week, guards at his side day and night, scarcely giving him time to breathe. He couldn’t go anywhere alone, especially not out in public. He was assured it was for his safety, and though he was thankful for the assistance whenever he was swarmed by media or people desperate to catch a glimpse of him, the lack of privacy did very little to help improve his mood. The very least he could say about the guards is that they were patient with him, seemed to understand that he wasn’t one for small talk, and did try to stay relatively out of sight in his own home, but he knew they were there, waiting outside the door or discussing security measures with a palace aid in the other room.

Even if he was able to ignore the palace guards, Keith couldn’t ignore his other visitors. A perky palace aid was in and out daily with packets to go over and waivers to sign, and usually carting along other guests, such as the mayor of Sumner (‘What an honor it is to meet a son of New America’ he’d said over and over again), or palace staff who took Keith’s measurements for his new wardrobe (for ‘security reasons’ he wouldn’t be allowed to bring along any of his own clothes to wear in the palace). Keith felt like he’d met more people in the past 5 or 6 days than he had in his entire life and it was exhausting.

But there was an upside to all this. The business and bustle gave Keith very little time to think about Shiro. It’s not that he didn’t think about him, in fact, Keith thought about Shiro daily, but it was easier to ignore the ache in his chest when he was busy trying to memorize the names and faces of the other Selected.

For the most part the line up didn’t really surprise him. He hadn’t really been paying attention when the rest of the names were announced, he’d just been too stunned to take in much of anything, but now with several days behind him to process things he could really take a look at his ‘competition’. Most of the other selected were 2s and 3s, with less than a 5th being in the lower castes. It wasn’t proportionate to the number of people in each caste at all, but that didn’t surprise him in the least. What did surprise him though was the fact that one of the selected girls was a 7.

When Keith had first stumbled across Shay Carpenter’s profile he did a double take. He thought that there was surely no way he could’ve read her caste correctly. Never in the history of the Selection had any of the candidates been lower than a 5, but here she was, a 7, beaming out at the camera with a radiant smile. She was from the Dominica province, the Queen’s home province, so she’d have that working in her favor, plus she really was gorgeous, it was easy to see why the palace may have overlooked her caste. Then again, maybe they just wanted to make it seem like it was a true lottery.

“Are you packed?” A guard asked, pulling Keith from his thoughts as they pulled into his neighborhood. “When we arrive back at your apartment we’ll need to do a bag check, that way there won’t be any delays tomorrow.”

“I have my luggage packed,” Keith replied, keeping his eyes on his feet, “but I’d like to pack up some of the valuable items and give them to a family friend, just in case.”

The guard nodded, understanding Keith without any added explanation. No doubt the guard was from the draft, which made him most likely a lower caste. He knew security of supplemental housing wasn’t the greatest.

“If you need any help-” the guard began but Keith shook his head, cutting him off.

“It’s alright, I can handle it.” Keith assured him as they parked. He quickly undid his seat belt. “My bags are on the counter.”

Keith took the stairs up to his door two at a time, anxious to get inside. A pair of guards, one carrying a clipboard and a pen, followed him into the kitchen.

“Is this all?” The guard stared at Keith in disbelief, glancing down at the suitcase and box on the counter. “Are you sure you’re not forgetting something? Most of the other candidates had several bags and boxes.”

“Sorry.” Keith muttered, fidgeting uncomfortably. The handouts he had been given were strict about what Keith could and couldn’t take to the palace, but it wasn’t as if there were many things for him to sort through anyways. He couldn’t imagine a reason why he wouldn’t be back here within a week or two.

“No need to apologize!” The guard laughed, unzipping Keith’s suitcase. “We had one girl take a full 6 hours to complete the security sweep. You’ve just made our job that much easier, this should only take a few minutes.”

Keith had been warned the palace staff would do an inventory on his stuff before it would be allowed to be loaded on the plane, but that didn’t mean he was comfortable with the idea of strangers going through his belongings. They said it was necessary for security, but Keith had a hard time believing that safety was the only reason they were cataloguing every item. He had a sneaking suspicion it was done to prevent anyone from grabbing any souvenirs from the palace upon their dismissal as if Keith would want any reminders of this experience. It hadn’t even officially begun and he was already looking forward to being sent home. This baggage check, on top of everything else that had transpired since his name was announced, was just another intrusion on Keith’s life.

“I’ll just be in my room.” Keith mumbled, grabbing one of the empty cardboard boxes Mr. Shirogane had dropped off earlier.

He didn’t even wait for an answer before stalking off, hoping he hadn’t come across as unfriendly. He didn’t mean to be rude, especially after how kind everyone had been to him, he was just tired, and sad, and not looking forward to tomorrow at all. He had a feeling that life as a Selected would be just like this, guards, press, bag checks, very little down time. He hadn’t had time to paint since before his name was called, and even though his fingers were itching to pick up a brush, he gritted his teeth and walked past his studio and to his room. He didn’t have time to paint, and besides, he’d already packed up his supplies, but he knew the first free moment he got would be spent cracking open his paints.

Keith plopped down on his bed and ran his hands through his hair, letting out a long sigh. Now that he was on his bed it felt like all he wanted to do was fall backwards and sleep until he was dragged onto that plane. It wasn’t as if he had much to pack away, just some old Disney dvds that had been passed through his family and his old clothes. The DVDs needed to be protected for sentimental reasons, and the clothes… well… if his home was raided while he was away at least he’d have something to wear when he came back. Still, even knowing that it wasn’t as if there was much, Keith felt the urge to just… not do it. But he had to.

There were a lot of things Keith just had to do.

*

Keith decided it was going to be a long day before he even caught sight of the first sign with his name plastered on it. It was only 8 AM and there were already hundreds of people crowding around the airport as Keith pulled up in an armored car.

Mrs. Shirogane gasped in excitement when she caught sight of the sign. “Oh Keith, you have so many supporters.”

“Look at that one,” Mr. Shirogane chuckled, waving Keith’s attention over to wear he was pointing, “I think that one’s my favorite.”

It was the Hampshires, waving and cheering, and holding up a sign that said ‘The future king paints our portraits!’.

Keith managed to smile, but his stomach was twisting up in knots. He wasn’t sure if he was nervous to be leaving Sumner or anxious over when he would return home. It was kind of the Shiroganes to accompany him to the airport, they really didn’t have to do that, but it only seemed right after all that they had done for him that they should be able to wish Keith a proper goodbye instead of having to stand behind the roped off lines.

“It was kind of them to show up,” Mrs. Shirogane sighed, waving to them as they passed, “especially since I know it must’ve been an absolute bear to find such a good spot, but I imagine most of your clients will be here.”

Keith frowned as he looked out over the crowd. For the most part he couldn’t recognize many of the well wishers, but he could tell they were mostly 4s and below. To the lower castes Keith was an example, a poor boy who had been elevated, but to upper castes Keith had robbed them of something they thought should’ve been theres. Unless they had a personal connection to him 2s and 3s probably wouldn’t bother showing.

The crowd was deafening, Keith though as he stepped out of the car. He could hear his name being whooped and cheered out as he helped Mr. and Mrs. Shirogane out from the car. He could also hear the clicks of cameras flashing and reporters narrating the scene.

“... Selected Son of New America, Keith Crafter, has arrived at the Sumner Province airport alongside longtime family friends…”

“... His plane will make stops in Paloma and Sonage to pick up other members of the Selected…”

“... Crowds are already gathering in Angeles…”

“Wave Keith!” Mrs. Shirogane whispered into his ear as she took his arm. “Go ahead!”

Keith lifted his hand as they began to walk down the roped off isle. More cameras flashed as he remembered to smile. He couldn’t guarantee it was as big as his photo for the application, but it was a start.

Keith caught sight of a little girl clutching something and bouncing up on her toes. “Sir! Sir! I have something for you.”

Keith paused in front of her, glancing at Mr. Shirogane, who nodded, before kneeling down.

The girl couldn’t have been older than 6 or 7, curly blonde hair in identical pig tails. “I made you this!” She giggled and thrust something into Keith’s hands.

Keith looked at it and immediately felt his face growing red. The girl had gotten his application picture from God knows where and printed it out alongside a picture of the prince. It looked like around them she’d cut out and pasted hearts and romantic lines from magazines or books.

“We’re so sorry,” her mother apologized, trying to pull the little girl away, “we introduced her to collage making for her art study and she’s…”

“It’s okay,” Keith slapped a grin on his face, folding the picture up and sticking it in his pocket, “it’s sweet. Do you want my autograph?”

The little girl, who’s name was Danica he learned, seemed over the moon as Keith signed her book. She must’ve been a 5 judging from her paint smeared clothing and the doodles in her journal.

“Can I tell you a secret Keith?” She whispered when he handed her book to her parents.

‘No’, Keith thought, but then he remembered Shiro and how kind Shiro was to him as a kid.

“Sure,” he said, leaning more towards her.

She cupped it and murmured into his ear: “I think you’re going to win!”

Keith suppressed a cringe and a ‘I really doubt that’. “You think so?”

She nodded enthusiastically.

“Thank you Danica, that means a lot.” He managed as he rose to his feet awkwardly.

As soon as word got out that Keith was giving out his autograph people were thrusting their pens and papers into the isle as best they could. Keith knew he had to keep moving, but tried to stop every few steps and hand out at least two or three signatures. He kept Shiro in his mind the entire time. Would Shiro be proud of him for swallowing his pride and taking the time to talk to these people? At least signing his name was easy, thoughtless. What was so special about a signature anyways.

Finally, Keith made it up to the platform where the mayor was waiting for him, beaming proudly in front of a band playing the national anthem. The mayor by passed Keith’s attempt at a handshake and went straight in for hug. Keith tensed at the sudden, unexpected contact, but didn’t pull away.

“Citizens of Sumner, please join in me in sending off Keith Crafter, our favorite New American Son!” The mayor announced into a microphone, his arm still around Keith’s shoulders.

The crowd cheered as the band struck up a patriotic tune. Cameras clicked and flashed, some people were throwing flowers, mostly bluebonnets, which were the provincial flower. Keith wore a wreath of them in his hair. It had taken the stylist 30 minutes to pin his hair up like that. Had he known that was their plan for him he would’ve shaved his head the night before.

“Is there anything you’d like to say?” The mayor whispered in his ear.

Keith shook his head, looking out into the crowd. There were too many faces to take in, too many voices chanting his name. It all blurred together into a mess in his mind, setting his skin a buzz with sensation.

“That’s fine,” the mayor smiled kindly, wiping at the sweat on his brow, “I imagine you must be overwhelmed. I can take it from here.”

Finally he released Keith, who gladly stepped back towards where Mr. and Mrs. Shirogane were standing.

Mrs. Shirogane squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “You did very well, he’d have been so proud.”

Keith could only nod and stare ahead, trying desperately to focus on anything but the ache opening in his chest again.

The mayor spoke for a few minutes about Keith. He must have had access to Keith’s application because he spoke about Keith’s ambition of becoming a fighter pilot. The province murmured in agreement when the mayor explained how blessed they were to have such a patriotic Son of Sumner representing them. He also touched upon Keith’s work as an artist and reminded people that one way to support Keith would be to support the 5s he represents. It would’ve been a very nice addition to his speech had he not ruined it by slyly pointing out Keith was exceptionally gifted… for a 5. Sometimes people fail even in those final moments of triumph.

And then it was time to go. He was giving the Shiroganes a last goodbye while guards waited to direct him into the airport. Mrs. Shirogane squeezed him tightly, tears spilling over onto her cheeks. Mr. Shirogane shook his hand, smiling warmly.

“Sir Keith, this way.” Someone was directing him, but Mr. Shirogane held up a hand.

“Can you give us a moment?” He asked, and the aid nodded, stepping back. Mr. Shirogane reached into his pocket, withdrawing a folded up envelope.

“What is…” Keith began, seeing Shiro’s neat handwriting across the front.

“Shiro gave this to us to keep before he… he left.” Mr. Shirogane said, urging for Keith to come closer so he could whisper the rest of his words. He paused to take a shuddery breath before continuing. “He directed us to give it to you before you boarded the plane for Angeles, he had a… feeling you would be Selected.”

Keith stared at the letter, jaw going slack.

“Sir Keith,” the aid piped up again, “we don’t want to risk being late.”

Mr. Shirogane pulled Keith into a final hug. “Goodbye Keith, don’t forget to keep your chin up.”

And when he let go Keith had no choice but to be lead away, clutching the letter in one hand and looking back at the crowd one last time. Mrs. Shirogane was crying into Mr. Shirogane’s shoulder as Mr. Shirogane smiled sadly, giving him a final wave before the door closed behind Keith, cutting him off from his old life at last.

*

The first thing Keith thought when he entered the palace was how cold it was. The summer air of Angeles had been hot, so when Keith first stepped foot inside the palace the air conditioning was refreshing, but now it was starting to feel a little frigid. He wished he could have worn a jacket, or just a long sleeved shirt, but they had been strict about what the Selected could wear: white t-shirt, black pants, provincial flowers pinned in their hair. The shoes however had been the one thing Keith could pick, which meant he’d pulled on his old, paint splattered sneakers. He wanted to make it clear he was not meant for marble floors and crystal chandeliers from the moment he stepped foot in the palace.

“If you could please find a seat,” the guard directed them into what appeared to be a small ballroom where rows of folding chairs were lined up, “Coran should be here in just a moment.”

A quiet hum of conversation started up as people rushed (as politely as they could) to get the best seats. While most people tended to favor the front of the room, hoping to be up close and noticeable, Keith found himself wandering towards the back, hoping it would provide him with a little more coverage. He wanted to be as invisible as possible.

Keith sat down in the very last row, staring at his hands. Somehow the palace staff had managed to scrub away the paint stains on his fingers and nails. He’d barely set foot in the royal airport before he was directed into a building where the staff had been waiting ready to swoop up any new arrival and polish away any flaw they could, and top on that list for Keith had been his hands. They were so much cleaner now than Keith could ever remember them being, still soft and smooth from whatever lotion they’d used. He didn’t like it, it felt like he was looking at someone else’s hands. He vowed to get them covered in paint during his next free moment alone.

“Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?”

Keith glanced up to see one of the Selected- he was pretty sure this one started with an H?- standing beside him. He was larger than most of the Selected, with a kind face that put Keith’s mind at ease almost. He felt like he was looking at an old friend.

“Oh, uh no.” Keith shook his head. “You can sit there if you want.”

“Oh good!” Hunk seemed relieved, sitting down and extending his hand. “I’m Hunk, from Clermont, if you couldn’t tell from the daisies.”

“Keith, Sumner.” Keith took Hunk’s hand it shook it. Hunk’s grip was gentle and warm, his big hand engulfing Keith’s own.

“Oh I know!” Hunk smiled, his chuckle warm and bright, like sunshine. “I memorized everyone’s name and faces from their application, didn’t want to risk upsetting anyone by getting their names wrong. Didn’t memorize the castes though.” Suddenly his smile slipped and his eyes went wide. “Do you think I should have? I didn’t want to label anyone, but now-” He looked around the room waily.

“I think you’ll be alright,” Keith assured him, “but if it helps, I’m a 5. You’re a 4, right?”

“Yep!” Hunk grinned. “My family are all car salesmen, what did your family specialize in?”

“I’m an artist,” Keith explained, finding it easy to relax around Hunk, he was just so unassuming, “and I paint mostly, like my mother, but my father was a sculptor. Sometimes I do ceramic pieces, but paint is where I excel.”

“Ooh that’s so cool!” Hunk gushed. “I wish I could paint or draw. Do 5s usually follow what their parents do?”

“Not always,” Keith shrugged, “my mother came from a more musical background, but she found herself more drawn to art.”

“Oh I get it!” Hunk laughed, but Keith stared him. “Drawn! That’s funny, oh man.”

It took Keith a moment to realize that Hunk was laughing at his accidental pun. He could help but grin, the 4s laugh was infectious. “Oh, hey I didn’t even notice that.”

Hunk opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by someone stepping up to the mic. Immediately everyone shushed each other, the buzz of conversation giving way to an excited silence.

Keith did a double take when he saw Coran clear his throat before addressing the Selected. “Hello there! My name is Coran Wimbleton Smythe, and it is my great pleasure to welcome you all to Angeles!” The crowd clapped politely. “It does my heart good to see that you’ve arrived here safe and sound, and I know that you are all anxious to settle into your new rooms and see the rest of the palace, but there are a few things we will need to go over first. If you will look under your chairs please.”

There were some quiet murmurs and the scraping of chairs being adjusted as people reached underneath. Keith’s fingers groped blindly on the cold marble before brushing against paper. It was a packet, probably the billionth one Keith had been given over the past week, with ‘Welcome to the Selection!’ blazed across a picture of the royal family.

“This-” Coran said, holding up his own packet as an example- “will be your bible over the next few days. Now, if you would please flip to the front page.”

There was a rustle of paper as everyone turned the cover over to reveal a picture of Coran.

“My goodness!” Coran exclaimed as he opened his own booklet. “Who is this handsome man and how did he get into my clothes?” The room laughed as Coran held up the picture next to his own face. “Could it be, why, it is! This is the author of your handy dandy guide and host of the Selection himself, me!”

Even Keith clapped along this time, unable to stop himself from grinning as Coran bowed theatrically.

“Thank you, thank you, you’re too kind.” Coran said graciously. “Throughout your stay here in the palace I will be your go to man for any questions, comments, and concerns. Keep in mind that you can request total confidentiality from me at any time and that I do not report to anyone unless I feel that somebody here is in danger. You can talk to me about anything. Now go ahead and turn to the next page for an itinerary for the rest of today, if you please.”

Keith’s heart sank as he saw what the palace had planned for today. It was only 3 PM, and they had at least 5 hours before dinner. Most of that time would be hogged up by a tour of the palace that would begin as soon as Coran finished introductions, and then there would be an etiquette lesson on fine dining before dinner, and the schedule predicted that by the end of dinner it would be 9:30 PM and directed the Selected to head straight to bed. He let out an internal groan and focused his attention up on Coran.

Chapter Text

By their dinner lesson Keith was extremely thankful for his shoes. The castle was unimaginably large with so many winding hallways and staircases. Within 15 minutes of their tour starting Keith realized it was unlikely he’d ever be able to navigate his way around it, not even if he spent a lifetime wandering the halls. Even Coran got lost at one point, forcing them all to double back down a glass hallway that overlooked the garden when he realized they were headed in the wrong direction. It was laughed off easily, but Keith could hear the grumblings of some Selected as they bemoaned having to walk so much. Many had chosen to wear fancy shoes or heels that weren’t made for walking or even standing for very long. That layered on top of the fact that many of them came from backgrounds where they were not on their feet all day made for a very uncomfortable afternoon. Though there were a few mutters (done quietly in case any of the palace staff they passed overheard and took offense) most were able to grin and bear it, though one girl looked ready to cry when Coran finally delivered them to the dining room and announced that at last it was time for their dining lesson.

She wasn’t the only one breathing a prayer of thanksgiving when they were instructed to find a seat at one of the 7 circular tables. Coran said that today they were free to sit wherever but in the morning they would have assigned seats. Eagerly, each selected candidate circulated around the tables, filling in the seats. Keith let out a sigh of as he slipped into a chair. The long table cloth hid his legs, so he quietly used his toes to peel off his shoes. His feet could have sung from relief, only to sob a few moments later when they were instructed to practice standing and sitting down as if the king, queen, or prince had entered the room. There wasn’t time to slip them back on either, and Keith felt his face heat up in embarrassment as Coran glanced at his socked feet and raised an eyebrow. He caught himself worrying if that would be a strike against him. Why should he care anyways? It wasn’t like he wanted to be here.

Finally, when the group had mastered sitting and standing they went over the rules of fine dining. It was hard to focus on hearing how to eat food when everyone was so hungry themselves. Poor Hunk covered his face when his own stomach let out a low roar causing several odd looks and giggles. Keith remembered Hunk mentioning he’d been too nervous to eat all day and hoped that for his sake this would be over soon.

It wasn’t. Coran took an hour demonstrating how to handle each utensil, how they would be served from the left, and how to never reach for pastries with your hands but always tongs, but at the end of it they were rewarded with what Keith could only describe as a small feast. He had never seen so much food in his life, and from the excited murmurs from around the room he wasn’t the only one. Those from the lower castes especially looked stunned at the plates that were being brought out, most of which Keith could never dream to know the names of. Those who were 2s and 3s were much less excited about the layout. The chef however seemed pleased all the same when he heard Keith let out a soft groan of appreciation.

After dinner the group was led to their rooms and Keith felt much sleepier than he thought he would be. His mind and stomach were stuffed full of food and information, making him feel sluggish and dulling him to what was happening to him. It wasn’t until he got into his room that the weight of what he was doing came back to him.

The first thing he noticed when he stepped into his palace provided room was that his luggage was standing neatly by his bed, and the second thing was the light emanating from underneath the door to the bathroom. A head poked out from behind the door, one belonging to a boy no older than Keith, with olive skin and dark hair. The boy let out an excited gasp as he caught sight of Keith, stepping out from behind the door and bowing graciously.

“Uh, hello?” Keith said tentatively, wondering as to why there was another person in his room, and judging from his clothes he wasn’t a member of the selected. “Who are you?”

“My name is Regris, sir,” Regris replied, “I’m the butler assigned to help you during your time at the palace.”

“With what?” Keith asked without thinking.

Regris shifted uncomfortably and Keith felt guilty that he might have offended him. It wasn’t as if it was Regris’ choice to be here, it probably wasn’t even his idea. “To help you getting dressed for the day and to assist you in your life in the palace. I can draw up a bath for you if you’d like, then I can help you unpack before bedtime, though I wouldn’t blame you if we waited until morning for that. You must be tired.”
Keith shook his head slightly, swiping a hand over his face. They’d given him a servant, an actual servant. He wasn’t sure he could get used to this, thank goodness he’d probably be leaving before long.

“I’d rather unpack on my own, and I’ll bathe myself, thank you.” He said as gently as he could. “No offense of course, I think I just need to be alone right now.”

“That’s fine, sir,” Regris assured him graciously, “but at the very least allow me to assist you in taking the pins and flowers out of your hair.”

Keith’s aching scalp urged him to accept as his pride roared in protest, but he just couldn’t refuse Regris’ eagerness to help. He let himself be lead into the bathroom and sat in front of a mirror and watched as Regris’s expert fingers undid the painstaking work an aide had pinned in this morning. Keith began to recognize himself better as his hair fell back around his face and the blue flowers pulled free. He looked less like a 3 and more like a 5 again, much better in his own opinion.

Regris seemed to sense that Keith wasn’t in the mood to make conversation, so he didn’t ask any questions. Keith was grateful for that. He was also grateful when the boy didn’t press when Keith dismissed him for the night, only bowing quietly before exiting. It was only after the door shut behind him that Keith finally took in the entirety of his room. He vaguely remembered being told he could request any changes that he wanted, but it was arranged better than he could ever hope to do on his own, so he decided he’d never call on that power. Even the little things they had added as a personal touches were more thoughtful than what he could do for himself. Besides the vase of bluebonnets on his bedside table, there was an easel set up alongside some cubbies with a few art supplies all ready to go. He wondered vaguely if they minded that he’d brought his own.

It was probably bigger than his 4 room apartment back in Sumner, he realized as his eyes swept over every detail. The furniture in the room was clearly well made, maybe even brand new. The bed alone would’ve taken up almost his entire bedroom. There was a fire place with a sofa, chairs, and a coffee table, like a pseudo living room. Keith wondered when he’d ever make use of that. Likewise, he doubted the desk pressed up against one wall would ever be used. When would he need that? Then he remembered letter writing and felt Shiro’s letter burn a hole in his back pocket.

A lump formed in his throat as he reached around and pulled it out. He hadn’t wanted to read it on the plane, didn’t want to cry in front of strangers, but he was alone now. Still, he took a brief glance just to ensure nobody was watching before he unfolded the paper and took a seat on the bed.

Shiro’s handwriting was so familiar to him, as familiar as any of his father’s journals. He took the time for his eyes to trace fully over the letters as he read, wanting to savior Shiro’s last words to him.

Dear Keith,

I just want to open this with how proud I am of you, how proud we all are. By the time you are reading this you should be on the plane to Angeles, or maybe you’re already there. I told my mother to give this to you before you left, but I know things are going to get hectic, so she may have decided to send it later. Either way, I do hope you’re reading this before you meet the royal family because there are several things I would like to discuss with you before you do, which is why I’m opting to leave this letter with my mom rather than writing it once I’m back out on the base. It’d probably arrive way too late, you might have already been sent home.

I suppose I should answer some questions you may have, such as how I even know you’re going to be Selected. As much as I’d love to say it was my intuition, I have to admit I had a little help on this one. On the day I went to file paperwork at the provincial office an old friend was working the front desk. We struck up a conversation and after a few minutes he said he had something he wanted to show me in the back. I thought it’d be his office or a picture, but it wasn’t. He took me to an empty conference room where a few papers were taped to a whiteboard. At first I was confused, but then I realized they were Selection applications with the pictures underneath. The lottery really is a scam, he explained, not that it surprised anyone, who needs a picture for a name pull? But the truly shocking part was that after electronically sending all their candidates, the mayor was given a small pool of names and told to meet with his advisors and choose whoever they wanted. And they picked you Keith.

I remember staring at your application, not truly processing what it was doing up on that board until my friend clarified for me. The feeling that washed over me was indescribable. I’m so ecstatic for you, this is truly a once in a lifetime opportunity for you to change your life for the better. You have always had a certain expectation for your life Keith, and expected nothing less than that for the longest time. Yet you also neither expected nor wondered of anything greater, and I know you’ll say that there is nothing greater than the life you’ve planned out for yourself, I have to say I disagree. Being in the military myself I do think it would be a good place for you, but maybe not the best place. You struggle with authority and discipline, you’d probably get into more trouble that I couldn’t exactly help you get out of. It’d be different than slacking off in lessons where you only have to answer to my father, here you’d have to answer to your commanding officer, and the consequences of a slip up can be severe.

Furthermore, above all I know you hunger for change. You desire to see better things for this country, and being in the military is certainly one way to go about that, but think about an alternative way to make change. You have a very unique perspective on life, one I doubt the prince or his family has encountered. It’s not just your caste, as I’m sure they regularly encounter those from the lower castes, but they’re most likely employed by the palace. You are not truly on their payroll. I suppose in a way you are. You’re too proud for their compensation to truly affect you. You won’t sugar coat what you’ve been through, not for the prince anyways. Perhaps providing your view into the world will impact the prince, make him more inclined to compassion towards his people. So before you insult Prince Lance and his whole family, consider the immeasurable amount of good you could do.

One last thing, I know you are not here for love, in fact I suspect that is the last thing you’re here for, but should you feel your heart start to open, to anyone, don’t slam it shut out of fear. You’ve always been too quick to close yourself off to others. I understand that in the past it’s been how you’ve kept yourself from getting hurt, but you will never go anywhere in life if you insist in living as a hermit in your own heart. I hope you take my words without offense, they all come from a place of love.

Please do write often. I am unsure if we will be permitted video calls, I doubt it, but I still want to know about everything you experience.

I can’t wait to see you again,

With love, Takashi.

Keith couldn’t feel the paper slipping out of his fingers or the way his calped burned as he scratched his fingers over it, but he could feel the buzz over his skin, could feel his heart pounding in his chest. It was too much, all way too much for him. Seeing Shiro’s handwriting, seeing his encouragement, seeing him say he couldn’t wait to talk to him again, and asking Keith to write. He had known Keith was going to be selected, but he didn’t know he was going to-

Something pulled in his gut. He couldn’t even bear to think the rest of that, wasn’t ready to face the prospect that this was truly the last contact he’d ever have with Shiro because if he allowed himself to acknowledge that as an idea it would become fact, a fact he couldn’t handle. He felt some invisible force constricting around him, making it impossible to breathe. It felt like the walls of his room were shrinking, ready to close in on him, swallow him whole. He had to get out of here, couldn’t stay trapped in such a foreign place. He needed out, he needed air.

He wasn’t even aware of what he was doing until he was down the first flight of stairs, the sound of his bare feet slapping the marble floors echoing throughout the empty halls. He was vaguely aware of passing several unfamiliar faces, but neither the maids nor the guards called after him as he raced past. He didn’t even really know where he was going, but he knew a relative idea of where the entrance was from his room. If he just followed the windows that overlooked it he was bound to stumble across it eventually. He paid no mind to anything else until finally he caught sight of the big glass doors and pushed his way through them, stumbling down the steps and spilling out onto the gravel below.

It was here that the smell of fresh air and grass, seemed to clear his head. He knew these smells. If he closed his eyes really and ignored the soft trickling of a water in a fountain he could almost pretend he was back home in Sumner, taking a walk in the gardens or out on the street. But he wasn’t in Sumner, and nothing could truly change that fact and then all of it was started to hit him at once: the loss of Shiro, homesickness, the fatigue, crashing into him like waves against a rocky shore. All of it was exacerbated by everything he had seen and done and learned today. It was all just so much to wrap his mind around, too much even. He could feel it leaking out of him and pooling at his feet.

“Hey!” Someone called out, and bewildered Keith turned in the direction of the shout to see a pair of guards jogging towards him. “Sir, I’m sorry but you can’t be out here at night.”

“What?” Keith managed, breathlessly. “Why not?”

“We’re going to have to ask that you return to your room sir.” The second guard said, not really answering his questions.

“Why?” Keith pressed again. If he was going to be dragged back inside he wanted an explanation at the very least.

The two guards exchanged brief glances before the second one spoke again. “It’s dangerous for you to be out here at night, and you need plenty of rest for tomorrow.”

“I’m staying.” Keith said firmly.

“Okay, he’s not listening.” The first one sighed reaching out for Keith’s wrists. “Let’s just t-“

Keith reacted instantly as the guard tried to grab his arm, forcing the palm of his hand up into the man’s nose and hearing a telltale crunch of cartilage. The startled guard let out a yelp and stumbled backwards clutching his nose. The other guard took advantage of Keith’s distraction and grabbed him from behind, effectively immobilizing his arms as he hauled him up towards the steps. Keith kicked and screamed but it was no use. He was just a scrawny teenage boy, and this guard didn’t even seem to be breaking a sweat to restrain him on his own. Keith didn’t stand a chance.

He could feel the world starting to close in on him once more. He could scarcely breathe, unsure if it was from the guard’s grip or his own panic as he was hauled unceremoniously back into the golden cage they called a palace.

“Let him go!” A voice called out from behind them and the guard froze. Keith strained to see who was yelling but he couldn’t quite get himself all the way around. “I know you heard me, let him go at once!”

At that the guard dropped him and Keith scrambled to get away from them, stumbling right into someone else’s arms. He was far too dazed to even register what was happening. He felt the fabric beneath his fingers, much softer and better made than the scratchy guard uniforms, whoever this one was they were of a much higher rank.

“Are you alright?” His rescuer asked in a gentle voice, helping Keith steady himself. Keith clutched onto his arm for balance and managed to nod, squeezing his eyes shut tight so he might be able to focus. It felt like he’d just stepped off of one of those carnival rides that spin you in circles over and over again and he still hadn’t adjusted to stable ground. He swallowed back his own nausea and slumped into the chest of his savior.

“I apologize your highness,” someone said, and it took Keith a moment to recognize it as the guard, “we were instructed to not let anyone into the gardens.”

Your highness? Keith wondered if maybe he heard that wrong, but then he looked up and found the face of Lance Espinosa, the crown prince of New America. And just like that Keith felt the ground tugged out from under him.

Oh god.

“Well, in the future, try not to manhandle our guests.” Lance chided him, though he had a more amused tone than anything.

Keith half expected the guard to say Keith had probably broken his partner’s nose, but instead the guard only laughed nervously and agreed. It took Keith a moment to realize why the guard seemed to anxious. Keith had momentarily forgotten he was now technically property of the royal family and if he’d been hurt the consequences couldn’t have been all that favorable.

“I’ll bring him back inside once he’s calmed down.” Lance assured them. “He’ll be safe with me.”

Keith heard the sound of crunching gravel as the guards returned to their station, or maybe went up for the hospital wing. It was only when he was certain they were without of earshot that he finally pulled himself away from Lance and began walking briskly into the gardens, ignoring the prince. He wasn’t ready to meet the prince, he wasn’t ready for any of this.

Unfortunately Lance didn’t agree.

“Hey!” The prince called as he jogged to catch up to him. “Are you sure you’re alright? You looked like you were going to faint.”
“M’ fine.” Keith mumbled, wrapping his arms around himself and keeping his eyes trained steadily on the hedges that fenced them in. “Just needed some air.”

“It can get rather stuffy in there,” Prince Lance sighed, “Angeles gets warmer in the summer and some days even our top of the line air conditioning can’t keep up. Are you from one of the more northern provinces?”

“Sumner.” Keith grunted. “Gets hotter there than it does here. It wasn’t the heat.”

“Oh,” Lance said, obviously unsure what to say next. He clearly wasn’t used to someone not wanting to converse with him because he probably thought the whole world wanted to know who he was. Keith detested it. “Then what was it? Maybe there is something I can do to make it more comfortable my dear.”

“I’m not your dear.” Keith snapped angrily, picking up his pace. He wasn’t anyone’s anything. “My name is Keith, and that is what you will call me.”

“What have I done to offend you, Keith?” Lance asked indignantly, jogging to catch up with him. “Didn’t I give you what you were begging for?”

Keith whipped his head back to glare at the prince, hoping that a scathing look would suffice because he was certain if he was forced to speak right now he just might burst into tears. His face felt hot despite the breeze and his eyes stung. This was all becoming too much, scratch that, it had become too much when his name was called, but he only just now starting to feel the weight of it.

“Are you going to cry?” Lance asked, sounding almost afraid suddenly. “Oh geez, I’m sorry, I-I don’t know what I did but-”
“I’m not gonna cry!” Keith yelled turning away as a traitorous tear slipped down his cheek. He didn’t have the energy to really sob, it was all just an empty pang in his chest.

“I’m sorry.” Lance said gently, and Keith felt a hand rest gently on his shoulder. “I never know what to say when people cry, but if there’s anything I can do for you, my dear-”

“Don’t call me that.” Keith growled, wrenching his shoulder out of Lance’s touch. “I am no more dear to you than any of the other 34 Selected you’ve trapped in this cage.”

Lance stared at him, but not in a dumbfounded way. He seemed thoughtful, almost bemused even at Keith’s outburst, and Keith hated him for it. Only a spoiled prince could find the idea of someone not loving him amusing. Did he think Keith was just joking?

“You are all dear to me.” Lance chuckled, albeit nervously. Goddamn right he should be nervous. “It is simply a matter of who shall be the dearest.”

Now it was Keith’s turn to stare, but for completely different reasons.

The playful smirk on Lance’s face melted away. “What?”

“Did you just use the word ‘shall’?” Keith asked in disbelief.

“My apologies,” Lance bowed his head, a smile once again playing at his lips, “it’s a byproduct of my education.”

“Education,” Keith repeated dully, folding his arms over his chest, “ridiculous.”

“Excuse me?” Lance leaned in a bit. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“I said it’s ridiculous!” Keith snapped, throwing his hands up into the air in exasperation. “This whole thing is just… absurd! This competition… you… me… don’t you see that?”

“I have questioned this more than a few times in my life, yes.” Lance said, keeping his hands in his pockets. “To be honest I can understand how easy it would be to doubt that a lottery can bring a soulmate, but when I look at my parents and their happy marriage I can’t help but feel hopeful. After all, it has seemed to work wonderfully for them, and I wish to have a similar fate. I may not have the most spotless of reputations, but I am ready to find someone I can spend the rest of my life with. Someone this whole country can look up to as a leader.”
Keith searched his words for the punchline, but he couldn’t find a disingenuine word in them. No sarcasm or mocking tone, it was clear Lance meant every word, and Keith wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Now that Lance was the sole heir to the throne this would be his only chance to find someone to love, to find some happiness, and Keith could really relate to the idea of scrounging around for a happy anything. He felt himself hate the guy just a little less. Not a lot, but a little.

They were quiet for a moment, not even looking at one another, as if neither could really believe the other was even there. Finally, Lance broke the silence.
“Do you really mean what you said?” His voice was tender, and Keith made the mistake of looking at him, truly for the first time.

The Reports didn’t do Prince Lance justice. They kept his face under layers of makeup meant to smooth and perfect his skin. The effect made him appear ethereal, as if he was above the general public, but up close like this Keith could see he was just as human as anyone else, but infuriatingly the tiny imperfections (a scar under his ear, chapped lips, small bags under his eyes) didn’t detract from his attractiveness. His slightly messy brown hair, the mischievous glint in his bright eyes, a playful smirk on hips lips… Keith hated to admit it, but the prince really was handsome.

This was homophobic.

“Mean what?” Keith grumbled, tearing his eyes away from Lance’s bright blue ones.

“That this place is a cage.” Lance clarified. “I can understand how one would feel that way, but you must admit, it is very beautiful.”

“For you maybe,” Keith scoffed, “but fill your cage with 34 other people all fighting for the same thing and then talk to me about how it feels.”

“Are they really fighting?” Lance asked, almost in amazement. “Over me?”

Keith narrowed his eyes at a small rock in the path. “Some fight for you, others for the crown, and they all think they know exactly what to do and say to win you over.”
“The man or the crown,” Lance chuckled tiredly, “I’m afraid few can tell the difference. So what do you fight for my… Keith?”

Keith bit his lip, fighting a smile. Good catch. “Neither, I’m here to enjoy all the food until you kick me out.”

Lance laughed, startling Keith. “What are you?”

“Excuse me?”

“A 3?” He guessed, wiping away tears.

Keith rolled his eyes. Was he even paying attention. “5.”

“Yeah, then the food would be a pretty solid motive then.” He said, and then sobered up almost instantly as another thought seemed to hit him. “You do know I’d never keep you here if you didn’t want to be here. I could send you home right now.”

Keith nearly leapt on that offer, because after all it wasn’t as if he wanted to be here, but then he thought about arriving back home in Sumner after barely a day. He thought about all those people who’d cheered at his departure today, how disappointed they’d be to see him back so soon. He thought about how happy the Shiroganes were for him, and once he thought about the Shiroganes he started to think about Shiro’s letter. Shiro’s last wish was for Keith to participate in the Selection even if he didn’t want to win. If Shiro thought Keith had a good chance to influence the young prince then maybe it was worth a shot.

“I didn’t mean that,” Keith mumbled, “the cage part I meant, yeah, but not the wanting to leave. Truth is I can’t really go home, not after so many people have helped me get here already. I don’t want to let them down, plus there are some… painful reminders I’d rather not have to deal with at the moment, but I don’t want you to think you have to impress me or anything. I’m not here… for you.”

“Don’t worry,” Lance swiped a hand through his hair, “I think you just took some of the pressure off. Knowing I only have 34 entries to sift through rather than 35, much less stressful.”

Keith couldn’t help but crack a little smile after that. “Thank you. I don’t know how I can repay you for this.”

“Well, you can start by not mentioning this-” he made some wild gesturing between them, “to anyone?” Lance suggested. “I’m not supposed to meet anyone until the end of the week to give the staff a chance to polish up everyone’s manners, appearance, and get each participant settled in.”

Trying to level the playing field or get a feeling for each person so they could advise the prince who to avoid? Keith barely resisted the temptation to even put the idea out there.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Keith assured him, “I don’t have anyone to tell. Would you mind leaving me be for a little bit now? No offense, but I just want to be alone.”
“Of course.” Lance nodded. “I’ll let the guards know you prefer to be in the gardens. In the future they shouldn’t give you any trouble.”
Keith mumbled his thanks and turned away with perhaps even more thoughts to wrestle with than when he first came into the gardens.