CHAPTER 4 Aug 14, 2025 The bells rang through the village like a wedding procession. Clarissa's shriek of delight pierced the morning air. "It's happening! It's finally happening!" She spun in her velvet skirts, already imagining herself crowned. "I knew this day would come!" The square buzzed with nervous energy. Mothers straightened their daughters' postures. Fathers counted coins in their heads. I stood near the back, soot-stained sleeves clinging to my arms. The herald unrolled his golden scroll with ceremony. "By royal decree, the following ladies have been chosen for the Choice." Clarissa bounced on her toes. Mother gripped her arm, eyes blazing with anticipation. "Lady Catherine Thornwick." Polite applause rippled through the crowd. "Lady Eleanor Ashford." More clapping. Clarissa's smile stretched wider. "Miss Clarissa Alder." "YES!" Clarissa shrieked, throwing her hands skyward. Mother clapped like thunder, tears streaming down her cheeks. "My daughter!" Mother announced to anyone within earshot. "My beautiful, perfect daughter!" Clarissa curtsied to the crowd, practiced and flawless. She blew kisses like she'd already won the crown. The herald cleared his throat for silence. His eyes scanned the parchment again, brows furrowing. The pause stretched too long. Whispers began to curl through the air. "Is that all?" someone called out. "Wait." The herald's voice cracked slightly. He looked down at the scroll again, then up at the crowd. "Miss... Marianne Alder." The world stopped. Clarissa's smile shattered like dropped glass. Her head whipped toward me, eyes wide with horror. "What?" Mother's voice cut through the silence like a blade. "What did he say?" Gasps rippled through the crowd. Heads turned. Fingers pointed. "That's the housemaid," Lady Thornwick whispered, loud enough for half the square to hear. "Isn't that Clarissa's sister?" Lord Ashford squinted at me through his spectacles. "The one in the apron?" His wife's voice dripped with disbelief. I reached for the paper with trembling fingers. The envelope was there, sealed and real. I tore it open, paper crackling in the sudden quiet. You have been chosen. "This is impossible," Clarissa snarled, pushing through the crowd toward me. "She didn't enter! She wouldn't dare!" "Marianne?" Mother's voice was ice and venom. "What have you done?" The crowd pressed closer, vultures circling carrion. I lifted my chin, met their stares. "I entered fairly," I said, my voice stronger than I felt. "Just like everyone else." "Fairly?" Clarissa's laugh was sharp as breaking bones. "You? What could you possibly offer a prince? Scrubbing lessons?" The crowd tittered. My cheeks burned. "There's been a mistake," Mother announced, her voice carrying across the square. "My daughter-my younger daughter-she must have forged something. Lied. Bribed someone." "The royal seal doesn't lie, madam," the herald said coldly. "The Prince's choices are final." Clarissa grabbed my arm, nails digging deep. "You don't belong at court," she hissed in my ear. "You don't belong anywhere near him. You'll embarrass us. You'll embarrass yourself." "Maybe she'll be gone before introductions," someone behind us suggested. "Maybe they'll send her home the moment they see her." "If she's lucky," another voice added. Father appeared at Mother's side, his face thunderous. "What is the meaning of this spectacle?" "Your other daughter has been chosen for the Choice," the herald replied flatly. Father's eyes found mine across the crowd. Cold. Calculating. Furious. "Chosen?" His voice could have frozen flame. "By what right? What possible-" "By royal decree," the herald interrupted. "Both young ladies are to report to the palace within three days." We returned home in a storm of rage. Mother slammed the front door so hard the chandelier swayed. "HOW DARE YOU!" she screamed, whirling on me. "How dare you humiliate this family!" "You've ruined everything!" Clarissa shrieked, tearing through the hallway. "This was supposed to be MY moment! Mine!" "Explain yourself," Father demanded, blocking my path to the stairs. "How did your name appear on that list?" "I submitted an application," I said quietly. "With what credentials?" Mother's voice rose to a howl. "What dowry? What references? What lies did you tell?" "No lies," I said. "Just my name." Clarissa let out a sound like a wounded animal. "Your NAME? Your worthless, nobody NAME?" She stormed up the stairs. Moments later, crashes echoed from my room. I rushed upstairs to find her destroying everything. Books torn apart. My few good clothes shredded. My shoes-one ripped completely in half. "There!" she panted, throwing the ruined leather at my feet. "You won't need both anyway. No one expects you to walk back with a crown." "Get out," I whispered. "What did you say to me?" "GET OUT!" I screamed. She recoiled, shocked. I'd never raised my voice to her before. "You little rat," she spat. "You pathetic, jealous little rat. The prince will laugh the moment he sees you." That night, packing became an exercise in humiliation. Mother threw a chipped bowl at my head when I asked for help. "Take your rags and leave my house clean," she snarled. "When you return you will have no home!" I had almost nothing. A comb with missing teeth. A book of poetry with water stains. No gowns. No jewels. No hope. Morning arrived with ceremony. The royal carriage gleamed black and gold. White horses stamped their hooves. A footman in spotless livery held a list. Clarissa emerged in seafoam silk, hair perfectly curled, lips painted rose-red. "Smile when you stand beside me," she hissed through her teeth. "If people think we're enemies, they'll assume you're jealous." "I'm not jealous," I said. She turned, eyes glittering with malice. "No? Then you're even more pathetic than I thought." Mother helped Clarissa into the carriage first, arranging her skirts like flower petals. Then she turned to me like I was a stranger. "Fix your posture. Don't ruin the photographs." I climbed in with my pathetic bag, settling across from my sister. The footman closed the door with a decisive click. As the carriage lurched forward, Clarissa leaned close, her voice soft and wicked. "The prince always picks the prettier one," she whispered. "Just remember that when you're sent home in shame."