Chapter Text
The kitchen was quiet except for the soft clink of silverware against chipped ceramic plates.
Lance let out a long, dramatic sigh as he slumped farther into his chair.
Across the table, his mother stared at him with the same determined look she'd been wearing since breakfast began.
His father suddenly found the contents of his coffee mug incredibly fascinating.
Rachel was very interested in buttering a piece of bread she had no intention of eating.
Luis and Veronica conveniently busied themselves with clearing the table despite the meal not even being over.
Traitors.
Every single one of them.
The annual Selection had officially begun.
Across the kingdom, young men between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five who were unmarried and met the requirements were filling out applications, hoping to be among the few chosen by lottery to move into the palace. Some dreamed of marrying Prince Keith. Others dreamed of escaping poverty. Plenty simply wanted the generous compensation their families would receive if they were Selected.
Lance wanted absolutely none of it.
He still wasn't convinced the Selection made any sense.
Sure, history insisted it worked. Decades ago, King Heith had held his own Selection and somehow found Queen Krolia through it. Their marriage was spoken about almost like a fairy tale—proof that the process worked exactly as intended.
That didn't mean lightning would strike twice.
Prince Keith was twenty-one years old.
Perfectly capable of finding someone on his own.
Lance snorted quietly to himself.
Imagine needing your parents to organize a kingdom-wide televised competition just so you could date.
Months—sometimes over a year—of cameras following every awkward conversation, every dance, every dinner, every mistake.
No privacy.
No escape.
No thank you.
If he ever somehow became a prince—which was about as likely as pigs learning to fly—he'd fake his own disappearance before agreeing to something like that.
"Leandro."
His mother's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
Emily McClain folded her hands together on the table, her expression softening despite the firmness in her eyes.
"I am only asking you to apply."
"Mama—"
"No." She held up a hand before he could interrupt. "Listen to me first."
Lance groaned dramatically, throwing his head back.
"I am listening."
"Barely."
She sighed.
"You know how the Selection works."
"I unfortunately do."
"If your application is accepted into the lottery..." she continued patiently, "...and your name is one of the ones drawn, our family will receive a monthly stipend from the Crown for as long as you remain in the Selection."
She didn't say it accusingly.
She didn't have to.
Everyone at the table knew exactly what that money would mean.
They were Sixes.
Not the poorest caste in the kingdom.
Far from comfortable.
Their family worked hard for everything they had. Their meals depended on how much work came in each week. Some months were manageable.
Other months...
Emily quietly stretched ingredients that should have lasted four dinners into seven.
Their father worked himself sore.
Rachel had taken extra shifts whenever she could.
Even Lance knew better than to complain when dinner was nothing more than soup and bread.
Emily looked at him with tired eyes.
"It would help."
There wasn't an ounce of greed in her voice.
Only hope.
Hope that the rent would be easier to pay.
Hope that her children wouldn't have to skip meals.
Hope that, just for once, money wouldn't be something she worried about every waking moment.
Lance hated that look.
He hated that she had a reason to wear it.
But—
"Mama," he said quietly before sitting up straight again, "I said I don't want to."
His voice wasn't angry.
Just stubborn.
"I don't even want to be there."
Emily opened her mouth.
Lance beat her to it.
"Why don't you have Rachel apply?" He gestured toward his twin sister. "She's the same age as me."
Rachel's head immediately snapped up.
"Excuse me?"
"You'd probably do way better than I would."
"I am literally disqualified."
"I know, but hypothetically."
"There are no hypotheticals," Rachel deadpanned.
"The Selection is for unmarried men."
"Details."
"They're very important details."
Lance waved dismissively.
"You get what I mean."
"No," Rachel replied with a perfectly straight face. "I really don't."
Luis snorted into his drink.
Veronica covered a laugh with her hand.
Emily pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Lance."
"What?"
"You know Rachel can't enter."
"I know," he admitted. "But my point still stands."
"No, it doesn't."
"It absolutely does."
Emily gave him The Look.
The one every McClain child recognized instantly.
Lance shrank only a fraction.
"...Maybe a little."
She let out another weary sigh.
"You've wanted to fly since you could walk."
"I still do."
"You've talked about joining the Air Fleet for years."
"I still am."
"I know."
Lance leaned forward.
"I don't want to spend months learning ballroom dances and etiquette and how to smile at cameras while wearing clothes that probably cost more than this house."
His expression scrunched up.
"I want to fly."
The words came out with enough conviction that the room fell silent.
"I want to earn my pilot's license."
He smiled despite himself.
"I want to see the kingdom from the sky."
Not from palace balconies.
Not from royal gardens.
The sky itself.
"I don't want people watching every move I make."
He gestured wildly with both hands.
"I'd probably trip walking into the palace."
Luis nodded thoughtfully.
"That's actually very likely."
"Hey!"
"You fell up the porch steps yesterday."
"Those steps attacked me."
"They've been there for fifteen years."
"They were feeling hostile."
Even their father chuckled quietly into his mug.
Lance pointed accusingly.
"Don't encourage him."
"I'm encouraging honesty."
"It was attempted murder."
"It was gravity."
Lance sighed dramatically.
"No one appreciates my suffering."
Rachel rolled her eyes.
"We appreciate it."
"We're just entertained by it."
Lance gasped.
"I've been betrayed by my own twin."
"You've been betrayed by your own lack of balance."
Another round of laughter eased the tension hanging over the table.
Even Emily smiled for a brief moment before her expression became serious again.
"Leandro."
His shoulders sagged.
"I know."
"You don't have to want to be selected."
He looked at her.
"But please..."
She reached across the table and rested her hand over his.
"At least fill out the application."
"If your name isn't drawn, nothing changes."
"And if it is..." she continued softly, "...then we'll face that when the time comes."
Lance stared down at their joined hands.
The application itself didn't guarantee anything.
Thousands—tens of thousands—of eligible young men across the kingdom would submit theirs.
Only a tiny handful would actually be chosen.
The odds were astronomically low.
Almost nonexistent.
He knew that.
His mother knew that.
Which somehow made her request even harder to refuse.
Because she wasn't asking him to give up his dream.
She was asking him to take a chance so small it was almost impossible...
...for the possibility that, if fate happened to pull his name from among thousands of others, their family wouldn't have to worry about where next month's meals were coming from.
Lance closed his eyes for a moment before letting out the deepest sigh anyone in the room had ever heard.
"...Fine."
Emily blinked.
"...Fine?"
"I said I'll apply."
Every sibling at the table looked at him in surprise.
"But," Lance added immediately, pointing a finger at his mother, "when my name doesn't get picked, we're never talking about this again."
Emily smiled, relief washing over her face.
"Deal."
Lance muttered under his breath as he reached for another piece of toast.
"Besides..."
"What now?" Rachel asked.
"The prince probably wouldn't even like me."
Luis grinned.
"You've never met him."
"Exactly."
Lance took a bite of toast.
"And I'd like to keep it that way."