Girls To Choose From

The air in the Hall of Aspirations hung thick with anticipation, a blend of perfumed oils, nervous sweat, and the hushed whispers of hopeful mothers. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight that pierced through the high, arched windows, illuminating the rows of young women arranged like porcelain dolls on display. The silence was almost unbearable, broken only by the occasional rustle of silk or the stifled sob of a girl overwhelmed by the moment.

Anya clenched her jaw, forcing herself to remain still. Her back ached from lying on the hard wooden bench, and the rough weave of the fabric scratched against her skin. She had been here for what felt like an eternity, along with fifty other girls from across the vast kingdom of Eldoria. All chosen for their beauty, their lineage, and their potential to become the Queen.

Anya, however, harbored no illusions of grandeur. She was the daughter of a minor nobleman, her family’s land barely enough to keep them afloat. She had been thrust into this spectacle by her ambitious mother, who saw this as their only chance to rise in the world. Anya herself simply longed for the quiet life of her village, the familiar comfort of her family.

The door at the far end of the hall creaked open, and a wave of hushed reverence rippled through the room. Every girl instinctively straightened, feigning a deeper slumber. Anya, however, dared to peek through her lashes. She saw him then: King Theron, the sovereign of Eldoria, a man whose face graced every coin, whose name was whispered in every prayer. He was taller than she imagined, his shoulders broad, his dark hair streaked with silver. He wore a robe of deep sapphire, embroidered with the golden sigil of the kingdom.

He moved slowly down the rows, his gaze piercing, assessing. He paused before each girl, his expression unreadable. Anya’s heart hammered against her ribs. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to disappear.

She heard his footsteps stop in front of her. A moment stretched into an eternity. She could feel his presence, the weight of his scrutiny. Then, he moved on.

Anya released a silent breath, relief washing over her. She had been spared. She continued to observe him surreptitiously as he continued the scrutiny.

Some girls remained perfectly still, their faces serene masks of innocence. Others, she noticed, were subtly trying to angle themselves, to catch the King’s eye. One girl, Elara, known for her fiery spirit, even dared to flutter her eyelashes, a blatant, if subtle, act of defiance.

The King stopped before Elara, his lips twitching with what might have been amusement. He lingered for a moment then moved on, as if she was nothing more than a statue in the display

The selection process was brutal, a charade of innocence and beauty masking the raw ambition that simmered beneath the surface. Anya watched, fascinated and repulsed, as the King made his rounds.

Finally, he stopped before a girl named Lyra. Lyra was famed for her pale skin and cascading golden hair. Lyra had been favored since the very beginning, the whispers had said she was already the queen. She lay on the bench, her chest rising and falling gently, her lips slightly parted in a perfect imitation of sleep. The King gazed at her for a long moment, then nodded slowly.

He beckoned to an attendant, who rushed forward with a velvet cushion. Upon it lay a single, perfectly ripe golden apple, its skin gleaming under the sunlight. The apple, the ancient symbol of royal favor.

The King took the apple from the cushion. The room held its breath. With deliberate grace, he extended his hand and placed the apple in Lyra’s hand. The gesture was met with a collective sigh of relief, mingled with the suppressed disappointment of the rejected.

Lyra slowly opened her eyes, her gaze meeting the King’s. A faint smile touched her lips. She was the chosen one.

The announcement was made, the hall erupted in polite applause. Lyra was escorted away, leaving behind a room full of shattered dreams and quiet resignation.

Anya was not surprised, just relieved. Her part in this charade was over. She rose stiffly from the bench, ready to return to her village, to her family, to the life she knew.

But as she turned to leave, she felt a hand on her arm. She looked up and saw the King standing before her, his eyes intense and searching.

“Wait,” he said, his voice deep and resonant. “What is your name?”

Anya hesitated, surprised by his sudden attention. “Anya, Your Majesty,” she replied, curtsying awkwardly.

“Anya,” he repeated, as if testing the sound of it. “Why did you not try to catch my eye, like the others?”

Anya blushed, unsure how to answer. “I… I am not suited to be a queen, Your Majesty,” she stammered. “I am but a simple girl from a small village.”

The King studied her face for a long moment, his gaze unnerving in its intensity. “Perhaps,” he said finally, “but perhaps that is exactly what I need.”

Anya frowned, confused. “I do not understand,” she said.

The King smiled slightly. “Tell me, Anya,” he said, “what do you know of the kingdom of Eldoria? What do you see when you look at it?”

Anya thought for a moment. She had never considered such a question before. “I see the beauty of the land,” she said slowly. “The rolling hills, the forests, the sparkling rivers. I see the hard work of the people, the farmers toiling in the fields, the artisans crafting their wares. I see the struggles and the joys of everyday life.”

The King nodded, his eyes gleaming with approval. “And what do you think I, as king, should do for my people?”

Anya spoke without hesitation, her voice filled with conviction. “You should protect them, Your Majesty,” she said. “Protect them from harm, from injustice, from poverty. You should listen to their needs, understand their concerns, and strive to create a better life for them all.”

The King was silent for a moment, absorbing her words. Then, he smiled. “You are wise, Anya,” he said. “Wiser than many I have met within these walls. Tell me, would you like to learn more about this kingdom you care so much about?”

Anya was hesitant. “And Lyra?” she asked.

The King sighed. “Lyra is an admirable choice, but she has been coached, told what to say and do to win my favor. I seek someone who speaks from the heart. “

He then offered Anya his hand. “I believe you have much to offer Eldoria. Will you come with me, learn about the land and perhaps… offer me some counsel?”

Anya looked at the King’s outstretched hand, then at the faces of the other girls, their expressions a mix of envy and confusion. She knew that by accepting his offer, she would be stepping into a world she knew nothing about, a world of intrigue, power, and responsibility. But she also knew that she could not refuse. The people of Eldoria deserved a ruler who cared, who understood their needs, who would fight for their well-being.

She took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and placed her hand in his. The King’s grip was firm, reassuring.

“I will, Your Majesty,” she said, her voice clear and strong. “I will do my best to serve Eldoria.”

And so, Anya, the simple girl from a small village, stepped into the unknown, ready to embrace her destiny as the King’s most trusted advisor, and perhaps, something much more. The apple lay forgotten on the bench, a symbol of a tradition that was about to be rewritten. The future of Eldoria rested not on beauty and artifice, but on the wisdom, compassion, and unwavering spirit of a girl who dared to be herself.