The Prince's Catch - Remastered

I exhaled a jagged sigh of frustration, dragging the brush through my hair for what felt like the hundredth time. A glance at the wooden cuckoo clock confirmed my dread: nearly 6:30 PM.

The hour had arrived. Tonight, every eighteen-year-old virgin in the city would gather beneath the clock tower for the Selection. To the Imperial Family and their high-ranking ministers—those who looked down on us from their mountain-top palace—it was an annual tradition. To me? It was a purge.

Every year, the "purest" and "prettiest" were harvested. Depending on their utility, they became servants, bedmaidens, or, if they were truly unlucky, "Pack members." In the Bloodmoon Empire, being a Pack member meant being bound to the Imperial bloodline—the most lethal werewolves in existence. Most girls didn't survive the year. Disobedient servants vanished; bedmaidens were discarded like wilted flowers once the Princes grew bored.

The Palace didn't care. There was always a fresh crop next spring.

My gaze shifted to the wardrobe. Hanging there was a black lacy dress with intricate gold embroidery—the mandatory uniform for this year's ceremony. In the city square, a duplicate hung on display, a symbol of "honor" that I viewed as a shroud. To be picked was a death sentence; to be rejected was a lifelong brand of shame. In our world, if you weren't chosen, it was assumed you were no longer "pure."

I had been a pariah long before the Selection. Orphaned seventeen years ago by the White Plague, I grew up in the shadow of my parents' deaths. The other children were cruel, whispering that my parents had caught the plague on purpose just to escape the burden of an ugly, weak daughter.

I looked in the mirror, seeing the girl they loved to hate: petite, with skin like porcelain and green eyes that shone like glass bottles in the sun. My lips were a flush of pale pink, my nose small and straight. No matter how I styled my chocolate-brown hair, the bullies always found a reason to strike.

A sharp knock rattled my door. My grandmother shuffled in, her grey hair pinned in its usual tight bun, her hunched frame draped in a floor-length purple gown. Her body was failing her, but her mind remained as sharp as a jagged blade.

"Come, my little minnow," she urged, her voice cracking with haste. "It is nearly seven! You aren't even dressed!"

"I can't do this, Grandma," I protested, my voice trembling. "If I’m rejected, the shame—"

"Stop that nonsense," she snapped gently, taking my hands. "Those children don't see the beauty I see. And if you aren't picked? Good. I’ll keep my El by my side. Now, hurry! If the guards label you a deserter, they won't bother with a selection—they'll just take your head."

I managed a weak smile and slipped into the dress. It fit like a second skin. The deep V-neck and the hem that skimmed my mid-thigh made me look like something I wasn't: regal.

"Don't cry, Grandma," I whispered, sniffing back tears as I hugged her. "I'll be back by ten. Mark my words."

I planted a kiss on her forehead and stepped out into the biting night air. The cobbled streets were eerie and silent; the entire population had already migrated toward the square, drawn by the booming, regal music of the ceremony.

I hurried through the shadows, my heart hammering against my ribs. But as I neared the stone archway leading to the square, the light was cut off. Four or five dark figures stepped from the mouth of an alley, blocking my path.

"Well, well," a high-pitched, mocking voice chirped. Rainie. "If it isn't the orphan on her way to be rejected. Do you really think the Imperial Family wants trash?"

"Move, Rainie," I pleaded. "If I'm late, the guards—"

"The little tramp is scared," Everett sneered, stepping up beside his girlfriend. He was the reason Rainie was exempt from the Selection; he had "claimed" her at sixteen. In our world, they were called Tamed Rogues—those who threw away their virtue early to avoid the Palace's reach. "Why let the Princes waste their time killing her? We could do it here."

Rainie lowered her hood, her flame-orange hair glowing in the moonlight. She smirked, her blue eyes glinting with malice. "You're right, babe. Let's do everyone a favor."

Before I could scream, the circle closed in. The world dissolved into a blur of shadows and pain. The last thing I felt was the shattering impact of the cold, hard cobbles against my temple, and then the darkness took me whole.