5. The Selection (Part I)

                                    

                                          
      
Beatrix couldn't quite shake the feeling of eyes on her. Even as the last whispers of applause from last night's dance lingered in the air, she had felt it—Caspian's gaze, sharp and quiet, like a weight pressing against her back. His presence still haunted her. He was watching, but not with the same biting intensity as before. Now, it was... subtle.
She glanced over her shoulder, only to find him sitting by his brother's side, still as a statue. His cold eyes met hers for a fleeting moment, and for a brief second, something flickered between them—a quiet, unspoken recognition. Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. He turned his gaze toward Zachary, the weight of his thoughts hidden behind his usual mask.
Beatrix chewed her breakfast slowly, trying to maintain her composure. The eggs from the Faery farm were richer than anything she'd ever tasted back home, and as much as she hated to admit it, she missed the comfort of family. The ache was constant, gnawing at her during the quiet moments of the night. Ever since Alliance Day, she hadn't spoken to them. She would lie awake, tears staining her pillow, thinking of the last embrace she shared with them. Would she ever see them again?
She let her fork rest on her plate as her thoughts wandered. Ever since the Gathering, Caspian's presence had been a constant irritation. His gaze—sharp and piercing—always seemed to be on her, dissecting her every movement. She could feel it even when she didn't look. Each time her eyes met his, the intensity of his stormy stare sent an unshakable shiver through her.
Get a grip, Bea.
She forced her attention back to her meal, away from the vampire who had almost sabotaged her night. 
"Good morning, dear Chosen."
Beatrix looked up to see Vampire Zander, his solemn face framed by silver hair, rising from his seat. His voice sliced through the lingering awkwardness of the room, capturing everyone's attention. "The Consul wanted to announce the success of The Gathering this year. You all outdid yourselves, and Ambrosia is pleased. Especially by you two lovebirds..." He turned toward Beatrix with a knowing smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Beatrix and Zachary. You've stolen Ambrosia's heart."
Laughter and applause broke out around her. Someone from the back even whistled, calling, "Yeah!"
Beatrix felt her face heat up, the warmth spreading across her skin. She glanced at Caspian, whose expression remained serious and unreadable. To his side, a light chuckle escaped Zachary, and the corners of his mouth lifted into a smirk. He crossed his arms, cloaking himself in an air of calculated indifference.
Zander continued, oblivious to the situation. "As I was saying, you all showed off some impressive tricks that night, and the Consul wanted to congratulate you all. Also, I'd like to remind you that tonight is crucial. It's the Selection and Numbering ceremony. The gods will choose who they'll be watching over for the Games, and that's something you don't want to take lightly."
The Selection. Beatrix couldn't decide whether to dread it or hope for it. It was an event full of unknowns—the gods deciding who they'd favor for the Games, a fate that could change everything. It wasn't just an honor—it was a game of survival. Most Chosen never switched factions, but if they did, the betrayal was seen as a mark of dishonor. Those who switched factions were often seen as traitors. There was no room for error, and yet, there was always the possibility of being chosen by someone other than your own faction. Those who were cast aside by their former faction never had an easy time of it. Beatrix thought it to be somewhat messed up since nobody really have any control over that, but she settled with the thought that it just was the way it always had been.
She barely heard the rest of Zander's speech as her thoughts spiraled. "May the gods bless your beings," she muttered under her breath, having heard it a hundred times already. She was growing tired of hearing the same saying pronounced at least fifteen times a day.
Breakfast finally  ended, and the tension in the air remained, though slightly less uncomfortable than before. Some began to rise from their seats, talking in low voices, plotting strategies for the night ahead. Beatrix didn't want to engage, she related to the other competitors having a hard time acting friendly. Must be the nerves, she thought. So she turned and started walking toward her dorm, lost in thought.
"Blonde Locks!"
She froze at the sound of his voice, recognizing it before she even turned around. Caspian. Of course, it was him.
"Beatrix!"
Beatrix sighed and rolled her eyes. "You called me by my name. Now that's a first."
"You don't seem surprised."
"I'm not," she said flatly. "You seem to have a habit of showing up at the worst moments."
She half-expected him to make some other snarky comment, but he didn't. Instead, he stood there, blocking her path with that same infuriating smirk on his face. The intensity of his gaze only added to her growing frustration. Without waiting for him to respond, she reached for the door handle, but his hand shot out and blocked her way. She stiffened as his breath brushed against her neck.
"What is it, Caspian?" she asked, her tone much colder than she intended.
He didn't answer right away. His presence seemed to consume the space between them, the coolness of his skin practically radiating. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper. "I just wanted to show you something."
Her voice quivered, but she quickly shook it off. "I don't have time for whatever you're trying to pull."
"You might want to make time," he said, his smirk barely there. "It's our last day before the Selection."
She glared at him, stepping back slightly to put more distance between them. "You're right. We could be rivals tomorrow. It's probably best we don't get attached to anyone, especially not a Vampire."
Beatrix couldn't tear her gaze from his. She hated how he seemed to hold her attention so easily, how his presence felt like it was all-encompassing. She pushed him away, breaking the tension. 
The briefest flash of something—hurt?—passed across his features, but it was gone before she could really register it.
She sighed, the words escaping her before she could stop them. "I didn't mean it like that."
Caspian didn't respond immediately. Instead, he reached up, tucking a strand of her ash blonde hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing her skin in a gesture that, while light, felt far too intimate. She stiffened, feeling a rush of heat that she quickly suppressed.
He looked at her for a long moment, as if trying to read something in her expression. "I'll see you at the Selection," he said, his voice quieter now, almost reflective.
Without another word, he turned and left, leaving her standing there, feeling more unsettled than she cared to admit.
Beatrix leaned against the door. Tonight, the gods would make their decision. But it wasn't just about the Selection anymore. The tension between them—whatever it was—lingered in the back of her mind persistently.
But she couldn't afford to get caught up in it. Not with everything on the line.