Elected (The Elected Series Book 1)

Elected (The Elected Series Book 1) by Rori Shay Page B

Book: Elected (The Elected Series Book 1) by Rori Shay Read Free Book Online
Authors: Rori Shay
Tags: Fiction, Young Adult, Dystopian
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But he says, “Elected, you should get inside and wash up as well.”
    He’s the first person to call me “Elected.” It sounds strange the way it rolls out like the word is too big to fit in his mouth.
    I nod and exit the stables, careful to stay under the awning.
    It’s been a long time since we’ve been caught off guard by acid rain. I chide myself that it was under my watch on my first day as Elected. Now I’m not only reeling from my parents’ departure, I’m also frustrated at my inability to protect my people.
    I make my way up to my bedroom and immediately splash water from a basin onto my skin. Thankfully, not much of me was exposed since it was cold outside and I was pretty bundled up. But my face is blistered. I can tell as I look into the cracked mirror over the basin.
    As I run a hand over my broken skin, I can’t help feeling hopeless. I have a rebellion bubbling up, assassination attempts against me, and an environment slowly killing my people. And I’m alone. So utterly alone.
    I give a tortured moan.
    “Your face doesn’t look that bad,” comes a soft voice from behind me.
    I wheel around, surprised someone is sitting on my bed.
    The someone is a girl, and she’s radiant. The rain outside must have stopped because this girl is bathed in light from the window. She looks serene in a white, somewhat sheer gown. Her long blonde hair flows down her back and a string of pale pink flowers circle her head.
    It’s Vienne. I’ve never seen her before today, but I know I’m right. I slowly walk across the room, taking in her presence. She sits with folded hands in her lap.
    At once a rush of feelings envelops me. I’m jealous of her. She’s everything I desire to be. Alluring. Poised. And most of all feminine. But at the same time, I’m proud she’s mine. I feel a wave of possessiveness well up from my stomach to my throat. I’ve never seen any girl who looks like Vienne. I have a strong desire to protect her—to keep her all to myself. She seems delicate, like a gossamer-winged butterfly, but upon closer inspection, I can see the strength she exudes as well. It’s obvious in the firm tilt of her chin and the way she doesn’t break eye contact with me. Hers is a quiet but strong presence. Vienne is utterly enchanting. Every man will want her, but she’s to be my wife.
    When I’m almost in front of her, she turns her face to the nightstand near my bed and picks up a teacup and saucer. Offering it to me, Vienne says, “I thought you might like some mint tea.”
    Vienne’s been raised for this position her whole life. She knows exactly what to say and do politically. It’s a powerful feeling knowing someone was crafted just for you.
    I look down at the delicate china cup in her palm and see three small mint leaves floating in the liquid. I take the tea from her hands, our fingers touching slightly. “Thank you.” My voice still cracks from my fears of a few minutes ago. I sip the liquid, tasting a hint of bitter liquor balancing out the sugar. Vienne prepared it the way I most desire.
    I try to gather myself so I can talk to this girl, my future wife. “I didn’t expect to see you today,” I say.
    “I know it’s customary for us not to meet until our wedding day. “However...” She pauses. “I thought you might need someone to talk to.”
    She doesn’t apologize for breaking the rules. She is more my match than my parents and Tomlin may even have realized.
    “You couldn’t have known about the rain,” she continues. It’s like she’s read my earlier thoughts. “I was watching from up here. The clouds swept in with the wind. No one noticed because it was already so cold.”
    “I need to notice.”
    She doesn’t negate me. Doesn’t placate me. “Well, now I’ll be here to help you notice.”
    And with her words, I know Vienne won’t just be a figurehead by my side. She is like the female leaders from long ago—the ones who, ironically enough, wrote the very Elected and

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