One in a Hundred

“Have you checked your mail yet?” my twin sister, Willow, pestered me over the phone.

“Relax I’m looking now.” I deftly inserted the key and twisted open the lock of the small apartment mailbox.

Shiny ads spilled out as I released them from their prison. My reflexes kicked in as my hand flew out to stop them from falling to the floor.

“Well? Is it there?”

“I’m looking!” I sorted through the junk, pulling out two important looking envelopes. One was clearly from Yale University. The other envelope was thick and ivory-covered. It looked expensive… but the Yale letter demanded my attention. “I think it’s here.” My voice was soft.

“Open it!” Willow demanded.

Shoving the rest of the mail back inside, I slid a finger along the top of the envelope and removed the letter.

Ms. Raven Sinclair,

This letter formally confirms my agreement to supervise your PhD research to investigate disease causing T-cells in patients with systemic lupus erythematosus within the Immunology Department at Yale University—

Gasping, I covered my mouth. “I got it! I’m in!”

Willow squealed, “That’s amazing! I’m so proud of you!”

My heart hammered in my chest, not ready to accept that I’d finally done it. After four years of undergrad, three years of working as a medical laboratory scientist, and two years of grueling classes, I was about to work under one of the leading minds in lupus research in the country.

“I can’t believe it! I finally made it! There’s a cure out there and I’m going to help find it!”

Willow grew quiet, and my excitement shifted into irritation, anticipating what she was about to say.

“Thank you for fighting for me,” Willow said. “You gave up your life for me.”

I stifled a sigh. “I’m not giving up anything.” She always reacted this way when I dared to hope for a cure. She was afraid of jinxing it. I frowned in irritation that she believed saying my goal out loud could possibly stop me from achieving it. Besides, these last few years had never felt like a sacrifice to me.

As twins, we had been nearly inseparable most of our lives. We were so excited to attend the same university, share a dorm room and meet boys. Then the fatigue and rashes appeared. At first, Willow brushed it off as stress, but soon my lively sister was tired, irritable and unmotivated. The day she finally dropped out was the day I changed my major. I was determined to learn why this was happening to her and contribute to the research that would mitigate her symptoms if not cure her entirely.

But she only saw it as me giving up my dreams for her. The sigh escaped—we’d had this argument so many times. “I honestly… love it. I started this for you, but I kept doing it for me.” And it was true. I’d stumbled into my first cellular and molecular biology class clueless but left it awed at the complex inner workings of the human body.

Willow let out a jaw-cracking yawn.

“You sound tired. I’ll let you go,” I said.

“Alright. I love you, Raven.” She ended the call.

I stood in the hallway, grinning like an idiot at the letter. This was everything I’d worked so hard for. I still wanted to go celebrate, but there wasn’t anyone to celebrate with.

I ignored the slight pang in my chest as my eyes wandered toward the open mailbox and the other unopened letter. I frowned, then swapped my acceptance letter with the mysterious unopened one.

There was no return address on the front, so I flipped it over. The letter was secured with a wax seal. My eyes widened as I recognized the coat of arms stamped into the wax. Why would they send me anything?

My hands shook slightly as I broke the wax and slid out another letter.

Ms. Raven Sinclair,

Congratulations! You’ve been selected as one of the top 100 eligible bachelorettes to participate in Courting the Crown: a live competition to win the heart of Prince Lucas Ashcroft—

I paused and reread the first sentence. This had to be a bad dream. I rubbed my eyes and read it again. Nope. Still real. How could I possibly be one of the top one hundred eligible bachelorettes in Pangea? Even with my family connections, no part of me had expected to be chosen.

Without finishing the letter, I numbly gathered up my mail, and locked the mailbox. Then, I walked up the three flights of stairs to my apartment.

Once inside, my eyes swept across the studio apartment, noting the sparse decor. I barely spent anytime here—most of it was spent studying in the library. I started. This was the apartment of a potential princess.

I scoffed. Maybe the letter was a scam. Everyone knew the competition was starting soon. The Ashcrofts were rich and powerful, so there were millions of women my age dying to be selected. This was the type of situation a scam artist would exploit. My eyes scanned the rest of the letter, noticing a web URL at the bottom. They wanted me to acknowledge that I’d received the invitation, but that link could also be how they planned to begin the scam.

Determined to sort this out, I opened my laptop and browser, and then searched for the registration page through there. The top result was a web page with the same domain as the link on my invitation. My chest tightened as the chances that this was a hoax slipped away.

The only thing left to do was register and see if they rejected me. Surely, once I attempted to register, the mistake in the system would—the thought died sharply as information about when and where the competition would take place loaded on the screen. Shit. This is actually happening. I wouldn’t be at Yale this summer.

Irritation flickered in my chest.

Thousands of people apply to Yale’s PhD program every year, and only twenty-five receive an interview. Of those twenty-five, only a handful are offered a spot.

I’d already earned my once in a lifetime opportunity. Becoming a princess wasn’t something I wanted. Not only that, but the whole competition was going to be televised. I winced, reliving every reality TV show I’d ever watched. Only a lucky few were portrayed in a flattering way on those things. What were the chances that I would walk away from this with my dignity and reputation intact?

Irritated, I stared at the confirmation page. Why had the Ashcrofts considered me for this honor? Two years ago, when seventy percent of Earth’s countries formed an imperial republic—dubbed Pangea—the imperial family and the council had established this competition to ensure the royal bloodline would mix with the best Pangea had to offer.

Apparently, I was to be the American representative, and there was one person who would benefit from the publicity if I did well. Had he arranged this somehow?

Numbly, I called my parents. On the third ring, my mother answered. “Raven!”

“Hi, Mom,” I managed to squeak out. My throat felt tight, and I cleared it.

“Congratulations! Willow told us the good news,” my mother gushed.

“Thanks… Is Dad home?” I asked. “I need to ask him something.”

My mother quieted, then I heard her yell across the house. “He’s coming. Is everything alright?”

“It’s fine,” I lied. If my mother noticed, she didn’t call me out on it.

A few moments later, my father took the phone from her. “What happened?”

I steadied myself and said, “I received an invitation to Courting the Crown today.”

“Already?” he responded, and my heart sank. He wasn’t surprised.

“What did you do?” I asked, resting my head in my hands.

He sighed, and I could picture his brows furrowing. “Secured you a chance at an excellent future.”

“I already have a future,” I ground out.

He brushed me off, as he usually did when it came to my career choices. A familiar twisting knotted in my gut. “No future compares to marrying an Ashcroft,” he said stiffly. “There’s no reason you can’t pick up your… projects after producing a few royal heirs. The Sinclair name will be forever tied to theirs.”

My eyes widened in shock. My father wasn’t some misogynistic, overbearing man. He’d been disappointed when I didn’t follow him into politics, especially after Willow proved incapable of it, but he’d never made me feel like this before. Sure, he’d wanted me to become a United States Senator like him, but he’d never dismissed my career like this.

“Why does that matter?” I asked, blurting out the question without thinking. There was an awkward pause. “I mean, why this sudden interest in name recognition?”

“The world is becoming a smaller place… If you want to make a difference, to really make a difference, we need good people who can influence the Ashcrofts,” he said. “It’s not good for one family to hold that much power.”

I frowned. If that was true, then why had the countries let them form an imperial family in the first place? It had been a strange decision, a step backwards into a time when bloodlines mattered more than the strength of a person’s abilities and character.

“It’s a shame the council isn’t forcing Prince Alexander to compete. Imagine what you could accomplish as the next empress...”

I winced, secretly glad that the Crown Prince was exempt from this new tradition. My future was already set in stone, and the last thing I needed was to become the Empress. Why couldn’t my father be proud of my accomplishments as a scientist?

“I got accepted in Dr. Harper’s lab. Do you know how hard I worked for that?” I asked, voicing my frustration. “Besides, becoming a princess isn’t going to help Willow.”

“Do you really think that as an imperial princess you won’t have access to the resources required to pursue whatever charities you desire?”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Fine, but what are the chances I actually win?”

“High. You’re intelligent, beautiful and you’ve been to balls and galas with me your whole life. You know how to navigate rooms filled with Senators and Presidents. Why wouldn’t he choose you?”

I bit my lip. He wasn’t wrong—I could hold my own among the Ashcrofts. It was more that I’d envisioned myself as a scientist for so long that I couldn’t wrap my head around becoming a princess.

“Sleep on it tonight,” my father said as though he could read my mind. “I apologize for the shock. I should have told you that I nominated you, but I didn’t want to get your hopes up if you weren’t invited.”

I bit back a sharp retort. Maybe he was right, and I needed to change my perspective. Maybe becoming an Ashcroft would help me reach my goal faster. Or maybe this would all be a colossal waste of my time. “I’ll think about it.”