Cohen spoke first, welcoming everyone to the tenth Culling announcement of the season. That meant I was the last to announce—the last girl to come forward as marked. Nine other girls had sat next to Cohen on this stage, some of them eager and some of them afraid, and declared themselves as part of the Culling.

I listened to him explain the history of the competition.

I'd heard it before. This was one of the traditional Erydian legends, the kind that all children grew up hearing. Even my mama, as jaded and hurt by the goddess as she was, used to tell my brothers and I this story. She would whisper it to us during the coldest nights of the winter stretch—when we were hungry and afraid—back then it had all felt so very far away. Then, the Culling had still felt like a fairytale and not something I might one day have to do.

Now it was real and true and I was here—a player in a game that was nearly as old as our world. And even though I'd heard this story a million times, even though I hated it and what it was doing to me, I found myself listening to Cohen.

He wasn't reading it from the teleprompter, he was reciting it from memory and I could tell by the way he spoke, that he'd also heard it a million times. So, I listened and let myself be that child again, the one who had not understood that the story being told was a part of me—that it might one day be my story.

It is said, that the goddess created ten daughters, all of them in her image, all of them happy and content. Until one day, amongst all the goodness the goddess had made, a daughter wasn't content anymore. They were created to be companions for one another. They weren't supposed to need or want anything more than what they had. But they were human and, of course, they asked for more.

The last of the daughters, the tenth, was restless. This girl did not fit with the other nine. She was rawer, made from a different sort of power than the rest. She scared the other girls and so she had no one to care for her.

Because of her loneliness, she grew sullen and began to fade away. The goddess, fearing for her child, offered to create an eleventh daughter, a sister who could be a friend to the girl.

But the tenth daughter declined.

Instead, she wanted something deeper, something more than that. The tenth daughter wanted what the lions had. What she saw amongst the birds and the wolves and the deer. She wanted affection, protection and, what is more, she wanted love. And so, the goddess said that she would form for her a companion, unlike any that her sisters possessed.

Cohen said, "The goddess spoke to the tenth girl saying, 'I will give you all that your heart desires, not because you need it, but because you have asked. But, daughter of mine, this creature will have free will, just as you do. Perhaps it's desires will not always align with your own.'"

And, as the story goes, she made a man and named him Erydi. The goddess was right and the man had his own will, uncontrolled by the daughters or the goddess. Much to the tenth daughter's dismay and horror, he fell for one of her sisters instead. That girl's name was Batya.

This upset the tenth daughter.

But still, Erydi could choose for himself. That was the goddess' way.

When Batya and Erydi were blessed with a child, it was the tipping point for the tenth daughter. She wanted Batya and the man banished from her home, their oasis. She could not bear to look upon their happiness and see all that Batya had gained in her stead.

So, she went to her sisters and asked them for help. Together they might convince the goddess to cast out their sister and her lover. After much deliberation, the daughters disagreed. They said Batya, Erydi, and their new child should be allowed to stay.

The tenth daughter was unhappy and her rage soon turned to bloodlust and despair.

One night, as Batya was sleeping, the tenth sister stole away her baby and drowned it in a nearby stream. Grieved by the death of her child, Batya took her own life. Erydi was so angered that his child and mate were dead, stolen from him by a jealous girl, that he went after the tenth daughter.

Fighting ensued, tearing the land apart.

The other daughters took sides, created alliances.

When there seemed to be no end in sight, the goddess, heartbroken by the death of her daughter and the destruction of her creation, she split everything into sections, separating the entire world into pieces of land so the fighting might cease. She punished all of her daughters with shortened lives and worrying hearts, but she did not leave them lonely. The goddess formed more men, one for each of her daughters.

In the wake of all the fighting, the goddess saw Erydi's heartache and gifted him a prosperous country. She gave him the piece that would have been Batya's, her dowry. And so, the nation was named Erydia in their honor.

Years later, Erydi took another wife. As a blessing for Erydi, the goddess promised his kingdom a long life, filled with mighty queens, girls meant to rival even Batya and his new wife. When the eldest son of Erydi's bloodline came of age, the goddess would send for him ten girls, all of them goddess-touched with abilities to rival one another. It would be from this group of girls that the next queen would come.

This was a blessing, while also a curse. How was any mortal to choose whom the goddess would have sat upon a throne? Being unable to choose his own queen, the first son of Erydi formed a competition, the Culling. It was through this, a fight to the death, that the next queen would arise.

"Soon," Cohen said, "the world shifted and the first daughters died, leaving only regular men and women. This made the Culling even more important. The goddess-touched queen is our link to the goddess, her perpetual gift to us. It is her way of presenting us with ten worthy candidates, while still giving each of these girls their own free will." He looked back at me when he said this, pausing long enough to take a breath before he continued, "My mother has ruled for nearly thirty years and is prepared to retire. It is my hope that this Culling will produce a queen with similar strength and nobility to her own."

He was still looking at me, the weight of those blue eyes pinning me to my seat. Men and women in the front row stepped forward, lifted their own microphones higher as if terrified they might miss a word.

Blood rushed in my ears. Cohen said something about the importance of the announcement, but I didn't hear him. I couldn't breathe, couldn't so much as look away from the prince before me.

He said my name and turned to me again, his expression expectant. I needed to stand up. It was my turn, the slides on the projector had already been changed to the script meant for me. But, goddess, I'd never seen so many people in my life, much less spoken to them.

Cohen smiled at me and for an instant, his brows knit together in concern. It was so fast no camera could have caught it, but I did.

The queen made a sound, a sort of annoyed grunt, and muttered, "This one doesn't seem promising."

That was enough to get me out of my seat. I walked on shaking legs to the microphone. Cohen sidestepped me and walked back to his own seat. I watched him go, wishing he'd stay with me. How was I suddenly so dependent on a complete stranger?

I felt tied to him, clinging for dear life to the slight sign of compassion written on his face. I forced myself to look back at the crowd. I was dependent on Cohen because the alternative was to be completely alone in front of all these people.

My vision swam, black with sharp dots of white, the flashes of cameras.

The rustle of other people's clothes.

Whispers.

The faint sound of radio static.

A cough in the back of the room.

Dellacov stood by the door, his eyebrows raised in a silent question. He met my eyes and inclined his head towards the bright projected screen at the back of the room. I took a deep breath and gripped the microphone. I looked over the heads of the hushed crowd in front of me and focused on the flickering screen.

It's just reading. I can read, right?

"My name," I had to stop to clear my throat. I would've paid good money for a glass of water. Someone started snickering. I tried again, "My name is Monroe Avery Benson and I am seventeen years old. It is my honor, given to me directly from the goddess and indisputable by any man, to participate in this season's Culling. I swear upon my life, and that of my family, that I am genuinely goddess-touched. I present not only a mark but also a gift."

I scanned the crowd.

My eyes landed on Dellacov again, he saw me looking and smiled. Discretely, he held a hand out and slowly lowered it. He seemed to say, Take a deep breath. Slow down.

I continued to read, trying to pace myself. "The Erydian throne is my birthright and, for that inheritance, I will fight in the Culling. If I emerge triumphant, I will gratefully accept the crown and all that such a position demands. I also fully accept the open marriage proposal of Prince Cohen Warwick. I acknowledge that in winning the Culling, I will be elevating my family and myself into a position of power. A position for which I am prepared."

I swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to get my hands to stop shaking. My mouth was so dry I wasn't sure I could even manage another sentence. Everyone was looking at me, microphones held high, cameras click click clicking away at me. I could feel Cohen's heavy gaze on my back. I could hear the queen's words replaying in my mind over and over again.

This one doesn't seem promising.

I looked at the last remaining slide then out into the sea of people before me. Then I said the phrased I'd spent my entire life hating—"Goddess be honored."

The crowd seemed to speak as one. "Goddess be honored."