**[Hours Later]**

Rita’s elbow shot out smoothly from her rigid posture to score a hit on her brother’s side. He had been attempting to shuffle closer to the wall of the temple for something to lean against. The action bruised her funny bone but had the desired effect of rousing the drowsy child from his daydreams and kept him from moving. It was a small blessing that the draft happened in the evening as the already bright glare from the sun would have boiled them in their multilayered dress clothes otherwise. As it was, Ivan's coat was beginning to show sweat stains, and he had a light sheen of moisture coating his sullen face. She was decidedly uncomfortable in the long dress she had chosen, yet unlike her brother, Rita knew how to look graceful under pressure.

She brought her eyes back to the front, where a line of three nobles stood. They took turns pulling from the large cage-like contraption holding the hundreds of tickets represented by her district's people. Other nobles would be doing the same in their regions until each had reached their quota. Her father stood between Jarrod Hyde, the Baron of Kerone, the agricultural region's leader in their district, and his grace Duke Ryan McCalister who presided over their entire region. Keros was not the most influential district, but Rita had been forced through many events with the man and knew he thought himself equal to the wealthy nobles to the north. Currently, the Duke’s son, Evan, who was much easier to talk with and look at, was drawing names to lay on the podium beside the announcer.

Two scribes stood to either side of the portly middle-aged man and recorded the order the names were called as well as the groups each draftee would be in. This made things far more efficient and kept the masses from doubting the legitimacy of the process. Rita's eyes skipped right over the balding announcer and mousy scribes to land on the future duke. Her eyes tracked his flexing forearms and muscular frame as he reached in, again and again, to pull tickets for his father. It was with a nearly silent sigh of disappointment that she watched Evan return to his position behind his father’s right side. She knew it would be too obvious to stare at him now. Still, the idea of going back to the boring monotony of watching older gentlemen like her father pull tickets almost made her continue ogling him anyway.

At her position behind the procession, Rita’s eyes widened to see her father gesture Ivan and her forward. She had only been able to pull a ticket once before, so it was a big treat for him to acknowledge them publicly like this. "Though it is probably just because Ivan is here this year," she thought, chiding herself for still seeking her father's recognition. Unsurprisingly, Ivan was allowed to go first, and he reached into the cage filled with tickets to pull out two, which he eagerly brought forward. She could only guess his gleeful expression resulted from his desire to see the names of the poor souls he had condemned. Sighing silently at his openly joyous expression and knowing the future scolding she would receive for it, Rita waited until he had returned to his spot behind their father before walking up to the cage herself.

The tickets fluttered around the gilded wire contraption by some feat of wind-based enchantment created to give all tickets an “equal” chance of being chosen. Nervously, Rita reached through the bars, feeling the pressure of the magic against her hand, and grasped three tickets that clung together near the bottom. Pulling her hand out carefully to avoid touching the golden runes decorating the inside and making it appear to be blessed by divine light to the commoners waiting below, she stepped over to the podium. She laid down three names: Aiden William Sayler, Rita Mae Malory, and Horace Phillip Stone. Her one remaining ticket out of thousands was right there, still partially held by her hand as her face went slack in absolute horror. She had been nervous about embarrassing her father but had completely forgotten about how her trait might interfere with her and the ticket cage or even that the draft included her at all.

This was the worst possible thing that could have happened, and she should have anticipated it, but at that moment, all she could do was stare at her name written beautifully across the seemingly innocent grey ticket. She could feel the gaze of everyone behind her, and the scribe whose position she had taken to set down the tickets scowled at her and peered around her shoulder to write down the names she had chosen. The scribe’s quill stopped short on the second name, and he turned to look at her with such surprise and pity that her heart clenched. He gestured her back kindly this time, and she choked back a sob as tears ran down her face smearing her makeup. The ticket was still in her hand. She momentarily considered trying to destroy it before anyone else saw, but the scribe removed it firmly from her hand. Her meager strength was not enough to resist the movement, and she was forced to watch her future be stolen.

Rita knew she should keep a brave face, but since she would die in the next few weeks anyway, she let herself be a thirteen-year-old girl for once. Ivan looked at her broken expression with confusion, her father with fury until the announcer began to call her name “ ..Sayler, Rita Mae.. oh my.. excuse me..” a loud feminine gasp could be heard from the crowd. He shot a glance at the watching nobles before proceeding, “Rita Mae Malory, Horace Phillip..” Rita glanced up from her feet to see hundreds of eyes looking at her. Everyone in the square now knew that she had pulled her own name, and many reveled in the knowledge that their lord’s daughter would face the same fate as their own child. Ivan moved closer to her and murmured, “stand tall, or you will shame us all,” and then proceeded to ignore her existence just like her father, whose expression had not shifted in the slightest at the revelation.