The Beautiful Ones The Beautiful Ones Trilogy Book 1 by Kody Boye Genre: YA Scifi Romance
My mother once said that only the Beautiful Ones survive. This is because, in the war-torn Great South, beauty is a currency, and to have it means you will never have to worry about a thing. The only problem is: beauty is judged by our capital’s Gentlewomen, and there is no guarantee that we will past their test. Every year, the Gentlewomen of the capital leave the Glittering City to oversee the annual Procession. They travel settlement to settlement selecting girls, aged sixteen and older, to become Beautiful Ones. If chosen, we will be lifted into a life of luxury, but the cost is our free will. **Get it FREE!!**Add to GoodreadsAmazon * Apple * B&N * Kobo
The War Outside The Beautiful Ones Trilogy Book 2
I have accomplished the goal of my lifetime. I have become a Beautiful One. But it is not at all what I expected. Between the glitz, the glam, the fame, fortune, and my recent wedding, it’s almost impossible to believe that a civil war rages beyond the capitol city’s walls, and that my life was nearly taken because of it. This is why, the day after the attempt on my life, I choose to designate my Purpose to the great war. There’s no guarantee that my words will change anything. But as my presence within the Glittering City grows, it becomes quickly apparent that I am in danger… and that no one, not even my government, can save me. Goodreads * Amazon
Born and raised in Southeastern Idaho, Kody Boye began his writing career with the publication of his story [A] Prom Queen’s Revenge at the age of fourteen. Published nearly three-dozen times before going independent at eighteen, Boye has authored numerous works—including the short story collection Amorous Things, the novella The Diary of Dakota Hammell, the zombie novel Sunrise and the epic fantasy series The Brotherhood Saga. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads
It comes rushing by us in the blink of an eye. An awe-inspiring wall, a series of
watchtowers that glimmer with white-hot light, an expansive gate that groans and slides inward
as the train comes barreling toward it—we witness the tracks as they begin to transition from the
cold, merciless desert into the urban dwelling of the high-class world, which is layered with
concrete, then watch as buildings shoot into the sky beside us. Glass windows adorn their
surfaces—some winking light, others not. Most are black in color, but others are reminiscent of
the buildings back home: white and sandstone-colored to reflect on a time that surely came
before.
“I can’t believe this,” I say as we continue to advance into the city, which glimmers like
stars in the night sky. “This whole place is just sitting out here, in the middle of the desert.”
“It’s amazing,” Ceyonne says.
We pass fountains that spout fresh water, ponds that hold real, living and ornate fish
within their depths, and witness buildings as they flash with untold colors, beckoning the
populace walking about at this early hour of the night inside with promises of the treasures
within.
I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
This place—it is Heaven: Utopia founded on the soiled grounds of our unfortunate world.
There is little time for us to dwell upon the matters at hand, or even to think of what is
going to be happening, as soon, there is a knock at the door, and Mother Terra is beckoning us
into the hall.
The brakes come on, the train slows down, the vehicle rolls under an underpass and then
comes to a halt before a series of sweeping glass windows. Before them stands a multitude of
people, both men and women, holding small objects with large lenses in their hands, which flash
in quick, erratic and unexpected succession.
“Are those,” Ceyonne asks.
“The photojournalists?” Mother Terra asks. “Yes, which is why you need to make sure
your hoods are down—especially you, Kelendra.”
I pull my hood further down my temple and nod to the Gentlewoman as she once again
gestures us out of the cabin.
Ceyonne goes first, and I follow shortly thereafter, falling into line. At first I struggle to
count how many others there are, but soon realize that I am struggling because I cannot
comprehend the few.
Only seven other girls were selected besides me and Ceyonne? How is that even
possible?
I open my mouth to ask Mother Terra why this is, but am stopped when the
Gentlewoman clears her throat at the front of the line and says, “Listen up, girls. It is imperative
that you follow my instructions at all times, especially now that we have arrived within the city.
“Now, with that being said, there are a few ground rules I’d like to go over.
“Number one is: don’t talk to the photojournalists. They will shout things at you, ask you
to remove your robes, ask you to show your faces, but under no circumstance are you to do this.
We don’t want the public misinterpreting our actions.
“Number two: follow me at all times. Do not stray from the group. It is easy to get lost
within the city, especially when there are multitudes of people about.
“And finally, number three: only speak to those who hold a title of authority. Do not tell
them your name, your age, where you have come from, or what has happened to you in your
former life. You are starting fresh, ladies, and will be expected to act as though you have been
reborn. Do you understand?”
“Yes ma’am,” we all say.
“Good,” Mother Terra replies. “Now come. It is time for us to go to the Spire.”
Mother Terra nods at Mother Chun and Mother Merissa before reaching forward and
pressing a button to open the train’s exit doorway.
We are immediately assaulted by flashing lights. Too numerable to comprehend, and
seemingly as bright as the sun, they flash like stars in the twilight sky and cause me to lose my
momentum for a brief moment before I step out of the train.
“Hey Beauties!” a man calls. “Tell us your names!”
“Where are you from?” another woman asks.
“Take off your hoods!” a third photographer cries.
“Don’t listen to them,” Mother Terra states. “Keep going.”
“Follow us,” Mother Chun says, her bronze skin shimmering as her cat-like eyes settle
upon us.
We, the Beautiful Ones, nod, and begin to march as though we are dying men, armed
with knives and swords and guns. While not heading to a battle in the traditional sense, we have
a fight of our own to endure, especially now that we have arrived within the Glittering City. We
are warriors—pulled from the depths of poverty and lifted by the grace of beauty—and though I
have never once felt as though I have been persecuted for my appearance, I now realize that I
could easily be seen that way now.
Remember, my mother used to say. People won’t want to hurt you unless you give them a
reason to. Be kind, be caring, but most of all, be compassionate.
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