The Prince

CHAPTER 5

IN THE END, I DIDN’T look at the applications. I had a lot of reasons to not bother, but ultimately, I convinced myself it was best if it was a clean slate for all of us once we were introduced. Besides, if Father had pored over all the candidates in detail, maybe I didn’t want to.

I held a comfortable distance between the Selection and myself

. . . until the event crossed my threshold.

Friday morning, I was walking along the third floor, and I heard the musical laugh of two girls on the open stairwell of the second floor. A perky voice gushed, “Can you believe we’re here?” and they burst into giggles again.

I cursed aloud and ran into the closest room, because it had been stressed to me over and over again that I was to meet the girls all at once on Saturday. No one told me why it was so important, but I believed it had something to do with their makeovers. If a Five stepped into the palace without any sort of help, well, I couldn’t say she’d have much of a chance.

Maybe it was to make everything fair. I discreetly left the room I’d ducked into and went back to my own, trying to forget the incident altogether.

But then a second time as I was walking to drop something off in Father’s office, I heard the floating voice of a girl I did not know, and it sent a jolt of anxiety through my entire being. I went back to my room and cleaned all of my camera lenses meticulously and reorganized all my equipment. I busied myself until nightfall, when I knew the girls would be in their rooms, and I could walk.

It was one of those traits that tended to get on Father’s nerves. He said it made him nervous that I moved around so much. What could I say? I thought better on my feet.

The palace was quiet. If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t have guessed that we had so much company. Maybe things wouldn’t be so different if I didn’t focus on the change.

As I made my way to the end of the hall, I was faced with all the what if s that were plaguing me.

What if none of the girls was someone I could love? What if none of them loved me? What if my soul mate was bypassed because someone more valuable was chosen from her province?

I sat down at the top of the stairs and put my head in my hands.

How was I supposed to do this?

How was I meant to find someone who I loved, who loved me, who my parents approved of, and the people adored? Not to mention someone who was smart, attractive, and accomplished, someone I could present to all the presidents and ambassadors who came our way.

I told myself to pull it together, to think about the positive what if s.

What if I had a spectacular time getting to know these ladies? What if they were all charming and funny and beautiful? What if the very girl I cared for the most would appease my father beyond any expectations either of us had? What if my perfect match was lying in her bed right now, hoping the best for me?

Maybe . . . maybe this could be everything I’d dreamed it would be, back before it became all too real.

This was my chance to find a partner. For so long, Daphne was the only person I could confide in; no one else quite understood our lives. But now, I could welcome someone else into my world, and it would be better than anything I’d ever had before because . . . because she would be mine.

And I would be hers. We would be there for each other. She would be what my mother was to my father: a source of comfort, the calm that grounded him. And I could be her guide, her protector.

I stood and moved downstairs, feeling confident. I just had to hold on to this feeling. I told myself that this was what the Selection would really be for me. It was hope.

By the time I hit the first floor, I was actually smiling. I wasn’t relaxed, exactly, butI was determined.

“ . . . outside,” someone gasped, the fragile voice echoing down the hallway. What was happening?

“Miss, you need to get back to your room now.” I squinted down the hall and saw in a patch of moonlight that a guard was blocking a girl—a girl!—from the doorway. It was dark, so I couldn’t make out much of her face, but she had brilliant red hair, like honey and roses and the sun all together.

“Please.” She was looking more and more distressed as she stood there shaking. I walked closer, trying to decide what to do.

The guard said something I couldn’t make out. I kept walking, trying to make sense of the scene.

“I . . . I can’t breathe,” she said, falling into the guard’s arms as he dropped his staff to catch her. He seemed kind of irritated about it.

“Let her go!” I ordered, finally getting to them. Rules be damned, I couldn’t let this girl be hurt.

“She collapsed, Your Majesty,” the guard explained. “She wanted to go outside.”

I knew the guards were just trying to keep us all safe, but what could I do? “Open the doors,” I commanded.

“But . . . Your Majesty . . .”

I fixed him with a serious gaze.

“Open the doors and let her go.

Now!”

“Right away, Your Highness.”

The guard by the door went to work opening the lock, and I watched the girl sway slightly in the other’s arms as she tried to stand.

The moment the double doors opened, a rush of warm, sweet Angeles wind enveloped us. As soon as she felt it on her bare arms, she was moving.

I went to the door and watched as she staggered through the garden, her bare feet making dull sounds on the smoothed gravel. I’d never seen a girl in a nightgown before, and while this particular young lady wasn’t exactly graceful at the moment, it was still strangely inviting.

I realized the guards were watching her, too, and that bothered me.

“As you were,” I said in a low voice. They cleared their throats and turned back to face the hallway.

“Stay here unless I call for you,” I instructed, and walked into the garden.

I had a hard time seeing her, but I could hear her. She was breathing heavily, and sounded almost like she was weeping. I hoped that wasn’t the case. Finally I saw her collapse in the grass with her arms and head resting on a stone bench.

She didn’t seem to notice that I’d approached, so I stood there a moment, waiting for her to look up.

After a while I was starting to feel a little awkward. I figured she’d at least want to thank me, so I spoke.

“Are you all right, my dear?”

“I am not your dear,” she said angrily as she whipped her head to look at me. She was still hidden by shadows, but her hair flashed in the sliver of moonlight that made its way through the clouds.

Still, face lit or hidden, I got the full intention of her words. Where was the gratitude? “What have I done to offend you? Did I not just give you the very thing you asked for?”

She didn’t answer me, but turned away, back to her crying.

Why did women have such a high inclination to tears? I didn’t want to be rude, but I had to ask.

“Excuse me, dear, are you going to keep crying?”

“Don’t call me that! I am no more dear to you than the thirty-

four other strangers you have here in your cage.”

I smiled to myself. One of my many worries was that these girls would be in a constant state of presenting the best sides of themselves, trying to impress me. I kept dreading that I’d spend weeks getting to know someone, think she was the one, and then after the wedding, some new person would come to the surface who I couldn’t stand.

And here was one who didn’t care who I was. She was scolding me!

I circled her as I thought about what she said. I wondered if my habit of walking would bother her.

If it did, would she say so?

“That is an unfair statement.

You are all dear to me,” I said. Yes, I’d been avoiding anything having to do with the Selection, but that didn’t mean the girls weren’t precious in my eyes. “It is simply a matter of discovering who shall be the dearest.”

“Did you really just use the w o r d shall?”

she asked incredulously.

“I’m afraid I did,” I answered with a chuckle. “Forgive me, it’s a product of my education.” She muttered something unintelligible.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s ridiculous!” she yelled. My, she had a temper. Father must not know much about this one.

Certainly, no girl with this disposition would have made it into the pool if he had. It was lucky for her that I was the one who came upon her in her distress, and not him. She would have been sent home about five minutes ago.

“What is?” I inquired, though I was sure she was referencing this very moment.

I’d never experienced anything quite like this.

“This contest! The whole thing!

Haven’t you ever loved anyone at all? Is this really how you want to pick a wife? Are you really so shallow?”

That stung. Shallow? I went to sit on the bench, so it would be easier to talk. I wanted this girl, whoever she was, to understand where I was coming from, what things looked like from my end. I tried not to get distracted by the curve of her waist and hip and leg, even the look of her bare foot.

“I can see how I would seem that way, how this whole thing could seem like it’s nothing more than cheap entertainment,” I said, nodding. “But in my world, I am very guarded. I don’t meet very many women. The ones I do are daughters of diplomats, and we usually have very little to discuss.

And that’s when we manage to speak the same language.”

I smiled, thinking of the awkward moments when I had to sit through long dinners in silence next to young women who I was meant to entertain, and failing dismally because the translators were busy talking politics. I looked to the girl, expecting her to laugh along with me for my trouble.

When her tight lips refused to smile, I cleared my throat and moved on.

“Circumstances being what they are,” I said, fidgeting with my hands, “I haven’t had the opportunity to fall in love.” She seemed to forget I wasn’t really allowed to until now. Then I was curious. Hoping I wasn’t alone, I voiced my most intimate question.

“Have you?”

“Yes,” she said. She sounded both proud and sad in a single word.

“Then you have been quite lucky.”

I looked at the grass for a moment. I continued on, not wanting to linger on my rather embarrassing lack of experience.

“My mother and father were married this way and are quite happy. I hope to find happiness, too. To find a woman who all of Illéa can love, someone to be my companion and to help entertain the leaders of other nations. Someone who will befriend my friends and be my confidante. I’m ready to find my wife.”

EvenI could hear the desperation, the hope, the longing.

The doubt crept back in. What if no one here could love me?

No, I told myself, this will be a good thing.

I looked down at this girl, who seemed desperate in her own way.

“Do you really feel like this is a cage?”

“Yes, I do,” she breathed. Then, a second later, “Your Majesty.”

I laughed. “I’ve felt that way more than once myself. But, you must admit, it is a very beautiful cage.”

“For you,” she shot back skeptically. “Fill your beautiful cage with thirty-four other men all fighting over the same thing. See how nice it is then.”

“Have there really been arguments over me? Don’t you all realize I’m the one doing the choosing?” I didn’t know whether to feel excited or worried, but it was interesting to think about. Maybe if someone really wanted me that much, I’d want them, too.

“Actually, that was unfair,” she added. “They’re fighting over two things. Some fight for you; others fight for the crown. And they all think they’ve already figured out what to say and do so your choice will be obvious.”

“Ah, yes. The man or the crown. I’m afraid some cannot tell the difference.” I shook my head and stared into the grass.

“Good luck there,” she said comically.

But there was nothing comical about it. Here was another one of my biggest fears being confirmed.

Again my curiosity overwhelmed me, though I was sure she would lie.

“Which do you fight for?”

“Actually, I’m here by mistake.”

“Mistake?”

How was that possible? If she put her name in, and it was drawn, and she willingly came here . . .

“Yes. I sort of—well, it’s a long story,” she said. I would have to learn what that was all about eventually. “And now . . . I’m here.

And I’m not fighting. My plan is to enjoy the food until you kick me out.”

I couldn’t help myself. I burst out laughing. This girl was the antithesis of everything I’d been expecting. Waiting to be kicked out? Here for the food? I was, surprisingly, enjoying this. Maybe it would all be as simple as Mom said it would be, and I could get to know the candidates over time, like I did with Daphne.

“What are you?” I asked. She couldn’t be more than a Four if she was so excited about the food.

“I’m sorry?” she asked, not catching my meaning.

I didn’t want to be insulting, so I started high. “A Two? Three?”

“Five.”

So this was one of the Fives. I knew Father wouldn’t be thrilled about me being friendly with her, but after all, he was the one who let her in. “Ah, yes, then food would probably be good motivation to stay.” I chuckled again, and tried to find out the name of this entertaining young woman. “I’m sorry, I can’t read your pin in the dark.”

She gave a slight shake of her head. If she asked why I didn’t know her name yet I wondered which would sound better: a lie—

that I had far too much work to do to put them to memory at the moment—or the truth—that I was so nervous about all this, I’d been putting it off until the last second.

Which I suddenly realized I’d just passed.

“I’m America.”

“Well, that’s perfect,” I said with a laugh. Based on her name alone, I couldn’t believe she’d made the cut. That was the name of the old country, a stubborn and flawed land we rebuilt into something strong. Then again, maybe that was why Father let her in: to show he had no fear or worries about our past, even if the rebels clung to it foolishly.

For me, there was something musical about the word. “America, my dear, I do hope you find something in this cage worth fighting for. After all this, I can only imagine what it would be like to see you actually try.”

I left the bench and knelt beside her, taking her hand. She was looking at our fingers and not into my eyes, and thank goodness for that. If she were, she’d have seen how absolutely floored I was the first time I finally, truly saw her.

The clouds moved at just the right moment, fully lighting her face by the moon. As if it weren’t enough that she was willing to stand up to me and clearly unafraid to be herself, she was dazzlingly beautiful.

Underneath thick lashes were eyes blue as ice, something cool to balance out the flames in her hair.

Her cheeks were smooth and slightly blushed from crying. And her lips, soft and pink, slightly parted as she studied our hands.

I felt a strange flutter in my chest, like the glow of a fireplace or the warmth of the afternoon. It stayed there for a moment, playing with my pulse.

I mentally chastised myself.

How typical to become so infatuated with the first girl I was ever allowed to actually have any sort of feelings for. It was foolish, too quick to be real, and I pushed the warmth away. All the same, I didn’t want to dismiss her. Time might prove that she was someone worth having in the running.

America was clearly someone I’d need to win over, and that might take time. But I would start right now.

“If it would make you happy, I could let the staff know you prefer the garden. Then you can come out here at night without being manhandled by the guard. I would prefer if you had one nearby, though.” No need to worry her with just how often we were attacked.

So long as a guard was close, she should be fine.

“I don’t . . . I don’t think I want anything from you.” She gently pulled her hand away and looked at the grass.

“As you wish.” I was a little disappointed. What horrible thing had I done to make her push me away?

Maybe this girl was unwinnable. “Will you be heading inside soon?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Then I’ll leave you with your thoughts. There will be a guard near the door waiting for you.” I wanted her to take her time, but I dreaded some unexpected assault hurting any of the girls, even this girl who seemed to have developed a serious distaste for me.

“Thank you, um, Your Majesty.” I heard a sort of vulnerability in her voice, and realized that maybe it wasn’t me.

Maybe she was just overwhelmed by everything that was happening to her. How could I blame her for that? I decided to risk rejection again.

“Dear America, will you do me a favor?” I took her hand once more, and she looked up to me with a skeptical face.

There was something about those eyes on me, like she was searching for truth in mine and would have it at all costs.

“Maybe.”

Her tone gave me hope, and I grinned. “Don’t mention this to the others.

Technically, I’m not supposed to meet you until tomorrow, and I don’t want anyone getting upset.” I gave a light snort, and I immediately wished I could take it back. Sometimes I had the worst laugh. “Though I wouldn’t call you yelling at me anything close to a romantic tryst, would you?”

Finally America gave me a playful smirk. “Not at all!” She paused and let out a breath. “I won’t tell.”

“Thank you.” I should have been happy enough with her smile, should have walked away at that.

But something in me—perhaps being raised to always push forward, to succeed—urged me to take one step more. I pulled her hand to my lips and kissed it.

“Good night.” I left before she had a chance to chastise me or I had an opportunity to do anything else stupid.

I wanted to look back and see her expression, but if it was something in the area of disgust, I didn’t think I could bear it. If Father could read my thoughts right now, he’d be less than pleased. By now, after everything, I ought to be tougher than this.

When I got to the doors, I turned to the guards. “She needs a moment. If she’s not in within half an hour, kindly urge her to come inside.” I met both of their eyes, making sure they grasped the concept. “It would also behoove you to refrain from mentioning this to anyone. Understood?”

They nodded, and I made my way to the main stairwell. As I walked I heard one guard whisper, “What’s behoove?”

I rolled my eyes and continued up the stairs. Once I made it to the third floor, I practically ran to my room. I had a huge balcony that overlooked the gardens. I wasn’t going to step outside and let her know I was watching, but I did go to the window and pull back the curtain.

She stayed maybe ten minutes or so, seeming calmer by the minute. I watched as she wiped her face, brushed off her nightgown, and headed inside. I debated hopping into the hallway on the second floor so we could accidentally-on-purpose meet again.

But I thought better of it. She was upset tonight, probably not herself.

If I was going to have a chance at all, I’d have to wait until tomorrow.

Tomorrow . . . when thirty-four other girls would be placed before me. Oh, I was an idiot to wait so long. I went to my desk and dug out the stack of files about the girls, studying their pictures. I didn’t know whose idea it was to put the names on the back, but that was far less than helpful. I grabbed a pen and transcribed the names to the front. Hannah, Anna . . . how was I supposed to keep that straight?

Jenna, Janelle, and Camille . . . seriously? That was going to be a disaster. I had to learn at least a few. Then I’d just rely on the pins until I got the names straight.

Because I could do this. I could do it well. I had to. I had to prove, finally, that I could lead, make decisions. How else would anyone trust me as their king? How would the king himself trust me at all?

I focused on standouts. Celeste

. . . I remembered the name. One of my advisors had mentioned she was a model and showed me a picture of her in a bathing suit on the glossy pages of a magazine. She was probably the sexiest candidate, and I certainly wouldn’t hold that against her. Lyssa jumped out at me, but not in a good way. Unless she had a winning personality, she wasn’t even in the running. Maybe that was a bit shallow, but was it so bad thatI wanted someone attractive? Ah, Elise. Based on the exotic slant of her eyes, she was the girl Father had mentioned who had family in New Asia. She’d be in the running on that alone.

America.

I studied her picture. Her smile was absolutely radiant.

What made her smile so brightly, then? Was it me? Had whatever she felt for me that day passed? She didn’t seem very happy to meet me. But . . . she did smile in the end.

Tomorrow I would have to start fresh with her. I wasn’t sure of what I was looking for, but so much of what seemed right was staring back at me in that photograph. Maybe it was her will or her honesty, maybe it was the soft skin on the back of her hand or her perfume . . . but I knew, with a singular clarity, that I wanted her to like me.

How exactly was I supposed to do that?