The Prince

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.”