The Prince (the selection), Page 2

With no warning whatsoever, tears began streaming down Daphne’s face. I looked around the room, trying to find an explanation or solution, feeling more and more uncomfortable every moment.

  “Please tell me you’re not going to follow through with this, Maxon.

  You can’t,” she pleaded.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked desperately.

  “The Selection! Please, don’t marry some stranger. Don’t make me marry some stranger.”

  “I have to. That’s how it works for princes of Illéa. We marry commoners.”

  Daphne rushed forward, grabbing my hands. “But I love you. I always have. Please don’t marry some other girl without at least asking your father if I could be a choice.”

  Loved me? Always?

  I choked over words, trying to find the right place to start.

  “Daphne, how . . . I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say you’ll ask your father,” she pleaded, wiping away her tears hopefully. “Postpone the Selection long enough for us to at least see if it’s worth trying. Or let me enter, too. I’ll give up my crown.”

  “Please stop crying,”I whispered.

  “I can’t! Not when I’m about to lose you forever.” She buried her head in her hands, sobbing quietly.

  I stood there, stone-like, terrified I would make this worse.

  After a few tense moments, she raised her head. She spoke, staring at nothing.

  “You’re the only person who really knows me. The only person I feel I truly know myself.”

  “Knowledge isn’t love,”I contradicted.

  “That’s not true, Maxon. We have a history together, and it’s about to be broken. All for the sake of tradition.” She kept her eyes focused on some invisible space in the center of the room, and I couldn’t guess what she was thinking now. Clearly, I was oblivious to her thoughts in general.

  Finally Daphne turned her face to me. “Maxon, I beg of you, ask your father. Even if he says no, at least I’ll have done everything I could.”

  Positive that I already knew this to be true, I told her what I must.

  “You already have, Daphne. This is it.” I held out my arms for a moment and let them drop. “This is all it could ever be.”

  She held my gaze for a long time, knowing as I did that asking my father for such an outrageous request was beyond anything I could truly get away with. I saw her search her mind for an alternative path, but she quickly saw there wasn’t one. She was a servant to her crown, I was a servant to mine, and our masters would never cross.

  As she nodded, her face crumpled into tears again. She wandered over to a couch and sat down, holding herself. I stayed still, hoping to not cause her any more grief. I longed to make her laugh, but there wasn’t anything funny about this. I hadn’t known I was capable of breaking a heart.

  I certainly didn’t like it.

  Just then I realized this was about to become common. I would dismiss thirty-four women over the next few months. What if they all reacted this way?

  I huffed, exhausted at the thought.

  At the sound, she looked up.

  Slowly, the expression on her face changed.

  “Doesn’t this hurt you at all?”

  she demanded. “You’re not that good an actor, Maxon.”

  “Of course it bothers me.”

  She stood, silently assessing me.

  “But not for the same reasons it bothers me,” she whispered. She walked across the room, her eyes pleading. “Maxon, you love me.”

  I stayed still.

  “Maxon,” she said more forcefully, “you love me. You do.”

  I had to look away, the intensity in her eyes too bright for me. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to put whatever it was I did feel into words.

  “I’ve never seen anyone express their feelings the way you just did. I have no doubt you mean every word, but I can’t do that, Daphne.”

  “That doesn’t mean you don’t know how to feel it. You just have no idea how to express it. Your father can be as cold as ice, and your mother hides within herself.

  You’ve never seen people love freely, so you don’t know how to show it. But you feel it; I know you do. You love me as I love you.”

  Slowly, I shook my head, fearing another syllable out of my mouth would start everything up again.

  “Kiss me,” she demanded.

  “What?”

  “Kiss me. If you can kiss me and still say you don’t love me, I’ll never mention this again.”

  I backed away. “No. I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  I didn’t want to confess how literal that was. I wasn’t sure how many boys Daphne had kissed, but I knew it was more than zero. She’d let the fact she’d been kissed come out a few summers ago when I was in France with her. So there. She had me beat, and there was no way I was going to make an even bigger fool out of myself in this moment.

  Her sadness shifted to anger as she backed away from me. She laughed once, no humor in her eyes.

  “So this is your answer, then?

  You’re saying no? You’re choosing to let me leave?”

  I shrugged.

  “You’re an idiot, Maxon Schreave.

  Your parents have completely sabotaged you. You could have a thousand girls set before you, and it wouldn’t matter.

  You’re too stupid to see love when it stands right in front of you.”

  She wiped her eyes and straightened her dress. “I hope to God I never see your face again.”

  The fear in my chest changed, and as she walked away, I grabbed her arm. I didn’t want her to be gone forever.

  “Daphne, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t feel sorry for me,” she said coldly. “Feel sorry for yourself.

  You’ll find a wife because you have to, but you’ve already known love and let it go.”

  She jerked free and left me alone.

  Happy birthday to me.

  CHAPTER 3

  DAPHNE SMELLED LIKE CHERRY BARK and almonds.

  She’d been wearing the same scent since she turned thirteen. She had it on last night, and I could smell it even as she was wishing she’d never see me again.

  She had a scar on her wrist, a scrape she got climbing a tree when she was eleven. It was my fault.

  She was a bit less ladylike at the time, and I convinced her—well, challenged her—to race me to the top of one of the trees on the edge of the garden. I won.

  Daphne had a crippling fear of the dark, and since I had fears of my own, I never teased her for it.

  And she never teased me. Not on anything that really mattered anyway.

  She was allergic to shellfish.

  Her favorite color was yellow. Try as she may, she could not sing to save her life. She could dance, though, so it was probably even more of a disappointment that I didn’t ask her to last night.

  When I was sixteen she sent me a new camera bag for Christmas.

  Even though I’d never given any indication that I wanted to get rid of the one I had, it meant so much to me that she was aware of my likes, and I switched it out anyway. I still used it.

  I stretched beneath my sheets, turning my head toward where the bag rested. I wondered how much time she’d spent picking out the right one.

  Maybe Daphne was right. We had more history than I’d recognized.

  We’d lived our relationship through scattered visits and sporadic phone calls, so I never would have dreamed it added up to as much as it truly did.

  And now she was on a plane back to France, where Frederick was waiting for her.

  I climbed out of bed, shrugged off my rumpled shirt and suit pants, and made my way to the shower.

  As the water washed away the remnants of my birthday, I tried to dismiss my thoughts.

  But I couldn’t shelve her nagging accusation about the state of my heart. Did I not know love at all? Had I tasted it and cast it off?

  And if so, how was I supposed to navigate the Selection?

  Advis
ors ran around the palace with stacks of entry forms for the Selection, smiling at me like they knew something I didn’t. From time to time, one would pat me on the back or whisper an encouraging remark, as if they sensed that I was suddenly doubting the one thing in my life I’d always counted on, the one thing I hoped for.

  “Today’s batch is very promising,” one would say.

  “You’re a lucky man,” another commented.

  But as the entries piled up, all I could think about was Daphne and her cutting words.

  I should have been studying the figures of the financial report before me, but instead I studied my father. Had he somehow sabotaged me? Made it so I was missing a fundamental understanding of what it meant to be in a romantic relationship? I’d seen him interact with my mother. There was affection between them, if not passion. Wasn’t that enough? Was that what I was meant to be aiming for?

  I stared into space, debating.

  Maybe he thought that if I sought anything more, I’d have a terrible time traversing the Selection. Or perhaps that I’d be disappointed if I didn’t find something life-changing.

  It was probably for the best that I never mentioned I was hoping for just that.

  But maybe he had no such designs. People simply are who they are. Father was strict, a sword sharpened under the pressure of running a country that was surviving constant wars and rebel attacks. Mother was a blanket, softened by growing up with nothing, and ever seeking to protect and comfort.

  I knew in my core I was more like her than him. Not something I minded, but Father did.

  So maybe making me slow about expressing myself was intentional, part of the process intended to harden me.

  You’re too stupid to see love when it stands right in front of you.

  “Snap out of it, Maxon.” I whipped my head toward my father’s voice.

  “Sir?”

  His face was tired. “How many times do I have to tell you? The Selection is about making a solid, rational choice, not another opportunity for you to daydream.”

  An advisor walked into the room, handing a letter to Father as I straightened the stack of papers, tapping them against the desk. “Yes, sir.”

  He read the paper, and I looked at him one last time.

  Maybe.

  No.

  At the end of the day, no. He wanted to make me a man, not a machine.

  With a grunt, he crumpled the paper and threw it in the trash.

  “Damn rebels.”

  I spent the better part of the next morning working in my room, away from prying eyes. I felt much more productive when I was alone, and if I wasn’t productive, at least I wasn’t being chastised. I guessed that wouldn’t last all day, based on the invitation I received.

  “You called for me?” I asked, stepping into my father’s private office.

  “There you are,” Father said, his eyes wide. He rubbed his hands together. “Tomorrow’s the day.”

  I drew in a breath. “Yes. Do we need to go over the format for the Report?”

  “No, no.” He put a hand on my back to move me forward, and I straightened instantly, following his lead. “It’ll be simple enough.

  Introduction, a little chat with Gavril, and then we’ll broadcast the names and faces of the girls.”

  I nodded. “Sounds . . . easy.”

  When we reached the edge of his desk, he placed his hand on a thick stack of folders. “These are them.”

  I looked down.

  Stared.

  Swallowed.

  “Now, about twenty-five or so have rather obvious qualities that would be perfect for a new princess. Excellent families, ties to other countries that might be very valuable. Some of them are just extraordinarily beautiful.”

  Uncharacteristically, he playfully elbowed my rib, and I stepped to the side. None of this was a game.

  “Sadly, not all of the provinces offered up anyone worth note. So, to make it all appear a bit more random, we used those areas to add in a bit more diversity. You’ll see we got a few Fives in the mix.

  Nothing below that, though. We have to have some standards.”

  I played his words in my head again. All this time, I thought it would be fate or destiny . . . but it was just him.

  He ran his thumb down the stack, and the edges of the papers smacked together.

  “Do you want a peek?” he asked.

  I looked at the pile again.

  Names, photos, and lists of accomplishments. All the essential details were there. Still, I knew for a fact the form didn’t ask anything about what made them laugh or urge them to spill their darkest secret. Here sat a compilation of attributes, not people. And based on those statistics, they were my only choices.

  “You chose them?” I pulled my eyes from the papers and looked to him.

  “Yes.”

  “All of them?”

  “Essentially,” he said with a smile. “Like I said, there are a few there for the sake of the show, but I think you’ve got a very promising lot. Far better than mine.”

  “Did your father choose for you?”

  “Some. But it was different then. Why do you ask?”

  I thought back. “This is what you meant, wasn’t it? When you said it was years of work on your end?”

  “Well, we had to make sure certain girls would be of age, and in some provinces we had several options. But, trust me, you’re going to love them.”

  “Am I?”

  Love them? As if he cared. As if this wasn’t just another way to push the crown, the palace, and himself ahead.

  Suddenly, his offhand comment about Daphne being a waste made sense. He didn’t care if I was close to her because she was charming or good company; he cared that she was France. Not even a person to him. And since he basically had what he needed from France, she was useless in his eyes. Had she proven valuable, I had no doubt that he would have been willing to throw a beloved tradition out this window.

  He sighed. “Don’t mope. I thought you’d be excited. Don’t you even want to look?”

  I straightened my suit coat. “As you’ve said, this is nothing to daydream over. I’ll see them when everyone else does. If you’ll excuse me, I need to finish reading the amendment you drafted.”

  I walked away without waiting for approval, but I felt certain my answer would be a sufficient enough excuse to let me leave.

  Maybe it wasn’t exactly sabotage, but it certainly felt like a trap. To find one girl I liked out of dozens he handpicked? How was that supposed to happen?

  I told myself to calm down. He picked Mom, after all, and she was a wonderful, beautiful, intelligent person. But that happened without this level of interference, it seemed.

  And things were different now, or so he claimed.

  Between Daphne’s words, Father’s interloping, and my own growing fears, I was dreading the Selection like never before.

  CHAPTER 4

  WITH JUST FIVE MINUTES TO go before my entire future unfolded in front of me, I found myself prepared to vomit at a moment’s notice.

  A very kind makeup woman was dabbing sweat off my brow.

  “Are you all right, sir?” she asked, moving the cloth.

  “I was just lamenting that with all the lipstick you have over there, not a one appears to be my shade.”

  Mom said that sometimes: not my shade. Not really sure what it meant.

  She giggled, as did Mom and her makeup woman.

  “I think I’m good,” I told the girl, looking in the mirrors set up in the back of the studio. “Thank you.”

  “Me, too,” Mom said, and the two young women walked away.

  I toyed with a container, trying not to think about the passing seconds.

  “Maxon, sweetie, are you really okay?” Mom asked, looking not at me but at my reflection. I looked back at hers.

  “It’s just . . . it’s . . .”

  “I know. It’s nerve-racking for everyone involved, but at the end of the day, it’s just hearing the names of a few
girls. That’s all.”

  I inhaled slowly and nodded.

  That was one way to look at it.

  Names. That was all that was happening. Just a list of names and nothing more.

  I drew in another breath.

  It was a good thing I hadn’t eaten much today.

  I turned and walked to my seat on the set, where Father was already waiting.

  He shook his head. “Get it together. You look like hell.”

  “How did you do this?” I begged.

  “I faced it with confidence because I was the prince. As will you. Need I remind you that you’re the prize?” His face looked tired again, like I ought to have already grasped this. “They’re competing for you, not the other way around.

  Your life isn’t changing at all, except you’ll have to deal with a couple of overly excited females for a few weeks.”

  “What if I don’t like any of them?”

  “Then pick the one you hate the least. Preferably one that’s useful.

  Don’t worry on that count, though; I’ll help.”

  If he intended that to be a calming thought, he failed.

  “Ten seconds,” someone called, and my mother came to her seat, giving me a comforting wink.

  “Remember to smile,” Father prompted, and turned to face the cameras confidently.

  Suddenly the anthem was playing and people were speaking. I realized I ought to be paying attention, but all of my focus was driven toward keeping a calm and happy expression on my face.

  I didn’t register much until I heard Gavril’s familiar voice.

  “Good evening, Your Majesty,” he said, and I swallowed in fear before realizing he was addressing my father.

  “Gavril, always good to see you.”

  “Looking forward to the announcement?”

  “Ah, yes. I was in the room yesterday as a few were drawn; all very lovely girls.” He was so smooth, so natural.

  “So you know who they are already?” Gavril asked excitedly.

  “Just a few, just a few.” A complete fabrication, pulled off with incredible ease.

  “Did he happen to share any of this information with you, sir?”

  Now Gavril was talking to me, the glint from his lapel pin sparkling in the bright lights as he moved.

  Father turned to me, his eyes reminding me to smile. I did so and answered.