The Prince: A Selection Novella (HarperTeen Impulse) (6 page)

“So, Kriss, tell me about your family,” I began.

She shrugged. “Typical, I guess. I live with my mom and dad, and they’re both professors. I think I’d like to teach as well, though I dabble in writing. I’m an only child, and I’m finally coming to terms with it. I begged my parents for a sibling for years. They never caved.”

I smiled. It was tough being alone.

“I’m sure it was because they wanted to focus all their love on you.”

She giggled. “Is that what your parents told you?”

I froze. No one had asked a question about
me
yet.

“Well, not exactly. But I understand how you feel,” I hedged. I was about to go into the rest of my rehearsed questions, but she beat me to it.

“How are you feeling today?”

“All right. It’s a bit overwhelming,” I blurted, being a bit too honest.

“At least you don’t have to wear the dresses,” she commented.

“But think of how fun it would have been if I had.”

A laugh tumbled out of her mouth, and I echoed it. I imagined Kriss next to Celeste, and thought of them as opposites. There was something entirely wholesome about her. I left our time together without a complete impression of her, since she kept pointing the conversation back to me, but I recognized that she was good, in the best sense of the word.

It was nearly an hour before I got to America. In the time between the first girls and her, I’d already met three solid standouts, including Celeste and Kriss, who I knew would be favorites with the public. However, the girl just before her, Ashley, was so dismally wrong for me she washed all of those thoughts out of my head. When America stood up and moved toward me, she was the only person on my mind.

Something about her eyes was mischievous, whether she meant it or not. I thought of how she acted last night, and I realized she was a walking rebellion.

“America, is it?” I joked as she approached.

“Yes, it is. And I know I’ve heard your name before, but could you remind me?”

I laughed and invited her to sit. Leaning in, I whispered, “Did you sleep well, my dear?”

Her eyes said I was playing with fire, but her lips carried a smile. “I am still not your dear. But yes. Once I calmed down, I slept very well. My maids had to pull me out of bed, I was so cozy.” She confessed the last bit like it was a secret.

“I am glad you were comfortable, my . . .” Ah, I was going to have to break this habit with her. “America.”

I could tell she appreciated my effort. “Thank you.” The smile faded from her face, and she fell into thought, absently chewing on her lip as she played with words in her head.

“I’m very sorry I was mean to you,” she finally said. “I realized as I was trying to fall asleep that even though this is a strange situation for me, I shouldn’t blame you. You’re not the reason I got swept up in all this, and the whole Selection thing isn’t even your idea.”
Glad someone noticed
. “And then, when I was feeling miserable, you were nothing but nice to me, and I was, well, awful.”

She shook her head at herself, and I noticed my heart seemed to be beating a bit faster.

“You could have thrown me out last night, and you didn’t,” she concluded. “Thank you.”

I was moved by her gratitude, because I already knew she was past being anything close to insincere. Which brought me to a subject I had to broach if we were going to move forward. I leaned closer, elbows on my knees, both more casual and more intense than I’d been with the others already.

“America, you have been very up-front with me so far. That is a quality that I deeply admire, and I’m going to ask you to be kind enough to answer one question for me.”

She gave a hesitant nod.

“You say you’re here by mistake, so I’m assuming you don’t want to be here. Is there any possibility of you having any sort of . . . of loving feelings toward me?”

It felt like she played with the ruffles on her dress for hours while I waited for her to answer, and I sat there convincing myself that it was only because she didn’t want to seem too eager.

“You are very kind, Your Majesty.”
Yes
. “And attractive.”
Yes!
“And thoughtful.”
YES!

I was grinning, looking like an idiot, I’m sure, so pleased she managed to see something positive in me after last night.

Her voice was low as she continued. “But for very valid reasons, I don’t think I could.”

For the first time, I was grateful Father trained me so well to hold myself together. I sounded quite reasonable when I questioned her. “Would you explain?”

She hesitated again. “I . . . I’m afraid my heart is elsewhere.”

And then tears appeared in her eyes.

“Oh, please don’t cry!” I begged in a hushed voice. “I never know what to do when women cry!”

She laughed at my shortcomings and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. I was happy to see her just so, lighthearted and genuine. Of course there was someone waiting for her. A girl this real would have to have been snatched up quick by some very smart young man. I couldn’t imagine how she ended up here, but that really wasn’t my concern.

All I knew was, even if she wasn’t mine, I wanted to leave her with a smile.

“Would you like me to send you home to your love today?” I offered.

She gave me a smile that was more like a grimace. “That’s the thing . . . I don’t want to go home.”

“Really?” I leaned back, running my hand through my hair as she laughed at me again.

If she didn’t want me, and she didn’t want him, then what the hell
did
she want?

“Could I be perfectly honest with you?”

By all means
. I nodded.

“I need to be here. My family needs me to be here. Even if you could let me stay for a week, that would be a blessing for them.”

So she wasn’t fighting for the crown, but I still had something she wanted. “You mean you need the money?”

“Yes.” At least she had the decency to be ashamed of it. “And there are . . . certain people,” she said with a meaningful look, “at home who I can’t bear to see right now.”

It took a second for it all to click. They weren’t together anymore. She still cared about him, but she didn’t belong to him. I nodded, seeing the predicament. If I could get away from the pressures of my world for a week, I would take it.

“If you would be willing to let me stay, even for a little while, I’d be willing to make a trade.”

Now this was interesting. “A trade?” What in the world could she possibly offer?

She bit at her lip. “If you let me stay . . .” She sighed. “All right, well, look at you. You’re the prince. You’re busy all day, what with running the country and all, and you’re supposed to narrow thirty-five, well, thirty-four girls, down to one? That’s a lot to ask, don’t you think?”

While it sounded like a joke, the truth was she cut to the core of my anxieties with absolute clarity. I nodded at her words.

“Wouldn’t it be much better for you if you had someone on the inside? Someone to help? Like, you know, a friend?”

“A friend?”

“Yes. Let me stay, and I’ll help you. I’ll be your friend. You don’t have to worry about pursuing me. You already know that I don’t have feelings for you. But you can talk to me anytime you like, and I’ll try and help. You said last night that you were looking for a confidante. Well, until you find one for good, I could be that person. If you want.”

If I want
. . . That wasn’t an option, it seemed, but at least I could help this girl. And maybe enjoy her company a little bit longer. Of course, Father would be livid if he knew I was using one of the girls for such a purpose . . . which made me like it much, much more.

“I’ve met nearly every woman in this room, and I can’t think of one who would make a better friend. I’d be glad to have you stay.”

I watched as the tension melted from her body. Despite the knowledge that her affections were unattainable, I couldn’t help but be drawn to try.

“Do you think that I could still call you ‘my dear’?” I asked teasingly.

She whispered back, “Not a chance.” Whether she meant it that way or not, it sounded like a challenge.

“I’ll keep trying. I don’t have it in me to give up.”

She made a face, almost irked but not exactly. “Did you call all of them that?” she asked, jerking her head toward the rest of the girls.

“Yes, and they all seemed to like it,” I replied, playfully smug.

The challenge in her smile was still there when she spoke. “That is the exact reason why I don’t.”

She stood, ending our interview, and I couldn’t help but be amused by her again. None of the others were eager to cut our time together short. I gave her a small bow; she answered with a rather rough curtsy, and walked away.

I smiled to myself thinking of America, measuring her against the other girls. She was pretty, if a bit rough around the edges. It was an uncommon type of beauty, and I could tell she wasn’t aware of it. There was a certain . . . royal air she didn’t seem to possess, though there was, perhaps, something regal in her pride. And, of course, she didn’t desire me at all. Still, I couldn’t shake the urge to pursue her.

And that was how the Selection did its first act in my favor: if I had her here, at least I had the chance to try.

Keep reading for a peek at
The Elite

T
HE
A
NGELES AIR WAS QUIET
, and for a while I lay still, listening to the sound of Maxon’s breathing. It was getting harder and harder to catch him in a truly calm and happy moment, and I soaked up the time, grateful that he seemed to be at his best when he and I were alone.

Ever since the Selection had been narrowed down to six girls, he’d been more anxious than he was when the thirty-five of us arrived in the first place. I guessed he thought he’d have more time to make his choices. And though it made me feel guilty to admit it, I knew I was the reason why he wished he did.

Prince Maxon, heir to the Illéa throne, liked me. He’d told me a week ago that if I could simply say that I cared for him the way he did for me, without anything holding me back, this whole competition would be over. And sometimes I played with the idea, wondering how it would feel to be Maxon’s alone.

But the thing was, Maxon wasn’t really mine to begin with. There were five other girls here—girls he took on dates and whispered things to—and I didn’t know what to make of that. And then there was the fact that if I accepted Maxon, it meant I had to accept a crown, a thought I tended to ignore if only because I wasn’t sure what it would mean for me.

And, of course, there was Aspen.

He wasn’t technically my boyfriend anymore—he’d broken up with me before my name was even drawn for the Selection—but when he showed up at the palace as one of the guards, all the feelings I’d been trying to let go of flooded my heart. Aspen was my first love; when I looked at him . . . I was his.

Maxon didn’t know that Aspen was in the palace, but he did know that there was someone at home that I was trying to get over, and he was graciously giving me time to move on while attempting to find someone else he’d be happy with in the event I couldn’t ever love him.

As he moved his head, inhaling just above my hairline, I considered it. What would it be like to simply love Maxon?

“Do you know when the last time was that I really looked at the stars?” he asked.

I settled closer to him on our blanket, trying to keep warm in the cool Angeles night. “No idea.”

“A tutor had me studying astronomy a few years ago. If you look closely, you can tell that the stars are actually different colors.”

“Wait, the last time you looked at the stars was to
study
them? What about for fun?”

He chuckled. “Fun. I’ll have to pencil in some between the budget consultations and infrastructure committee meetings. Oh, and war strategizing, which, by the way, I am terrible at.”

“What else are you terrible at?” I asked, running my hand across his starched shirt. Encouraged by the touch, Maxon drew circles on my shoulder with the hand he had wrapped behind my back.

“Why would you want to know that?” he asked in mock irritation.

“Because I still know so little about you. And you seem perfect all the time. It’s nice to have proof you’re not.”

He propped himself up on an elbow, focusing on my face. “You
know
I’m not.”

“Pretty close,” I countered. Little flickers of touch ran between us. Knees, arms, fingers.

He shook his head, a small smile on his face. “Okay, then. I can’t plan wars. I’m rotten at it. And I’m guessing I’d be a terrible cook. I’ve never tried, so—”

“Never?”

“You might have noticed the teams of people keeping you up to your neck in pastries? They happen to feed me as well.”

I giggled. I helped cook practically every meal at home. “More,” I demanded. “What else are you bad at?”

He held me close, his brown eyes bright with a secret. “Recently I’ve discovered this one thing. . . .”

“Tell.”

“It turns out I’m absolutely terrible at staying away from you. It’s a very serious problem.”