The Prince

“We know you’ll make an excellent choice, sir.” A camera flash blinded me.

“Hear, hear!” others called.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Any girl who settles for me can’t possibly be a sane woman.”

They laughed again, and I took that as a good stopping point. “Forgive me, I have family visiting, and I don’t wish to be rude.”

Turning my back to the reporters and photographers, I took a deep breath. Was the whole evening going to be like this?

I looked around the Great Room—the tables covered in dark blue cloths, the lights burning brightly to show the splendor—and I saw there wasn’t much of an escape for me. Dignitaries in one corner, reporters in another—no place I could just be quiet and still. Considering the fact that I was the person being celebrated, one would think that I could choose the way in which it happened. It never seemed to work out that way.

No sooner had I escaped the crowd than my father’s arm came swooping across my back and gripped my shoulder. The pressure and sudden attention made me tense.

“Smile,” he ordered beneath his breath, and I obeyed as he dipped his head in the direction of some of his special guests.

I caught the eye of Daphne, here from France with her father. It was lucky that the timing of the party lined up with our fathers needing to discuss the ongoing trade agreement. As the French king’s daughter, our paths had crossed time and time again, and she was perhaps the only person I knew outside of my family with any degree of consistency. It was nice to have one familiar face in the room.

I gave her a nod, and she raised her glass of champagne.

“You can’t answer everything so sarcastically. You’re the crowned prince. They need you to lead.” His hand on my shoulder was tighter than necessary.

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s a party, I thought—”

“Well, you thought wrong. By the Report, I expect to see you taking this seriously.”

He stopped walking and faced me, his eyes gray and steady.

I smiled again, knowing he’d want that for the sake of the crowd. “Of course, sir. A temporary lapse in judgment.”

He let his arm drop and pulled his glass of champagne to his lips. “You tend to have a lot of those.”

I risked a peek at Daphne and rolled my eyes, at which she laughed, knowing all too well what I was feeling. Father’s gaze followed my eyes across the room.

“Always a pretty one, that girl. Too bad she couldn’t be in the lottery.”

I shrugged. “She’s nice. I never had feelings for her, though.”

“Good. That would have been extraordinarily stupid of you.”

I dodged the slight. “Besides, I’m looking forward to meeting my true options.”

He jumped on the idea, driving me forward once again. “It’s about time you made some real choices in your life, Maxon. Some good ones. I’m sure you think my methods are far too harsh, but I need you to see the significance of your position.”

I held back a sigh. I’ve tried to make choices. You don’t really trust me to.

“Don’t worry, Father. I take the task of choosing a wife quite seriously,” I answered, hoping my tone gave him some assurance of how much I meant that.

“It’s a lot more than finding someone you get along with. For instance, you and Daphne. Very chummy, but she’d be a complete waste.” He took another swig, waving at someone behind me.

Again, I controlled my face. Uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, I put my hands in my pockets and scanned the space. “I should probably make my rounds.”

He waved me away, turning his attention back to his drink, and I left quickly. Try as I might, I wasn’t sure what that whole interaction meant. There was no reason for him to be so rude about Daphne when she wasn’t even an option.

The Great Room buzzed with excitement. People told me that all of Illéa had been waiting for this moment: the excitement of the new princess, the thrill of me as a soon-to-be king. For the first time, I felt all of that energy and worried it would crush me.

I shook hands and graciously accepted gifts that I didn’t need. I quietly asked one of the photographers about his lens, and kissed cheeks of family and friends and my fair share of complete strangers.

Finally I found myself alone for a moment. I surveyed the crowd, sure there was somewhere I ought to be. My eyes found Daphne, and I started walking toward her. I was looking forward to just a few minutes of genuine conversation, but it would have to wait.

“Are you having fun?” Mom asked, stepping into my path.

“Does it look like I am?”

She ran her hands over my already-crisp suit. “Yes.”

I smiled. “That’s all that really matters.”

She tilted her head, a gentle smile on her own face. “Come with me for a second.”

I held an arm out for her, which she happily took, and we walked out into the hallway to the sound of cameras clicking.

“Can we do something a bit smaller next year?” I asked.

“Not likely. You’ll almost certainly be married by then. Your wife might want to have a rather elaborate celebration your first year together.”

I frowned, something I could get away with in front of her. “Maybe she’ll like things quiet, too.”

She laughed softly. “Sorry, honey. Any girl who puts her name in for the Selection is looking for a way out of quiet.”

“Were you?” I wondered aloud. We never talked about her coming here. It was a strange divide between us, but one that I cherished: I was raised in the palace, but she chose to come.

She stopped and faced me, her expression warm. “I was smitten with the face I saw on TV. I daydreamed about your father the same way thousands of girls daydream about you.”

I pictured her as a young girl in Honduragua, her hair braided back as she gazed longingly at the television. I could see her sighing every time he had to speak.

“All girls dream of what it would be like to be a princess,” she added. “To be swept off their feet and wear a crown … it’s all I could think about the week before the names were drawn. I didn’t realize that it was so much more than that.” Her face grew a little sad. “I couldn’t guess at the pressure I’d be under or how little privacy I’d have. Still, to be married to your father, to have had you.” She swept her hand down my cheek. “This is all those dreams made real.”

She held my gaze, smiling, but I could see tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. I had to get her talking again.

“So you have no regrets, then?”

She shook her head. “Not a one. The Selection changed my life, and I mean that in the best way possible. Which is what I want to talk to you about.”

I squinted. “I’m not sure I understand.”

She sighed. “I was a Four. I worked in a factory.” She held out her hands. “My fingers were dry and cracked, and dirt was caked under my nails. I had no alliances, no status, nothing worthy of making me a princess … and yet, here I am.”

I stared, still unsure of her point.