The Selection series 1-3

“And he forgave you?” Gavril asked in a slightly more sober tone.

“Oddly enough.” I shrugged.

“Well, since the two of you are on good terms again, what sort of activities have you been doing together?” Gavril was back to business.

“We usually just go for walks around the garden. He knows I like it outside. And we talk.” It sounded pathetic after what some of the other girls had said. Trips to the theater, going hunting, horseback riding—those were impressive next to my story.

But I suddenly understood why he had been speed dating over the last week. The girls needed something to tell Gavril, so he had to provide it. It still seemed weird that he hadn’t mentioned any of it to me, but at least I knew why he had been away.

“That sounds very relaxing. Would you say the garden is your favorite thing about the palace?”

I smiled. “Maybe. But the food is exquisite, so …”

Gavril laughed again.

“You are the last Five left in the competition, yes? Do you think that hurts your chances of becoming the princess?”

The word sprang from my lips without thought. “No!”

“Oh, my! You do have a spirit there!” Gavril seemed pleased to have gotten such an enthusiastic response. “So you think you’ll beat out all the others, then? Make it to the end?”

I thought better of myself. “No, no. It’s not like that. I don’t think I’m better than any of the other girls; they’re all amazing. It’s just … I don’t think Maxon would do that, just discount someone because of their caste.”

I heard a collective gasp. I ran over the sentence in my head. It took me a minute to catch my mistake: I’d called him Maxon. Saying that to another girl behind closed doors was one thing, but to say his name without the word “Prince” in front of it was incredibly informal in public. And I’d said it on live television.

I looked to see if Maxon was angry. He had a calm smile on his face. So he wasn’t mad … but I was embarrassed. I blushed fiercely.

“Ah, so it seems you really have gotten to know our prince. Tell me, what do you think of Maxon?”

I had thought of several answers while I was waiting for my turn. I was going to make fun of his laugh or talk about the pet name he wanted his wife to call him. It seemed like the only way to save the situation was to get back the comedy. But as I lifted my eyes to make one of my comments, I saw Maxon’s face.

He really wanted to know.

And I couldn’t poke fun at him, not when I had a chance to say what I’d really started to think now that he was my friend. I couldn’t joke about the person who’d saved me from facing absolute heartbreak at home, who fed my family boxes of sweets, who ran to me worried that I was hurt if I asked for him.

A month ago, I had looked at the TV and seen a stiff, distant, boring person—someone I couldn’t imagine anyone loving. And while he wasn’t anything close to the person I did love, he was worthy of having someone to love in his life.

“Maxon Schreave is the epitome of all things good. He is going to be a phenomenal king. He lets girls who are supposed to be wearing dresses wear jeans and doesn’t get mad when someone who doesn’t know him clearly mislabels him.” I gave Gavril a keen look, and he smiled. And behind him, Maxon looked intrigued. “Whoever he marries will be a lucky girl. And whatever happens to me, I will be honored to be his subject.”