Happily Ever After (7 page)

“I
HAVE A SECRET FOR
you.”

I awoke to Clarkson whispering in my ear. It was as if my body just knew to respond to him, and I wasn’t even startled. Instead, I was gently stirred by his voice, and it was the sweetest way to wake up in the world.

“Do you?” I rubbed my eyes and looked at his impish smile.

He nodded. “Shall I tell you?” I giggled in reply, and he bent his head again to my ear. “You are going to be the next queen of Illéa.”

I pulled back to see his face, searching for any hint of this being a joke. But, truly, I’d never seen him calmer.

“Do you want me to tell you how I know?” He seemed pleased with himself, to have surprised me so.

“Please,” I breathed, still not believing his words.

“I hope you’ll forgive my little tests, but I’ve known for a long time what I was looking for.” He shifted in the bed, and I sat up so we were facing each other. “I liked your hair.”

Instinctively, I touched it. “What do you mean?”

“There was nothing wrong with it when it was long. I asked several girls to cut their hair, and you were the only one who gave me more than an inch.”

I stared, dumbfounded. What did that mean?

“And the night I came to you for our first date . . . do you remember that?” Of course I did. “I came late, when I knew you’d be ready for bed. You asked about getting changed, but when I said no, you didn’t argue. You came with me, just as you were. The others shoved me into the hallway to wait while they dressed. I give them credit for being fast, but still.”

I considered both of these things for a moment and confessed. “I don’t understand.”

He reached for my hand. “You’ve seen my parents. They war over nonsense. They are concerned to death with appearances. And while that is important for the sake of the country, they let it come between any sort of peace they could have, let alone happiness.

“If I ask you for something, you give it to me. You aren’t vain. You’re secure enough with yourself to put me before your looks, before anything. I know that from how you receive any request I’ve ever given you. But it’s more than that. . . .”

He took a deep breath and stared at our hands, as if he
was debating telling me.

“You’ve kept my secrets, and I assure you, if you marry me, there will be scores more to keep. You don’t judge me, or seem startled by much. You’re soothing.” His gaze traveled up to my eyes. “I’m desperate for peace. I think you might be the only chance I have at that.”

I smiled. “The center of your storm?”

He exhaled, looking relieved. “Yes.”

“I would be happy to be that for you, but there’s one small problem.”

He scrunched his head. “Your caste?”

I’d forgotten all about that. “No. Children.”

“Oh, that,” he said, almost sounding as if he thought it was a joke. “I don’t care one way or the other.”

“But you have to have an heir.”

“For what? To carry on the line? You’re speaking of giving me a son. Suppose we managed to have one child and that child was a girl. There would be no chance of her getting the crown. Don’t you think there are backup plans?”

“I want children,” I mumbled.

He shrugged. “No guarantee you won’t get them. Personally, I’m not fond of children. I guess that’s what nannies are for.”

“And your home is so vast you’d never hear one raise their voice.”

Clarkson chuckled. “True. So, no matter what, that is not an issue for me.”

He was so calm, so unconcerned, that I believed him, and
the weight of all that worry fell off me. My eyes welled up, but I didn’t allow myself to cry. I would save the tears for later, when I was alone.

“The true issue for me is your caste,” he confessed. “Well, not for me so much as for my father. I’ll need time to work out the proper way to address that, which means the Selection could go on for quite some time. But take heart,” he said as he leaned in close, “you will be my wife.”

I bit my lip, too happy to believe this was real.

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “You will be the only thing in this world that is truly mine. And I will put you on a pedestal so high, it will be impossible for anyone not to adore you.”

I shook my head, dizzy with joy. “I don’t know what to say.”

He kissed me quickly. “Practice saying yes. When the time comes, I want you to be ready.”

We leaned our foreheads into each other and stayed quiet for a moment. I couldn’t believe this was real. He’d said all the words I’d ever hoped to hear:
queen
,
wife
,
adore
. The dreams I’d stored in my heart were actually coming true.

“You should go back to sleep. That attack today was one of the cruelest ones yet. I want you to fully recover.”

“As you wish,” I said.

He ran a finger down my cheek, pleased with my response. “Good night, Amberly.”

“Good night, Clarkson.”

I tucked myself back into bed as he left, but I knew there
was no way I’d be able to sleep now. How could I with my heart beating double time and my mind running through every possibility of our future?

I slowly rose and went over to my desk. I could think of only one way to get this out of my system.

Dear Adele,

Can you keep a secret?

The first time I stepped into someone else’s thoughts in the Selection world was for Maxon. Over here on the creative side, there were lots of questions about our handsome prince. Why didn’t he seem to know any of the girls’ names when they arrived at the palace? I mean, this was a huge deal for him, so it was strange that he was so unaware. And why did he go from being a bit of a showman, trying to make people laugh, to getting very angry so quickly? It seemed like a big leap for him. And, of course, what was he actually thinking when he met America?

By this point in the process I’ve stepped into the heads of seven different characters in the original Selection cast. I have to say that, by far, Maxon’s was the easiest. Despite his worries and his occasional temperamental flare-up, he was the most willing to share, even more than America. It made my job as a storyteller much easier, and I’ll always love that about him.

—Kiera

I
PACED THE FLOOR, TRYING
to walk the anxiety out of my body. When the Selection was something in the distance—a possibility for my future—it sounded thrilling. But now? Well, I wasn’t so sure.

The census had been compiled, the figures checked multiple times. The palace staff was being reallocated, wardrobe preparations were being made, and rooms were being readied for our new guests. The momentum was building, exciting and terrifying in one fell swoop.

For the girls, the process started once they filled out the forms—thousands must have done so by this point. For me, it started tonight.

I was nineteen. Now,
I
was eligible.

Stopping in front of my mirror, I checked my tie again. There would be more eyes watching than usual tonight, and
I needed to look like the self-confident prince everyone was expecting. Finding no fault, I left for my father’s study.

I nodded at advisors and familiar guards along the way. It was hard to imagine that in less than two weeks, these halls would be flooded with girls. My knock was firm, a request made by Father himself. It seemed there was always a lesson for me to learn.

Knock with authority, Maxon.

Stop pacing all the time, Maxon.

Be faster, smarter, better, Maxon.

“Come in.”

I entered the study, and Father briefly moved his eyes from his reflection to acknowledge me. “Ah, there you are. Your mother will be along shortly. Are you ready?”

“Of course,” I replied. There was no other acceptable answer.

He reached over and grabbed a small box, placing it in front of me on his desk. “Happy birthday.”

I pulled back the silvery paper, revealing a black box. Inside were new cuff links. He was probably too consumed to remember that he’d gotten me cuff links for Christmas. Perhaps that was part of the job. Maybe I’d accidentally get my son the same gift twice when I was king. Of course, to get that far I’d need a wife first.

Wife.
I let the word play on my lips without actually saying it aloud. It felt too foreign.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll wear them now.”

“You’ll want to be at your best tonight,” he said, tearing
himself away from the mirror. “The Selection will be on everyone’s thoughts.”

I gave him a tight smile. “Mine included.” I debated telling him how anxious I was. He’d been through this, after all. He must have had his own doubts once upon a time.

Evidently, my nerves read on my face.

“Be positive, Maxon. This is meant to be exciting,” he urged.

“It is. I’m just a bit shocked at how fast it’s all happening.” I focused on lacing the metal through the holes on my sleeves.

He laughed. “It seems fast to you, but it’s been years in the making on my end.”

I narrowed my eyes, looking up from my task. “What do you mean?”

The door opened then, and my mother walked in. In typical fashion, Father lit up for her. “Amberly, you look stunning,” he said, going to greet her.

She smiled in that way she always did, as if she couldn’t believe anyone would notice her, and embraced my father. “Not too stunning, I hope. I wouldn’t want to steal attention.” Letting Father go, she came and held me tight. “Happy birthday, son.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Your gift is coming,” she whispered, then turned back to Father. “Are we all ready, then?”

“Indeed we are.” He held out an arm, she took it, and I walked in their shadows. As always.

“About how much longer is it, Your Majesty?” one reporter asked. The light of the video cameras was hot in my face.

“The names are drawn this Friday, and the girls will actually arrive the Friday after that,” I answered.

“Are you nervous, sir?” a new voice called.

“About marrying a girl I haven’t met yet? All in a day’s work.” I winked, and the watching crowd chuckled.

“Doesn’t it set you on edge at all, Your Majesty?”

I gave up trying to align the question with a face. I just answered in the general direction it came from, hoping to get it right. “On the contrary, I’m very excited.”
Sort of.

“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.

“Maxon, this is my gift to you. I promise I will make every effort to see these girls through your eyes. Not the eyes of a queen, or the eyes of your mother, but yours. Even if the girl you choose is of a very low caste, even if others think she has no value, I will always listen to your reasons for wanting her. And I will do my best to support your choice.”

After a pause, I understood. “Did Father not have that? Did you not?”

She pulled herself up. “Every girl will come with pros and cons. Some people will choose to focus on the worst in some of your options and the best in others, and it will make no sense to you why they seem so narrow-minded. But I’m here for you, whatever your choice.”

“You always have been.”

“True,” she said, taking my arm. “And I know I’m about to play second fiddle to another woman, as I should. But my love for you will never change, Maxon.”

“Nor mine for you.” I hoped she could hear the sincerity in my voice. I couldn’t imagine a circumstance that would
dim my absolute adoration of her.

“I know.” With a little nudge, she pushed us back to the party.

As we entered the room to smiles and applause, I considered my mother’s words. She was, beyond anyone I knew, incredibly generous. It was a trait I endeavored to adopt myself. So if this was her gift, it must be more necessary than I could understand at the present. My mother never gave a gift thoughtlessly.