When they announced it on television I had no idea what to think. And I had sat there for nearly an hour trying to. It couldn't be real, could it? A female-run selection? It's never been done before. It's impossible. But so was being ruled a female monarch a mere eighteen years ago. It just takes one person to make the impossible a possibility. And that's what Princess Eadlyn has done.

The form sits on the table in front of me, the accompanying letter on its right and my Ramen noodles on its left. The letter read:

To the House of Mustonen,

The recent census has confirmed that a single male between the ages of eighteen and twenty-three resides in your home. We would like to make you aware of an upcoming opportunity to honor the great nation of Illéa.

Our beloved princess, Eadlyn Schreave, has decided to find a mate before she ventures into a new part of life.

If your eligible son, brother, or charge is interested in possibly becoming the groom of Princess Eadlyn and the adored prince of Illéa, please fill out the enclosed form and return it to your local Province Services Office. One man from each province will be drawn at random to meet the princess.

Participants will be housed at the lovely Illéa Palace in Angeles for the duration of their stay. The families of each participant will be generously compensated for their service to the royal family.

Sincerely,

The royal family of Illéa

My mother had forwarded everything to me. And of course she wanted me to enter, like any other mother would too. But should I? I'm not interesting or talented—unless you count speaking Finnish—and I sure as hell can't run a country.

I stand from my place in the chair and sigh as I walk to my kitchen, grabbing a pen. I've been living off Ramen noodles for the past few weeks after I lost my job, and since there's not much I'm good at, I can't find anything that will pay my rent.

Yes, the selection would be good for me, but… what's the point? What's the point in getting my hopes up when there's millions of guys entering this thing? There's so many other men in Illéa that will be an amazing prince and husband. I won't be picked. I'm sure that's what every guy is saying to himself right now—except maybe for the majorly egotistical ones—but I am more sure than I ever could be. I sit down and tap the pen on my chin.

I will not be picked.

I won't.

And, besides. Who am I?

I'm just… Eikko. Not a prince. Not a suitor. Just Eikko. And that's who I will always be.

(A/N: I have had this idea for a while. I swear, I am, like, in love with Erik. *Sigh*)