Author's Note: Guys. This is so long, I'm so sorry, I tried to edit it down but this was the best I could do. This update is a little early, because I started writing and realized I was going to have a 20 page chapter if I waited and put all of the girls in one chapter. So even though the Selection has technically started, there is still time to turn a girl in! If you're interesting in sending in a character, please do so by Wednesday. The next part will be up Thursday or Friday. Reviews are always appreciated as well, especially if you've got constructive criticism! (:

The night before the Selection started felt like Christmas Eve. The castle was silent, but there was a buzzing undercurrent of excitement in anticipation of the next morning. Instead of gifts though, he was getting thirty-five potential wives. He should have been thrilled. He thought he would be thrilled. Elijah had pointed out several times that it sounded like Oliver's ideal situation: tons of beautiful girls, and he didn't have to do any work to get them. But the thought of the girls was currently keeping him awake.

"Get a good night's rest," his father had laughed at dinner, "After tomorrow, you won't have a moment of silence again until you're married. And even then…" At that point, Eadlyn had smacked his arm.

Kile's words certainly didn't help him to feel more relaxed. He had tried all of his usual relaxation techniques—a shower, a glass of brandy (okay, two glasses), even sending for his favorite violinist from the royal orchestra—but there he was, staring at the canopy of his bed with no sleep in sight.

Finally, he gave up and heaved himself out of bed. If he couldn't sleep, he might as well enjoy his home for one more night before the invasion. He wrapped himself in a robe and slippers before he wandered out into the dimly lit corridor.

As much as he complained about the duties of being the future ruler, Oliver really did love the palace. The third floor, belonging expressly to the royal family, was one of his favorite places to spend time. Even if he just wasting time tucked away in a window alcove, he was content when he was there. He loved the vaulted ceilings, the intricate crown molding, the plush, royal blue carpets that lined the hallways.

A light flooding into the hall roused him from his musings, and he stopped in the doorway of his mother's study. "Isn't it a little late to be working?" he asked.

Eadlyn looked up and smiled at the sight of her son. She was wearing a robe as well, and there was a cup of coffee sitting in the corner of her desk. No matter how many times they told her that it made no sense, the first thing that she did when she couldn't sleep was always to procure herself some coffee and then get to work. "I'm not really accomplishing much," she admitted as she dropped her papers to the desk.

He took a seat across from her. "You ready for another Selection?" he asked.

Eadlyn laughed. "Well, I'm sure it'll be much easier for me this time around," she countered. "The real question is, are you?"

"No," he laughed instantly. "Not in the slightest, I'm afraid."

"Good," she smiled, "I wasn't either, and look how that turned out."

Oliver sighed. "I know. I'm not you or dad though."

"You don't have to be," Eadlyn said with a soft smile, "Oliver is more than enough."

It was a sweet sentiment, but it wasn't necessarily true since they were having the whole Selection to appease a country that wasn't too fond of him. "What if I don't like any of them?" he frowned. "Do I just pick the one that I dislike the least then?"

"Of course not," she immediately responded. "If you connect with anyone, we'll call the whole thing off. I want you to be happy, Oliver. But keep a positive mind. Even my own grandfather, who was not particularly likeable I'm told, had an extremely successful Selection."

It was good to hear that she was still on his side. Eadlyn leaned forward and took his hand. "I wasn't lying when I told you this wasn't a punishment," she reminded him, "I really do think this is going to be good for your happiness, your image, and ultimately your reign."

"Do I get to do this as myself?" he asked, all of the worries that he'd been having coming to the forefront of his mind. "I don't know how I'm supposed to get to know someone when I'm having formal teas and croquette matches."

Eadlyn considered the question. "Well, there are certain traditions and expectations," she admitted, "But for the most part, I'm open to all of your suggestions. If you want, we could even create a board to help you. I would have someone oversee it, but you could appoint some help as well. Maybe it would give that reprobate Elijah something to do."

He grinned at the idea of Elijah planning dates. At least they would be entertaining. "Tristan would probably be helpful too," he mused.

His mother wrote out a note about their idea. "It's your party, but we're all here to help," she reminded him.

"Thanks," he replied, the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. He glanced at the stack of files sitting on the edge of his mother's desk. She had offered them to him right after they had been collected at The Report, but he had been putting them off all weekend. "I suppose I should take those," he mused, "Might help if I can remember at least a few names."

Eadlyn smiled her agreement and handed them to him. "Try to get some sleep," she added as she stood and kissed him on the cheek. The pair left the study together, and although he wasn't completely sure, Oliver thought he smelled a hint of bourbon from her mug when she walked by him towards her own room. He repressed a grin as he thought, Guess I'm not the only nervous one.

Once he was back in his own room, he dropped onto his bed and spread out the different files. Each girl had a short bio, but he focused on their faces and names. He wasn't particularly good at remembering people, which had gotten him into hot water more than once before. He didn't want to mix their names up tomorrow—girls didn't like that, in his experience—but it was definitely going to be an uphill battle.

He supposed the girls were pretty enough. Not that Oliver had expected anything less. He had a feeling that the applicants had been vetted in some way before they made their way into the Selection baskets, probably to ensure he would actually be interested in putting some effort into it. After a life of foreign models and actresses or the daughters of Illéa's rich and powerful, he had some basic requirements, of course.

When he had consistently gotten four names correct, he triumphantly dropped the files to the side of his bed and settled down, prepared to reward himself with sleep. It was a start, after all, and he would have all day tomorrow to try to pin down another couple.

Morning came much too soon. Okay, so it was early afternoon. His mother swept into the room around 11:45 and ripped the curtains open, eliciting a groan from her son. "Why," was all Oliver demanded as he pulled his blankets over his face.

"You should be thanking me, I let you sleep through breakfast," she pointed out. "Consider it a gift. From here on out, you're expected to be there on time with all of the Selected."

He groaned. "I knew it was too good to be true."

A maid hurried in with a tray of all of his favorite morning foods and set it on the table beside his bed. He groped for a croissant and pulled it into his bed. "So what's the agenda for the day?" he asked. He could tell from his mom's nervous energy that she was itching to get the day rolling.

"Glad you asked," she grinned. "The Selected have arrived. Weather permitting, we've planned a wine and sushi reception tonight in the gardens at twilight for you to meet them."

As he chewed, Oliver realized it didn't sound horrible. He wanted to demand when his mother had found time to plan this, but for the moment he accepted the fact that it wasn't a bad start. He did enjoy wine and sushi. "Sounds fine," he nodded. "So that means I'm free until, what, seven?"

Eadlyn laughed, and Oliver groaned, scolding himself for not realizing there was a catch. "No, my darling, you've got a haircut at one o'clock, a meeting with your new board for the Selection at two, a short interview with Coen for the media coverage at four, and I would like to go over your zoning proposal for the Angeles conservation and botanical gardens around six." Eadlyn took a quick glance over her cream and gold notepad and nodded, pleased with her perfect plan. One day, Oliver decided he was going to burn that notebook. It ruled his life.

"How did you even find time to compose a board for the Selection? We thought of it hours ago," grumbled Oliver.

Eadlyn smiled and plucked a strawberry from the bowl of fruit on his try. "Unlike you, my morning does not start at noon," she pointed out. "Please shower before your haircut, you won't have much time after." She decided to confiscate the whole bowl of fruit and left him alone in the room.

He sighed and pulled the tray onto his bed. How on earth did they expect him to run a Selection and still be a prince? Only robots like his mom and Grandfather Maxon could do that. That's probably why Grandfather had so many meltdowns during his, he thought darkly as he cut into his omelet.

The room to his door swung open once more to reveal Tristan, whose expression much too bright and excited for how early it was. "Morning!" he grinned as he dropped onto his brother's bed and reached for a slice of toast.

Oliver raised his fork menacingly. "If you want to keep that hand, I suggest rethinking your next move."

Tristan slowly withdrew his hand. "Uh, anyway, Mr. Sunshine," he remarked, "I've met the girls."

Oliver hmm-ed disinterestedly in reply and remained focused on his omelet. "They seem nice," Tristan added. Another hmm. He rolled his eyes. "You realize you're going to marry one of them, right?"

"Why do you care?" asked Oliver, "You just get to stand by and watch this train wreck."

"As Head of the Selection Council," declared Tristan proudly, "it's my job to care. Literally."

"Good God," Oliver sighed, "You've all lost your minds. Who else is on this insane committee?"

"Myself, Elijah, and Everly, who is flying in later today," he explained, referring to one of Uncle Ahren's children, "We're small but mighty. Lady Neena is our advisor."

"I'm going to try to ignore the fact that you just called yourself 'small but mighty,'" Oliver decided. He gulped his coffee in a few swallows and sighed. "I have a meeting with the whole council at two. Can't it wait till then?"

Tristan looked genuinely disappointed, which Oliver felt a little bad for. Despite what Illéa thought, his brother didn't really get many important jobs. He was probably thrilled to be in charge of the Selection council. "You can give me a quick rundown during my haircut. I promise I'm probably not going to remember any names, though."

Undeterred, Tristan prattled on without abandon. "They're really smart," he explained, "A few of them are students. Oh! And there's this one who's a PR intern with the governor in her province, so I thought that was really cool. Some are really into literature; I've already had a few questions about the library—"

"Who's the prettiest?" Oliver asked, wearied by Tristan's exaltations.

This did cause his brother to pause. "I mean… it just depends, I guess," he shrugged.

"Who do you think is the prettiest?" Oliver pressed him.

Tristan blushed, which made Oliver smirk. "We have different tastes," he pointed out. "Elijah and I disagreed on the subject. And it was kind of hard to tell, since they were in the middle of getting makeovers."

"Humor me, Tris. Who did you think was the hottest?" grinned Oliver.

His younger brother rolled his eyes. "Her name is Isolde," he mumbled, "She's the PR intern."

Oliver dug through the files that Anderson had collected and neatly placed on his desk until he found her. "You would think she was the hottest," he determined with a laugh.

"She's classically beautiful, Oliver."

He rolled his eyes and read through the girl's bio. She was nineteen, from Carolina, and a public relations intern with the governor, like Tristan had said. He had to give his brother some credit, as she certainly wasn't bad looking. She had wavy light blonde hair that fell just below her shoulder blades and bright blue eyes. She certainly had an amazing smile that lit up her face like she had just seen her favorite person in the world, and he imagined it would be great to have that smile directed at him. "Hmm," he remarked again noncommittally.

"Have you even read their bios?" Tristan scoffed. "Some of these girls gave up a lot to be here."

Oliver's eyebrows knit together. "I don't want to spoil your romantic view or anything, but they're the winners here. Someone gets to be a princess, and everyone else goes home compensated and usually gets a good marriage pretty quickly anyway. Grams said most of the girls Grandfather sent home were engaged before the Selection ended," he pointed out.

To his surprise, Tristan mumbled, "Yeah, I guess. Not like you can have thirty-five relationships anyway."

"Now you're talking," Oliver said. The barber removed the cape that had been shielding his clothes, and Oliver rose. "Come on, let's get to this damn meeting."

Oliver had a hard time taking his brother seriously at first, but he found that Tristan was efficient and effective. By the time they finished an hour later, they had already organized an event for Wednesday. He had thought wine and sushi was enough for the week, but Tristan pointed out that they would all be overwhelmed today.

He left feeling successful, but by the time he had met with his mom about his zoning proposal—which he had surprisingly done a good job on—he was surprised to find that he was a little nervous about meeting the girls. He supposed the anticipation had been building all day, but by the time he was standing in front of the doors to the gardens, he didn't feel like the charming heartbreaker the magazines had made him out to be.

The set-up of the gardens was nice; he would give Tristan that. There had been fairy lights strung throughout and numerous candles lit to provide soft lighting and a charming twinkle as the sun drooped lower in the sky. Comfortable looking chairs and couches had been strategically placed to allow for conversing, and soft, instrumental music was coming from some unknown source. The whole thing looked like an eclectic fairytale.

He was the last to arrive. The girls were milling about, and cameras were present, ready to capture the commencement of their next Selection. He grabbed a glass of wine and took a gulp as he was announced, and thirty-five pairs of eyes fell on him. "Hi," he smiled, uncomfortable with the intensity of their stares, "Uh, welcome to the palace. I hope no one's allergic to fish." There was a chorus of giggles that made him feel monumentally outnumbered. "I'm looking forward to getting to know you all, so let's get this thing started."

He meant for it to be a dismissal, but the girls remained focused on him, and a long, tense moment of silence followed. Finally, a blonde girl turned to those sitting around her and asked if anyone had ever had sushi. It seemed to snap the girls out of their trance, and a light buzz of conversation picked up. He noticed the girl that had come to his rescue was the one that Tristan had pointed out, and he sent her a grateful smile before he made a mental note to talk to her a little later. She seemed too confident for him to start with.

He noticed another blonde, her hair a little more strawberry, that looked less comfortable. Luckily, he remembered her name as well, as she was the last girl that he had announced on The Report, Adelaide. He took another swig of his wine and approached her small group. "Lady Adelaide," he greeted her.

She froze. "Your Highness," she managed to squeak out. The glass of wine in her hand wobbled a little as well, and Oliver had to repress his laugh. He utterly terrified the girl.

"Would you like to take a walk about the gardens?" he suggested.

"Of course," Adelaide smiled. She stood, and Oliver took a moment to examine her. She was certainly beautiful. Her eyes were a deep, royal blue, and she was clad in a mint green dress that hugged her thin torso before flaring out into a fuller skirt. A pair of white heels completed the look, and Oliver was pleased that she seemed very adept at walking in the shoes. Teetering like a baby giraffe in too high heels was one of his pet peeves. He offered his arm to her, and she accepted it gingerly.

Despite his experience with women, Oliver had never been particularly good at the dating part. The getting to know people and having conversations was a little foreign to him. The last new friend he had made had been Elijah when they were nine. "So, what do you do back in Clermont, Lady Adelaide?" That seemed like a good start.

"I model, Your Highness," she responded.

A model. He could work with that. "Do you enjoy modeling?" he continued.

She paused. "It's something my mother's always encouraged me to do," she explained. It seemed careful, like she was trying not to say too much.

"Are you and your mother close?" Oliver tried.

Adelaide took a drink of her wine before she replied, "She's all I have. My father died a few years ago."

That seemed like delicate territory so Oliver muttered an apology before he changed the subject. "How are you finding the palace?" he asked.

This time, her face lit up. "It's wonderful," she sighed, "Everyone has been so friendly and welcoming. And the palace is beautiful." She seemed genuinely happy to be there, which Oliver was glad to hear. It made it easier for him if the girls actually wanted to be there.

"It is," he agreed, "It's even better lately since we've had some stunning guests." A pleased smile lit up her face, but she ducked her head shyly, as though she was nervous for Oliver to see that she had enjoyed his comment. He stopped walking and turned to face her. "You've got a beautiful smile, Lady Adelaide," he told her, "Should be a crime to try to hide it."

She laughed. "Will you ever be able to forgive me, Your Highness?" she questioned, this time beaming unabashedly at him.

"This once, I suppose I can pardon you, Lady Adelaide," he declared, "But keep an eye out for new legislature banning such an atrocity."

She smiled warmly. "Please, Your Highness, call me Addie."

"Addie," he repeated. "Good. Thanks for taking a walk with me, Addie."

"My pleasure," she responded with a perfectly executed curtsy. She returned to the group that she had been sitting with before, and Oliver noticed that she looked a little more confident as she joined their conversation.

He glanced around, trying to decide where to go next. He noticed a girl with wavy dark hair sitting alone with a plate of sushi on her lap. She was currently staring at the conjoined chopsticks in confusion. Oliver laughed to himself before he grabbed his own sushi roll and joined her. "May I?" he asked as he gestured to the seat beside her.

"Of course, Your Majesty," she blushed as she stopped fiddling with the chopsticks.

"Ever had sushi before?" he asked.

She shook her head. "We don't have much fish in Midston," she admitted.

Midston. God, what was the girl from Midston's name? He tried to scrape at the recesses of his brain but came up with nothing. He showed her how to break the chopsticks apart and position them in her hand. She laughed at herself. "I only feel mildly like an idiot now," she remarked.

"Welcome to a day in my life," Oliver snorted in response. She grinned at his self-deprecation. Finally, he had to admit defeat and acknowledge that her name was not magically coming to him. "Sorry, but your name was…"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "Sorry, idiot again. I'm Patricia. Twenty, Midston, chess player." She held her hand out, and he shook it, amused.

"Thanks," he grinned. "Oliver, also twenty, Angeles, and prince."

"Oh, you're the prince?" she asked, eyes widening in mock shock. "Wow, I really talked up that guy for no reason then." She gestured to a nearby waiter holding a tray of fresh wine glasses. Oliver laughed.

Patricia was great. She was a little shorter than Addie, with a deeper tan and freckles. Her green eyes were bright and teasing, like she was constantly had a joke ready. She was curvier and dressed in a simple green lace dress that she joked about accidentally dripping soy sauce on several times. Eating with her was an adventure, as she seemed to plan her best jokes for when his mouth was full, and he had to force himself not to spit his sushi out.

When he left Patricia, he grabbed another glass of wine and scanned the crowd. His attention was caught by a girl in a white dress with large, bright yellow, pink, and green flowers splattered over it. She was talking to two other girls, an approachable group size, and swaying to the music. He was amused when he saw that her shoes were yellow heels as well and started towards his next target.

"Hello ladies," he greeted them. They dropped into less than refined curtsies, and Oliver tried not to laugh. He supposed it wasn't something that normal people had grown up doing. "I apologize, but would you be able to remind me of your names?

"Brynn," the one in the bright dress answered with a smile. She had such a cheerful air about her that Oliver immediately liked. Her hair was long and blonde, and she was an average height. There was a splash of freckles on the tops of her cheeks and bridge of her nose that Oliver thought were cute.

"Molly," the other offered. She was dressed in a pale blue sundress that she had plashed a little wine on. She was taller than Brynn, even in her flat shoes. Oliver figured that heels would make her around his height, and for the sake of his masculinity, he was glad she had decided on flat sandals. Her hair was also blonde, more gold, and she had lighter eyes.

The third girl was much shorter, and Oliver figured that he was nearly a foot taller than her. She had long, dark hair, tan skin, and blue eyes. "Arabella," she responded, "But please, call me Ari." She had a sweet accent, similar to the ones that he usually heard in the southern provinces of Illéa.

"Lady Brynn, Lady Molly, and Lady Ari," he said, trying to commit them to memory.

"This is a beautiful party, Your Majesty," Brynn complimented as she smiled around at the setting.

He was glad for her approval, even though Tristan had put it together. "Thank you," he beamed. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. What have been your favorite parts of the Selection so far?"

"The palace," Molly declared, "It's just perfect." Oliver nodded his agreement.

"The shoes!" grinned Ari. She stuck her foot out, and Oliver saw that a dazzling silver stiletto sandal was strapped to her foot. "I'd never have anywhere to wear these back on the farm." The group laughed before Oliver turned his attention to Brynn.

"I'll let you know when I decide," Brynn shrugged mischievously, her eyes twinkling as they focused on him. Oliver had always liked mysteries.

"How are you enjoying the night so far, Your Majesty?" asked Ari, pulling his attention back to her.

"It's great," he smiled automatically. "It's been…" A little exhausting and nerve racking. "Exciting."

He talked to the girls a little longer before he left them to get another glass of wine. He also popped another sushi roll into his mouth, taking a minute to himself. The cameras had left, which took some of the pressure off, but now that the sun had set, all he could think about was how there was no way he was going to be able to talk to all of the girls. It stressed him out a little. Did he have to eliminate someone this week? If so, how could he pick when he didn't know them all?

Tristan joined him. "Slow down there," he said, nodding at the wine, "What is that, your third?"

"Piss off."

His younger brother rolled his eyes but didn't press the matter. "What do you think so far?" he asked eagerly.

"I've talked to five," Oliver responded, "And I'm already ready for bed."

Tristan laughed and clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Better pick up the pace," he suggested.

And Oliver did. In the next hour, he talked to a gorgeous dance instructor from exotic Dominica named Calla, a shy writer named Eleanor, a sweet farm girl named Samantha who dreamed of being a clothing designer, fiery girl named Cameron who turned out to be Addie's step-cousin, an aspiring oboist named Cassandra, a soccer player named Madison that he was sure would destroy him if they ever played together, and a sweet veterinary student named Maisie. He had waved at many of the girls, caught their names, but he hadn't had a chance to talk to everyone yet. They seemed content to wait their turns, getting to know each other as Oliver moved around.

Unfortunately, as he moved from girl to girl, he had a habit of grabbing a new glass of wine, and by the time he finally tracked down the girl from earlier, he felt a little tipsy.

"Lady Isolde," he smiled boldly at her, "Could I have the pleasure of your company for a few moments?"

She raised an eyebrow at his greeting but stood and took the hand that he offered. "Of course, Your Highness."

As they walked towards his favorite fountain, she steadied him a little. She had a glass of wine clutched in her hand as well, but it was likely her first judging by how steady she was in her heels. "You were an excellent attention diverter earlier," he complimented.

Isolde smiled, and he found himself agreeing with Tristan about how beautiful she was. "Well, I want to work in politics," she explained, "It's my job to be good at things like that."

He laughed. "Why on earth would anyone want to work in politics?" he asked, "If I hadn't been born into politics, I would run far away from them."

She probably got the question often, for she didn't look deterred. "It's a great way to help people," she explained, "You have power, so why not use it for good?"

"Hmm," he noted, "You are interesting, Lady Isolde. Oh! This is my favorite fountain." He dropped onto the stone ledge and sighed happily.

Isolde seemed relieved that she was no longer helping to support his weight. "Beautiful enough to be a model or an actress," Oliver declared as he evaluated her body, "and yet you want to be a civil servant."

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking displeased. It was the first time someone hadn't seemed charmed by him all night, and he didn't like it. "Shouldn't all of us want that in some way?" demanded Isolde, "Being a ruler is all about serving your people. You should know that."

He laughed and kicked his shoes off before sticking his feet into the cool water of the fountain. "Well since you obviously think that I don't and you do, by all means, have at the crown," he chuckled.

She was saved the trouble of responding when Tristan stumbled upon them. He looked from Oliver with his feet in the fountain to the angry set of Isolde's posture and groaned. "What on earth are you doing?" he demanded of his brother.

"I am hot and tired, Tristan," Oliver declared, splashing his feet around. He kicked a little bit of the cold water at Isolde playfully, and her glare intensified as she jumped backwards. "You're much prettier when you smile," he informed her.

It was a wonder that Tristan's eyes didn't burst out of his head. "Lady Isolde, I'm so sorry for my brother," he instantly declared, "He's… he's been on medication you see, for a… a…"

Isolde sighed. "An ear infection," she offered, "That's why his balance was so off. His antibiotics and wine were a poor mixture, and he went to bed to sleep off a stomach ache." Guess she is good at PR, Oliver thought drunkenly. "Here, grab one of his arms, and we can get him into the castle," she suggested as she approached the sloppy prince.

Between the combined efforts of Tristan and Isolde, the three managed to make it to Oliver's room without attracting too much attention. Anderson quickly set about settling the prince, and Isolde quickly took her leave once the doors were shut. "Mother is going to murder you when she finds out about this," Tristan declared.

Oliver groaned as he dropped onto his bed and the world began to spin violently. "Good thing she's not going to find out," he slurred.

Tristan glared as he threw his brother's wet pants into his closet. "One job, Oliver. You had one job tonight, and that was to talk to all of the girls. You only got through twenty!"

Oliver yawned. "Stop jumping on my bed," he groaned.

"I'm not," glared Tristan, "That's your liver trying to process the casks of wine that you drank. God, Oliver, how hard is it to take one thing seriously?"

"Why on earth would I do that when I have you to do it for me, dear brother?" smirked Oliver before he drifted off into a deep sleep.