Katrina's hold on Roy's ear didn't relinquish once, even as she yanked him out of the Women's Room and into the hallway. The guards shuffled on their feet, and Roy could see they were unsure whether or not to intervene a young lady grabbing hold of the prince.
He felt his ear pop several times, and finally, he grabbed her arm and pulled her off. "K-Katrina!" he snapped. "You didn't have to drag me out—"
Katrina swung around. Her poofy pink dress bubbled around her frame. "Oh, didn't I? Where was my apology, Roy? Huh? What about the embarrassment you caused me?"
His mind flew back. Yes, he had puked on her stupid blue shoes. Today, his mind irritatingly noticed that she was wearing the same style, but pink to match her dress. And her face, which had flushed with anger and humiliation.
She waggled her finger, before he could reply. "So I tried to contact the palace, but everyone kept turning me away. Kept hanging up on me. Finally, I grew tired, so I came here myself to find you. And now I demand an apology!"
Roy bit back his annoyance, and held up his hands again. "Look, fine. I'm sorry. Those were some nice shoes. I'll have them replaced—"
She whacked him in the arm with her purse, and he yelped. "You idiot! I want a public apology!" she yelled. "Say it on the Report! Speak to the press! I don't care! My reputation is soiled because of you!"
Roy resisted every urge to let out a scathing laugh. Katrina, he knew, had willingly entered that club, willingly got drunk, and willingly danced with an equally-intoxicated Roy who had mentioned multiple times that his stomach was heaving. Katrina went to clubs as frequently as he did. She just, somehow, managed to slip away before the paparazzi arrived.
"Hey, you went to that nightclub too. It's not my fault you happened to be there, forcing me to dance, and your ugly wedge heels triggered my nausea—"
She let out a loud growl. "If you weren't the prince, I swear, I would have already shoved my ugly wedge heels so far up your—"
"L-Lady Katrina!"
Merrick's voice cut through, and Roy felt a heaving relief on his chest. Merrick scampered up to them, breaking free from the confines of the Women's Room, a dishevelled smile slapped onto his face.
Katrina caught herself, straightened her back, and somehow regained a morsel of grace, bowing deeply. All traces of anger dissipated. "Your Majesty, it is a honour to see you."
Merrick came to a stop, one step in front of Roy, between him and Katrina. Roy couldn't be more thankful that Merrick had fallen into protective dad mode.
"Are you well?" he managed. "You seem rather… upturned."
She soured at the word. "Forgive me, Your most gracious Majesty, but Prince Fitzroy here has managed to ruin my reputation and the reputation of my socialite's club, Midknight, in Angeles. I have come here to plead for respite from such tragedies thrust upon me."
Roy nearly choked. Plead? More like force.
Merrick managed a more contained smile. "My son has unfortunately committed acts that cannot be taken back. He has made an apology to the nation. Is there anything else he can do to make it up to you?"
Katrina slid her eyes to meet Roy's. "I would like a public apology addressed to me, and to my socialite's club."
He could feel his body shrink, but clutched to the back of Merrick's arm. Make her go away, he thought. Merrick tensed, but smiled.
"How about Roy make a visit to your club and address them personally? I'm sure that will ease your sorrows. The press can be present to take photos and write articles."
The idea seemed to tumble back and forth in her head, with a stirring behind her eyes, calculating a million different outcomes. She was crafty, Lady Katrina. She would wring this out for all it was worth.
She managed an uptight sneer. "Yes, that would be appropriate, if Your Majesty is willing to accompany him." Her words slithered. "And a replacement of my shoes wouldn't be remiss."
Merrick couldn't nod more eagerly. "Of course! If you'll contact my tailor, she'd be happy to assist you in finding a replacement. As for the socialite's club, you just give us a time and date, and Roy and I will accommodate as best we can. Does that satisfy you?"
Katrina's eyes glimmered, and she slid them to focus again on Roy.
"For now, Your Majesty. I am satisfied," she said. "If I may be so bold to ask for a moment with Fitzroy alone?"
Roy felt a pair of claws seize him. Oh, god, please don't let him stay with Katrina alone. He might have to ask one of the guards to stand between them.
Merrick frowned for the first time, casting over her and the entrance to the Women's Room. "He is supposed to be talking with his recently Selected, Lady Katrina, but he can have a few minutes." He managed a sweet smile. "I must be going, anyway. Just… keep your voices down?"
Katrina bowed. "Of course."
Merrick stepped away, staring intensely at Roy. Please don't rile her further, Roy imagined him saying. Wordlessly, Merrick removed himself from the situation, retreating down the hallway, and around the corner, gone.
Katrina's disgust became obvious once more. "Yes. You're having a Selection."
Roy stiffened. "Yeah. What of it?"
"There is one more thing I desire. I want in."
Roy choked on the air, his stomach contracting hard. Katrina? Part of his Selection? Why? She loathed the very ground he walked on.
Or… maybe…?
He smirked. "Is this your low-key way of telling me you fancy me?"
It was Katrina's turn to choke, and held a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes. "Oh, dear lord, you are so full of yourself. I wouldn't enter your Selection, you moron. I wouldn't want you if you were ripped, wrapped in a bow, and smuggled amongst a box of puppies."
Roy sniffled. "I have a six-pack," he said, offended.
"In the fridge doesn't count," snapped Katrina. She drew herself up, was just centimetres taller than Roy. It was enough to look down upon him. "I want to be around as it happens. I want to meet the Selected. I want interviews, pictures, activities. I want everything they have, except I don't want you."
Dread filled Roy. He couldn't stand Katrina. Heck, why did he even party with her? She was more fun when drunk, and usually tended to be out when he was, anyway – which was the only reason they ever hung out. Now she was going to be the mole in his side, poisoning the minds of the Selected with her fickle, petty attitude.
Still, he couldn't fathom why she'd want to hang around with him when she, no doubt, felt the same way.
"Why? Why on earth would you want to hang around during my Selection?"
She sneered, wrinkling her face. "It's the only thing that would truly spare my reputation. You and King Merrick can apologise all you want, but unless it is shown that you and I are on good terms, and that I have at least regained some sense of dignity, then no one will ever look at me with respectful eyes again. Involving myself with your Selection will do just that." She darkened. "This is all thanks to you, by the way, and that stupid photo of me, my shoes, and your vomit."
Every instinct in Roy dragged down into his legs. He wanted to shove her away and force her to never return. He probably had that power. But, even with Katrina's 'soiled' reputation, she had some sway in the public eye. She would make sure he never recovered from those photos, even with a wife, ever again.
He hoped she wouldn't get herself killed. With the spy about, he had more than enough to worry about than Katrina's safety.
He clenched his fists. "Fine. But if you do anything out of line, you're out."
Katrina's smile flared with a win. "I expect a room ready in the morning. Make sure it has a view of the gardens."
"Of course," Roy ground out, mentally noting to make sure her room had a splendid view of the garages.
She swung on her hips to turn, and flickered her hand at a guard. "You, there. Please escort me to the exit."
"Don't let the door hit you in the butt on the way out," Roy muttered.
Katrina's figure melted away, with the poor guard in tow, and Roy moved to the wall and slipped down, already exhausted. A Selection. A spy. Rebels. Ji-Yu. The paparazzi. Katrina. Why was his life even more complicated than before he'd started this stupid thing?
"Are you all right, Your Highness?" said the nearest guard, hovering awkwardly.
"I'm fine, thank you," he said, feeling anything but.
"Would you like me to fetch someone?"
"Yes," said Roy. "Send Rudy to the Illéan Drawing Room. And ask someone if they can have tea brought up."
The guard bowed. "Right away."
With the guard gone, Roy rose to his feet, and stumbled down to the drawing room. He needed a break. He needed tea.
He needed to talk with Rudy about how much harder this was going to be.
=#=#=#=
Roy had finished three cups of chamomile by the time Rudy hustled down. This particular drawing room in the furthest left wing of the palace, named after the country, was Roy's favourite. The comfortable lounge sofas, the small coffee tables, the crackling fireplace. Bookshelves rose on the far wall, and clean, afternoon light glittered on the ornate carpet. It was a room he went to when he felt frazzled.
"Tired, Your Highness?" said Rudy, slipping inside, and sitting opposite.
"Very," he said.
Roy went on to explain the fiasco with Katrina. How she forced him to allow her to be a part of his Selection. It brought back a memory of nausea, pulling from somewhere in his stomach.
Luckily, the room was empty – so if he did get sick, no one would ever know. Rudy clasped his hands together.
"I see," he said. "A handful, as always." He glanced up at Roy. "Have you even met all of the Selected, yet?"
"That was my second point," Roy said, with a sigh. "I've only met less than half of them, but Katrina exhausted me so much I thought I'd come here for a break. They're probably all waiting for me to return."
Rudy leant back in his chair, rubbing at his pointed chin. "It is rather unfortunate that she decided to take her revenge now, when we already have a" – he looked around, double-checking, and fell to a whisper – "spy to worry about."
Roy pursed his lips, suddenly thinking. Was Katrina spy-worthy? She certainly had the motivation to be. "You don't think Katrina could be the spy, do you? I know she's not one of the Selected, but…?"
Rudy's eyes glossed over. "I don't think so. She's a socialite. A scandal like this wouldn't just ruin her. It would bury her." He paused. "She probably heard your apology along with Selection announcement. Perhaps she decided it was the wisest to find you then, when you were just making your first impressions on the Selected."
Roy's shoulders dropped. If she was the spy, Roy wouldn't have been at all surprised. And he wouldn't have had any trouble at all asking for her to be locked up underground, never to see even a sprinkle of daylight again. So, was this all a stupid ploy to make him look bad in front of thirty-five potential wives? He didn't exactly need her help. The photos had done everything for him, anyway.
"The Selected," Rudy said. "How are they?"
Roy felt himself shrivel. He recalled the girls he talked to already. "They all seem… nice. It's hard to box them into one group."
"Have any ideas which one could be… you know who?"
Roy smiled weakly. "Voldemort?"
Rudy darkened. "Not funny."
Roy slurped a laborious sip of chamomile, before replacing the cup and saucer down on the coffee table. "I have no idea, Rudy. They all seem civil with me. One girl – Cassia; she writes novels that Mother and Dad have read. Another girl was so shy she could hardly meet my gaze. That was Ambrosia. Kiersten, who thinks my brain has exploded. There was Maeve, who kissed my feet and agreed to have a twerking contest against me—"
"Good lord," Rudy muttered.
"—then there was Sherlock, who made constant jokes; Camilla, who was polite, but gave me evils; Blair, who seemed way too charming; Skye, who told me I looked good; Delia, who is going to paint me like one of her French girls, and Elise, who likes fairy tales as much as Gail does."
He felt his butt sink into the chair. "How am I supposed to figure this out? And I haven't even met the rest, yet!"
Rudy leant back. "Perhaps you should. It would be wise that you do, at least, before making any… preliminary judgements about the spy, and who to eliminate."
Roy laughed. "Oh, I have a vague idea who to eliminate from the get-go," he said, thinking about the callous girl with the wallpaper angst.
"Keep them in mind. How about I round up the girls who have yet to meet you and send them down here one-by-one, where you can have about five minutes talk with each? I'm sure you'll be able to tell if you feel a…" Rudy rooted for the words, "connection."
It was a good idea. Roy didn't think he could show his face in the Women's Room for a while after that spectacle with Katrina, dragging him out by ear. And it was a way to ascertain that he wouldn't have to remember four names at once.
"Okay, I like that," Roy said. "Let's do it."
It took Rudy ten minutes maximum to round up the rest of the Selected, waiting patiently outside the door to the drawing room. Rudy had even had Roy's chamomile teapot topped before inviting the first girl in line inside.
She peered her head around the door, her neat blonde hair wrapped into a bun upon her head. Her dress reached her knee, brushing against the door.
Roy stood up, smiled, and gestured to the seat opposite. "Come in."
The girl cleared her throat, but said nothing, tiptoeing over to where Roy was sat. Light curled around her, brightening the quaint smile on her face, and she curtsied once near enough not to make it awkward.
"Your Highness," she greeted. "I am Alisa Orlov. Thank you for calling me down here."
Roy could detect a Russian twang, mixing into Alisa's accent. Russian was one of his favourite accents to listen to – especially in women. He melted slightly and fell back into the chair. "Not at all."
She shuffled on her feet, but sat down. "I know it's my place to say, but… I'm sorry about… erm… your friend…"
Ah. Katrina. Hardly worthy of the word 'friend'.
Roy pressed his lips together for a moment. "So am I." He paused. "Would you like some tea?"
She scrunched her lips together, her cheeks puffing. "Please."
A quiet one. Roy had a sinking feeling that he wouldn't be able to hear much of her sweet accent if they kept on like this.
Rudy stepped out from the shadows, and poured her a teacup. She said nothing, instead clasping and unclasping her hands, and bumping her knees together. Rudy also refilled Roy's cup – maybe this was relaxing him too much.
He leant back into the sofa. "So, Alisa. Where are you from?"
She piqued. "Whites."
Roy backtracked. "I meant the… accent?"
Alisa's eyebrows furrowed. "I am from Whites."
Awkward. "Oh."
Alisa's chest pushed out, and she lifted the cup to her lips. "My parents are Russian. I happened to pick up the accent from them."
Roy recalled absolutely bombing his language lessons with his tutor. "Do you know any Russian?" he asked. "Ahem. Vash aktsent seksual'no."
The cup in Alisa's hand wavered, and she suddenly choked – forcing down the chamomile in her throat. Rudy shot forwards with a napkin, but luckily, she'd managed to keep the tea in her mouth.
She forced it down, and broke into a soft laugh. "Erm. Thank you?"
"Was it bad? It's the only thing I remember in Russian."
She gave him a sympathetic smile. "Well, telling me my accent is, ahem, sexy isn't all bad, I suppose. But yes, your pronunciation could use some… work."
Roy could hear Rudy softly groan. Heh.
Alisa spoke up, though it looked like a lot of effort. "Why do you know that phrase in particular?"
Roy grinned. "I asked my tutor to teach me for a conference in Russia." He faltered. "It didn't go down well with the diplomats…"
Alisa's face lit up with courteous amusement. "No, I can see why." She leant back. "This tea is wonderful, by the way."
"Why, thank you," said Roy. "Handcrafted by the finest tea-maker in all of Illéa: some English guy. And brewed by Rudy," – he gestured shortly to Rudy, who shifted awkwardly – "Do you like tea?"
A bounce flowed into Alisa, and she nodded. "Yes. I'm a chef."
"You would love the kitchens," said Roy. "Maybe we should go there together at some point."
A flush the colour of Rudy's hair kissed her cheeks, and she stared at the carpet. "Oh, yes, that would be lovely."
Something flickered in Roy's mind. He'd just asked for his first date with a Selected (if one didn't count the twerking contest). He found himself simultaneously excited and sick all at once.
He would probably date the spy. The spy.
He swept up his composure and stood. "Well, sorry to cut this short, but I have about twenty more people to meet. I hope you don't mind."
Alisa stumbled to a stand. "Of course, Your Highness." She couldn't look him in the eye. "I hope we talk soon."
"We will. I want to hear more of that seksual'no accent," he joked.
Alisa flushed, performed a jerked curtsy and left the room. The silence ballooned, and Roy fell back onto the chair again.
"Really, Roy?" Rudy said, snapping the silence in half. "A sexy accent?"
"What? Russian accents are sexy."
"And you said that to the Russian diplomats?"
Roy didn't have chance to reply, as the doors burst open. A girl, distinctly Hispanic, ate lengths of the floor with her strides. The hem of her dress licked the carpet like flames, from a sparkly asymmetrical outfit. The stream of air is created from the momentum fluttered her wavy dark-brown hair over her shoulder.
"Prince Roy!" she yelled, as if he hadn't already noticed her.
Roy shot to stand. "Oh, crap, what did I do—"
From behind her, she produced a newspaper. His naked bosom was plastered so beautifully on the front page. What didn't he do?
Roy felt a wave of embarrassment. Oh, shi—
"You're the crown prince! The heir to the throne!" the girl demanded, throwing out her hands. "Explain!"
"I-I don't even know you!" Roy mumbled, as if that would come to his defence.
The girl grit her teeth. "You're a total idiota!" she yelled. "Do you think people will respect you with this behaviour?!" She moved over and slammed the newspaper onto the coffee table. Roy's butt shone in glorious black-and-white. "And with that display in the Women's Room with Lady Katrina? You're an even bigger idiota!"
Roy slid his eyes in a silent plea to Rudy. But Rudy seemed to find the whole spectacle hilarious, unable to hold back his guffawing. There was no help from him.
"Please calm down," Roy said. "I know I'm an… an idiota. I've already apologised."
"Well, I would like a personal apology, Prince Roy. Do you know what my Papa said when I was Selected for Waverly?"
Roy thought this was a rhetorical question, but the silence that followed showed that it wasn't. "Erm." He flickered his gaze to the photo and back to the girl. "What a nice butt I have?"
"No!" The girl jabbed an olive finger at the photo. "He said, "what an idiota, that prince is"! And he was right! And if I'm going to take part in this competition, I want an apology for all this!"
"Okay, okay!" He sucked in an earnest breath. The room stilled for moments. "I'm sorry."
Her steeled face regarded him with a mixture of annoyance and potential. Silence curtained the surroundings, and a hint of appreciation snagged her lips for moments.
"Thank you. I appreciate it."
There was sincerity in her voice. She'd meant it.
Roy couldn't help a question that jumped onto his tongue. "Though I have to wonder… why did you enter my Selection, then?"
This seemed to put the girl on hold, and she hesitated, before grinding her teeth. "I entered to see the palace kitchens."
She didn't even want him? Was that grounds for becoming a spy?
"Oh, well, erm…" Roy said, groping for anything to say after that display of fire. He remembered the gentle Alisa, the complete opposite to this girl, and drew on that. "There's another girl. Alisa Orlov. You should go see the kitchens with her."
The girl dithered for a moment, then crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "You mean you're not even going to take me yourself?"
She muttered something in Italian. Unfortunately, it didn't sound anything like your accent is sexy.
Roy sat back down. The chamomile had made him ill. "Well. This has been an enlightening talk…?"
She glared at him. "You don't even know my name?"
"Erm," Roy mumbled. "Should I?"
"Yes! You're supposed to learn all the Selected's names beforehand!"
He had definitely seen the girl's face amongst his application forms, but her yelling was putting his brain into an entirely different mindset. Could he do anything right with this girl?
After moments of silence, the girl sighed. "It's… Chiara Isabella Romani-Carriedo. Don't forget next time."
Roy winced. If there was a next time.
In that moment, she softened – just for seconds, Roy could see a new side to Chiara. A side that shined. "Your sister is very cute. And I appreciate your apology. I do."
She cleared her throat, and the softness evaporated. "Well. It has been good talking to you, Prince Roy. You have a line of Selected waiting for you. Make sure you don't forget their names, either."
"Yes, ma'am," Roy said.
Chiara rounded her eyes to Rudy, back to Roy, and lifted her head. "Good. Enjoy the rest of your day."
She left in a maelstrom of red and fury. Roy sunk his head into his hands. He'd just had the scolding of his life by one of his Selected. The crumpled newspaper stole space on the coffee table, and his cup of chamomile had spilt droplets onto the photo. His butt began to wrinkle.
"She was… something," said Rudy.
Roy wanted to tell Rudy that she was out, immediately. But that softness, the appreciation of Gail and his apology and how she'd really meant how appreciative she was… it was there, and it intrigued him more than he wanted to admit. Part of him felt a breathless wind escaping from him.
Rudy smirked. "You looked rather starstruck," he said. "Did Lady Chiara interest you, despite the attitude?"
"She's kinda'… hot," Roy mumbled.
"Dear lord."
Roy waved him away. "Yeah, yeah. It's just a change from 'quiet and dainty', all right? Whatever."
Rudy cleaned up the coffee table, giving Roy a moment of silence from the trailblazer. The newspaper was chucked into the bin, the tea cups replaced for cleaner ones, and the birch wiped down of erratic spills.
Rudy frowned. "Are you sure you don't want me to step outside? I've known you since you were twelve, and watching you attempt to court with girls is…" he fished for the right word, "strange."
"Please stay," said Roy, a silent plea. "If the equivalent of Lady Katrina appears, or a more violent Chiara, I will need backup."
"Yes, I suppose that wouldn't do." He glanced at the door. "Though I doubt I would be much help if one decided to attack you."
Roy realised that his words rang especially true. If the Selected spy appeared, and pulled out a knife, and Roy was unprepared, how screwed would he be? Black belt in jujitsu didn't make you extremely vigilant. Maybe ninjutsu would have been helpful here.
He straightened. "I hope the next Selected doesn't make me want to cry."
"Or melt into a puddle of mushy feelings."
Roy slanted a glare to Rudy, who didn't meet him, but the ghost of smile tugged on his lips. The next Selected appeared, and the next – but both were so unmemorable that Roy had to stifle several yawns that wanted to escape him. They were out, no doubt about it.
The next Selected that entered was a familiar face, one that he had been avoiding: Riley Aldaine, a girl in between being an old flame and not. She stepped into the room with the same laidback confidence that he remembered, her back bare in her bohemian dress. Her hair was dyed blonde and plaited around her head. Dried flowers had been pinned into the twists.
She drew a lazy smirk, and Roy felt something switch on inside of him. A light that had been abandoned – but abandoned for good reason.
"You're still single?" she said, not even bothering with a proper greeting. That was her greeting.
Roy pried a smirk. "You're here, so that means you're still single, too."
Riley fanned her fingers out and lifted her head, a free smile blessing her lips. "Maybe I'm not. Maybe I have a super hot boyfriend waiting for me back in Atlin."
Roy stuck his tongue out. "Not as hot as me."
She swung her head back and laughed. Same old Riley.
She plopped herself down opposite Roy and poured herself a cup of tea, glancing up at Rudy. "Still putting up with him, I see?"
Rudy allowed himself a sly smile. "Unfortunately."
The three of them had been on tour together – Roy touring the provinces, Rudy his right-hand, and Riley the organiser of the tour. The Three Rs.
Riley cracked a grin. "So," she began again, looking to Roy. "What've you been up to since the tour - what was it, over a year ago, now? Apart from," she smirked, "fantastical naked feats."
Roy sipped at his tea. "Fantastical naked feats is pretty much the highlight of my life at the moment. Save from the Selection, of course. You?"
She swirled her teacup. "You remember Larson Vree's, right? My tour company?"
"Of course."
She smiled, as if the thought relaxed her, and sank into the sofa. "I'm still working for them, touring. I'm currently managing Vana Tyler right now. I was actually in Angeles when I found out I was chosen for the Selection."
Roy sucked in a breath. Of course, Roy's tour of Illéa was when he and Riley had become slightly more than friends, but not quite a thing. They both liked parties, and they both became a little wild. But things had to end, and Roy had known it.
Now she was here. Now he was actually allowed to romance her.
But did he want to?
Roy felt a snag of a frown within him. "Why?"
She cocked an eyebrow. "Why what?"
"Why did you enter my Selection, Riley?" he whispered. "I thought I'd… ended things pretty clearly."
Her mood tumbled – he could see it, the fun and fire dying in her brown eyes. She sighed and put the cup down onto the table. Her shoulders tensed.
"You did. I know," she said. "But you ended things because I wanted to go further, and you didn't. You ended things because I wasn't a noble, just your tour manager. And I know the rules: royals can't just sleep with anyone, to 'preserve image', or whatever." She looked him dead in the eyes. "But now I'm here. I'm in the Selection, and now I'm no longer out of bounds or forbidden."
Riley returned to her less-than-serious state. "If you want to eliminate me from the get-go, that's fine. I'll understand. But we get along well, so… I wanted to see if we had a real shot together."
Did they? The question revolved around his head. The answer came into his mind covered in froth and fog.
"Oh, and, obviously, the beds. They say they have the best beds in the entirety of Illéa here. Super soft and feathery," she stuck out her tongue, and suddenly the mood in the room improved.
Roy had to laugh. The tenseness in his shoulders was gone. "The finest in all of Illéa. That's how I turned out so handsome. All the beauty sleep."
She laughed too, and stood up. "Thanks for the tea, Rudy," she said. "You have a lot of girls waiting."
"Yeah," said Roy, still dazed.
Riley winked. "Relax, all right? No one wants to kill you."
Roy felt his lungs puncture. But someone did.
Could Riley be the spy? He tried to imagine how he would feel if Riley was the spy.
She curtsied, and filed out of the door in her usual bounce. Roy felt himself at a loss for words – so much so that even the sounds of Rudy clearing Riley's cold teacup didn't bring him back to the present.
"The next girl, Your Highness?" Rudy prompted, after minutes in silence.
For now, Roy had to let Riley breeze from his mind. He needed to focus.
"Yeah, er," said Roy. "Bring in the next Selected."
Rudy obeyed. The next girl entered – tailed by a second girl.
Roy hesitated. "I'm sorry. I asked for one girl at a time."
The girl at the front curtsied. Her dress was plain, simple, and rather shabby compared to the other Selected. Her hair was cut pixie style, so blonde it was nearly silver, and it contrasted with her brown eyes, the colour of burnt walnuts. She was even more petite than the girl behind. A pair of ginormous hoop earrings dragged her ears down.
"My apologies, Your Highness," the girl spoke. "Lady Lilly Carter is a recognised deaf, and can only communicate with Illéan Sign Language. I am her translator, Eulalia Shields."
Roy raised his eyebrows. There was a deaf girl in his Selection?
The girl behind, Lilly Carter, stepped forwards, and curtsied. She had a smile on her face, bright, encircled by thick locks of curled blonde hair. Her casual tea dress was paler, but still golden, and the top-half was like a wreath of embossed honey leaves.
Roy stood up, suddenly unsure of what to do. "Er, nice to meet you, Lilly."
Eulalia brought up her hands and made elaborate signs, weaving her fingers into shapes, brief and sharp. Lilly nodded, signing back. Roy watched them, in their silent conversation, feeling rather third-party. How was he ever going to have a moment alone with Lilly? Would all their communication be through signing and body gestures, and through another person?
Eulalia cleared her throat. "Lady Lilly says that she is honoured to be in your presence, and hopes that her hearing loss will not be a problem in communicating with you."
And if he wanted to go further with Lilly? Was he going to have to get the translator to sign I love you, too?
Roy let out a curt sigh. "No, no, of course not. Please, sit down, Lilly, and Eulalia."
Lilly sat down, and Eulalia too. A distinctive flush had washed over Lilly, but it didn't seem to deter her. Eulalia, meanwhile, looked rather shocked at the delicacy of the teacups, and engravings of the napkins.
"You're welcome to have some tea, ladies. Rudy" – he slanted his eyes to his butler – "can you put out another tea set for Eulalia?"
Eulalia's eyes widened to orbs. Lilly seemed to find the gesture sweet, as she pressed her hands together and beamed at Eulalia. Rudy snapped into action, pouring another teacup of chamomile.
"Er, thank you, Your Highness," said Eulalia.
Lilly began to sign. Eulalia blinked into work.
"How is your day?" she translated.
Roy inhaled the question. It was a nice, simple start to a novel, unique situation for him.
"Quite busy. I'll bet my left arm you didn't need a translator to know that Katrina was off the handle."
Lilly laughed – it sounded strange, to finally hear her voice. It was sort of like a flock of birds chirping at once. Oddly pleasing, but somewhat scratchy and unpractised. She signed as she laughed, and Eulalia grinned.
"I hope she didn't hurt you too much, Your Highness."
Roy blew out a sigh. "Yeah, I don't think my poor ear will recover. She has a grip like iron."
Lilly laughed again – and Roy had to sit up and ask, "How do you know what I'm saying before Eulalia has fully translated it? Are you… psychic?"
Eulalia had to translate this line. Lilly nodded, and solemn face taking her over. She signed.
"I can lip-read," Eulalia said. "It's not perfect, but it helps. Not psychic, unfortunately. I wish I was."
"I don't know any Illéan Sign Language," Roy mused. "Would you teach me some?" He didn't think your accent is sexy would quite work the same with Lilly. "I don't know, maybe… how are you?"
Lilly nodded, and there was eagerness pooling in her eyes, like steam rising from hot chocolate. Roy had to wonder how many people would want to learn Sign Language if they didn't have deaf family or friends.
"Oh, an easy one!" Eulalia chirped, signing to Lilly.
Lilly turned to face Roy, sweeping her dress down. Roy found himself unable to look away from her – her cheerful smile like a morning sunrise. She cupped both of her hands and pressed her fingers together to her chest, and circled them upwards. Then, she pointed to Roy, leaning forwards.
Eulalia nodded. "How are you?"
Roy mimicked Lilly's movements. "How are you?" he echoed.
Lilly giggled, suddenly turning demure. She played with her fingers for a moment, flushed, before she signed. Roy could tell she'd chosen her words carefully.
Eulalia raised her eyebrows, smirking. She looked at Roy, and said, "Over the moon."
Roy couldn't stop a flush rise to his cheeks. Over the moon? He couldn't respond to that even if he tried. He adjusted the collar on his shirt, suddenly hot.
"Ah, well. Thank you," he said. It felt pretty lame in comparison to the sweetness of Lilly's comment. "Erm, I have a lot of other girls to meet."
Eulalia spoke, signing Lilly at the same time. "Of course."
He glanced at Lilly. She couldn't meet his eye, still blushing, but a small smile had overcome her. She signed.
"Thank you."
"It's been a pleasure."
Lilly and Eulalia stood up, curtsied, and left the room.
Roy didn't even have any words to speak. It wasn't until Rudy revealed himself from the shadow of the curtains and started to replace the tea sets, that Rudy found his voice.
"She… likes me a lot."
"I believe you will have an effect on many of these girls in the same way."
It was humbling. A deaf girl, a little enamoured by Roy. Even when his butt was plastered over the front page of the Illéan Times more than once.
Roy felt his chest inflate with pride. Yeah. He was a hottie, right? Of course he would have admirers. 2.28 million followers on Chirper attested to that, not to mention the millions more on Instagraph.
"Huh. Guess I didn't realise until now."
"Likewise," Rudy said, "there will be some that loathe you. Utterly, and completely. Think you totally incompetent, unworthy, possibly the most idiotic prince ever to set foot—"
"Thanks, Rudy," said Roy, with a laugh.
"You're very welcome," said Rudy. "Ah. Before I forget," he cleared his throat, "the Board is nearly ready. I managed to acquire string and felt as well, for all your pinning needs."
Now that he had met many of the Selected, the Board felt… wrong. Damning the innocent, suspecting the genuine. What about the girls who had admired Roy for so long, like Lilly? Was she automatically suspicious? Her sweet face pinned on the Board next to question marks and random notes of suspicious activity felt like he might as well stake her in the back. The rest of the Selected were the same.
Roy sighed. "Okay."
Rudy frowned. "I know searching for the spy takes the fun out of your Selection. But… I doubt there is another way—"
The doors cracked open. Roy, and Rudy, shot their alarmed glances at the space. Had someone been listening?
A single, slender leg stepped forwards. The highest black heel touched the ground with a tap – almost, in showlike fashion, before the rest of the leg appeared. It was bare, nearly up to the top.
Rudy stepped back. "Oh my."
A length of glittery, diaphanous fabric appeared like a royal blue waterfall, finally falling down the girl's leg. The rest of the body followed, showcasing a glittery dress with a plunging neckline.
Roy couldn't stop blushing, or staring. Plunging was an understatement.
The girl's slender hands stroked the open door, her painted nails long and luscious, and then she rounded her head. Dead straight black hair cut her elbows with lethal sharpness. He was met with eyes like a warm brown – not innocent, by any means. It was the colour of low lights during passionate nights, of melted chocolate on the finger of a lover, of bruises from nibbled skin. It was on fire with lust and desire.
He recognised her. Levinia Lefray. Of Livin' it with the Lefrays. A star by name, a star by nature.
"Prince Roy," she purred. It was like the voice of caramel, of passion and flame. It was saccharine, but wanting. Clawing, almost.
She waved her hand at Rudy, not tearing her eyes away. "You may go," she said. "I would like a moment alone with His… Royal Highness."
Rudy, somewhat disturbed, flickered his eyes to Roy, waiting for confirmation. Roy gave a weak nod, and Rudy, probably gratefully, whisked himself from the room.
Without Rudy, Roy was alone. Alone, like a mouse to prey – where oddly, the cat seemed to have a thing for the mouse. Even more oddly, Roy found himself pulling between don't want and really, really want.
What had he got himself into?
=#=#=#=#=#=#=
A/N: LOL. Writing that last part was a hoot and a half. Thanks for reading; hope you enjoyed this installment, and the introduction to the second group of Selected girls! Quite the bunch :P Please let me know how your opinion about the portrayal of your character, and again, length of encounter does not equal likeliness to go further!
So, I have a question for you! I want to make this fanfiction as interactive as possible, and I've seen some other SYOCs writers do this: would you guys like me to hold little 'contests' for you, where if you win, your character wins a date or some special interaction with Roy? Or, something where you vote on the next girl to win a date (just so the chosen field is narrowed, and everyone gets a turn. I think I'm more inclined to this option)? I'm not sure how it would work, given that I write two/ three chapters ahead of publishing them, and I know I couldn't do it with every girl at once, but... it might be fun! Let me know what you think!
I can't thank you all enough for your kindness. Seriously, I say it every time, but I want to repeat it. Thank you. I do really appreciate your excitement! It's very encouraging to me! And, of course, all of your reviews, favourites and follows are appreciated just as much. :D
~ GWA
PS. Instagraph is from thesparklingjewel, and Chirper is from ShadowDude90. :D
EDIT: Just realised I've been calling Alisa Orlov, Alisa Ortev this entire time. My apologies. It has been fixed!
