Author's Note: Hello everyone. Sorry this took forever, but I struggled a little with it. There's lots of cheesiness and sibling bonding so enjoy! The next part will probably be out Saturday/Sunday.
Oliver stared at the screen, arms crossed and expression hard. He felt a little sick to his stomach, and he was ninety percent sure it wasn't because of the ice cream that he and Xylie had eaten.
When he had found his mother after the note that Anderson delivered, she had instructed him to sit down and then turned on the television in her study. Plastered upon nearly every news station in Illéa was a video of his kiss with Margaery the previous day, recorded from the crack of the slightly ajar door to the ballroom. At the bottom of the screen was a newsflash: "Has the Prince Already Chosen the One?"
And Oliver was pissed.
Eadlyn glanced up at her son, her own expression contrite. "Your father's having a firm conversation with the media as we speak," she explained. "I don't know how this happened, but we'll be sure to have a guard accompany them while in the palace in the future. They know that they're not supposed to broadcast moments like this."
Oliver stared at himself on screen once more, Margaery pressed against him. What had once been a beautiful, intimate moment had been turned into a huge invasion of both of their privacy, one that would probably hurt the other Selected as well. It was one thing to know that Oliver was having multiple relationships. It was another to see it.
Finally, he grabbed the remote and turned it off. "What am I doing wrong?" he demanded, turning to his mother. "I was having too much fun, so we had a Selection. Now, I'm actually trying to find someone to marry, and it's still not enough."
Eadlyn looked pained. "I know," she sighed, "I'm sorry, Oliver. If I knew what to tell you to make things easier, darling…"
He leaned forward and dropped his head into his hands. "They're going to hate me," he mumbled.
"I think it's best not to address it with the girls," she advised.
"Finally, my tactic of avoiding things comes in handy," he quipped, although neither of them laughed.
"A few will likely be upset," allowed Eadlyn, "but you're right. You're going to marry one of these girls. It's important that you find the right one."
As Oliver considered his mom's words, a frown rose on his face. "Why do I feel like there's a 'but'?"
Eadlyn looked apologetic. "Maybe it is a good idea if you and Lady Margaery spend a little less time together," she sighed. She noticed the anger that sprang to his eyes, and before he could argue, she held up a hand to silence him. "Just for the time being. She's lovely, and it's obvious that you like her, but there are some girls that you haven't spoken to much. You tend to fixate, darling."
"Is that an order?" he asked, his jaw clenched.
She patted his shoulder. "Just the suggestion of a concerned mother," she countered, "Unless, of course, you have already chosen the One."
It was something that didn't even seem plausible. The girls had only been there for two weeks. "Of course I haven't," he shot back hotly. "I have a date to plan and a governmental infrastructure report to read, if that's all."
She sighed but allowed him to leave. Oliver stomped from the room with his temper still high, and he wanted to drop to the floor and just give up for the day when he heard his sister call his name. "I've been trying to find time to talk to you for days," huffed Celine as she caught up with him.
"What is it, Celine?" he asked flatly as he continued on his way to his room, not slowing his pace at all.
"I've been spying like you told me," she declared proudly, "And there's something I wanted to tell you." She glanced up and seemed to notice that he looked annoyed. "Hey," she caught his arm and stopped him, "are you okay?"
He examined his younger sister's face and sighed. There'd been many times throughout his life that he'd wished that he was fourteen and Celine or Tristan were the ones in training to be king or queen. But there were also times where he realized that Celine was always just trying to keep up with her brothers, trying to be included, and he wasn't sure if it was already because he was in an awful mood, but he suddenly felt guilty. "Sorry," he offered, "Hasn't been the best day."
Celine's face lit up, and Oliver already knew what she was thinking before she said it. "Roof?" she suggested with a sly grin.
It was their little tradition, something that they often did to cheer each other up when one of them were having a bad day. Oliver hadn't had much time to spend with Celine since he'd been abroad for most of the summer, and suddenly, he realized it was exactly what he needed. "I'll get the balloons if you get the provisions," he declared. She nodded, and they took off in their respective directions.
Twenty minutes later, they reconvened on the roof. Celine had brought a bag of potato chips and French onion chip dip, and Oliver had heaved a bucket full of water balloons onto the roof of the palace. They plopped themselves down, and Oliver picked up the first balloon. "This is for all the stupid cameras in the world," he frowned as he tossed it lightly into the air a few times. "I'm gonna hit that buttress over there."
"Do it!" urged Celine excitedly.
Oliver aimed it at the aforementioned outcropping and launched the water balloon at it. It exploded with a satisfying smack. "Anything bothering you?" he asked Celine as he grabbed a handful of chips and dunked them into the dip.
She picked up her own balloon. "For my German tutoring lessons." She made a face at the thought and sent the balloon careening into the grounds. They watched as it became a smaller red dot and then imploded on contact with the stone ground.
Oliver kept his targets closer, throwing with a little more force to work some of the anger out. More perceptive than he ever gave her credit for, Celine asked, "This is about the video with Lady Margaery, huh?"
He cringed. "You saw that?"
"Tristan and Everly turned on the news, and it was just sort of there," she explained. "Why are you mad? You like her, don't you?"
Great, relationship talk with his little sister. "Yeah," he admitted as he grabbed more chips, "but I like some of the other girls, too. I'm also just really tired of people always being in my business and being so critical."
Celine dropped another balloon over the ledge of the roof, staring as it slowly faded. They both waited for the watery splat before they spoke again. "I think it means they care about you," she declared. He thought it was kind of a naïve sentiment, but he didn't argue. They cared about what he did, that much was for sure.
"So, what has your spying uncovered, Sherlock Holmes?" he asked as he lofted another balloon towards a stone bench in the garden below them.
"For the most part, they seem nice," she responded vaguely. He had a feeling that she had something more to tell him earlier, but his dour mood must have made her reconsider. "There are a few girls that don't get along as well with the others. Cameron snaps at people sometimes, and Irina and Molly can be kind of mean."
"Molly?" he asked, a little surprised that the girl who was always making a mess could be mean.
"I think she just thinks she's better than everyone else," explained Celine. "I guess 'clueless' would be better than mean."
Oliver made a mental note to keep that in mind. "Hey, help me figure out what to do on my date with Rosalie tomorrow," he urged, "You can be an honorary member of the Selection Council."
Celine took to her new position with gusto, and as they emptied the rest of the water balloons onto the palace and grounds, they managed to form a pretty good plan, he thought. It would require making a lot of calls for the rest of the day to ensure that all of the security clearances were in order, but he figured it would be worth it. "Thanks, Cel," he said as he dropped an arm around her shoulders as they walked back through the royal family's floor. "I feel a lot better."
"I have that effect on people," she grinned. "Don't forget, you said I could come to the next Selection Council meeting. And I want a chair at the table."
He laughed. "Of course," he agreed. They did a fist bump before Celine skipped off to her room, looking excited about her new role (honorary or not).
Oliver returned to his own room as well and immediately grabbed a bottle of bourbon from his liquor cabinet before he grabbed the infrastructure report allocated to him by his mother and headed to his study to get some work done while he tried to get in contact with all the necessary people for tomorrow. He was starting to feel like an actual, responsible prince, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it.
Or he was until he got a little too tipsy off the bourbon and called Tristan in to finish the calls.
When he woke up the next morning—with a small headache as a result of the bourbon, he realized ruefully—he didn't quite feel ready to face all of the girls at breakfast. He wasn't sure if they'd seen the video, but it wasn't quite a risk that he was willing to take. So instead, he choked down some aspirin to help with the headache and headed to Rosalie's room a little earlier than planned.
She answered her door herself and looked surprised by Oliver's appearance. "We had a date today, right?" he joked with a grin. She almost completely ready, dressed in a white dress with a large floral print that brushed just below her knees. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back into a fun but sensible ponytail, and she pushed her dark framed glasses up her nose as she tried to hide the fact that she only had one of her white heeled sandals on.
Rosalie blushed deeply but chuckled. "Yes," she nodded, "I just, uh, your note said eleven thirty."
It was Oliver's turn to blush. He knew it was rude to show up early, but he had hoped that she would appreciate his spontaneity (and not realize that it was fueled by cowardice). "I know a really great coffee place that I thought we could check out," he explained, "Sorry, I meant to send you a note last night, but I…" Got drunk, "Forgot."
She relaxed a little, a smile dancing across her lips. "That's fine," she assured him, "You can come in. I just need to find my other shoe." She hobbled back from the doorway, and Oliver stepped in.
"Where are your maids?" he asked as he glanced around at the empty room. Each girl had three, and they were supposed to help them with basic things, such as finding shoes.
She blushed a little. "They're really sweet," she admitted, "But they're a little more fashion forward than I am." She gestured to a pair of pink shoes with a high, thin heel that matched one of the shades of flower on her dress. "The odds of injury are a little too high for me." He didn't blame her. The white shoes she was wearing looked infinitely more manageable.
A few minutes later, she returned with the missing shoe and a pair of sparkly blue earrings that brought out the color of her eyes. "Ready?" he asked. She nodded in confirmation, and the two started for the palace doors.
As they sat in the back of the black car and drove through Angeles, he texted Tristan and Elijah and asked for breakfast suggestions. Elijah had reminded him of their favorite diner that served perfectly greasy potatoes and omelets that they swore were magical hangover cures, but he figured that Tristan's suggestion of a bed and breakfast that their Aunt Camille adored would be more Rosalie's speed.
When Oliver suggested the bed and breakfast, Jonathan shot him an annoyed look since they hadn't been able to prepare the proper security measures the day before, but Oliver simply shrugged. Anything would have been safer than breakfast with the Selected at the moment. They had to sit in the car while his security team scouted the place, which Rosalie looked a little amused by.
"Is this what a typical outing entails?" she asked as she watched the security team scour the bed and breakfast like it was a minefield.
"Yeah," he admitted. "Usually they do all of this stuff the day before, but this was kind of a last minute decision." He watched Rosalie's expression for a moment. One of his biggest fears was that the girls would see how difficult it was for the royal family to do regular things and decide they didn't want to live the rest of their lives that way. But she simply gave a nod and turned her eager gaze back to the scene outside her window.
When they were finally ushered into the restaurant, the owner met them at their table and excitedly greeted them, numerous bows directed both at Oliver and Rosalie. She did seem a little overwhelmed by this treatment, but Oliver, used to such responses, simply waited with an amused smile until the small older man's speech about how it would be his pleasure to get them anything they desired was over.
"This is my Aunt Camille's favorite place to visit when she's in Angeles," he noted as they looked over the menu.
"It's beautiful," Rosalie agreed as her eyes swept over the décor. The restaurant portion of the bed and breakfast was located in the large manor's sun room, and the expansive windows gave a pleasant view of a well cultivated garden. It had an elegant country cottage feel, even down to the mismatched China place settings.
After they'd placed their orders, Oliver turned his attention to Rosalie. "So, tell me something about yourself," he urged. The threat of a headache still loomed, and he was hoping that breakfast would give him time to return to full strength.
She looked nervous. "Anything in particular you were wondering?" she asked.
He supposed it was a vague question, and he added, "What's your family like?"
"It's just me and my dad," she explained, "But he's great. We're really close."
He hadn't really noticed it at first, but it seemed like many of the Selected were missing some member of their family, and it made Oliver a little more thankful for his. Even on days when he felt a ton of pressure from his mom or wanted to ban Tristan to New Asia, he knew they would all be there for him no matter what. "What's your father do?" he continued.
"He's a painter," Rosalie explained with a smile.
"Oh, cool," Oliver grinned. "Did you get any of his talent? You seemed to enjoy the paint and sip."
"It was fun," she replied, "but I'm nowhere near as good as him. Theater has always been more of my area."
Oliver grinned as he thought about how well tailored their date was for her. He almost told her about it, but he stopped himself. Surprises were one of his favorite things. "What do you like the most about theater?"
She shrugged her small shoulders. He'd noticed that she was quite curvy, but she seemed to try to play it down, so he worked to keep his eyes away from her ample chest and focused on her face. "I'm not really outgoing normally," she admitted, "but I'm not as nervous on stage."
He was excited to see that side of her. "Have you made any friends in the Selection so far?" Their food arrived, and he cut into his omelet with gusto, a little disappointed that it lacked the same amount of grease as the place that Elijah had suggested.
She nodded. "Presley and Kaitlyn are really nice. Kaitlyn's got the room next to mine, so we hang out a lot," she explained, "And mostly everyone likes Isolde." How shocking, Oliver thought sarcastically. He was glad to hear it though. If nothing else, maybe Isolde's friendships with the other girls would deter her from exercising the option to leave that Oliver had given her.
Their conversation over breakfast was easy. Although Rosalie was a little shyer, it didn't make her bad at conversation, and he liked that she asked him questions too. He suspected it was to give herself a break from being the center of attention, but it made conversations seem less like work.
Once they'd left the bed and breakfast and set out for their ultimate destination, Oliver began to give her a little more context on the day. "So, there's this summer program for children that I usually work with every summer," he began. "It focuses on the arts, and the children are generally from poorer areas of Angeles. I missed most of it this summer while I was in Europe though."
"That sounds amazing," Rosalie noted. "My dad came from a family of Eights, so he's always made giving back a priority for us."
He was surprised by her revelation about her father and would have asked about it had the car not slowed in front of the old theater where the program always took place a moment later. Oliver added, "The kids will actually come to the palace and perform the show for the royal family and their guests—which includes the Selected this year—on Saturday, but today's their dress rehearsal, so I thought we'd stop by and help out."
The program administrator was an older woman named Natalie who had directed larger stage productions in her prime. She met Oliver and Rosalie at the door of the theater, her face as eager as always. "So glad you could join us today, Your Highness," she told Oliver. "And this must be Lady Rosalie."
"Yep," Oliver confirmed, "Rosalie's actually an actress herself so I thought that she'd like to check it out." Rosalie smiled shyly at his side.
Natalie shared a little more background on the program while she led them backstage. Oliver was a little embarrassed when she explained that he had inaugurated it after he had seen the Royal Theater troupe perform A Christmas Carol, but Rosalie turned an approving gaze on him that made it bother him less. She told Rosalie about the acting exercises that they did over the summer, how the kids ranged from eight to fourteen, and about their rigorous rehearsal schedule.
"It sounds incredible," Rosalie declared wistfully, "If only there were something like this in every province for kids."
Natalie nodded her agreement. "I'd love to be able to expand one day."
"Oliver!"
The trio turned to see a small body dart out from one of the nearby dressing rooms and barrel towards Oliver, who dropped to a knee and opened his arms wide to receive the proffered embrace. He noticed Rosalie's eyes were intent on him as he hugged the young girl, and he stood to introduce her. "Lady Rosalie, if I may introduce our star," he grinned, gesturing to the girl who was standing beside him, "Miss Thalia Beaufort."
Thalia curtsied, and Rosalie smiled as she returned the gesture. "What a pleasure to meet you," Rosalie replied.
Oliver mused Thalia's hair earning a glare. "Thalia's been with us since the program's inception four years ago," he explained, "She was only eight then. This will be her last summer with us, though, right?" Oliver grinned down at the young girl, who blushed.
Rosalie's brow furrowed. "Why won't you be staying until you're fourteen?" she asked. Oliver was glad to see she'd been paying attention when Natalie had explained the program.
"Go on, tell them," Oliver urged with an excited grin.
Thalia looked nervous, although she raised her chin to steel herself. "Oliver helped me get an audition," she explained, "with the Royal Theater troupe."
Rosalie raised her eyebrows, obviously aware of what an honor it was. Natalie gazed proudly at the young girl. "Thalia is certainly one of our most talented," she confirmed.
The door of the dressing room that Thalia had emerged from opened once more, and a blonde head appeared. "Thalia, where are you—" The girl stopped. "Prince Oliver is here!" And soon, kids were pouring into the backstage area, all clamoring to hail their royal patron. Oliver took it in stride, responding to hugs, high fives, and excited greetings. "What's the play this year?" Oliver asked.
"Beauty and the Beast," Thalia pronounced. A sly smirk lit up her face and she added, "Kind of reminds me of you and the Selected now that I think of it."
Oliver rolled his eyes and placed his hands on her shoulders to turn her back towards her dressing room. "That's enough from you," he decided, "Go finish getting ready, Lady Rosalie expects to see a play."
Natalie nodded in agreement. "Everyone back to your stations," she ordered, "We've got a dress rehearsal to run and some important guests to impress." The children's excited buzz didn't die down, but the group surrounding them dispersed as they rushed away to their positions.
Oliver took Rosalie's hand. "Come on," he instructed, "I've got the best seats in the house."
Instead of leading her to one of the wizened boxes at the edges of the theater, they climbed a flight of stairs directly to the top of the theater. Oliver stopped in front of an old door that featured a sign proclaiming "staff only" and unlocked it.
Inside were numerous switches and controls. "Lights and sound," Oliver explained, "This is usually my area of expertise. I'm terrible with the acting or singing." He took a seat in the center chair, and Rosalie settled in the seat beside him.
She was silent for a minute as she watched Oliver start to rest lights and the speakers. After a moment, he noticed the way she was watching him and glanced over. "What?" he asked, a little amused by her attention.
"This is incredible," she answered. "What you do for these kids…" She gave a small shake of her head, as though still in disbelief. "It's obvious they adore you."
He was a little embarrassed by the praise but he shrugged. "Most of them don't have the best home lives," he explained, "I like to think that this impacts their lives in some way."
"Like Thalia?" she asked.
Oliver nodded. "Her dad was arrested a few years before she joined the group, and her mom's been an alcoholic for most of her life," he explained, "We keep in touch year round, and when I heard troupe was holding auditions, I knew she had to apply. It could change her life." He paused, his eyes focused on the stage as he fired up the spotlight. "She's young, but wait till you see her. She's incredible."
Rosalie turned an excited gaze to the stage. "I can't wait."
"How'd you get into acting?" Oliver asked as he leaned back in his seat and turned his attention fully to Rosalie.
She took a moment to think about it before she responded. "I don't really have a lot of friends back home," she explained, "Acting has always been a way to escape that. I can be anyone, and some days…" She gave a shrug of her small shoulders. "Some days that seems better than being Rosalie."
It made him strangely sad to hear her say that she used it as an escape. He hadn't known Rosalie for very long, but she seemed incredibly sweet, and he couldn't imagine why on earth people would dislike her. He reached out and took her hand. "I can't think of anyone I would want to be here with me more than Rosalie," he declared in an attempt to strengthen her confidence.
Although she blushed, she seemed a little emboldened by his reassurance. "I'm really glad I'm here," she explained in a soft voice. "I sort of did this to push myself out of my comfort zone, but you're a lot… more than I ever imagined."
And suddenly, Oliver didn't know who was helping who. To hear someone like Rosalie, someone so obviously good, speak so approvingly of him momentarily caused him to forget about the stress that he'd been under since the video of Margaery had come to light.
The music cued the start of the play, and Oliver turned the lights up. Although they both focused on the play, neither made a move to loosen the grip that their hands on each other throughout the duration of the show. He glanced at Rosalie several times throughout the play and saw that she looked awed and enthusiastic, exactly as he had hoped she would. After the final curtain calls, she practically dragged him down to the stage to congratulate the young cast.
Finally, when the theater was empty and quiet, Oliver released her and took a step away. "Will you show me something?" he asked, nodding at the stage.
It only took her a moment of consideration before she began to climb the stairs to the stage. He'd had a feeling that she had been a little wistful throughout the play and missed performing herself. "I can sing something," she offered, "My go-to is usually 'On My Own' from Les Misérables."
"Wow me," Oliver instructed as he settled into a seat directly in front of her.
And she did. Oliver was completely unable to take his eyes off of her a little surprised by how confident and sure of herself she seemed. There was no sign of shyness or doubt, and she was captivating. Her song was heartbreaking, and she was so convincing that Oliver felt the precursory sting of tears in his nose.
"You're incredible," Oliver told her as she took a seat at the edge of the stage, her legs dangling over the edge.
She smiled as Oliver stepped closer. "Thank you," she beamed, "For everything. This day… honestly, it's the most comfortable I've felt since this whole process started."
"I'm glad," Oliver responded. "Unfortunately, we sort of have to get back to the palace and reality." Rosalie made a face, but she let Oliver help her jump down from the stage, and she smiled a little wider when Oliver draped an arm around her shoulders on their way back to the car.
When they returned to the palace, Oliver was glad to find that they'd missed dinner, which meant he would be able to avoid the girls a little longer. He offered to have something sent up for Rosalie and headed down to the kitchen in order to grab something himself. Once a tray was being prepared for Rosalie, Oliver grabbed some leftover steak salad and headed to the living room where he and Isolde had watched Finding Neverland. He figured a comedy might take his mind off the lingering fear that the girls probably hated him.
He was surprised to find the room already occupied and briefly considered slinking away since he hadn't been spotted until he realized who it was. Mae was sitting on the couch with her legs collected under her, dressed in a casual black dress and a gray cardigan. Her hair was collected in a messy bun on top of her head, and she looked far more relaxed than Oliver had seen her yet.
"Lady Mae."
She jumped at the sound of his voice, having been thoroughly engrossed in her movie. A light blush tinged her cheeks as she turned to face him. "Your Majesty," she replied with a small smile. "I'm sorry, if I'm not supposed to be here, I can—"
He shrugged off the apology and joined her on the couch, most of his attention focused on his salad. "What are you watching?" he asked.
The color in her cheeks deepened. "Dirty Dancing," she admitted.
Oliver snorted as he glanced up at the screen. "How intellectually stimulating."
"Hey," countered Mae, her eyes still glued to the television, "it's a good movie."
"I've never watched it," Oliver admitted, "My mom's a fan, though." It seemed like the movie was beginning to culminate in its climax as the two main characters said goodbye in the rain with a sad ballad playing in the background. "Why, I have no clue." Mae shushed him.
Oliver tried to keep his critiques to himself as he ate his salad. They'd almost made it to the end without incident when he had to laugh at the final dance. Mae looked scandalized. "What's so funny?" she demanded.
"This whole thing," he snickered, "The music, their outfits, the dance. God, this is horrible."
"People love this movie," Mae retorted defensively, "It's a classic."
He held his hands up defensively. "I just don't see the big deal," he admitted, "It's not even like it's a hard dance."
It was her turn to smirk at him. "That's rich," she noted, "considering how much you hate dancing."
"Hey," Oliver countered. He rolled his eyes as he watched the male lead jump off the stage. "Just because I hate it doesn't mean that I don't have basic rhythm." He could tell that she wasn't quite listening to him and turned his attention back to the screen. The girl on screen ran at her partner, and he lifted her into the air to a chorus of cheers from the audience. "Oh, come on, really?" Oliver laughed.
"It's sweet," Mae insisted.
"It's a basic show trick," Oliver argued with a roll of his eyes. "We could do that right now." Mae laughed dismissively, which caused Oliver to frown. He was obviously in much better shape than the actor. "Come on," he urged her as he set his salad aside despite his hunger.
It was the first time she hadn't seemed overly confident and collected around him. "No," she laughed disbelievingly, "That's crazy. You'll drop me."
He grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet. "So let's try it outside by the pool," he offered, "Don't they start in a lake in the movie?"
"I thought you'd said you'd never seen it?" grinned Mae as she allowed him to drag her towards the gardens.
"I may have caught bits and pieces," Oliver shrugged.
The sky was already dark, but luckily, the strings of fairy lights by the pool were turned on, and the lights beneath the pool were on. "This is crazy," Mae informed him once again as he took a step close enough to the edge of the pool that they would just fall into the deep end if he mismanaged the lift.
"I thought it was sweet," he teased.
She rolled her eyes and pulled at the bun on the top of her head to make sure it was secure. For all of her difficulty, Oliver could tell that she was a little excited to try it out. "Ready?" he asked.
Mae shook her head. "Give me your cell phone," she ordered as she stuck her hand out.
Oliver frowned as he pulled the phone from his pocket and handed it to her. He wasn't used to anyone telling him what to do in any way, but he strangely liked Mae's assertiveness. Her fingers danced over the phone screen for a few minutes before the same cheesy song as in the movie started playing. He started to tease her about it, but she gave a happy smile and shrugged. "Might as well fully commit, right?"
As they stared at each other, it seemed like they were both aware of how ridiculous they were being but neither minded very much. Oliver planted his feet firmly and took a deep breath. "Ready?"
Mae's eyes locked on his. "Ready." And then, she raced towards him. His hands grabbed her waist, and with little effort—she really wasn't that heavy—he lifted her high into the air. Her arms extended to steady herself, and when she glanced down at him, she looked more genuinely happy than he had seen her yet, and it only made her that much more beautiful.
And then neither of them seemed very concerned with the silliness of the situation anymore, and as Oliver returned her to the ground, neither made a move to put any space between them. Mae was staring at him like it was the first time that she had ever seen Oliver, and he kept his arms wrapped around her, a million thoughts swirling around in his head.
But despite everything that he was thinking, all Oliver said was, "Told you I could do it."
It seemed to pull her out of her reverie, and he wanted to kick himself when she stepped away. She wandered over to the chair that she had dropped his cell phone on and picked it up to turn the music off. "We should get back," she admitted as she nodded at the castle.
He nodded and followed her lead. "Can I ask you something?" he began somewhat nervously as the palace grew closer.
"You just did," she winked. But she was silent, which he took as his cue.
"Have you seen the video?"
He didn't have to clarify, as they both knew that he was talking about his kiss with Margaery. Despite everything that had happened that day, Oliver was still concerned about the impact it would have on his other relationships, and it was the sole reason he hadn't kissed Mae after the ridiculous lift.
"Of course," Mae confirmed, and Oliver's stomach sank. "We all have. Some of the girls are not being very kind to her, though I suspect it has more to do with the gift that you gave her rather than the kiss, strangely enough."
"Some?" Oliver asked, obviously wondering whether Mae was part of that group.
"I know what it's like to be judged because of your relationships," Mae explained carefully. "I wouldn't do that to another girl. I've been spending time with her since it came out."
It was strange for Oliver to imagine two girls that he liked being friends, but he figured if there was anyone for Margaery to have in her corner, Mae was certainly a good pick. "So, you're not jealous?" he continued.
She laughed lightly. "If you're trying to determine whether I want to kiss you, Your Majesty," she smirked as she turned around to face him, "Of course I do."
Although they were more exposed than he had been when he'd kissed Margaery, Oliver didn't worry about it. Nor did he allow his anxiety about who might see hold him back in any way. One arm snaked around her waist to pull her firmly to him—she giggled a little, which he didn't expect but thought was cute—and pushed some straggling pieces of hair away from her face with the other before he tilted her jaw up to meet his.
And then—fireworks.
All of the nervousness that he felt around Mae suddenly made sense. From the moment that their lips touched, he had a feeling that he was going to be in trouble. He wasn't sure how it was possible since he'd only met her two weeks ago, but he liked Mae. She made him feel like a kid with his first crush again.
He almost objected when she pulled back, but in an attempt to retain some kind of dignity, he repressed it and instead settled with keeping his arms wrapped tightly around her. He was glad that she didn't have any clever witticism to impart either, and the pair stood still with their foreheads resting together.
"We should get back," Mae whispered softly after a few minutes.
Oliver was prepared to declare that he didn't want to, but in an effort to not sound like a child, he simply nodded his agreement and offered his arm to her. She took it, staying close to him, and they walked in silence, like each of them was working to absorb and sort out their feelings. Oliver left her at the door to her room and returned to his own quarters with his head spinning, his abandoned steak salad completely forgotten.
Despite the amazing day that he'd had with Rosalie and Mae, Oliver wasn't sure that he had ever dreaded a Friday so much. There was no way that his mother was going to allow him to miss breakfast two days in a row, so he made sure to be up early enough to catch Everly, Elijah, and Tristan before they went to the dining hall. It was a good decision, as every eye in the room fell on him as soon as the doors opened.
"Wow, never felt so popular," smirked Elijah. Oliver tried to laugh, but the sound didn't quite make it out.
"Good morning," he offered, trying to lace his voice with confidence. It worked slightly better than the laugh, and a few girls mumbled replies. Despite his mother's suggestion, he locked eyes with Margaery and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He was still bothered by what Mae had told him last night about the treatment that Margaery had received after the video.
His parents were surprisingly helpful throughout breakfast, and they kept the conversation moving. The engaged with the girls and managed to keep the topic clear of the video while ensuring that Oliver didn't have to add much. It allowed him to relax somewhat and gave him a chance to gather himself.
There would be another elimination before The Report that evening. He'd been thinking of girls that he'd struggled to have conversation with during the larger group events and didn't seem to think of whenever they were out of sight. But as he scanned the table, there were a few girls that looked a little more hostile towards him since the video's exposure, and he figured it might be a good idea to have a brief discussion with some of them.
As soon as he finished eating, he stood. "I'm going to be in the library in the wing where The Report is filmed for the next hour," he declared, "If anyone wishes to speak with me about their involvement in the Selection as a result of anything that has happened this week, please come do so. After that, we will all move forward."
They'd looked surprised by his announcement, as it was against the rules to seek the prince out, but Oliver preferred discussion to passive aggression (that was more Tristan's speed). He grabbed a random book off a nearby shelf—To Kill a Mockingbird—and dropped into one of the plush armchairs of the library to wait out the hour.
He wasn't surprised when Melody walked into the library. "Lady Melody," he frowned as he set his book aside.
She took a seat in the armchair beside him. Her face looked conflicted. "I think I want to go home," she admitted as she stared at the ground.
Although he and Melody weren't extremely close, it wasn't something that he wanted to hear from any of the Selected. "Because of the thing with Margaery?" he asked.
Melody glanced up at him. "Sort of," she nodded, "It's more just…. Well, you in general."
Instantly, his face darkened as insult washed over him. "Me in general?" he repeated.
Although she could tell that his disposition had changed, she didn't back down from her previous statement. "You're good-looking and charismatic and it seems like you're used to attention from girls, but the thing is I've seen what men like you can do," she explained, "They destroyed my mother. And even though I'd hoped that you were different than the magazines made you seem…"
"I'm not," Oliver concluded. She gave a small shake of her head but was thankfully silent.
"Why did you enter in the first place?" Oliver asked, "It seems like you hate the Selection based on principle."
"I do," she admitted, "If I would have become queen, I would have done away with it for good." An interesting assertion, Oliver thought, since she wouldn't have had the power to do so unless he as king would have acquiesced. "But, uh, it was sort of the money," she continued, "It could really help my family. My mom's a single mother, and we get by, but it's not easy."
He stood, despite the fact that he had offered to be in the library for an hour. "I appreciate your honesty," he replied robotically. It was one of the things that his mother had always told him was an appropriate response to something that he didn't want to hear. "If you'll see Tristan before you leave, I'll send instruction that you're to be given two more weeks' compensation."
Melody looked surprised. "You don't have to—"
"I know," Oliver curtailed her. He turned to leave but hesitated. "Look," he began as he turned back towards Melody, "I care about all of the Selected. I've never had relationships like this, and I'm learning. You can think all that you want about me as a person or a ruler, but don't doubt that I'm taking this process seriously and I care about you girls."
And then he left, his anger boiling just beneath the surface of his calm demeanor. He headed to Tristan's room, and his brother looked surprised when he threw open the doors. "You know," Tristan chirped, "We've had a discussion about this knocking thing. It's really simple enough even for a Neanderthal like you to do, Ol."
When Oliver didn't respond, Tristan added, "Aren't you supposed to be in the library?"
"Melody's leaving," Oliver answered, "I need you to write her two additional weeks of pay."
Tristan's brow furrowed. "But the rules—"
"Fuck the rules," Oliver glared, "I'm the future king, aren't I?"
Tristan fell silent but dutifully wrote out a note about Oliver's instruction. "Any of the other girls stop by?" he asked.
Oliver shook his head. "I figured it would be Melody, Gabrielle, and Irina, since they looked the most bothered. I don't really know if it would be a bad idea if Irina decided to leave too, but I'm going to beg Gabi to stay if I have to."
"Any thoughts about your elimination?" Tristan added.
Oliver nodded this time. "Melody, Molly, Calla, Maisie, and Eden," he explained. "Takes it down to twenty-five." He sighed. "I should probably go deal with all of that."
Tristan stared at his brother for a minute. "Don't be too upset about Melody," he instructed, "She's only sixteen and young, and she had a sort of jaded view of men from her mother anyway. You would have had to be an actual prince charming to get rid of those preconceived notions about love."
"Well, I'm not," Oliver frowned. "I can barely be myself and a prince let alone the embodiment of a fairytale."
"We all know you're trying, Oliver," Tristan offered generously, "That's enough for now."
Oliver really hoped his brother was right.