Author's Note: This is so overdue, so my apologies. I'm moving in the next two weeks, so updates might be a little slower, but they're coming! Thank you again for all of your support, I love you all. :D ALSO! I made a poll about the Elite. Check it out.
Flash.
Oliver froze, startled by the sudden explosion of light. When he finally managed to blink the splotches of color out of his eyes, his face eased into a smile when he saw Patricia standing before him gripping the camera that he'd had delivered to her. "Aren't there better things around this place to take pictures of?" he asked.
Patricia grinned and gave a small shrug of her shoulders. "You're such a rarity anymore that I saw my chance and decided I had to take it," she declared.
Oliver grimaced. "Yeah, my mom's kept me pretty busy this last week."
It was true. While Oliver had intended to spend the week repairing any of the relationships with the Selected that he had damaged during his night out with Elijah, Eadlyn had obviously had other ideas. Right after The Report on Friday, she'd had a stack of files delivered to his room detailing the palace's financial expenses for the last year and an instruction to determine how to reasonably cut their spending. Before he even had time to procrastinate on that project, another folder—this time focusing on war strategizing—had been delivered, and the work hadn't stopped. It seemed like Eadlyn was determined to keep him out of trouble by keeping him so busy that he barely had time to sleep.
Which was effective, he would admit, but it didn't make it any easier for him to focus on the fact that he was supposed to be finding a wife as well. He realized that Irina had been right: there was no way he would be able to walk away from the Selection single, even if he wasn't madly in love at the end. If his mother somehow gave her approval, there would still be the issue of the country's opinion, and he had a feeling that they would feel duped, like the entire process had been for show.
Between the work and the stress of all of the things that he didn't have time to focus on, Oliver was exhausted. He'd even gotten bags under his eyes the last week and realized that he hadn't known true embarrassment until he had been forced to send Anderson to collect an eye treatment from one of his mother's maids.
"Earth to Oliver."
His eyes snapped back to Patricia, and he sighed as he dragged a hand through his messy hair. "I'm sorry," he offered, "I feel like I've barely had time to think lately."
Patricia looked sympathetic, and after a moment of thought, her face brightened. "Are you doing anything right now?" she asked.
"This minute?" Oliver asked. Patricia nodded, and he considered it. "Now that you mention it, I do seem to have a rare moment of freedom," he admitted, "I'm supposed to meet with one of my mother's generals tonight about this strategic…" He trailed off as he noticed a playful smile on Patricia's face.
"Let's go somewhere," Patricia suggested. "Do something fun."
"Got any suggestions?" Oliver asked. With all of the work that he'd put into just existing recently, thinking of dates wasn't exactly at the top of the list of things that he'd been doing well lately. He'd tried to have a relaxing lunch with Gabi the other day, and it had turned into an hour of him mouthing apologies during conference calls.
And that was how he ended up in the hay loft atop the stables. "How did you even find your way up here?" Oliver laughed as he picked a piece of hay out of Patricia's hair.
She shrugged. "I was looking for somewhere quiet," she explained.
"You don't mind the horse smell?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Sometimes the palace can smell… overly clean."
It was funny but also true. "I know what you mean."
Patricia's eyes scanned the barn aisle below them and suddenly lit up. "Plus, watch this." She stuck her hand behind a barrel of hay and produced a fishing rod. It was a strange thing to find hidden in a hay loft, but Oliver wasn't surprised as he was the one who had stashed it there years ago. She leaned over the edge of the loft and seemed to be focused on something below.
After a moment of intense concentration, she snagged a clipboard that had been laying on a bench and managed to pull it up into the loft. She seemed pleased as she grabbed it off the fishing pole and read it over. "Training schedule," she declared.
Oliver laughed. "Have you been tormenting the barn manager, Phillip?"
"Not tormenting, per se," countered Patricia with a playful grin.
"I used to do the same thing when I was a kid," Oliver admitted, "Mostly when I was in trouble, which was fairly often. I would come up here and wreak havoc with that fishing pole. I think Phillip thought the stables were haunted for a while."
Patricia snorted. "I can only imagine what a menace you were," she teased, "Your father's been telling me all sorts of stories during our chess games."
Oliver groaned and fell back against a bale of hay. "Oh no," he sighed, "Now I'll have to eliminate you so you can't tell anyone what a big dweeb I actually am."
She rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, everyone already knows."
He stuck his tongue out at her and picked up the camera that she had discarded. "Got anything good?" he asked.
Patricia nodded and scooted over beside him. She started to click through the pictures and paused to show him a few: Kaitlyn with Pawnds draped over her head so that only her mouth was visible beneath his cat face, Isolde giving Mae a piggyback ride down the hallway as they both laughed, a few of the girls struggling to concoct a pyramid in the Women's Room, Celine taming Presley's curly hair into a braid. There were different girls, different events, but all of the pictures showed radiant smiles.
It made Oliver sad, but he noticed that he wasn't featured in many of the pictures. "I haven't been able to catch you looking happy too much recently," Patricia offered.
He sighed. "It hasn't exactly been my forte lately."
There was a moment of silence before Patricia added, "You know, I met Marid Illéa once."
Oliver snorted. "Oh yeah?"
Patricia nodded. "They usually get famous people or public figures to hand out the trophies at chess matches," she explained, "So when he gets to me, Marid goes, "A girl! How remarkable." And then I had to smile and shake his hand. It was awful."
Oliver grimaced sympathetically. "That's Marid for you," he frowned, "He's always been a thorn in my mom's side, and now I have to deal with him too."
"It looks like you and the Illéas are friends from the average person's point of view," she explained, "I'd imagine that people are pretty confused if Marid's supporting Tristan now."
"Yeah," sighed Oliver, "We keep him around mostly because we have to. I like Alaric and Regan, but Marid is a nuisance."
"I'm sorry," Patricia offered. "My dad's a chemist, and he's got a rival that's always trying to undermine any of his studies or research projects. He jokes that the other chemist is his 'nemesis.'" Oliver chuckled. He could relate to that.
"Maybe that's how I'll have Marid introduced the next time he's here," he mused, "My mortal enemy." Patricia laughed her agreement, but before she could respond, Oliver's phone dinged. He sighed and pulled it from his pocket.
Where are you? Mom's been looking for you.
He sighed and typed a quick reply to Tristan before he looked back up at Patricia. "Time to get back to real life?" she guessed.
"Unfortunately," admitted Oliver. "Thanks for the short escape though."
"Thank you," Patricia smiled, "I've kind of missed seeing you around."
And Oliver realized that he'd missed spending time with Patricia as well. She was one of the girls that he felt most comfortable around, and she had an unfailing ability to make him smile.
Despite Tristan's beckon, Oliver paused for a moment and studied Patricia's tan face with its freckles and bright green eyes. Her wavy black hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she had another piece of hay stuck in it. When she noticed that he wasn't moving, she glanced nervously at him. "What?" she asked. "Is there a bug on me?"
The dusty hay loft had never seemed more perfect, so Oliver did the only logical thing and shifted to close the space between them. He inched forward, ever slowly until—
"Ouch!"
They both pulled back, each rubbing their foreheads. "I thought you were going to the left," Patricia complained.
"Why'd you shoot forward like a freaking rocket?" Oliver demanded with a laugh.
She huffed. "A rocket? Our almost first kiss, and you compare me to a rocket—"
This time, he pulled her to him and quickly pressed his mouth to hers before she could injure him once more. Her complaint about the rocket comment seemed forgotten when they parted. "Well," she quipped. "Not bad."
He laughed. "Alright, let's get out of this hay loft before my mom sends the guards to drag me back to the castle."
"What an amusing photo that'd make though."
When he did finally find his mom, he was a little embarrassed to see that two of the highest ranking generals of the Illéan armed forces flanked her. "We were just looking for you," Eadlyn explained, sounding less annoyed than Oliver expected.
"Sorry," he mumbled, but Eadlyn brushed the reply off as she led the trio to her usual meeting room.
"Oliver, you know General Gauge, who took over after General Ledger's retirement," she reminded him as she pointed to the man to her right. Oliver shook his hand. General Gauge was a few years younger than his mother, if Oliver recalled, but General Ledger had personally recommended him, as he'd been impressed by the young man. "And this is General Carin, who handles most of the forces on the eastern side of the country." This man was older than his mother, and his handshake was firm, which Oliver expected from such a stoic, serious looking man.
"Your mother brought us here to discuss a recent military mobilization drill that you completed," General Gauge explained as they all took their seats.
Oliver shifted uncomfortably. Usually when his mother pulled him in to discuss the work she'd given him it wasn't a good thing. She'd usually pass along a note of encouragement when he excelled, but discussions were usually reserved for areas that needed improvement.
"Neither my father or myself have ever been very good at military dealings," Eadlyn admitted. "It's lucky for us both that we've been fortunate enough to rule in relatively peaceful times and have been able to surround ourselves with those who have much more intelligence in the field."
He knew that. His grandfather often joked that he was useless on a battlefield. "Well, I'm glad that my mother's brought you gentlemen on board then," Oliver smiled weakly at the generals.
Eadlyn leaned forward. "Oliver, your proposal was…" He braced himself, trying to guess which description she'd use. Horrific? Lacking inspiration? Completely unreasonable? "Remarkable."
His eyebrows knit together. "What?"
Both of the generals faces relaxed into smiles, and he momentarily wondered if his mom had told them to purposely not let on that the meeting was a pleasant one. General Gauge nodded particularly enthusiastically, as if the prospect of working alongside a monarch with a head for military endeavors was all he'd ever wanted. "We're thinking of incorporating it into a drill early next spring to see how quickly we would be able to mobilize forces in the event of an attack," he explained.
"I was admittedly confused by it," Eadlyn confessed, "so I faxed it to General Ledger who said that it was…" She pursed her lips, and Oliver thought he saw General Carin repress a smile. "I believe the phrasing he used was 'the most sensible military document that's ever come from a Schreave.'"
"Must be the Woodwork genes," General Carin beamed. "I worked alongside your grandfather, Carter. Great man."
Oliver was silent for a moment as he let the news set in. There were few areas that were of importance to a ruler that he truly excelled in. He understood economics, he was okay with legislature, and he needed heavy improvement in his representation of himself. But this was an important area that he'd been more than competent in, and he was let himself enjoy the praise for a moment.
"So, what do you think?" Eadlyn asked, snapping him out of his reverie.
"Uh, sorry?" Oliver frowned, "What was the question?"
"Would you like to join us in the spring when we attempt the mobilization procedure for the first time?" General Gauge asked. "See your work in action?"
Oliver nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah," he agreed, "That'd be awesome. If this is something that I'm actually good at, I'd love to be as involved as possible."
"Maybe with your interest and skill we'll be able to finally get that navy that we've been talking about up and running," General Carin mused as he and Gauge stood. They both bowed shortly to the queen and prince before they left Oliver and Eadlyn alone.
Eadlyn collected her things as Oliver took a moment to revel in the knowledge that he actually possessed some skills that would make him a good ruler. It was a novel idea, really. Before she left, Eadlyn paused and put a hand on his shoulder. "Good job," was all she offered before she left.
He knew that she was still upset with him for all of the trouble at Opium, but he was glad to see that the icy treatment that she'd been giving him (and hopefully the mountains of work) was beginning to recede. He left the conference room invigorated until he remembered the meeting that he'd had planned for that night. He glanced at his watch and cringed. It was nearly time.
When Mae had told him that Isolde, Kaitlyn, Presley, and Margaery, in addition to herself, didn't buy the story that he and Irina had made up, Oliver had realized that he was really going to have to work for their forgiveness. He'd tried first with petty, materialistic things. He'd sent Kaitlyn new toys for Pawnds, gifted Presley an expensive anthology on psychology, offered Isolde her own horse at the stables, provided Margaery with a snow leopard stuffed animal, and had a pair of new running shoes delivered to Mae.
He was pretty sure the girls had banded together in solidarity, because all of the gifts had been returned.
So he'd tried harder. He met Mae outside her room every morning for their runs. He personally cleaned out one of the smaller libraries and offered it to Presley for her studying, as long as he was allowed to join her. He convinced his mom to let Isolde sit in on a council meeting. He spent a few hours volunteering with Margaery at an orphanage on Sunday, which was usually his day off. And he'd set up a video chat for Kaitlyn and her family, nervously hiding in the corner until she'd beckoned him forward to introduce him to her siblings.
The more personal efforts had seemed to have a better impact, and he had a feeling that none of the girls were prepared to pack up and leave anymore. Just to officially clear the air and move past his mistake, he'd set up a dinner cruise from harbor closest to the palace and invited all five girls along. So while he was pretty sure they didn't hate him anymore, he did still feel a little like he was walking into the lion's den.
When he met them on the yacht, he was glad that he'd worn a three-piece suit, because anything else and he'd have been under dressed. He was amused to see that they'd coordinated, all clad in some shade of silver. They all looked beautiful, dressed in gowns that made them look regal and frankly, a little intimidating. He'd forced himself to attend without Elijah or Tristan, although the latter had offered to come several times. He needed to make things right on his own.
Prior to his arrival, they were milling about snacking on appetizers and drinks and laughing with each other. However, as soon as he stepped onto the mahogany deck, a silence fell over the five.
"Thanks for coming," he greeted them as one of the waiters passed out glasses of champagne. He was tempted to take a sip from his to calm his nerves, but in a show of good will, he set it down. He saw Mae smirk in amusement and tried not to stick his tongue out at her.
He cleared his throat and pressed forward. "I know that I hurt you guys last week, and I'm really trying to make it up to all of you," he explained, "I fucked up big time. I know that. But I need you all to know how sorry I am and that if you continue on in the Selection with me—and I really hope you choose to, because all of you are really special to me—I want you to know that I really am committed to this process."
He wasn't sure if he expected them to start yelling, but it instead began with a laugh. "Committed," Isolde remarked before she took a big sip of her champagne. He had a feeling that she was tipsy, which was unexpected. "Is that what you were when you were making out with another girl? Were thirty-five not enough for you?"
"Okay, I deserve that," he admitted, "I just—"
But her eyes were blazing. "I asked you to let me go home, and you said no. Is this what I'm sacrificing for, Oliver? To sit around while you do whoever and whatever you want? If I become queen, is that what the rest of my life is going to be, dreaming about a love that I can't have—"
To his surprise, a sob cut Isolde off. The other girls looked a little surprised, and Kaitlyn put a hand on Isolde's arm, but the tall blonde squared her shoulders, stood, and calmly disappeared below deck. There was silence as everyone turned their gazes to him.
"I guess I deserved that," sighed Oliver bitterly, "I'll go talk to her."
"Uh, no," Mae countered as she stood, "Let me."
He was sorry to see Mae go as she was the one who he'd felt he'd made the most progress with and resented him he least at the moment, but he allowed her to go after Isolde. He glanced at the remaining three girls staring at him and decided to try again. "I'm not trying to make excuses, but I did…everything on Thursday, because I heard some of the girls talking, and-and I don't know, I acted out. It hurt, and it was childish, and I figured if everyone had such a bad opinion of me already—"
"Do you realize you're the most self-sabotaging person I've ever met?" demanded Presley, although she sounded more exhausted than angry. "It's like you try to push people away and fuel these misconceptions they have about you."
"Yeah," Oliver mumbled. It wasn't worth trying to argue. It sounded accurate. "There's just a lot of expectations, and I'm trying to learn how to be better under pressure."
Presley didn't look satisfied. "What if we asked to leave tonight?" she ventured.
He cringed. He'd known it was a possibility when he'd invited them all to dinner, but he hoped after the effort he'd made all week would have been enough to convince them to stay a little longer. They were all girls that he cared about, and he didn't want to see any of them leave. But he thought of people like Adelaide and Patricia and realized that he could fall in love with a number of the girls.
It wasn't fair to ask them to stay if they didn't want to be there anymore. "If you really want to go, I won't stop you," he admitted, "Even though I'd be really sorry for our time together to come to an end."
Presley pursed her lips but didn't push the subject. He noticed Kaitlyn glance nervously at the other two girls and added, "If you guys want to talk to me in private, we can do that too. I just thought this group setting would be a good idea since you all feel similarly."
She jumped at the offer, and the two of them grabbed a plate of snacks and wandered towards the front of the boat. "You look great," he offered in an attempt to test the waters and figure out how upset she was with him.
Kaitlyn smiled but didn't reply. "Can I tell you something kind of embarrassing?" she asked as they sat down.
"I love embarrassing," he chuckled.
Kaitlyn took a deep breath. "So, I kind of had a little crush on you before this whole thing started," she admitted, "I mean, that's why I entered. And I guess that's also why I was so upset when I saw the newspaper. I'm not really a jealous person, but it just kind of felt like it meant that none of us were good enough, and that hurt."
He realized there were other important facets to what she'd said, but Oliver was stuck on the first sentence. "You have a crush on me?" he repeated, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Yes, you dork," she laughed, her own face lighting up in a familiar way that he'd missed when she had been upset with him.
"How is that even possible?" he asked. "The media doesn't really do me any favors."
Kaitlyn shrugged her small shoulders. "I don't really pay attention to the magazines usually," she countered. "But I've watched you on The Report, and I've seen the things that you do for the country through your philanthropy and outreach. And you're always so sweet with your family, and…" She shrugged, her light blue eyes locking with his. "I don't know. I just really like you."
It was what Oliver had been waiting to hear, even wishing for: someone as sweet and caring and just good as Kaitlyn was there for him, despite all of his numerous flaws. Not for the crown or for the money or anything else. Not even for Prince Oliver. Just him, Oliver Woodwork.
An explosion made both of them jump, and above the water, a barrage of colorful fireworks erupted. Kaitlyn glanced at him, an eyebrow raised, and Oliver shrugged sheepishly. "I'm a go big or go home type of person," he admitted. She laughed and allowed him to pull her closer, his arms wrapped around her as she leaned against his chest.
He rested his chin on Kaitlyn's shoulder and let himself enjoy the moment. It was nice to be with someone that he was sure, someone that cared about him. He knew that he had connections with some of the Selected, but it really was special to hear that someone cared about him and felt connected with him too.
A warmness spread throughout him as he watched the fireworks. There were a lot of girls left, but he realized that it was very possible that Kaitlyn could be the One. She'd be a beautiful, caring queen to satisfy the people, and they could have an infinite number of moments like that one. He would be happy, and he would work his hardest to make her happy.
He wondered if she was thinking the same thing too, as he noticed she felt a little tense in his arms. "Cold?" he asked as he hugged her a little tighter and dropped a kiss against her bare shoulder.
She glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled. "No," she countered, "Perfect."
If at that moment, someone would have given Oliver the choice between resisting the urge to kiss her for five more minutes or swim back to shore, the swimming would have been easier. He kept his arms wrapped around her and leaned in to her. Her lips were soft, timid at first, and she pulled back in surprise at first. "You're incredible," Oliver whispered, his forehead rested against hers, and it was enough encouragement to cause her to return to him.
They were perfectly in sync, and he knew in that moment that he could kiss Kaitlyn for the rest of his life and be the happiest man in the world. But when they parted slightly for air, the thought of the four other girls on the boat made Oliver frown.
"I wish I would've met you in a different way," he admitted with a sigh as he leaned back.
This seemed to confuse her—which he didn't fault her for, it confused him—but she tried to offer a bright, typical Kaitlyn smile. "That seems unlikely," she pointed out, "A prince and a nurse?"
"Crazier things have happened," argued Oliver.
Kaitlyn laughed as she stood. "I suppose you're right. Come on, I think that was the dinner bell."
To say that dinner was a tense affair was an understatement. Isolde didn't return, and Kaitlyn tried to keep things upbeat, but Presley seemed disappointed that she had defected from their sisterhood so quickly. Margaery and Mae engaged in the conversation lightly, but after dinner, Oliver made a point to pull Margaery aside.
And this was why he wished that he'd met Kaitlyn in a different setting. Because as he stared into Margaery's eyes, he realized that he could marry her and be happy as well. "I'm sorry." He decided to lead with the apology and hope for the best.
"I know," Margaery sighed, "I just need… time, I guess."
He was a little taken aback by her response. He and Margaery had always had such a strong connection that he'd honestly expected her to forgive him. "What?"
Now she looked apologetic. "You've been really sweet all week," she admitted, "But… I don't know. I know the people that you were out with from some of my father's business associates, and they're bad news, Oliver."
He frowned. He'd made some bad decisions that night at Opium but he hadn't thought that the people he'd been around had necessarily been bad. He'd rather liked Kaleb Ayers once he got past the fact that he was a little boring. "They weren't that bad," he countered lightly.
Margaery pressed her lips together and didn't seem to be eager to further the conversation. "Just… time," was all she gave him.
Given everything that had happened, he supposed it was a fair request. He just didn't like the idea of not being around her, not seeking her out whenever he saw the Selected. "Okay," he nodded, "I can do time."
She smiled. "Thank you." And then she was gone, and Oliver was kicking himself for being an idiot once again.
He didn't know what 'time' meant, but he already knew he didn't like it.
"Hey." He jumped at the sound of Presley's voice.
"Hey," he smiled tensely. "Am I about to get yelled at again?"
For the first time all night, Presley's face twitched into the smallest of smiles. "I think I got it out of my system," she admitted, "I was just…"
"Disappointed?" Oliver guessed. Presley nodded. Oliver grimaced. Disappointment was the worst.
He was surprised when she added, "I think I had unfair expectations though."
"Really?" he asked.
She nodded and nervously toyed with the braid that her curly hair had been coaxed into. "After our talk in the tree… I don't know. I really liked the Oliver that I saw there. I think one of the things that I forget or maybe didn't even realize until now is that you put a lot of pressure on yourself too."
He rose his eyebrows. "How do you figure that?"
She laughed. "If you weren't trying your best in this, I don't think that a couple of poor comments from those girls could have made you react the way that you did."
He frowned. She always just seemed to get him, maybe better than anyone else in his life. "Lighten up," Presley added as she nudged him with her elbow. "It'll make things easier. I think we all—myself included—need to realize that mistakes are going to happen. And that's okay."
"Lighten up," Oliver repeated, the words feeling foreign in his mouth. It was rare that someone ever told him to lighten up about anything. "Any suggestions how?"
Presley snorted. "Please. If I was any good at that, high school would've been a lot less painless."
"Great," he mumbled.
"You'll figure it out though," she declared, "You're not the idiot that you pretend to be sometimes."
"You're really terrible at pep talks, you know."
She laughed. "Sometimes," she agreed, "Which is why you're going to go talk to Isolde now instead of me."
Oliver hesitated. "I don't really know what to do when girls cry," he sighed, "I don't even know what made her cry."
Presley turned her steely gaze on him. "You know how overwhelmed you feel by the Selection?" He nodded. "Well, we feel that way too. We all have lives outside of this, and we'll have lives after this. It's a lot to handle sometimes."
It made sense. He pulled away from the rail that he'd been leaning against and nodded. "Here I go," he declared, "If I'm not back in ten minutes, she probably killed me." Presley rolled her eyes and gave him a shove towards the stairs.
Isolde was curled up on a couch below deck, her knees pulled to her chest. Her eyes looked faraway, and he had a feeling that her mind was somewhere other than the boat. "Hey," he greeted her softly.
"Hi." She didn't meet his eyes and looked a little embarrassed. "Sorry about my outburst."
"Don't," he countered. "I get it. This is a hard thing. I don't think I realized that it's just as tough for you guys as it is for me until this whole mess." He paused. "Okay, and Presley kind of said something along those lines earlier."
She smiled weakly, but her gaze still seemed unfocused. Oliver tentatively took a seat beside her. "I don't want you to sacrifice anything for me," he began quietly. "I don't want anyone to."
She pushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and took a steadying breath before she declared, "I believe that you can make a difference, Oliver. I think that we could make a different. I'm just not sure if…"
He reached for her hand. "If you care about me at all…" His hazel eyes met her blue ones, but they were unreadable. "Please don't give up just yet."
He didn't exhale until her fingers tightened in response to the pressure that he'd been putting on them. "Okay," she replied, a weak smile on her face.
Their conversation didn't seem to have the same invigorating effect on Isolde as it did on Oliver, so she elected to stay below deck until they docked. Oliver made his way back to the upper level and was glad to find Mae alone at the dessert table. He cheerfully hooked an arm around her waist, startling her and causing her to drop the chocolate covered strawberry she'd been about to bite into.
"You seem cheerful," she noted as she reached for another strawberry.
Oliver snagged it from her fingers before she could eat it, and she huffed in frustration. "I am," he declared, "I don't think anyone hates me anymore."
"Oh, really?" she snorted as she raised an eyebrow. "What about me? I don't think I was asked my opinion tonight."
"You don't hate me," he assured her, "If you did, you wouldn't have worn that dress." He twirled her in a small circle, making Mae laugh. She was wearing a silver dress like the other girls with a sparkly overlay, off the shoulder straps, and a sheer skirt that allowed him a glimpse at the long lines of her legs.
"Maybe I'm trying to torture you," she pointed out.
He pretended to be wounded. "How cruel of you."
She procured another strawberry. "If you are, it's working," Oliver assured her.
Mae laughed and wandered away from him towards the rail of the boat. "Do you think dolphins are out this late?" she asked as her green eyes scanned the water.
He gave a shrug as he joined her. "Not sure. Why?"
She blushed a little before she said, "They're my favorite animal."
He had to laugh. "How girly and innocent, Lady Maelys," he noted. She stuck her tongue out at him. "Would you like to see some dolphins?" he asked as he started to formulate an idea.
Although she tried not to look too eager, she nodded excitedly.
"Alright," he acquiesced, "I'll see what I can do. I don't know if you've noticed, but I have a little bit of pull in these parts."
The excited look on her face made it worth all the strings he'd have to pull to make her dolphin dream come true. "Thank you," he added.
Her dark eyebrows creased. "For what?"
"Setting me straight last week," he explained, "I don't want to be the easy Oliver that hurts people and does irresponsible things. You made me realize that."
It looked like she wasn't sure what to say, because she eventually shrugged and smiled. "Here to tell you to get your head out of the sand whenever."
Oliver smirked. "Come on, it looks like there's a few strawberries that you haven't managed to eat yet. No comrades left behind."
The rest of the cruise wasn't exactly what he'd hoped for, since Isolde and Margaery declined to join the group, but it was better than what he'd started with. He hung out with Presley, Kaitlyn, and Mae and talked about what they'd been up to during the week—Presley had aced a big paper, and they all congratulated him when he told them that he'd impressed his mom and her generals—and snacked on the few desserts that Mae didn't hog. Oliver was enjoying himself so much so that he found himself surprised and a little disappointed when they docked after what seemed like such a short time.
When he returned to his room, he was surprised to see that Tristan was waiting for him. "How'd it go?" Tristan asked.
Oliver shrugged. "They didn't make me walk the plank and leave me for a shark to find," he pointed out, "So I'd say it was a success."
"Good," Tristan grinned. "Rafael called for you, by the way. He said to have you give him a ring back if it's not too late when you get in."
Oliver groaned and dragged a hand through his hair as he did the quick math to determine the time difference. It was about 10 AM in Italy at the moment, so he decided to return the call before he turned in. "Do me a favor and check on Isolde," he ordered Tristan before he left, "She kind of had a rough night, so just make sure she's okay."
Tristan's eyes knit together in worry, and he nodded. "Yeah, I'll go do that right now."
"Thanks, Tris," Oliver called as he walked into the office and dialed Prince Rafael's number.
"Oliver!" the boisterous Italian prince yelled into the phone upon answering. "How happy I am to hear from you! Your brother said that you were at the mercy of your angry Selected. Breaking too many hearts, my friend?"
Oliver snorted. "Something like that," he replied, "How's everything going?"
"Wonderful, wonderful," Rafael replied carelessly, "I call because I have exciting news! I will be coming to Illéa!"
Of all the royals that Oliver ever had to deal with, Rafael and the Italian royal family were some of his favorite. Rafael's grandmother, Nicolette, had always been close with Oliver's grandparents, and it was a closeness that they'd passed on to their children. Oliver and Rafael had very similar personalities, although Rafael insisted he would never marry and instead enjoy his playboy life style for as long as he could.
"That's awesome," Oliver laughed into the phone, "What for?"
"Your harvest festival, you dunce!" Rafael reminded him. "It is soon, is it not?"
Oliver groaned. "Oh, god, I forgot."
With all of the stress between the Selection, his big mess up, and the trouble that Marid had been causing, he'd completely forgotten that one of the biggest events of the year, the Harvest Festival, was coming up the first week of October. They sent out invitations to all of the royal families every year to come share in and celebrate the countries posterity, and while it meant that he got to see people like Rafael, it also meant that people like the newly married Princess Regan Illéa and her Russian husband would be coming as well.
"You do not sound happy for my visit, you scoundrel," teased Rafael, "Is that any way to treat a friend?"
"I'll be happy to see you," Oliver assured him, "I'm just a little less thrilled to have the Russians visit."
"And you forget your ex-loves," chortled Rafael, and Oliver could tell that his friend was really enjoying the awkward situation that Oliver was about to find himself in. In his younger years, he'd had a few too many brief flings with princesses around the world, some of which took his fleeting attentions as an insult.
"Oh, god, murder me," groaned Oliver. "How many weeks do I have to prepare for this?"
"Not nearly enough," Rafael declared. "Two weeks!"
'Not nearly enough' was right.