Author's Note: Hello, procrastinating LC again. This chapter had a lot of necessary elements and is a big plot vehicle. Also, I wanted to give you some exciting news! In celebration of Christmas coming up, I'm going to do my abbreviated version of a '12 days of Christmas' and give you LC's Week of Christmas! Starting the 18th through Christmas Eve, I will be updating every day. Yes, I almost don't believe it either. Get excited, people. It's my thank you for the amazing support this story has received. I never thought we'd be on Chapter 29, about to hit 200 reviews. It's crazy to me, and I truly appreciate every person who's embarkedon this journey with me. So until next week :)
Oliver didn't need to be a chess master like Patricia to know that he was going to lose the game. He sighed and moved his rook to take her knight, only to see it captured by her bishop.
"You're particularly bad today," Patricia noted as she swept another pawn off the board. "What's on your mind?"
"What makes you think something's on my mind?" Oliver asked with a chuckle. "Maybe I just suck at chess."
"You do," conceded Patricia, "but not this badly."
Truthfully, there was a lot on his mind. Since the end of the jubilee and the onset of preparation for his birthday, his duties had been non-stop. He had a sneaking suspicion that part of it was Eadlyn's revenge for the fit he'd thrown about making decisions since he was going to be king, but there was always something that needed his attention. His birthday was more of a hassle than it was worth, and there were several times that he wished that he could've just canceled the whole thing altogether. He couldn't even pawn it off on Tristan and Isolde, since their wedding was quickly approaching and they might've been the only people in the palace more stressed than he was.
It wasn't just the party. His birthday was always a bit of a circus, because of the national event that it was turned into; however, he certainly hadn't done himself any favors by deciding that it was the perfect time to meet the Elite's families as well. Aside from logistical issues—like the background checks and palace preparations that had to be made for nine families—Oliver had woken up several nights due to a recurring nightmare that someone's parents hated him.
And if that wasn't enough, he was still avoiding his talk with Kaitlyn. He'd tried to put aside his pride and admit to her that she was right, but the first time he'd sought her out, she hadn't been in her room. He'd eventually found her in the library, gushing about a book to Alaric. Since his new Lord Privy Seal had been officially transferred to St. Sebastian's, he'd been around the palace a lot more recently. Oliver was trying to put his jealousy aside—Kaitlyn was allowed to have friends, of course—but the scene had made him a little reluctant to pour his heart out to her.
He mindlessly moved a piece that prompted Patricia to declare, "Checkmate. Seriously, what's wrong?"
Oliver leaned back in his seat. "I guess there's just a lot going on," he sighed, "My birthday's never particularly fun, because there are a ton of obligations that come along with it. And I don't want everyone's parents to hate me."
An amused smile played on Patricia's face. "Everyone's parents won't hate you," she assured him.
"But how do you know?" pressed Oliver.
She shrugged simply. "It's statistically unlikely. Someone is bound to like you."
He snorted. "Thanks. That helps so much."
Patricia winked at him. "I do what I can." She glanced at the clock before she asked, "One more game? It might keep your mind off the impending doom."
He followed her gaze, and his stomach sank when he realized that the families were scheduled to arrive in a little less than an hour. "Later," he assured her, "I want to pull myself together a little bit first."
It was a good thing he'd chosen to forgo the rematch, because when he returned to his room and tried to figure out what to wear, he realized he was more anxious than he'd though. His nerves had rendered him incompetent, and he stood immobile in front of his closet for a solid ten minutes before a knock at his door tore his attention away from his clothes.
Sara looked surprised to see him, which he thought was a little odd considering it was his room. They didn't have time to dwell on it though, because she asked, "What are you doing? Aren't you supposed to be meeting your nine girlfriends' families?"
"Help," frowned Oliver. He turned back towards his closet. "I have nothing to wear."
It took a while, as Sara had to practically force him into the black sweater and gray button up that she'd picked out to match his dark jeans, but Oliver was glad that he listened to her in the end. He felt casual enough to be comfortable but formal enough to be respectful. "Thanks," he beamed at as he ruffled his hair in the mirror to add a touch of messiness. "Don't know what I'd do without you."
She smiled at the praise before she asked, "Oh, by the way, have you seen Jonathan at all today?"
"Uh, he's probably in his room," shrugged Oliver, "I'm not going anywhere, so he pretty much has the day off. Why?"
"No reason," countered Sara, "I'm going to your party with Tristan and Isolde tomorrow, so I thought that I would just find out our travel details, since they're so busy with wedding plans."
He pointed her in the direction of Jonathan's room and thanked her for her help once more before there was nothing else to do but meet everyone.
Before he even arrived in the room, he could hear the excited chatter of the girls and their reunited families. He supposed they had a lot to talk about, as the girls had been at the palace for nearly four months already. With one last steadying breath, he slowly pulled open the door.
For the first time, perhaps ever, his arrival was completely ignored. As he glanced around, he felt a little out of place, like he was interrupting something private as he watched the girls be hugged by their mothers or stoop to speak with younger siblings.
He was a little annoyed that no one had taken notice of him when he realized it meant that he was going to have to interrupt someone to begin the introductions. He decided to start with Margaery, since he already knew half of her family. "Pardon my interruption," he began as he stopped at Margaery's side. She beamed up at him and seemed a little relieved by his arrival. "It's great to see you again, Mr. Seymour," Oliver declared as he held out a hand, which Orion shook.
"And yourself, Your Highness," he declared. He looked invigorated, like being in the palace was all he'd ever hoped for, and he was well aware of the impact that his daughter being in the Selection could have on his family. "You already know Xander, of course, but allow me to introduce my wife, Hana, and our younger daughter, Genesis."
Hana Seymour had clearly once been a striking beauty in her day, although her face was beginning to show signs of aging. She didn't stand as closely to her husband as some of the other moms, and there wasn't the same clear affection between them as Oliver saw in his own mom and dad. But she smiled pleasantly and remarked, "It's wonderful to meet you, Your Highness. I've heard only lovely things about you," which Oliver found encouraging.
While Margaery and Xander were clearly very close and resembled each other, Genesis Seymour seemed to be the wild child of the family. Her hair had been dyed partially pink, and although Oliver guessed that she was about Celine's age, she was wearing a dress that was tighter and shorter than anything Celine would even consider. She only smiled at Oliver, but when her parents turned their attention from her, her eyes raked him over in a way that made him a little uncomfortable, and the smile turned to a smirk. Margaery seemed to notice her younger sister's interest in the prince, and she frowned.
Oliver chatted with the Seymours for a bit longer before he made his way to the next group. Emboldened by how well the first interaction had gone, he was confident enough to interject himself into the next conversation. "Good afternoon everyone," he greeted Patricia's family.
Patricia's parents, Nicholas and Christine, were a little warmer than the Seymours. "You have a lovely home," Mrs. Aldridge told him, "Patricia's sent us a few pictures, but it's incredible in person."
"Patricia's our unofficial photographer," chuckled Oliver. "She's really good though. Don't leave without making her show you the one's that she's taken here." Patricia seemed pleased by the praise.
Before he moved on, Oliver remembered that Patricia's father was a chemist and added, "I'd also like to discuss your work while you're here, Mr. Aldridge. I'm working on a project that might benefit from having a chemist involved." Mr. Aldridge excitedly agreed, and Oliver made a mental note to send Xander in his direction as he continued on.
Despite their recent strain, Kaitlyn's family instantly made him feel comfortable. Her younger siblings clearly adored her, and Mrs. Davis was so excited to meet Oliver that she hugged him instead of the standard handshakes he'd received so far. He made plans to play catch with her younger brother, Cameron, later that evening, and noticed Kaitlyn smiling in his direction, which left him feeling a little encouraged about their relationship.
He was more nervous to talk to Brynn and Xylie than the other girls, as he had no intention of apologizing to them after the tense day they'd had at the derby. He'd seen them since then, of course, but their conversations had all seemed rather surface level. Xylie was trying a little harder than Brynn and seemed to realize that she'd overstepped a line, but the latter was rather set on her view about Oliver's friendship with Sara.
Regardless, Brynn was cordial when she introduced Oliver to her mother, Lucille. "It's great to meet you," Oliver smiled at the older woman.
Lucille smirked. "I'm sure you say that to all the families."
Oliver paused, as it didn't seem like Brynn's mom was completely joking. He remembered that Brynn had mentioned that her mom hadn't had the most luck with dating and grit his teeth. Of course he had to be the subject of man hating today of all days. He tried to laugh it off with a simple, "Thank you for being here, Mrs. Emberly."
But even that didn't work well, as Lucille quipped, "I don't suppose I had much of a choice, did I?"
This time, Oliver didn't try to be pleasant. "The girls all know that if they don't want to be here, the door is open," he declared, "I'd extend the same courtesy to their parents. Excuse me."
He tried not to be too deterred by Brynn's mom, which was easy when Gabi's excited, smiling face beckoned to him. "Oliver, this is my fantastic mother," Gabi introduced once he'd joined the pair.
Roslyn Huisken looked almost exactly like Gabi's twin. Both women's faces held enormous smiles, and it was clear to Oliver that they were very close. He shook Mrs. Huisken's hand and complimented, "You have an incredible daughter, Mrs. Huisken."
"She is the best," agreed Gabi's mom as she put an arm around her shoulders. "It's been unbearable to be away from her for so long."
"I told you you'd be in Angeles soon," Gabi reminded her mother, although Oliver didn't know whether it was the result of confidence in their relationship or the assurance that she'd gotten from Madam Anastasia.
"Did your step-father come, Gabi?" Oliver asked as he glanced around. He regretted it as he saw her face fall.
Mrs. Huisken made his excuse. "He has an important conference call, so he sad that he'd just join us for dinner," she explained. When Gabi's disappointment was still clear, she added, "He tried to rearrange it, but it's hard, since he's a doctor. He's very excited to meet you and see Gabi."
Oliver assured her that it was no problem and he'd find them after dinner to meet Dr. Heese. There were three more families left to meet, and he moved through them methodically. Xylie's was a little uncomfortable since he'd remembered that she wasn't that close with her mother or sister, and Adelaide and her mother seemed to have some underlying tension as well, but Rosalie and her father seemed overjoyed to be reunited, and Mr. Watson was welcoming and pleasant to talk to. Their conversation left Oliver feeling more encouraged about the way meeting the families had gone overall.
The happiness at being welcomed so warmly—for the most part—vanished when he glanced around and noticed that Mae wasn't present. Instead, a sinking feeling in his stomach replaced it: Mae didn't have any family. There was no one for her to excitedly introduce Oliver too, no mother to hug either of them, no father to size him up and make sure he was good enough for his little girl.
Having made his rounds, he decided to quietly slip away to check on Mae. It had to be a tough situation for her to deal with, and his mind was already spinning with ideas on how to cheer her up.
But before he could get far away, a familiar voice demanded, "Where's my hello?"
Presley stood behind him, dressed in a pair of black cropped pants, a white button up and a blazer. Her hair was loose and curly as always, tucked behind her ear. Oliver was so shocked by her presence that it took him a minute to pull her into a crushing hug. "I didn't know you were coming!" he chuckled, glad to see a familiar face, "but it's so good to see you! I have so much—"
"Oh, sorry, Ol," Presley interrupted, a teasing smile alight on her face. "I'm not here for you."
It took a moment for her words to sink in, but when they did, Oliver's mouth unhinged slightly. "Excuse me?"
"There she is," Presley beamed, looking at someone behind Oliver's shoulder. He spun around and saw that Kile and Isolde were leading Mae into the room.
Mae's green eyes lit up at seeing her old friend, and both girls let out a shrill, unintelligible exclamation of happiness before they threw themselves at each other, knocking each other off balance. "What are you doing here?" Mae demanded of her friend.
Presley put an arm around Oliver's shoulders as Kile and Isolde joined them. "We're Mae's family," she declared.
He turned a confused gaze to his father, who gave a calm smile and held a finger to his lips. "I'm supposed to be objective," he admitted, "so technically I was just bringing Lady Mae to the room." But he put a protective hand on Mae's shoulder. "Although I hope you do realize what a magnificent young lady you have here, Oliver."
Oliver laughed at his father's attempt at intimidation. "Yeah, Dad, thanks," he snorted. "You can go now." Kile gave Mae a hug before he motioned to Oliver that he would be watching him—which made Oliver roll his eyes and the girls giggle—before he departed from the room.
He sized up Isolde and Presley, who stood on either side of Mae. "So, who's mom and who's dad?" he asked in amusement. Presley punched him in the arm, which prompted him to declare her dad.
When Mae finally spoke, Oliver could tell that she was struggling to keep her voice level. It matched the emotion held in her watery eyes. "Thank you guys so much," she choked out. "I mean, Pres… you flew in from Baffin in the middle of winter. And Is, I know how busy you've been with your wedding."
Presley shrugged off her thanks, and Isolde countered, "That's what families do."
Overwhelmed, Mae pulled her two friends into hugs as the tears managed to escape from her eyes. "Why are you crying?" Presley laughed.
"Because I'm so happy!" was the only response that Mae could manage.
As Oliver hardly knew what to do about sad tears, he was completely flummoxed by happy tears. "Alright, I'm gonna let you guys enjoy this reunion," he decided. "I only have a million and one things to finalize before tomorrow night anyway."
A million and one turned out to not be too much of an exaggeration. He didn't have time to worry about impressing the families the rest of Friday, as Eadlyn stopped by to drop off a list of details that still needed to be handled before the party on Saturday before she and Kile spent Friday night socializing with their guests. He'd tried to call on Tristan for help, only to find out that he'd been put to work by his fiancée. Elijah was missing in action, as was Everly, and since Xander was busy being part of the family festivities, the only person left for Oliver to summon was the one person he wasn't too interested in having around presently.
"Is everything okay?" Alaric asked when he stepped into Oliver's study.
Without speaking, Oliver held out a list of tasks for him and kept working on the seating chart. After a moment of confusion, Alaric accepted the letter and read it over. "Uh, you want all of this done tonight?"
Oliver glanced at the clock. "Well, preferably before 8 o'clock, but yes, tonight works."
"And I thought Lord Privy Seal meant I didn't have a real job," Alaric quipped. When he garnered no response from the prince—no chuckle, smile, even a flicker of acknowledgement—Alaric paused. "Did I do something wrong?"
"What makes you ask?" muttered Oliver. He knew he was being passive aggressive but couldn't stop it.
"You haven't spoken to me in a week except to throw work at me, for starters."
Oliver paused his writing and unleashed his glare on Alaric. "I'm just wondering about your intentions, Alaric," he declared.
It took a minute for Alaric to look insulted. "You're the one who invited me here in the first place!"
"Yes, to sit on my council, not to move in on my Selected," Oliver snapped.
The confusion on Alaric's face only grew. "What are you talking about?" he demanded. He sounded genuinely distressed, like he was desperate to understand what was bothering Oliver but truly had no clue.
"Kaitlyn, of course!" Oliver threw his fountain pen onto his desk and crossed his arms over his chest.
This still seemed to shed little to no illumination on the situation for Alaric. "What about her?" he asked.
Oliver hadn't initially intended to confront Alaric about his suspicions, because he knew he didn't have enough evidence and would sound crazy if Alaric didn't immediately confess. Which was where he was currently. "Uh… I just noticed you've been spending a lot of time with her lately."
Alaric put a hand to his temple, like he had an enormous headache blossoming. "Oliver… you do realize that you had me move my entire life to Angeles, right? I'm grateful for the position at St. Sebastian's, but I know no one, and believe it or not, being an Illéa makes it somewhat hard to make friends," he explained.
There was another silence as Oliver thought about it. He sighed as he leaned forward in his chair and put his face in his hands. "I'm acting like a crazy girlfriend," he realized.
"A little bit," chuckled Alaric, "You realize everyone gets along with Kaitlyn, right? She's the most welcoming person in the entire castle. Including the people whose jobs it is to actually welcome you to the castle."
"Man, I'm sorry," sighed Oliver as he rubbed his hands over his face. "There's just been a lot going on lately. I'm officially losing it."
"Don't worry about it," shrugged Alaric. He held up his list. "I'll get to work on this."
Before he could leave, Oliver decided to extend an olive branch and called out, "Hey, Alaric, why don't you head over to the party with Elijah and I tomorrow? We usually have a pregame here, if you're okay with alcohol. I don't know what the rule is for your holy, soon-to-be priest body."
Alaric laughed but looked appreciative as well. "Thanks," he grinned, "I'll be there."
Oliver worked until midnight. Because of the visiting families, he was expected to be up for breakfast at eight the next morning, which meant that he was not prepared to stay up all night trying to decide when they should sing happy birthday and how to ensure the divorced governors from Zuni and Paloma weren't seated near each other.
On the day of his actual birthday, his goal was to spend as much time with the visiting families as possible. Although the party didn't start until seven PM, he'd realized he still didn't have that much time considering how many there were and the never ending to do list that still awaited him. The best he managed was a half hour each, staggered throughout the day to try to make it look less rigidly planned.
After breakfast, he played the game of catch that he'd had to skip the previous night with Kaitlyn's brother while being regaled with tales of a young Kaitlyn (who was just as sweet as older Kaitlyn) by her mother. Once he'd made a visit to the jewel vault to pick his crown for the night, he gave Mr. and Mrs. Seymour a tour of the palace. He had a private lunch with Rosalie and her father. Then, he spent an hour returning birthday calls from foreign diplomats.
After that, he split an hour with Adelaide's mother—who decided to use it by showing Oliver some of Adelaide's biggest modeling campaigns—and Gabi's parents, who he took to the palace's largest library, in hopes it would impress Gabi's author mother. Next, he'd played a game of charades with Patricia and her parents before he raced down to the kitchen to do a final tasting for his cake, which he'd invited Brynn and her mother to. Lucille had seemed unimpressed, if not off-put, by the mass of food that was being prepared for the party which had made Oliver feel a little defeated once more.
He hadn't wanted Mae to feel left out, even though he obviously already knew Isolde and Presley well, so he'd scheduled time to watch a movie with the three girls. His biggest mistake had been deciding that they would watch it in the comfort of his room though. He soon found himself snoring on Mae's shoulder.
He didn't wake up until she gently tried to sneak out from under him. "Did I miss the movie?" he asked dumbly, even though the television screen was black, and Presley and Isolde were nowhere to be found.
"Yeah, it was over around an hour ago," Mae chuckled, "I didn't want to wake you up, but I should go get ready for the party tonight."
"You let me drool on you for an hour?" snorted Oliver as he rubbed at the crick in his neck.
"I read," she shrugged as she held up a copy of that morning's newspaper. "Besides, it seemed like you needed it."
He nodded. "I have had a pretty busy day."
"Well, hopefully you're a little more well rested for tonight," she quipped as she rose from the couch. "Anderson said Elijah and Alaric were on their way up, so I'll see you later." She shot him a brief smile before she disappeared.
Her absence was soon filled by the boisterous arrival of Elijah. "Happy birthday, man!"
Alaric filed in behind him and echoed Elijah's sentiment. "I got you a card," he added as he held out an envelope.
Oliver laughed as he accepted it. It was a nice gesture. "Thanks," he grinned as he propped it up on the coffee table, "You're actually the first person to give me something today. I mean, aside from almost every government in the world. Always flowers for some reason with them."
"Well, I'm not gonna let Illéa outshine me," countered Elijah. He pulled a battered bag from the pocket of his jacket and tossed it to Oliver.
"Ah, good ole Dom," Oliver beamed as he pulled a bottle of his favorite vintage of champagne from the bag. "You definitely should have."
He cracked open the bottle and emptied it into three glasses, far higher than the standard fill line. Alaric and Elijah each accepted one, with Alaric pausing to offer, "To Oliver's birthday?"
Elijah grinned and threw an arm around Alaric's shoulders, almost causing the latter to spill his glass. "I kind of like this nerd," he decided. The three clinked their glasses together. Elijah gulped his in two swallows, while Oliver took a little longer to enjoy the taste, and Alaric sputtered through what Oliver guessed was his first glass of champagne.
Though not disappointed, Oliver was a little surprised at how well they got along with Alaric. Being so into religion while also the offspring of perhaps Satan himself hadn't given Oliver high expectations of Alaric in a casual setting, but he was easy to get along with. He wasn't the life of the party like Oliver or the best hype man like Elijah, but he was witty and conversational once he loosened up.
Somehow, the three of them managed to get ready—and tipsy—on time. Jonathan looked a little annoyed as he tried to shepherd the three giggly men to the vintage white Rolls Royce that had been rented to take Oliver from the palace to the location. One of his insistences every year was that his party be held somewhere other than his home, since he left rarely as it was.
"Your mother's going to kill you if you show up drunk," Jonathan reminded him from the front seat.
"I'm not drunk," shrugged Oliver, "I'm just happy. Alaric's drunk." They all turned their attention to Alaric, whose face was pressed against the cool glass of the car window.
"I'm good," he insisted, flashing a thumb's up.
The car slowed in front of the gaudy red carpet that had been rolled out to make the politicians and celebrities in attendance feel special. There was already a frenzied flurry of photographers ready to capture their arrival so Elijah and Oliver threatened Alaric into pulling it together before they emerged from the car together.
Since the announcement of Alaric's promotion hadn't been made yet, the crowd seemed a little surprised by his newfound closeness to the prince. As the three made their way towards the door, pausing to pose for what Oliver deemed an adequate number of pictures, there was question after question about what their friendship meant for the Schreaves and Illéas. Oliver ignored them all, instead stopping to talk to the children or commoners that had decided to wait outside for the chance to wish the prince happy birthday. He preferred their requests for photos, nervous well wishes, and warm hugs to the brutish cacophony of the reporters.
Eadlyn had taken care of the decorations, which Oliver was thankful for as it meant that everything looked incredible. Everything was black, white, and gold, with elegant lines that perfectly captured the art deco style that he'd always enjoyed. The attire was also art deco inspired, which Oliver greatly appreciated.
"Not a bad party, right?"
He turned around to find Gabi. "It's great," he agreed. He took in her wavy blonde hair and glittering silver dress that complimented her thin frame before he added, "Just like you."
She rolled her eyes but couldn't fight the smile that his compliments usually drew to her lips. "Do you want to check out the photobooth or maybe peek at some presents?" she suggested as she glanced around.
Oliver grimaced when he noticed his mother standing at the opposite side of the room. She was chatting with his uncle Kaden, but she seemed to be scanning the room. "I wish I could," he sighed, "But tonight is actually a pretty good example of how being queen isn't always going to be fun."
"How so?" Gabi asked, her smile faltering for a moment. "This looks fun."
"Well, the problem is, our birthdays are state events," he explained, "And since it's mine, that makes me the star of the show—which really just means that I'm in charge of talking to a million boring people and having absolutely no fun."
"Oh." She looked disappointed. "Well, how long do you have to do that?"
Oliver shrugged. "Maybe I'll be able to get away after dinner?"
The disappointment deepened. "Well, if you do, come find me," she suggested, trying not to sound too let down. He promised he would before he made his way to his mother's side.
"You're late," Eadlyn noted, "And… tipsy?"
"I'm fine," he countered with a roll of his eyes. "Let's just do this before I die of boredom."
The problem with having thirty-five provinces was that there were thirty-five government officials that Oliver had to remember vague enough details about to be able to hold conversations with them. They asked inane questions ("How are you enjoying the night? Another year older, eh?"), and inevitably, every conversation seemed to have an ulterior motive. They would sneakily mention petitions that they had passed on to the palace for additional aid in their province or a law that they were trying to enact, and as always, when Oliver tried to demure, they would say, "Oh, of course, Your Highness! Enjoy your evening. Why don't we just set up a meeting for this week?" Some even punctuated their statements by whipping calendars from their pockets. After the third governor in a row tried to pencil him in, Oliver grabbed a glass of wine and stomped away.
"You're getting better," Eadlyn assured him as she followed him to the shadowy corner he'd tried to melt into. "Politics is little more than a game."
"With people's lives at stake," he chirped.
"If there were anything dire, they'd have bothered you far earlier than tonight," countered his mother. "The governors will always try to push their agendas in casual settings like a party. Especially with you. They'll think you're young and enjoying the wine or the atmosphere, so why not try to get you to commit to a meeting on a controversial issue or an open display of support since their reelection campaign is coming up soon?"
Oliver sipped his wine for a long minute. "You know I've heard some people actually enjoy their birthdays?" he noted. "What a marvel that must be."
Eadlyn's smile looked sad. "You used to," she assured him, "Your father and I knew that someday they would become this, so we tried."
He felt a little guilty. There was nothing his mother could have done to spare him the sacrifices of state events save have a different last name. "I remember the year I had a bouncy castle," he noted, "That was pretty awesome."
She chuckled into her wine. "I don't know who was more excited: your or Osten."
They reminisced for a few more moments before Eadlyn seemed to notice that the tension in his shoulders had disappeared and he'd begun to smile more easily. "Ready for round two?" she asked.
Oliver grimaced and downed the rest of his glass. "Let's do it."
Aside from the standard governors, each province had also sent a media team from their largest newspaper, which meant that he was obligated to hold a press conference in a different room of the venue. If Oliver hated the media in general, press conferences were the bane of his existence. He had to be smiling at all times in case someone snapped a random photo, and even though the reporters were given a list of topics that they were supposed to stick to, there was always that one asshat who would ask about a rumor or bring up some juicy gossip.
It started off well. He picked a spot on the back wall as he delivered his opening greeting and opened the floor to questions. The first few were boring—how was the Selection? (fine, thanks); did he have any large projects going on? (was dating nine people not enough of a project?); any timeline of when he'd take over? (his mother was still more than capable, and he was presently dedicated to learning as much as possible from her)—but as usual, someone went rogue.
"Your Highness." A reporter in the second row held a hand up to get Oliver's attention. His badge said he was from Clermont. "What can you tell us about your involvement with the Illéas?"
Caught off guard, his smile faded for a moment until he heard the increased shutter sounds from the cameras. His mother stood behind him as always, ready to move the questions along if anything got out of hand, but she didn't reach for the microphone so he racked his brain. "No involvement," he declared. "Next question."
But the reporter wasn't deterred. "Is Alaric Illéa not your guest here tonight? And is it true that you authorized a move to St. Sebastian's for him?"
Oliver glared at the reporter. More cameras furiously captured his reaction. "Okay, fine. Yes, I authorized the move. I think he'll be an asset to St. Sebastian's. The Illéas and Schreaves have had our differences, but I assure you Alaric and I intend to work closely moving forward. Next."
But the issue with one rogue reporter was that others got bold. "What can you tell us about Lady Sara Kosma's presence at the palace?"
He tried to keep his expression neutral. "She is a visiting foreign dignitary and good friend. I'll answer no further questions about palace guests."
A female voice in the backrow caught his attention. "Your Highness, we've heard a frightful rumor," the voice began. The lights made it a little harder to see the reporters in the back, so he had to squint somewhat. "Is it true that you haven't danced with a single member of your Elite tonight?" He grinned when he realized it was Patricia.
"I'm afraid that is correct," he declared in mock shame.
There were gasps from the backrow, and he realized that other girls had infiltrated the press conference as well. He smiled more genuinely than he had since taking the podium. "Surely you intend to rectify the situation immediately, don't you?" Mae asked.
"Very promptly," he assured her.
Kaitlyn piped up, "We hear they haven't even gotten the chance to give you your birthday present yet."
More mock gasps from the other girls. "It's been a busy day," Oliver conceded.
"The general fear is that their families scared you off," Xylie declared.
Oliver snorted. "It'll take more than intimidating parents to keep me away from the Elite, I assure you."
The girls all stood together. "We're kidnapping him," Gabi explained to the reporters. "Thank you all for coming and enjoy the rest of your night!" True to their word, the nine girls hustled him out of the room. Eadlyn gave a formal wrap up to the media, looking amused but not completely disapproving.
Once they'd pulled him back into the ballroom, they ordered him to take and carried over a large box. "We got this idea while we were picking our charities out for the jubilee," Rosalie explained. She looked excited, which made Oliver eager to see what was in the box as well.
"And we know that sometimes you get stressed and thought it would be nice for you to have something to wind down with," continued Xylie, "Especially on those days where no one seems to help very much."
"Open it!" Adelaide encouraged excitedly.
His mind was already trying to deduce what it was—so far, his top ideas were supplies for his minibar or maybe some kind of massager—when the box moved. He drew his hand back from the lid, completely thrown off. "Is it alive?" he demanded.
"Open it," Brynn repeated, though more forcefully than Adelaide.
He ripped the lid from the box quickly, pulling away in case something jumped out at him. The rest of the box sat still, and he watched it for a second before he deemed it safe enough to approach. When he peeked over the edge, one brown eye and one blue eye gazed back at him. Then, the little puppy gave a sad imitation of a bark.
"He's an Australian shepherd!" Adelaide explained as Oliver reached down to lift the dog from the box. "He was at a nearby shelter that was so full, and they let us come pick him out personally."
Shit. The dog was the present.
As Oliver stared at the mismatched eyes, he tried to keep his face creased in a happy smile. One of his biggest insecurities about his personality was that he'd never been an animal person. Yes, he had Blackie, but he could choose to visit his horse intermittently. Blackie couldn't follow him into his room or try to get on his bed or eat his shoes.
"Wow." It was all he could think to say.
"We thought it was perfect," Xylie squealed, "It's so funny that you let Kaitlyn keep Pawnds and have taken Mae and Margaery to see their favorite animals but don't have any pets of your own, so we decided to give you one."
Even Margaery, who he'd hoped would have been able to understand his lack of fondness for animals as she did so many things about him without his having to explain, seemed enamored by the little dog. "What are you going to name him?" she asked.
He was also terrible with names. He'd joked on more than one occasion—to mixed reactions, really—that he planned on naming his kids Heir, Spare 1, Spare 2 and so forth just so he didn't have to think of actual names. He was especially terrible on the spot. He stared at the puppy. He couldn't call it dog or puppy. Pup? No, that wasn't a name.
And then an epiphany: "Pip," he decided. That was a fine name—simple, hard to forget, yet not something someone could make fun of him for as with Blackie.
There was another chorus of excited fawning over Pip's new name, and Oliver was relieved when someone took him from his hands. He picked a few errant hairs that had gotten on his jacket off and tried to repress his frown.
Luckily, he managed to escape his new charge when dinner was served. Unluckily, for efficiency's sake, he'd chosen to sit with the Elite's families for dinner. There were some that he didn't mind, of course—he rather enjoyed Patricia and Kaitlyn's families, in particular—but he could feel Brynn's mother glowering at him from her end of the table and was a little insulted when Gabi's stepfather left in the middle of the meal to take a phone call.
"This is a little surreal," Mrs. Davis chuckled from his left side when their third course was served. "With the shifts at the hospital, I'm lucky if I remember to grab dinner from the vending machine."
"Kaitlyn's told me how hard you work," Oliver remarked. "It's impressive."
Mrs. Davis waved him off. "She's the impressive one really," she countered. "She was such a help after her father died, and you should see her at work. She really cares about people."
"I can tell," Oliver mused as he smiled in Kaitlyn's direction. She was seated with the rest of the Elite and appeared to be telling a story to Mae and Rosalie, who were seated on either side of her. As he watched her, Oliver realized he missed her.
"Your Highness." Orion Seymour was seated a few spots down from his right. Xander and Genesis sat between their parents, with the former looking stressed. "Xander was vague about how he met your acquaintance. I'd love to hear details." There was a note in Orion's voice that made Oliver realize he didn't believe that his son really had a worthwhile acquaintance like the prince, and it reminded Oliver of the indignation he'd felt when Margaery had told him how Xander had never been able to placate their father.
"Actually," Oliver began, "He's going to be working with me."
Orion Seymour dropped his fork, and Xander almost choked on his water. When Orion turned to gape at his son, Xander turned the color of the tomatoes in his salad and muttered, "Uh… yeah. Surprise."
When Orion recovered, he asked, "In what degree?"
Xander floundered for a moment, as the announcement hadn't been made yet, but Oliver cut in to casually declare, "On my council," before he started in on his food.
At the other end of the table, Lucille Emberly laughed. "How lucky for your son, Mr. Seymour," she noted, "It'll probably only be a few days when he gets his pick of the remaining Selected like Prince Tristan did after he was appointed to the future king's council."
A hush fell over the table as Oliver tried to process what Brynn's mother had just said. "What?"
"It just seemed a little suspicious to me," she shrugged before she innocently returned to her soup.
The table remained silent for a minute before Mrs. Davis glanced around for a server. "Why don't we get more wine?" Everyone at the table muttered their agreement as they tried to ignore the awkwardness.
Tensions slowly abated through dinner, although Mrs. Emberly made no effort to apologize to Oliver and made several other questionably snide comments. Oliver attempted to engage with the rest of the families and not to allow himself to be deterred, which he thought went rather well. After everyone had finished and 'happy birthday' had been sung over his enormous, four-tiered cake, he snagged a slice and made his way towards Kaitlyn.
"I'm sorry," he announced as he took the seat that Mae had left empty beside her.
Kaitlyn's eyes widened in confusion. Her mouth was full of cake so she couldn't express her question, but she was clearly unsure of what he was referring to. "I'm sorry about Likely," he continued, "but more so, about how I've acted about it since then. It took me a minute to realize, but I'm a lot happier when you and I are on good terms too."
Once she'd swallowed, her face broke into a wide smile. "Well, it took you long enough to decide that," she declared. He watched her eyes surreptitiously glance around to see if any of the Elite were nearby and laughed, figuring what she was thinking.
He kissed her for the first time in too long, and a tense knot that he hadn't realized had been rolling around in his stomach slowly released itself. "Jeeze," Kaitlyn smiled against his lips, "is it your birthday or mine?"
He laughed. "Well, now that you've gotten a present, isn't it only fair if I get one too?"
"Oh, your present is coming," Kaitlyn assured him, "It just might take a few days."
Oliver smiled slyly. "Something you don't want to give me while Mama Davis is in town?"
She laughed and smacked his arm. "Don't be a perv. No, I'm just working out the logistics."
"Well, I will be eagerly awaiting it," Oliver assured her. He ate the rest of his cake with her and was on his way to grab a second piece—he'd picked a great flavor—when Gabi intercepted him. "No more cake!" she declared, "You promised we could try the photo booth."
"Alright," he laughed, abandoning his pursuit of food and allowing her to drag him towards the corner of the room where the photo booth had been set up.
Gabi perched herself on his lap, and Oliver wrapped an arm around her waist. While they were taking the first picture, Gabi seemed to notice the bracelet that Oliver still wore after Presley had picked it out for him at the Harvest Festival. "It was a gift," he explained, even though she didn't ask about the source.
"I have a present for you too," she admitted with a sly smile. She cracked open the clutch that she'd brought and handed him a small box.
He cracked open the box to see a small, crystal ball lapel pin. It instantly reminded him of their date, and he liked that it was personal between the two of them. "This is amazing," he told her. "Pin it on for me?" She complied, and the photo booth snapped two final pictures: one of Oliver proudly showing off his new pin while Gabi laughed, and one of him kissing her in appreciation.
With his duties finished, he spent the rest of the night socializing. He danced with the girls—and a few mothers—and ate a few more pieces of cake than Reyna would condone at their next training session. Presley finally graced him with her presence, and they spent the better part of half an hour catching up, which he realized he'd needed much more than he thought. He even got a little drunker with Alaric, Tristan, and Elijah, but not so much that he was distracted from a very unfun decision that he had made earlier in the evening.
He stopped by Brynn's room when they returned to the palace, despite how late it was. She answered the door herself, still in her white dress from the party, though without her shoes or the pins that had held her hair into an elegant updo. "Hey," she smiled. "What's up?"
"Can I come in?" he asked.
"Sure." She stepped aside, and he followed her to the couch in her room. "What's going on?"
"I need to talk to you about… well, about us," he admitted.
Brynn froze. "Is this about everything with Sara?"
"No," countered Oliver. He sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair uncomfortably. "It's actually about your mom." Brynn looked a little uncomfortable. "She's not my biggest fan, is she?"
"She can be… a bit difficult," Brynn explained evasively. "She didn't really want me to enter in the first place, so I think it's just takin her some time to come around to the idea."
"Four months?" Oliver asked, his frown deepening. Brynn was silent.
He sighed deeply before he explained, "Brynn… whoever I marry, I want to know that her parents approve. I want to know that they think that their daughter is going to be happy with me."
Tears flooded her eyes, and she looked away. "Maybe if we just talked to her about it tomorrow—"
"I've made my decision about it," countered Oliver. "There are other issues in our relationship that I don't think either of us are willing to compromise on as well."
When Brynn looked back at him, her eyes were still red with unshed tears, but she shrugged weakly. "I don't want to try to convince you to let me stay."
He nodded. "I wouldn't want you to. You deserve something effortless."
Despite her obvious disappointment, Brynn nodded. "We both do." He gave her a hug and struggled to pretend he didn't feel the tremble of her back as she repressed her tears. Eliminations were only getting harder, and he had a feeling that wasn't a trend that was going to let up any time soon.
He was exhausted when he finally returned to his room. Sleep was at the top of his list of priorities, so important that he barely registered it when Anderson informed him, "You have a call."
Oliver groaned. "Take a message, and I'll return it tomorrow." He kicked off his shoes, prepared to dive face first onto his plush bed.
"It's Nikolai."
He froze, plans to sleep forgotten. He wordlessly followed Anderson into the study and picked up the phone. "Yes?"
"Oliver! How fortunate to catch you awake. I'm not disturbing anything, am I?" The Russian noble sounded like he was on the edge of laughter, as he surely knew it was three AM in Angeles.
"No, of course not," Oliver rolled his eyes, even though Nikolai couldn't see him.
"Wonderful. I wanted to call and give you our well wishes on your birthday. It simply slipped my mind yesterday."
Oliver snorted. "Well, thanks, but—"
Nikolai cut him off. "You see, I would've send a gift, but it appears you already have something that belongs to me."
There it was—the real reason for the call.
"That's funny," remarked Oliver, "I don't see anything around here that belongs to you."
The grand duke's voice was much less restrained when he responded. "I've been patient enough," he decided, "I want her back."
"You'll have to take that up with her," countered Oliver, "Now if you'll excuse me, Nikolai—"
"If you don't send her back, I'll simply have to take something from you."
Maybe it was the alcohol, or the fact that he was exhausted, or purely that he hated Nikolai, but Oliver laughed. "I'd like to see you try," he smirked before he slammed the phone down on the receiver. Pip, who'd sat in front of Oliver for the duration of the call, cocked his head to the side. "Showed him," Oliver muttered confidently. Pip gave a squeak of agreement.
Oliver evaluated the small dog for a long second before he reached forward and picked him up. Pip excitedly licked his hand and seemed content with being held. "Damn it, they were right," he realized. He was kind of comforting. He made his way back into his room and finally fell into bed, not all together disappointed when Pip followed, curling up at the foot of it.
