Author's Note: Guys, this chapter was such a struggle for me. I had the worst writer's block when I first tried to work on it. Then, I sprained my hand and literally couldn't type. Then, I got super sick, so a lot of this was written with the help of Nyquil. If my illness takes me out, hunt down my sister, she knows how the story ends. This chapter is long as hell and super busy. Hope it's not the worst thing you've ever read.
Christmas Eve was always the big event at the palace since the royal family had many obligations on Christmas day. Although he did the usual things with his family—a brunch in his parents' suite while they were all still dressed in Christmas pajamas and gift exchanges—he also set aside some time for the Elite so that they weren't disappointed by the less than glamorous side of royal life.
Not only had he labored over finding the perfect gifts for them for days, but he also wanted to make sure that they got to just hang out. He'd started with a total transformation of the Women's Room: the elegant decorations had been enhanced by multicolored Christmas lights everywhere, and he'd had the usual chic furniture replaced with large, oversized, squishy couches. An enormous television was hung above the roaring fireplace—framed on each side by a towering Christmas tree, of course—and he'd picked a line-up of Christmas classics (the Claymation Rudolph, A Charlie Brown Christmas, and White Christmas).
He'd sent them a strict dress code—Christmas pajamas only—and was pleased to see that everyone had complied and looked appropriately festive as they filed in. They looked surprised by the room that had looked completely different only the previous night. "Merry Christmas!" beamed Oliver.
They all echoed the sentiment, their faces varying between amused and excited. "You really went all out," Mae commented as she dropped onto one of the couches.
"Says the girl wearing Rudolph slippers," teased Oliver. She smiled and shrugged.
"What are you wearing?" snorted Patricia as she took in the prince's green, flannel pajamas. They had little Christmas trees and Santa hats on them and were one of Oliver's favorite Christmas pajamas.
"There's still time for Santa to decide to put you on the naughty list," he declared warningly, "Don't knock the pajamas."
As the girls picked spots on the couch, Oliver recited the movie title options. "We'll be watching them all," he assured them, "as they're some of the best, and if you don't like any of them, please just let me know and I'll call you a car because there's no way we'll possibly work out."
They decided on Rudolph first, and as the poor, maligned little reindeer bumbled through his early years, Oliver—along with his sidekick Pip, who was dressed in an elf costume—passed out presents to the girls. He was pleasantly surprised when each of them handed him something back in return, which he hadn't been expecting.
"All at once?" he proposed as he settled on the couch between Mae and Adelaide. There was no protest, so the room soon became a flurry of wrapping paper and excited exclamations as they all took in their presents.
He'd tried his best to tailor each gift to its intended recipient's personality. It'd been difficult, but in the end, he thought he'd done pretty well. Adelaide looked excited by the colorful new books that Oliver had gifted her to write in, Patricia instantly tore into her new camera and lenses, and Margaery was enamored by the giant stuffed snow leopard he'd gotten her but even more overjoyed when she read the card that said he'd donated to a snow leopard reserve in East New Asia in her name.
After Rosalie had opened her gift—a complete set of Shakespeare's plays—Oliver added quietly, "I have another gift for you tomorrow." She'd seemed excited at the prospect and nodded enthusiastically.
There were a few responses that concerned him though. He hadn't expected Kaitlyn to be overjoyed, as she rarely was around him nowadays, but he'd thought that his gift of a book on medieval medicine was pretty safe, since he'd remembered Alaric mention that she'd loved the documentary the two had watched together. He wasn't sure whether it was the reminder of Alaric that had made her sad, but he tried desperately to offset it by unveiling Pawnds' gift: a towering cat tree. The cat seemed much more pleased than his owner. Clad in a Santa costume similar to Pip's, the gray feline had wasted no time in climbing the tree.
Mae was also quiet when she opened her gift, a feather necklace. He'd tried to make it more personal by writing the poem that she'd recited to him in Paloma, the one that had inspired her feather tattoo, on the box, and had thought that she'd like it. When she didn't say anything, Oliver frowned. "If you don't like it, I can get you something else," he offered.
Mae shook her head, tears burning in her eyes. "I love it," she declared as she held the box tightly. "The poem and everything… it means so much."
"Why do you seem sad then?" laughed Oliver.
Mae shook her head as she pulled the necklace from the box and fastened it around her neck. She put her hand over the little feather, pressing it into her chest. "I just haven't gotten to spend Christmas with people that meant so much to me in a long time."
Emotion tickled the tip of Oliver's nose, and he tried to quickly shrug it off. "Alright," he declared as he turned his attention back to the television, "Buckle in people, we've got some classics to watch."
They made it through all the movies and an exorbitant amount of Christmas cookies before they called it a night. Oliver had been so concerned with making sure that everyone had liked their Christmas gifts that he'd paid little attention to his own. But back in his room, he started to go through them.
The first that caught his attention was a large book. It was navy blue with silver decoration on the front, and when he opened it, he realized Patricia had made him an album.
As he flipped through Patricia's photo album, there was a part of Oliver that longed for the easier times. The earlier pictures featured girls that he hadn't gotten to know very well, but even the girls that had become members of his Elite looked different. They looked less settled, still a little in awe at the palace and the fantastical situation that they'd found themselves in.
Over the last couple of months, the palace had become their second home, and they'd become an odd little family. He wasn't present in some of the pictures, but even in his absence, they looked like they were having the times of their lives.
He hoped it was something they'd take with them once the Selection was over. Whoever he married, he hoped that she would invite the other girls back for events. He hoped that if she ever felt overwhelmed, she would reach out to the other girls who'd gotten a glimpse at struggles of royal life. He hoped his children would know these girls and have allies in them.
As he reached the end of the album, there were a few photos that seemed off balanced or pages that weren't space as well as the others, like they were perhaps missing a picture or had been cropped in some way. Curiosity and a desire to tell Patricia how much he'd enjoyed her gift motivated Oliver to grab a pair of slippers and make his way towards the Selected's wing.
When Patricia's maid showed him into her room, she was still clad in her Christmas pajamas. Her dark hair was pulled out of her face with a pair of clips, and she was wearing a sheet mask that made her look a bit like a character from a horror movie. "Well, this is embarrassing," Patricia declared before Oliver could comment on it.
"Oh, good," he noted, "I wasn't going to say anything unless you did, because you know, manners, but that's actually frightening."
She laughed and peeled the mask off. Her clear skin glowed with a healthy vibrancy, and Oliver considered asking her what kind of mask she'd used before he remembered his dignity. "So, what's up?" Patricia asked. "Is this an elimination ambush?"
"What? No," Oliver assured her.
Patricia exhaled dramatically. "Good. You only seem to show up at our rooms when we're about to get the ax or go on a date, and since it's, like, midnight, I was a little worried."
"No, you're definitely not about to be sent packing," Oliver laughed. He held up the photo album. "I just wanted to thank you for this. It's incredible and obviously took you a while to make, so I really appreciate it."
Patricia glowed under his praise. "It's not a problem," she shrugged, "I had a million pictures, so I thought it might be cool."
"You were right on the mark," Oliver agreed. "I did just have a question."
"Shoot," she offered.
"Some of the pages seem like they might be missing pieces," Oliver admitted.
Patricia hopped off her bed and joined him to look at the pages that he pointed out. As they flipped closer to the end of the album, Patricia's casual smile faded. "Oh."
"Oh what?"
"Well… I did some editing," she explained. "I thought you might like it better without some of the pictures."
"Well, now you've piqued my curiosity," laughed Oliver. "Do you still have them?"
Patricia crossed to the desk in her room and opened one of the drawers. After a little bit of searching, she produced a small stack of photos. Without any explanation, she handed them to Oliver.
As he flipped through them, he quickly understood why she'd taken them out of the book. There were around ten pictures, and in every one of them, there was a common theme: Alaric. Most of the pictures featured them together, laughing or cavorting at balls or (even worse) just looking comfortable in each other's presence. But some pictures featured Alaric with Xander, Tristan, and Elijah, and there was one of him with Kaitlyn. It was a painful reminder of how the young Illéa had infiltrated his life.
"Oh." Oliver wanted to hand her back the pictures, but for some reason, he held on to them for a moment longer. "Good call," he declared, trying to call any of the anger that had motivated him to oust Alaric in the first place, "Wouldn't have wanted it to ruin the whole book."
Patricia hesitated for a moment, like something was on her mind. "What?" Oliver frowned at her.
"Uh… I didn't take the pictures out because I thought you hated Alaric," she countered. "I took them out because I think you miss him, and I didn't want to make you sad."
Truthfully, Oliver hadn't considered the possibility as the source of his regret. Until this point, he'd attributed it to the fact that Kaitlyn was angry with him. But Patricia might have had a point. He flipped through the pictures again.
It was a fair assessment. In a way, he did miss Alaric. He'd been part of the team, and Oliver had treated him horribly.
But it wasn't a black and white situation. No matter what, Alaric would always be an Illéa, and there would be a part of Oliver that always wondered if he could trust him. Besides, he was embarrassed. He certainly hadn't acted like a leader should when he'd gone back on the promise he'd made to Alaric back in Likely. And there was the complication of Kaitlyn.
He tried to shake off Patricia's assumption with a scoff. "I don't think so," he decided dismissively as he held the pictures out to Patricia.
There was a knowing shadow on her face. "You know why I like candid pictures so much?" Patricia asked.
"Why?" he asked, thankful for the change of topic.
He regretted asking when Patricia's intense stare focused on him. "Because they can't lie." She held the Alaric pictures back out to him. "Look, I don't know exactly what happened, and I'm sure there are a lot of factors. But you guys were friends, good friends. And I don't think that's something that you should just forget after one fight."
Tentatively, he took the pictures. "Thanks." He forced a smile and added, "It's definitely something that I'll think about."
But on his way back to his room, he heard a sound that made him think about it much sooner than he'd thought. He paused outside a library on the third floor. Yes, there was definitely someone crying in there.
For a moment, his complete cluelessness about how to help someone who was in tears tempted him to continue on his merry way back to his room. God knew he had enough of his own problems at the moment. But he reminded himself that most of the people in the castle were people he cared about, and since he was trying to be less of an insensitive ass, he stepped into the room.
His heart sank when he recognized the pajamas that Kaitlyn had worn to the Christmas Eve festivities. She was curled up in a chair by the fireplace, her face tucked into her hands as she tried to steady her breathing.
He knew that he wasn't exactly the first person that she wanted to see right now. But he also knew there was no way he could walk away from her while she was in pain. So, without a word, he sank to his knees beside her chair and pulled her into a hug.
To his surprise—and, admittedly, relief—she hugged him back. He almost asked what was wrong, but he had a feeling he knew, and the knowledge that the separation from Alaric was still causing her so much pain made the jealous creature in his chest stir. Would she mourn a separation from him as ardently?
"I-I sent him a Ch-Christmas present," Kaitlyn explained through sobs. She pointed at a wrapped parcel on the end table. A harsh, red stamp that bore "Return to Sender" covered the front. "He-he-he didn't even op-open it."
The jealousy battled with shame as he thought of how he'd ordered Alaric to leave Kaitlyn alone. As he held her to his chest while she sobbed, he realized that he could tell her. But if he did, how long would it take before she left? How long would it be before she made her decision and was on her way to Likely?
But he couldn't just let her suffer either, so after a long moment of thought, he offered, "Kaitlyn… if you… you know, need to leave… I understand." She paused her sobs to glance up at him with puffy eyes and tearstained cheeks. "I don't want you to go," he clarified, "At all. But I hate seeing you so sad and knowing that I sort of caused it, even though, for the record, I didn't mean to."
There was a brief moment of consideration. But finally, Kaitlyn shook her head, and Oliver released a nervous breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. "I just wish things had turned out differently." Her eyes landed on the returned present. "I hope he finds happiness. But I hope I do too."
Unsure of what else he could say, Oliver pulled her back into his arms. After a moment of stiffness, she relaxed and tentatively wrapped her arms around him as well.
But instead of feeling comforted by their reconciliation, the guilt only grew. Kaitlyn had said she'd loved him, but Oliver realized he'd never heard her admit how she felt about Alaric. He'd always assumed that the feelings had been one-sided on Alaric's part. But if she loved him too… Oliver had kept them apart.
He quickly realized if he dwelled on the toxic situation, he would drive himself crazy. So instead, he pushed it from his mind and declared that they were going to get hot chocolate to cheer her up, hoping that it would have a similar effect on himself as well.
He stayed up far too late with Kaitlyn and regretted it sorely the next morning. In contrast to the tranquility that was Christmas Eve, Christmas Day was hectic. Anderson woke Oliver at seven on his mother's orders, but instead of heading to breakfast, he had to get ready and meet his parents in the entrance hall of the castle.
"Mom, why do we have to do this?" he complained as Eadlyn straightened his tie and crown. "Isn't the reason we have a million maids and butlers so they can show guests to their rooms?"
"Why are you so rumpled?" she demanded.
"Maybe because it's seven thirty," protested Oliver as he shrank back to escape her hands.
"Oliver, cheer up," she ordered, "It's Christmas! Right, Kile? Kile?"
His father jumped awake from where he'd been leaning against the wall. "Yeah, I think it'll be great," Kile mumbled, obviously unaware of what Eadlyn's question had been.
They always had a lot of guests for Christmas. There were government officials from the provinces, as well as wealthy businesspeople and well-known families. A few royals usually came as a show of goodwill between their countries. Some, like Raphael, just came because they liked to be in the center of the action.
It took two hours for the last of the cars to arrive from the airport, and afterwards, Oliver desperately wanted to drop into bed for a nap. His heart sank when his mother turned to him and beamed, "Ready for church?"
The only upside was that they were joined by the rest of the family and the Elite for the service. He tried to sneak away to sit with the girls—and maybe nap on one of their shoulders—but as always, he was placed at Eadlyn's left side and under her watchful gaze. She elbowed him sharply in the ribs a few times when he dazed off during the mass, but all in all, they made it out with little incident.
When they returned to the palace, sleep still evaded him, as he was drawn into his mother's yearly state of the union meeting. It was supposed to be brief—only an hour—but it was the governors' chance to discuss how things were going in their provinces and bring up any legislature or assistance they needed from the palace, so naturally, Oliver didn't escape for another three hours.
And, because he was the unluckiest person he'd ever met, when he returned to his room, it was time to get ready for Christmas dinner. There would be an optional cocktail hour before, but as always, Oliver was expected to be present.
Starving, exhausted, and in a generally bad mood, he was hiding in an alcove with a tray of hor d'oeuvres when Margaery happened upon him. She took in the sight, and he could see the laughter barely concealed in her face. "Look, I'll acknowledge this isn't my finest moment," Oliver noted before he dropped a tiny sandwich back onto the tray.
"No judgement," Margaery assured him. She gathered the skirt of her lacey, dark blue gown and settled beside him. "Rough day?"
"Oh, it's been quite a merry Christmas," Oliver declared sardonically. "Do you know how many times I've had to pretend to be listening to pompous, old windbags today?"
Margaery laughed. "You know, my father is one of those pompous, old windbags."
"Oh." Oliver frowned as he scanned the crowd for the Seymours. He should have realized that they'd be present at such an event. "Guess that explains why I haven't seen Xander all day. Sorry."
"It's alright," Margaery offered, "My dad is kind of a windbag."
Oliver snorted and popped another shrimp into his mouth. "Well, at least you already know how to talk to them," he pointed out. "The poor other girls are probably amazed that these are the people that basically run the provinces." He glanced over to where Kaitlyn was talking with the governor from Clermont. Her eyebrows were raised in concern as the old man told a joke that was apparently so funny that it made him start wheezing.
"This isn't a bad hideout," Margaery noted. She reached for one of his snacks.
"Survival skill number one of being royalty: find the best refuges," he declared. "You guys have probably realized that balls and dinners get really old really fast."
With a laugh, Margaery protested, "I like them. You get to meet a lot of interesting people."
"Well, just wait," declared Oliver, "Soon you'll know everyone, and then the only interesting part will be listening to them gossip about each other. You should hear with the governor of Allens thinks of the province rep from Honduragua."
"Isn't it funny how petty grown adults can be?" Margaery mused. There was a hint of bitterness in her voice that gave Oliver the idea that she didn't like gossip.
"I try to keep my standards low so I can't be surprised by anyone's ridiculousness, including my own," he admitted. He sighed and inspected his empty tray. "Can't hide out forever, I guess, and I'm all out of food. We could go save your brother from your dad."
"He'll appreciate that," laughed Margaery. Oliver rose to his feet and offered an arm to her.
Before they reached the Seymours, Oliver heard someone call his name. His face broke into a grin when he saw Raphael approaching him. He glanced at Margaery, who offered to meet up with him later and continued over to her parents and older brother. The Italian prince greeted him with a hug and held him at an arm's length to examine him. "You look older since I left," Raphael declared with his usual easy smile.
Oliver snorted. "Don't you watch the news?"
"I try not to," shrugged Raphael. "The world is a depressing place, mio amico." Oliver rolled his eyes and almost scolded the irresponsible prince, but Raphael's face darkened. "I did hear about your brother. How is he doing?"
"Good," Oliver admitted, "We've kept it pretty quiet, but he actually married Isolde a couple days ago."
Raphael swore in Italian. "The rascal!" he declared. "How embarrassing, amico, we were both beat by your fratellino. But I'm impressed, his wife is…" Raphael wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"Speaking of foxes," smirked Oliver, "who's the girl?" He nodded across the room to the girl that was seated next to Raphael's cousin, Audrina.
Raphael's face lit up in an unfamiliar manner. "One of the reasons I wanted to speak with you," he admitted, "I wanted to introduce you to her, but I had to make sure you were going to behave yourself first."
Oliver held his hands up in concession. "Scout's honor. So, tell me about the flavor of the week."
"That is not behaving," Raphael declared. "Her name is Beatrice. She's the daughter of the duca de Sardinia."
Oliver whistled. "You sure it's safe to play with such a high-ranking nobleman's daughter, Raph?"
Even with all the crazy things that had happened that week, in that moment Raphael said something that surprised Oliver more than anything he'd ever heard: "I'm not playing. I think I'm in love with her."
To emphasize his shock, Oliver choked on his wine. "What? When did this happen?"
"After I left Illéa, I decided to take a vacation on the Amalfi coast with Nonna Nicoletta, and we ran into her one night. Nonna knows her padre, of course, and as we spent more time together, I realized that I didn't want to leave her after the week. So, I invited her to court, and we've been seeing each other since." He grinned proudly, and Oliver had to repress a tantrum. Why couldn't his love life be half as easy as that?
"With all of your ex-girlfriends and conquests?" smirked Oliver.
Raphael grinned. "If I recall, you have your fair share of conquests at Italian court as well, amico."
"Alright, alright," Oliver agreed, glancing around to make sure none of the Selected were in earshot. "Well, introduce me to this girl then. She has to be something if she can make the great principe d'Italia change his ways."
"She is," Raphael assured him. The pair grabbed reinforcements—wine, they grabbed wine—before they crossed to the Italian ladies. "Audrina, you remember Oliver," Raphael smirked. Oliver might have had a teenage fling with Contessa Audrina, but no matter how many times both made it clear that they had no lingering feelings about it, Raphael refused to let it go. He'd tried to repay the favor by hooking up with one of Oliver's French cousins but had failed miserably every attempt.
After Oliver had hugged Audrina, Raphael put a hand around Beatrice's waist. While Oliver often didn't put much stock into what Raphael said most of the time, as he watched the way his friend looked at the girl at his side, he realized that Raphael was maybe being serious. He looked at Beatrice like she was the center of his universe.
"Oliver, this is Beatrice," Raphael announced, "Bea, Prince Oliver."
She was a pretty girl but not the type that Raphael usually went for. She was petite and thin, with a somewhat flat chest and impeccable posture. Her hair fell to her shoulders, a mousy brown color that curled around her sweet face. The vibrant brown eyes smiled as she curtsied to Oliver. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness," she announced. Her voice was soft with a heavy Italian accent, but it didn't waver.
"Oliver, please," Oliver invited, "Any friend of Raph's is a friend of mine."
Beatrice seemed pleased by this. Oliver chatted with the Italians a little longer before he noticed his mother fixing him with a hard look and realized that it was time to socialize. With a groan and more reinforcements, he joined Xander. "Alright," he sighed, "Introduce me to some business people that aren't going to make me drown myself with this wine."
Although he was usually the most affable of his friends, Xander snorted. "Pickings are slim," he admitted, "But let's see what we've got."
Xander was not exaggerating. In the next twenty minutes, they rotated between Mr. and Mrs. Dorian Haloran, who owned the largest department store in Illéa; the Ramirez's, who were wealthy farmers from Paloma; and Mr. Geyers, who owned a large portion of the financial district in Waverly.
Their faces, occupations, and ridiculous comments that they made—apparently, Mrs. Haloran's granddaughter had cried for weeks after she hadn't been Selected—all blended together for Oliver. They were ridiculously boring. After the tedious trio, Oliver slunk off to another corner, nursing his drink. "Ready to meet a leader in the pet food industry?" Xander asked, always the picture of optimism.
"No!" Oliver shook his head vehemently. "God, no. Here, I'll introduce you to some people. They're infinitely more interesting than Mr. Ramirez's tomato hybrids."
Over by the twelve-foot-tall Christmas tree, Tae and his sister, Yoshiko, were examining the elaborate ornaments and chatting in Mandarin. Oliver greeted them, one of the few phrases he knew in Mandarin, and introduced them to Xander. "You're Lady Margaery's brother, aren't you?" Yoshiko asked.
Xander admitted that he was, and Oliver and Tae both fixed the princess with confused expressions. She shrugged shyly. "I like keeping up with the Selection," she giggled, "There is nothing like it in East New Asia. It's like a fairytale."
"Try living it," snorted Oliver.
"How is it coming?" Tae asked. "You know, the New Asian New Year is not far out, and you promised to bring your new wife for the celebration this year!"
Oliver laughed nervously. "I'm… working on it."
"Any inside info you can share?" Yoshiko asked, her brown eyes twinkling. "I'm in a very competitive Selection fantasy league with my ladies-in-waiting." He was a bit envious of the princess's position. Although she was the eldest child, like himself, she was spared the role of heir because only sons were eligible to inherit the crown in East New Asia. She had all the time in the world to do silly things like Selection brackets.
The group laughed. "I wish I could, Your Highness," admitted Oliver. "If I knew, I would let you know. But at this point, you probably have a better idea than I do."
"I have too many favorites," she admitted, "I wish they all could stay."
"They only do that in West New Asia, Yoshi," snorted Tae. Oliver saw Xander choke on his drink at the joke the East New Asian prince made at the expense of his rival country, which made Oliver laugh a little harder.
"Alright," he declared, "We're going to go say hi to Mosi and Neema before you can get us into any trouble."
Tae gave them his usual, playful smile. "Don't forget, Oliver! New Asian New Year. We'll be expecting you and Mrs. Schreave!"
"They are definitely more interesting than the Halorans," Xander declared. "Do East New Asia and West New Asia not get along well?"
"It's a tense situation," Oliver admitted. "There was a civil war between the brothers a while ago, and instead of a reconciliation, they just separated. West New Asia didn't get as many resources as the East did, so it's always been a little stressed. Then when the emperor of West New Asia didn't have a son and had to declare Princess Ryo his heir… naturally, it was just another reason to hate East New Asia."
"Is it a big concern for Illéa?" Xander asked.
Oliver shrugged. "Not really. My grandfather supported separation, so we're not West New Asia's favorite country, but they don't have the resources or allies—let alone cause—to take us on."
But Xander's brows only furrowed further. "What if they did get involved with a big, powerful country… like Russia?"
A frown formed between Oliver's eyebrows. "That wouldn't be ideal," he admitted. "Luckily, Russia is remarkably isolationist. And regardless of how much Nikolai infuriates me, I don't have the worst working relationship with his older brother, who, luckily, will be tsar when his father dies or steps down."
"But," he added optimistically, "Illéa also has a lot of allies. Like these guys." He led Xander towards Neema and Mosi, who were talking with his Uncle Ahren.
"There's the prodigal nephew," Ahren grinned. He dropped an arm around Oliver's shoulders, while Mosi and Neema nodded respectfully to him. Oliver made Xander's introduction as he freed himself from his uncle's grasp. "We were just discussing your brother's wedding."
"I heard it was beautiful," Neema sighed.
Oliver felt a little guilty, even though it wasn't his decision to move it up. "I'm sorry you weren't able to make it," he offered, "It was a little last minute. But if I can tempt you with another royal wedding, I'll be up to bat sometime this year."
"Oh, of course, we understood," Mosi countered in his deep, gravelly voice. "The circumstances surrounding the crash were…"
"Extenuating?" offered Ahren.
"I was going to say suspicious," Mosi concluded. Oliver wanted to pump his fist into the air. Sahara was one of their closest allies, and to hear that the country's heir was distrustful of Russia's involvement in the crash when his own mother had been so dismissive made Oliver feel like he'd won something.
"You know, I could not agree more, Your Imperial Highness," Oliver declared as he raised his glass to Mosi.
Eadlyn must've already warned Ahren about Oliver's feelings towards Russia because his uncle distractedly noted, "Alright, alright, are we here for a war summit or a holiday?"
Neema picked up the diversion. "The palace looks beautiful," she beamed as she glanced around the decorated dining room. "I wish we had trees like that in Sahara."
"Oliver mentioned that you don't celebrate Christmas," Xander noted, "What are your major holidays in Sahara?"
"We have a wide range of religions in Sahara," Mosi noted. "Our citizens are allowed to practice whatever they wish, and it varies between different locations." Neema nodded before she began to explain the Christmas-like celebrations that had taken place in her native village.
A few minutes into their conversation, Oliver noticed his friend's eyes focus on something across that room that made his brow furrow. Without allowing his concern to show, Oliver politely excused them both and turned to Xander. "You okay?"
He nodded across the room towards his sister. "That guy that Margaery is talking to—"
"Oh! I know him," Oliver remarked. "That's Kaleb Ayers. Got me out of a tight spot a while ago at this club. Come on." He didn't notice the way that Xander's face blanched until it was too late, pulling the Earl Marshal along with him.
"Kaleb!"
When Kaleb turned from Margaery to greet the prince, a warm, friendly smile lit up his face. "Your Highness." He bowed. "Thank you so much for the invitation."
Oliver remembered that he'd added Kaleb onto a guest list where his father had already been present, since the elder Ayers was the vice-president of Eastern Commerce, one of the largest banks in Illéa. "Well, just a show of appreciation after our earlier run in this year," Oliver explained, thinking of the Irina situation and the mess that he'd gotten into at the club with one of Kaleb's friends. It was strange to think of, as he'd never do something like that to the Elite now.
Kaleb sent a sly smile to Margaery. "Of course," he replied, "I was actually just catching up with one of your Elite."
Oliver's eyebrows jumped in surprise. "Do you guys know each other?"
"No." Margaery's voice was surprisingly firm as she turned to Oliver. Her smile looked a little forced. "Your glass is almost empty," she declared, even though Oliver still had half his wine left, "Why don't we go get another?"
But Kaleb slyly caught Margaery's arm. "Margy, you didn't tell him?"
"Tell me what?" frowned Oliver.
"Nothing," insisted Margaery. She shot a desperate glance at Xander.
"Uh, our father works with the Ayers' business on occasion," Xander explained, "Nothing to really talk about though—"
Kaleb laughed. "What about our other business venture?"
"What is going on?" Oliver asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Margaery seemed oddly ruffled by Kaleb Ayers, since she was usually one of the most well-composed girls.
Before a floundering Margaery and a clearly uncomfortable Xander could come up with a response, Kaleb pulled Margaery to his side. "Margy here is my ex-fiancée," he declared. "Who knows, Your Highness, if she hadn't cheated on me, she might not even have been a part of your Selection."
There was a moment where the small group of four just looked at each other: Kaleb smirking at Margaery, Margaery's apologetic eyes turned on Oliver, Oliver glancing between the pair, and Xander glowering at Kaleb. "What, she didn't tell you?" Kaleb inquired innocently.
Heat flooded Oliver's face as he realized that, once again, he was the last to find out something important about one of the Selected. "Would you excuse us for a moment?" he announced as he glanced between Xander and Kaleb. The latter looked gleeful, and while Xander seemed like he wanted to protest, he nodded. Oliver retreated to the alcove where he'd hidden earlier, Margaery at his heels.
As soon as they were alone, Oliver turned on her. "How long ago did all of this happen?"
Margaery cringed at his tone. "A little more than a year?"
Oliver's face was disbelieving. It had always seemed like Margaery was the perfect option: sweet, kind, caring without the complicating factors that made him question some of his other relationships. But he had been wrong. And in a way, Oliver felt like he had no one to blame for the way that he was feeling right now but himself. He'd put her on a pedestal, held her up as a perfect thing in a messy world, and as was unavoidable, she'd fallen.
"A year ago," he repeated in a hollow voice. It seemed like such a small amount of time, insignificant really when it came to getting over one's only serious relationship, something that had almost ended in marriage. He raised his sad eyes to meet her apologetic gaze. "So, what was I? A rebound?"
"No!" Margaery countered instantly. "It wasn't like that."
"So, what was it like, Margaery?" he demanded, the seemingly ever-present anger simmering within him. "Because you've been here for months, and I've told you a lot about myself. I've told you about Pacifica and how I feel pressured by the monarchy and who I want to be, and at a million different points, you could've told me about this!"
There were tears in Margaery's eyes. "I know," she admitted, "and I'm sorry. I-I wish I would've told you sooner, but I was scared that you'd react… well, like this—"
A deeper fear stabbed at Oliver. "Didn't you trust me?" he demanded. Because when he thought about, he'd put a lot of trust into the girls at different points, and he wanted to feel it reciprocated. He growled in frustration. "God, how ironic. One of the first things you asked me about on our first date was my dating history, yet you completely failed to mention that you were about to marry someone!"
"Oliver, stop," Margaery requested, "Of course I trust you. You're right, I should've brought it up then, and when I didn't, it seemed like there was never a good place to tell you about it." She hesitated before she added, "And you weren't exactly truthful that day either. You never mentioned Regan."
"That's different," Oliver countered hotly. "I didn't have a Selection because of Regan. But can you honestly tell me he has nothing to do with why you're here?"
Margaery opened her mouth to reply instantly, but after a moment, she closed it in hesitation. "No," she finally admitted in a small voice. "He is a large part of the reason that I came here. When Kaleb told everyone that I cheated on him—which didn't happen, by the way—it felt like that was all that people saw when they looked at me. It didn't matter how many charities I helped or how nice I was to people. There was nothing that I could do."
"Except escape," frowned Oliver.
She gave a small nod. "I hoped that I could show everyone through the Selection that the person that Kaleb portrayed me as isn't who I am."
It was a lot to take in, and Oliver mulled over her words for a long minute. "So, has this all been an act?" he asked flatly. "Presenting your best face to the world… and to me?"
A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye, and she nervously tugged at one of her fingernails. Oliver realized he'd never noticed any of her nervous habits before and couldn't help but wonder if they were something she'd concealed from him as well. "I suppose I maybe tried harder," Margaery confessed weakly. "But I've never pretended to be someone that I'm not, Oliver. I just wanted you to see the good things about me, because it felt like no one had for so long."
He understood to an extent—he really did. But he was too hung up on the ways that he'd opened up to her, and the things that she hadn't been able to reciprocate. "I wanted to see all the parts of you though," he frowned. "The good and the bad."
"There's still time," Margaery tried.
But her statement was in direct conflict with a feeling in the pit of his stomach. "I don't know if there is," replied Oliver. Then, unable to watch her cry, he fled to the safety of the crowded ballroom, his thoughts swirling.
His goal had been to escape—maybe ask Xander a little about the situation or at least get some more wine so that it wasn't the only thing he could think of—but he was accosted by another pair of pompous, wealthy businessmen with inflated senses of self-importance. They trapped him, and to his displeasure, he realized that Kaleb Ayers was within earshot as well. He tried to ignore the latter as he listened to the old men prattle on about things that seemed very unimportant to him at that moment.
That is, until he caught wind of Kaleb's conversation.
As Oliver listened to Kaleb, he felt his temper slowly climbing. "A shame, really," Kaleb sighed, "The prince is a personal friend, and if I'd realized that it was her that was in his Selection, I would've warned him earlier. Poor guy. Of course, I know firsthand how manipulating she can be."
"Excuse me," Oliver ground out before he turned around. "Kaleb," he declared loudly, "Could I speak with you privately?" Before Kaleb could respond, Oliver shoved him towards a quiet area of the room.
Kaleb spoke before Oliver even opened his mouth. "Look," he began, "I'm sorry about all of this. I should've told you at Opium, but I sort of got caught up in the moment and forgot. I'm just glad I was able to tell you about her before you made a huge mistake and married her or something—"
"Can you shut up for a minute?" Oliver demanded. Kaleb looked shocked, and Oliver suspected that, much like himself, he'd never been spoken to in such a manner before. Oliver tried to rein in his temper. "Look, while I appreciate the… input of my people, I'm not sending Margaery home because you're upset about a break up."
The speed with which Kaleb Ayers's demeanor changed shocked Oliver a little bit. While the young man had always been agreeable, if a bit simpering, in the prince's presence, his brow instantly furrowed, his lips turned down into a frown, and there was a stormy displeasure in his eyes. "What?"
"It's an issue for Margaery and me to work past," Oliver shrugged. "But as it is, she remains a Lady of my Selection, so you should probably stop mouthing off and show some respect."
Apparently, Kaleb was not much better at controlling his anger than Oliver was. "Are you kidding?" he demanded. "You'd let someone like that—a deceptive little slut—be our queen?"
In a not entirely warm and festive move, Oliver shoved Kaleb against the wall behind them. "Watch it," he warned. "I wasn't requesting you show some respect. It was more of an order."
Kaleb was silent until Oliver released him and took a step back, trying to quell his anger. They'd attracted more attention than he would've liked, and Xander and Elijah appeared at Oliver's side. "Everything okay?" Elijah asked, eyeing Kaleb warily.
"It's fine," Oliver ground out. "Kaleb and I were just… coming to an understanding."
Kaleb's expression clearly noted that it was not fine. "I did you a favor," the blonde man pointed out, "when I hid the fact that you were out making out with a girl who was definitely not a part of your Selection. I didn't tell anyone then."
His dangerous tone didn't go over well with neither the prince or his friends. Elijah took a step between Oliver and Kaleb. "You know, Ayers, that sounded a lot like a threat," he declared in a low voice. "But you wouldn't be dumb enough to threaten your prince, would you?"
Kaleb's face blanched slightly until Xander pulled Elijah away. "No," countered Kaleb as he straightened his jacket haughtily, "I just think that such favors deserve thanks—"
"What do you want, a medal of honor?" snapped Oliver.
"I want that whore put in her place," retorted Kaleb, and suddenly, it was Elijah holding Xander back. "After everything she's done, this is what she gets? To be one of the most revered women in the country?"
"She didn't even do anything!" Xander barked. His usually jovial face was contorted with more rage than Oliver knew his friend to even be capable. "You set her up, you lying sack of—"
But Oliver would never know what colorful expletive he was about to bestow on Kaleb Ayers, because Elijah decided that some space would be good for Xander and dragged him outside to a balcony. Oliver turned a cautionary look on Kaleb. "Watch it, Ayers," he announced, "Last warning."
Oliver wouldn't have guessed that Kaleb was a very smart man, but he was a little surprised by just how stupid he proved to be. Even the most basic idiot would've had enough self-preservation to let the irritated prince walk away, but Kaleb's indignation got the best of him. Oliver had turned his back and only taken a step before Kaleb acknowledged, "You know, you hear things outside of the palace."
Part of Oliver wanted to keep walking, but the larger part wanted to watch Kaleb crash and burn. So, he paused. "I'm not shocked you'd want to keep Margaery," admitted Kaleb, "Social climbing witch that she may be, at least she knows how to act. I hear the model is scared of her own shadow, and sweet Lady Rosalie is far too plain to be queen. Of course, that leaves you with Patricia, who you look as about as attracted to as that burly bodyguard of yours. Mark off the Davis girl, who I hear is in love with Alaric Illéa, and then there's that beautiful dime that used to sell the pleasure of her company to men—"
Generally, Oliver didn't like fighting. He was more of a master of words, talking his way in and out of situations, and crushing his opponents with biting jabs. But unfortunately, Kaleb Ayers appeared to be a man of words as well, and Oliver decided that he wasn't going to fight fire with fire.
So, before Kaleb could deliver his conclusory blow, Oliver delivered a blow of his own: his fist, directly to Ayers' jaw.
A lot of things happened after that. First, Jonathan swept in between the two men, looking both exasperated and amused. The room fell mostly silent as too many pairs of eyes turned to them. A few of Kaleb's friends took a step towards them like they were going to help, but when Jonathan pushed his coat out of the way to reveal the holster of his gun, they decided against it. Oliver, for his part, felt a rush of different emotions: initially, pride; secondarily, embarrassment; and finally, pain as his knuckles ached.
Unsure of what else to do, he declared to their new crowd, "Mr. Ayers was just leaving. Everyone ready to eat?"
The room burst into action, and although Eadlyn sent him a look that said they would certainly be talking about his conduct later, Oliver had no regrets as he watched a pair of guards lead Kaleb from the room. As he took his seat at the head of the table at the queen's side, he caught Margaery's gaze. She gave him a tentative smile, her appreciation evident, and after a small moment of hesitation, Oliver sent her a brief but encouraging grin in response.
They made it through the rest of dinner without incident, and when he was finally free of his long day of obligations, Oliver sought out Rosalie. "You busy?" he asked.
"Of course not," she countered with a smile. She looked quite pretty in a red and cream gown with little flowers on it, and her hair curled elegantly.
"Good," declared Oliver, "It's time for the second part of your gift."
She looked shocked but took his hand when he offered it to her and let him lead her from the room. "I started to read the plays that you got me, by the way," she declared as they walked down a silent hall. "I love them."
"I hoped you would," grinned Oliver, glad that his present had been a hit and not a miss. He'd never been good with gifts, but he'd tried his best for the girls.
He led her towards a room that wasn't used very much in the palace. It was mostly dark inside, and Rosalie looked nervous as Oliver led her down a flight of dimly lit stairs. "We're not going to a dungeon or anything, are we?" she fretted.
Oliver laughed as he ushered her into a seat at the bottom of the stairs. "Not at all," he promised.
They both sat down in the darkness, and a silence settled over them for a minute. "Am I missing something?" Rosalie whispered as she glanced around. The room was still dark, but Oliver shook his head.
"Just wait for it," he offered.
She nodded her agreement, and they held hands silently in the dark. Oliver could feel her tension as the presence of others in the dark became obvious. "Is someone here?" Rosalie asked, her discomfort clear.
"Yes," confirmed Oliver, amused by her reaction.
"Can we get some lights or something?" Rosalie frowned.
Almost as if someone had heard her inquiry, the lights of the stage in front of them burst to life without notice in a manner that made Rosalie jump. She laughed at herself when she realized they were in a small theater. "You didn't have to be so secretive," she chided him with a chuckle at herself.
"It was cute," Oliver assured her with a laugh of his own.
Their conversation was curtailed shortly as the orchestra in front of them picked up their instruments. After the opening chords, the curtains of the stage pulled back to reveal a full set. The actors walked on a moment later, and the show began.
Oliver had truly felt awful that he hadn't been able to make the show with Rosalie. It hadn't been anyone's fault, but he knew that it was something that she would've loved. The theater in Angeles where it had been performed by the impressive company was one of the most beautiful, modeled after the Paris Opera House in France. He'd planned for them to dress up and get to enjoy a night away from the palace, and instead, they'd been subjected to nothing but stress since the accident.
Since they hadn't gotten the chance to escape to the theater, Oliver had decided to have it brought to them. When he asked the company if they'd be willing to travel to the palace for a private performance, there'd been eager agreement. He knew it wouldn't be the same, but he hoped that Rosalie would still be able to enjoy the show.
As she sat beside him, wide-eyed and clearly captivated, Oliver was glad that he'd decided to ask for the private showing. It was worth the slight difficulty of figuring out scheduling, payment, and everything of that sort to see the joy in her eyes. Her passion for theater was clear, emanating from the bright, spectacled eyes.
When the final curtain call sounded, Rosalie jumped to her feet to applaud the actors, and Oliver joined her. "Want to meet everyone?" he offered.
"Really?" she asked excitedly.
He nodded and led her backstage. They said hello to Thalia, of course, but they were also introduced to different actors and actresses that they were both unfamiliar with. Rosalie hung on their every word, and when the director invited her to come audition in the fall after she mentioned that she was an actress, Rosalie looked like she was going to faint from excitement.
Slowly, the theater emptied until they were the only two left. Oliver lounged on one of the chairs of the set as Rosalie slowly examined the stage. "Thank you," she beamed, clearly still over the moon. "This was incredible. All of this just for me? I never thought something like this would be happening to me."
"You deserve it," Oliver declared, "You've really been here for me throughout this whole crazy thing, Rose."
She turned towards him with a smile on her lips. "I'm glad you feel that way," she admitted, "That's all I've ever wanted."
"Well, mission accomplished," proclaimed Oliver as he stood and joined her at center stage.
Rosalie smiled up at him shyly. "Um…"
"Do I have something on my shirt?" Oliver frowned as he glanced down.
She laughed. "No," she assured him, "It's just…" She pointed up. Tied to one of the microphones that descended from the rafters was a distinctive, festive bundle of mistletoe.
Thinking of the way that Rosalie had responded the last time he'd tried to kiss her, Oliver instinctively took a step back. "Oh. Sorry," he laughed.
But to his surprise, Rosalie's smile turned brave, and she stepped towards him again. Before he could fully register what was happening, she leaned upon her tip toes and kissed him lightly. When they parted, she smiled, the happiness shining from her face. "Merry Christmas, Oliver."