The letters wait on my desk.

To avoid suspicion, I flew back to Angeles empty-handed and with nothing but frustration to give to Durante, Naomi and the rest of the guards. A wasted opportunity, where negotiations broke down as easily as dry pasta. Naturally the Voice thought of a way to send her change proposals to me via a more discreet method.

"Well? What happened?" Roy asked the moment I returned to the palace. "They destroyed your earrings so we weren't able to record any audio."

I shrugged. "More propaganda. More attempts to win my over. More threats. I think we're trying to understand each other, but we go from the wrong angle every time."

"So?"

"So… I guess I'll have to think more about it."

He scoffed. "They didn't convince you to their side, did they, Gail?"

"Of course not."

Not yet.

After the debrief with Roy and Durante, I return to my room. There my mail waits, a neat stack of open envelopes. Palace secretaries check everything that comes through; Roy's idea. I rifle through until I come to one, the paper quality thin and brittle. Recyclable, easy to dispose of.

Dear Your Highness,

You are our favourite royal. You are poised, graceful, and so beautiful. Please continue to be so.

Kindest regards,

Eve T. Choi

I move from my desk to the heater and hold the paper close. Like magic, the writing on the back of the letter reveals itself. A URL. I move to my bed, glancing at the door to make sure it's shut, and open my laptop, typing the address onto the search bar. Up pops a lone page, bare of any flourishes, with a single download link.

Just to be safe, I run my virus software through it, but it finds nothing. Only the five-page brief in electronic form, and I churn it through to the small printer beneath my desk until the paper is warm in my hands.

Proposed Changes to Illéan Infrastructure. I read the document in full, but it's much the same as the version I read in Fennley: a number of policy changes to improve quality of life for all citizens. The thing is, I can't even bring myself to hate the proposals, to feel the Voice twisting my priorities with every syllable on the page, because all of it puts the people first. It's all morally righteous. What's bad about reducing student debt or increasing benefits for the unemployed? Nothing. Not from the first word to the last.

But my stomach still clenches for entirely selfish reasons. This is the beginning of an alliance with the Rebel Resurgence. Okay, all I've done is read some paperwork, but even that feels like a fundamental betrayal. To the country, to my family, and most especially to Roy. If he knew what I held in my hands… if he knew I lied to him…

I shoo the thought. I don't have to think about what he'd do if he found out, because he won't. I'll make sure of it.

More pressingly, how am I going to get this to Prime Minister Wafiya Ahmed, who has been a family friend since the government's inception? Who would never want to bow to rebels no matter the cost, same as Roy?

Think, Gail, think. If I'm really going to do this, then I'll need a plan, even though I'm no good with plans. Ahmed lives in on the other side of the country, in Allens, and she doesn't often come over, either, so somehow I'll have to go to her.

1600 New Pennsylvania Avenue.

My heart pops in my chest. Wasn't Cami saying something about excursions for politics class?

A knock peals at the door. I shove the papers under my mattress for safekeeping, then open. One of Aderyn's hands is balancing a silver tray laden with freshly-baked beignets and pots for dipping. Chocolate and caramel and jam.

Her other hand is occupied with Tay's, looking up at me with bright, bouncy eyes. It's good to see the parade isn't getting him down anymore.

"We heard you had a hard time in Fennley," Aderyn says, "meeting some representatives from the province."

"So I baked you some beignets!" Tay bobs on the balls of his feet. "This is my eighth batch! Omma says I'm getting good at making them but she doesn't want any more and all the guards are full so I want you to try these, Gail!"

The surprise is so lovely I nearly squee. I can't forget about my task ahead, but I can push it to one side so I can give Tay my full attention. I usher them inside and make space on my desk for the tray.

"That's so kind. Thank you, scamp."

They're greasy with oil, hot to the touch, but they melt on my tongue and disperse the last doubts with sweet sugar. Even Aderyn aahs at the taste.

"And you are okay?" she asks me between bites. "You seem very… wound up."

"Meeting political figures will make anyone wound up," I say.

"True, but this is… this is like you've seen true dark."

Maybe I have. The Resurgence is the abyss that I'm staring into, and it's reaching out, coaxing me to let go of my wills and fall blindly into space. But I can't turn away now. The two sides are warring, and all it's doing is churning dust in its wake.

If my idea catches on, I might be able to stop it all.

"I'm fine," I say.

But I don't truly mean it.

"Now," Cami turns from the board, almost entirely black from her marker pen scrawls, "who would like to read the next passage out loud, titled Formation of the Current Government?"

Unsurprisingly, no one raises their hand.

The days pass by without much fanfare. I'm locked back into regular life – or as regular as my life can be – as if the whole rebel debacle didn't even happen. As if the Voice's proposals aren't now laying in the locked drawer in my desk, waiting for someone to read them.

For the right someone, at least.

At the end of this class, I'm going to ask Cami to make it official. To organise a trip to the Prime Minister's government house.

Cami sighs. "Very well. Sir… Watanabe. Please read the next passage."

I glance behind us to Yamato's resigned grimace. He's sitting alone at his desk now, since I eliminated Nathaniel Durham yesterday. It was a mutual thing; Nathaniel felt only relief when I let him go, and I decided not to make a big deal out of it. Still, there was a distinct roll of tension when class began this morning without him, the quietly intellectual Selected who seemed to know everything.

Yamato reads, and I look back at my book to follow along. Except besides me, Elliot's pencil works softly along the margins of his workbook. Sketching again. Now that we have so many classes together, I've noticed the drawing he does – it's like a tick, a habit, almost, when a pencil is put in his hand. Today he's drawing one of the succulents on Cami's desk.

"Psst," I whisper to him. "Aren't you going to listen?"

"I am," he says, and keeps drawing.

Somehow I doubt it. Cami's words ring in my head; he needs to pay attention more than most. Pity washes over me and then I instantly feel bad for it. If he wants to get better, he should be reading along.

Yamato stops.

"… Continue, please," says Cami.

"I'm sorry for stopping, Your Majesty," says Yamato, "but I find Elliot Sawyer's drawing very distracting."

My bad goes rigid cold, but that's nothing to the absolute stillness Elliot's inhibits with the accusation. Cami's attention hones on the pair of us, but seeing me with my finger on the text, and Elliot's fingers wrapped around a pencil, she must deduce I'm not the one encouraging him.

"Put the pencil down please, Sir Sawyer," she says, almost exasperated. "You should make notes on the passage."

Elliot obeys wordlessly, but not without turning and shooting the darkest look he can muster Yamato's way. Be discreet, I think, inching my head to see Yamato's reaction, but he merely looks back at the textbook and continues.

What happened there? I thought Kingsley vs. Soren was the only rivalry boiling beneath the surface, but there's clearly some bad blood festering between Elliot and Yamato if that dirty glare was anything to go by.

"Hey, are you okay?" I whisper to Elliot.

"Fine," he whispers. "Yamato just thinks he's better than everyone else."

He does? "I didn't think Yamato was that type of person."

"Me neither."

Nearer the end of class, Cami hushes us for silence.

"I can see some of you struggle to engage with the material, so I've decided for our next few topics, I'm going to change the way I present them. Or, should I say, we present them." She takes a sheet of paper from her folder. "In groups of five, we're going to hold presentations about one topic and show them to the class."

Whispers unfurl between the Selected. Group projects. The bane of everyone's existence.

Zelda groans from her seat at the front. "Really, Aunt Cami?"

"Yes, really." She fixes Zelda a stern look. "You and Gail will also contribute to these projects, so you won't be left out."

"Yeah, because being left out was what I was really worried about," grumbles Zelda.

"Every group will have an assigned leader," says Cami; if she heard Zelda's comment she doesn't show it. "It's obvious that some people here are more take-charge than others, but I'd like to see how well all of you fare in roles of leadership. It's very important when you're part of the royal family."

Her eyes find mine. So this is supposed to help me choose?

Cami runs through the groups. "Kajika Bahe, Zelda, Valerian Griffin, Ansel Hewlett, and Levi Song, you're in one group. Sir Bahe, you're group leader."

At least Zelda knows Kajika. They're friends from history class.

"Silas Braxton, Maurice Elsmore, Nicholas Jacobs, Jasper Korrapati and Max Wellington, you are the second group. Maurice Elsmore is leader."

Two desks away, Maurice slouches in his chair.

"Jeremiah Hill, Sheng Mah, Kingsley Obasanjo, Benedict Santiago and Parker Zaleski, you're the third group. Sheng Mah is group leader."

My eyes dart to Sheng a seat in front, where his hands are frozen over the page. Sheng is a strange case where he'd both be great and terrible as a role model, and I can't help but wallow in a rush of pity that invades my senses. To have to command Kingsley, too…

"Finally, Avian Homes, Soren Reinhart, Gail, Elliot Sawyer, and Yamato Watanabe, you are the final group. Your group leader… is Yamato Watanabe."

Oh heck. Elliot's face is white with dread. Not moments ago he was probably secretly rejoicing at the fact that he'd never have to be any closer to Yamato than he is right now. Now he's our group leader. Now they're forced to work together. It takes all my willpower not to turn around to see Yamato's reaction to the news, too.

"As you can see," Cami puts down her Soul-Destroying Sheet of Group Massacre on the desk, "I have split the friendship groups I've seen in the Men's Parlour. Sometimes, when you're in my position, you have to work with people you don't know, and that is a given of the job."

Don't know? I think, wincing. Try don't like.

"You'll have two weeks to create a five-minute presentation on your topic. Your group leader should take charge and be firm on what needs to be done, but also compassionate, kind, and understanding. I and I'm sure Princess Gail will be keeping an eye on all of you as you embark on these projects." She winks at me. "No pressure to the boys in Gail's group, of course."

"No pressure…" Elliot murmurs.

"Myself, Rudy, JJ and Lilly Carter will judge your presentations. Best to worst. And if you're in the worst presentation, well…" She looks at me. "I can't enforce an elimination, but I'm sure Gail won't like to keep someone who neither works well with others nor pulls their weight."

All my haunches rise as everyone looks at me. I have to eliminate someone at the end of this?

"Isn't that a little harsh?" I say quietly to her as the groups rearrange themselves for the first meetings. "I mean, I don't mind doing an elimination, but it's like a punishment."

"It's to motivate them," Cami says instead. "You don't have to eliminate anyone at the end of the projects, but if there is a group that performed badly, you can make your own judgement about whether you want to keep them or not."

Sobered by the prospect, our ragtag bunch is shoehorned into the back clump of desks when Kingsley declares there should be a ten-foot radius between us all so no one can possibly steal his presentation ideas. It's not winter yet but the temperature in this group is nearly ice cold. Besides Elliot and Yamato, I've never seen Avian nor Soren interact much with them or each other. They're all so different. It could work, or… it could be a disaster.

(Banking on the latter.)

Still, I want a good grade, and I like everyone in this group so far and don't want to have to eliminate them, so if I have to hold the strings together myself, I will.

Yamato is all stoic poise as he sits himself down with the sheet of notes from Cami and pulls out a notepad. I copy, and the others do too. Except Elliot.

"Our chosen topic is the political motivations behind Selections of the past," he says, voice smooth and even. "So we should start by making general notes on any ideas we have."

"Selections of the past, ey?" Avian says, winking at me. "Shame we can't talk about this Selection."

"Are you suggesting my Selection is politically motivated?"

"Always knew you were dodgy, Highness."

I laugh. Soren makes a grunting noise that I take for amusement. Elliot chuckles.

Yamato does nothing.

I remember that time I found him at the rink, a few weeks ago. Alone, skating across the ice like it was butter, beautiful as a swan on a lake. But he was cold, too. Cold like the ice he travels so seamlessly upon. Now I can see it in force with the other Selected – and worse is that I recognise he's not a cold person, far from it, but it's like he has nothing to be happy about here, amongst this group of people.

"Let's not get distracted. We have to get a good grade." He taps his pen to notepad. "Actual ideas?"

"You're the group leader. Shouldn't you be contributing ideas?"

Elliot's remark sounds off-hand, but the tension is all there in his crossed arms and hunched shoulders. Besides me, Avian stiffens.

"I lead the discussion. You contribute ideas," says Yamato coolly.

"You're not leading the discussion very much right now."

"That's because there is no discussion."

Elliot's face tightens, then he slouches in his chair. I think he'll take it further, escalate the situation, but all he does is shrug and glare at the wall by Soren's head.

"Well, er," I scramble for something to say. "You know as well as I do that most, if not all, Selections have political motivations. The very first Selection was instated partly to boost the country's morale, partly to cover up the staged death of Illéa's eldest son."

"There. We can work with that," says Yamato. "You should write this down. All of you."

Elliot refuses, on the basis that he has nothing to write it down. I consider writing two sets of notes, but I'm not Elliot's or anyone's messenger and I don't want to be, even at the expense of my grades. Yamato definitely notices, and his eyes crinkle, but he doesn't say anything.

"Further Selections were also done to boost morale in times of civil turmoil. Most famous example is Maxon Schreave's." Soren doesn't bother to look up as he speaks, too focused on his own notes. "Probably the last one before the First Casteless Era."

"Your brother's is free real estate, right?" asks Avian.

"… If by that you mean we can talk about it, I think so," I say. "It's a past Selection. And the only reason he had one was because my mother thought it would make him more responsible. So, politically motivated to become a better heir for the country… maybe?"

"We can spin it," Avian assures.

We continue discussing for ten or so minutes to get some decent ideas out, and Yamato assigns us one prominent Selection to look into as Cami wanders over.

"How's it going?"

"We have some ideas," I say, when no one else pipes up. "We've chosen some Selections to discuss in our presentation and we're all going to pick one to learn about each."

She nods. "That's a good idea." To Yamato she adds, "Make sure Gail doesn't get Roy's Selection."

"What? But why?"

"That's far too easy."

Her eyes twinkle as she leaves us, and I stick out my tongue. Meanie.

"In that case, Your Highness can have King Maxon's Selection. Soren, King Roy's Selection. Avian, King Clarkson's Selection. I will look at the first Selection with Damon Illéa. Elliot, Queen Diantha's Selection."

Elliot reels back. "Why do I get Diantha?"

"Because it's the easiest. There's so much to talk about you can't possibly get it wrong." He glances up to the rest of us. "Objections?"

My mouth welds shut. You can't possibly get it wrong. Oop.

With myself and Avian too stunned to say anything, and Soren letting the comment bounce harmlessly off, Yamato sweeps his notes into his bag. "Good. Then we'll meet back tomorrow to discuss our findings."

"Tomorrow?" Avian says with a strangled cry. "That's not exactly a lot—"

"We don't have a lot of time. Two weeks."

Then he's out and gone, with us left to blink back the dust of his wake.

Elliot stands and packs his bag. His sharp movements and tensed posture suggests anger, but I see only hurt in his eyes, hollow from the small comment.

"I'll see you all later."

He leaves too, but not out the door – he goes straight to Cami, and then both of them disappear. Pity envelops me, not in a kind hug, but a vice grip that squeezes every last drop of guilt into the pit of my stomach, and even though I have nothing to be guilty about, somehow I still feel responsible.

"But I don't understand," my small voice is shrouded by the din of the classroom, "what happened between those two?"

Avian lets out a long sigh. "Oh boy. You don't know?"

"No?"

"Elliot was watching ice hockey in the Men's Parlour. Yamato came in, saw it, and made a comment off-hand about it being a brutish sport played by anyone with the IQ of a vegetable."

My mouth drops open. He. Said. What?!

"It was… bad," says Soren.

"I meeeeeean." Avian winces. "I'm more of a skating guy myself, but sheesh. Obviously it made Elliot mad and he tried to argue, but Yamato wouldn't even pay him any attention! So then Elliot said really loudly that ice skating was super easy compared to hockey, and oh god, it's like they started their own Cold War."

"When did this happen?"

"About a week ago," says Soren.

"Yeah. They never really got along to begin with, but this was a whole new level. I don't think Yamato has any idea how pissed he made Elliot. He's kind of clueless."

As someone who loves ice hockey with my whole heart my first instinct is to defend it like I would family. I know Elliot feels the same – the way he frees himself on the ice is testament to that. But I must reserve my opinion. Ice hockey? I could recite its bible. Ice skating? What do I even know?

Still, it hurts to think that Yamato's opinion is so lowly. Of me, especially. Even forgetting that I'm secretly on a hockey team, it's no surprise that I love the sport. Did he think it wouldn't get back to me?

No wonder he was so disgusted at the idea of playing it with me, I think, the memory of his fluid routine cursed with the aftermath.

And just like that, an idea forms in my mind. It's wrong on so many levels, Yamato hating ice hockey as much as he does. I could eliminate him here and now, but what would that achieve? One person who still thinks ill of my favourite thing ever? That won't do.

No, I'll have to convince him.

And maybe I can get Elliot to help me.

I stand up. "Okay. We all want good grades, so let's research our Selections and meet up tomorrow."

Avian runs a hand through his ginger hair. "Highness, that's not a lot of time. I've got other things to do, you know? We all have that essay on the World Wars for thingy that's due in a coupla' days, and you probably have princess stuff—"

"I know, but Yamato's team leader, and that's what he wants. So let's all work really hard." I put my hand in. "Team Yamato!"

"I—" Avian frowns. "Can I suggest Team Yamato, feat. Avian?"

"Fine. Team Yamato, feat. Avian!"

We both look at Soren. He sighs.

"Team Yamato, feat. Avian."

When the boys are dismissed, I wait at the desk for Cami to return. Forget everything I just learnt within the past hour, from politics to Selection rivalry; I have enough on my chest right now. Before long Cami returns inside alone and frowns at the sight of me.

"I suppose I didn't catch everything in the Men's Parlour," she murmurs once the door is shut. "Sir Sawyer has asked to change groups."

Big surprise. "What did you tell him?"

"I said no." She gives me a look like it was obvious. "And I said that, sometimes, it's about working with people you don't like. Life here is compromise."

"Very wise of you."

She smirks. "You must want something."

I rock back and forth on my feet, feigning a whimsical mood. Maybe that will sway her more easily.

"Actually, I wanted to ask if you'd made good on your idea for excursions for class." I clasp my hands together, almost like I'm inwardly praying for success. "Remember you asked whether we could go to the government hub? In Allens?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Well, how about making good on that offer?" I bounce on my toes. "I think it would be fun!"

Cami frowns. "With everything going on right now, with the rebels—"

"All the more reason to go! It's very secure at the Ivory House, isn't it?" The Ivory House is the building that Ahmed lives in, named for the grungy off-white shade it has turned over the thousands of years it has stood. "You're doing these presentations to change up how the Selected learn, so why not compound your teachings by going there?"

Her body loosens with ponder. I hold my grin, hoping, pleading inwardly that this will sway her, and I can get these proposals to Ahmed without waiting too long. Without endangering myself or the people to the Resurgence's whims.

"I'll see what I can do," she says eventually, and it bursts a delightful spritz up my back. "But it will take time to organise. Weeks, at least."

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" I throw myself into a hug. "You're the best sister!"

Cami stiffens at first, but squeezes me so tightly I can scent the perfume of her living quarters on her clothes. Cinnamon, sandalwood, Roy. When I pull away, I see there are some tears in her eyes.

"Oh, Cami! Why—?"

"It's nothing," she says, hastily wiping them away. "I just… I care about you a lot, Gail, and it means so much to me that you think of me that way. It's just been… hard, as of late. With the rebels, and… other things."

My delight clumps together and drops like a brick down my throat. Is this the argument with Roy? Is she going to tell me about it?

"It's just small stressors. Nothing to worry about." She shakes her head, dismissing the topic like sweeping dust off a table top. "I think a break would be really nice. I can't organise a trip to Allens fast, but there is this thing I've been looking into…"

"Oh?"

She takes me around to her desk and boots up the computer. Quickly her hands find a page for an architecture event. "Several historians are doing a talk on the building of the Golden Gate Bridge in about a week."

The Golden Gate Bridge.

I nearly gasp aloud.

That's in San Francisco. Location of the first tournament game against the Franciscan Ferrets. Which is also in a week. So focused I've been on rebels and plans that I've put the match on the substitute bench, waiting for a summon that wasn't coming. Zelda hasn't yet been able to think of any grandiose scheme to get us out of here, either.

This is perfect.

"Yes!" I blurt, then reel myself in. "Yes, let's go there. That sounds wonderful!"

"It's an architecture talk…"

"I mean, well, I can take a handful of Selected and we can tour the city whilst you go to the talk, and we can stay there for overnight. What do you think?" I rapidly search for other events on the search engine. "Look, see, there's a chocolate festival on the same day. We can go to that. You know I like chocolate."

"I will never forget when you were fifteen and made a chocolate cowboy hat to prove to Roy that you could, and then it melted in your hair and you had to get bangs cut."

"Yeah, well, on that day I discovered I looked good with bangs, so silver linings."

"Touché." She nods her head. "I'll see if I can pull together a place to stay and a small team to accompany us. But Gail," she fixes me a stern look, "we must be very careful. The rebels have it out for you. You have a target painted on your back."

"I know."

"Promise me you won't do anything silly that could endanger yourself."

My first proper match. Looks like I'll get to play for the Angeles All-Stars after all.

"I promise," I lie.

A/N: Ollo everyone! I hope you had a restful start to 2020. We're back with sneaky proposals, bitter rivalries, and hair-brained schemes to get wily princesses to San Francisco for hockey tournaments... Is this Gail's wisest idea yet? Definitely not. Is it her riskiest? Quite possibly...

Let me know what you thought, and do leave a review. I do like reading your reviews.

Thanks for reading!

~ GWA

NTT: "It was phallic and you know it."