It's not a secret that I love chocolate, so when our limo crests the hill overlooking the largest chocolatier's festival this side of the country, you can bet I let out a little "Eeeeeee!"

Cami, opposite me, layered in a thick designer parka and a woollen scarf, chuckles at my buzzing energy. "Don't go too mad, okay? I understand chocolate is delicious but if you eat too much you'll make yourself sick."

Zelda is next to me, feet up on the rest of the seat and glued to her phone. She scoffs.

"That's what all the weaklings say, Aunt Cami."

"Hah! I'd like to see you both say that when your stomach is bloated like a balloon. Especially you, Gail. I know you can't resist."

I stick out my tongue and she laughs. Cami may be under the impression that I intend to go wild at this festival, but my due diligence prevents me. I'm only allowing myself to have samples, actually, torture as it will be to resist eating everything on sight. Resist really, super hard.

Because I have to be ready for tonight's match. The Angeles All-Stars versus the Franciscan Ferrets. First game of the regional tournament.

The team departed yesterday to stay and rest up in the hotel today. We're going to acquaint ourselves with the arena and start practice at five o'clock, an hour before the game. Zelda and I declined the hotel and travel, Zelda throwing out some excuse that we could get there ourselves, but we cannot miss the warm-ups. It's imperative we don't.

Problem is, we haven't exactly worked out how we're going to escape the hotel. We have a basic route through the laundry chute in our lounge – Zelda's idea – but we don't know where it leads or if we'll meet resistance. All I know is that we'll figure it out. We always do.

Cami is only here as a guest of the San Francisco Architecture Society, who are giving a special evening dinner lecture around the construction of the Golden Gate Bridge. At least I won't have to worry about running into her tonight.

Outside, the terrain fluctuates from dips to curves like an erratic heartrate monitor. Luckily the skies have blessed us with a fogless day, leaving the rest of the city a sparkling mass of people, buildings and cars crammed on inclines and slopes. The chocolate festival is located by the shoreline, overlooked by the original Ghirardiva factory that still makes the highest quality of chocolate today. Little tents are erected to cover the chocolatiers' workshops, who display glass cases of so many different types of truffles, mousses, macaroons, éclairs, cookies and brownies, enough to make any cynic salivate. I even invited Aderyn – famous chocolate sceptic – to join us, but she opted to stay at the hotel and oversee the cleaning procedures.

We head down the hill and into a private car park, and the convoy pulls up outside the door to the factory, where the Ghirardiva CEO will greet us for press and then let us on our way. As usual, security exits first, to sweep the place.

I turn around to watch the Selected's limo slide in behind us, smaller but no less regal.

Cami chuckles again. "What made you choose those five, Gail?"

I turn to face her, but her gaze is locked on the limo. "The Selected? I picked them out of a hat."

"Except for that one guy. What's his name?" Zelda looks up from her phone to give me a daggered glare. "You know, that farm boy."

I clam up. "Sheng."

"Yeah. Funny. Him, you chose yourself."

Okay, maybe I did pick Sheng. Maybe I remembered that we called him Chocolate Ninja for a reason. Maybe I know he'll enjoy this. It's totally not for anything else.

"It seems only fair to invite someone called Chocolate Ninja by his friends, don't you think?"

Unfortunately neither Zelda nor Cami believes my bashful expression. Cami leans back.

"Oh? Do you like him, then? Sheng?"

"N-No."

"Mmm. Okay, Gail."

Cami's eyes twinkle and it is annoying but also I hate myself for blushing.

"H-He's nice to look at. That's all."

"Tch," Zelda says, pocketing her phone and tugging her bright green scarf around her neck. "Eye candy or not, it's not exactly fair. You should've pulled them all out of a hat."

"Hey now, Zelda. The Selection was never a fair competition." Cami winks at me. "Let Gail bring along whomever she wants."

But I don't want Sheng.

And yet, why did I bring him?

Thankfully Naomi cracks open the door, cutting our unfortunate conversation short. "Ready to go?"

"Yep!" Zelda is the first to exit. Flashes burst out as she does, so the press must be here somewhere. She leans in at me. "Sheesh, I hope it's not as bad at the festival."

Cool, November air swirls through my thick dress and fleece stockings. I wave politely at the piranha press that are cordoned off by security gates, before turning to greet the host of the chocolate festival. When our hands shake, the cameras go wild.

"Thank you so much for your attendance, Your Majesty, Your Highness," says William Akwon, Ghirardiva CEO, as he shakes Cami's hand. "You are free to explore the festival as much as you like. We'll offer you free samples of anything you'd like to try."

Which, Mr Fancy Chocolate Man, isn't helping me make wise decisions.

The Selected limo parks and the doors open in front of us. First out is Parker, who nearly trips in his excitement, but rights himself, shakes hands with Akwon and somehow acquires the chocolatier's programme in one breath. Zelda whined when I picked him out of the hat, saying he would 'bounce like a hyper child for the whole thing', but the hat is sacred, and Parker was delighted to receive an invite.

"Sheesh." Silas steps out next, dapper in his pea coat. "I need whatever he's had."

Zelda snorts. "Pure sugar."

Parker, halfway through the programme, harrumphs dramatically. "Hey, I resent tha— ooo, merveilleux!"

"I would like some pure sugar." Kajika emerges next, long hair flying in the breeze. Unlike the other boys in coats, he opts for a thick, wool cardigan, and makes it work, too. The cameras are clicking away more fiercely now, but it doesn't seem to bother him at all. "Though I think all the chocolate will suffice."

In typical Jasper fashion, he blooms from the vehicle door with sunglasses and a grin that could summon Satan from Hell below. Today his suit matches the occasion: dark brown blazer and pants that marble with beige and black.

"I, for one, await the moment that Parker crashes from the sugar rush."

"I-I won't crash," Parker protests, as he flits page to page in the programme for no more than half a second each. Oh yeah. He'll crash.

My eyes catch on the last figure that slips out of the limo, no fanfare. If Sheng deliberately planned his outfit to attract my attention, a crisp tailored suit that is just tight enough to outline the muscle beneath, then he has, reluctantly, succeeded and then some. He makes no sound to converse with the rest of us but meets my eye, pleading lying in wait, and I turn away.

When the pictures and mini press interviews end, we are finally released into the festival proper with a large guard around us at all times. Cami seems to have entered a pensive mood and so slips away with her own people to wander quietly through the stalls, probably to find something to take home. Is she still thinking about Roy and that argument? It's so confusing – one moment they were yelling at each other and the now they're holding hands, cooing sympathy over rebel interference and making googly eyes at one another. Yet Cami still seems sad.

Little stressors, she said the other day, when she said she wanted to leave the palace. I can't think her marriage is a little stressor.

But I won't let the thought or the implications ruin my day, so I purge my brain and continue into the festival with Zelda and the Selected boys, forming a penguin huddle with the guards around us.

"So where first?" asks Silas.

The stalls on either side of us wave and beckon, and the crowds split to let us pass. There's so much on display beneath the white canopies that garland the walkways. Huge trays of dusted truffles, hard truffles, truffles topped with strawberry pieces or dipped in layers of caramel. Rows upon rows of pure chocolate slabs, decorated with dried fruit or peanuts or white, red and blue sauces. There are five-tiered cake masterpieces that ooze warm chocolate sauce or fountains that flow with rich, hot cocoa.

If Parker were an anime character, he'd have hearts for eyes.

"Let's s-start at the beginning and work to the end!" He turns to me, his lower lip trembling. "Is there a budget? Please— please say there's no budget."

"Everything's free to try," I mention, which might as well be the match to light Parker's bomb.

He shoots off and begins his massive taste test. Jasper just cackles, mutters "the crash in inevitable" and saunters behind to watch. The group splits – which is fine. It is kind of impractical for all of us plus our guards to sandwich ourselves in the small path between the stalls.

"Kaji and I were gonna' sample all the truffles," says Zelda, as she loops her arm with Kajika's. "He challenged me to beat me in an eating contest!"

Kajika frowns. "I issued no such challenge."

"Is what fools say! C'mon!" She throws daggers at Sheng. "You should come too, don't you think, Chocolate Ninja?"

Sheng chastens. "Thank you, but I don't want to get sick."

Zelda doesn't seem happy at the rejection – I know she was only doing it to get him away from me – but she tuts nonetheless. "Coward. Silas?"

Silas rears back so his neck and chin become one. "I'm not a coward but I don't want to get sick either."

"Pfffft. Weaklings, the lot of you."

"Hey," I pipe, "I'm not a weakling."

She only raises her eyebrows at me, which gets an undignified snort from Silas, and drags Kajika away to their truffle-devouring competition.

"Don't eat too much!" I call, but I know it's useless. She doesn't have to play tonight, anyway. Only watch from her comfy spot on the side-lines with Bellona. As long as she's well enough to sit there, she can eat as much as she likes. I turn to Silas and Sheng as nerves flitter in my stomach. "Shall we continue on?"

We pass towers of truffles, tins overflowing with wrapped sweets, and candy bars as big as my head. Our fingers dip in every stall as vendors foist their samples into our eager hands, and the chocolate melts in my mouth. For a little while, anyway. After not long they all start to taste the same.

"I need something to refresh my palate," I say, as we meander from tent to tent, idly plucking pieces of chocolate from plates. "Like… a vegetable or something."

"A vegetable?" Silas laughs. "Don't think you'll find any of those here. Though I could go with something green to make me feel better."

Sheng nods his head onwards. "There's that."

One particularly quiet stall peddles chocolate covered apples, chocolate covered strawberries, and chocolate covered—

"Chillies!" I gasp. "Oh, we have to try one!"

They are skewered and ordered in a stand like cake pops, coating in white chocolate drizzle. Deceptively tasty. I interrogate the seller who practically leaps in her boots at my interest.

"Chillies with milk chocolate and white chocolate. Tastier than meets the eye." She offers me a sample. "How much heat can you handle, Your Highness?"

"Pfft. I can take it."

I take a great, big bite.

And it's like I've stuck my tongue into lava.

The seeds burst in my mouth, and though the flavour and texture of the chocolate softens the blow, it bangs my taste buds in a harsh wail of a wake-up call and catapults all the moistness of my mouth into heck. My face must go bright red as the seller smirks and Silas stifles a cough-laugh.

"T-Too hot!" I manage.

"There's a hot chocolate stand just a few down," the seller recommends. "Best one here."

We step away as Naomi steps forwards. "I've got you a bottle of water, Your Highness."

I go to take it, but Sheng holds up a hand. "That will make it worse." He's taken on such a serious tone. Like I really have eaten lava. "No, a warm chocolate drink would be good. A cup of milk, better."

"I'll get you one." Both Silas and Sheng offer at exactly the same time, and bewildered, turn to each other.

Silas speaks up. "No, I'll go, since you seem to be Mr Chilli Expert. I'll be back in a second."

And so he goes.

And so I'm left alone. With Sheng. And a burning tongue.

Typical.

I wave away the concerned bodyguards, including Sheng, but he hovers around me.

"Don't breathe," he says in a low voice. "Wait. That came out wrong. Don't open your mouth and gulp in cold air, is what I mean, no matter how tempting. It will only make it worse."

"O-Okay," I say, resisting the urge to flap my tongue in the air. "It's not even that bad, I swear. You're making this out to be a big deal."

"I don't want you in pain." He sighs. "Why would you agree to eat a jalapeño?"

"I-I thought it was just a normal chilli! A normal hot chilli!"

To my surprise, he bursts out laughing. And it's a beautiful sound, a harmony of a choir with the rugged roughness of a mountainside in winter. It tugs all my heartstrings like a harp.

"You're hopeless," he teases.

"You're a big meanie!" I say, with puffed cheeks that do not make me take the heat better. He can tease me, but oh, I can tease more. "I should send you home right now and go back to Silas. No, Kingsley! You wouldn't laugh at me then!"

Then it's gone. His whole face shuts down like I hit the off switch.

"What? What's wrong? I-I was joking."

His expression is closed off now, and he tugs me aside. My heart does a somersault in my chest then slams into my ribcage, hoping to break free before whatever conversation brews on his lips. That brooding, stoic expression that mars his handsome features with a deep cut of his thick eyebrows. He always seems like that, but it's like if the Mona Lisa hunched her shoulders a little more in her portrait; it's only discernible by experts. And I am a Sheng expert.

He wavers. "It's been on my mind for a while."

I weave my arm with his to make it look like we're just two happy people walking around a chocolate festival with absolutely no baggage here. The crowds are thick but they give us space with the ring of guards, who give us space further.

"It's Kingsley," he ejects it from his mouth forcefully. "It's about him."

I frown. "What about Kingsley? He's not here, and I was really only making a joke. I know he riles you up."

"I wondered… why have you kept him?"

Oh. So this is about the last talk I had with him, that Kingsley is secretly a jerk to everyone and anyone around him. With Soren backing up his claims it's hard not to think they're right; neither of them are liars.

Can it really be? Kingsley, a big meanie? Honestly, that I can see it happening puts a damper on my festive spirits. But what about Tay? Tay adores Kingsley. How heart-breaking would it be to take him out of the competition for my little brother?

"No. I'm keeping him."

Sheng goes still at my side. "Do you… not believe me? Kingsley… he's not a nice person."

"It's not that," I say, facing him. "Tay really likes Kingsley."

He winces. He knows it's true.

"I've never questioned Tay's ability to judge character. You know my brother, he's smart but he's really shy. It takes him a long time to warm up to people. Heck, I don't think he's even really warmed up to you, yet."

"We haven't interacted much."

"Exactly. The fact that Tay thinks Kingsley is the bomb is a sign to me that he's isn't as bad as you say he is."

"Of course he's really nice to the prince," Sheng says. "He's kind to you as well because he wants to win. The rest of us he treats like garbage."

"Well, you don't have to be nice to him back. Just civil."

"Kingsley is not civil."

"Not civil to me is literally bar-style fighting, and has he thrown a punch yet?"

Reluctantly, Sheng shakes his head.

"So there you go. Rivalry and competition between you all is natural, but I won't have you nor Soren take advantage of your positions with me to sabotage his. If you want him to get eliminated then you'll just have to work harder to win me."

Silence for a moment. To avoid looking into Sheng's eyes, I admire the stalls around us, tongue itching from the heat. Chocolate brims from every stand, but we're right in front of a chocolatier's workshop, with a giant croquembouche lathered in chocolate and cream.

"All right." Sheng's quiet voice pierces my reverie. "I can do that."

I make the mistake of looking up at him. His soft gaze melts even my frostiest of moods. Heat from my mouth redirects to my cheeks and I glance back at the display.

"Would you like one?" he asks. "They have cream inside. That will help with the heat."

"Oh, no. It's okay."

He coaxes me forwards. "Here. I'll get you one."

The little éclair wrapped it paper and drizzled with a little more chocolate. The first bite soothes my mouth, a sweet mixture of pastry and cocoa and cream, and, he's right, it does take the edge off the sucker punch of the jalapeño.

"Yum!" I pipe, finishing it into another bite. "Thank you, Sheng."

He nods once. "Oh. You have cream on your lip."

"Where?"

"Here."

His thumb brushes across the corner of my mouth. My cheeks blast heat again and I have to fight not to turn away and fan myself. Stupid heart, I think. He betrayed you. Why do you always forget that?

Yet the thought flees my head entirely as his hand cups my chin, thumb still lingering over my lips. The touch sends up an ecstatic jolt. Memories spiral back, of our first kiss – of me doing this exact same thing to him when he was covered in chocolate, our bodies so close. The ghost of his gentleness as he pulled me in, sealed the gap between us.

Sheng's eyes are turmoil. They spark like a fuse ready to blow. Ready to reach for that moment again. He leans close.

And I, traitorous as I am, stand on my tiptoes.

His breath warms my cheeks.

"Gail…" he whispers.

"Hey, Princess, sorry for making you wait, the line was so—"

I jerk back, a gasp inhaling the cold, sharp air. Silas stands rigid still about two paces away, one cup of steaming hot chocolate in his hand and the other a plain cup of cool milk. His expression falls neatly into an uncaring, almost factory-reset default.

"Oh. I— I'll go."

"No, erm, thank you." I take the milk and slurp noisily if only to kill the silence that chokes me. "Sheng and I— we were just talking."

Sheng's arm, at first wrapped closely around my back, snaps to his side. "Just talking?" he mumbles.

"Yes." I give him a hard look. "About the pepper."

Silas scoffs. "I'm not an idiot, Your Highness. I can see exactly what you were doing."

He turns and stalks away. I grimace, my mouth opening to protest but nothing comes out, and the moment bites at my heart. Why did I even think he'd accept that we were 'just talking' as an excuse? Why, why, why? My stomach twists into a knot.

"I… I want to win your heart, Gail. Fairly." Shame crosses the edges of Sheng's deep voice. "And I don't want to hide it or dress it up as something else. Why are you embarrassed to kiss me in front of Silas?"

I puff out a breath. "I don't want to hurt him."

"So you'll hurt me?"

"No! That's not—" I sigh. "It's just very public and I haven't even narrowed my choices down to the Elite and this was supposed to be a friendly, fun adventure out from the palace with some people who make me happy." I huff. "And for goodness sake, I just ate a really hot pepper! Do you think I'm kissable right now?"

"Yes," he mumbles. "Always."

I flush again. "Well, I don't want to do anything romantic right now."

His lips form a wan line. "It's a Selection."

"I know."

"It will always be romantic."

"I know."

"I want to win, Gail." The revelation comes less like a rising sun over the horizon and more like a hot breeze across my skin. Surprising, but not unpleasant. "I want to win the Selection. For you."

"O-okay," I say, a little flustered by his forcefulness.

He takes my cup and puts it on a nearby surface, then holds my hands in his. Gloved as they are, his fingers rub mine gently, but firmly, and the touch ignites my entire body. Then he brings them to his lips, and even through the wool, I feel the warmth of his breath.

"I want to win the Selection for you, and I will try my best to do that, competition or not. I want to be worthy of you in every aspect, and if that means I will have to challenge some of the others for that position, so be it. I will work hard for you." He presses two kisses to the backs of my hands. "Count on it, Gail."

My feet go to jelly and I nearly keel into his side. Oh god, I'm a total sucker for declarations like this. Why does it make me swoon?

Remember he betrayed you.

I retract my hands and cough noisily. "Thank you, Sheng. You will have to work hard."

He nods, determination burning in his eyes.

"Okay." I take back my drink. "Let's find the others."

It's not hard to find Zelda and Kajika, who have settled at the first truffle stall nearer the entrance. And by settled, I mean, Zelda is sitting with her head flat on the table, groaning, as Kajika kindly but bewilderedly pats her head.

"She lost," he offers.

"I did not," Zelda says between a groan. "I'm just… taking a break."

"An extended break that will continue indefinitely," Kajika clarifies, but with a smile as Zelda raises her head to glare at him. "Where is Silas?"

"He, erm, went off on his own for a little while." Definitely don't need to share how that all went down. "What about Parker and Jasper? Have you seen them?"

Kajika nods his head. Limping towards us is Jasper, his arm wrapped around a sullen and drained Parker. So the crash happened. Parker slumps in the chair next to Kajika and drops his head to the table.

"I have one regret," he mumbles.

"Me too," says Jasper. "That I didn't have a camera."

"My stomach hurts."

"My face hurts… from laughing so much."

Parker flings up a hand. "Look what I have to deal with."

"Perhaps you shouldn't have eaten so much chocolate?" Kajika suggests.

"Disgusting!" Parker's head flies up with his brows scrunched. "I'm not a weakling!"

"Thank you!" says Zelda.

Sheng rubs his temple.

Keeping my attention evenly distributed and totally not fixated on Sheng, the party eventually moves off to watch a chocolatier's competition in the middle of the square. Underneath a large white tent, bakers present their giant chocolate cakes to professional chefs, who judge and critique their work on stage. Like a discount Great Illéan Bake Off. With reserved seats, we're right at the front; on my right, Zelda, rubbing her stomach, would obviously rather lie down, but rammed herself between myself and Sheng before he could claim a seat next to me. On my left, Jasper watches the judging unfold with not a hint of emotion.

"Which cake is your favourite so far?"

He shrugs. "They are all chocolate cakes. The only difference is the fondant."

"Yes, exactly." I nudge my head to the baker presenting now, with an uneven three-tiered masterpiece. "I like that one the most. The mermaid on the rocky beach shore is really cute."

"I see."

"You see?"

"I see."

Feeling this conversation going nowhere, I go quiet. It's no secret that Jasper and I share about as much chemistry as a shoebox with the desert.

"Why are you here?" I ask.

"Because I was invited, and I like watching Parker suffer. I don't even eat chocolate."

"No, erm— wait. You don't eat chocolate?"

"No. Makes my stomach funny."

Typical Jasper to accept an invite to a chocolate festival and not say he didn't eat chocolate. "I actually meant, why are you here, in the Selection?"

For the first time he looks at me with curious, earnest eyes. Not the simper I'm so used to seeing.

"I'm here to prove a point."

"To whom? Me?"

"No."

It seems like that's all I'll learn about that. "What point do you want to prove?"

I think he won't answer as he goes sombre for a moment. I turn back to watch the competition, but then he says quietly. "That fame isn't all just riches, views, and rock solid abs."

"Hmm." I sit back, sobered by the comment. "I mean, I am rather wealthy, millions of people watch the Report, and though I may not have abs, I am very comfortable with my body."

Jasper snorts. "Hah. You know what I mean."

"Yeah. It's not everything it's chalked up to be." I shuffle. "Do you think your point is proven then?"

"I think so. To me, at least." He rolls his mouth. "The lack of privacy makes it difficult to adjust."

"And do you… do you think you see a future between us?"

He barks a laugh so loud the contestants glance down at us.

"You can just eliminate me, Your Highness. I won't take personal offence."

For the first time I don't feel like I'm ripping out a heart as I do it. "Okay, well… you can go home when we return?"

The corner of his lip curls. "I wouldn't mind that."

I sit back, contented for the rest of the show.

When the winner of the competition is crowned in a flurry of gold confetti and rapturous applause, our party is lead back to the square. There, rocking on the balls of his feet, Silas gazes into the harbour down the hill that glitters fiercely under the setting sun. Immediately my hair is on end, and that horrible, terrible, yucky guilty feeling gnaws at the tips of my fingers like frostbite. I tuck my hands into my coat.

"You missed the competition!" Zelda says as we reach him. She slaps his back. "It was pretty hilarious. One dude dropped his cake on his way to the judging station and bawled so much the organisers had to pry him from the stage. And this lady had a five-tiered cake shaped like a ding-a-long."

Kajika frowns. "It was the Statue of Liberty."

"It was phallic and you know it."

Silas' eyes meet mine for a brief second before sliding away. "Sorry I missed it." He doesn't sound very sorry. Everyone and their grandmother must be able to tell by his robotic movements and crossed arms that something is off.

Should I apologise to him? I kind of want to, but not in front of all these people. When I sneak a peek at Sheng, too, his eyebrows are bunched on his forehead like he personally wronged Silas himself.

Jasper stretches. "I, personally, am all chocolate'd out. Not as much as Parker, obviously."

Parker raises a hand. "Can we go back to the hotel? I need sleep."

"And vegetables," says Jasper.

I peek at my phone for the time. Three-thirty. Given the rink is only ten minutes from the hotel, it's time to head back. "Going back now sounds good."

My voice rings strained and forced against the back drop of the noisy square. Zelda meets notices immediately, by the way her shoulders rise. She probably thinks it has something to do with Sheng… which, okay, it does. But it also doesn't. She moves closer to me, wedging herself between me and Sheng again.

"I have no objections."

Surprisingly, Silas is second to speak. "I'd like to go back too." The rest of the Selected agree. I breathe a content sigh of relief as we do just that; I don't think I'll be able to look at chocolate without grimacing ever again.

The Bilton Hotel is a five-star luxury that spreads us thinly on the top floor, the penthouse suites, with a connecting private lounge with a fully stocked minibar, a giant flat screen TV fixed to the wall, and even a fireplace that warms us as the sun begins a gentle descent on the San Franciscan hills. Silas retires to his bedroom without another word, leaving me dejected, and Parker goes to rest too. Zelda, Kajika, Jasper, Sheng and I wait as the guards close the door for privacy.

I flop onto the sofa. We have an hour before we need to go, but I don't even feel like moving. This is no way to be feeling before the match. "I'm going to retire to my room for the day."

Sheng stands when I do. "Would you, erm… would you like some company?"

"No, thank you. I'm not feeling very well from all the chocolate."

I give Zelda a hard look – a we need to go soon look – and she nods once.

Sheng takes the rejection with a gentle nod. Back in my room, I scrub my face of my princess make-up and stare idly at the mirror for a while. A text comes in from Zelda.

You seemed spooked. What did he do?

Nothing, I shoot back. It wasn't him. It was me.

We go in twenty minutes. Get your head in the game, comes her reply.

She's right. My stomach in knots means I might as well give the Ferrets the trophy before I even step on the ice. I can't do this, I think. I can't play hockey unless everything's right.

Twenty minutes. Plenty.

So I clean myself up, shut my bedroom door quietly behind me to a barren common area, and then march across to Silas' bedroom to knock quietly. He opens on the first swing, greeting me with the curls of his dark hair shadowing, but not entirely hiding, the narrow of his eyes.

"Your Highness."

"Can I… can I come in?"

He opens wider and lets me sit on the edge of his bed. He doesn't move to sit next to me, though, instead choosing to hover quietly by the window.

"I'm sorry," I say before I burst. "I didn't mean to insult you earlier."

"Well, you did," he fires back.

Oh heck. "I know."

He turns to face me. "I'm not fragile, you know. I know what I signed up for when I started this competition. If you want to kiss the other boys, go ahead and do it. Don't half-ass it because I'm there."

I twiddle my thumbs. "I know, but I just…"

"You felt caught."

If only he knew how true that is.

"Yeah…"

He sighs. "You shouldn't. It's part of the Selection."

"I can't help it."

He turns back to the window. It's a glorious view, probably the best from Silas' room, with floor-to-ceiling windows that encapsulate the entire San Francisco skyline. In the distance, beyond the skyscrapers and the Painted Ladies is the Golden Gate Bridge, and somewhere around there Cami is enjoying her evening dinner lecture on architecture and history.

"You're gonna' have to learn to help it eventually," he says. "I won't be the first to walk into something intimate."

I stand by his side and watch the little cars below chug along the streets and hills. "I will. Eventually." I face him. "Am I forgiven?"

"Tch, you think you can bat your eyelashes and be forgiven so easily?"

"I-I'm not batting my eyelashes."

But he's teasing. Of course he's teasing. A smile emerges across his lips and splits them into a sly grin.

"Yeah, all right, you're forgiven. And you're definitely batting your eyelashes."

"You have longer ones than mine!" I protest. "What is it with boys and long, luscious eyelashes?"

Dramatically he flicks a curl out of his eyes. "It's because I'm worth it."

"That's L'Oreal."

"Yes, because I have fabulous hair to go with my long, luscious eyelashes."

I stick out my tongue and he grins. In my pocket my phone buzzes again. Rose.

Hey, what time are you getting to the rink? Felice wants to know.

I pocket it before Silas can see.

"I know you're probably tired," he starts suddenly, "but I wondered, since we didn't get much time together today… if you would sit with me a while."

"Sit?" Bewildered, I turn to him. "What do you mean?"

He shrugs. "I like your company, believe it or not. And it just seems a waste not to appreciate the skyline with someone when the sun's still out."

Time is ticking. Suddenly my phone feels like a massive weight in my pocket. "Oh— well— I can't."

"You have somewhere else to be?" I can see the hurt again, reflecting behind his irises, even as he tries to hide it. "Sheng, I take it?"

"N-No, of course not. Don't be silly."

It's fine. It'll be fine. Late to the early session won't matter too much, will it? It's not fair to juggle his feelings like this, even with this other, pressing responsibility on my heels. I would rather be late than hurt Silas with my abruptness. I would rather be late than insult his intelligence again.

So I sit at the edge of his bed, and he next to me, body braced with his hands, and we watch the dying light that cools the horizon from vivid orange to deep ochre to slumbering light blue. Silas doesn't chat much, mostly just enjoying the view and company, and I can't help but enjoy his presence, even as my phone goes riot in my pocket.

Eventually I stand and take a deep breath. "I'm a little tired from travelling today. I might fall asleep if I'm not careful."

His face falls, but into a contented expression, and he stands as well. "All right then. You know… I like being here."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"I mean it. The Selection… it's fun." He crooks a smile. "And you're not half bad either."

That I am really glad to hear. Suddenly I'm feeling demure again, almost caught in another private moment. "Thank you."

"For?"

"Erm, forgiving me? Being so genuine?"

He waves a hand and gazes out pensively to the ocean again. "It's nothing."

I stand on my tiptoes and press a little kiss to his cheek anyway. "Then I appreciate nothing."

Red curls right up his cheek. He goes rigid. "Sure," comes the small voice. But he smiles in a way that I know he liked it, and my heart thumps a little harder in my chest.

As I gently close the door to the room, I sweep inwards. It's like a weight has been lifted. I feel more awake, alert.

"The hell were you doing?"

I turn, right into Zelda. The rest of the lounge is abandoned and dark, as if unoccupied. She has her barrel bag full of our clothes and disguises tossed over her shoulder.

"Do you know what time it is?" she hisses. "Shit, we're so late! I texted you—"

"I know, I know, but I couldn't leave Silas—" It's too much to explain, so I shake my head. "I'm here now. I'll grab my stuff, put on my make-up and we can go."

It's time for the first match against the Franciscan Ferrets.

I apply make-up at the speed of light, change, wig up and rush out to meet Zelda by the laundry chute by the wall near the entrance. I didn't mean to look at the time when I checked my phone, but it's there – five-ten, ten minutes later than we're supposed to be.

Zelda gives me a once-over, approving of my disguise, before her hands grope the wall. The expert speed at which she finds the latch to slide the laundry chute open into a dark pipe, straight to the underworld, makes me think she's done this before. Many times.

"At the bottom we'll probably find ourselves in the laundry room, so we have to move quickly before we're spotted." Up she clambers over the rim before she salutes me. "Come a moment after me, got it?"

Then she drops, silently, almost like falling to her death. I watch her body disappear and blacken as her shadows merge with the darkness.

I sure hope there's actual laundry at the bottom to cushion the fall. Taking a deep breath, I climb up, wonder why my life has become this way, and then drop. Air whooshes around me. A rush wells in my chest.

I have to suppress a long "whee!" that threatens to erupt from my grinning mouth. This feeling – of falling to my freedom, tastes so sweet.

Then the chute curves. I let out a yelp in surprise as it angles left and my side hits the wall. Suddenly I'm spat out into a huge wad of unwashed sheets, and the smell – oh, the smell! I don't want to know what people have been doing in these bedsheets.

Frightened, I sit up. Yep, in a laundry basket, in the hotel's washing room. It's noisy, so loud as the machines churn and spin and lather and wash, it's a wonder how I didn't hear it from even the penthouse. Dryers shiver as they rotate, and it fills the air with steam and the scent of fresh linens.

"Quickly, quickly!" Zelda grabs my hand and hoists me out of Bedsheet Jungle. "I heard voices!"

Just as I detangle my feet from duvet covers, does the door to the right clamber open. Zelda shoves me behind the huge basket in time to hear someone humming and footsteps clacking against the linoleum floor. Shuffles, sighs, then the door closes behind them.

"Must be cleaning staff. We should go before we're spotted," Zelda murmurs, standing and staring out before motioning that I do the same. "We have to be careful. Aderyn might be down here."

She doesn't need to say how bad it would be to meet her.

We slip out of the laundry room and along the corridor, sticking out in our regular, civilian clothes compared to the liveries, and the people in those liveries give us odd looks as we pass.

"Lost?" one asks.

"Yeah, we were trying to get new bedsheets," Zelda shoots back quickly.

The maid rustles. "Please call us next time. What room?"

"101."

She nods. "I'll have them sent up straightaway."

We turn the final corner and move up the stairs. The hotel lobby comes into view, polished and pristine and as gold as a pyramid's interior. The spinning door, our exit, is in sight. All we need to do now is call a taxi to the rink. We might not be so late after all.

"Wow, I can't believe that worked!" I chirrup.

"Have some more faith in me, would you?" Zelda says with mock irritation. "I am good at escaping places."

"Not as good as you think."

I freeze. Zelda freezes.

I know that voice. Why, why, why?

I turn, agonisingly slowly. There, staring at me with blonde brows cutting into her alit, furious eyes, is Aderyn.

"This is it. This is the last straw." Her voice is low so as not to attract attention, but it's fierce enough to snag every single terrified fibre in my soul and yank. Hard. "If you don't tell me what's going on – where you are clearly sneaking off to – right now, then I'm going to report you immediately. To Naomi."

A/N: Ollo everyone! As Ginger kindly pointed out (because I had no idea, oop), it's The Rebound and the Rink's one year anniversary! Yay! Can you imagine I posted the first chapter a year ago?! And since then Gail hasn't learnt squat? It's an absolute farce I say!

In all seriousness, thanks for sticking around. I really, wholly appreciate it. I hope you enjoyed this one, and it answered some burning questions and raised a few new ones... that near-kiss with Sheng?! (How mad on a scale of one to a bazillion would y'all be if I gave him the first kiss hahahahah?) What about Silas? Cami? Jasper's elimination? And Aderyn catching them on the escape...?! This one was massively challenging for me to write... but I think it paid off in the end. :D

Big thanks to OnlyTruePotterhead and Michelle the Editor for Nathaniel and Jasper! I do feel bad for the former's rather quiet elimination, but then I remembered that just like in the original series, I'm not obligated to write every single one. At least both of them were easy, mutual breaks than anything dramatic. Great characters (and definitely bizarre, in Jasper's case), and I had a blast writing them, so thank you both.

Thanks for reading, and here's to another year of great chapters!

~ GWA

NTT: "There's so much at stake and you cruise in like everything's fine. You could have jeopardised the whole match!"