CHAPTER 15

Friday, December 5th, 2239

Princess Carolynn Schreave

Who the hell does my mother think she is?

How can she possibly believe that I would be okay with her flying out a glorified torturer from Waverly to interrogate my boyfriend without even directly asking me. Fine, I probably could have guessed at it when she had mentioned using Henri as a negotiating tactic, but I guess deep down I knew what she meant. I knew what she was implying, but I had ignored it. I just didn't want to think about it.

And I still don't

So, I am not going to let myself be out in a situation where I have to look at Mom, where I would be forced to pretend that all was pleasant and rosy in my life while some hopelessly boring assistant named Jem Hensley gave another unrelentingly plain and dry report on the nation's finances. I wasn't going to sit there and listen to what Mom had to say to some advisors, all while glowering at her from behind my folder so that Mom could see and the advisors in the room couldn't.

It took too much out of me, too much of my valuable time and energy.

And that is why I am not going to show up. I'm sure the meetings will run perfectly fine without me, and Mom can use the silence where I would usually be to wonder about all the bad decisions she made that lead to me not showing up.

Perfect. I get a break and a guilt trip all in one.

Stepping into a pair of small gold heels, a pair that I can actually walk in without falling over, I make my way downstairs to initiate step 2 of my patented cheer-up plan.

After getting directions from a nice maid who I'm fairly sure is named Cindy or something along those lines, I stand outside the men's parlor. If I'm going to be miserable, I might as well make everyone else miserable alongside me. That way that can all be empathetic to my plight and I can take my frustration out on people who are in no position to refuse me, or even say a bad word towards me. One of the many perks of being a Princess.

I smile at all the boys when I enter the room, making a mental list as my eyes scan over the crowd. 27 of them left and I'm already a few weeks into the selection? What was I doing? It's time to streamline the process just so it lines up with my own misery.

"Your Highness," Bas says upon seeing me, the rest of the selected chiming in with similar sentiments. My smile becomes broader at this. Nothing like a little respect to get your day started.

"Gentlemen," I say, settling myself on an empty chair. "So, tell me, how exactly is the selection going so far?"

It's about a minute before one of them answers, "Fine." Nishav finally responds, obviously not as intimidated by me as the rest of them.

What a shame.

"Really? Just fine? Bas, how is your project going?" I ask, turning to him.

Bas looks at me in surprise, "It's alright. I mean, it's not done yet."

"Hm." I hum lightly, "Nathaniel, how about you? How is your project going? I hope it's better then Bas', no offense" I say.

Bas smiles weakly, "None taken."

"I think it's going well. And for your first question, I think the selection is going pretty good. I mean, we're all friends with one another." Nathaniel answers quickly, looking unfazed.

"Hm. Well, I hate to bust that bubble. But you know, it is a selection. And that comes with certain measures. So, I guess I will have to eliminate some of your right now." I take pleasure in the way the boys squirm their discomfort and paranoid making me feel better about myself.

"Now then, if I call your name, I would hope that you have enough brain cells to put two and two together and leave." My words are unnecessarily cold, but I like it that way. I like making them scared, it helps to take away from what I'm feeling. The boys look scared, terrified in fact.

And to be honest, their fearful expressions are making me want to continue on in the speech I had drafted on the way down here.

"So, without further ado, can Liam Woods, Enzo Moran, Callum Singh, Edward Odenthal, Landon Crance, Robby Tool, and…" I pause for a second, looking at the hopeful faces of all the boys, one of them which will be crushed in the next few seconds. Maybe I'm having a bit too much fun with this.

Oh well. They're here for me, to date technically, but still they're here for me. For my entertainment. This is the selected's purpose in being in the palace in the first place, if you really think about it, by allowing themselves to be used to make myself feel better they're fulfilling their purpose to the crown like a good little citizen should.

"Phineas Gordon," I finish ceremoniously watching the dark-haired boy's face droop. He was always a bit sensitive for me, I'm sure he'll be crying on the plane home. If only I could see photos.

When the now eliminated selected don't move I raise my eyebrow "Are you waiting for a formal invite out of the palace?" I ask, making a shooing motion with my hand. They all stand and leave, bowing at me one last time.

Just the way I wanted.

I watch them leave the room, not looking away until I see the door slam shut. Then, I turn to my remaining selected, "Well, that's all I have to say." No one answers me. Not even Henri, who is paying more attention to Divesh, who he's currently speaking to then me. Maybe he is upset with me. No fair. I play by the rules, why did this have to happen?

When the silence stretches to be even longer, and uncomfortable long silence, I stand and leave as well. Most of the boys bid me goodbye, but their voices lack gratitude for me keeping them here. It's a little disappointing to be honest. I was expecting something else. Something more appreciative at me, something that would make me feel satisfied.

And as I stand outside the hallway, where I can still hear the thudding footsteps of my eliminated selected as they make their way through these halls for the last time, I realize that I don't feel any better with eliminating these guys. It didn't make me happier to make them suffer like I usually did, it didn't make me feel better about myself. I just felt hollow.

Is this what feeling guilty is like?

Oh God. I hate this feeling. What have these boys, whose names I barely knew done to make me feel almost bad for eliminating them?

Almost, but not quite.

I'm sure that later, when they've gone, I'll feel better about myself.

I always do.

"Carolynn Mirabelle Grace Schreave, just what do you think you're doing?" My mother asks as she pushes through the doors to my room. I'm lying on my bed, flipping through videos on my tablet, hoping something will catch my attention. The platter of Macaroons that I had Jenna bring from the kitchen is half-eaten. I think I'm eating away my sadness. Is this what the commoners feel like on a regular basis? Thank goodness I was born a Princess.

"What do you mean?" I ask, knowing full well the answer.

Mom narrows her eyes, obviously not happy that I answered her question with a question, even though it's a tactic I learned from her. Shouldn't she be proud of me? "You missed the meeting today. The one to decide the military budget for next year."

"Did I?"

"Carrie, don't play these games. What were you doing?" Mom states, going over to stand by my bed.

I look up at her, sighing deeply. "Well, if you must know, I had a terrible stomach ache and couldn't make it to the meeting. I was practically dying. The least you could do is be sympathetic to me while I'm on my deathbed."

"I've never met someone on their deathbed who could dash the dreams of 7 suitors at once." Mom says bluntly.

Oh. She heard about that? Maybe subconsciously I had been hoping that it would escape her knowledge. I grab another macaroon, popping it in my mouth and chewing slowly, "I had to fulfill my duties even in a near-death moment." I finally answer, adjusting the pillow underneath me.

"Right. Carrie, what is it going to take for you to give me a straight answer?" Mom asks pointedly, also taking a macaroon off my platter.

"If you must know, I would like an apology."

"An apology?" Mom repeats, looking confused, "What could you possibly want an apology for?"

I look at her as if she's glowing green with multiple heads, "You're kidding right? You brought Sable Reddlyn, of all people, to the palace in order to interrogate my boyfriend. Don't you think that's majorly unfair?" I ask, turning my tablet off.

"Of course it's unfair. I know that he's clueless when it comes to the matter. I just can't grasp how I owe you an apology and not him," Mom states, looking equally as mystified as me.

"Do you want me to spell it out for you? Now, Henri's unhappy with me and I'm going to have to spend time with other selected boys. Is that fair to do to me? No it's not. You're ruining my life." I groan, placing my pillow over my head. I would have pressed it harder to make it look as angry as I was, but that would mess up my hair and I couldn't have that. I like the way it looked today, my dark curls held in place by a green headband.

Mom laughs lightly for a second, obviously not grasping just how much damage she caused. "Darling, I can think of worse things than having to pretend to spend time with a few very attractive men for the next few weeks."

I move the pillow off my face, "Did you just describe my selected as very attractive?"

Mom sighs once, "Yes, I know that you're determined to make this seem horrible, but you can't deny the obvious."

"I'm not denying it. They could be Mr. Universe for all I care, and I still wouldn't want to spend time with them."

"Not even Nishav? He seems like a lovely boy." Lovely is not a word I would use to describe Nishav. I would go more with cynical. Or snide. Or maybe even rude. But definitely not lovely.

"Maybe." I say evenly.

"I just got off a call with Lindsay Holt, who is very eager to start spending more time with them by the way. I don't suppose you said she could date some of your rejects?" Mom says, switching the topic of the conversation.

"I did. I don't really care." I respond quickly.

"Hm. Well then, since you insist on not showing up to meetings, and just came from eliminating 7 of your selected, I have a proposition for you. Go out on a date with one of your selected today, and then I won't bother you till at least December 8th about spending time with them. Deal?"

I look at her suspiciously, "Why December 8th?"

"I think it's one of their birthdays. I don't remember which one Lindsay said, but she is going to be doing a special interview for his birthday, and then the producer of the report wants to mash it together into a video with some footage of your date. By the way, you're going to a restaurant, make sure to email someone on the report team -not Lindsay- where you want to go by the end of the day." Mom explains quickly.

I consider my options. Mom won't take no for an answer. If I refuse to do this date with whoever it is she chooses, then she'll create something with all of them and force me to attend one way or another. On the other hand, it sounds like I don't have a chance of wiggling out of whoever's birthday dinner is going on. Plus, given Mom's blatant favoritism, she's probably going to choose Nishav for the date, which means we can sit in silence for the entirety of the activity. I can be on my phone and Nishav can do whatever Nishav does. Sit and contemplate the founding of the universe or something like that.

I guess there's only really one choice here.

"Fine. I'll go on a date with whoever you want for at maximum an hour and a half." I agree sullenly, pouting my lips.

Mom smiles at her triumph, "See. Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" I don't give her a response. "You can go on a date with Nyson Avery. The boy from Columbia. He's harmless. The people love him." Mom states, taking me by surprise.

When I agreed to it I thought she was going to set me up with Nishav, not Nyson. This is going to be a lot more work than I anticipated.

"Nyson?" I whine, "Why not Nishav?"

"First, because you went out with Nishav on December 3rd. Second, because I think the activity that you're going to be doing is a bit...below Nishav's standard."

That doesn't sound good.

"And what are we doing?"

"Making gingerbread houses of course!" Mom exclaims, "Now then, I'll go have someone tell Nyson. I expect you in the kitchens in an hour in something that's nice for the cameras."

"I have one condition if I have to go with Nyson." I call out, pausing Mom as she goes to leave from my room. Mom pauses, turning around suspiciously. With good reason. Who else did she think I learned my negotiating tactics from? It certainly wasn't Dad.

"What is it Carrie?" Mom asks, sounding exasperated. How rude. I'm doing her a favor here. I didn't want the selection in the first place, she should be appreciative that I'm even agreeing to half-participate in the ridiculous ideas that she -or, let's be real here, one of the press agents- came up with for me to do. I have better things on my schedule then to hang around with some random guys from irrelevant provinces, and yet no one seems to realize the sacrifice that I'm making here.

They all think that I'm some perfect little princess who only wants to fall in love.

They're not wrong about the perfect part, I'll give them that. But I don't need to find love when I already did.

"I want a new tiara for Christmas. A gold base with Peridot stones set into the center." I say, listing off my desired present.

"Peridots?" Mom repeats, looking concerned at my choice, "Why not just get one with Emeralds? They look the same and Emeralds are much more impressive."

"I already have one with Emeralds. I want Peridots. Those are my terms, take it or leave it," I decide crossing my arms.

"Fine. Put it on your list, and me or your father will get you one for the holidays." Mom states, looking less than pleased.

"Okay. I'll be on the date then."

I do, in fact, make it to the date. I had been considering ditching, continuing on with my stomach ache lie that I had been utilizing earlier. Though, I guess Mom would know that I was faking which would equate to no tiara for me. And I really, really, really, want that tiara for Christmas. So I swallow my pride and go to make gingerbread houses with Nyson.

At least I look pretty. My hair hadn't gotten messed up after my whole pillow episode, so all Jenna did was tie back the front sections. Then, I put on a soft pair of dark jeans and a red sweater with white lining. Very Christmassy if I do say so myself. I'm sure that many teenage girls around the country and probably a few of the teenage girls' very embarrassing moms, would be sporting a similar look leading up to the holiday.

I wince as I make my way to the kitchens. I'm in the sublevels of the palace again. That's more times in the last week then in the last decade of my life. This time though, instead of heading to the laundry room with Divesh on a ridiculous adventure, I'm reluctantly headed to a date with Nyson Avery.

"Lynn," Nyson greets, looking overly enthusiastic at my arrival. He's dressed so similarly to me that I'm forced to conclude that Mom must have told his butler what to dress him in.

I grimace at his use of my nickname, "If you have to call me something, please just go with Carrie like a normal person," I tell him, realizing belatedly that by me saying that, Nyson has become the first selected allowed to use my first name, and a nickname no less.

"I like being out of the box." Nyson says, smiling broadly. "Does it really bother you that much?"

I consider it for a second. I don't mind being called Lynn, I mind being called it by him. Someone just so...unworthy. But, I guess I can get over that. Besides, I need to play nice for both the cameras and my pretty new tiara. "Of course not. Don't worry about it," I assure him, my smile and voice sickeningly sweet.

Nyson laps it up though, and if even possible his smile grows even wider as we head into the kitchen, where a small crew from the report had set up cameras. Lindsay isn't present, of course. She wouldn't be caught dead in a kitchen. I admire her for that. But, then again she could never be the queen of a country, so who's really winning here? Huh, Lindsay? Who's winning?

Me. Obviously.

"Do we have to like...talk to the cameras?" Nyson asks me, glancing between the cameras and my face.

"No. They've got it from pretty much every angle, and I don't think they're recording audio today." I say, looking towards the set up. Usually if they were to record audio they would tape microphones to our cheeks before they started.

"Oh. That doesn't seem too bad." Nyson says brightly, "It's pretty cool to have the first solo date of the competition. I get why we couldn't do the electric scooters, that probably would have been dangerous. This is fun to do instead," Nyson rambled. Oh. Electric scooters. Hadn't he said something about them when we first met. To be quite honest, I had completely forgotten about them. I couldn't tell him that, at least not with the cameras rolling.

"Yeah. Royal security was none too happy about that idea," I say in a quite convincing lie if I do say so myself.

Nyson again seems to believe it. "I'm sorry. I'll try to pick something less dangerous next time." Bold of him to presume that there will be a next time. I might have not eliminated him yet, he's nice enough, and he is fairly handsome, I'll give him that, but if push comes to shove, I don't really have any emotional attachment to him.

At least, I think I don't

"Make sure of it, or there won't be a next time." I tease lightly, hoping that it will sound more like a joke and less like a threat.

"Ma'am, yes, Ma'am." Nyson says, giving me a fake salute, that makes me giggle a bit.

"I prefer Your Highness, but I guess that works too." I concede, wrinkling my nose as I lead Nyson to the work station with the cameras set up around it. I was fairly sure that would be where we were working today. The table was a stainless steel, neat enough and plain, but it still looked old. The shine was a bit dull and there were a few scratch marks on the surface. You would think that the royal palace would have replaced it but no. I guess this was still classified as in acceptable condition. Acceptable to who, was my question.

Because it certainly wasn't acceptable to me.

The table had pre-built gingerbread houses for me and Nyson, as no one wanted to watch our houses unfortunately fall down on camera. Good for that. I usually ended up nibbling on the gingerbread if I were to put it together myself. There were heavy-looking bags of frosting, and every single type of candy that I could imagine had been put in little glass bowls for us to decorate with. There were even some more random decorations, like coconut flakes and chocolate-covered pretzels.

"That's awesome." Nyson states, looking towards the set-up that I had been scoffing about a few seconds earlier.

"I know, right?" I say cheerily, my smile more for the camera's sake than his. "What type of candy do you think this is?"

I indicate a small glass bowl full of opaque hard candies in bright red and blue. Nyson peers at it curiously, "Probably some type of gummies."

"No way. Look at them, there's nothing gummy about it." I pick up one of the odd little candies and squeeze it to prove my point.

"Huh. You're right. I actually don't know." Nyson tells me, not looking extremely upset at that fact. Come to think of it, he looks delighted that I asked for his opinion on something. Wonderful, is he going to be smiling like that for the entire date?

"Me either." I agree, shrugging my shoulders. "So, coordinating outfits, huh?"

"My butler picked out my clothes for me." Nyson says, a wide grin covering his face, "I was wondering about it at first, but I guess I can see why now," he says, confirming my suspicions. I knew it. This was all my mother's doing.

"At least we'll look good for the cameras." I say brightly.

"You always do." Nyson tells me, his voice sweet. Wait, did he just tell me I look pretty? Awwww. I can't stop the heat that rises to my cheeks. I know that I always looked pretty when I went on dates before. Sure, other guys had even indicated that they thought I looked good with their faces, but no one has ever come out and said it to me so far. Maybe Nyson isn't that bad, now that I stop and think about it.

Every girl likes to be told that they look pretty.

I giggle lightly, "That's sweet of you to say."

Nyson flushes at my response, his moment of confidence clearly now gone, "I was just stating the truth," he mutters quietly, ducking his head.

"Of course you were." I answer, tapping him on the arm. "Now, let's get started on these gingerbread houses, shall we?"

"Of course." Nyson answers, coming closer to the table. "Which one do you want?"

I look at all the similar looking houses. "This one, I guess." I point to the one farthest from me, and Nyson reaches over to hand it to me. Nyson takes one of the left. I motion for someone to come take away the rejects, and a small nervous-looking production assistant complies.

With that out of the way, I turn back to Nyson. "How are you going to do yours?" I ask.

"I think I'm going to do peppermints on the roof, then maybe some gumdrops in the center. I'm not sure what to do for the rest of it." Nyson answers me, taking a few peppermints out of the bowl. "How about you?"

I purse my lips before answering. "I'm making icicles first. I'll see where inspiration takes me for the rest of it." I decide, picking up one of the bags of vanilla frosting.

"Icicles?" Nyson asks, looking confused.

"Yeah. One of the dessert chefs showed me how to do them a while ago. You do a dot of frosting on the roof line and kinda drip it down, if that makes sense." I explain, doing the motion with my frosting bag at the same time. Nyson watches me curiously, his eyes wide. I can't help but notice how much he looks like a kid at that moment.

I smile at the way my icicle turned out, "See," I tell Nyson.

"That's awesome. I want to try it." Forgetting about the peppermint he had already put frosting on in preparation to stick it to the roof, Nyson takes his bag of frosting and attempts to mirror my movements along the roofline of his house.

Key words attempt, because the icicle he made looked nothing like the polished professional one that I had created.

I wince slightly at the sight of it, "That's...wow." I say not bothering to cover up how I felt about it.

Nyson didn't seem to pick up on my sarcasm, and if he did then he must have decided to ignore it. "Oh, I love that!" Really? He loves that? "I'm going to make more," he continues, not noticing my facial expressions at that.

"Maybe you should stick to peppermints." I comment lightly, treading a fine line between wanting his gingerbread to look nice for the cameras and not making him upset with a few cameras in the room filming our every move. It's harder than it looks.

"Nah. I like this," Nyson states proudly, "It has character."

"No it doesn't. It looks like it was made in an elementary school."

"Are you saying that elementary school gingerbread houses are bad?" Nyson challenges, looking less than insulted at my statement.

"Yes. I am." I confirm, getting slightly annoyed.

"They have personality. Just like this one," he decides, not taking my opinions into account. What a jerk. To think I had been saying he wasn't that bad earlier.

"Whatever. Suit yourself." I answer him.

With that in mind, I decide not to help Nyson with his gingerbread house again, as clearly he doesn't want my opinions. I finish my neat rows of icicles along the roofline, then piping a thick layer of frosting across the roof shingles. Next, I sprinkle a mixture of red and white miniature candies over the top. It's quite adorable, if I do say so myself. Much better than Nyson's house, which still looks as if a third grader made it.

Nyson keeps chatting to me as I try to focus on my house, and try as I might to stay annoyed at him for not accepting my criticism of his gingerbread house, it's hard. 15 minutes in he wears down my resolve and I find myself actually enjoying conversation with him. He's a bit childish, a bit silly, but I guess it's nice to talk to him. Kinda nice. I don't know, it's not like I have anyone better to talk to right now.

Love the one you're with.

"I'll admit," I say after we finish looking at his house, "I thought it was going to come out way worse than it did."

Nyson smiles, not realizing my insult, "Thanks Carrie. Your's looks great."

I admire it happily, "It does, doesn't it?" Glancing at the clock on the wall across from me, I realize that far more than the time Mom had bargained for had passed. "I'm sorry to cut this off in the middle of the date, but I have to go."

"Go where?" Nyson asks, like he did a few days ago when I waltzed into the boys' history class with Mr. Brooms.

I could give him an honest answer. My mom had bribed me to come and I would like to be literally anywhere else. But I don't want to hurt his feelings. No reason for him to leave this date feeling bad about himself, "I have to finish up some paperwork by tomorrow morning."

Nyson nods, "See you later then, I guess."

"See you later."

A/N: Hello everyone. I hope you are having a great Friday. Happy Hanukkah to those who celebrate! Happy nondescript week for everybody else. So, today we have our first one on one date (That's some Bachelor lingo for you right there. Speaking of the Bachelor, Bennett got eliminated last Tuesday which is just the saddest thing ever). Some people made some fabulous photos of what each of the selected and Carrie's children will look like, and I will be saving it to the pinterest board, if it's not already saved when I post this chapter. So, I will see you all on Monday have a great weekend.