A/N: It's probably a little early for pre-chapter A/Ns, but since last chapter's kicker I suppose now's as a good as time as any.

Short A/N today. My dinner awaits me. GO CHECK OUT SNIPPETS, PLUS SOME BY GINGERSNAPBEAT IT'S GREAT.

Enjoy the chapter, and thanks for reading!

My body is numb.

When Aderyn excuses us from Rose's family – with her to return to the princess and Susanetta, me, still sick – she shyly smiles to herself at my side as she leads me through the parking lot, back to Glendale Ice Rink. But I cannot see her. I cannot feel my feet, crunching on loose gravel. I cannot taste the sharp wind on my face. Naomi meets us by the doors, but her voice seems so dim in the frantic screeching inside my head, that I cannot even hear her hurried words.

Mariam Noboru, Rose's sister, is the Voice.

Mariam Noboru, Rose's sister, leads the Rebel Resurgence.

This is a question that has dogged my heels since the moment I came face-to-screen with the Voice, last year in the flat landscape of Denbeigh. She refused to divulge her identity then. I doubt she would now, if I asked. I never would have imagined… never even fathomed…

Rose's sister.

The knowledge sags on my shoulders, even as I rendezvous with Roy and the others to make the journey home. The entire time, I'm silent. Ostensibly I am playing my part of sick Princess Gail, but words fail me even as Zelda waxes on about the game, the plays, the players, the epic strategy that she secretly created to help us towards victory.

"C'mon Gail, it was awesome, right?" When I nod mutely, she frowns. "You okay?"

"Fine," I choke out.

"You need bedrest," Roy orders, once the convoy pulls into the palace garages. "Would you like me to fetch a doctor? Cami says Nurse Gummy has some great remedies—"

"No, thank you," I say.

Roy looks at me with sympathy. "That bad, huh?"

I stare at his face then, stricken. Rose's sister is the Voice, information we have chased for months, years. I should tell him, Durante, someone, to prevent whatever the Rebel Resurgence does next.

I should, but I don't.

Why?

Still, when I arrive at my bedroom, dismissing Aderyn at once, Zelda remains by the bedstead and refuses to budge even when I flop down and tell her I'm too tired for her antics.

"Yeah, okay, that bullshit I have terrible period pain act has bought the others, but I know you're faking it, and I also know something is wrong." She plonks herself on my bed. "Spill."

I raise myself, curl my fingers into my duvet. "I can't tell you."

"Why?"

"Because it's… it's bad. Really bad."

"Excuse you, I was in the Men's Parlour once when one of the boys ripped a fart. No one owned up to it." She snorts. "If I can live to tell the tale, then whatever's bugging you can't be worse."

"It is." I can't even find humour in my Selected. "It's… it's really bad, Zelda. Rebel level."

Her face whitens, but she doesn't move. "Tell me."

So I tell her. Her freckles seem to slump like a landslide as I do.

"Mariam—" She runs both her hands through her hair. "Rose's sister—"

"Yes."

"Holy shit. We went to her apartment in the city. She— no wonder she's never turned up to any of our matches. I thought she was a doctor?"

"Maybe she is," I say quietly. "Rose always said she was busy doing specialised surgeries around the country."

"The perfect cover. God damn— we should… we should tell someone." But when I go rigid, she shakes her head. "Oh, Gail, no. She's literally the rebel leader!"

"What about Rose?" I say. "We take Mariam into custody, and Rose will be devastated! Her whole family will be! They love her!"

"She's the leader of the rebels," Zelda repeats. "To hell with Rose's feelings! This woman's terrorised the country for months! Hell, maybe… maybe her whole family's in on it?"

That can't be right. Rose is too kind, too sweet, as fragile as her namesake. There's no way she or her family could know. I don't… I wouldn't want to be the cause of her distress.

"Then what about the team?"

"What about them?"

"If I tell Roy, he'll want to know how I know." I get up, distress rising like lava through my veins. "He'll know something is up. H-He'll know about our double lives!"

Zelda stands up with me, grabbing my shoulders. "Gail, listen to yourself. I… I know we both love hockey, Rose, our freedom… but this woman is the most powerful enemy in the country right now. We need to turn her in."

I bat her off. "If Roy finds out I've been sneaking off almost every single day in my life… you saw how he was when he found out we'd gone to Las Vegas! He'd be furious. I'd never get to leave the palace ever again. I…" Tears bead on my eyelashes. "I already feel trapped as it is. Telling him this will upheave everything I've worked so hard to preserve."

I turn away at her pity. I don't want it. I know it's selfish of me, oblivious of me to think I could've kept up my double life forever, but… I wanted it to last longer than this.

The Second's words from long ago haunt me. Naïve princess. Is that all that I am? Because I clung to hope?

Zelda swallows loudly. "Do you really hate being a princess?"

"Of course not," I say at once. "I love my role, I love my people, but… I hate the freedom it denies me. I hate feeling like I can't be… me."

"Then fight for it," Zelda snaps, and I spin around, startled. "I don't see why in hell you can't do both. Who made this unwritten rule saying you can't? And there's no way you'd do something as crazy as not telling your bro about the identity of the Voice if he'd just let you go out and play, public perception of you be damned." She prods me hard in the shoulder. "It's as simple as. The problem isn't you. The problem is everyone else."

"It's more complicated than that," I say hotly, remembering the way Durante didn't care about hockey at first. "No one takes me seriously."

"Screw them!" Zelda demands. "Now is the time to stop being passive and start fighting for what you really want."

"I-I'm not passive—"

"Yes you are," Zelda snorts. "Come on, Gail. Every time someone asks if you're okay, you just go I'm fine, even when you're not. You bottle your feelings so much—"

"Stop," I cut her off, unprepared to process her words. "I just… I'm not ready to give this all up."

All the fight drains from her, and Zelda casts her eyes away.

"Me neither." She inhales deeply. "It sucks, but it's what we have to do. It's the right thing to do. Tomorrow." She points at me. "We tell them tomorrow. Together."

Tears fall down my face, and though Zelda blurs, I nod.

"Okay," I say. "Tomorrow."

She approaches the door. "You did really well today, on the rink."

Her last words feel like a stab in the gut.

Shame, I think. Because it's the last game I'll ever play.

The next morning I think I might actually be on my period, for how groggy and sluggish my entire body feels when I drag it out of bed. But no. It's just because I was crying long into the night, expelling all my hopes and dreams through my tears, that now I'm dehydrated and frail.

I inhale some water and check my phone, reliving some of the moments from yesterday with vivid clarity when I finally open the hockey chats. The All-Stars have been messaging almost non-stop about the game, Roy and me, and the upcoming finals.

The Sacramento Scorpions are no joke, Felice wrote yesterday, late into the evening. The game is pencilled in for next week. So soon. The Scorpions are eager to keep their title.

Rose, naturally, has sent me a long message. I really hope you feel better, Susanetta, and thank you for coming to meet my sister! Mariam said you were really sweet. And she was really jealous I got to meet the princess!

My stomach folds inwards.

Oh, but I wish you'd met her, too! Rose's text reads like a frantic backtrack. I'm sad you were sick. Turns out the princess was sick too! Can you believe it? Maybe you caught the same thing?! That means you breathed the same air as her!

I almost toss my phone onto my bed. It's all too much to handle, too hard a weight to bear. Then I see that the next message I received privately is from Felice. Which is… unusual.

You were reckless today, Vivas, she starts. Your mad goal-scoring helped, but at cost of you. Remember you're playing for yourself, no one else.

I leave that on read. I don't know how to respond to that, and I doubt Felice has any idea how relevant that is to my life right now.

Remembering Zelda's warning, I clean myself up and ring for Aderyn. She appears in less than two minutes to run me a bath, frowning when I don't respond to her chirrupy greeting.

"Something wrong?"

I go to say I'm fine, but then Zelda's words come back again. This isn't the first time someone's pointed this out, and before I buried it deep within my chest too, but now it's like a giant hurdle on a race track: impossible to ignore. I can't go around it. I can't avoid it. I have to go over it.

But I don't know how.

"I… need some alone time," I say instead, then quickly add, "Please," when Aderyn frowns.

"Okay," Aderyn says, retreating into my bedroom and then to my door. "I know… I know I've been more focused on my work, Your Highness, since the Las Vegas thing—"

"Oh, no, Aderyn, it's not you—"

"I know it's not me," she says. "I know you're… dealing with a lot, and you have many people who would be happy to be an ear for your problems, but… I'm here too, if you need someone to listen. You need only ask."

The door clicks shut gently behind her. The sound revolves around my head as I strip and bathe, gently lathering my skin with citrus body wash. Besides Zelda, Aderyn was always my closest confidante, but not even she understood, at first, why I snuck out every other day to play. I think of the time when Durante hesitated too, calling it a hobby, a mere past-time.

And yesterday. Roy barely even cared, and I don't even think it was out of any worry for me.

My throat hurts and I fight to push down the lump that threatens to form. Maybe Zelda is right. Maybe I haven't been… forthright enough, about who I am, what I want to do. And I know that I definitely have to tell Roy and Durante about the Voice today. I dry myself, tying my hair into a sheer bun to keep it out of my face, and put on some loose clothes. What are my next options? Is there any way I can still play hockey?

As I'm late to breakfast, the eight Elite boys are scooping the last few drops of milk from bowls, or dragging toast crust through remnants of jam. On the head table, Roy and Cami have their heads together, talking in hushed whispers. Omma and Tay, I'm surprised to see, are also here, and Omma thumbs clean Tay's cheeks of bean paste.

"Gail! Gail!" he calls. "We're having banchan!"

I pointedly ignore the stares of Elite as I sit down next to him. "Are you sure the banchan isn't eating you?" I say, nodding to the sticky oil on his fingers.

His cheeks puff – in that moment, he looks exactly like me. "Chopsticks are hard."

"You'll get it," Omma says softly. Banchan – Korean breakfast – is made of multiple dishes of rice, seaweed, meat, kelp and some kimchi. She replaces Tay's bright blue chopsticks in his hands. "Try again."

"Gail," says Roy on my other side, over Cami. Instantly my shoulders rise. Does he know about Mariam? Does he know I know? But instead he asks, "How're you feeling?"

"Oh. A little better."

Cami frowns. "Are you okay?"

I know who the Voice is. The words dance on the tip of my tongue, but my own voice halts in my throat. Not yet. I said I was going to wait until Zelda was here, right? I'll wait. "Later," I offer pitifully instead, and I tuck into my own portion of banchan.

"All right," says Cami, her tone suggesting she'll hold me to that if she can. "I don't suppose you read the reports this morning?"

"No, what's happened?"

"Damn rebels," Roy mutters, so as not to disturb Tay. "They hit a supply route in northern Angeles. Killed three people."

The Second. It has to be. My stomach churns as the food settles. If what I know about the Resurgence is true – that the Second has split off with her followers to enact physical violence against me and my people – then does that mean Mariam isn't involved in the attacks? That this is the Second's doing, not hers? I haven't heard from the Voice since the recipe book…

It's not much of a glimmer of hope, but I accept it.

Roy's hand clenches until it's pale. "They're getting bold."

"And we'll sort it, like we have always done," Cami says confidently, but I don't miss how quickly she switches the conversation. "In the meantime, Gail, if you're feeling up to it, I was hoping you would be able to help with the Elite's philanthropy projects."

"Why?"

"The deadline is approaching, and you did agree to involve yourself more with the process." She smiles kindly. "I think it would be better to discuss their ideas with them, since you've done similar ventures in the past."

"Plus it calms the sharks," Roy says, winking.

The sharks being the press, I assume. Suddenly I'm just glad I haven't been asked to do a philanthropy project. "I'll help after breakfast."

"Good idea."

Cami rests a hand on my arm. For a moment I think about saying something, but my tongue furls in my throat, and in the end I smile at her hollowly and eat in silence. I know Cami will know something is wrong, but she won't push me.

After I finish, I force my leaden feet to the Men's Parlour. The Voice seems to be at my back, resting long fingers over my shoulders, pressing ever more increasingly like an unpaid debt. I know, I insist, and push it far away. The attendant announces me inside; I'm almost startled at how empty the place is. Seven bodies – eight including Rudy – occupy the sofas, armchairs and window sills amongst books and papers and pens. Kajika, I notice, is rather bare of decoration around him. I guess he wasn't kidding when he told Roy the other day about being behind.

"Your Highness." Rudy shuts the book in his hand and comes over to me, bowing his head. "Are you feeling rested?"

"A little. Where's Sheng?"

"He's gone to visit his grandmother in hospital."

Right, yes. I hope she's doing better, for his sake, but secretly I'm glad I don't have to see him. "How are the projects coming along?"

Rudy winces. "Some better than others. I hope you'll be able to resolve a little… issue, we're having." He discreetly nods his head first to Yamato, who has occupied the fireplace, books and notepads and pens spread-eagled around him, then to Kingsley, who is nose-deep in what looks like a school prospectus. "Those two have the same project idea."

That doesn't seem right. "There's tons of ideas. How could they have chosen the same one?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Rudy murmurs, "though I suspect some foul play. I've tried to be subtle about it, but it seems neither is of the opinion they chose their idea second."

"You want me to convince one of them to switch?"

Rudy chuckles. "Oh, no, definitely not. I think it will be fun to see whose presentation is better."

He might, but I don't want a fight to break out. It doesn't escape my notice that Kingsley is involved – again – and though on its own it's not an indication of anything bad, all the hearsay from Sheng, Soren and Valerian is beginning to build upon him like a stack of unwashed clothes.

I head for the person closest: Soren. He's stolen the table to himself, a folder of ideas yawning open as he scribbles diligently in a notepad. Very quickly I realise his topic must have something to do with cats, for all the cat photos and cat brochures and cat behavioural studies littering his notes. He doesn't bother looking up when I sit down kitty-corner to him.

"Cat shelters," he says.

His neat handwriting takes me back to the time we shared a history class detention together. A.K.A., the last detention Soren ever received from JJ, because he certainly didn't play poker again with Kingsley after that. He's changed a lot since then. Now he glances up and gives me a small, gentle smile, before refocusing on his work.

"This means a lot to you, huh?"

"Of course." He dots the last period and rolls his shoulders. "I also thought about doing a presentation on driving safety, but Max is already doing that."

Suddenly I remember the banquet. Soren's clingy best friend, Adler. The subtle but huge snuff against her. My trepidation vibrates as I lean forwards. "I… have to ask…"

"No," he says at once. "No, I've… never liked her like that."

Relief spills like hot chocolate down my throat. "Oh."

"I love Adler very much, and she'll always be my best friend, but… I don't like her in that way. I never will." He runs a hand through his hair, fingers tangling in icy blond. "I don't know if she'll ever understand that."

"It didn't seem like she understood at the banquet."

"I know. And I know… you didn't like it." He takes a long breath. "That's why I reached out to you. For you. To let you know… I care about you a lot, Gail. Even if I don't know how to… express it."

He can't look at me as he says it, but I feel the sentiment all the same.

"I think," I say, and I take his hand, smiling, "you express it just fine."

Then he meets my eyes. And he smiles. And its warmth and depth spits butterflies into my stomach.

"Thank you."

"I'll let you get on."

"Wait—" He takes my hand. "Can we… go on a date? Soon?"

Okay, my knees give way. Just a little. "Y-Yes, of course."

"Good. Great. All right." His fingers slip from mine. "Soon."

"Soon."

Max is in one of the armchairs, a tiny pamphlet of driving instructions unfurled on his lap, and a tablet computer and stylus in his hand. He goes to stand when I approach, but I wave him back down and sit on the arm instead.

"How are you?" he asks. Maybe it was a mistake coming over to him, because now all his attention is on me. His voice dips. "I know you had you know yesterday, but it seemed like you were genuinely sick."

"The game took more from me than I realised," I admit, and I guess that's not a lie. "What are you working on?"

If he notices my quick subject change, he doesn't mention it. Instead he offers the pamphlet. It's not driving instructions like I thought, but actually an informational brochure on the dangers faced by new, young drivers, with alarming statistics on every line.

"It's prevalent," he says. "Accidents in young people, I mean."

I leer at him. "Weren't you thirteen when you started your whole driving thing?"

"I was fifteen, actually. Victor didn't put me in a car that young," he snorts – the first time I've ever heard him snort, "And I got lucky I wasn't involved in any major accidents. Others, not so much. Many new drivers are just so eager to be able to drive that they blitz through the tests without proper instruction. It's part of the reason why deaths are so high."

I peek at his tablet, but he quickly clicks the screen off. I suppose he wants to surprise me with the presentation.

"Gail." His voice croaks. "I'm… worried."

"Aren't we always?" I joke.

"I mean about… hockey, Susanetta, everything." He sits back. "Even if nothing happened, I don't doubt that the rebels were there yesterday."

"They wouldn't do anything with so much security present."

"And for the finals? Unless your manager is planning to invite you again, who's to say we'll be that lucky at the next game?" He inhales a sharp breath. "I think we need to be more… cautious."

I don't want to tell him that I know who their leader is. There's only so long I can hold my nerve. I stand.

"I appreciate your concern, really, but you needn't worry anymore." I pause, watching his face flicker with surprise. "I'm sorting it."

"Gail—"

"It's fine, Max."

He persists. "Please talk to me."

I wish I had the courage to.

"You'll understand soon enough."

He doesn't pursue me as I stride over to Ben. He's probably the worst person to approach right now, with my insides fragile like glass, but to Ben's credit, he cheers me up with his good humour, and shares a little about his philanthropy project: a nation-wide campaign to protect important cultural and historical landmarks, many of which have been neglected since my grandparents' time. Instead of distracting me, it hones my focus on the Resurgence. This is the type of thing they'd love.

At least, the type of thing the old Resurgence would love.

"Your Highness?"

Kajika's gentle prod breaks my reverie. "Right, yes."

"Do you think apprenticeships is a good topic?"

"Don't you think you should be close to finishing by now?"

He smiles, ever a placid presence. "In carpentry, the end product reflects the effort placed. I see no sense in rushing."

"The idea is good," I say. "And it's a topic close to your heart." Since he was an apprentice long before he became a fully-fledged woodworker. "Have you seen Zelda today?"

The question catches him off-guard; actually, it catches me off-guard.

"No," he says. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine." About as fine as I am. "Sorry, I don't know why I asked. Just… keep it up, okay?"

He nods, nose scrunched in question, but I don't offer him a chance to answer. I've finally reached Yamato, who manages to awkwardly sit up when I plop down next to him.

"Feeling better?" he asks.

I wish people would stop asking. "Yes. How's the project?"

A scowl washes over his features. "Mostly fine."

"Mostly?"

"You might've heard that my topic—" He draws in a long breath. "Well. I don't want to start trouble. Either way, Kingsley and I have the same idea, about campaigns to encourage children of lower class families to participate in athletics, and I've been trying to follow the topic while still doing it from my own perspective, to differentiate from… whatever he's planning."

To my surprise his tablet is open on an old YouTube videos of his earlier performances, back when he was in mid teens. He had such a baby face!

"So you say it was your idea?"

"Yes, it was mine first," Yamato asserts, but he waves his hand. "But this sort of pettiness is beneath me, so please don't mention it."

"Beneath you, huh? Like when you and Elliot—"

His brow droops as he leers at me. Heheh. Okay, he's fun to wind up.

I close my mouth, smug. It seems so long ago when he and Elliot were at each other's throat for the whole hockey vs. ice skating drama. Yamato's video plays as he gracefully whirls along the rink, crystal dust ribboning from the ice. It's beautiful – he's beautiful. So fitting for his topic idea. If Yamato hadn't done ice skating, or heck, even ballet, when he was younger, he'd never be the national athlete that he is today.

Suddenly I'm overcome with a wash of sadness. He and Levi weren't dissimilar in having established careers. I couldn't let Levi give it up for me. Why would I let Yamato?

Would he even give it up to become a prince?

"I have a question."

"No, still not convinced hockey is better," Yamato shoots back, unfettered as he continues to highlight his notecards. "Even if I do admit that the game yesterday was kind of fun."

"No, not that." When did he get so snarky? "If… would you ever give up ice skating?"

He looks up then, confusion written all over his face. "That's a joke, right?"

"It's a genuine question."

"No."

There's not even a moment's hesitation, which drills a little hole in my chest.

"That's like asking to give up a family member." He drops his pencil to flex his fingers, as his hands glide fondly over the tablet screen. "I wouldn't be me without it. If the other option was, like, my friends all dying, obviously I would, but… otherwise…"

"What about," I swallow, "what about to become a prince?"

Our gazes clash. His are like dark pools of swirling energy. What I see is what he is, yet he retains a flit of mystery to him. They blink in consternation.

"I…" His shoulders rise. "I couldn't give that up."

I thought so. The word bounces on my tongue with glee. You couldn't give ice skating up as much as I could ice hockey. At my hesitation, he sinks.

"Gail… I really like you, I do, but…"

I don't like you that much.

A hurt laugh escapes me. Suddenly my vision is swimming with tears. Pull yourself together, Gail! But how can I expect Yamato to give up a vital part of himself just to appease my family? It's not right. I know it's not right.

I said those words to Levi once. It's time I say them to Yamato. Time I say them to myself.

I make a decision then, to fight for it. Fight for what I love to do, even if it makes me enemies along the way.

"Hey, whoa," Yamato reaches out to steady me. "Gail, it'll be fine—"

"Sorry." I sniffle. "Yamato, I hate to tell you this…"

"I know what you're going to say." A smile ekes his lips. "I guess I thought if my feelings were strong enough, I'd be okay with it. We'd both be."

"It's not okay though. I don't know why I kept you for so long… I don't know why I hoped…"

"I hoped too." His head tips forwards. "It's good to have hope, even in vain."

I sniffle again. Yamato snatches a tissue from the table and offers it to me, and I gratefully wipe away my tears. It's all getting to me.

"Come on, now," he nudges gently. "You're crying on my tablet."

I laugh despite myself. "That's palace-owned, so I think you'll find I can cry on it all I want."

Once I recover some composure, I sit up. Stare him squarely in the eye. "In that case, Yamato Watanabe, you are gracefully dismissed from my Selection." I know the others boys are watching – intently – from behind me, but I can't bring myself to think about them. "You're such a wonderful tour de force. I can't wait to see your career grow from here."

"I look forward to seeing you happy, Gail," he says, returning the smile, "whatever that may be doing, and whomever that may be with." He leans forwards. "As for my notes, I suppose I'll be generous and let Kingsley use them if he wants."

"Of course," I say between laughs.

He's packed up and out of the Men's Parlour in less than a minute. For a moment I consider leaving too, but I haven't finished my rounds yet, and by the way Rudy glances at me from the front table, oozing with curiosity, I'll have to keep going to avoid his prodding questions.

"Your Highness!"

Kingsley's deep baritone summons me to him. Immediately he stands, sweeps minute particles of dust from his jacket, and bows deeply.

"I hope Yamato didn't insult you, Your Highness."

"Oh, no, of course not." I giggle to myself and dab away the mascara-run tears. "I just got a little emotional talking to him, is all. Working on your philanthropy project?"

"I'm done, actually," he says, gesturing to the sofa, blissfully unattended by anyone else. "Please, come sit with me."

I sit down as he does. "I heard you two were doing the same topic."

"I hate to be that guy, Your Highness," he says confidently, "but his topic… plagiarised mine. I've gathered data from many provinces around the country to showcase how many children, especially children from lower income families, participate less in sport. I did this long before Yamato had even chosen his project."

"Well, it doesn't matter now. He's gone."

Kingsley makes a that's mildly interesting face, but I know inside he's itching for details. Everyone would be.

I point at the school prospectus in his hand – the building on the front looks familiar. "What are you reading?"

"Oh, this? Just a university brochure. I was looking up some of the schools where the data was collected." He flicks through it nonchalantly. "The University of Southern Angeles."

"That's only down the road from here!"

"Yes. It's also where I considered going to school if I could, during my brief soirée on the national swim team." A sort of sad, milky quality enters his voice. "Before I discovered my talent for modelling, of course."

I frown and lower my voice. "Brief? You were on track for the Olympics, you said."

"I did say that."

"And you wanted to go to school here to swim?"

"Yes, to join the swim team, get a scholarship," he says coolly. "Oh well. I'm much happier now."

But he doesn't look happy. And he doesn't sound happy. Right now, his lips are slightly pursed, and he flicks lazily through the prospectus as if everything is right in the present, but not right in the past. Hmm. "You know that sounds like something someone who is unhappy would say?"

"Your Highness, I am sweetened for your concern, but I can assure you, my place is here." He winks. "At your side."

Is it really all bluster? I've eliminated Levi, and I just eliminated Yamato, for the sole reason of their own personal contentment, and with the latter fresh on my mind it's difficult to stop reading into situations. Would Kingsley be genuinely happy at my side?

He sighs, resting the prospectus beneath his firm hands and gazing into my eyes with an oddly grave expression. "You don't believe me."

"Erm." But I can't deny it. "I don't know, Kingsley. It's just… I like you a lot, and I think you're really hot— er, fun and attractive. But as someone looking from the outside in, it seems like you're struggling."

His grave expression piques with surprise, a sudden change in Kingsley's demeanour. The haughty vanity that I secretly adore is gone. What's left is just… Kingsley.

For a moment he flounders, turns away and glares at the door. His cheeks round. "I-I don't know what you mean."

"You can be honest with me. I promise."

"I suppose—" He takes a breath. "I axed those two dunderheads I called friends."

The two from the banquet who were mean to him. "Oh! Good for you—"

"But without them," his voice is uncharacteristically small. "Well. I suppose there isn't anyone left for me."

I blink once, twice. "What do you mean? You have your family? Your parents?"

He scoffs with a vicious breath. "Oh, please. My mother would rather challenge a bear to a Kung Fu match then speak to me. She never forgave me the swim team thing. And my dad understands about as much of me as I do bottle cap collecting."

Oh.

"What about… friends? You must have others?"

"I have none." He says it almost with pride. A twisted, weird pride. "Certainly no one here."

"But… surely one of the Selected…"

He shrugs. "There was Avian. He was friendly enough. I've never particularly aligned with any of the others though."

All the rumours come back to bite. Soren's warning, Sheng's disdain, Valerian's frustration. "But… but that's ridiculous, Kingsley! There were thirty-five other guys here and you didn't make friends with a single one?"

He shrugs again. It forces my cheeks to puff.

"Well, we're changing that right now."

I grab his hand and pull him over to Silas. Silas looks up and then goes pale – either at Kingsley or the state of me, furious, heels stomping, I'll never know.

"Silas!" I declare. "Do you have beef with Kingsley?"

Kingsley starts to say something but I shut him up with a particularly good Stare (I'd like to think I got that from Omma). Silas looks between us.

"Er, I don't think so," he mumbles. "Ah, wait, there was that one time you said I looked like the human equivalent of a toilet brush."

I gasp. "Kingsley!"

"What? His hair is so dishevelled!" My Stare levels, and he mutters, with a genuine air of contriteness. "I apologise for calling you a human toilet brush."

"Silas," I say to him, "do you accept this apology?"

"Will you roast me alive if I don't?" I open my mouth, but he says, "Don't answer that. I forgive him."

"Good." I shove Kingsley towards him. "Because now you're presentation partners!"

Both Kingsley and Silas choke on air.

"But— my presentation is done—!"

"I don't need his help—!"

"And Mr Rudy would never allow—"

"Yes he will. He answers to me." And he probably has an ear turned to this conversation right now. I clap my hands together. "By doing the presentation together, you both will come to appreciate and respect one another!"

Silas chokes again.

Kingsley flattens his jacket, clearly flustered by the way his cheeks have darkened. "Your Highness, I really appreciate it, but—"

"In your own words, you have no friends. No support network." I step to him. He's far taller than me – I barely reach his shoulder – but I poke a finger into his (hard, muscled, ahem) chest. "This Selection won't last forever, Kingsley. Now's the time to put your pride aside. Make some friends. If not friends, then memories." Then I clasp his hands in mine and soften. "When you look back into the past, you don't won't to feel regret for what you missed, do you?"

His eyes dart between mine for a second. Two. Then he just chuckles.

"All right. If that's what you think is best."

"I don't think," I say. "I know."

Silas scoffs. "Definitely not sure you think or know, but I appreciate the sentiment."

I turn to him. "What topic are you doing?"

"Social anxiety, and how services towards the welfare of mental health are neglected in favour of physical health services."

"That's a great topic. You're both going to do great!"

Kingsley and Silas share a glance. It's not exactly friendly – but it's not unfriendly, either. It would've been impossible to get him and Soren to work together, but there's hope for this pair. I think.

And there's hope for Kingsley, who reluctantly plops himself down on the carpet – cross-legged, back straight – to peruse Silas' multitude of handmade, highlighted notes.

I let them get on. Before leaving the Men's Parlour, I let Rudy know the change – he's more than receptive to it – and head back towards my bedroom. Oddly I feel better about today, about myself. Yamato is gone, but he's going to do great things. Kingsley does have his flaws, his weaknesses, but with me and other people he can work to overcome them. The others are working diligently at their philanthropy projects.

Maybe it's a sign today won't go so badly.

"Your Highness!"

I turn around. Sheng hurries towards me. He dons a cap, sunglasses and a long, brown overcoat.

"Sheng!" I hide my surprise. "Oh, ahem. You're back early."

He comes to stop by me and takes off his cap. "Yes. My grandmother's… out of commission today. Dialysis took a lot out of her. My father sent me back."

"Is she improving?"

Sheng's downcast eyes say it all.

"She'll get better," I assure him.

She has to. I need a good thing to go right.

He goes to say something else, but I quickly blurt, "I have to go," and hurry off before he can open into another topic.

We still haven't spoken – not really – since the love confession. At this point he must know I'm avoiding it, and him, but Sheng is too polite to chase conversation, and I'm counting on that to prolong this moment of peace between us for as long as possible. I don't even want to think about Sheng and me right now. It's all too chaotic.

I hang around in my parlour for the afternoon, watching as the sun kisses the horizon in the far distance, until a knock comes at my door. Zelda.

"Take it you haven't said anything yet?"

"No," I say. "No one knows."

"Okay." She jerks her head back. "Come on then. Let's do it."

Naomi follows us, silent as a shadow behind me, on our way to the offices. In the wind I can hear the mumbles and mutters of a low timbre, pilfered by lighter ones. Roy and Cami. Zelda fetches for Rudy and Durante before she knocks on the door.

"Come in!"

To my surprise, when I enter, Roy and Cami aren't doing work – they're having a thumb wrestle, both squarely focused on each other's hands. Roy even has his tongue stuck out. When Cami presses him down, Roy groans.

"You are so cheating!"

"I am not!" Cami says, undignified. Then she smiles placidly. "Just because your thumbs are as weak as your arguments, Roy."

"Oh ho ho, my Double-Checker, you're going to pay for that."

"Ah, yes, just like I did on our first date, when you 'forgot' your wallet."

"… Are you ever going to let that drop?"

I cough.

"Oh, yes, Gail! And Zelda!" Roy gestures us both inside. He and Cami are in such good spirits – Cami looks like she's been awarded Smartest Alec to Ever Smart trophy, with that self-satisfied grin on her face. "Good. We need a referee, because clearly someone between us is cheating, and let me tell you, it isn't me."

"Shouldn't you be working?"

Cami laughs. "Probably. We were just taking a break. What's up?"

"Yeah. Why the long faces?"

Zelda gulps loudly, then exchanges a glance with me.

"Tell you when my dads get here."

The office is too cramped with all of us – me, Zelda, Roy, Cami, Rudy, Durante and Naomi – so I make the suggestion to move to the conference room down the hall. Quickly I begin to regret my decision. The adults suspect something off, and now it's so spacy, it's uncomfortably formal. Any hopes I have leak slowly from my heart.

The chairs are occupied. Durante takes a deep breath. "Can this wait, you two? I have a few reports I need to file—"

"No." Zelda takes a deep breath then glances at me. "Go on. Tell them, Gail."

"Tell us what?" asks Roy.

I've been thinking all day about what I wanted to say, how I wanted to phrase it. I've already gone through the stages of grief. I've denied the idea, taken my anger out on Zelda, then cried until my chest hurt. Today I thought, perhaps, it wouldn't be as bad as that.

But now… it's time I accept what is to come.

"I-I have something to confess. Something you're not going to like, Roy."

Durante goes still. Roy's eyebrow rises.

"You're not pregnant, are you?"

"No."

"Not cheated with another man—"

"No."

"— or got a tattoo on your bu—?"

I stomp my foot. "Would you let me finish?"

He goes silent.

My chest coils. Zelda's hand finds mine and squeezes.

"I… I think I know the identity of the Voice."

Roy goes entirely still. So does everyone. Shock perforates every last expression.

"You what?" Naomi cries.

"How?" Roy presses.

Tactfully I ignore the question. "Her name is Mariam Noboru. She's a doctor in Los Angeles. I've heard her speak. The likeness is exact."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Gail," Roy says, standing up, "how—? When? When did you discover this?"

"Yesterday."

"Evening?" At my nod, he frowns. "During the hockey match? You were sick for most of it."

Zelda's hand squeezes harder.

"I-I wasn't."

So I explain, in hurried, harried detail, that I was actually playing in the match yesterday. That with Naomi and Aderyn and Durante's help, I passed myself off as sick to hop onto the rink. That Zelda and I have been doing this for months, going to tournaments, playing together, befriending the team in our disguises, enjoying every minute with the heavy, painful terror that the next may not come. All the while, the faces around me change. Durante's goes from shock to despair. Rudy's from scarlet to pale. Cami's from o-shaped lips to a pressed and sealed line.

Roy from ashen shock, to an unblinking, unreadable husk.

"That's when I met Mariam— the Voice." Better to not humanise her. "She was her half-sister."

"We didn't know," Zelda says.

"No," I quickly add, as if that'll help my argument. "No, we had no idea—"

"How long."

It's not a question. I face Roy, but his head is tipped down.

"How long," he mutters, "have you been doing this?"

"About four months."

"Four months," he repeats. His hand crushes into a fist on the table. "Four months you have deliberately disobeyed my orders."

"To what? Stay here? Sit about and stare at the ceiling and—"

"You have thrown yourself into danger! You have disregarded every rule I have ever taught you, that our parents have ever taught you!" He raises to full height, and now he inhabits not my brother, but the king. "All for what? Some stupid hockey team?"

Cami gasps. "Roy—"

"It is not stupid!" I fire back. "I enjoy it so much—"

"I enjoy lounging on the beach and visiting bars! But I don't sneak out to do that, because I recognise I am in a delicate position of power, of status, and that I have an image to maintain!"

Old tears re-emerge. My arms shake; Zelda steadies me, equally as shaky. "I want it in my life," I say. "Whether you approve or not."

Roy scoffs. "There are too many logistical and security problems besides the ridiculous notion of you on a hockey team—"

"Roy," Cami cuts across sharply.

"It is ridiculous," he asserts. "Did you not think, Gail, during your night-time escapades that you could've been noticed or injured or killed?"

"Every single time, but I still did it, because it's what I enjoy doing!"

"We don't get that luxury! We are royalty! There are rules! Limitations, on what we can do!"

"Then the rules are stupid!" I shrill.

"They are there," he presses, like he's talking to a little child, "for your protection."

"My protection? My entrapment, more like!"

"I always went with her," Naomi says, injecting her voice into the tense pause. "I made sure—"

"You condoned this delusion, Officer Astrauskas," he snaps. "As far as I'm concerned, your employment here is terminated."

My heart slams into my ribcage. "Roy, no—"

"No, you don't get a say in this!" he roars. "You have flouted my simple instructions for a pathetic reason, put yourself and our family in danger!"

Naomi gulps loudly. In one swoop, she bows to Roy, then to me. Her eyes glisten with tears. Then she marches out of the room. My heart goes with her, torn and shredded. No, no, no, it wasn't supposed to end like this.

Tears choke at Zelda's eyes. "Please, Uncle Roy—"

"Quiet, Zelda. I have nothing to say to you, though I imagine your fathers will have words of their own. Rudy," his voice is snuffed of emotion, "if you will inform Miss Fowler that her contract has also been terminated—"

"Stop! Please!" This time I leap forwards – to grapple him, to put myself between the door and Rudy, I don't know. "You can't do this!"

"I can." His eyes bury into mine through the hazy blur. "Their judgement is no longer reliable if they can be manipulated by you."

"No, no, no, please! I—"

"You can no longer be trusted, Gail!" Roy inhales deeply, then shuts his eyes. For a moment, sadness ripples in his features, in the harsh lines that darn his cheeks. Betrayal oozes from him. When he reopens his eyes, they are devoid of any love and affection. "I trusted you with this Selection so long as you showed me you were capable enough to step into your role as princess. Clearly I have been mistaken in giving you so much freedom, and I was too forgiving to see it. You will be monitored, night and day, to make sure you do not so much as even think about ever again disobeying me. You are now on house arrest until I see fit to release you. Captain," Roy bows his head as he mutters, "see to it arrangements are made to ensure this embarrassment doesn't happen again. Then we will discuss your misdemeanours as well."

Durante's Adam's apple bobs, but his face remains stony as he says, "Of course, Your Majesty."

"I want every scrap of detail on this Mariam Noboru figure on my desk by dinner."

He snatches his cane from the side and stalks out. I can't help the sob that tears through my entire body, wrecking whatever composure I had. Zelda wraps her arms around me as Durante follows him out. Rudy and Cami hesitate.

"Zelda," Rudy snaps, motioning for her to go.

She meets my eyes, teeth gritted with unsaid words, but follows him out, wiping her face with her sleeve as she does. I know what she's risked today to be at my side. I know Rudy and Durante will chew her out as I have been, and now without her support, I fear I will crumble like the broken shards of a derelict building.

"Cami," I weep, my last resort. "Cami, please."

She sighs, steps forwards. "Come on. Let's get you back to your room."

The walk back is pilfered by my sobs. Only once she delivers me to my bed do I finally have the courage to speak.

"Please," I beg her. "Please. You can't let him do this."

"I empathise you chasing after what you love, Gail." She approaches the door, making to leave, but suddenly rubs her fingers. "But sometimes we have to give up what we want for the sake of our loved ones. It's not fair, and it's not right, but it is what it is."

When the door clicks shut, I fall to my bed, and I cry.

NTT: "Kanye West was an icon of his time."