CHAPTER 30

Princess Carolynn Schreave

Tuesday, the 14th of January

"There you are," I say, wrapping my hand around Divesh's arm. "You will not believe how many staff members I had to talk to to track you down."

Divesh pulls away slightly, obviously surprised. "You were looking for me? I didn't know that. I would have met you somewhere."

"Calm down, it's not that big of a deal," I assure him, squeezing his hand. "So what were you doing in the library?"

Divesh ducks his head. "It's kind of, actually, it's really embarrassing."

"Divesh, there are photos on pretty much all of the national media outlets of when I had a bruise the size of a tennis ball on my leg. I'm fairly sure you can't top that." I tell him, wrinkling my nose at the age-old memory. Normally I wouldn't bring that up to anyone, let alone one of my selected, but Divesh is hardly in a position to judge me considering that his time not in jail is wholly dependent on my mood.

"I never saw any of those." Divesh says, "I'm sure they weren't that bad."

I wave my hand, "No, they were. Anyway, what were you doing?"

Divesh gives a self-deprecating little laugh, "I was reading a medical journal. A bit pointless, I know, but the palace has a great collection, and I figured as long as I'm here…"

"Why were you reading that? You're not a medical student. Isn't that part of your cover story?" I point out, stating the obvious.

"I just…. As long as I was pretending, I might as well learn something. Besides," Divesh's voice takes a gloomy turn, "I've always wanted to be a doctor. Might as well have fun while it lasts."

"Why aren't you a doctor then?" I ask, "It's probably less exciting then the whole super-spy thing, but there's less of a chance of committing treason."

"I wanted to be," he admits. "Really, really badly. I failed my entrance exam though. Not just failed, I scored in the seventh percentile. I got a twenty-two."

I almost want to ask if he's lying. Yes, I suppose someone has to score in the bottom percentiles, for those to actually be percentiles….but no one really does. Even Garnet, the idiot that he is, got in the seventy eighth percentile on his last provincial exam. That would be really rude though. To make him feel even worse about his pathetic score. I didn't want to do that. I like him, in a weird way. In a way that I don't usually like people. It's not just that I don't want him to be mad at me, I genuinely don't want to hurt his feelings.

"That's...not that bad."

He looks up at me, hopeful,"You really think so?"

"Uh, I mean, there's room for improvement but that could definitely be a lot worse." I change the subject quickly, "So is that why you decided to do, you know, the other job?" I ask, lowering my voice as one of the interns enters the library. She doesn't come near the back corner where Divesh and I are sitting, probably just picking up a book for whoever it is that she's shadowing.

Divesh lowers his tone to match mine, "Yeah. I didn't really have anywhere else to go in life, so I joined the military. And, instead of a normal job, I ended up as that."

"Not bad," I say, shrugging. "Probably much more interesting. The military doesn't do much now anyway."

"Interesting is one word for it." Divesh agrees quickly. "It's stressful. I don't know if I would choose it again, but it's a life. I get to do cool stuff, I guess. I never would have been in the selection if I wasn't part of it."

"Are you happy you joined the selection?" I ask

"Yeah. Of course. I really like you, Carrie." Divesh says, his eyes trained on the ground. I get the feeling that this took him a lot of nerve to say, and I respect him for that.

Oh who am I kidding, I love that he said that. First with Nyson, now Divesh. It's nice to have people say that they like you, that they want to spend time with you. He really likes me. That's practically one step away from love. I've only had one boy say that to me in my entire life. That makes Divesh the almost second.

And, I feel guilty that he said it to me as well. Especially considering that, I hadn't sought him out today for any sort of conversation. I wasn't looking to talk about his medical school ambitions. I just wanted to know how the other boy who's said that to me was doing. I can't bring that up now. It would crush him, for after that to ask what my ex-boyfriend was doing. I didn't want to make him upset. So, maybe for today, I can be fine without having to know what it is that Henri is doing.

"You do?" I ask, pushing the guilt aside.

Divesh nods, "Yeah, of course. I mean, everyone does. Everyone left in the selection. You're a great person. Everyone who meets you must like you in some way," he rambles, his nerves over taking him. Poor boy

"That's really nice of you to say," I answer him. "Really nice. I'm happy that you're happy that you joined the selection."

Divesh clears his throat. "Yeah."

No. There's absolutely no way I'm going to bring up Henri right now.

"So, what was in the medical journal anyway? Why do people read them?" I ask, diverting the topic.

"It wasn't anything that special. Just some discussion about the normal temperature range and what changes them," Divesh answers me, sliding the book down the table as if I would actually want to read it.

"Isn't it in response to illness?" I ask, tilting my head to the side. I hadn't really thought about it since my tutor covered biology when I was twelve

"Yeah something like that."

I tut-tut loudly, "Now, how do you expect to be a doctor with an answer like that?"

Divesh looks down, "The hypothalamus. It raises body temperatures in response to infections," he recites off, sounding unconfident.

"Exactly."

"Wait really? I'm not really an expert on that stuff."

"Actually, I have no idea. I'm just going to assume your correct. I'm not a doctor either."

Divesh laughs, "if you weren't going to be the Queen, you probably could be."

I shake my head, "Probably not. I don't really like blood."

Later that week, I have a date scheduled with Nishav to the museum. I haven't talked to him in quite a while. Not since he saw me bawling my eyes out on his birthday. I really hope that it didn't sour his thoughts of me, if he even had positive ones in the first place. I know he said that he didn't hate me, but first of all, that is a very low bar.

And second, he could have been lying. Who tells someone, while they're in the middle of crying on your shoulder, that you actually don't like them all that much.

Not anyone with any shred of human decency, and despite his removed tone and subtle disinterest in nearly everything, Nishav definitely cares about others feelings. He might try to hide it, but he does. I hope he realizes that about me. That even under my layers of vanity and selfishness, ones that I'm working on, that I somewhat care about other people too.

Either way, I guess I'm going to find out today. Whenever Nishav decides to come meet me in the foyer. In a showing of good grace, I came ten minutes early. Nishav, however, is either determined to arrive right on time, or decided that I would be late anyway, so he might as well not have to wait.

I mean, he's not wrong in assuming that. Two weeks ago, I probably would have been purposefully late. As the future Queen though, showing up on time is the least that I could do. So, as part of my plan for self-improvement, I added not being late.

In between my musings, Nishav makes his way down the marble staircase in the foyer, tapping me on the shoulder. "Your Highness?"

I jump, "You scared me." I say, rubbing my arm.

Nishav laughs lightly, "My apologies. I didn't expect you to be so...unaware."

"Is that an insult?"

"Not at all," Nishav responds easily, "I was just pointing out that you seemed to be lost in thought," he clears his throat, "Would you like to share?"

"Well, if we're being honest here, I was thinking about how you were late," I answer, placing my hands on my hips.

I expect Nishav to look embarrassed, or at the very least, apologetic, but instead he just checks his watch. "Really? I believe that I was right on time. Perhaps my watch is a few minutes late," he offers, unconvincingly.

"Maybe. Either way, you shouldn't make a Princess wait."

Nishav….actually nods in what I think is agreement. "You're right. It's rather rude to make anyone wait for a date."

Huh.

"Well, that's not important anyway. It's not like the museum is going anywhere, unless there's an art theft while we're there."

"I suppose." Nishav answers, "The Angeles Art Museum is told to have one of the best collections in the country. It would be hard to pull off an art theft considering the amount of security that would be present. I can't imagine anyone would actually try."

"I bet you could pull off an art theft if you put your mind to it." I point out.

Nishav's forehead wrinkles, "That's...nice of you to say. I doubt it, and I would be foolish to even think about it."

"Oh come on. You're telling me you've never thought about hanging the Mona Lisa up in your house?" I ask.

Nishav looks concerned, "You have? That really seems like a felony. I don't even think the Mona Lisa is currently in Illéa's possession."

"Oh. Yeah, you're right."

"I was just messing with you," Nishav says to me, squeezing my shoulder. "I'd like to think that I could pull off an art theft too, doubtful as it might be."

"Do you want to try?" I ask, "No court would find me guilty, and I'm sure you could get off with maybe five years at most."

"Funny. Ah, no I'd rather we not end this date with a summons."

"Yeah. Probably not the best thing to do. I have plans on Friday."

"What are you doing?" Nishav asks, sounding mildly curious.

"It's Friday, what do you think I'm doing?" I ask, not giving Nishav room to answer. "The Report. I have to talk about this new social service program that the palace is funding."

"What is it about?"

"To expand arts in education," I answer. "You know, most of the time school's focus on science and math instead of fun things, and some advisors believe that should be a no-no."

Nishav nods, "Hm."

"Hey, didn't you go to an arts secondary school?" I ask, the memory of what he said weeks ago coming back, "What did you do there?"

Nishav gives me a noncommittal shrug, "Not much. I was in the music program."

I roll my eyes, "Yes, but what did you do there? Was it fun?"

Nishav presses his lips together, "I really don't want to talk about it, Your Highness," he says bluntly.

Oh. Whatever it is that Nishav's thinking of seems to be something that he doesn't particularly like. Certainly something he doesn't want to share with me. I want to pry, I'm the Crown Princess. He's practically legally required by law to tell me whatever it is that I want to know.

But that'll make Nishav angry with me, closed off. He hasn't always been the sweetest person to talk to, but he genuinely cares. He listened to me, even if it was in a judgmental, quiet, almost sociopathic way. I don't want to lose that.

'Okay," I agree. "I didn't mean to pressure you into talking about it."

"You didn't pressure me," Nishav says simply. "It's just…" he trails off, not finishing his sentence.

"Well, do you want to get going?" I ask, "We better get going before the Great Art Theft of January Sixteenth."

"If there actually does end up being an art theft today," Nishav says, "I'm naming you to the police as a suspect."

"What happened to unconditional support?"

"I can't exactly condone thievery, when you already have a palace full of paintings and sculptures. Though, to your credit, they're not nearly as nice as the ones in the museum. They all have some imperfection or another."

"Hey, I happen to like those paintings," I say.

"It doesn't make them flawless."

I shake my head, pulling Nishav outside to where the limousine is waiting to take us to the Museum. Nishav seems to all but ignore my prior questions about his personal life, making sure that our conversation never strays from topics that strictly don't concern him. I've never had someone else be in charge of a discussion before. Even if a person did think that they were leading it, the final results still came down to me. If I asked a question I got the answer. It was nice though, to not have to be in charge for once.

The museum is a large building made out of white marble. There was absolutely no way that we were going to be able to see even half of the art in a day, and even less of a chance of my patience holding up long enough to make it through perhaps a quarter of the exhibits.

"Where do you want to start?" Nishav asks, looking at a map of the museum.

I shrug. "I don't really care."

"There's nothing that interests you?"

I sigh, "I guess I like the Ancient Egyptian Jewelry. That doesn't really count as art though."

"I don't mind," Nishav clears his throat, studying the map, "It's on the second floor, east wing. Do you want to visit?"

"Sure."

The guard following behind me makes sure that no one else gets in the elevator with us, much to the annoyance of the small crowd building up near the elevator bank.

"Quite unfortunate for them." Nishav notes as the door closes.

"Maybe, but I don't think an extra thirty seconds of waiting is going to ruin their day." I say, gesturing to the open elevator door.

The jewelry display is set off in a little alcove from the main exhibit. To be honest, it's probably the one part of any museum that I ever find interesting, if only because I eventually take to wondering how much I would have to pay to wear the necklaces in the little glass display cases.

"It's funny," Nishav says, following my gaze, "Jewelry styles haven't changed much in the past few millenniums. Still necklaces, bracelets, and earrings."

"What were they supposed to change?"

"Most things do," Nishav answers. "Everything has a way of changing."

"Don't get all philosophical on me, I was just starting to like you." I say, only half joking. I don't need lectures on how the world is constantly evolving during a date. Any other time, I would at least feign interest, but not now.

Nishav gives me a tight smile, "Well then, I wouldn't want to ruin that."

"Smart choice. I knew I was fond of you for a reason." I say, not getting a response from him. Nishav looks closer at the jewelry display for a minute, though it's clear that he's thinking about something different. Something that hopefully he'll share with me.

"Your Highness," Nishav says after a long pause, "Carolynn, what art programs are you funding?"

"Huh?" I ask, caught off guard.

"You mentioned them earlier. Could I ask which ones?"

"Oh," I think for a second, "Mostly public schools, and then a few of the private art schools so they can accept more students. Eastern School of the Arts, Clermont Preparatory Academy, Labrador Conservatory for the Arts, Dakota Artistic Institute," I answer counting them off on my fingers, "There are probably more."

"Oh."

"Oh, what?"

"LCA, that was my school." Nishav says, facing back towards the jewelry.

"You mean Labrador Conservatory for the Arts?" I ask.

"Yeah, that one."

"Did you like it there?"

Nishav tilts his head to the side. "Other people certainly liked it there. Plenty of my classmates were happy to attend school there. I didn't enjoy it, but that can hardly be credited to the school."

"What do you mean?"

"I barely went to school. My parents always had me playing at concert halls or performing in orchestras. Maybe if I had actually attended more than a month at a time, I would have had friends. I would have known my teachers. But I didn't."

I don't know what to say in response to that. All I manage is a small, "I'm sorry."

"It's not their fault anyway. The administrators. They always warned my parents about taking me out of school, but at the end of the day it didn't matter. My parents wanted what they wanted. Fame, money, whatever it is you would like to call it." Nishav continues. "Perhaps if they had actually listened I wouldn't...nevermind."

"What is it?" I ask, my voice quiet, "if you're comfortable sharing," I add as an afterthought. I don't want to pressure Nishav. He certainly never pressured me.

"I haven't spoken to either of my parents in a long time." Nishav admits. "Not since I was eighteen. I didn't want to talk to them after they...exploited me for my entire childhood."

"Oh, I'm...I'm sorry."

"They called me, before I left for the selection," Nishav says, looking at me. "Wanted to wish me luck, I suppose. I wouldn't know. I didn't pick up the phone."

Now is the time to empathize, to give advice. Both things that I'm not good at. I need to try though, I owe it to Nishav. I should be understanding, not selfish. I shouldn't brush this under the rug and suggest we move onto the next section of the museum.

"I...Have you considered calling them back?" I ask, "Maybe they want to tell you that they're sorry."

"Very little could be enough for me to forgive them."

"Shouldn't you at least hear them out?"

"I should, but I'm not going to. Not yet, at least."

I don't understand that. I would love to say that I did, but I don't. If either of my parents were mad at me, or I was mad at them, I wouldn't hold a grudge for that long. The same goes for any of my extended family. I might make them beg a little, but I would forgive them. Still, I've never had to go through the same thing that Nishav did. I might have been raised to be the next ruler of Illéa, but at least my parents always put me first.

"I think you should do what you want to do," I answer. "I can't pretend to know what you went through, and I'm not going to force you to do anything."

Nishav nods, "Thank you, Carolynn. That's very nice of you to say."

I want to kiss him. His face looks particularly handsome in the lighting, and his are lips quirked into a small excuse for a smile. I want to so badly.

I can't though. Not when he just shared his childhood trauma with me. Now is a really, really bad time to do that.

"I try to be nice some of the time," I say simply, turning my head to the side.

"You're nice most of the time," Nishav notes. "Perhaps not always, but at least for the majority."

"Gee, thanks. Anyway, do you want to go look at another exhibit? You can choose this time." I offer.

Nishav nods, "Gladly."

When Nishav and I get back to the palace, a very impatient Pearl Van Der Witts pounces on us, "There you are Nishav. Why didn't you tell me you were going on a date today?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize that I was supposed to give you my schedule ahead of time," Nishav responds easily. I giggle, causing Pearl to glare at me.

"Regardless, if you leave the palace during the times when lessons could be happening you should inform me. Mr. Brooms, that's what his name is, had to delay the start of his lecture to account for you to get back." Somehow, I don't think that Mr. Brooms minded having to wait all that much. From what I've heard Nishav is the only one who pays attention anyway.

"I didn't realize that was a rule," Nishav answers. "I'll make sure to in the future."

"May I ask, if he was the one looking for Nishav, why isn't he here himself?" I ask, piping up.

"That man has no backbone. He was planning on just rescheduling the lesson. I told him to do nothing of that sort," Pearl responds.

"Lovely."

I follow Nishav, who's following Pearl to a classroom-esque room on the second floor. The rest of my selected; Bas, Divesh, Nathaniel, and Nyson all sit, looking upset that Nishav finally made his way back to the palace.

Except for Bas that is. He gives Nishav and I a cheery little wave, "How was the museum? I always liked the modern art when I was a kid."

"You've been?" I ask.

"Yeah. My parents had to come to Angeles a lot when I was younger for some stuff."

"It was nice," Nishav answers, cutting the conversation off. "May I ask what exactly is going on?"

"Yes, ah," Mr. Brooms starts, "It's almost the final part of the selection, the last five left. So we're going to be starting on these...projects...philanthropy ones. To help the country," he says, in what might be one of the least helpful explanations I've ever heard. I almost want to give my own breakdown of it to the selected.

Almost.

"So, next Friday, there's going to be this...section on the report. Where you can present your project. It should be a fun time. You can all show off your creative thinking."

"Can it be about anything?" Nathaniel asks, raising his hand slightly.

'Yeah, anything you want really. His Majesty didn't….I think it just needs to better the country."

"Do you want me to get my dad," I ask, whispering to Mr. Brooms. "He can probably explain it much better."

Mr. Brooms nods enthusiastically, and ten minutes later my dad walks into the room, looking confused as to why he was summoned. All the selected instinctively sit up straighter in their seat, even Divesh, who looks as if he wishes he was invisible,

"Gentlemen," he says, acknowledging the selected before turning to me, "Carrie what is this about?"

"Can you explain the philanthropy projects?" I ask, lowering my voice.

"Was the history teacher not supposed to do that?" I make a face, which luckily he understands, "Alright then."

Turning to the selected, Dad takes on his Prince Consort voice. "First of all, let me rest your nerves that this presentation will not be aired live," he says, to an audible sigh of relief in the room. "It will be pre-filmed, and if you mess up or want to start over, just let us know. The production team will be more than happy to accommodate you."

"Yay," Bas says from his seat. Dad smiles for a second before moving on.

"The philanthropy projects are meant to resemble something that you will have to do often as the future Prince Consort of Illéa. While my daughter will handle the governing of the country, many social services and charity organizations will fall to you. Think of it as a preview of your responsibilities, though it won't be nearly as difficult when you are the Prince Consort. This isn't meant to scare anyone off, it's just a project to help you get a head start on understanding your responsibilities, and a way for Illéa to get to know you outside of interviews."

Nathaniel raises his hand cautiously. Dad gestures to him, giving him the floor. "I asked this to Mr. Brooms earlier, but I was wondering if there was anything specific that the project had to be about?" he asked, using much more formal language than he had earlier. Please. If there was one person in this palace who wasn't going to judge him it would be my dad.

Dad thinks for a second, "Technically speaking, no, though I would prefer for you to all run your ideas by me before diving in to them. There's a reason why this isn't filmed live anymore."

"I wanted to do something about the oceans," Nathaniel says.

"Why don't you speak to me privately, if you have any concerns?"

"Sure, Your Majesty." Nathaniel answers, perking up.

"Now for the actual presentation, I personally suggest making a slideshow, but if you want to create a poster, or do it all orally, that is completely fine. This will be filmed next Thursday, to be aired on the report, so that gives you a little more than a week to prepare," Dad finishes, "Does anyone have any questions?"

"Sebastian?" Dad says, as Bas lowers his hand.

"I was just wondering if there's a set budget?"

"Not a strict one, but just make sure that it's feasible. It shouldn't be costing seven billion dollars for one program. Anyone else?"

"I actually have another question," Bas says.

Dad looks amused, "Of course, Sebastian, go ahead."

"Hypothetically speaking, if my computer was to crash, and log me out of all my applications, and if I didn't know any of the passwords, how would I go about creating a slideshow?"

"That seems awfully specific," Dad answers.

"Yeah."

"Did your computer crash?"

"It did, and I can't reset my passwords because customer service keeps hanging up on me."

"I can give you an account from someone who used to work at the palace. If that doesn't work, I can get your passwords reset for you. It shouldn't take too long." Dad assures him, "Is that all?"

No one else says anything, either too intimidated to ask a question or just simply not having any.

"Well, if that's all.." Dad sees himself out of the room, leaving the boys to all turn and face one another, particularly Bas.

"How did you forget all of your passwords?" Nishav asks incredulously.

"My mom made them, not me," Bas answers, looking embarrassed. "It's not that big of a deal. I'll figure something out."

"Bas," I say, walking up to him, "That's one of the funniest things I've heard in a long time. Seriously, I don't know how you managed it, but you should be proud of yourself for that."

"I aim to entertain."

A/N: Hi besties, what's up? It's officially June, and two days out from my AP test I am posting a chapter instead of studying. I have such great decision making skills, I know. You all should be proud of me. So, this is the 30th chapter, which means there are only 10 more left. That's really weird to think about, but yeah.