Despite marking on my calendar when I last updated, that still hasn't helped me update faster. Still, this is a nice long chapter to make up for some of that time! Because it's fun and I got nowhere near to what I planned for this chapter, Victory Ball shenanigans will be continued in the next chapter too, and there will be more of the Selected!

I usually pin things on Pinterest to the story board (see details on my profile) but this has it's own board because I'm the worst. If you want to search for it alone, it's called "Victory Ball (Heart)"

Love to my reviewers Nameless, RunawayGirl8125, Anastasia the Goddess of Drama, delovlies, mnbvcxz-xx, and Miss Kaydence (if anyone is looking for a new SYOC, check out hers called "Divided"!)

To my anon guest reviewer: that you for your honest appraisal of the story! If there's too many characters for you to keep up with, I suggest you have a look at my profile, I always keep a handy chart on my profile in case you forget or get confused! If you didn't know, this is only just a story for fun. I barely do any editing except for grammar and if I was unhappy with certain scenes, this is plainly a hobby for me! This is also a sequel and both were interactive stories, so there's old characters coming back and new ones from new readers (and old). If it doesn't flow right, I suggest you find a published book to read and not a fanfiction!

If anyone wants to ever plan out plot lines for their character, I'm just a PM or review away! Don't forget to review!

-Shades

…

Tonight was going to be interesting.

Wesley glowered at the three outlandish suits that Joseph had laid out for him—conveniently when he was out of his room, of course. Now his infuriating valet was nowhere to be seen, and Wesley was in the midst of a fashion crisis.

So…he might have accidentally forgotten about the Victory Ball tonight, and never actually confirmed what he was going to wear with his valet. In his defense, he had a valid excuse, between the Selection, Council meetings, and the media disaster that was himself. Somehow, there had been no coverage of the date with Georgia, Alyex, and Veyra that had turned out pretty good, yet there was practically a movie of his coffee date with Lady Piper. He had tried, he really had, but the Clermont Selected was a girl of few words. She had blushed so many times that Wesley had almost sent for the palace physician to make sure she didn't have a fever. She had a lovely smile and seemed very sweet, but that's about all he could get out of her. She had said less than five words, choosing to shrug and smile over talking.

Now, of course, the footage of it—obtained by some official palace correspondent jerk hiding in the bushes-made him look like a total spaz because it was just him rambling about nothing. He had hoped that his date with Lady Nikoli would go better, but their fancy dinner had been even more of a disaster. She disapproved him drinking wine with the meal, and explicitly told him so, which only made him drink more to get through it. She had asked the servants if there was anything she could do to help and had actually helped them clear the table when it was over, leaving Wesley sitting there like an idiot (which of course had pictorial evidence). She was a nice girl, though, and she saw the beauty in everything, especially her love of doll-making, which was what most of their conversation consisted of.

He was keeping them around, in case anything changed between them, and at least it meant two more dates were out of the way. He had sent home the girls from Baffin and Dominica after a Council meeting this morning, seeing as they had no connection and neither of the girls could stop giggling long enough to have an actual conversation with him. But Wesley's plan to hide in his room all afternoon and eat chips and salsa in bed and contemplate his pitiful existence had been rudely thrust aside by the reminder that there was a ball tonight.

And apparently, he had nothing to wear.

Wesley scowled at his options—some of which he wasn't even aware he owned—and turned around to dig through his closet, mindful that he had less than an hour to get ready and he was currently still in basically his pajamas.

His mom was less understanding.

When she arrived a few minutes later, not bothering to knock or anything, Queen Francesca's face pinched together in disapproval at the sight of him.

"Please tell me that you are not going to wear that," she said, propping her hands on her hips. Of course, his mother was already dressed and ready to go, in a high-necked dark gray gown that had enough rhinestones on it to send little reflections of light all over his bedroom, with a skirt that took up nearly his entire doorway. Her auburn hair looked freshly re-colored and was piled high in an elaborate hairstyle that must have taken hours.

"Uh…" Wesley looked down at his violently wrinkled white tee shirt, pajama pants, and flip-flops, with a half-tied tie he was trying on looped around his neck, "Hope not."

Queen Francesca sighed. "Definitely not," she said, before motioning to the horrendous options from earlier. "What about these that your valet has for you?"

"Moooooom," Wesley whined, "My valet hates me! There is no way I am wearing those!"

She picked up the hanger than contained the mostly normal black one, except it had a turquoise vest and a tie to match. "What's wrong with this one?"

"Just look at it! I just want to blend in," he muttered, turned back to his many suits.

"I'm not sure that's an option, Wes. This is your Selection, and everyone will be watching you."

"This is supposed to be a ball to celebrate victory—not me," he corrected, before unearthing his navy tuxedo. "Can I just wear this?"

"I suppose…" she said, "Wesley, you need to take this seriously."

"I am!" he shot back.

"No, honey, you're not. The most emotion you've shown for the press is from downtown the other day. When you are with the Selected, you act like it's nothing. This is supposed to help restore the union of our country, but you've been ignoring the ladies from the northern provinces."

"That's not true, I went out with Lady Reese and Lady Georgia. And Alyex and Lillian!"

"What about Lady Fallon? Everyone in the north loves her, and you've barely said hello to her."

"I thought the Berlin family were for secession. And didn't they finance the rebellion before that too? I should just send her home now."

"Absolutely not. We need them on our side. You need to take her on a date as soon as possible."

"Okay, fine…" Wesley grumbled, sitting down his bed with a huff. He decided not to mention the rather embarrassing part about how every time he tried to ask her out, she turned him down. "So, can I wear this or not? And when am I getting a new valet, again?"

His mom didn't respond, just leveled him with a stare.

"Right, 'I have to be professional about this'. Sorry," he grumbled, looking down at the pathetic tie around his neck. He felt his mom place a hand on your shoulder as she sat down next to him.

"Honey, I know this isn't easy. But your brothers have gotten through it, and I went through it on the other side. I wish your father was here to help you…" her voice tightened as she squeezed his shoulder, "But he's not. And I know it's in your nature to turn everything into a game, but you have to promise me you'll take this seriously."

"I'm trying, Mom."

She was quiet for a moment, and Wesley looked back up.

"This….this isn't about Lissa Dove being back at the palace, is it?"

Her name hung in the air, and he thought of lovely, sunny days at Trentworth, sneaking around away from everyone else, running down to the beach and dancing with her at midnight, the way her cheeks had turned pink when he had kissed her, and her smirk as she pushed him into the fountain because of it. He thought of the way she ran her fingertips over his jaw and then wrapped them around his neck when he kissed her, how she smelled unexplainably of sugar cookies, the way the sun lit up the lightest strands of her hair and brought out the green in her eyes. The way she looked sideways at him when she thought he wasn't looking, how her eyes and cheeks scrunched up when she smiled, and the funny little squeak she made when she laughed.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered how his mom had lied to him about Lissa too, after the masquerade during Ethan's Selection. How she had threatened to fire Lissa from Evie and Sophie's governess at the reception for the Selected when she had found her comforting him.

"No... it's not her. She does her job, and I do mine. I'm just glad she's happy here," he said, keeping his eyes on the ground.

"Then what is it?"

He remembered being blind as he ran through the snow. The snow, the fog, the smoke. Not knowing where he was or where he was going, just the overwhelming panic to run. It wasn't hard to remember, it came back all the time, sometimes in nightmares, and sometimes when he was wide awake. The way the fear clogged his throat and froze his heart and took over everything. How he didn't think so much blood could come from one person, from himself, the pain and the fear and the blood and how he was going to die no matter what he did. Seeing the body of his best friend, and knowing it was his fault and no matter what he did nothing would ever ever ever change that.

Wesley could feel his mom's eyes on him, and he swallowed hard.

"I don't know, I guess I just can't get used to being back here," Wesley said, "I miss the freedom of being away. Not being a prince and all, the army. It was fun." He let out a chuckle of a laugh for effect, but it hurt his throat.

Queen Francesca patted his shoulder. "Well, I'm glad you can be honest with me. I know it's a lot to handle in a transition, especially with the Selection as well. But tonight will be fun too."

Wesley forced himself to smile and nod and untied the pathetic tie. "I guess I should get ready, then."

She smiled and stood up with a rustle of the heavy fabric. "Don't be late, darling."

Once again, Wesley was alone in his room. Only forty-five minutes to get ready.

Predictably, he was late.

At least an hour later—though by then he had lost track of all time and had no idea anymore- Wesley trotted down the stairs, clipping on his cufflinks and trying to make sure his hair didn't look like a dumpster fire. He was positive that the Great Room and the gardens were an absolute zoo right now, though the rest of the palace was strangely deserted, and the lights seemed dimmer. Even from here, he could hear the faint thrum of music.

It had just taken him a lot longer than expected to shower and shave and get dressed and remember how to tie a bowtie. Okay, well actually that hadn't taken very long. Procrastinating was what had done him in and made him so late. It might have helped if he would have allowed Joseph to help him, but when his valet had come to see if he needed anything, he had smugly sent him away.

He knew lots of the servants, especially the men, had been invited/recruited to act as dance partners for all the guests, and Joseph had been out of uniform, so that was one more person to add to his "avoid at all costs" list, right up there with Lady Dresden who hated him, Lady Iris who he had had a panic attack in front of and was too embarrassed to face her again, Lady Fallon who would insult the hell out of his clothes in her quiet voice that made it even worse, Lady Darcy who would probably have another list, Lady Georgia who may or may not be trying to kill him—basically all his Selected. Not to mention his mom. Elvira because she would immediately know something was wrong and try to force him to tell her. Nat, as much as he loved her she would no doubt ruin his hair and he was wearing gel. That guard who never smiled and had the prosthetic leg. Aidan's crazy nanny. Adele's little boy Gideon who was basically a monster in toddler form.

And Lissa.

Wesley reached the bottom of the stairs and entered the Main Hall. It was surprisingly empty, though Wesley could clearly hear the sounds of the party emitting from the Great Room. He had made entrances like this more times than he could remember, but as he approached the massive closed doors, his stomach was in knots.

In his back pocket, his phone buzzed and he pulled it out. Among the twenty or so that were unread, it was yet another text from his mom demanded to know why he was late. He didn't bother reading the entire paragraph about his commitment, only shook his head and shoved his phone back in his pocket.

Wesley nodded to the guards stationed at the doors, hoping there wouldn't be any fanfare this time, and he could sneak in and get a drink before having to talk to anyone. If anything, this was going to suck.

The doors opened. And the Victory Ball began.

The Great Room was darker than he expected, though it was lit up with warm golden lights spilling from the sparkling chandeliers. At one end of the massive ballroom, the twelve glass doors leading out to the terrace and then the gardens were open, and if possible, they were even more lit up. Wesley looked up, expecting to see the glass ceiling that had always been there, looming three stories above the heads of the guests. It was gone, though now he remembered that after the rebel's takeover it had been destroyed. Now it was replaced with a smaller version, a domed circular skylight in the center of the room.

The rebuilding and renovations also revealed a sort of balcony that went around the second floor, offering a place for guards to keep watch without being as intrusive. It was also a place to withdraw, and Wesley thought about heading there before he was noticed. If not, there were a few drawing rooms on the side, offering small parlors for the royal family to hide out for a few moments away from the public eye.

He missed his chance, predictably, noticing that one of the many camera crews was already recording his entrance, and some of the guests were taking notice of him. Wesley offered a quick wave-and-smile and then jogged down the short steps, scanning the room before he disappeared into the crowd. Finding his brothers would be a good bet, but he didn't see them. In fact, he didn't see anyone who his brain registered. There were so many people, it reminded him that the last big ball that was held in here was probably his and Lissa's birthday masquerade, and that hadn't ended so well.

The music was loud, thanks to what looked to be a full orchestra in the new orchestra pit by the steps that hadn't been there before the renovations, and they were nicely out of the way. Something else that was new in the Great Room was the slightly sunken middle part of the room, with the most light shining over it, providing a set-apart place for dancing.

He caught sight of something in front of him, but then the people around him moved and blocked his sight. Wesley stood on his toes, and peered around for one of his family members, but came up empty. He registered seeing some of his Selected, standing in little clumps and all looking at him, but for the moment, he couldn't place their names. The loud music, the press of bodies around him, the sound of a hundred conversations—it was all getting a little overwhelming. He squeezed through the crowd and ended up close to the edge of the orchestra pit, a place that was surprisingly empty. Probably because of how loud the music was here, amplified by speakers, of all things.

Wesley spied a familiar figure perched precariously on the railing, her bare feet sticking out from the hem of her deep red gown and dangling above a discarded pair of silver heels.

"Vera," he said, loud over the music. She turned her head quickly, and the action flung her loosely curled blonde hair over her shoulder.

"We were all wondering when you would show up," A smile graced her round face, and cute little dimples he had never noticed before appeared.

"Don't fall," he gestured to the railing she sat on. "They might force you to play an instrument down there and you'll be stuck down there until the next ball."

Vera rolled her eyes at him and slid from her perch, and Wesley breathed a sigh of relief.

"That might not be so hard. I was a Five before…" she trailed off, and turned away from the crowd, propping her elbows on the railing and looking over the orchestra. Wesley joined her, the sleeve of his jacket brushing against her bare shoulder.

"I think I was supposed to know that, but I guess I just forgot. What did you do?"

"It's okay, sometimes I forget too," she shrugged nonchalantly. "I played the piano, mostly. Sang every now and then."

"Aw, sweet. We should do karaoke sometimes. Although on second thought, you do not want to hear me sing."

Vera smiled but didn't say anything as she straightened and turned back to the party. After a moment she spoke up.

"I can't believe we won," she said, her eyes taking in the throngs of people filling the Great Room, almost as if she forgot Wesley was standing there with her. Her blue eyes were glistening in the light from the chandeliers.

He didn't tell her that he couldn't believe he had survived. He just nodded.

"It never seemed possible, did it? But we did it. We brought the country back together."

Her hand went to her shoulder, and in her strapless gown, Wesley noticed the knotted, scarred skin of her shoulder blade. She fixed her gaze on him, but there wasn't any of the barefoot, skirt-carrying girl who he had met before. "But at what cost?"

"Well we survived, didn't we? Can't say that about a lot of people."

She immediately took a step away from him, eyes hard and jaw tense. "What I survived might have killed you," she said, raising her voice even higher than the volume they had used to talk over the music.

Caught off guard, Wesley opened his mouth to reply but didn't know what to say so just gaped at her like an idiot.

Vera wrapped her arms tightly around herself. "Sorry, it's just sometimes I don't think it was worth it, fighting your war. I fought for my loved ones," she said, hands covering the knotted scars on her shoulder. "It was awful."

"I know it was." The words flooded out of Wesley before he could stop them, and there was part of him that was suddenly angry. "We all have scars."

Vera shot him a glare, the fire in her eyes burning with a story she would never tell. And then it was gone, replaced with tears. "Mine just happen to be more visible than others," she said, her mouth wobbling. At least that's what he thought she said because she spoke too softly to hear above the music.

Wesley thought he saw a tear escape as she ducked past him to retrieve her shoes, but he couldn't be sure. She was gone a second later, disappearing into the crowd, and leaving him even more confused and lonely than before. Okay, so maybe that hadn't been the best thing to say, but he hadn't expected that reaction.

Why did he have to screw everything up?

He plunged back into the crowd, but he didn't follow Vera. He just wanted some quiet.

Anywhere but here.

Wes had halfway across the ballroom when he was suddenly ambushed by a blur of—

What the hell?

Salmon colored tulle?

That was somehow the exact color of The Shorts That Joseph Stole That Caused Major Issues?

"Hi, Brian," the tulle monstrosity spoke, and Wesley raised his eyes from it's skirt to the heart-shaped-face framed by bouncy blonde curls at least a foot shorter than him. Lady Darcy smiled a sickeningly sweet smile at him.

"Uh…Brian?" Wesley stammered. "That's not my name…?"

"Aw, don't get upset sweetie!" She chided, her voice loud and demeaning. "Do you like my dress?"

"Um, it's very…"

"Familiar?" Darcy offered, cocking her head. Her lips curled into a more evil than a sweet smile. He could see the look in her eyes that she knew exactly what she was doing, and everything she had said so far was extremely calculated.

Wesley took a few steps back, and the smile turned into a smirk. "Yeah. Familiar. Good word."

"So, I just met your valet, finally, and he agreed to deliver my list to you! Isn't that great?"

Wesley looked around nervously for Joseph but didn't spot him anywhere. He remembered the several pages of grievances that Darcy had tried to give him at the reception, the second one being that his hair was stupid.

"Great, just great!" he shot back, forcing a sunny smile to match hers. "Look, Lady Darcy, have I done something wrong? Something to offend you? Because you seem to have a problem with me."

The smirk curled into a sneering frown. "Oh honey, first off, don't worry about me, worry about your eyebrows. Second, no offense, but-" she paused to suck in a deep breath and her next words came out as high-pitched yelling, "-but I don't just have a problem with you. You are literally the worst person I've ever met! I don't understand why you just go around ruining people's lives with all your power because power corrupts and you don't understand justice because you-"

"I have literally talked to you once!" Wesley cut her off with a shout that caused several heads to turn their way. He didn't stop, that anger he had felt earlier was now raging inside of him.

"What is your problem?"

Darcy's eyes narrowed, and she stood on her toes to get in his face. She jabbed her finger in his chest.

"People will never bleed enough to fulfill your version of justice," she spat. She took another deep breath to prepare for another tirade, but Wesley didn't let her.

"I'll fax you my concerns about your list, Tiffany," he retorted with the first name that popped into his head and nudging her aside. "I've gotta run."

Wesley didn't look back to see her face, but he did hear a shriek of frustration, and what sounded like a stamped foot.

It was enough.

He reached the dance floor and saw Lady Nikoli and Lady Piper standing on the edge, watching the dancers. Nikoli wore a navy blue gown embroidered with golden-brown flowers. Her eyes found him, and she smiled hesitantly as he approached, but he didn't plan on stopping.

Not then, anyway. A few steps later, he did stop.

He couldn't help himself.

She was so—

Beautiful.

And he couldn't take his eyes off Lissa Dove as she danced with her new boyfriend.

For a second, he was back at their birthday masquerade, looking at her coming down the stairs in her pink gown. Lissa's dress was almost the exact same shade, the tulle swooping around her heels, overlaid with fluttering silk flowers. Her shoulders were bare, and her golden-blonde hair cascaded to her shoulders in loose waves, shorter strands on the side framing her face. Her green eyes, crinkled on the edge in laughter as she tipped her head back, sending her hair in a flurry.

A hot feeling washed over him as he saw how her dress dipped low in the back. It changed to sickness as he watched Joseph put his hands on her waist, fingers skimming over her bare skin. She smiled, and her eyes crinkled more, and her cheeks scrunched up. Then she put her arms around Joseph's neck, and they were pressed against each other. He barely recognized his valet as he whispered into Lissa's ear, causing her to giggle. They were caught up in their own little world, practically oblivious to everyone around them.

They looked happier than he had ever been.

Wesley swallowed hard, and all but shoved his way past Nikoli and Piper, ignoring everyone as he pushed past them.

The noise of the ball was screaming in his ears as he ducked into the private drawing room, hoping he could hide the rest of the night.

Nope.

Wesley let out a high-pitched shriek and clapped his hands over his face as he walked in on Ethan with Nicole in his arms, making out.

"Wes!" he heard Ethan say.

"Lock the door, why don't you!" Wesley exclaimed, still hiding his eyes. "What if one of the kids had come in? Are you decent or should I back out of here without looking and hope I don't trip?"

"We were decent before, you idiot," Nicole said, giggling. "You can come out now."

Wesley cautiously lowered his hands from his face, finding his brother and sister-in-law laughing at him, their faces flushed.

"Damn, when I thought I wanted some alone time I didn't mean I wanted to interrupt yours."

Nicole playfully rolled her eyes at him, and then nudged Ethan. "Told ya," she said. They made a lovely couple, with Ethan in light gray suit and Nicole in a metallic pale pink gown completely covered with darker pink flowers. The skirt flared out like any traditional ball gown, but ended at her ankles, showing off her rose-gold heels. Ethan had his arm draped around her, pulling her snug against his side.

An image of them kissing when he walked in flashed across his mind, only they were replaced with Lissa and Joseph. He blinked and shook his head, and his brother and Nicole were back, looking at him with smiling faces.

And for some reason, the sight of them so happy together was maddening.

"Seriously, I've been looking all over for you guys, and this is where you've been?" he demanded. The laughter died on their faces as he raised his voice at them. "I can't believe this. You make me have this ridiculous Selection to fix the whole country, with all these girls who don't me, who hate me and might want me dead, and then throw this stupid ball, and…I can't do this!"

Neither Ethan or Nicole said anything, and the silence threw Wesley's outburst right back at him. He slumped down on one of the sofas and buried his face in his hands.

"Sorry…" he murmured. He hadn't even managed to get a glass of champagne and this ball was already a horror show. Vera hated him, Darcy hated him—and he hardly even knew them.

It was just too much.

His eyes burned, and he pressed the heels of his hands harder against them as if he could keep the tears in.

He didn't look up but rather felt Ethan and Nicole sit down on either side of him on the sofa.

"Wes, are you okay?" Nicole asked gently.

I have to take this seriously. This isn't about Lissa. This isn't about the war.

Wesley took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to respond, say something trivial like he had told his mom, but the lump in his throat made speaking impossible. Ethan put his arm around him, and that made it all the worse.

The drawing room was quiet, as quiet as it could be with the ball happening right outside. No one said anything as he tried really really really hard not to cry-they just on either side of him.

When his eyes dried and he felt like he could breathe again, Wesley raised his head and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"I shouldn't have said that," he began, propping his head on his hands.

"It's okay," Ethan cut in, squeezing his shoulder. "You're right, we should have been there for you."

"No—I need to be able to do this on my own," Wesley shook his head. "I just got so…angry."

Nicole patted his arm. "It's not a crime to ask for help."

Wesley leaned back against the sofa. "I don't know what came over me, it was all going so well. At least until that incident downtown," he mumbled the last part quickly, looking for anything else to blame aside from the horrific disaster of himself. "The Selected liked me, I liked them, the plan was working. Now they all hate me. Everyone one in this whole country hates me. I look like a jerk, a screw-up. And seeing you guys so happy…"

"They don't hate you," Nicole interrupted. "They love you!"

"You're the only one of us who actually went out and fought for what we were asking them to do," Ethan said. "Andrew and me, we just stayed here where it was safe."

"Yeah, but…"

Look what it had turned him into.

Wesley didn't say that. He just shook his head.

"I remember thinking the same way, you know," Ethan looked over at his wife. "I didn't think it was possible, to find someone who you could love and would love you back, after so much bad had happened."

Nicole smiled on Wesley's other side. "But it was possible. For both of us." Her eyes were sparkling like she had a secret or something. "And Wes, I know it's possible for you, too."

Wesley took a deep breath as if he could catch everything that they had in the air and take it for himself. All that hope. He needed it to try to fix all the pieces of his soul that were breaking apart. Everything to come, his memories, his hopes and dreams, all of it. It was smashing together in the thing called him, blocking out the light and shattering into a thousand pieces at the same time.

He had never understood the amount of pain that could stay hidden in the deepest corners of a person until it was inside of him.

Was there even the slightest chance? For hope at the end?

There had to be.

He was still alive. That had to count for something. Like he had told Vera, not everyone had.

Wesley pushed himself to his feet and ran his fingers through his hair. He let out a long breath and squared his shoulders.

"Okay. Okay. I can do this," he said. Ethan and Nicole looked at each other and then back at him.

"We know you can," Nicole said.

Wesley nodded vigorously. "I can do this," he repeated "I need a drink, but I can do this." Maybe if he said it enough it would be a bit easier.

He crossed the room to the extensive display of snacks and assorted drinks for the royal family, already eyeing the tequila.

"Oh no you don't," Ethan intercepted him. "No alcohol for you."

Wesley glared at him. "Bruh, I have a clear memory of doing a whole bunch of shots with you and Andrew at the bar during the opening reception. How is this any different?"

"Anything else you remember from that night?"

Wesley lowered his head. "Not really, no," he muttered.

"Yeah, that probably wasn't the best idea, getting you plastered with us. Mom put me in charge of babysitting you to make sure you stay sober."

"Nooooo," Wesley groaned, slapping his forehead. "Please no, Ethan."

"Hey, I got drunk exactly once during my whole Selection," Ethan stood protectively in front of the drink table.

"You also are the most boring person I've ever met."

"Hey!" Nicole exclaimed, nudging Wesley in the ribs.

Wesley threw himself down on the sofa with a groan. "Please?"

"Sorry, bro." A juice box meant for one the kids landed on him. "Try this."

Wesley gave both of them death glares as he stabbed the straw into the juice box and finished it off in a few gulps. It wasn't what he had had in mind, but it would have to do.

"Ready to get back out there?" Ethan asked.

"I'm not talking to you anymore, but yes," Wesley said as he stood up and threw the juice box away. He faced the door leading back out into the Great Room, and fiddled with his lapels.

Nicole reached for his hand and squeezed it. On his other side, Ethan clapped his hand over Wesley's shoulder.

"Okay. Let's do this."

They opened the doors and rejoined the ball, now in full swing. Wesley looked around, catching sight of Gracie and Damian dancing together, his mom talking to Andrew, and Lady Lillian doubled over with laughter with Lady Alyex.

"Where have you been hiding, Nicky?" Nat joined them, dressed in a gold mermaid gown, contrasting to all of the full skirts. Ben tagged along behind her.

"Just taking a break with these hooligans," Nicole gestured to the pair of brothers.

Predictably, Nat reached over to mess up Wesley's hair. "Ah, here he finally is! Why have you been hiding, Wes?"

"Apparently, I'm supposed to get through this sober," Wesley said, frowning. "Just trying to cope."

"You should try dancing. It usually helps," Nat looped her around his neck. "I'll watch out for you, I promise."

His three guardians started talking amongst themselves, and Wesley scanned the room again. He told himself he needed to find where Lissa was so he could avoid her.

He recognized a handful of movie stars, and even a couple of the old Selection contenders. Lillian and Alyex were hard to miss again, both dressed in white. Alyex's was trimmed in delicate gold, while Lillian's long lacy sleeves and narrow skirt suited her tall frame perfectly. He briefly met Iris's eyes from where she stood with Valette and Reese, commanding attention in a bright yellow dress. He quickly looked away, heat creeping into his cheeks from embarrassment.

A sky-blue vision broke through the crowd and approached them. It was Eleanor, looking gorgeous. The pale blue set off her olive toned skin and raven hair beautifully, with draped lace sleeves making her seem even more graceful. Her big brown eyes were sparkling, and she was grinning from ear to ear.

Wesley pushed it all out of his mind—Vera, the war, Darcy, Lissa and Joseph—everything. He turned to Nat and Nicole. "Ladies," he said, nodding slightly, "I'll leave you too it." With one more glare at his Drink Babysitter, he stepped forward to meet Eleanor, sent off with well-wishes and shoulder-pats from his rescuers.

"Hi," she greeted. "I've been looking everywhere for you!" The warmth in her voice brought a smile to Wesley's face.

Maybe it was true after all. Maybe it was going to be okay.

"You look great," he said.

She looked down and blushed a little. "Thanks. It's the dress, really."

"No…" Wesley reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. "Not just the dress."

Eleanor spun in a little circle to show it off. "Oh please. It's hard not to look great wearing something as lovely as this."

"So, um…would you like to dance?" The question had tumbled out of him before he even thought about it. "Wait, crap. I can't dance at all, and you are an actual ballerina. Bad idea. We could, I don't know, get some appetizers or something?"

"No, too late, you already asked me. You are now obligated to dance with me," Eleanor's smile grew impossibly wide, and she put her hand on his arm, and turned towards the dance floor. "Come on!"

"No, wait! You really should not see me dancing!" Wesley protested, but allowed her to lead him anyway. "Save yourself before it's too late!"

She socked him lightly on the arm. "No can do, pal. Once you ask it's too late. And besides, unless it's ballet, I'm not that good either."

Wesley scoffed. "I find that hard to believe."

"I'm serious!" she squealed as they stepped down into the dancing area. Eleanor turned toward him and held out her arms.

There was a moment then, and he didn't know why this had seemed so horrible earlier. The gold light from the chandeliers sparkled in her eyes, everyone around them was smiling and laughing, and there was so much joy in the room it was overwhelming.

But overwhelming in the best kind of ways.

"I usually just copy everyone else," Wesley said, looking around.

He saw Colin and Adele waltzing together, looking very Prime-Minister-y in their coordinating outfits—Adele in a bright red fitted gown and Colin in a red suit, white shirt, and blue tie. Nat and Ben had followed them down here, and were talking to Elvira (in black, of course). Christine was on the edge of the dance floor, in an impossibly wide deep red ballgown, holding hands with Evie and Sophie and spinning in a circle with them while Andrew held Aidan.

It felt like home.

He took one of Eleanor's hands, and set the other on her hip. She drew closer and wrapped her arm over his shoulder. Her rosebud lips pressed together in a shy smile, and she looked down.

"Am I doing it right?" he asked.

Eleanor nodded. "You're great."

Maybe there was hope. Something to grab hold of and let it pull him forward and keep going. Something dangerous and painful and risky, something that would be a dare in a world that hadn't been so kind to him.

Maybe this would all work out and he would be okay.

It had to.