I DON'T KNOW WHAT THIS CHAPTER IS IT'S A BAG OF SHIT OKAY

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The cold and the light woke him up.

Even in the bunker part of the hanger, he could see his breath. And the single window predictably situated so it let in the sunshine right in his eyes. Finding himself alone, he reluctantly left the warmth of his blankets and jumped off his bunk. He shoved his feet into his boots and grabbed his coat and headed outside.

It was even brighter, with the snow and the sunshine and the cloudless sky. Just an endless expanse of blue and white blending together in the wind. He squinted against the light and heard someone laughing at him.

"Shut up, Drake," he mumbled, voice still fogged with sleep.

"You look cold," his copilot said, from where he leaned against the hanger wall.

"How long do we have?" he said, shoving his freezing hands in his pockets.

Drake fumbled in the pocket of his coat and pulled out a box of cigarettes. "A few more hours, I guess. We should probably get some rest."

"Couldn't sleep either?"

Drake put the box back into his pocket and stuck one in his mouth. "Nah. Just a little. I woke up right before you did." He said around it, shielding his lighter from the cold wind as he lit it.

"It's so damn cold."

"Maybe you should put on some pants, Angeles boy," Drake said.

He looked down at his clothes. The tee shirt and boxer shorts he had slept in were on with only his coat and shoes over top.

"Shit." He whispered.

"Go back in, dumbass, I'll be inside in a sec. Just gotta kill my lungs for a bit." Drake said, putting the smoldering stub of his cigarette to his lips.

"Nah, give me one of those," He said.

Drake rolled his eyes and laughed. "You're a prince and yet you always beg cigarettes off me." Still, he took the box out and tossed it to him, along with the lighter.

It took a couple tries to light it in the wind, but the smoke was a whole lot warmer than the icy air that stabbed his lungs. He inhaled deeply and then blew it out, like breath frosting in the air. Everything was so quiet, it was almost like they could pretend nothing was going on. Like they weren't waiting for orders to prepare for takeoff, to fly into Bankston which just happened to be occupied by rebels. Except for the sweep of snow across…well, more snow, it was like they were the only two people left alive in this world.

"Are you scared?" he said softly, barely above the wind.

Next, to him, Drake nodded…

"Sir?"

Wesley shook himself. He looked up to where Joseph was standing in the doorway to his office.

Enough of this. No more thinking about things that already happened, things he couldn't change. He took a deep breath, trying to relax. All he could think about was that day in Ottaro, him and Drake waiting endlessly for their order to come, to take off and fly a shipment of weapons to their forces in Bankston. The most agonizing hours of his life.

And the last ones of Drake's.

Joseph cleared his throat, reminding Wesley of his presence.

"Sorry, uh, what?"

Joseph barely concealed a roll of his eyes. "I asked if there was anything else you required, sir."

Wesley stood up and rummaged through the disaster of his desk until he found his wallet and opened it. He pulled out some money and handed it to his annoying valet. "Actually yeah. Two packs of cigarettes,"

"So, what kind?" Joseph asked.

"Whatever is the most expensive, I guess. And be discreet, please. And don't tell my mom about this. Don't tell anyone, okay? Or I will see you fired."

"Didn't you already try that?" Joseph sneered, taking the money.

Wesley ignored him. "Just make sure you're back within the hour. I've got some more stuff I'll need you to do for me."

Joseph left, and Wesley leaned back into his chair. He looked at the list before him.

Currently, there were eighteen girls still at the palace. But it was time to really get serious about this, and after the interviews, people were expecting another elimination, and the selection council had approved three of his choosing to be eliminated. Well, mostly his choosing. There were some girls he was absolutely not allowed to eliminate yet, like Fallon Berlin and Valette Mali.

He had already decided on Ladies Isabella and Gwendolyn of Labrador and Bonita but just needed to make one more cut. While having fifteen girls left would definitely make things easier and less crowded, it was more than a little scary. That was a lot closer to the Elite and a lot closer to the One and a lot closer to Wesley being very screwed.

He scanned the list again. He wished it could be Lady Darcy because he was 94% sure she was actually a demon and he was terrified of her. But according to the fashion and celebrity gossip magazines that were scattered about his desk in an alarming number loved that 5-foot blonde haired thing that looked like an absolute angel. Bet.

Perhaps Lady Callista, he knew she wasn't anywhere close to being fond of him and she was definitely on the growing list of girls he was scared of, up there with Lady Georgia and Lady Dresden…okay most of them. Lady Dresden wasn't an option either. Being from the war-torn province of Columbia, she had a lot of backing and quite frankly, he was too scared of her to even inform her she was being sent home. Lady Valette and him would never work, but tensions with her family were still too high to send home.

He was tempted to send Eleanor home, purely for selfish reasons. Her level of devotion was starting to scare him (put her on the list, he reminded himself), and he wasn't sure how he felt about her. She was a very sweet girl, but so much of her felt manufactured. But he still liked her, so for the moment, he decided to avoid her.

Wesley hovered his pen over Lady Reese's name. Bankston.

Bankstown had been the last province to secede, but it was sparsely populated, and as he understood it, it's secession could mostly be blamed on the misfortune of neighboring Yukon and St. George. He liked Reese well enough, and he didn't really want to eliminate her. She was sweet and energetic and very pretty, but she didn't have a lot of popular support. And he had to start taking this seriously.

Drake and he had never made it to Bankston like they were supposed to. They had crashed in Ottaro.

He crossed out Reese's name.

…

He could have had someone else deliver the news, but he decided to do it himself. Isabella and Gwendolyn had both screamed and cried and threw temper tantrums. He knew that when Rebecca Jackson interviewed them before they left, things would probably be ugly. Reese had only nodded and thanked him, and he had given her a hug. She had told him that she was excited to go home, which had softened the blow a bit.

No matter who he sent home or how he did it, he knew every tabloid in the country would have something nasty to say about it. The thought had him blowing through two cigarettes on his balcony afterward and scrambling to think of things that the press would actually like. He made a mental note to ask Ethan and Andrew about things to do after the Council meeting.

Which, apparently, he was a stranger to these days.

As he walked into the meeting room of the Council, everyone looked at him like he had just walked into the Woman's Room in a speedo or something.

"Hey, sorry I'm late…" the words died on his lips as he took in the shocked stares. "Uh…what's going on?" He quickly checked to make sure he had remembered to put on pants this morning. Yep.

"Uh, you're here," Ethan said. "You're never here."

The Council, including his brothers, was considerably larger than it used to be. Of course, Colin was here, being Prime Minister and Ben, the Secretary of Homeland. There was also General Connelly, the Secretary of Defense, and Elvira, the Secretary of the Military.

"Aw, come on guys, you know I never miss a meeting!" Wesley put some of his stuff down in his usual spot and headed towards the back of the room to where there was a coffee machine. "Best coffee in the palace. Tastes like stress and really important things." He poured himself a cup and added several packets of sugar. "Come to think of it, we haven't had one of these in ages."

Elvira spun around in her rolling chair and crossed her legs. "That's because your mom told us we had to stop telling you when the meetings were, so you could focus on the Selection. How did you even find out about this one?"

Wesley's mouth dropped open, which may have caused him to spray coffee everywhere. "Are you serious?" he sputtered.

Ethan, Ben, and Colin started laughing like hyenas while General Connelly excused himself with a smirk to make a call. Elvira just shook her head at him.

"Look at your face!" Colin exclaimed, around very un-Prime-Minister-like guffaws.

"You're dead serious?" Wesley demanded of Andrew. "That's why there haven't been any meetings? I thought it because everyone was going on business trips and stuff! Why didn't you tell me!"

"Because Mom told us not to!" Andrew was starting to laugh at him too.

"And you couldn't order her otherwise? You're the king!"
"She is right, you know," Elvira began. "You do need to concentrate on your Selection."

"And besides, have you met our mother?" Ethan added. "I'm pretty sure that if one of us did tell you, she could have gotten us out of the line of succession."

Wesley scoffed and then sat down at his spot. He sorted through his notebook and papers, trying to find his phone, but as usual, to no luck. "Well, the important this is I'm here now. Somehow, I got the email from your web of lies and knew about this one."

"And you're only slightly late," Andrew pointed out, leaning back in his chair, and propping his hands behind his head.

"Sorry about that, it's probably because I was focusing on my Selection," he rolled his eyes and took a drink of coffee. "I can't believe this. It's like you've forgotten about me. Just because I'm having a Selection doesn't mean I'm not a valid Council member. I'm like the glue of this entire sinking ship."

"Just be thankful you don't have to sit through these boring meetings," Ben teased him, "I'm sure the Selection was a lot more fun."
"Would you shut up, mate?" Wesley snapped. He finally realized his phone was in his back pocket, but as fate would have it, it was dead. "You're all dead to me."

The others laughed at him and decided it wasn't very fun being the only person who was angry.

General Connelly soon reappeared which finally put an end to the jokes at his expense and everyone became professional in the presence of an actual adult and they set to business. Wesley listened eagerly, glad to have something else to focus on besides the Selection and him and his crazy self. There were some light foreign affairs and trade deals to discuss, but unfortunately, things quickly came full circle.

Atlin was an absolute mess, with the Berlin family still in power. Yukon and Atlin had been the two hotbeds of the rebel activity, where most of the orchestrating and leadership went. The provisional government of the seceded provinces had been located in Yukon, away from the majority of the fighting like in St. George and Ottaro. But Atlin had been another rebel stronghold, financed and backed by the extremely powerful Berlin family, which of course, had found its way into the palace in the form of Lady Fallon Berlin. When the government in Yukon had been toppled, Atlin had surrendered to the monarchy. But now they were refusing to elect a legitimate representative, instead nominating Fallon's uncle to join the legislative branch without any sort of official election.

"Atlin has been run by the Berlin family for the last seven years, and they've always been influential," Andrew was saying. "And just because the north surrendered it doesn't mean that they're just going to give up their power without a fight. They don't need us. But as it just so happens, we have something very important."

"Why do I know where this is going," Wesley muttered, before slumping headfirst onto his notebook full of meeting notes. "Shit, dude."

Andrew cleared his throat, and Wesley sat up reluctantly. "You all know that Lady Fallon wasn't picked randomly and that we accepted her father's bribe to put her in the Selection. The entire province adores her. Many people in the north adore her." Andrew gave Wesley an accusatory glance. "And yet-"

"And yet, they have never seen us go on a date or even interact." Wesley finished for him. "I know, I know. You don't have to go all Mom and Nicole on me, everyone keeps telling me the same thing. I'm working on it."

"What could be so hard about asking her on a date?" Ethan asked.

"Okay well first of all Mr. The- First- Girl-I Proposed-To-Turned-Me-Down, that's not the hard part. I have asked her. Multiple times! She refuses."

"It's because you have zero charm," Colin commented.

"Thank you for your input, even though I think insulting me isn't part of your job description," Wesley said to him. "But I have plenty of charm thank you very much."

Ben snorted, and now Wesley had to glare at him too.

"Why does she refuse, exactly?" Elvira asked.

"Um...well…she keeps saying that…myfashionsenseistooterribleforhertogooutwithme." He said the last part all in a blur, but it didn't matter because once again he was the object of humiliation.

When everyone had finally recovered from laughing at him, those jerks, Andrew spoke up.

"Right, Wes, we'll leave the gritty details to you, but it would be extremely helpful to restoring our nation if you could get your shit together and become fashionable enough for Lady Fallon."

"Did you just pick my wife for me?" Wesley accused. "Because that's not how this works. I get to pick my wife. That's how the Selection works, remember?"

"Unless you're Ethan," Ben commented. "Then you just get stuck with whoever's left."

Wesley laughed as loud, finally at someone else's expense.

"I'll tell Nicole you said that," Ethan joked.

"Well I sure have missed these riveting meetings," Wesley said. "Where all we do is roast each other. But the email said this would be over at two and I need to go scream into the void for a while and then I have a date...hopefully."

Everyone started to gather up their papers and say their goodbyes, and Wesley decided to ask his brothers another time for Selection advice. A plan had been forming in his mind for like five minutes now and it was time to put it into action. He made a hasty exit from the Council room and dashed up to his room. He quickly threw aside his Council stuff and plugged in his phone. He checked his email to find the schedule of the Selected that Nicole had emailed him and made a few calls to get things set up.

He stood for an agonizingly long time in his closet, trying to find something that would work for the girl who seemed to hate everything that he ever wore which was apparently enough to make her hate him altogether. He went super causal—surely Fallon wouldn't be able to find anything bad to say about a white tee shirt and gray jeans?

No doubt she would.

By the time everything was ready, Wesley was a ball of nerves. He cracked his knuckles over and over again as the camera crew ran some tests to make sure everything was working properly. The last several years away from all the cameras and spotlights had certainly been nice, but then again there were a lot of other trade-offs. One of the guards had confirmed that Fallon was in her usual spot, the library, even though the ladies—now down to fifteen, were currently supposed to be in their princess lessons with Christine and Nicole. One of the film crew signaled to him that they were recording, and Wesley flashed a cheesy thumbs up and a grin to the camera before they followed him down the staircase and down the Main Hall.

There was a second between when he opened the door and when Fallon looked up that he wished he had dispensed with all the cameras and filming. She sat in the corner of the large library, perched in a large velvet armchair that seemed to swallow her up. A shaft of sunlight lit her up, though her stilettos, skinny jeans, and slightly cropped black top made her look more like she was attending a fashion show that curled up in an empty library. Every other time he had seen Fallon, she looked unnatural and unsettled as if she knew everyone was looking at her. For that brief second, she seemed normal, twirling a strand of dark hair around her finger.

And then in the next moment, as she looked up and saw Wesley and the cameras, her face settled into a mask of stone, her blue eyes wide and unblinking as she watched them approach.

"Hi Fallon," Wesley greeted her.

Fallon pressed her lips together but didn't respond. She ignored the cameras like it was second nature, but since she was a model it probably was, Wesley realized. He, however, was acutely aware of them behind him, recording his every move and every mess up but hopefully not another rejection. Feeling like a high schooler about to ask a girl to the prom, Wesley cleared his throat.

"I was wondering if you would maybe want to go to dinner with me?"

Fallon's eyes flashed to the cameras and then back to his. He remembered her coming to his rescue after Eleanor left him on the dance floor during the ball and hoped she did too.

"Can we talk in private, Prince Wesley?" she asked him, holding her book to her chest.

Heart sinking, Wesley nodded and signaled the crew to stop filming. His hope was that the cameras would influence her to say yes but it was thrusting her into the spotlight without any warning.

"Make sure that doesn't go on the Report," he told the crew.

Fallon followed him meekly into the hallway, her heels clicking behind him. There was no one around, luckily. This time he waited for her to make the first move to speak. She crossed her arms over the book, pressing both tight against her. She was wearing dark eyeshadow that made her eyes stand out, even though she kept her gaze on the floor.

"I thought…" she began, her voice quiet. She was holding the book so tightly to her now that the cords of her neck stood out. She pressed her lips together again and spoke louder. "I thought I told you I wasn't going on date with you until you showed me some better clothes."

"Oh, come on, what's wrong with this?" he held out his arms. "Please, Fallon, I'm genuinely interested."

She winced and then did that thing again where she made eye contact for half a second.

"Honestly…I don't even know where to begin. It's—" she gestured vaguely. "You look like some kind of…frat boy gone wrong…I'm really sorry." She turned to go, but Wesley reached out and snatched her arm. She flinched and then jerked away sharply.

"Don't touch me," she hissed, her voice hardening to a pitch he had never heard from her before. She looked right at him, and this time she didn't look away. There was no moment where she remembered he was a prince and apologized. In fact, it seemed like she was waiting for one.

Well, she wasn't going to get any apology out of him.

"Dammit, Fallon!" Wesley exclaimed. "Is this whole thing an act or are you honestly so shallow that my clothes keep you from going out with me. Because everyone keeps telling me I need to pay you attention or your family is going to start another war and every time I try you give me some bullshit about how I have no fashion taste and if I wasn't under strict orders not to eliminate you, I would have sent you home this afternoon."

"Please don't," she whispered, the old Fallon back.

"I just don't get you! Are you that self-absorbed? I know you're not because you saved my ass during the Victory Ball and you hate my valet, so you've got to have some points there."

She didn't say anything, just looked at him with her wide eyes.

"You know what? I have an idea. I'm not going to grab you again, but I am a prince of Illea and I order you to come with me."

"You can stop yelling now," she frowned at him.

Exasperated, Wesley threw up his hands and headed for the stairs. The heel clicks followed him.

"And for the record, I am not self-absorbed," She muttered.

Neither of them said anything else as Wesley led her up the stairs to the third floor. He stopped outside his rooms. "Fallon Berlin, will you please go on a date with me tonight? Just dinner, nothing crazy. There will be cameras, but I promise they will film from a distance. You can hate me all you want, we don't even have to talk. And-" he opened the door and led her inside straight to his closet. "you get to pick out what I wear."

He gestured to the closet doors with dramatic flair and waited for her to say something. Fallon looked at him, then back to the closet.

"Honestly, when I said I wouldn't go on a date with you until you showed me better clothes, I didn't really mean that we should go to your closet for said event."

"Does that mean you agree?"

"Do I have a choice, Your Esteemed Royal Highness?"

Wesley threw open the doors, finding it obnoxiously neat. "If anything, think of this as a way to irritate my valet."

Slowly, Fallon lowered the book she had been holding onto this whole time. "That is a good way to think of it. And your jeans do have holes in both knees and I absolutely cannot eat dinner with someone wearing that."

"I thought it made me look edgy."

Fallon looked at him with a grimace on her face and shook her head. Hesitantly, she stepped inside and ran her fingers down the sleeve of one of his suit jackets. "Is taking a girl into the closet with you a way of countering all the rumors that you might be gay? Because, while I applaud your ingenuity, I think your premise is slightly flawed."

In spite of himself, Wesley laughed. "Those magazines will say anything, won't they?"

"If someone caught us in here, they would probably accuse us of hooking up," Fallon said, no emotion in her voice as she scrutinized his tie selection. She turned around to face him and her face held a tiny smirk. "Strip for me, bitch."

She said it so blandly that he had no idea if she was joking or serious. He would have to test the waters.

"Uh…" He picked up the hem of his shirt. "Are the jeans that bad?"

He started to pull his shirt over his head, but Fallon shrieked and covered her eyes. "NO! OH, DEAR GOD, DO NOT DO THIS. I was joking, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" She kept apologizing over and over again, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'm sorry!" she gasped, now practically hyperventilating.

"Hey, hey," Wesley put his hands on her shoulders. "Hey, Fallon, it's okay!"

She was crying now, sobbing in between strangled breaths. "I'm sorry," she kept saying. She was holding her arms so tightly her nails left red marks.

Wesley took hold of her wrists, the bones of her arms tiny and fragile in his hands. She didn't even appear to notice him. "Fal, it's okay. I was just playing along. It's okay!"

It didn't work. She was crying too hard now to apologize, a horrible gasping cry. She pulled her arms away from his grasp with surprising strength. "No!" she squeaked out.

Wesley was so confused, and he felt terrible. He had no idea she would react like that, and he wanted to cry to. The only thing he could think to do was reach out for her and wrap his arms around her. She felt like a little bird in his arms as he pulled her roughly to his chest, her arms creating a barrier between them. She pushed him away again, and the hug seemed to only make things worse.

"Let go of me!" she cried.

Fallon backed herself into a corner of the closet, leaving Wesley standing with his hands up in the entry. Another sob racked her body as she took several deep breaths, seemingly trying to get her breathing under control. Her arms stayed wrapped around her. Several agonizing moments passed as she quieted down.

"Are you okay?" he asked when the closet was quiet.

Fallon nodded vigorously but didn't speak.

"I thought you were serious, I was…I'm sorry, that was inappropriate."

She was still quiet, wiping the smudged mascara and eyeshadow out from under her lashes.

"Is there anything I can do?"

Still no answer. Wesley sighed. "This date isn't going very well."

Fallon shook her head and took a deep breath. She wiped some makeup off the corner of her eye. "Don't call me Fal."

"Um, what?"

"You called me Fal. I don't like nicknames."

"Oh…sorry? I use them a lot… I didn't realize."

She pulled herself to her feet and began sorting through his clothes on their hangers with abandon like nothing had even happened. "God, don't you have anything decent to wear in here?" she mumbled. "I bet it's your valet. It is, isn't it?"

"Uh…yeah, it is. He's a dick, remember?"

Fallon rolled her eyes as she let a suit jacket slip off the hanger onto the ground. She examined another one. "This will do," she tossed it to him. It took a very long time for her to find something she liked and forced Wesley to change many times (away from her of course) before she was finally happy. The closet was a mess but Fallon almost smiled as she turned the light off behind her.

"Do you think it's messy enough?" she asked.

"Any messier and he might think we really did hook up in there," Wesley teased. He knew he would feel ridiculous in the black suit she had picked out for him. Fallon blushed, and Wesley decided it was better not to mention anything that had happened earlier. There would be time for that later. For now, he was just happy that she had agreed to go on a publicized date with him, and that he had found out she was human after all.

"Do I really have to wear that? You better dress up really nice too if I do."

"Wasn't that the trade-off?" Fallon asked him. "You should thank me. You finally don't look like some wanna be boy band member anymore."

"Is that an insult or a compliment?"

"Why would it be a compliment?"

Wesley shrugged. "I thought maybe I was growing on you."

Fallon pressed her lips together. "Maybe…but tomorrow you're going to walk into the dining room in something awful and we're going to have to get a divorce."

"Well, you still have to eat dinner with me tonight."

Fallon sighed and almost smiled. "I don't remember agreeing to that, but you did order me to."

Wesley shot her some finger guns. "I'll pick you up at seven."

…