CHAPTER 9

Thursday, the 27th of November, 2239

Princess Carolynn Schreave

"With the 4th quarter underway, the spending is reaching its projected levels, then all should be in gear for going into the first quarter of the next year. The tax revenue is projected to increase, leading to a surplus of income that can be distributed to other provinces." Jem Hensley reads. His reports are as lifeless as always, but I'll commend his lack of the word quarter this time around.

"If I may, Your Majesty," he says, looking at my mom.

"Go ahead." Mom says seeing interested. I am too. It's rare that anything like this happens in meetings. A break from the normal monotonous explanations containing the word quarter.

"Thank you. I think it would be best if we take the estimated surplus tax revenue from this quarter and adjust it so that taxes are lower all around, instead of using the money for other provinces. That will lead to increased real estate purchases in the area, and lead to more income then we would receive from the actual taxes." Jem suggests nervously. Oh. That's what he was going to say? I was hoping for something a bit more radical. A bit more out of the ordinary.

Talk about a real let down.

Mom nods, encouraging him to continue. "Walk me through the numbers here. Exactly how much is the surplus, and, Coral, what's the projected deficit in Dakota?"

Instead of listening to this man's lifeless explanation, I flip over my phone, checking the time. 10:43.

Okay. I -with the help of Jenna- can make this work.

I'm done here by 11:45. Jenna can get me ready in under 15 minutes, she's done it before. My hair had been straightened earlier this morning, so all she has to do is reapply my makeup (The glitter in my eyeshadow is beginning to fade, and I can't have that). Then, I'll get dressed in some camera-crew approved outfit, and meet the boys in the foyer. It's a half hour drive to the restaurant, so adding in some security stops and filming for the report, we should be there in time for our 1 pm reservation.

Not that it really matters. The restaurant, Arlo Sarrs, would take me whenever I showed up. Still, there's a small part of me, the future-Queen part, that knows I have to be on time.

God, that part of me is annoying.

With my schedule outlined, I tune back into the meeting, taking a few notes as it continues. Seems to be a fairly prosperous quarter. I don't want to take all the credit, but I'm sure that my selection had something to do with it.

Everyone would want to be me, or at least get as close to my life as possible. There were probably some attention-starved teenage girls out there eagerly devouring every picture that came out. Begging their parents to buy them every outrageously gorgeous piece of clothing that I wore.

It's tiring having to always be this perfect for the masses.

By the time we finish hearing the budget updates for the southwestern provinces and the predictions for next year have been made, it's 11:46. Biding my mother goodbye, I make my way out of the meeting room, past the offices, and up to my room. I throw the door open, addressing Jenna.

"We have 14 minutes." I announce, heading into the dressing room that's attached to my bathroom. I sit on the powder white styling chair in front of my vanity. A bright array of different colored makeup products sit in front, organized by shade. I love reading the names of the different eyeshadows. Sometimes, as Jenna does my hair, I flip them upside down, trying to guess what the name is just from the color. They're all along the same lines anyway. Sugar Plum, Peachy, Plum Purple, it's really not that hard.

Still, despite my urges, I simply don't have time for that today.

"Of course, Miss." Jenna says, turning the chair so that I face her. She takes a few pots of make up off the vanity. I have my eyes closed, so I can't see which. Still, I feel a soft brush pressing against my eyelids and cheeks, the products being applied with a degree of expertise that I certainly don't have. When a hard pencil pulls away from my eyes, I know I'm done. Jenna always does eyeliner last. She says it's so the other powders don't get stuck in it, or something like that anyway.

"Do you want me to pick out your clothes, Miss?" Jenna asks, standing at the threshold of my expansive closet.

I shrug, "Yeah. I do. I'll wear a dress today." Normally I would have more of a say in my outfit, but I would rather have Jenna do it than be late to the restaurant. I know myself, it would take me forever to pick out an outfit.

Sure enough, maybe a minute later, Jenna emerges from fashion paradise (AKA my closet) holding a hanger that contains a floral print dress, a shoebox, and a golden necklace containing shimmering diamonds. Of course they're real.

The crown princess of Illéa cannot be seen in knockoff anything, especially not jewelry. What else would people admire about me?

I get dressed quickly, sliding on the clothes Jenna had picked out for me.

I give myself one last glance in the mirror before I leave. I look pretty, beautiful even. I always do. Still, even with three dates and a camera crew waiting, I can't help the feeling that I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go.

There's no time for these thoughts. Literally, there's no time. I'm on a very tight schedule today and I can't afford to have my inner musings throw me off.

Nishav, Divesh, and Dale are all waiting for me in the foyer. I'm not exactly late, but even if I was, it wouldn't have mattered anyway. Not to the boys at least. It would matter to me, as I prefer to be on time, but that's not a big deal. I, as a princess, get some leniency when it comes to arrival times. They, as boys coming to vye for my attention, must be on time whenever possible, at any costs necessary.

"How are you guys?" I ask, not bothering to use formal language. The cameras aren't rolling yet anyway, I don't need to pretend as if I really talk that way. I don't understand the need for royalty to always act like we speak old english and spend all day sipping tea with our pinkies out, but I'm not going to be the one who messes up hundreds of years worth of expectations built up on the backs of various dynasties around the globe.

"Good. I'm good." Divesh says, nodding. He's dressed in a dark blue polo shirt, which, despite myself, I notice brings out his eyes.

Ack. Stop that Carrie.

Nishav shrugs, seeming to be almost reluctant to answer. He can't be though. This is his date, during the time when he's in the selection. Maybe he's just good at masking his emotions. If so, props to him. Maybe he should forget the whole librarian thing and become an actor. "I'm good as well," he answers.

I don't wait for Dale to answer. By all accounts, he's forgettable. I'm sure he's used to people glossing over him. He won't mind.

"Did anyone look at the menu yet?" I ask brightly.

"No." Nishav says simply.

"We're we supposed to?" Divesh looks worried, "If so, I didn't look. I didn't know we had to."

I let out a small giggle, "Perfect. I never like to look at the menu before I go to a restaurant. If I can't be surprised in most places, at least I won't have my meal pre-planned too." I explain. It's weird, but I like having some unknown in my life, even if it's something as basic and simple as the menu at a fancy restaurant.

Divesh nods in understanding, "I get that. I like surprises. Good ones that is." He amends quickly, something probably occurring to him. I don't know what, nor do I ask. I'm not going to go begging for scraps of information from boys who I don't really care about. Isn't it supposed to be in reverse anyway?

In the week and a half the selection has been going on, there has been very little groveling for my attention, and I'm not quite sure how I feel about that.

"Try being the future Queen. You'll never have another surprise in your life." I tell him, my voice dropping a few points in cheeriness.

"Isn't that a good thing?" Nishav asks, unimpressed. "We can't have the country resting on the shoulders of luck and fate."

I take a deep breath, "No. We can't Nish. Which is why I don't get very many surprises." Yeah. I heard his conversation with Nyson the other day, about not calling him Nish. Oopsie-daisies. He'll learn to deal with it.

I know, I know. I should've eliminated Nishav awhile ago for being such a debbie downer. For being so critical of everything. I don't want to though. I find him amusing; his depressing nature and snide yet simple comments. Maybe one day the entertainment factor will wear off, and then I'll eliminate him. Not yet though. I need some fun in this selection, even if I have to get it from a bitter musician turned librarian.

Nishav presses his lips together at the nickname, clearly not very happy. He doesn't comment on it though, instead saying, "Then I suppose ordering from a menu must be a welcome change."

I'm fairly sure there's an insult somewhere in the statement, but I don't care enough to figure it out.

Officer Ortega comes over to us, the same two guards from my last date behind her. Jorge and Raymond. "Your Highness, gentlemen. Are you ready to go?" she asks.

Divesh, Dale, and Nishav all nod simultaneously. "Where's Lindsay?" I ask. It's not like her to miss a chance to be on camera. Fame-seeking A-lister that she is.

"I think she has a cold." Officer Ortega tells me. "They're sending some press from Illéan Times to cover the event. It's going to be an exclusive article, I believe. The crew from the paper will be meeting us at the restaurant."

"Oh, okay." I say, glancing at my outfit. If I had known that photos of this date wouldn't appear in the Report tomorrow, then I wouldn't have had Jenna redo my makeup. The Illéan Times was a prominent paper, sure, but it's not that big. Not big enough where I would have worried about my eyelids not being glittery enough for the cameras.

To think I could have been early.

Officer Ortega nods at my comprehension. "Are you ready to go, Your Highness?"

Of course she asks for my approval, not any of the selected's. After all, it's my selection. "Yeah. We can go now."

Officer Ortega smiles, "Great. If you'll follow me gentlemen, Princess."

I don't think that we needed to follow someone in order to be able to walk out the front doors, but I don't complain. The same limo from Saturday sits in front of the palace, and the same amazed expressions appear on the boys faces.

Except for Nishav's obviously. His features settle into more of a interested gaze. Eh. It's more emotion than I've ever seen on him before. Progress, people, it's all about progress.

"That's an awesome car." Divesh says under his breath.

I turn to him, "Do you collect cars?" That would be an interesting hobby. I was forced to go to a car show a few years ago. I hated every moment of it. The pavement was cracked from years of use, the cars were loud, their motors screeching. The entire place smelled of gasoline, a scent that made me nauseous. The entire event was so...common, so far from my usual classy and actually fun engagements. I don't know how I would feel if Divesh collected cars.

Divesh chuckles. "No, no. Nothing of the sort. It's just...well, it is an awesome car," he admits bashfully. Awww, he's blushing.

"You should see the rest of the garage. Most of them have bullet proof glass and other things that I don't know the name of." Learning about cars has never been one of my priorities in life, what with all the more important things I have to do. But, I've heard mentions of all the supposedly cool features that our cars have over the years.

"That sounds really cool." Divesh says, smiling.

We settle into the limo. By some unfortunate combination of luck and musical chairs gone wrong, I end up next to Nishav.

I know I said that he's entertaining, but he's not that entertaining.

Nishav looks out the window sullenly, "How did you choose this restaurant, Your Highness?" he asks, his voice less judgemental than usual. Or maybe he just didn't get to the part where he judges me yet. Either way, this is a pleasant change from the normal Nishav.

"Oh. It's been in Angeles for a long time. It's one of my favorites to eat at when I don't have anything to do." I explain. Sometimes on the weekends, when I don't have any work to do, I would get one of my parents to take me out to lunch here. Though there was usually some paparazzi, it was as private as my time outside of the palace got.

Nishav nods, "And what type of food is it?"

I look at him, "Italian. I think they might have a couple of menus in English though."

"...You're bringing us to a restaurant that's not in English?" Nishav asks in disbelief.

"Yeah, I thought at least one of you must speak Italian." I keep my face serious for about thirty seconds, watching as unsettled -and in the case of Nishav, annoyed- lookes take over the men's faces.

"I...I don't speak Italian." Divesh mutters quietly.

"Me either," adds Dale.

Alright, enough is enough. They all look sufficiently worried. I don't need to make this date unenjoyable. "Relax. I'm joking. Of course you don't have to speak Italian to eat there. I mean, I don't speak Italian." I assure them, clapping my hands together.

"What languages do you speak?" Divesh asks. "You..you do speak more than 1 right? Or do you have translators?"

I sigh, resigning myself to talking about this again. People always seemed to think it was cool that I spoke multiple languages, ignoring the fact that I had spent countless hours with tutors, being tortured till I would conjugate verbs in the imperfect tense perfectly. "I can speak Spanish and French. Most of the representatives of foriegn countries can speak English, but if they can't then yes, we use a translator. Both parties bring one usually, to make conversations easier."

Nishav looks mildly interested at this. "I speak French as well."

"What a co-inky-dink."

Nishav looks confused, "What's a co-inky-dink?"

Oh come on. Is he really that out of touch with modern slang? "It means coincidence." I reply, making sure to sound as put out as I feel.

"Oh."

In an effort to bridge the silence, I ask the group yet another question. Hey, I'm not one for awkward pauses in conversations. Judge me all you want, but it's true. "So, what's a random fact about yourself?" I ask, tapping my fingers against the glass window.

Divesh answers first, "This is kinda embarrassing," he hedges.

"The more embarrassing the better." I tell him. Finally, maybe someone will actually have something funny to say. It's not as if I'm not enjoying the date, I am, in a weird, boring, awkward way. But I would like someone else to take the initiative. I really don't think that's too much to ask.

"Okay…" he pauses, collecting his thoughts. "When I was younger, I couldn't pronounce the word yellow. So I would call everything yellow green. It...it didn't just happen once. It went on for a couple of years. My teachers had no clue what was going on." Divesh admits, turning red in the face.

I can't help the giggle that escaped me. "Don't laugh." Divesh protests, covering his face with his hands.

"I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing with you." I assure him. I don't need anyone getting mortally offended half an hour into my date.

Divesh takes a deep breath, "I guess, looking back, it is pretty funny." He finally concedes, grinning broadly. Great. We love a good sport, someone who can take a joke. I don't think that anyone who couldn't would last long with me. I've been told I can be fairly pushy.

I turn to him, fingering a piece of my dress, "What color is this?"

Divesh sighs good-naturedly, "It's yellow. I can pronounce it now. It was just a problem for me when I was around 5." Well, I'm not going to let that confession deter me from my little game. It's amusing, alright?

"Nishav, what color is my necklace?" I ask, shifting my body and twisting my neck so that my chest is facing him in the seat next to me.

He glances at it, looking bored. "Gold."

"Dale, what color are my shoes?" I ask, sticking out one of my ballet-flat clad feet so that Dale can see it better.

Dale looks at them, "They're pink with gold accents," he answers easily.

I smirk, "Wrong."

Dale looks alarmed, "What do you mean wrong? Those are pink." He must have thought that his words were abrasive because he hurriedly tacks, "Your Highness," onto the end. Good. I don't know if I was offended by his questions, but it's nice for him to use my title. To remind these boys of my position. To remind them how fabulous I am.

"Actually, Mr. Alonse, they're magenta. Not pink. There's a difference." I tell him, wagging my finger at his incredulous expression.

"I didn't know that," he admits.

"Yeah. I figured as much." I remark.

Dale presses his lips together, not knowing what to make of my statement. After a second he responds. "...Thanks."

"I think we are here." Nishav notes, looking out the window. While I was testing the boys' knowledge of color, the limousine had pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant. The outside was a brick exterior, large glass windows every few feet. There was a gold and green sign on the front, elegant cursive spelling out Arlo Sarrs. A manicured garden surrounded the plot of land, tables for eating outside in the back. As much as I would love to eat outside, it was way too cold.

"Yup. You're right." I tell him, motioning for the chauffeur to open the door. The restaurant is still going to be open to the public while I'm here so that means I don't need to wait for my guards to do a sweep of the premises.

The boys wait for me to get out first as etiquette dictates. Ugh. I can't wait till I'm married so that my husband will help me out of the car.

With my three dates in tow, I walk towards the entrance of the restaurant, paying no mind to the throngs of well-dressed women who glare at me until they see the guards. I always like watching the recognition flicker in the eyes, the realization of who I am.

"I have a reservation for four." I tell the young-ish hostess. "Under the name Schreave."

The girl...woman...whatever, pauses, looking me up and down. "Of course, Your Highness. Follow me." She leads me and my entourage to a table. I smile as I pass the masses, their envious stares wondering why I get to bypass the line. It must suck to be a commoner.

"Is...Is this good?" The woman asks, "If not we can prepare another table for you. We also have booths, but those are all occupied. If you wish we could seat you at a table and then we'll move you to a booth when we have one available."

I hold up a hand to cut off her rambling. "It's fine."

The table in question is more than fine, but I don't bother assuring her of that. In fact, it's probably the best table in the entire restaurant. Tucked into the corner on an elevated platform, two windows providing plenty of light.

"Are you sure? If not I could-"

"I'm sure." I reply, my patience starting to wear thin.

"I'll hold a booth for you just in case you change your mind." The woman decides. Alright. If that's what she needs to do for her own peace of mind, who am I to stop her?

Anything to make her leave faster.

The woman hands out menus to everyone, before making her way back to the hostess stand, all the while assuring us that if we are unsatisfied with the table all we need to do is ask.

"You know, Princess, maybe moving tables will help the hostess relax." Divesh says, looking at her retreating form.

I flick my hand dismissively. "Probably not. It's like that everywhere I go. You just learn to get used to it after awhile."

"That seems tiring." Nishav remarks, studying the menu.

"Oh you bet. I cannot tell you how many times I've wanted to tell the host to please, just shut up. Of course I couldn't though. What if they went to the papers?" I roll my eyes, playing with my fork. Ah well. If being the crown princess means I have to always be polite, that's a price I'm willing to pay.

Plus, I mean, it's basic human courtesy too, but details.

I look at the menu, trying to decide what ti get. I make it a policy to never order the same thing twice when I go to a restaurant. When I run out of things on the menu, I stop going to the restaurant. It's simple really. Unfortunately, that means most of the salads and paninis are out.

"What are you getting?" I ask Divesh, who's sitting to my left.

"I don't know yet. I think I want pasta." he tells me.

"Ooh. Pasta sounds good." It's a lot of carbs, but I think it's worth it. I think I deserve a cheat day from my normal diet. "Wait, I thought you were lactose-intolerant?"

"I am. I was going to get it with marinara sauce." Divesh explains.

"Oh okay."

I decide that I am going to get pasta, but since I can actually have milk, with alfredo sauce instead of Marinara.

After the waitress leaves to prepare our orders, Nishav takes out a well-worn looking notebook and, in stark contrast, a shiny blue pen. He flips open to...I would say somewhere in the last quarter of the book, and starts to make notes. Meanwhile, I, along with all the other selected watch with shocked expressions. What is he doing?

"Uh, what are you doing?" Divesh asks. I strain my neck, trying to peek at what he was writing. Seeing this, Nishav slams the notebook closed before turning to Divesh.

"Nothing. I was just taking notes."

"On...on what?" Divesh asks, once again voicing all of our thoughts.

Nishav sighs, as if we all aren't intelligent enough to comprehend whatever masterpiece he's writing. "I find it interesting how people react to situations. So, to remember these thoughts, I take notes about them in notebooks like this." He gives the notebook an affectionate sort of pat, looking at it fondly.

"Oh my God. You're a full-blown stalker." I exclaim, as I doubted anyone else at the table would say anything. We're all thinking it though. No point in denying the truth.

Nishav sighs, "I am not. And what does it matter to you, Princess?"

I raise my eyebrows. Was that an insult? "It doesn't matter to me. Have fun I guess."

Nishav bows his head, acknowledging my words. "Thank you."

I give him a tight smile, "My pleasure. So...just out of question, what made you want to be a librarian?" It doesn't make much sense to me why he would give up a life of fame, adoring crowds, and luxury to organize books for a few ungrateful schoolchildren. I would never do something like that. It's just not worth it.

Nishav huffs a breath before deciding to explain. "I have a degree in sociology from Mcgills university. I was taking a gap year to look at graduate schools, during that time I'm working as a librarian," he says, his voice monotone.

"Sociology?" I ask to clarify.

Nishav nods once, "Yes."

I nod approvingly, "Impressive." Say what you will about Nishav's...personality, but he's got to be pretty driven to study sociology. It's a hard degree to earn.

"I suppose."

I have to refrain from rolling my eyes at that. "Divesh, you're doing…don't tell me...pre-med?" I ask, crossing my fingers under the table.

Divesh looks up from playing with his fork, "Yeah. At University of Allens."

Nishav regards this fact curiously. "You came to another country in order to study medicine at the University of Allens? Aren't there schools just as good in Britain?" His words are judgemental in a way that obviously makes Divesh uncomfortable.

"I'm doing a transfer program." Divesh says softly, "They offered me a scholarship."

Wow. That's slightly more impressive than sociology. Not that it's a competition. And besides, even if it was, none of these schools or degrees or scholarships are more impressive then being the heir to the throne. So, I'm pretty sure that I would win said competition.

"Oh." Nishav states simply. His tone gives no indication to his thoughts. Something that I've learned is stereotypical of Nishav.

"I'm studying agriculture." Dale offers, probably in an attempt to diffuse the tension. It's the first time he spoke in the restaurant. I wasn't even sure what his voice sounded like up until this point.

"Oh. Like farming?" I ask boredly.

"I mean, it's more than just farming." Dale hedges, "That's one of the topics yeah, but there's more to it," he explains.

"There is?" I've sat in many meetings on the state of the agricultural development of some of the midwestern provinces, and from what I could tell, it really did circle around farming. How the weather affects the crops and yaddah yaddah.

"Well, you have to understand about the different effects conditions can have on crops. Whether or not to use growth hormones or pesticides. The most profitable crops this year. There's a lot more that goes into it then just planting a seed in the ground and waiting a few months." Dale says, his voice seeming more passionate than I've ever heard of it. Not that I've heard his voice much.

"Pesticides are illegal in Illéa." I comment.

Divesh tries to stifle his laugh, failing miserably. Even Nishav looks slightly amused. That's a first. I never thought I'd see the day.

"Right. Sorry. It was just an example." Dale mutters, his face turning red.

I wave a hand, "No matter. I just hope colleges aren't teaching students to use pesticides." I giggle lightly at my own joke.

"They-they aren't. I guarantee they're not teaching us to use pesticides. I know that they're illegal. I just made a mistake." Dale says hurriedly, tripping over his own words.

I nod, trying to hide muy grin. "Splendid. Now, where's our food? I'm hungry." I state, looking around the restaurant as if the waitress might suddenly appear holding our dishes. Unfortunately, no such luck befalls me.

"They're probably still cooking it." Nishav notes. "It's crowded."

I wrinkle my nose, "But I'm the Crown Princess. Shouldn't they make my food first?" I complain half-seriously. In most restaurants they do usually prioritize my food. Evidently not today thought. Ugh. No fair.

"I don't think it works like that." Divesh says.

"Well, it should." I humph.

The conversation carries on lightly, a few awkward pauses here and there. Mostly due to Nishav, something that we all think, but no one says. I don't know what Divesh and Dale's reasons are for not pointing it out, but for me it's due to the fact that I really don't care about the awkwardness. I'm not trying to date these people, and I don't care if Nishav's sullen mood is making everyone else uncomfortable. It's not making me uncomfortable, and that's enough for me to not point it out.

By the time the food is finally delivered, I'm all small-talked out. The pasta is delicious, so good that I'm able to forget all the carbs I'm ingesting. Nishav ordered a chicken dish, with eggplants. Dale was having some sort of risotto. They all seem like they were enjoying the food, and I feel a flicker of pride at choosing a good restaurant.

Even though, to be fair, I've gone to it tons of times before after being invited to the grand opening. So maybe it wasn't exactly a lucky choice, but still.

I did that.

The bill is paid, dessert eaten, and the four of us shuffled back into the limousine like clockwork. Say what you will about the royal guards, but they know what they're doing.

When we arrive back at the palace, I bid the three of them goodnight. Walking them to their rooms seemed like overkill, and, to be quite honest, I just didn't feel like. Besides, not to perpetuate gender roles, but isn't that the guy's job? And none of them are really allowed on the third floor. So I think it checks out.

When I get back to my room, I collapse on my bed. I don't even bother to wash my face. I need a nap. It's only 3 pm and I just want this day to be over.


"What do you mean they're coming over?" I whine to Mom, making sure my voice is quiet enough that the selected standing around the dining room can't hear me.

"Oh darling, you really thought that we would stop having dinner together because of your selection." Mom asks, also keeping her voice low.

I don't budge, "Of course I did." I whisper-yell.

Mom glances cautiously at the selected before turning back to me. "Look, Carrie, you're right. We were going to stop, but your uncle had to work late, so I figured this would be nice." Mom explains, smiling at a few boys as they pass.

"What is he working on?" I ask, toying with a piece of the sweater I had changed into for dinner. "Those Italian trade ships?"

Mom shakes her head in a not here way. "Yes. Turns out they were Illéan ships carrying foriegn exports. The whole this is just off."

Huh. Weird. I would ask more about it, but I figure I should save it for later. Ya know, when there aren't 35 boys all standing in earshot.

"Fine. I'll allow it just this once." I mutter to my mother.

Mom smiles, "Thank you. Now that wasn't so hard, was it? Carrie, if you don't mind me asking, when are you planning on eliminating some of the selected? It's been almost two weeks. Don't you think it's time for some of them to go?"

"I was going to wait till the first round of dates were over." I say crossing my arms in front of my chests.

"Oh. And when will that be?"

"I don't know. Whenever I finish I guess." I say.

Mom sighs, looking at me. "Maybe we could speed up the timeline a bit?"

This isn't a battle I'm going to win. I can tell that already. "Fine, Mom. Whatever you want. I'll eliminate them all tomorrow."

"Good. Thank you darling."

I grimace, pushing away from her. I don't want to talk to her anymore. It's not fair that I have to eliminate people to make a fake selection that I didn't even want look real. I would have gone and found someone else to complain to, but conveniently at that moment, my aunt and cousins pushed through the doors to the palace, their cheeks all red from the mildly cold weather.

Aggie and Teddy look somewhat unsettled by all the selected standing around, obviously waiting for their arrival. Aunt Quinn surveys them looking curious. I guess she was in their positions 20 years ago. She's probably wondering how they're holding up. Garnet's expression worries me the most though. He looks eager.

I glare at Garnet, making it clear that the rules from the day he visited the palace are still in place. Though, I guess I'll waive the one about him not being allowed to breathe in the same room as my selected. That might be a little hard to enforce.

Garnet meets my eye, giving me a broad smile. He then turns to his mother. "Mommy," he says, loud enough for me -and probably a good chunk of the guys- to hear, "I'll be allowed to talk to Carrie's selected, right?" He asks, looking far more innocent than he is.

Quinn gives him an odd look, "Of course you are. Why wouldn't you be allowed to?" Quinn asks, effectively overruling what I had told him two weeks ago. Perfect.

Garnet shrugs, "I don't know. I thought Carrie might not want me to." Have I ever mentioned how much I hate my little cousin?

Quinn looks at him suspiciously, but she must decide that nothing was wrong as she turns to her husband. Garnet gives me one last look, to which I respond with a don't-you-dare glare. Of course, Garnet does dare. He flashes me a thumbs up before bouncing off, yelling "Sebastian!"

Bas doesn't look surprised at this, unlike most of the other selected. I knew that Bas was closer to my extended family, he and Garnet were friendly. I refuse to call them friends because just...ew, gross. I don't want my 14 year old cousin to be buddies with my fake-boyfriend.

"They know each other?" I hear Nyson mutter to Nathaniel.

I turn to him, "Yeah. Garnet and Sebastian have seen each other a lot over the years. Much more than I have."

Nyson nods, "That's cool. Does it matter to you?"

"Does what matter to me?" I ask.

"I don't know, that he's your uncle's ex-selecteds' son? That he's friends with your cousin? Is it a big deal?" Nyson rephrases, frowning slightly. I wouldn't exactly use the words friends to describe Garnet and Bas, but I don't think correcting him is going to help.

I have to withhold a giggle as I answer him, "Believe me, it does not matter to me at all." Someone could have won the nobel peace prize and found a cure to cancer, it still wouldn't have mattered to me. I have someone I like better.

Nathaniel speaks for the first time, "Your cousins seem nice."

"Some of them." I huff. "Do you want to meet them?" Yeah, maybe I shouldn't be showing off my cousins as if they were zoo animals, but they are pretty cute. Not as cute as me when I was their age, but still. There's no denying it.

Nathaniel smiles, "Sure."

"Sounds good." Nyson agrees.

"Teddy." I call, my voice carrying over the foyer. "Can you come here?" My little blond cousin hadn't moved from his parents side, but he looked up at the sound of his name. Uncle Luke whispers something in his ear, and Teddy nods, coming over to us.

"Carrie?" He asks as he approaches, his tone questioning.

"Teds, this is Nathaniel and Nyson." I tell him, gesturing to the two boys. Teddy regards them curiously, his blue eyes wide.

"Your Highness." Nyson says, bowing his head. I have to stop myself laughing. Come one, Nyson's 6 feet, 2 inches frame bowing to my 10 year old cousin is a pretty funny sight. I know that Nyson must feel ridiculous. I'm not sure how much Teddy cares about the whole bowing/title thing, I've never really asked. Though, if I had to wager, I'd go with that he doesn't particularly care, unlike his older brother that is.

"I like your name." Teddy says.

"My..My name?"

Teddy nods his little head, "Yup. It's really cool. I've never heard anything like it before." He sounds genuine, though I don't really think Teddy has it in him to be anything less. He's only 10, after all. There's no need for him to lie about anything.

"Thank you." Nyson doesn't quite look like he knows what to say, luck for him though, Nathaniel takes over the conversation.

"What grade are you in?" Nathaniel asks kindly. He looks like he knows how to handle kids. That's lucky. As much as I love Teddy, he can be a bit boring at times. Say what you will about them, but at least Garnet and Aggie always have something interesting to say. Teddy? Not so much. I know he's just a little kid, but Aggie was much more entertaining at his age then Teddy is. Maybe he'll grow into a personality. Who knows? Stranger things have happened.

"The 5th." Teddy replies.

"You go to school, right?" Nathaniel asks, "Or do you have a tutor?"

"I go to Westley Academy." Teddy explains. "But my brother has a tutor for chemistry. He's really bad at it. He got a 74 on his last test." Teddy looks up alarmed, "Don't tell anyone I told you that though. He made me promise not to say anything."

I let out a small laugh at this. "Shhh." Teddy tells me earnestly. I didn't know Garnet had a tutor, though I guess he needs one. After all, having a tutor to help you with your homework is an acceptable way of cheating instead of what Garnet normally does. Nathaniel considers this information for a moment, "I'm sure-"

"Shut up Teddy," comes Garnet's voice as he pushes his younger brother. "And I am not bad at chemistry.

I got a 93 on the test before that one. Get your stories straight."

"I thought that Dad had to talk to the school because you cheated on that test." Teddy says, looking confused.

"I didn't cheat. I helped other people with the test." Garnet explains.

"Was that during the test?" I interject. "You know that's called cheating right?" I ask.

"I plead the 5th."

"The constitution isn't a thing anymore." Teddy says, tugging on his brother's white hoodie. "We're learning about it in history right now."

"Oh my God, Teddy. Can you ever just be quiet?" Garnet asks angrily. He storms away from our little group, and after a moment's hesitation, Teddy follows him. I know I've wished for siblings before, but sometimes watching my cousins squabble is more than enough for me to thank my parents for not having another kid.

"Sorry about them." I say, rolling my eyes. I can't believe that I'm apologizing for literal children to my selected. I can't believe that I'm apologizing in general. Carolynn Schreave does not apologize. She- I'm always on point.

"I don't mind." Nathaniel says easily, "I like kids."

"Yeah. Me too. Just not these ones." I gesture to Garnet and Teddy, who have now rejoined their parents.

"Oh, I don't know, they're sweet. Most siblings bicker. I have a little brother, and we argue all the time. It doesn't mean anything." Nathaniel tells me. I almost can't believe I'm in this situation. I'm being lectured on parenting by a 23 year old pirate. Something about this just seems wrong. Ugh. I hate the selection so much.

"I wouldn't know. I don't have a sibling." I say. "Though I'd assume you all already knew that."

Nyson laughs loudly "Yeah. I think we all did. I mean, not to over exaggerate, but the Schreaves are pretty famous around here." Yeah, you bet we are. Not to toot my own horn, but I like to think that every citizen of Illéa knows my name. Probably at least 75% could recognize a photograph of me. That's pretty cool, if I do say so myself.

"Oh really? I didn't notice." I comment lightly. As if. I might have looked at the stats a couple of times. I'm not embarrassed about it.

"I think it's time for dinner." Nyson points out, gesturing to the rapidly thinning foyer. Most of the selected had already begun to walk down the hall to the dining room, probably indicated to them by some gesture I had missed. My parents were gone too.

"Yeah. I think so to." I note, looking at the nearly-empty room. "Here, we can go now." I say, motioning for the two of them to follow me down the hall to the dining room. It's not a very far walk, only about a minute. The man who designed the palace centuries ago, Wyther Eclan, apparently wanted it to be close by so that guests could easily be transported to the room. Despite many protests, Wyther was the only one making decisions about the palace. From what I learned, Gregory Illéa couldn't care less about the layout of his home.

I wonder what he would think if he could see me, the future Queen of Illéa. He'd probably be delighted. It's not like there could possibly be a better ruler for Illéa.

Although, I guess he would have to get over the fact that a woman was ruling the country. After all, he was the one who made that stupid only-men-can-inherit-the-throne law that was changed a few ceuntries ago. Sexist pig that he was.

I'm met with a few curious gazes when I enter the room, though I do feel slightly bad for Nathaniel and Nyson. Whereas the guys are wondering who I'm late, they're looking at the two men with jealousy. Oh well. That sounds like a them problem.

Still, the guys don't look nearly as jealous of Nathaniel and Nyson as they do of Bas. Garnet hadn't sat yet, instead he's standing next to Bas, engaging in a conversation with him, all while being blissfully ignorant of the envious looks that the rest of my selected are sending Bas. Or, the more likely possibility was that he knew and just didn't care. That sounds like Garnet.

"Garnet, come here. Leave the poor boy alone." Aunt Quinn says upon seeing me.

Garnet frowns, "But Mom-"

"I said come here."

Flushing, Garnet mutters "Fine," as he goes up to sit next to his mother at the head table. I sit in my designated seat, blissfully separated from him.

Dinner is it's usual noisy affair. The selected talk among themselves. I talk to my family. Garnet is ignoring all of Teddy's attempts to talk to him, except for when my aunt or uncle forces him to respond. Needless to say, I'm more than happy when dinner is over and I can go back to my room.

"I can have the kids go to the movie theater" Quinn suggests quietly, "While we go look over that trade ship thing. You know, all this wouldn't be a problem if we just got rid of capitalism."

Mom laughs softly, "I don't think that's the answer for this one."

My aunt sighs, "Just saying."

Luke nods, "That'll work. They can watch some Christmas movie, I think those are on already."

I refrain from rolling my eyes, "It's November. The television stations need to have some standards. At least wait till December."

"Write them a letter." Quinn suggests, "I'm sure they'll listen to you."

"Probably." I agree. I mean, come on? Who wouldn't listen to the Crown Princess of Illéa?

"Dad, can we go home now?" Garnet asks, coming out of the dining room ahead of his 2 younger siblings. "I want to watch the new Course Rail episode."

"Me and your mom need to do some work for the country, but we should be able to go soon." Luke explains hesitantly.

"Oh."

Aggie looks excited, "Oooh, we're having a sleepover?"

"No. I just need to finish a few things up, and then we'll go home." Luke says.

Aggie pouts, her little features screwed up in a combination of sadness and frustration. "But I want to have a sleepover!" she exclaims loudly, stomping her foot.

"Well, we're not." I say. I don't want to deal with anyone else right now, especially not children. Literal or metaphorical.

Mom smiles at Aggie, "I don't see why not."

"Mom-" I protest. I am not letting this happen."

"You can pick one of the guest rooms to sleep in. I'm sure there are still a few unoccupied ones." Mom continues, as if she hadn't heard me.

"But Mom-"

"Carrie please."

So much for spending the evening by myself

.A/N: Not knowing what to say in my A/N seems to be a running theme here. Needles to say I still don't know what to put in this. First, we had our date with Nishav, everyone's favorite pretentious jerk, and Divesh, everyone's favorite sunshine boy. For my Nano goal it's actually going pretty good. I am fully caught up, so yay! Let's go. I might actually make it to 50k this month. That's crazy to think about. Eek. Anyway, I hope you have a great weekend.