Chapter Eight

As One Door Closes, Another One Opens

Classical music filtered through the dance studio door as Imogen stood outside. She had stopped by Eden's bedroom, Florence's office, and their favorite parlors. Still, there was no sign of her younger sister, who had decided to conveniently disappear before she could get some motivational advice for her first self-planned date of the Selection.

Eden preferred to practice in the afternoon, but when even Eden's maid wasn't sure where she had gone, Imogen had to try her luck. Surely the faint music meant that Eden was there, getting in some extra practice. As she pushed the door open, she came face-to-face with her reflection in the wall-length mirror and a very surprised Martel Vanderbilt.

He stopped moving, his hand letting go of the barre along the wall to drop into a bow. "Your Highness," he greeted, his French accent noticeable even with those two simple words.

"Good morning, Sir Martel." She scanned the room. No Eden. "I wasn't expecting you to be here."

At that, he looked somewhat ashamed. He dipped his head. "My apologies. Rosemary gave me permission, so I spend most of my mornings in the studio…"

"Oh, no, you're fine," she amended quickly. Rosemary hadn't mentioned this permission to her, but considering Imogen never used the studio, she didn't care. "I actually came to look for my sister. Do you know if Eden was here earlier?"

Martel frowned. "Her Highness was here yesterday, but I haven't seen her today."

She raised an eyebrow, unaware that Martel and Eden had interacted the day before. Sure, Eden had expressed interest in speaking to a fellow dancer, but she hadn't expected that to happen so soon. "Ah, so you already met my sister?"

"Yes," he said, looking a bit sheepish. "She showed a lot of interest in dance, so she was pleasant to talk to."

"That's good." Imogen was a little surprised to hear about Eden taking social initiative for once. Though Martel hadn't been overly friendly during their group date, she trusted Eden's judgment of character. "She doesn't get to meet dancers often. She mentioned that she was excited to see a dancer in the Selection."

"It is nice to find people who share your passions. She seems very…" He paused as if trying to choose the correct word. "Sweet."

"I'm lucky to have her," she admitted. Though Martel wasn't the picture of friendliness, something about his calm demeanor didn't make her feel judged. He had seen the good in Eden—which wasn't hard, but she appreciated it nonetheless. "Do you have any siblings?"

The warm air that had surrounded him earlier dissipated. He nodded wordlessly. She wasn't sure if it was her imagination or if his eyes had darkened as he lowered his gaze.

Evidently, not the right conversation starter.

Even the soft piano notes still playing from the corner of the room took on a melancholy tone. Not sure what she could say to ease the awkwardness, she said, "Seeing as Eden isn't here… I should let you return to your dancing."

"That would be much appreciated." He turned to face the barre, blocking her view of his face, but she heard him exhale quietly. "Thank you."

She waved goodbye as she backed out of the room. As she closed the door slowly, Martel remained still. It wasn't until she could only see a sliver of the room that he finally let go of the barre, and then the door shut with a click.

Although she was no closer to finding Eden, Imogen had to start getting ready for the next item on her agenda: a lunch date with Terrence Ki. She had no idea how she was supposed to plan these dates, but by Eden's suggestion from the day before, she had invited him to lunch. People liked food, right? She had even gotten Renee to deliver a fancy invitation before breakfast—handwritten, too.

Her knock was answered almost immediately, but the man that cracked open the door was wide-eyed and frantic. He only calmed slightly when he saw that it was her.

"Your Highness!" Terrence said, his voice high. "Sorry. Are you here for—"

"Our date, yes. "

"Oh. About that. I can't accept."

He got the words out so quickly that Imogen could only stare at the Selected in front of her. She must have misheard.

"Sorry, what?" she asked slowly.

One of her suitors refusing a date? In her Selection?

"I can't accept," he repeated, turning his head to both sides as his eyes darted around the empty hallway. "Your Highness… I have to leave the Selection."

I have to leave the Selection.

Those words took a moment to sink in as Imogen's eyes widened. She cocked her head to the side, watching his nervous demeanor concernedly.

He certainly wasn't the first Selected in history to voluntarily ask to leave, but with how unexpected this was…

"Let's talk inside."

Terrence gulped, but widened the door enough to allow her to slip inside his room. After shutting the door, he hovered by it awkwardly, pulling at his collar.

"Why exactly do you need to leave?" She was thankful for her "resting cold face" as she stared him down, hoping for a genuine answer. If he was just not interested in her, then there wasn't much to be worried about. But judging by his nervous reaction to her, there was something else at stake.

"I, well, I miss my family," Terrence said, the words practically falling over each other as he struggled to get them out. "I realized that signing up for the Selection was the wrong decision."

"And that's all there is to it?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

Terrence looked away. "Yes."

It clearly wasn't. Maybe she had to try something else.

She went for the sympathetic approach. "You can tell me if there's something else going on, Sir Terrence," she said, voice somewhat softening in an attempt to sound friendlier. "If you're not interested in me, I understand. But I'd like to know why my Selected are leaving the palace."

He didn't answer her, and she wondered whether she had to switch to another approach, or if he was genuinely bad at social interaction and missed his family that much. But then, Terrence exhaled slowly and stepped over to the drawers beside his desk.

"There… There is something you should know, Your Highness."

From his bottom drawer, he fished out a piece of paper and passed it to her wordlessly. Upon closer examination, it was a letter—printed with thin, rigid letters and faint ink.

Sir Ki,

There appears to be some information that you hid from the public when entering the Selection. Unless you wish for this to be revealed to the country, leave the competition.

No signature, no indication of who the letter had come from. Someone was blackmailing her Selected. And somehow, they knew things even she didn't.

"How did you get this?" she demanded. "And what are they referring to?"

"It was in my room this morning after I came back from breakfast."

She waited, but when he didn't continue, she prodded, "And this 'information that you hid?'"

His eyes were reluctant as he stared at the floor. "The letter is referring to my health records."

The Selected's health records. The information on those records was meant to be complete and transparent, available to the palace's doctors as a general reference, and in emergencies. Omitting crucial information from them was not meant to happen.

"Sir Terrence," she warned. "If you don't want this information to be revealed by whoever sent this letter, you need to tell me what it is, or I can't help you."

She wasn't sure she wanted to help him, either. What could he have possibly hidden that was bad enough to warrant this?

"When I found the letter in my room, it was attached to…" Terrence took a deep breath. "Records from my time at a drug rehabilitation center."

Oh.

No wonder he hadn't reported that to the palace. A history of drug addiction was still highly stigmatized in Illéa, and if it had come up during the background check, his profile would not have been chosen for the Selection. The chance for Terrence to have a viable career after his elimination would be thwarted if the information was exposed, let alone his chance at becoming king.

So how had this crucial piece of information slipped past the background checks?

And how did someone else find out about it?

"I see." Internally, she cursed her luck. Her first self-planned date, and her plans wouldn't even come to fruition.

If this letter came from who she suspected it might, this could be a warning.

What concerned her more was what would happen if this information was leaked. Terrence would probably bear the brunt of it. Still, the legitimacy of the palace's security team could be questioned, and the entire Selection process or the legitimacy of the candidates could be undermined. Most of all, there would be questions. Too many questions. What could she do?

Her father had to know. This entire Selection had been his doing.

"Give me that letter," she said. "I'll take it to my father, and security will see if they can uncover who was responsible for it."

Terrence froze. "But… His Majesty would find out about what I've done. And that could land me in worse punishment than the information getting exposed to the public."

Imogen did not care about his fate, and was about to tell him that. But then she paused.

Sharing the letter with more people could have graver consequences. If whoever had sent this letter found out that she knew about the blackmail, the information could be revealed regardless, which would help nobody.

They couldn't afford that. Not until they knew what they were dealing with. But at the very least, the king had to know.

"I'll be careful about whoever finds out about this," she said. "But to ensure this doesn't happen again, my father needs to be informed."

When Terrence looked reluctant, she added, "I don't think you can be punished without more questions being raised, anyways. So you should be fine." Hopefully, she sounded more confident than she was.

If he didn't comply, she would be forced to find a different way for him to give her the letter, and she wasn't too keen on doing that. Thankfully, though, and after a deep breath, he handed her the letter, which she tucked into a pocket on her dress carefully.

She knew this Selection had been an awful idea, but blackmail was the cherry on top.

"Thank you, but I should warn you." She clasped her hands together. "Even if you leave the palace, whoever has access to this information could still choose to reveal it. Leaving the palace may not protect you."

He paled. "I… I suppose you're right." Of course, she was right. This man had no idea how serious this threat could potentially be. "But if they'll be revealed regardless of my actions…" Another deep breath. "I would like to tell my family first. They have no idea. They deserve to hear it from me."

Fair. She nodded, feeling, for a moment, a twinge of pity for him. He'd done some information, but he hadn't asked for this. He couldn't have foreseen it.

Anyone who wanted to lead a country, though, had to be exceedingly careful.

She certainly wasn't grateful that he had omitted this information on his health records, landing them in this mess, but… At least he had been upfront with her about the blackmail. "I do appreciate your honesty, Sir Terrence. I won't speak to others about this, and I expect that you won't, either."

"I really am sorry for the trouble this has caused. I hope this whole thing blows over quickly."

She knew better than to ask for that, but deep down, she quietly wished for the same thing. "Then I'll leave you to pack your things. A car will take you to the airport this afternoon."

Terrence's eyes widened with gratitude. "Thank you so much, Your Highness."

It was weird to be thanked for eliminating someone. But as Imogen closed Terrence's door behind her, leaving him to prepare for his exit with no guarantee of what the future entailed, she felt like the rest of her Selection was going to be similarly unprecedented.

The blackmail had ruined her appetite. But she didn't want to seek out her father until Terrence was gone. She had already requested a meal to be set up in the parlor where she had first met the Selected. If Terrence was out of the running…

She leaned against the wall, wondering what else would go wrong with this Selection, just as the door beside Terrence's opened.

Vikram Sher paused before he was even half-way out the door, his eyes falling on her in surprise. "Good morning, Your Highness." He was dressed in a cream-colored suit with a vest, and a dark gold bowtie. Heading to lunch, she guessed.

"Sir Vikram," she greeted. "Would you like to join me for lunch?"

That was how she found herself on yet another "spontaneous" date. The couches in the parlor had been pushed aside for a table set for two, and she sat down across from Vikram as a maid came to pour them water.

"Is this the room where the first meetings were held?" he asked, his eyes trained on the upright piano in the corner.

"It is," Imogen confirmed. "I noticed you were quite interested in the piano that day, too."

"You got me there." He smiled sheepishly. "I can't help it. Music is kind of my life."

"You're a jazz pianist, right?"

He nodded. "I was finishing up my Bachelor of Music in Jazz Studies at Juilliard when the Selection was announced."

Juilliard. His voice held a touch of pride as he talked about his school. While some of the other men came from distinguished backgrounds, she had to admit that attending the Juilliard School was an impressive feat in itself.

"Juilliard is certainly a school to be proud of," she said. "It must have taken a lot of hard work to get there."

He ducked his head almost shyly but looked pleased with the compliment. "Thank you. I try."

Unfortunately, the musical gene in the Caswell line had died out many years ago, so Imogen couldn't relate to being passionate about music. But she still had immense respect for those who had dedicated their lives to their art.

She also wondered whether someone who had invested so much time and effort into music was prepared for life as a royal. Being a jazz pianist and a king consort were quite distinct.

"I also heard that you've performed for the governor of Waverly before," she commented.

"Wow, you did your research," he mumbled quietly. Slightly louder, he replied, "We did. One of my friends and I composed and produced a jazz-classical fusion album. It garnered a bit of attention, which was nice."

Performing for the governor of Waverly didn't seem like a bit of attention, but it was nice to see that he wasn't boasting about his accomplishments. "That's impressive."

Again, he smiled slightly at the compliment. "Thank you, Your Highness." He cleared his throat. "I would say that running a country is much more impressive, though."

It was Imogen's turn to feel a little bashful as she forced herself not to react too strongly. These men are trying to butter you up, remember? She was saved from responding as the staff arrived with plates of food.

"What are we having?" Vikram asked.

"Whatever they're having downstairs, I assume."

He chuckled. "So this is the palace equivalent of 'I'll have what they're having.'"

It turned out that "what they're having" was Hainanese chicken rice. Vikram looked excited to dig in. "I love that the meals here are so varied," he said. "You have Italian food one day, Korean food the next, and all sorts of great dishes."

Imogen nodded in agreement. "You can thank my stepmother for that. Apparently, the palace's kitchen used to be much more Westernized, but she was adamant about employing chefs specializing in East Asian cuisine. She likes to oversee the creation of the monthly menus when she has the time, so they're much more diverse now."

"Ah, Her Majesty comes from a family of immigrants, right?" Vikram glanced at his plate thoughtfully. "I feel like I'd do the same thing. What wouldn't I give for some of my mother's cooking right now? No offense to the palace chefs, of course."

"Are you and your mother close?" she ventured.

His smile was strained. "With school and… everything, I haven't spoken to her in a while."

Reminder to self, she thought. Don't ask about the Selected's families ever again. She was beginning to feel like her family wasn't the only messed-up one out there.

Was Vikram also hiding some sort of secret, worthy of an anonymous letter threatening him to drop out of the Selection? Terrence had seemed perfectly normal, and so did Vikram. She had no idea whether the man sitting across from her, eating Hainanese chicken rice, was hiding something that could be used against them.

She quickly changed the topic to ask about what it was like to attend Juilliard and live in Waverly. Luckily, the conversation soon elapsed into new territory as Vikram talked about a specific type of cheesecake sold at a bakery near his school.

By the time they were finished eating, Imogen had filled her stomach with far too much food. Vikram seemed to feel the same, as he complained, "I feel like I can't move."

"Well, that would be unfortunate," she remarked. She glanced out to the open window, where the light breeze was ruffling the curtains. The weather had been gloomier in the morning but seemed to be letting up for the afternoon. "We could go for a walk in the gardens?"

His dark eyes lit up. "I guess I could be convinced to move for that."

See, I can plan dates.

They walked along the gardens for a while. Vikram seemed enamored by the different flowers and plants, pausing several times to read some of the labels. "Imagine how beautiful this would look in the rain," he said.

Imogen's nose wrinkled. "You like the rain?"

"You don't?"

"Not particularly," she said. "It's a bit inconvenient to have to carry an umbrella."

"How about if you're indoors? When your room is warm and cozy, and the gentle sound of the rain is outside your window…" He trailed off. "Sorry, that's cheesy."

"It does sound nice," she conceded. "Alright, I'm sold. We don't get a lot of rain during this season, though, so it'll be a while before the next rainy day."

"If it ever happens, let me know. I'll prepare the movies and ambient music," he suggested with a grin.

She blinked. Was that an invitation to go on another date? Before she could dwell on it, she heard a deep voice behind her call out, "Hey!"

They spun around. Sure enough, a distance away was Vasilios's familiar silhouette. "I'm in the middle of a date here, Vasilios," she snapped.

"I know, but surely you can spare some time for the heir to House Fortescue." Vasilios caught up to them, glaring at her and shooting a look of disdain at Vikram. In his hands was a copy of some colorful magazine, with its back cover facing her. "I must show you something."

Imogen crossed her arms. "Can't this wait?"

"It could." Vasilios smiled. "But I'm afraid I don't want it to."

She looked at Vikram to gauge his reaction at their date getting cut. "Uh, I can leave if you need me to," he offered, looking at Vasilios warily.

"Thank you, Sir Sher." Vasilios waved his hand dismissively. "You may go."

Imogen didn't want to deal with Vasilios alone, but before she knew it, she was waving to Vikram as he disappeared around the corner. "What do you want, Vasilios?" She eyed his hands. "And what's with the magazine?"

"It's The Singer."

Her eyes widened, and then she had to fight not to laugh. "Wow, I didn't know you read The Singer." The trashiest magazine in all of Illéa, in the hands of the heir to House Fortescue? As far as she knew, Vasilios wasn't the type to keep up with celebrity gossip and fashion trends, but she had clearly been wrong. "That's cute. I have far more important things to concern myself with than gossip magazines."

His subsequent smile, crooked and cold, made her a little more nervous. "It's not the form of entertainment that I typically appreciate, but this issue has such interesting headlines." Lifting the magazine towards his face, he began reading out loud. "Did you know that one of the French princesses has a new pet llama?"

"Truly fascinating, thank you for telling me—"

"And look at this one. 'Former queen Regina Solis spotted in a hospital in Swendway.'"

That one set off alarm bells. Many years ago, Imogen might've cut out that article to save in her collection of updates on the former queen, or her "mother." She used to have a drawer stuffed to the brim with various rumors, each one less credible than the last, trying to piece together the truth of the former queen's current situation using newspaper and tabloid cutouts.

Until she had trashed all of them.

She knew the news was probably fake, as The Singer's credibility was non-existent, but for a moment, her hands itched to rip the magazine out of Vasilios's hands.

As if reading her mind, Vasilios's smile curved upwards even more. "Ah, but that's not even the most interesting! Have you heard about the most recent dating rumors surrounding celebrity actor August Hirsch?"

He flipped around the magazine to reveal the front cover: beneath the bold logo of The Singer, a photo of August and his latest co-star.

As much as she didn't want to, Imogen's eyes immediately zeroed in on the familiar details of his face. Then the way that his arms wrapped around the actress. Then their interlocked lips.

Vasilios's voice faded away. What he said next, she would never know. The hallway and his face blurred in front of her eyes, and all she could see was the magazine he held in his hands.

As her stomach dropped, she pushed past him and ran.

Happy Saturday, everyone! Had a few existential crises about this story between this chapter and the last, but after sorting through a few things, I think we're good to go :) Hope you enjoyed this chapter! From conversations, to blackmail, to dates, to some unfortunate news…

Any thoughts on the convo with Martel and the reason for Terrence's departure? How about Vikram, who made his first major appearance this chapter? And how we feeling about Vasilios with the magazine at the end? How's this going to affect our girl Immy? :(

Until next time!

—Rysa