Chapter Nine
A Change of Mind
Imogen hadn't spoken to any of the other houses since her run-in with Vasilios. She had expected more backlash, but not much aside from Terrence's letter seemed to indicate that they were unhappy. In fact, the Council had organized an outdoor breakfast in the gardens. She had wanted to refuse, but realized that photos of a Selected breakfast without the princess were bound to get some negative reactions.
Besides, it would hopefully provide some distraction from the pictures of August Hirsch and his latest co-star, some actress called Madeline Barnett, making out all over her social media feeds. Damn these algorithms. She had clicked on one, and her feed was now filled with pictures and articles, theorizing about Hollywood's potential new couple.
Hirsch and Barnett met on the set of their upcoming movie, Spaces in Between, and insider reports say that they've been close ever since. They were spotted getting very intimate at the Afterparty Nightclub last week. This could be yet another relationship for Hirsch, who was known in the past for being involved in many iconic relationships. In the last year, it seemed like Hirsch was focusing on things other than love, but perhaps Barnett—
A knock on the door caused her to look away from her phone. She turned it off and pushed it aside as Eden entered.
Eden's eyes immediately fell on the phone. "You were reading articles again, weren't you?"
"No," Imogen said. She didn't sound very confident.
Her sister only sighed. She had found Imogen in her room yesterday, buried beneath the covers and watching more random documentaries.
"Do you want me to take your phone away?"
Imogen instantly reached out and grabbed her phone protectively. "Please don't."
"Then stop going on social media," Eden said. "Imogen, you need to move on."
She knew, and she also knew that there were more than twenty men in the palace who were competing for her hand, but…
"I didn't think he'd move on so fast," she murmured, half to herself. It still hurt.
Why couldn't she throw away her feelings with the same ease as he clearly had? She hadn't seen him in weeks, yet one magazine cover was enough to unbury months of memories.
The prospect of staying in her room, playing some sad music, and eating her weight in chocolate chip cookies was so tempting. She subtly tried to sink deeper into her bed.
"August is dumb." Eden pulled Imogen to her feet. "Come on. Where's Renee? I'll go find her so she can get you styled for breakfast. You'll look so good that August will realize he'll never find anyone as good as you, and your Selected will fall in love with you even more."
Imogen seriously didn't want to move, let alone get dressed properly and go down to the garden. But she grudgingly allowed Eden to pick out a pretty yellow dress for her—"As bright as your mood should be!"—and choose how to style her hair. With her under-eye circles concealed and her smile lined, she felt slightly more prepared to take on the world.
And since there would be photographers, she asked Renee to grab one of her tiaras. Just in case August would see the photos.
The boys were milling about a long, rectangular table piled with breakfast items when she arrived downstairs with Eden. "Fashionably late," Rosemary remarked.
"I'll take that as a compliment about my outfit." Multiple tables had been set up, each one with a few open spaces and lots of decorations."This looks very nice."
"Thank you!" Rosemary said brightly. "It took me far longer than necessary. The Council doesn't seem to appreciate my vision."
Imogen managed a smile. "I appreciate your vision, Rosemary." At least someone had found something to be happy about for this outdoor breakfast. The vibrant decorations would definitely look good in the pictures, and the cameramen were already taking shots of the boys. Noticing a camera trained on her, she sighed. "I guess I should interact with my Selected."
"These photos will be all over the news, so choose a table carefully," Rosemary suggested. "It's also a good opportunity to speak briefly with some of the men you haven't had much interaction with."
"So, not Dillon," Imogen guessed.
"It's your Selection, but yes, I'd recommend that."
Was it really hers, or the Council's and the entire country's?
She cast a quick glance over the tables, seeing that some of the men had already sat down—though a lot of them were noticeably leaving spaces at their tables, probably in the hopes that she'd join them. Sneaky. Dillon was sitting between Connor Clarington and Asher Coulter, already engrossed in conversation.
Before she found a table, she had to get food first. The Danishes looked mouthwatering, and she didn't hesitate to create a small pile on her plate before side-eyeing the cameras. For good measure, she grabbed a few fruits, just so nobody would criticize her eating habits.
"The pastries are that good, huh?"
Imogen nearly jumped out of her skin as a voice sounded out from behind her. Thankfully, she didn't, and the pastries remained carefully balanced on her plate. She turned around to see Jack Mercatura, with his own plate full of a wide assortment of food. "I like my sweets," she defended.
"Fair," he said. "This whole breakfast is pretty cool. I'm glad we're eating outside today."
"You are?" Maybe the Council had done some good after all.
He nodded vigorously. "Gotta have some variety around here. Sure, the food is different every day, but it's cool to change things up, you know?" His hand curled around the edge of the plate, almost protectively. "I just hope no pigeons try to steal my food, or we'll be having a serious talk."
"There aren't that many pigeons on palace grounds," Imogen pointed out.
His jaw dropped. "Wow. Do you employ people to keep them away?"
"Uh… No." Blinking, she looked around the gardens, wondering if there were, in fact, any rogue pigeons flying about. "We just don't get that many of them."
"Aww. I got excited about my career prospects for a second. Imagine chasing pigeons for a living." Before she could even picture the thought, he grinned. "Just kidding. Hey, would you like to have breakfast together, Your Highness?"
It was a bold move—one she hadn't expected from Jack. Cade Summersgill, who had been grabbing some food slightly behind Jack, turned to them with wide eyes upon hearing this. But as Jack grinned at her, she thought, Why not? He took the initiative to ask.
"Sure."
"Sweet!" Jack turned his attention to the tables. "Looks like there's one with a few spots available."
Before she could say anything, he had set off in the direction of a table further away. Cedric DunBroch and Bailey Wanewright were already seated, and Jack dropped into the seat beside the former.
"Cedric!" he exclaimed. "Hey, dude."
Cedric's face gave Imogen the impression that he did not completely appreciate this term of address, but it quickly paved way for a respectful nod. "Good morning, Your Highness," he said. "Hey, Jack."
"Good morning," Bailey echoed.
Imogen sat down beside Jack. For a moment, it looked like Bailey was going to move one spot over, but a voice cut through the air.
"Mind if I join you?" Before any of them could answer, Colin Eaton took the only remaining spot, flashing a brilliant grin at her. "Good morning, Your Highness."
"Good morning," she responded, nodding her head to acknowledge all of them. If Bailey was peeved at the sudden addition to their table, she couldn't see, because Colin effectively blocked her view of him. Cedric's charming smile looked a bit more strained, while Jack looked completely unaffected.
"Welcome to the gang, Colin." The gang?
Colin sniffed. "I hope you're not implying that we are an organized group of criminals involved in petty crime or violence." Imogen wasn't sure if it was her imagination, or if he gave Cedric the stink-eye for a split second.
"Uh, no," Jack said, waving his hand dismissively. "No criminals here. Oh, Cedric, is the chocolate muffin good? I was going to get one, but my plate was too full, and I figured if I got another one everything would fall off my plate. Which would be unfortunate, but at least the pigeons would get a nice meal! Although, apparently there aren't any pigeons…"
It was a weird table to be sitting at. Jack and Cedric chatting—though it was more one-sided—on her right, Colin and Bailey eating quietly on her left. She looked to the side, where Dillon's table was, and tried to catch his eye to mouth Help me. However, he was still talking animatedly, not even looking in her direction.
She then noticed Vasilios Fortescue walking past that table, and thoughts of the magazine instantly sprung into her mind. Stomach tightening, she turned her focus back to her own table immediately. She could not think about that. Not now, when she was sitting with four of her Selected and surrounded by the rest.
Needing something else, anything else, to focus on, took the moment to observe their table manners. Colin was cutting into his omelette with neat, precise strokes of his knife, as Bailey sipped soup from a bowl. Even Jack was carefully tackling the mountain on his plate during the pauses in his speech.
Cedric, meanwhile, was currently talking with food in his mouth. And while Imogen knew that not every man was going to come to the palace with perfect table manners, she was sure that Rosemary must have covered that during their first etiquette lesson.
"A bit shameful, isn't it?"
Imogen turned her head to see Colin following her gaze, looking with some disdain at Cedric. "I suppose," he said, "that not everybody is prepared to have breakfast with royalty."
Though she somewhat agreed with his words, she was put off by his frosty tone. "There are men from all different backgrounds in this Selection, Sir Colin," she said evenly.
"Oh, I know." He smiled. "Of course. We do have the etiquette lessons, designed to help those of us who need it."
Cedric seemed to sense that he was being talked about, because he stopped speaking with Jack to raise an eyebrow at Colin. "Sorry, what was that?"
"Nothing you need to worry about," Colin said. "Keep eating."
Cedric's eyes narrowed. Bailey coughed awkwardly into his napkin.
Imogen tried her best not to wince. Who knew that accepting an offer to eat breakfast with Jack would land her in this kind of tension? There was clearly some animosity between Cedric and Colin, and she had unluckily found herself caught in the middle of it.
Colin wasn't necessarily wrong with his assessment, but expressing that in front of his fellow Selected…
"Is something the matter, Colin?" Cedric asked carefully.
"No, but you were chewing with your mouth open, and it was a bit concerning."
Imogen wanted to bury herself in her Danish pastries. Or find a different table full of peaceful, unproblematic men. Were the cameras capturing all of this?
Cedric's eye twitched, and she saw Jack's hand shoot out to hold his arm. "Hey, Colin doesn't mean it personally," Jack warned. She didn't miss the concerned look he shot her. Finally, some common sense. Does nobody at this table realize they're right in front of the princess?
"Mercatura's right." Colin shrugged. "I understand that it must be difficult to learn these things, given your background. Completely understandable."
Imogen had heard enough.
"What are you implying about your fellow Selected, Sir Colin?"
Colin froze for a second. He had clearly not expected her to step in. She couldn't fathom why—even if his words had been well-intentioned, which she doubted, his tone was far too aggressive for her to let it slide. "I'm just acknowledging that some of us have had very little experience before coming to the palace, Your Highness."
"Well, it sounds to me like you're incapable of maintaining civility, and overly critical of matters that should not concern you," she said. "I'm not sure a future king should be looking down on others this way. Especially in my presence."
His eyes flashed. "You mean…"
"Sir Colin, you are dismissed from my Selection."
Jack's fork clattered onto the table. The entire garden seemed to fall silent as all heads were turned her way. The cameras clicked away even faster than before.
Colin's face darkened. "You're joking," he said incredulously.
"A limousine will take you to the airport this afternoon. You may pack your belongings for the rest of the day."
She waited for him to argue, or protest. Instead, he stood and left the garden, head held high, his face the only indication of any displeasure. All of the cameras were trained on his retreating figure, as well as every single Selected's eyes.
"I was not expecting breakfast to turn out like this," Jack said.
Cedric looked conflicted. "Thank you, Your Highness," he said. "But I didn't need to be defended."
"I know. I wasn't trying to." Imogen meant it. "Courtesy is an important part of being king consort, and Sir Colin showed he wasn't able to meet that standard. Did he act this way around the men at other times?"
Jack and Cedric exchanged looks.
"He has made some comments in the Men's Room," Bailey muttered. "They tend to be abrasive."
Imogen took in this information quietly, realizing that she had no idea what types of interactions occurred in the Men's Room. She would have to ask Dillon, and soon, before something like this happened again.
"Imogen." Rosemary approached their table, looking worried. "A word, please."
Imogen let herself be taken away by Rosemary, far enough from the cameras and tables that nobody could hear them. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"You shouldn't have eliminated Sir Eaton."
"You should have heard the things he was saying, Rosemary—"
"I'm sure you were justified," Rosemary interrupted. "But I don't think you were allowed to eliminate him."
She frowned. "I eliminated Sir Terrence without any problems." Without any problems was a bit of a stretch.
"Yes, but…" Rosemary pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "I have a feeling that Sir Eaton was a noble pick."
Oh.
It hit her instantly. His family background, with Eaton Enterprises and their successful hotels. His participation in the date at the Montano Seaside Lodge. His condescending attitude. His confidence to say those things, despite being in her presence.
Colin Eaton was not someone who should have been eliminated this early.
"So one of those houses now has even more reason to be mad at me," she concluded. Rosemary nodded grimly. This was absolutely fantastic. Either she would be forced to keep this arrogant man in her Selection after publicly eliminating him, or he would go home but she would have made a grave mistake. "Great. What happens now?"
Rosemary didn't answer. Instead, she was looking at something over Imogen's shoulder. Imogen turned to see Vasilios a short distance away, his phone in his hand.
"Impromptu Council meeting after this breakfast is over," he said coldly, already turning to walk away. "Good luck."
Whatever awaited Imogen in the meeting room, she didn't want to hear it. Seeing Isaac in the hallway right before she walked in almost gave her a sense of relief. He was holding hands with an unfamiliar girl, which she wanted to roll her eyes at.
"Are your parents mad at me too?" she asked, in lieu of a greeting.
Isaac had the decency to look sympathetic. "Good luck."
"Oooh, what's happening?" the unfamiliar girl asked, tugging on Isaac's arm. "Is this insider drama?"
He grinned teasingly. "I can't tell you. It's a secret."
Imogen stopped herself from physically rolling her eyes. "Are you Quinn?" she asked the girl.
"What? No, I'm Jessica." Jessica spun to face Isaac, turning a deep shade of red. "Who the hell is Quinn?"
That seemed like the right time to get out of there.
Imogen slipped past them, letting herself into the meeting room. It seemed that Jacques Taylour was in the middle of speaking, but he stopped as Imogen entered. All eyes turned to her.
"You're late," Theodore said.
"I'm two minutes early." She took her seat, noticing that only the heads of each house were there, as well as Florence. Vasilios was missing, which she was grateful for, but it also meant that she didn't have Eden or Dillon for backup. "My apologies, but I believe you started without me."
"We did start early," Willard Seton said.
Theodore sighed. "Very well. Jacques, please continue."
"As I was saying, Her Highness has eliminated a Selected chosen by House Taylour," Jacques said, shooting her a glare. "This decision was made without any consultation. It goes against all procedure and is unacceptable."
Hector Fortescue nodded. "I completely agree. Sir Colin Eaton must remain a part of the Selection."
Imogen opened her mouth to protest, but seeing a warning look from Theodore, she shut it.
"While I'm sure you had your reasons to eliminate this particular candidate, Your Highness, the integrity of the Selection process should be respected," Nathaniel Noel said. "This is the second tradition to be challenged, and so early on in the Selection, too. The traditions must be preserved so that the rest of the Selection can continue as normal."
Integrity was a funny word to use in relation to the nobles' dealings.
It seemed like Aurora Beaufort had a similar train of thought, but for very different reasons. "Integrity. Interesting word choice, Nathaniel. Would the Stojanović girl agree?"
Nathaniel's glare intensified. "If my wife were here—"
"Enough."
Imogen looked at her father, who had stood up. "It's clear that there is not much to be debated. My daughter made an error in judgment and will bring Sir Eaton back."
An error in judgment? Imogen stared at her father, but his eyes were stern.
She remembered what he had said that day in his office. All other Council-related Selection traditions will have to be respected. We cannot afford the anger that may arise if we shirk any others. Terrence's letter could have been the first spark of that anger.
It was clear that she didn't have much of a choice. She bit her bottom lip, even as the thought of having to tell Colin to come back riled her up.
"Imogen will apologize to Sir Eaton and welcome him back to the Selection," Theodore continued. "Rest assured, the remainder of the Selection will have no mishaps. It will continue as normal."
Willard nodded. "Then are we dismissed?"
"Yes."
As the nobles left the room, Jacques shooting a particularly dirty look at Imogen, she made her way to Theodore. "Father, I—"
"I don't want to hear your complaints, Imogen. You must do this." He tucked some files into his briefcase. "I have another meeting to attend now, but see to it that this Sir Eaton situation is solved."
The letter. "There's something—"
"Imogen," he warned.
The letter. She gritted her teeth.
"Fine," she got out. If he refused to listen to her now, she didn't want to tell him.
It would have to wait until another day. For now, all she wanted to do was get out of his sight.
Colin opened the door almost instantly, and a smug smile overcame his face. "Changed your mind about me, Your Highness?"
She so badly wanted to shut the door in his face and remind him that what he had said was still highly inappropriate. That she was only doing this to appease some stuffy nobles. That she hadn't changed her mind about him at all.
But instead, all she could say was, "I… I gave it some thought, and I realized I was too harsh." She bit her bottom lip. "I misjudged you. I was wrong."
"And?" Colin prompted.
It took everything in her power not to punch him right there and then. "I'd like to keep you around for longer, Sir Colin," she lied straight through her teeth. "And… I apologize."
Surprisingly, he didn't immediately gloat. Instead, he nodded, almost thoughtfully. "Thank you, Your Highness. I'm glad you have seen reason."
She cleared her throat. "Could you accompany me to the Men's Room? As you were eliminated in public, I should clarify your return with the group."
Colin's eyes glinted. "Yes. Of course."
Thankfully, he didn't try to start a conversation with her as they walked to the Men's Room. That would have been too much. He stiffened as she knocked on the door to the Men's Room, adjusting his tie.
Unfortunately, it was Cedric who opened the door. To his credit, he shifted uncomfortably, instead of glaring daggers as she had almost expected. "Colin?"
"I have an announcement I'd like to make to the group," Imogen told him.
Cedric exhaled. "Right. Come in, Your Highness."
The Men's Room fell silent as she entered with Colin in tow. "You all witnessed what happened at the breakfast this morning," she began. "But after giving it some thought… I changed my mind. Sir Colin will be rejoining the Selection."
The resultant tension was so thick that Colin could cut it using his perfect table etiquette. While she didn't see any overly-dramatic reactions, there were some faces that looked serious, and some that bordered on unhappy. As Imogen looked around the room, she wondered what she had gotten herself into.
A few days after Colin had been brought back to the Selection, the nobles had sent her on another assignment. This time, it was a date with Quentin Tran.
She knew to expect cameramen at the date. This was another one of those that seemed designed for publicity. Quentin had made headlines many years ago for using his family's wealth to start a non-profit, and now, they were driving to the Angeles branch of the so-called Stonewall Shelters.
"Tell me a bit more about the Stonewall Shelters," she said. "How do you manage them? Do you travel from Zuni to all five locations?"
Quentin nodded. "I do visit each location quite regularly, Your Highness. But I have hired people to look after each shelter when I am not there, who I trust wholeheartedly. You'll meet Helena and Victorie today."
"I look forward to it."
In some ways, Imogen was actually looking forward to it. She admired Quentin for using his fame and background to help others, and from what she knew, it sounded like a genuine passion project, not some sort of initiative started for the sake of reputation.
And if he was able to manage a non-profit well, that was a good sign that he might be fit to become king consort, too.
When they arrived at the shelter, she was surprised to see that it was larger than she had expected. The building looked several stories tall, and very well-kept, with clean white walls and many windows. There was a rainbow arch painted over the door, which she thought was a cute touch.
Two women were standing on the sidewalk, and they instantly rushed over. "Quentin!" the taller of the two called, rushing over and embracing him. "You know, if you told us you were coming earlier, we could have baked you something."
"I think there's a rule in the Selection that prevents me from accepting that," Quentin said. "Your Highness, this is Helena Lindon. And her wife, Victorie Lindon."
"So I'm 'Helena's wife' now?" The second woman, Victorie, crossed her arms, but there was a teasing glint in her eye. "I've known you for longer, Q."
"My bad, my bad." Quentin waved his hand, chuckling dismissively, and Imogen stepped forward.
"It's nice to meet you," she said.
They both bowed. "It's an honor to have you here, Your Highness," Helena said. "We can't wait to show you everything."
Imogen allowed herself to be led inside, as Victorie pointed out the hallways to the kitchen, garden, and living room respectively. Maybe one of the less-insufferable houses had chosen this date. There was no way someone as despicable as Hector Fortescue could have picked such a kind candidate.
Then again, maybe they had chosen someone who they knew she would approve of. She winced, wondering which house Quentin was supported by, and whether they would threaten her to bring him back if she tried to eliminate him. On top of the men like Colin, she had to be wary of the nice ones, too.
Before they went up the stairs, though, Quentin held up a hand to stop them. "Wait. The cameras can't follow us to the other floors."
Helena and Victorie exchanged a concerned look. "You're right," Helena said.
"Why not?" Imogen asked.
"Your Highness, these floors are where the kids' rooms are, many of whom have been kicked out by their families," Quentin said quietly. "Not all of them will be comfortable with cameras. We must respect their boundaries."
Oh. That was surprisingly considerate of him. "Then I'll tell the cameramen to stay outside," she said. "They can get some footage of the shelter, but not the people."
Quentin nodded. "Helena, Victorie, maybe one of you can be interviewed, so the media has something to publish."
"Great idea. If you show the princess and Q around, I'll go do that." Helena dropped a kiss on Victorie's cheek before leading the cameramen out of the vicinity. The rest of them continued making their way up the stairs.
"We don't have much time today, so we'll probably only say hi to a few of the kids," Victorie said, pausing by the first door in the hallway. "Also, they're the only ones that I trust to behave well."
Quentin chuckled. "True. Some of them are lovable, but complete menaces."
"We typically have rooms of two, so that the kids have roommates to keep them company, but there are a few that request private rooms. This floor is for the doubles." Victorie rapped on the door. "Willow? Phoebe? Are you in there? We have visitors!"
Two teenagers opened the door. One looked wide-eyed and curious, while the other hid slightly behind the other.
"Q!" the blonde girl said brightly. When her eyes fell on Imogen, however, she gasped and dropped into a clumsy curtsey. "Your Highness! Willow, come on, curtsey."
The other girl, Willow, also dropped into a curtsey. "Hello, Your Highness," she murmured.
"Hello," Imogen said, a little awkwardly. She had never been good with kids, even if the two girls were not as young as she'd expected. "Willow and Phoebe, right?"
"Yeah. I'm Willow, that's Phoebe," Phoebe said.
Victorie frowned. "Phoebe, don't confuse the princess."
"Fine. I'm Phoebe," Phoebe confessed.
Imogen couldn't help but smile. "Nice to meet you, Phoebe." These girls couldn't have been older than high school students. What kind of parent had the heart to kick their own child out of their home?
Maybe the same kind of parent who abandons their child to be raised at the palace and is never heard from again.
She sucked in a deep breath.
"Are you in high school?"
Willow nodded solemnly. "We are," Phoebe said. "I'm going into sophomore year next year, and Willow's a rising freshman."
"Phoebe's actually very interested in psychology," Victorie supplied from beside the door.
Phoebe nodded. "Yeah! I want to study it at university. Victorie has been helping me research different university programs."
"That's great." And certainly very early, too, but she was glad to see that the staff at Stonewall Shelters were helping their charges have a better future. "What about you?" she asked Willow.
Her voice was quieter. "I don't really want to go to university. But I want to publish some of my writing, in the future."
"Willow loves fantasy," Phoebe added.
Willow flushed red. "I, uh, I do, but—"
"Willow's taste in books is great," Quentin affirmed, and Willow relaxed. "We'll all be first in line to buy her novels when they come out."
Though Quentin couldn't have visited the Angeles shelter very often, Imogen was surprised to see how comfortable Willow and Phoebe were around him, and Victorie. It was like a small family, and she was the intruder, out-of-place in the comforts of the room. Still, Willow and Phoebe were extremely polite, and she left the room with high spirits but sad thoughts at the back of her head.
"They seem… happy," she commented, once they were out in the hallway—as happy as one could be in their situation.
"That's our goal, Your Highness." Quentin's eyes were also sad, but he offered her a smile. "They've been through a lot. We try our best to make Stonewall Shelters a safe space for them. A large part of that is making sure that they'll be able to attend school or find jobs as they grow older, so they can take care of themselves."
It was jarring to realize that these shelters were still necessary in Illéa, even after numerous legal efforts to improve the lives of the LGBTQ+ community. No major legislation had been passed since her grandfather's reign, though, and she wondered if she and her father should be looking more into these issues.
"How many people are there in total?" she asked. "At the different Stonewall Shelter locations."
"Just over forty."
He had directly helped the lives of over forty people. She took a moment to digest this information, realizing that out of her Selected, some candidates had the potential to become proactive rulers. But that wasn't necessarily the kind of person she wanted by her side.
"That's with only five shelters in place," he said. "I hope to have multiple in each province one day, so we can help more kids, but finding people to take care of the shelters is a long and difficult process."
Imogen had always considered her position important, and she knew that what she was doing impacted the country. But compared to someone like Quentin, who was able to witness firsthand the effects of his own work…
There was more to be done to live up to her title. She was still a long way from being the future ruler that the nation deserved, but she knew she would be there soon.
"Your Highness…" Quentin hesitated. "There's something else you should know. Some of the men are not very happy about Colin's return."
Sighing, she admitted, "I expected as much."
"Most consider it unfair," Quentin continued. "I just thought you might want to know. The Men's Room has been tense lately."
"What do you think?"
"Personally, I'm not very concerned by it," he said calmly. "What you do with the Selection is wholly up to you. But you deserve to know what your Selected are saying."
They rejoined Helena near the entrance, and the cameramen took a few last photos.
"Thank you for showing me around," Imogen said to them as they left the building. "And for what you do for these people. For what it's worth, I think it's commendable."
"Thank you, Your Highness." Quentin's eyes shone. "We're just doing what we can to change the world."
What am I doing to change the world?
Would she go down in history as a great queen, or someone who had never been good enough?
Before dinner, Imogen returned to the comfort of her room, the week's events weighing heavily on her mind. She sat on the edge of her bed with a sigh, burying her head in her hands.
Renee looked up. "Did you have a nice date, Your Highness?"
Imogen nodded.
"That's good. Oh, something was delivered for you while you were gone."
She instantly sat up straight, remembering the letter that had been sent to Terrence. "What?"
"I placed it on your desk."
From her position, she could make out the outline of something on her desk. Her blood ran cold as she recognized the colors and text.
It was the same magazine article that Vasilios had shown her.
"Who sent it?" she managed to get out through gritted teeth. She already knew the answer.
"The Fortescue boy—"
"Trash it."
Renee blinked. "O-okay. Your Highness, are you—"
"Look, Renee. Vasilios Fortescue and I do not get along, and we never will." She took a deep breath, trying to calm her anger, but seeing the magazine out of the corner of her eye brought a fresh wave of flames to her face. "If he ever tries to send something else, don't let me see it. I don't want anything to do with him."
"Understood, Your Highness."
"Leave. And tell my family that I won't join them for dinner."
Renee scurried out of the room, leaving Imogen alone. Even with the magazine nestled safely in her trashcan, she couldn't get the image out of her head.
What did Madeline Barnett have that she didn't? When had the two met? Who had made the first move? Did she make August happy? Was August happier without Imogen?
Sometime later—probably after dinner, but she had lost track of the time—she heard a knock on her door. "Imogen?" Eden called. "Are you okay?"
The knob turned, but she knew that it was no use. She had locked the door from the inside.
"Imogen," Eden implored.
"I'm fine."
She wasn't sure if her voice had carried all the way to the door, but then she heard a sigh. "Get some rest, okay?"
"Okay."
"I love you."
The sound of footsteps got quieter, and she was alone again. But instead of appreciating the silence, like she usually did, it only left empty air for the loud thoughts in her head to fill. Had it really been weeks since they had broken up and she had seen him in person?
Their one-year anniversary was coming up. If they were still together…
They weren't. She couldn't think that way.
She had no idea how long she stayed in there, waiting for her thoughts to calm down, but by the time the sky was fully dark and the only light-source was her bedside lamp, she still couldn't fall asleep. She needed to do something.
Throwing on a sweater over her previous outfit, she left her room. A lone security guard was standing at the edge of the hallway. "I need to take a walk," she told him. "I won't be long."
"Alright. Would you like someone to accompany—"
"No, thank you." Imogen turned and walked off, wanting to be as far away from her room as possible. Despite the quiet and dimness of the corridors, she felt wide awake. Sleep would not come easily tonight.
She wandered along the familiar halls, eyes tracing the gilded frames of paintings hanging from the wall, then the arches along the ceiling, her feet taking her out of the royal wing. The gardens would be nice at this hour, she knew, but she wasn't quite sure where she wanted to go. She followed the path that would lead her to the gardens' entrance, only pausing to tell the guards along the way where she was going, but when she rounded the corner to the Men's Room, she realized she wasn't alone.
The light from the wall illuminated James Zheng's face, bouncing off his sharp jawline. He paused in the middle of the hallway. Both of his hands were full.
"Sir James?"
He gulped. "Your Highness?"
What was he doing, walking about at this hour? Imogen was pretty sure that the Selected had a midnight curfew, or were generally discouraged from wandering at night. He was wearing a pastel T-shirt, which looked like it had been tie-dyed, and loose gray sweatpants. It was the most casual she had ever seen him—or any of her Selected.
"Why are you outside your room?" she questioned, coming closer.
It was then that she recognized the strange objects in his hands, and the delicious smell in the air: two containers of instant cup noodles. He ducked his head sheepishly. "I was going to the Men's Room. There's a hot water kettle there… I couldn't sleep and I wanted some ramen."
She frowned. "Do the guards let you?" How had he snuck past the hallway guards while carrying instant noodles?
"Uh, yeah." He nodded nervously. "I've done it a few times. I think the night shift guards are familiar with me now."
This was not an encounter she had expected to have with any of her Selected, but she supposed she couldn't grudge him for being out and about when she was doing the exact same. As if reading her mind, he looked like he was about to ask her as well, though he was clearly hesitant.
James cleared his throat. "Would you… Like a cup?"
As the words left his mouth, Imogen realized the emptiness of her stomach, and how long it had been since her last meal. When was the last time she had enjoyed a cup of instant noodles in all its simplistic glory? From the look of the packaging, it was a spicy flavor, too.
"Are you sure? They're your instant noodles," she said, her willpower already abandoning her.
He held out his hands; it was a miracle he hadn't managed to spill his ramen already. "I have two cups, anyways."
The temptation was too much to resist. "Then I'd love to have one," she admitted. As she closed the distance between them, he carefully passed a cup to her. It was warm to the touch, and she held onto it firmly, careful not to burn herself.
Though, how did James maintain his physique if he ate two cups of instant noodles every night?
"I…" He cleared his throat again, avoiding her gaze. "I was going to return to my room to eat them, so…"
His unspoken question hung in the air as Imogen considered her options. Now that she had her noodles, she could leave and return to her room, eating her midnight snack in the loneliness of her bedroom. But she could also follow James and have someone to share the meal with.
He'd given her a cup of instant noodles. It was the least she could do.
"I'll follow you," she decided.
After a moment of silence, where he blinked rapidly, he nodded. "Okay."
They trekked through the halls in the direction of the Selected rooms. Imogen could've sworn the guards were giving her weird looks as she walked by. It must have looked suspicious: the princess and a Selected in the dead of the night, heading to a Selected's bedroom.
Hopefully, they had seen the instant noodles in her hands, although that wouldn't make things any easier to explain. How would the nobles react if they found out? She couldn't imagine them being the biggest fans of the lab technician from a Columbian university.
James's room was at the end of one of the floors and diagonally across from Vikram's. Inside the room, a desk lamp was turned on. In the low, warm lighting, she could see that he had added a slight personal touch to the room. There were pretty paintings hanging from the white wall, and a small wooden easel in the corner.
He gestured for her to take the chair and pulled out a stool for himself. Imogen took a seat. "Are those paintings yours?"
"Uh, yes. I painted them." He scratched the back of his neck. "Do you… like them?"
"They're nice."
He breathed a sigh of what sounded like relief. "Thank you."
The conversation died out there. Not knowing what to say, Imogen ate her noodles as James quietly did the same.
When she was almost finished, James's voice caught her off guard. "Did you have dinner?"
"Oh, yes." The cup in front of her definitely wasn't the only food she'd had since lunch. "I had dinner by myself."
Thankfully, he didn't press the matter further. He nodded, looking somewhat placated with a soft smile on his face.
They still didn't speak much, but they didn't really need to. As Imogen finished the last of her soup, she wondered what was warmer: the once-steaming bowl of instant noodles, or James Zheng's smile in the dim light.
On today's episode of the Fool's Gold cooking show, also known as Food's Good: I. Want. Instant. Noodles.
Anyways, how are you all doing on this fine Saturday? This chapter is a loooong one, and I could have split it up, but I ultimately decided not to hehe so enjoy! How'd you feel about the breakfast, and all the drama with Colin? The date with Quentin? The midnight ramen run-in with James?
Until next time!
—Rysa