Because I hated Chapter 11 so much, I forgot I actually like this fic as a whole. I reread most of it last week for *bonus content reasons*. I'd plot it a lot differently if I was starting over, but obviously I am not going to do that. Enjoy Chapter 12!

My position as queen provided me with some valuable life skills: I was extremely good at putting on a brave face in times of adversity. Of course, not everyone would consider "experiencing romantic feelings" and adversity to be one and the same, but I sure did, especially when those feelings were overpowering and directed at Kile Woodwork, who had already walked away from me twice and would presumably have no trouble doing so again.

After I ditched Kile at the pool and left very promising kiss behind, I locked myself in my room to try sorting it all out in my head. I made disappointingly little progress. No matter how I tried to spin it, two core tenets always remained the same: it would never work, and I could never breathe a word of this. To anyone.

These were not new feelings that had developed within the last week of my life. Now that I was actually being honest with myself, that was crystal clear. This was a flickering flame that burned brighter every time he touched me until it became the veritable inferno was now.

If I'd had any common sense, I would have asked him—begged him, even—to stay the first time around, but no. I'd pushed him away, made things worse like sabotaging my own life had been my plan the whole time. I couldn't take that back. I'd waited too long, tricked myself into feeling nothing, started this entire "arrangement" based on us meaning nothing to each other. And now I wanted everything.

I was so fucking stupid.

But I was also the queen.

I straightened up, wiped the tears on the back of my hand. Dwelling on the problem would not help me find a solution. I had to be practical. I had to get this under control.

One more day. I'd messed things up by running away, and Kile presumably had concerns, but I only had to hold it together for one more day. We could part ways as friends, and once he was well and truly gone, I could crumble as I saw fit.

It would hurt. It already hurt. But I had made this bed, more of a grave, really, one I kept digging deeper and deeper, and now I had to lie in it. What I wanted—him, forever by my side—was second to what was actually best for both of us. It wouldn't be fair or worth it to put him in that position, asking him to consider me. Even though we'd never discussed it in plain words, I already knew exactly where I stood with him.

Rebound. Distraction. A stop along the way.

There was my pride to consider as well. I couldn't bear it, to reach out and get shot down—however gently and kindly—again. It was better to keep this to myself and get through it, by whatever means necessary.

So the next day, I avoided Kile by whatever means necessary. We'd come full circle: hiding from him, spending as much time with him as humanly possible, and now hiding from him once again. I couldn't face him or risk having to explain my sudden departure. There was too much danger that I'd lose control and spill all the things he didn't want to hear.

I kept busy; it wasn't hard. I'd largely neglected my paperwork for the week, and there were plenty of last-minute party details to attend to. I ran around completing miscellaneous tasks at lightning speed without talking to anyone. I even skipped out on greeting my Elite when they first arrived, claiming it would be more dramatic and therefore better to film our reunion live on the Report. I made the excuses I needed to and kept to myself.

It wasn't my best work. I wasn't proud of it. But it was what I had to do.

"You look very sophisticated," Osten commented, waiting in the wings with me. The Elite and Gavril were already onstage, but the queen and prince were expected to make a dramatic entrance.

It actually seemed like he meant it. Even if he didn't, I wasn't going to let a comment on my appearance of all things shake me when I had so many other things to concern myself with. I knew I looked good in the glamorous silver dress I'd picked out for the party. "You look decent too. Are you…actually taking this seriously?"

After so many years of pranks and mischief, I'd been conditioned into thinking the worst of Osten automatically, but so far it seemed like he had no intention of using his stint on the Report for evil.

He nodded earnestly. "Of course. This could be my big break!"

"You're a prince. You don't need a big break if you want to be on TV," I reminded him.

He shrugged. "I'd rather earn it by merit than my title. I want to do well."

"Osten, I'm really proud of you," I marveled. He actually sounded sincere. Maybe he really was maturing. "You're actually growing up! I think you're ready to have a Selection!"

He made a face. "Why, because yours went so well?"

I swatted at him even though he made a decent point. My Selection made a case for ending the practice entirely. "Don't start! You were being so nice for a minute there!"

"You should have known it wouldn't last. Are you ready to go on?"

It wasn't as if I had a choice. The countdown to "on air" had almost run out, and the show had to go on. Osten and I pushed through the curtain to uproarious applause, led by our immediate family in the front row.

I exhaled. Oddly, I felt more in control with all the eyes and cameras on me. The Report was predictable, scripted and rehearsed. Years of repressed emotions punching me in the face? Not so much. A television appearance was much more my style.

Gavril introduced me first, then Osten, even though the audience presumably and hopefully already knew who we were. I sat opposite Gavril, but my attention was stuck on the six gentlemen at the back of the stage, fidgeting in their seats as we got the pleasantries out of the way. The former Elite were all dressed in matching black suits, but they each had a boutonniere made from their province flower, a rose for Belcourt, a violet for Sota, and so on. All of them were grinning, but Kile's expression looked a bit stiffer than the rest. I wouldn't begrudge him that; he had every right to be confused by last night's quick exit. I just couldn't explain it to him. I didn't even want to think about it anymore.

I'd made an effort to keep contact with all the Elite over the years, but this was the first time I'd seen all six of them in the same room since the Selection. Overwhelmed, I acted without thinking, pulling Hale out of his chair and into a hug. Ean was next in line, then Gunner, then Fox, then Kile—I faltered a little on that one but had enough momentum to keep going—and finally, Henri. A flash of gold caught my eye as he stepped back from the hug. I gasped and grabbed his hand. "Henri! You got married?"

Henri's grin widened, radiating pure sunshine. "Yes! This week! We couldn't wait any longer!"

The camera searched for Henri's fiancée-now-wife in the studio audience; our hosts scolded me thoroughly. "Sit back down, Your Majesty! We're going to do this in an orderly fashion!" Gavril insisted

"Let us ask the questions!" Osten chimed in.

I stepped back and let them take over. Since I'd unwittingly spoiled part of Henri's life update, he got the first interview of the six. Even after five years, it felt odd to see Henri without Erik, his translator, by his side, but Henri had kept up with his English lessons since he left the palace. That was actually how he'd met his wife, Caroline; she was an English tutor in Sota, and he signed up for one of his classes shortly after the Selection ended. The rest was history.

I felt no bitterness towards Henri and his wife, only surprise and perhaps a touch of jealousy. Anyone with eyes could see how much they loved each other; I couldn't help wishing I could get a taste of that for myself. I was so unsatisfied and frustrated with my life as it was; it was only natural to long for Henri and Caroline's obvious marital bliss, not to mention access to homemade Finnish pastries.

It was only natural to think of Kile, but I blocked that out as best I could.

Osten called Gunner up next. It was worth noting that so far, my brother had genuinely been on his best behavior. The professionalism made him almost unrecognizable. I was genuinely impressed by his performance. It occurred to me that he may have been lulling me into a false sense of security for a future prank, but I tried giving him the benefit of the doubt.

That said, if the opportunity ever arose, I was absolutely going to make him sign an NDA.

Unsurprisingly, there was less to say about Gunner. He'd been the first of the Elite to go, and he'd really only made it past my ruthless slashing of suitors because he once wrote me an amusing poem. The country hadn't been as invested in him, and he and I had never been close. We'd kissed once, but it had been private and entirely unremarkable.

Gunner had definitely grown from the lanky teenager he'd been in the Selection. He wasn't just taller, but more confident, sure of himself in a way you could tell by just looking at him. These days, Gunner was in law school and doing quite well, apparently. Until now, live on the Report, he had effectively dodged the spotlight, but it seemed he didn't mind stepping back into it for one night only.

On the other hand, Hale and Ean—they did their interview together—had embraced life in the spotlight since the Selection. Hale's fashion designs were wildly popular now; I had a number of them in my own closet. Ean kept busying modeling said designs—it was perhaps not quite as luxurious as his original career plan of being the prince consort, but the fact that he was actually in love with Hale had to help.

Their wedding, a few years ago, had caused quite a stir. Much of the attention was positive—obviously Hale Garner's wedding was the fashion event of the century—but there were a number of critics, too. On more than one occasion, I made a point of defending them, and with the public support of the crown, those critics quieted down shortly. These days, Hale and Ean were clearly happier than ever. My only complaint with them was that they insisted on living in Ean's home province of Hansport, on the opposite side of the country.

Fox lived on the other side of the country too, but I still saw more frequently than most of the others. He and his girlfriend, a sweet girl named Kendra who shared his love of the ocean, were always travelling, hopping from island to island and beach to beach, making time to stop in Angeles in between.

Fox was just as sincere and energetic as he'd been during the Selection. We hadn't parted on the best of terms—he'd really loved me, or at least, the idea of me, and he was hurt when I sent him home. It was good to see how pleased he was with his lot in life now.

Once again, jealousy flashed through me. I pushed it aside; it was time for Kile's interview.

Osten began with his signature move: being obnoxious. He leaned forward with the kind of smile that almost always meant trouble. I cringed inwardly. So far, it seemed my brother genuinely had the crown's best interests at heart, but I refused to fully trust him, especially with this. "Welcome back, Kile! I haven't seen you in…wow, it's been a long time!"

"What was it, like an hour, this time?" Kile asked dryly. There was a set to his jaw I didn't recognize. "I think everyone knows I've been here all week, Your Highness."

"What are you talking about? Obviously that was a very well-kept secret!" Osten retorted, ignoring that Kile had appeared on last week's Report as well. At the time, I'd been on poor terms with him, but it still felt burned into my brain. "Sir Kile, you were a fan favorite in the Selection. I personally know several people who were hospitalized when they found out you did not marry my sister. What have you been up to since then?"

Kile grimaced; I suspected I was making a similar distorted face. For both of us, for different reasons, that was a sensitive subject. He recovered quickly, adjusting his gray-and-blue necktie just for something to do with his hands. "Immediately following the Selection, the queen generously directed me to an architectural position in Bonita."

I frowned. Kile never called me the queen. The Royal Pain, sure, my actual name, mostly, Your Majesty when he was trying to irritate me. The queen sounded wrong coming from his mouth.

It was far from my biggest concern at the moment, but it still bothered me. Uncharitably, I assumed that was exactly what he was going for.

"—and I learned a lot from that role," Kile went on. Wait, learned? Past tense? "I'm between jobs right now—for personal reasons—but I am, of course, very grateful for the opportunity."

Between jobs?

Personal reasons?

What in the hell?

It was a good thing I didn't need to speak on camera. I dug my nails into the arm of my chair, irritated on instinct. Why hadn't he told me? I'd asked. I'd wanted to know. What kind of game was he playing here? Why would he avoid the question with me, then tell the whole world he was unemployed live on the Report?

I took a deep breath and let it out. If I thought about it, it did make sense. Kile and I weren't close; he had no obligation to tell me anything about his life. Maybe he hadn't wanted to tell me the job I got him wasn't going well anymore. Maybe after finding out he was going to be an uncle, he'd decided he wanted to spend more time with his family. If that was the case, considering Kaden and Josie were still taking measures to keep their pregnancy a secret, I could even understand why he might phrase his statement so vaguely.

Still, I was not pleased. It felt like he'd made a fool out of me.

Osten didn't pry—I almost wished he would. Kile answered a couple questions and told a couple stories. I tensed when the subject of his love life was broached, but he just brushed it off, thankfully. Obviously I wouldn't have wanted him to mention our week-long fling or Alice.

I was only just starting to relax again when Gavril turned on me. "So, Your Majesty, it seems your Elite have all done very well for themselves. What about you? We all know you've been very successful in your career, of course, but are there any romantic prospects on your horizon?"

It was a perfectly reasonable question, given the nature of the other interviews, but I flinched. At no fault of his own, Gavril had stumbled onto another sensitive subject. One more deep breath, one more exhale, and I gave an answer with the poise and wisdom expected of the queen. "Oh, don't be ridiculous! I've been single since the Selection, Gavril. It turns out I'm not so good at romance when it's not right under my nose."

My tone was breezy and light, the perfect deflection. Based on that answer, you wouldn't think it bothered me at all. Gavril obviously bought it; he went on to ask about some of my recent political endeavors. That was the right kind of question, exactly what I wanted to talk about, but for some reason, my gaze kept drifting back to the neat line of Elite, to Kile specifically, brow furrowed and a too-flat expression I didn't like at all.