"Evander Schreave is the kind of boy who makes smart girls do stupid things," Brenna stated plainly, her hands busily fixing pearls into the set waves she'd just finished styling around my face. They complimented the deep blue silk of my gown, with straps that fell off the shoulder, and a full, draping skirt that flowed like water from my waist, which was cinched in with the most severe undergarments in my wardrobe.

This would be a historic episode of the Report, and I had my reasons for wanting to look striking.

Tonight, the 35 participants of Prince Evander's Selection would be announced live to the whole of Illéa, and the competition was set to be unlike anything the country had seen before.

Because Brenna was right, Evander Schreave was a very particular kind of boy; handsome, refined, educated, funny. Objectively, there was nothing to dislike about him. He was an active listener, always looking you in the eye when you spoke to him, and remembering unexpected details about the people he encountered. Even when he was off-duty, he had this effortless, charming way of engaging with people around the palace.

It was a right of passage amongst the household and staff to develop a bit of a crush on him, assuming you were that way inclined.

The trouble with Evander was that he knew he had this effect on people, but didn't adjust his behaviour accordingly. He seemed to have no problem whatsoever with people falling over themselves to win his approval. It was a potentially troubling trait to witness in the heir to the throne.

Brenna wasn't exactly my maid; she was the maid assigned to the Woodwork household and our family rooms on the third floor. I'd heard the Queen insisting that mom allow a larger team of staff to attend us, but Brenna was more than enough. Besides, we'd grown up together in the palace, so her presence felt more like that of a friend than a maid. She may have been the Woodwork attendant, but she was my Brenna.

Growing up in a palace was a very odd experience when you weren't royal, on that point (and very few others) my brother Asher and I were in agreement. We were othered by our peers at school, but we also knew that we were different from the King and Queen's children, even if we did live on the same floor as them. Their youngest children, Selene and Ellis, felt a little more real, perhaps because they'd been mine and Asher's playmates growing up. However, now that we were older, even they felt more distant, regal, untouchable.

Our family held no titles, unless 'royal favourites' counted. I hadn't truly understood my mom's friendship with Queen America until three weeks prior, when Brenna had wheeled a small television into our family parlour with a stack of tapes from King Maxon's Selection. It was uncomfortable to think of our mother competing for the King's affection, and I was relieved when I felt no palpable romantic chemistry between the two of them. It was surreal to watch, because in a way, it was my parents' love story too, although there was no footage of them interacting. Occasionally mom pointed out dad in the background, unrecognisable in his old guard's uniform. Their caning was censored, and for that I was grateful; I'd seen their scars, and I really didn't need to see the raw footage. The only part that mom drew our attention to was Queen America loudly protesting their punishment, and after seeing that, I had a new appreciation for my parents' loyalty to her.

I also had a new appreciation for King Maxon. Although he had 35 women vying for him, he came across incredibly sweet. It felt an odd way to describe the now-King, but it was true. He never seemed to take advantage, or play the Selected off against one another. He seemed to genuinely be searching for a life partner, and I respected him for that. It was a rare quality in a 19 year old boy.

At first I assumed that was why they'd waited until Evander was 21 before making plans for his Selection, however dad alluded to the decision being more political. This made sense too; there was fresh unrest in Illéa. The dissolution of the castes had been handled optimistically at best, and clumsily at worst. Now that August Illéa's son Valen had stepped into the political ring and made comments alluding to a constitutional monarchy, there had been riots in a number of the provinces that were less enthusiastic about the Schreave family's reign.

So it appeared that the Selection was something of a distraction, a reminder to the people that the royal family was built on generations of 'normal' Illéan girls being elevated to the position of princess. Something to fill news feeds and kindle a sense of optimism and excitement.

However, I'd been neither optimistic nor excited when dad forewarned us of Evander's Selection during our viewing of the tapes.

Later that afternoon (and with a little coercion) his butler facilitated our meeting in the movie theatre, as he so often did. When Evander had slipped into the room, closing the door carefully behind him, I immediately stormed up and pushed a hand forcefully to his broad chest, "A Selection? Are you kidding me? You could have warned me!"

His hair fell into his eyes when I jostled him, red like his mother's, but lightened by the sun, "It happened quickly. It was this or an arranged marriage, Audie. Do I get a chance to explain?"

I stepped back with a huff, dropping into one of the theatre seats with both my arms and my legs crossed, "One chance. You get one chance, your highness."

Evander pushed his hair back into place, brown eyes raised to the dark ceiling, dotted with pinprick lights that looked like stars, "My father will retire soon. It's my reign that's at risk, so it falls on me to do something that both distracts the public and strengthens my position; marriage, by way of a Selection. I figured that if I championed the Selection over a political match, we might stand a chance, however slight it may be."

It sounded like he'd rehearsed what he was going to say, like the speeches he occasionally made on the Report. Charismatic, persuasive, but not entirely genuine. I narrowed my eyes, "You're heir to the throne, you're smart, and you hold all of the cards. You could have found a way out of this, you could have found another solution-"

"And what exactly would that have been, Aurelia?" Evander shot back, meeting my hardened stare, "Because I can't think of one, and as much as I care about you, my commitment to my family and my position has to come first."

I pressed my lips tightly together, willing myself not to cry in the semi-darkness. My voice sounded ragged when I finally spoke, "Fine. You said your grandfather rigged your dad's Selection, that most of the candidates were handpicked, so make me one of the Selected. You can have it both ways."

He shook his head, leaning his shoulder against the fabric-draped wall, "My dad is nothing like his father; he won't go for that. The lottery will have to be real this time, just vetted."

Tears burned the back of my throat, "He'd help you if you told him you cared about me."

"Aurelia," he sighed, peeling away from the wall and kneeling in front of me, folding my hands within his, "It would look bad if the Selected from Angeles just happened to be a girl who I'd grown up with, who lived down the hallway from me-"

"People might find it romantic," I pleaded, my eyes softening. Beseeching.

"Or too convenient," Evander countered, squeezing my hands, "But for all we know, your name will be drawn."

I pulled my hands sharply from his grasp, "But far more likely, it won't. Why won't you fight for me?"

He rolled his eyes, drawing himself back up to his full (considerable) height, "Because right now, Audie, I'm too busy fighting for my country."

I huffed a sigh, "That's not fair. I would never ask you to stop fighting for your country—you know that. I just can't throw away the past year and-"

"Fine," Evander conceded, offering me his hand and pulling me to my feet alongside him once I warily took it, "I will talk to my father about the possibility. I will try, but you know that I can't make you promises, Aurelia. I've always been upfront about that."

I drew a slow breath and touched my hand to his chest, tenderly this time, "And I've always appreciated your candor. It's enough to know that whatever we have is worth trying to save."

King Maxon seemed so earnest, so romantic in the footage from his Selection. When the final tape finished and Brenna began to wheel the television from the room, she murmured, "I can't imagine Prince Evander's Selection will be such a gracious affair."

Neither Asher nor our parents pulled her up on this comment. Despite our loyalty to the royal family, there was no denying that Evander had developed something of a reputation in his later teens.

But the past year and a half, ever since I'd turned 18, he'd been mine.

That night, after the tapes and dad's forewarning and the secret meeting in the movie theatre, I lay in bed recounting everything that had happened between me and Evander. I'd always watched him with quiet intrigue; whilst the two youngest royals had been our childhood friends, their two older brothers (although closer in age to Asher and I) had always seemed mature beyond their years. Ever since he was a boy, Evander had carried the weight of the crown on his shoulders, never naive to stresses that came with it. The second born prince, Sylas, appeared keenly attuned to his brother's needs. Although he bore less responsibility, everyday he chose to be at his brother's side, assuring that Evander never felt isolated in his position as heir to the throne.

Sylas looked so much like King Maxon. Sometimes, when he stood just behind Evander's right shoulder, it looked as if it were actually their father keeping watch over him.

It was only at my 18th birthday party that I finally felt seen by the senior princes. Mom had involved the Queen in planning a beautiful party spilling out of a pristine white linen marquee in the gardens, and with royal involvement, it was soon elevated to an official palace event. Brenna had been instructed by the Queen to recruit two other maids to assist with my birthday outfits, hair and makeup. I fondly remembered sitting at the parlour table with her, a half dozen sketches of dresses spread in front of us, dizzy with the possibilities. The Queen had encouraged me to 'go wild' and have a week's worth of dresses made. Usually mom would have objected to the excess, but she wasn't going to fight with her best friend over this. Princess Selene was only 13 at the time, and the Queen seemed to enjoy having a slightly older daughter-figure to dote on.

I still treasured those gowns, and wore them as often as I could justify.

The night of my party I'd worn a light, gauzy ball gown that matched the airy feel of the marquee. Mom said I looked like a fairy, but I felt more adult than that. Although the skirt was a puffy, gauzy cloud, the bodice was fitted through my waist, sleeveless, with as daring of a neckline as was appropriate for a palace birthday party.

I wore my hair loose, the way my mother favoured it, styled only with wispy white feathers.

That was the first thing Evander said to me, after his arrival at the party was announced and he asked me for the honour of his first dance. He smiled fondly, leaning in with an unexpected familiarity and whispered, "You're the picture of your mother tonight."

He laughed at the face I pulled, and quickly followed it up with, "It's a compliment, really. You ought to see the photos of our parents together when they were young. Your mother is—was—beautiful."

I glanced at my mother, stood to the side of the dance floor, her own blonde hair half braided up. She'd always possessed a quality that I rarely saw in other women around the palace; a sense of freedom, an unrefined edge. Even tonight, her hair was fluffy and she wore torn ribbons woven into the braided pieces.

"Yes, she really is," I agreed, a warmth spreading through me at the reminder of how lucky I was to have her, "In so many ways."

"I'm sure the similarities go beyond appearances," he added with a knowing smile, and although it wasn't a question, there was a clear curiosity within the statement.

I shrugged as we danced, smirking at the notion, "I suppose that depends what you've heard about my mother."

Evander chuckled, shaking his head, "Oh, I've heard a great deal about her. My mother seldom stops talking about her treasured friend Ms Marlee."

Thankfully, conversation soon moved on from our mothers. That night was when I began to understand him. Yes, our families had always been close, but sometimes our interactions felt obligatory; always polite, never particularly enthusiastic. Asher and I respected that the older princes were incredibly busy. Even when we were all small, we never saw them playing—they were always occupied with different classes and tutors, so we never took the distance between us personally.

But after that first dance at my 18th birthday party, there was a shift. Given the party had become an official event, it had only been proper for the heir to the throne to ask the person being celebrated to join him for his first dance of the night, but he had no obligation to keep dancing with me.

And yet he did, dance after dance, until the guests began to peel away and we found ourselves disappearing into the gardens together.

He'd also had no obligation to kiss me, and yet he did. Kiss after kiss.

I'd assumed the novelty of our entanglement would soon wear off, and that my night of stolen kisses with the future king would be a story I'd someday share with my disbelieving grandchildren. I'd heard numerous accounts of Evander being seen with different maids and lesser nobles; he could have any girl he wanted, for however long he desired.

And yet, he kept wanting me.

I'd always known that his eventual marriage would likely be a state affair, and we didn't want to complicate the close bond between our parents, so we chose to keep our relationship a secret. Although we'd agreed not to use words like 'love', or to make things difficult by talking about the future, we'd often find ourselves talking about what our lives could look like if they remained entwined. He never promised me a crown, or that he'd make me his queen, but we'd laugh about how happy our parents would be if we ended up together, or we'd joke about baby names, and where our make-believe family would vacation someday.

Perhaps he hadn't offered me the world on a string, but I believed I meant enough to him that if he did someday end things, he would do so gently—and my life would be richer for having had him in it.

I was on tenterhooks until the day the Selected were due to be announced on the Report. My family had sensed my unease, and mom and Asher were even bold enough to ask whether I'd entered myself, but I brushed off their questions and mostly kept to myself for the two week application period.

Evander was constantly busy with the preparations, but three days after our meeting in the movie theatre, I returned from a quiet family dinner to find a small velvet box on my pillow. I'd been telling myself that I couldn't get my hopes up, that King Maxon wouldn't allow Evander to handpick any of the Selected, so I guarded my heart as I opened the box.

I needn't have. Nestled inside was a beautiful gold pendant in the shape of a swan. Turning it over in my trembling fingers, I felt a tiny hinge, and discovered that the wing opened like a door. Set amongst the swan's delicate feathers was a sapphire and a pearl; his birthstone, and mine.

Brenna had found gold earrings shaped like feathers and a pair of pointed golden heels to match my swan pendant. I'd told her it was a gift, but she didn't know who it was from, and she respected my privacy far too much to pry.

She didn't know about the sapphire and pearl hidden beneath the swan's tiny wing either, nor that I'd specifically chosen my dress and hair to match them—but he'd know.

Brenna stood me in front of the full length mirror, nipping away a couple of invisible loose threads with her tiny sewing scissors, "God only knows why they've chosen to give that boy a Selection—it will end in tears. Half the maids swear up and down that he's either kissed them or made an invitation."

I brushed my hands down my skirts, trying to soothe my nerves with the cool feeling of the silk, "You're the one who always says to take palace gossip with a grain of salt."

Brenna shrugged as she packed away her sewing box, "Regardless, I'm calling it now, he is not a good candidate for a Selection. I don't envy the girls who've been chosen, not one bit."

I knew there was a thread of truth in her statement, but I couldn't focus on that. Evander's marriage was always going to be a matter of a Selection, or political advancement. There was no political advantage to him marrying me, but if we could get the public to root for us during the Selection…

"There, perfection," Brenna announced, looking over my shoulder into the mirror with her hands placed gently on my shoulders, "At least I can focus on you in the background of the Report instead of this mess the Prince has gotten himself into."

One and the same, Brenna, I thought to myself, they are one and the same.