The Heir (The Selection #4)

“You sound positively thrilled,” May teased, poking me.

I sighed, then looked pointedly at Mom. “You might as well know, this isn’t completely about me.”

“What do you mean, honey?” Miss Lucy asked, setting her pile of papers on her lap, looking between Mom and me with concern.

“Of course we’re hoping Eadlyn will find someone worthy of settling down with,” Mom began shrewdly. “But as it happens, this is coming at a time when we were in need of a plan to calm the unrest over the castes.”

“Ames!” May said. “Your daughter is a decoy?”

“No!”

“Yes,” I muttered. Aunt May rubbed my back, and it made me feel so much better to have her there.

“Sooner or later, we would have needed to look at suitors, and this isn’t binding. Eadlyn has an agreement with Maxon that if she doesn’t fall in love, then the whole thing is off. However, yes, Eadlyn is doing her job as a member of the royal family by creating a little . . . diversion while the population cools down and we investigate what more we could do. And, might I add, it’s working.”

“It is?” I asked.

“Haven’t you looked at the papers? You’re the center of everything right now. Local papers are interviewing their candidates, and some provinces are holding parties, hoping their suitor will be the winner. Magazines are talking about possible front-runners, and I saw a segment on the news last night about a few girls who were forming fan clubs and wearing shirts with the names of their favorites plastered all over them. The Selection has consumed the entire country.”

“It’s true,” Miss Marlee confirmed. “Kile living in the palace is no longer a secret.”

“Have they also discovered he has no interest in participating?” I asked, more irritation in my voice than I intended. Miss Marlee wasn’t to blame for this whole debacle.

“No,” she answered with a laugh. “Again, though, that has nothing to do with you.”

I smiled back. “Miss Marlee, you heard Mom. He doesn’t need to worry. I think Kile and I already know we wouldn’t be that great of a match, and there’s a chance I’ll walk away from this without a fiancé anyway.” A one hundred percent chance, to be more accurate. “Don’t worry about him hurting my feelings, because I’m just seeing how it goes,” I replied, as if this was normal, bringing in a slew of boys for me to pick from. “I’m not upset.”

“You said it’s taken over everything,” May began, concerned. “Do you think it will last?”

“I think it’ll hold things off long enough for the people to forget some of the unhappiness that’s been so prevalent lately and for us to come up with a way to address issues if they pop up again.” Mom sounded confident.

“When they pop up,” I corrected. “My life might be exciting for a while, but eventually people will start worrying about themselves again.” I went back to looking at the pictures, almost pitying these boys. They had no chance of winning and no idea they were part of a public distraction.

“This is strange,” I said, picking up one of the applications. “I don’t want to be judgmental, but look at this. I caught three different spelling mistakes on this one.”

Mom took the form. “It’s possible he was nervous.”

“Or an idiot,” I offered.

May chuckled.

“Don’t be so harsh, sweetie. It’s scary on their end, too.” Mom handed me the form, and I clipped it back to a picture of a boy with a very innocent face and a head full of wild blond curls.

“Wait, are you scared?” Aunt May asked, worry on my behalf coating her voice.

“No, of course not.”

Her expression relaxed back into its normal, beautiful, carefree state. “Can’t imagine you being scared of anything.” She winked at me.

It was comforting that at least one of us thought so.

CHAPTER 9

WHEN THEY STARTED POURING IN, I fled to my room, sketching in the sunlight on my balcony. Too many boisterous laughs and overly enthusiastic greetings. I wondered how long that camaraderie would last. This was a competition, after all. I mentally added finding ways to pit them against one another to my to-do list.

“I think we should put my hair up, Neena. I want to look mature today.”

“Excellent choice, my lady.” She scrubbed at my nails. “Any thoughts on a dress?”

“I’m thinking evening gown. Black would do nicely.”

She chuckled. “Looking to scare them?”

I couldn’t hold back my sly smile. “Only a little.”

We giggled together, and I was glad to have her with me. I was going to need her soothing words and calming touches over the next few weeks.

After my hair was dry, we braided and knotted it up like a crown, which only made my tiara look better. I found the black dress I’d worn for a New Year’s Eve party last year. It was covered in lace and fitted to the knee before it flared out to the floor. An oval of skin was exposed across my back, and the tiny butterfly sleeves set low across my shoulders. I had to admit it looked even more beautiful in the sun than it did under candles.

My clock struck one, and I made my way downstairs. We had converted one of the libraries on the fourth floor into a Men’s Parlor so the Selected could gather and relax during their time in the palace. It was about the same size as the Women’s Room and had plenty of places to sit, lots of books, and two televisions.

I was heading to that area of the palace now. We had decided that the suitors would be brought out one at a time to greet me and then escorted to the Men’s Parlor to get to know one another.

I saw a cluster of people down the hallway, including my parents and General Leger, and made my way toward them, trying not to let my nerves show. Dad looked stunned and Mom covered her mouth as I approached.

“Eadlyn . . . you seem so grown up.” She sighed as she touched my cheek and shoulder and hair, not fixing anything, just checking.

“Probably because I am.”

She nodded to herself, tears in her eyes. “You look the part. I never really thought I passed for a queen, but you . . . wholly perfect.”

“Stop it, Mom. You’re completely adored. You and Dad brought peace to the country. I haven’t done anything.”

She placed a finger under my chin. “Not yet. But you’re too determined to accomplish nothing.”

Before I could respond, Dad approached us. “Ready?”