For so long, Daphne was the only person I could confide in; no one else quite understood our lives. But now, I could welcome someone else into my world, and it would be better than anything I’d ever had before because . . . because she would be mine.
And I would be hers. We would be there for each other. She would be what my mother was to my father: a source of comfort, the calm that grounded him. And I could be her guide, her protector.
I stood and moved downstairs, feeling confident. I just had to hold on to this feeling. I told myself that this was what the Selection would really be for me. It was hope.
By the time I hit the first floor, I was actually smiling. I wasn’t relaxed, exactly, but I was determined.
“. . . outside,” someone gasped, the fragile voice echoing down the hallway. What was happening?
“Miss, you need to get back to your room now.” I squinted down the hall and saw in a patch of moonlight that a guard was blocking a girl—a girl!—from the doorway. It was dark, so I couldn’t make out much of her face, but she had brilliant red hair, like honey and roses and the sun all together.
“Please.” She was looking more and more distressed as she stood there shaking. I walked closer, trying to decide what to do.
The guard said something I couldn’t make out. I kept walking, trying to make sense of the scene.
“I . . . I can’t breathe,” she said, falling into the guard’s arms as he dropped his staff to catch her. He seemed kind of irritated about it.
“Let her go!” I ordered, finally getting to them. Rules be damned, I couldn’t let this girl be hurt.
“She collapsed, Your Majesty,” the guard explained. “She wanted to go outside.”
I knew the guards were just trying to keep us all safe, but what could I do? “Open the doors,” I commanded.
“But . . . Your Majesty . . .”
I fixed him with a serious gaze. “Open the doors and let her go. Now!”
“Right away, Your Highness.”
The guard by the door went to work opening the lock, and I watched the girl sway slightly in the other’s arms as she tried to stand. The moment the double doors opened, a rushof warm, sweet Angeles wind enveloped us. As soon as she felt it on her bare arms, she was moving.
I went to the door and watched as she staggered through the garden, her bare feet making dull sounds on the smoothed gravel. I’d never seen a girl in a nightgown before, and while this particular young lady wasn’t exactly graceful at the moment, it was still strangely inviting.
I realized the guards were watching her, too, and that bothered me.
“As you were,” I said in a low voice. They cleared their throats and turned back to face the hallway. “Stay here unless I call for you,” I instructed, and walked into the garden.
I had a hard time seeing her, but I could hear her. She was breathing heavily, and sounded almost like she was weeping. I hoped that wasn’t the case. Finally I saw her collapse in the grass with her arms and head resting on a stone bench.
She didn’t seem to notice that I’d approached, so I stood there a moment, waiting for her to look up. After a while I was starting to feel a little awkward. I figured she’d at least want to thank me, so I spoke.
“Are you all right, my dear?”
“I am not your dear,” she said angrily as she whipped her head to look at me. She was still hidden by shadows, but her hair flashed in the sliver of moonlight that made its way through the clouds.
Still, face lit or hidden, I got the full intention of her words. Where was the gratitude? “What have I done to offend you?Did I not just give you the very thing you asked for?”
She didn’t answer me, but turned away, back to her crying. Why did women have such a high inclination to tears? I didn’t want to be rude, but I had to ask.
“Excuse me, dear, are you going to keep crying?”
“Don’t call me that! I am no more dear to you than the thirty-four other strangers you have here in your
And I would be hers. We would be there for each other. She would be what my mother was to my father: a source of comfort, the calm that grounded him. And I could be her guide, her protector.
I stood and moved downstairs, feeling confident. I just had to hold on to this feeling. I told myself that this was what the Selection would really be for me. It was hope.
By the time I hit the first floor, I was actually smiling. I wasn’t relaxed, exactly, but I was determined.
“. . . outside,” someone gasped, the fragile voice echoing down the hallway. What was happening?
“Miss, you need to get back to your room now.” I squinted down the hall and saw in a patch of moonlight that a guard was blocking a girl—a girl!—from the doorway. It was dark, so I couldn’t make out much of her face, but she had brilliant red hair, like honey and roses and the sun all together.
“Please.” She was looking more and more distressed as she stood there shaking. I walked closer, trying to decide what to do.
The guard said something I couldn’t make out. I kept walking, trying to make sense of the scene.
“I . . . I can’t breathe,” she said, falling into the guard’s arms as he dropped his staff to catch her. He seemed kind of irritated about it.
“Let her go!” I ordered, finally getting to them. Rules be damned, I couldn’t let this girl be hurt.
“She collapsed, Your Majesty,” the guard explained. “She wanted to go outside.”
I knew the guards were just trying to keep us all safe, but what could I do? “Open the doors,” I commanded.
“But . . . Your Majesty . . .”
I fixed him with a serious gaze. “Open the doors and let her go. Now!”
“Right away, Your Highness.”
The guard by the door went to work opening the lock, and I watched the girl sway slightly in the other’s arms as she tried to stand. The moment the double doors opened, a rushof warm, sweet Angeles wind enveloped us. As soon as she felt it on her bare arms, she was moving.
I went to the door and watched as she staggered through the garden, her bare feet making dull sounds on the smoothed gravel. I’d never seen a girl in a nightgown before, and while this particular young lady wasn’t exactly graceful at the moment, it was still strangely inviting.
I realized the guards were watching her, too, and that bothered me.
“As you were,” I said in a low voice. They cleared their throats and turned back to face the hallway. “Stay here unless I call for you,” I instructed, and walked into the garden.
I had a hard time seeing her, but I could hear her. She was breathing heavily, and sounded almost like she was weeping. I hoped that wasn’t the case. Finally I saw her collapse in the grass with her arms and head resting on a stone bench.
She didn’t seem to notice that I’d approached, so I stood there a moment, waiting for her to look up. After a while I was starting to feel a little awkward. I figured she’d at least want to thank me, so I spoke.
“Are you all right, my dear?”
“I am not your dear,” she said angrily as she whipped her head to look at me. She was still hidden by shadows, but her hair flashed in the sliver of moonlight that made its way through the clouds.
Still, face lit or hidden, I got the full intention of her words. Where was the gratitude? “What have I done to offend you?Did I not just give you the very thing you asked for?”
She didn’t answer me, but turned away, back to her crying. Why did women have such a high inclination to tears? I didn’t want to be rude, but I had to ask.
“Excuse me, dear, are you going to keep crying?”
“Don’t call me that! I am no more dear to you than the thirty-four other strangers you have here in your
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