The Prince: A Selection Novella (HarperTeen Impulse)

refrain from mentioning this to anyone. Understood?”
    They nodded, and I made my way to the main stairwell. As I walked I heard one guard whisper, “What’s behoove ?”
    I rolled my eyes and continued up the stairs. Once I made it to the third floor, I practically ran to my room. I had a huge balcony that overlooked the gardens. I wasn’t going to step outside and let her know I was watching, but I did go to the window and pull back the curtain.
    She stayed maybe ten minutes or so, seeming calmer by the minute. I watched as she wiped her face, brushed off her nightgown, and headed inside. I debated hopping into the hallway on the second floor so we could accidentally-on-purpose meet again. But I thought better of it. She was upset tonight, probably not herself. If I was going to have a chance at all, I’d have to wait until tomorrow.
    Tomorrow . . . when thirty-four other girls would be placed before me. Oh, I was an idiot to wait so long. I went to my desk and dug out the stack of files about the girls, studying their pictures. I didn’t know whose idea it was to put the names on the back, but that was far less than helpful. I grabbed a pen and transcribed the names to the front. Hannah, Anna . . . how was I supposed to keep that straight? Jenna, Janelle, and Camille . . . seriously? That was going to be a disaster. I had to learn at least a few. Then I’d just rely on the pins until I got the names straight.
    Because I could do this. I could do it well. I had to. I had to prove, finally, that I could lead, make decisions. How else would anyone trust me as their king? How would the king himself trust me at all?
    I focused on standouts. Celeste . . . I remembered the name. One of my advisors had mentioned she was a model and showed me a picture of her in a bathing suit on the glossy pages of a magazine. She was probably the sexiest candidate, and I certainly wouldn’t hold that against her. Lyssa jumped out at me, but not in a good way. Unless she had a winning personality, she wasn’t even in the running. Maybe that was a bit shallow, but was it so bad that I wanted someone attractive? Ah, Elise. Based on the exotic slant of her eyes, she was the girl Father had mentioned who had family in New Asia. She’d be in the running on that alone.
    America.
    I studied her picture. Her smile was absolutely radiant.
    What made her smile so brightly, then? Was it me? Had whatever she felt for me that day passed? She didn’t seem very happy to meet me. But . . . she did smile in the end.
    Tomorrow I would have to start fresh with her. I wasn’t sure of what I was looking for, but so much of what seemed right was staring back at me in that photograph. Maybe it was her will or her honesty, maybe it was the soft skin on the back of her hand or her perfume . . . but I knew, with a singular clarity, that I wanted her to like me.
    How exactly was I supposed to do that?

CHAPTER 6
    I HELD THE BLUE TIE up. No. The tan? No. Was I going to have this much trouble getting dressed every day?
    I wanted to make a good first impression with these girls—and a good second impression with one—and apparently I was convinced this all hung on picking out the right tie. I sighed. These girls were already turning me into a puddle of stupid.
    I tried to follow my mother’s advice and be myself, flaws and all. Going with the first tie I’d picked up, I finished getting dressed and smoothed my hair back.
    I walked out the door and found my parents by the stairwell having a hushed conversation. I debated taking a back route, not wanting to interrupt them, but my mother waved me over.
    Once I reached them, she started tugging on my sleeves, then moved to my back to smooth my coat. “Remember,” she said, “they’re swarming with nerves, and the thing to do right now is make them feel at home.”
    “Act like a prince,” Father urged. “Remember who you are.”
    “There’s no rush to make a decision.” Mom touched my tie. “That’s a nice one.”
    “But don’t keep anyone around if you know you don’t want them. The sooner we get to the true candidates, the better.”
    “Be polite.”
    “Be confident.”
    “Just talk.”
    Father sighed. “This isn’t a joke. Remember that.”
    Mom held me at arm’s length. “You’re going to be fantastic.” She pulled me in for a big hug, and backed away to restraighten everything.
    “All right, son. Go on,” Father said, gesturing to the stairs.
    “We’ll be waiting