His Choice (The Selection)

Chapter Twenty Three

Wrote by firerose11

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Heading down the hall, I thought back to the stack of letters I had just stuffed into envelopes. Step one in my plan to raise hell was going wonderfully.

Now for step two. Seeing that Connor was out of it still and Maybra had been busy with a problem that had come up in the early hours, I had dressed myself for my next task.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door I now stood in front.

"Come in," a voice said from within, and I turned the knob.

Charles looked up when I entered the room, setting aside the papers he was looking at. "Ember? Have a seat."

I perched in the chair across from him, back rod-straight. "Charles-" I started before my voice stuck in my throat, and I couldn't force out any more words.

He ran his fingers through his blond hair, seeming just as much at a loss of words as I was. "Ember, I'm sorry that you saw my decision as unfair, but angering Bexley, especially with who her father is, I did not see it as a good option."

"But you chose her over me!" I managed to say, regaining my voice. "Who's not to say if it comes down to her or me that you won't lead me on only to choose her for 'political' reasons? My father could be just as important as hers within a few years!"

"Ember, I need to eliminate others. There are 28 of you left. I can't very well marry you all."

I crossed my arms, drawing on every ounce of my frustration as I focused on not thinking about his eyes. Or the way his shirt had clung to his frame after he worked out. Or...

"Then eliminate me if this is going to be a problem!" I growled. "Your sister wants me gone anyway for what ever reason!"

"Em-" he said, rising.

Rising as well, I resisted the urge to stomp my foot, knowing it would get me nowhere. "If you do choose to throw me out of the Selection, I only ask that the stipends that my family had been receiving go to my maid Karigan instead. She's more family to me than any of the rest of them ever even pretended to be."

Charles, no, the prince reached for my arm. "I'm not going to throw you out. Celia may be older and female, but she doesn't know what I want with my life. Ember, can we talk about this over the dinner we were supposed to have yesterday?"

"If that's what you wish, my prince," I replied, sarcastically, as I ignored the temptation to bow. "After all, I'm only another one of your loyal subjects."

Something in his expression broke, and guilt began to crept in to crack my armor. Seeing someone look at me in that way reminded me too much of some of the staff my family had employed over the years. The staff that had been broken by my father because of a mistake.

I reached out a hand to him, and Charles eyed it warily. "Can we call a truce? I will try to lock away the mean and accusing half if you try not to please everyone within the Selected ranks."

"Truce," he agreed, taking my hand. "Now, can we do dinner? I'm starving."

Not even attempting to hide my smirk, I nodded. "We can't have that happen. The queen would truly kill me if you died on my watch."

Still holding my hand, he tugged me out the door into the hallway. "I was hoping you would agree. However, let's do away with a formal dinner. It's still light enough to do a picnic."

I glanced at my dress, a denim belted knee-length affair. It certainly wasn't appropriate for a picnic even if it was inside, not that I thought that this was going to be that type of picnic.

"We both need to change," Charles remarked, seeming to read my mind as he looked at his own suit. "How about we meet in the gardens in fifteen minutes by the rosebushes?"

I nodded before releasing my grasp on his hand. He planted a light kiss on my cheek before he walked down the hallway.

Feeling better than I had since the Bexley problem, I fairly ran to my rooms to change into the jeans I had found earlier.

I had just finished yanking the pins out of my hair to let the braid hang down my back, brushing the middle of my purple shirt, when a brisk knock came at the door.

"I thought we were-oh, it's you," I said, finding Queen Celia standing outside my door. "Is there something I can help you with?"

She glanced at my outfit, a faint look of disapproval crossing her face. "Would you care to explain what this is?"

A letter was shoved into my hand, and I glanced down in mild surprise. The handwriting was not one I recognized. "No, I do not. Why?"

"Because it was addressed you, according to Lady Bexley. It happened to end up in her mail, and she unwittingly opened it," she answered. "This seems to talk about inciting the people to revolt against the royal family."

I furrowed my brow, handing the letter back while trying not to scream about how Bexley couldn't be trusted. "I'm sorry, Queen Celia, but I can't explain to you where this letter came from. I would suggest that you ask Lady Bexley for the envelope to find out for sure.

"Now, if you would excuse me, I have some place I need to be."

Seeming to understand there was nothing else she could do about the situation, the queen stepped aside to allow me to pass.

Mustering every bit of pride I had left, I raised my chin and floated down the hallway, determined not to let her get to me this time.

"You're late," Charles teased, rising from the bench where he had been seated. "Do you dread my company that much that you would dawdle, hoping that I would get bored and leave?"

"No," I said as calmly as I could, "I was merely delayed by the delightful Queen Celia. I have now been accused by Bexley of receiving a letter detailing a revolt to take down the royal family."

He winced. "Can we just go on the picnic? I'd rather not talk about what is sure to be a sore subject with you."

Seeing the basket still on the bench and realizing how hungry I was, I shoved away the topic for a later date. "That sounds wonderful."

"Right this way," he said, picking up the basket. "We're going to venture away from the palace. I seem to remember someone liked horses."

"You didn't!" I squealed. "We're going to get to ride horses!"

Without even thinking, I leaned over and planted a kiss firmly on Charles's lips. Just as unconsciously, he reached up and tangled his fingers in my hair, slanting his lips against mine.

When it seemed like my lungs were about to burst from lack of exhaustion and my heart from the sensations running through it, he pulled back.

"Wow," he whispered, fingers still knotted in my hair and lips swollen.

I giggled. "That's all you can say. 'Wow.' We need to fix that."

Charles tugged me closer again until our bodies were as close as possible, and even so, it felt as if the very air was trying to keep us separate. I wrapped my arms about his neck and allowed our lips to meet again, faintly aware of the picnic basket hitting the ground as his other hand came up to tilt my face to a better angle.

Maybe next time I had to fill out a form asking about my skills, I would have to include this particular talent.

The ability to kiss a prince speechless.