The Rebel (#Wattys2016)

11. Theorizing

Prince Skander had to summon every bit of strength he had to keep his eyes from wandering to Adeen. Limp on his arms, she almost looked like she was sleeping. Almost. Her black hair fell and her eyes were closed, and she looked so damn beautiful. It wasn't her smile, or her black eyes, or the fact that she seemed to know every secret of the world around them. In fact, the Crown Prince of Illea didn't even know what was about her that had him carrying her down the stairs to the bunker, fighting the rising panic that threatened to send him down to his knees.

Prince Skander never cared about anyone.

He told himself that lie every morning. He tried to convince himself that all he did was for the good of his kingdom, that the second somebody entered the Palace, that somebody lost his respect. After all, the men and women he met inside the Palace's walls were all shallow, cunning bastards who didn't give two damns about the kingdom.

But Adeen had always seemed different.

Even when she had appeared on the studio's screen, laughing although she was a Six, Prince Skander knew she was peculiar. And when he met her that night, sitting on her balcony's railing —ignoring the height- her black eyes had caught him. When he had made his way to her side, Prince Skander was beyond crazy with her. She had been wearing only a nightgown and she had watched him with that expression, as if she couldn't choose whether she was amused or disgusted. Even after god-knows how many baths, she smelled like smoke and something sweet.

Even after two days, that scent still clung to Skander.

And when she had finally called him Your Majesty, when she had finally fell into his trap, he was sure he could have back flipped his way through the Palace with joy. In their date, when he had opened his mouth too much, she had seemed almost scientific, trying to determine him. A friend or enemy. And when she had apparently inclined towards the first, she had finally spoken. Her eyes were sad and she had seemed depressed, and she told him about being empty, and Skander finally felt right. He finally felt like someone understood him.

As he hurried down the stairs, with Adeen on his arms and the rest of the girls behind him, Prince Skander couldn't have felt more wrong. Adeen, the girl who had proven his theory (the Selection is nothing but a waste of time and smoke to keep the people from seeing the real problem) wrong. The girl who had saved his life that night in the alley, who had fought three men without a knife just to defend the other Selected, was lying limp on his arms.

She was a hurricane, and as he carried her farther underground, Adeen was a drizzle.

When he finally made it to the too-familiar bunker, Prince Skander practically pushed the guards out of his way and ran to a bunk bed, where he gently deposited her.

"Skander, what are you doing?" His father's voice startled everyone, including the Selected. Prince Skander concentrated on Adeen, trying to keep his mind off the King.

"She's hurt." As Skander checked her pulse, he stood up. A doctor hurried to where he was. The old man —Ragenue, the royal physician- scanned her. "She said she was poisoned."

Ragenue scanned her wound. His fingers picked some of the oily green substance that covered her blood and brought it up to his nose.

"She was right. The poison won't kill her, but unless we can get her to the Medical Wing soon, she might suffer brain damage."

Prince Skander turned to the Captain of the Guard and his friend, Chraisten, who had been checking on the rest of the Selected.

"How is it looking?"