The Crown (The Selection #5) - Kiera Cass Page 0,35

Have you already forgotten how deranged she looked when she saw she wasn’t going to get her way? Do you really want the country’s choices made by someone like her?”

“She’s one voice out of millions.”

“Exactly. And I have studied politics just as long as you and through a much more varied lens. Trust me, it is far better to keep the control right here.” He held my hands in his, smiling so surely that I dismissed my thoughts. “And you are very capable. Don’t let a tiny group of people with no idea of how to reasonably voice their opinions undermine your confidence.”

I nodded. “I was a bit shaken, that’s all.”

“Of course you were. That was a tough crowd. But you could wash it all away with a bottle of wine. I know you have excellent stores here.”

“We do,” I replied with a grin.

“Come on, then. Let’s celebrate. You just did a wonderful thing for your people. You’ve more than earned a glass.”

“WELL, IT WASN’T GREAT,” I admitted, “but it could have been much worse.”

“Tell your daughter to give herself more credit,” Marid insisted.

Mom and Dad smiled, and I was glad we’d run into them in the hallway. Dad’s voice, above all the others, would help me sort out exactly what I’d just said and done.

“We try, Marid, I assure you.” Dad took a sip of his wine before setting it down, pushing it far away, and pouring himself a cup of tea, just like Mom.

The doctor said an occasional drink was fine, but she clearly wasn’t interested in risking it, and I wasn’t surprised Dad would follow her lead.

“How’s your mother?” Mom asked. The set of her lips made me feel like she’d been dying to ask the question.

Marid grinned. “She never slows down. She’s sad, of course, that she can’t do bigger things, but she works diligently to take care of those near us in Columbia. Even a small bit of good is better than none.”

“Agreed,” Mom replied. “Would you please tell her I think of her often?”

She flicked her eyes toward Dad, who remained unreadable, but Marid seemed pleased. “I will. And I can assure you, she feels the same.”

The conversation paused, and everyone focused on their drinks for a moment. Finally, Dad saved us from the silence.

“So it sounds like that one couple was borderline vicious. The wife, what was her name?”

“Sharron,” Marid and I chorused back.

Dad shook his head. “She came in with an agenda.”

“They all did,” I said. “But wasn’t that the point? Everyone probably has a specific idea of how to improve their day-to-day life. The hard part wasn’t that they had those thoughts—it was how they were trying to get them across.”

Mom nodded. “There has to be a way to do something like this without all the arguing. It slows everything down.”

“In some ways, but in others it adds to the discussion,” Marid claimed. “Once they were reminded of who they were speaking with, the conversation became much clearer.”

“I definitely think there was more positive than negative today,” I added.

Dad was looking down at the table.

“Dad? Don’t you think so?”

He looked up at me, smiling. “Yes, dear. I do.” He sighed, straightening his posture. “And I owe you thanks, Marid. A move like this is certainly progress, not just for the palace, but for the country—and it was a very good idea.”

“I will pass along your thanks to my father. He put the idea in my head years ago.”

Dad grimaced. “Then I also owe you an apology.” He tapped his finger on the table, collecting his thoughts. “Please tell your parents they needn’t stay away. Just because we disagreed on methods doesn’t mean—”

Marid raised his hand. “Say no more, Your Majesty. My father has said on more than one occasion that he stepped over the line. I will urge him to call. Soon.”

Dad smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Me, too,” Mom added.

“And you are welcome to visit as often as you like,” I added. “Especially if you have any more thoughts on how to reach our people.”

Marid’s face was triumphant. “Oh, I have plenty.”

The following morning I was almost first to the office, beating everyone except for General Leger, who was rooting around rather forcefully in my father’s desk drawers.

“General?” I asked, announcing myself.

He bowed curtly and went back to his search. “Sorry. Your father has broken his glasses, and he said there was another pair in his desk. I’m having no luck at all.”

His voice was gruff, and he shoved the drawer closed