The Heir (The Selection #4) - Kiera Cass Page 0,27
left me, and I felt like I was building a shield around myself, one steady breath at a time.
Neena was humming as she tidied my room, and it was one of the best things. Not only was she gentle with me after I came in yesterday, she didn’t ask a single question or bring up the topic again. I didn’t have to worry about her, which was why she couldn’t leave the palace one day. What about me?
“I think it’s a pants day, Neena,” I called.
She stopped humming. “More black?”
“At least a little.” We shared a smile as she handed me my tight black pants, which I paired with heels that would kill me by noon. I pulled on a flowy shirt and a vest, and found a tiara with jewels that matched the shirt. I was ready.
I decided that I was going to do exactly what Dad had done with his Selection. On his first day he sent home at least six girls. I was planning to eliminate nearly twice as many. Certainly weeding out all the unlikely candidates would show how seriously I was taking this process, that the outcome was important to me.
I wished there was a way to do this without the cameras, but they were a necessary evil. I had a mental list prepared, and I knew vaguely what I wanted to say; but if I made a mistake with reporters present, it would be just as bad as yesterday . . . meaning I needed to be perfect.
Because the Women’s Room was considered the property of the queen, any male had to ask permission before entering. The Men’s Parlor had been thrown together for my convenience, so no such formality stood, and I was able to complete a rather dazzling entrance by pulling the double doors open and letting the rush of wind blow back my hair.
The Selected all hurried to face me, some jumping to their feet or pulling themselves away from the reporters accompanying the cameras.
I passed Paisley Fisher, noticing that he audibly gulped as I stopped. Smiling, I placed a hand on his shoulder.
“You can go.”
He glanced at the people beside him. “Go?”
“Yes, go. As in, thank you for your participation, but your presence at the palace is no longer required.”
When he lingered, I leaned in, breathing my instructions. “The longer you stay, the more embarrassing it becomes. You should leave.”
I pulled back, noting the marked anger in his eyes as he slowly left the room.
I couldn’t figure out why he was so vexed. It wasn’t as if I’d kicked him or shouted. I internally praised myself for getting rid of someone so childish and tried to remember my list. Who was next? Oh . . . this one was well deserved.
“Blakely, isn’t it?”
“Ye—” His voice squeaked and he started again. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“When we met, you couldn’t stop staring at my breasts.” His face went pale, as if he seriously thought he was so subtle no one would notice. “Make sure you get an equally satisfactory look at my backside as you leave.”
I made sure to address him loud enough that the cameras and the other boys would hear. Hopefully his humiliation would prevent others from thinking they could behave similarly. He ducked his head and left the room.
I stopped in front of Jamal. “You can leave.” Next to him, Connor was breaking out into a sweat again. “You can join him.”
They shared a confused look and left together, shaking their heads.
I came upon Kile next. Unlike most of the others, he didn’t avert his eyes. On the contrary, he stared into mine, and I could see him pleading for me to end his misery and get him out of here.
I might have if I didn’t think his mother would kill me—as I would surely have to make him leave the palace—and if I hadn’t seen his name on the most signs yesterday. Of course, Kile was the hometown pick, so maybe the crowd was biased. Still, I couldn’t get rid of him. Not yet.
Beside him, Hale swallowed. I remembered how he’d protected me during the parade, knowing he’d taken hits that were intended for me, some of which had seemed rather painful.
I came near and spoke softly. “Thank you for yesterday. You were very brave.”
“It was nothing,” he assured me. “Though the suit couldn’t be saved.”
He said it jokingly, trying to make the whole thing seem like less of an issue than it was.