The Crown

By: Kiera Cass

“I’M SORRY,” I SAID, BRACING myself for the inevitable backlash. When my Selection started, I’d pictured it ending this way—with dozens of my suitors leaving at a time, many of them unprepared for their moment in the spotlight to be over. But after the last few weeks, after learning how kind, how smart, how generous so many of them were, I found the mass elimination almost heartbreaking.

They’d been fair with me, and now I had to be very unfair to them. The live announcement would make the elimination official, and they all had to wait until then.

“I know it’s abrupt, but given my mother’s precarious condition, my father has asked me to take on more responsibilities, and I feel the only way to manage that is to scale down this competition.”

“How is the queen?” Hale asked, swallowing hard.

I sighed. “She looks … she looks pretty bad.”

Dad had been hesitant to let me visit her, but I had finally worn him down. I understood his reluctance the instant I saw her, asleep, the metronome of her heartbeat keeping time on the monitor. She’d just come out of surgery, where the doctors had to harvest a vein from her leg to replace the one in her chest that had been worked to death.

One of the doctors said they had lost her for a minute but managed to get her back. I sat beside her, holding her hand. Silly as it sounded, I had slouched in my chair, certain that would make her come to and correct my posture. It didn’t.

“She’s alive though. And my father … he’s …”

Raoul placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, Your Highness. We all understand.”

I let my eyes flit across the space, my gaze settling on each of my suitors for a breath as I committed their faces to memory.

“For the record, I was terrified of you,” I confessed. There were a few chuckles around the room. “Thank you so much for taking this chance, and for being so gracious with me.”

A guard entered, clearing his throat to announce his presence. “I’m sorry, my lady. It’s nearly time for the broadcast. The crew wanted to check, um”—he made a fumbling gesture with his hand—“hair and stuff.”

I nodded. “Thank you. I’ll be ready in a moment.”

After he left, I turned my attention back to the boys. “I hope you’ll forgive me for this group good-bye. I wish you all the best of luck in the future.”

There was a chorus of murmured good-byes as I left. Once I was outside the doors of the Men’s Parlor, I took a deep breath and prepared myself for what was coming. You are Eadlyn Schreave and no one—literally, no one—is as powerful as you.

The palace was eerily quiet without Mom and her ladies scuttling around and Ahren’s laughter filling the halls. Nothing makes you quite so aware of a person’s presence as the loss of it.

I held myself tall as I made my way down to the studio.

“Your Highness,” several people greeted me as I came through the doorway, curtsying and moving out of my way, all the while avoiding looking directly in my eyes. I couldn’t tell if it was out of sympathy or if they already knew.

“Oh,” I said, glancing in the mirror. “I am a bit shiny. Could you—?”

“Of course, Your Highness.” A girl expertly dabbed at my skin, covering me in powder.

I straightened the high lace collar of my gown. When I’d gotten dressed this morning, black seemed appropriate, considering the overall mood in the palace, but I was secondguessing myself.

“I look too serious,” I worried aloud. “Not respectable serious, but worried serious. This is all wrong.”

“You look beautiful, my lady.” The makeup girl swept a fresh splash of color across my lips. “Like your mother.”

“No, I don’t,” I lamented. “Not a stitch of her hair or skin or eyes.”

“That’s not what I mean.” The girl, warm and round, with wisps of curls falling across her forehead, stood beside me and gazed at my reflection. “See there,” she said, pointing to my eyes. “Not the same color, but the same determination. And your lips, they have the same hopeful smile. I know you have your grandmother’s coloring, but you’re your mother’s daughter, through and through.”

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