Happily Ever After Read online

  I didn’t dare to take a glimpse until it was all done. I listened to the metallic bite of the scissors over and over. I could feel as her snips got more precise, as if she was making everything uniform. Not long after that she stopped.

  “What do you think, miss?” she asked hesitantly.

  I opened my eyes. At first I couldn’t even tell a difference. But I turned my head ever so slightly, and a piece of hair fell over my shoulder. I pulled a strand over the other side, and it was as if my face was encircled by a mahogany frame.

  He was right.

  “I love it, Martha!” I gasped, touching my hair all over.

  “It makes you look much more mature,” Cindly added.

  I nodded. “It does, doesn’t it?”

  “Wait, wait, wait!” Emon cried, running to the jewelry box. She fished through several pieces, searching for something in particular. Finally, she came up with a necklace that had large glittering red stones. I hadn’t been brave enough to wear it yet.

  I lifted my hair, expecting her to want me to try it on, but she had other ideas. Gently, she laid the necklace across my head. It was so ornate, it was very reminiscent of a crown.

  My maids all sucked in a breath, but I stopped breathing completely.

  I had spent so many years imagining Prince Clarkson as my husband, but never once had I considered him as the boy who could make me a princess. For the first time ever, I realized I wanted that, too. I wasn’t full of connections or dripping with wealth, but I sensed it was a role that I would not simply fill but excel at. I’d always believed I’d be a good match for Clarkson, but maybe I could be a good match for the monarchy, too.

  I looked at myself in the mirror, and along with imagining Schreave tacked on the end of my name, I placed princess right before it. In that instant I wanted him, the crown—every last piece of this—like nothing before.

  CHAPTER 3

  I HAD MARTHA FIND ME a jeweled headband to wear in the morning and left my hair completely down. I’d never been so excited about breakfast. I thought I looked positively beautiful, and I couldn’t wait to see if Clarkson felt the same way.

  If I was smart I’d have gotten there a bit early; but as it was, I ambled in with several other girls, completely missing my chance to get the prince’s attention. I darted my eyes toward the head table every few seconds, but Clarkson was focused on his meal, dutifully cutting his waffles and ham, occasionally glancing over to some papers beside him. His father drank coffee mostly, only scooping up a bite when he took a break from the document he was reading. I assumed he and Clarkson were studying the same thing and that both of them starting so early meant they were going to have a very busy day. The queen was nowhere to be seen, and while the word hangover was never said aloud, I could practically hear it in everyone’s thoughts.

  Once breakfast was over, Clarkson left with the king, off to do whatever it was they did that made our country work.

  I sighed. Maybe tonight.

  The Women’s Room was quiet today. We had exhausted all the getting-to-know-you conversations and had grown accustomed to spending our days together. I sat with Madeline and Bianca, as I almost always did. Bianca came from one of Honduragua’s neighboring provinces, and we had met on the plane. Madeline’s room was next to mine, and her maid had come knocking on my door the very first day to ask my maids for some thread. Maybe half an hour later, Madeline came by to thank us, and we’d been friendly ever since.

  The Women’s Room was cliquish from the beginning. We were used to being separated into groups in everyday life—Threes over here, Fives over there—so maybe it was natural for that to happen in the palace. And while we didn’t divide ourselves exclusively by castes, I couldn’t help wishing we didn’t do it at all. Weren’t we made equals by coming here, at least while the competition lasted? Weren’t we going through the exact same thing?

  Though, at the moment, it seemed as if we were going through a bunch of nothing. I wished something would happen if only so we’d have something to talk about.

  “Any news from home?” I asked, trying to start a conversation.

  Bianca looked up. “My mom wrote yesterday and said that Hendly got engaged. Can you believe that? She left, what, a week ago?”

  Madeline perked up. “What’s his caste? Is she climbing?”

  “Oh, yeah!” Bianca lit up with excitement. “A Two! I mean, it gives you hope. I was a Three before I left, but the idea of maybe marrying an actor instead of a boring old doctor sounds fun.”

  Madeline giggled and nodded in agreement.

  I wasn’t so sure. “Did she know him? Before she left for the Selection, I mean?”

  Bianca tipped her head to one side, as if I’d asked something ridiculous. “It seems unlikely. She was a Five; he’s a Two.”

  “Well, I think she said her family did music, so maybe she performed for him once,” Madeline offered.

  “That’s a good point,” Bianca added. “So maybe they weren’t complete strangers.”

  “Huh,” I muttered.

  “Sour grapes?” Bianca asked.

  I smiled. “No. If Hendly is happy, then so am I. It’s a little strange, though, marrying someone you don’t even know.”

  There was a pause before Madeline spoke. “Aren’t we kind of doing the same thing?”

  “No!” I exclaimed. “The prince is not a stranger.”

  “Really?” Madeline challenged. “Then please, tell me everything you know about him, because I feel like I’ve got nothing.”

  “Actually . . . me, too,” Bianca confessed.

  I inhaled to begin a long list of facts about Clarkson . . . but there wasn’t much to tell.

  “I’m not saying I know every last secret about him, but it’s not as if he’s any old boy walking down the street. We’ve grown up with him, heard him speak on the Report, seen his face hundreds of times. We may not know all the details, but I have a very clear impression of him. Don’t you?”

  Madeline smiled. “I think you’re right. It’s not as if we walked through the door not knowing his name.”

  “Exactly.”

  The maid was so quiet, I didn’t realize she’d approached until she was at my ear, whispering. “You’re needed for a moment, miss.”

  I looked at her, confused. I’d done nothing wrong. I turned to the girls and shrugged before standing to follow her out the door.

  In the hallway, she merely gestured, and I turned to see Prince Clarkson. He was standing there with that almost smile on his lips and something in his hand.

  “I was just dropping off a package at the mail room and the post master had this for you,” he said, holding up an envelope between two fingers. “I thought you might want it right away.”

  I walked over as quickly as I could without seeming unladylike and reached for it. His grin became devilish as he abruptly stuck his arm straight up in the air.

  I giggled, hopping and trying desperately to clutch it. “No fair!”

  “Come on now.”

  I could jump fairly well, though not in heels, and even with them on I was slightly shorter than he was. But I didn’t mind failing, because somewhere in my sad attempts, I felt an arm wrap around my waist.

  Finally, he gave me my letter. As I suspected, it was from Adele. So many tiny happy things were piling into my day.

  “You cut your hair.”

  I pulled my gaze from the letter. “I did.” I grabbed a section and brought it over my shoulder. “Do you like it?”

  There was something in his eyes—not quite mischief, not quite a secret. “I do. Very much.” With that he turned and walked down the hall, not even glancing back.

  It was true I had an idea of who he was. Still, as I saw him in day-to-day life, I realized there was much more to him than what I’d seen on the Report. That knowledge didn’t seem daunting, though.

  On the contrary, he was a mystery I was excited to solve.

  I smiled and tore open the letter right there in the hallway, movi
ng under a window for the sake of the light.

  Sweet, sweet Amberly,

  I miss you so much it hurts. It hurts almost as much as it does when I think about all the beautiful clothes you’re wearing and the food you must be tasting. I can’t even imagine what you’re smelling! I wish I could.

  Mama nearly cries every time she sees you on TV. You look like a One! If I didn’t already know the castes of all the girls, I’d never guess that any of you weren’t in the royal family. Isn’t that funny? If someone wanted to, they could just pretend those numbers don’t exist. Then again, they don’t for you in a way, Little Miss Three.

  Speaking of which, I wish there was some long-lost Two in the family for your sake, but you already know there isn’t. I asked, and we’ve been Fours from the start, and that’s all there is to it. The only notable additions to the family aren’t good ones. I don’t even want to tell you this, and I’m hoping no one comes across this letter before you, but cousin Romina is pregnant. Apparently she fell for that Six who drives the delivery truck for the Rakes. They’re getting married over the weekend, which has left everyone sighing in relief. The father (why can’t I remember his name? Ah!) refuses to have any child of his made an Eight, and that’s more than some men years older than him would do. So, sorry you’ll miss the wedding, but we’re happy for Romina.

  Anyway, that’s the family you have right now. A bunch of farmers and a few lawbreakers. Just be the beautiful, loving girl we all know you are, and the prince will undoubtedly fall for you despite your caste.

  We love you. Write again. I miss hearing your voice. You make things feel more peaceful around here, and I don’t think I noticed it until you weren’t here to do it.

  Farewell for now, Princess Amberly. Please remember us little people when you get your crown!

  CHAPTER 4

  MARTHA BRUSHED THE KNOTS OUT of my hair. Even with it shorter, it was still a serious task considering how thick it was. I secretly hoped she would take her time. This was one of the few things that reminded me of home. If I closed my eyes and held my breath, it could have been Adele pulling the comb.

  As I was picturing the slight gray tinge of home, hearing Mama hum over the constant sounds of delivery vans, someone knocked and I was pulled back to the present.

  Cindly ran to the door, and the second after she opened it, she dropped into a curtsy. “Your Highness.”

  I stood and immediately crossed my arms over my chest, feeling incredibly vulnerable. The nightgowns were so thin.

  “Martha,” I whispered urgently. She peeked up from her curtsy. “My robe. Please.”

  She rushed to get it as I turned to face Prince Clarkson. “Your Highness. How kind of you to visit.” I curtsied quickly, then moved my arms back to my chest.

  “I was wondering if you might join me for a late dessert.”

  A date? He was here for a date?

  And I was in my nightgown, makeup stripped, hair half brushed. “Umm, should I . . . change?”

  Martha handed me my robe, and I swooped it on.

  “No, you’re fine as you are,” he insisted, walking into my room as if he owned it. Which, I guessed, he did. Behind his back, Emon and Cindly scurried out of the room. Martha looked at me for instruction, and after I gave her a quick nod, she left.

  “Are you happy with your room?” Clarkson asked. “It’s rather small.”

  I laughed. “I suppose if you’ve grown up in a palace it would seem that way. I like it, though.”

  He walked over to the window. “Not much of a view.”

  “But I like the sound of the fountain. And when anyone drives up, I hear the crunch of the gravel. I’m used to a lot of noise.”

  He made a face. “What kind of noise?”

  “Music being played on loudspeakers. I didn’t realize that didn’t happen in every town until I got here. And engines from trucks or motorbikes. Oh, and dogs. I’m used to barking.”

  “Quite the lullaby,” he remarked, walking back to me. “Are you ready?”

  I discreetly searched for my slippers, spotted them by my bed, and went to put them on. “Yes.”

  He strode over to the door, then looked at me and extended his arm. I bit at my smile as I went to join him.

  He didn’t seem to particularly like being touched. I noticed that he almost always walked with his hands behind his back and kept a brisk pace. Even now, as we made our way through the halls, he wasn’t exactly taking his time.

  Considering that, I felt a thrill all over again at how he teased me with my letter the other day, and that he allowed me to be near him at all right now.

  “Where are we going?”

  “There’s an exceptionally nice lounge on the third floor. Excellent view of the gardens.”

  “Do you like the gardens?”

  “I like to look at them.”

  I laughed, but he was completely serious.

  We came to a set of open doors, and even from the hallway I could feel the fresh air. The room was lit by nothing but candles, and I thought my heart might explode from pure happiness. I actually had to touch my chest to make sure everything was still intact.

  Three huge windows were open, leaving their billowy curtains tiptoeing in the breeze. In front of the middle window sat a small table with a lovely floral centerpiece and two chairs. Beside it was a cart holding at least eight different types of desserts.

  “Ladies first,” he said, gesturing to the cart.

  I couldn’t stop smiling as I approached. We were alone. He’d done this for me. It was every dream I’d had as a girl coming true.

  I tried to focus on what was in front of me. I saw chocolates, but they were all shaped differently, so I couldn’t guess what was inside. Miniature pies with whipped cream that smelled lemony were piled in the back, while right in front of me were puffed pastries that had something drizzled over them.

  “I don’t know how to choose,” I confessed.

  “Then don’t,” he said, picking up a plate and putting one of everything on it. He set it on the table and pulled out the chair. I walked over, sat down, and let him push the chair in for me, and I waited for him to fix his own plate.

  When he did, I found myself laughing again.

  “Did you get enough?” I teased.

  “I like strawberry tarts,” he defended. He probably had about five piled in front of him. “So, you’re a Four. What do you do?” He carved off a piece of one of his desserts and chewed.

  “I farm.” I toyed with a chocolate.

  “You mean, you own a farm.”

  “Kind of.”

  He put down his fork and studied me.

  “My grandpa owned a coffee plantation. He left it to my uncle, because he’s the oldest, so my dad and mom and me and my siblings all work on it,” I confessed.

  He was silent for a moment.

  “So . . . you do what exactly?”

  I dropped the chocolate back onto my plate and put my hands in my lap. “I pick the berries, mostly. And I help shell.”

  He was quiet.

  “It used to be buried in the mountains—the plantation, I mean—but there are lots of roads through there now. Which makes it easier to transport things, but it adds to the smog. My family and I live in—”

  “Stop.”

  I looked at my lap. I couldn’t help what I did for a living.

  “You’re a Four, but you do the work of a Seven?” he asked quietly.

  I nodded.

  “Have you mentioned this to anyone?”

  I thought over my conversations with the other girls. I tended to let them talk about themselves. I’d told stories about my siblings and really enjoyed getting into some of the TV shows the others watched, but I didn’t think I’d ever spoken about my work.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  He looked to the ceiling and back to me. “You are never to tell anyone what you do. If anyone asks, your family owns a coffee plantation, and you help run it. Be vague and never, ever let on
that you do manual labor. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  He eyed me a moment longer, as if to reinforce the point. But his command was all I needed. I’d never not do anything he asked me to.

  He went back to eating, stabbing his desserts a bit more aggressively than he had before. I was too nervous even to touch my food.

  “Have I offended you, Your Highness?”

  He sat up a little taller and tilted his head. “Why in the world would you think that?”

  “You seem . . . upset.”

  “Girls are so silly,” he muttered to himself. “No, you haven’t offended me. I like you. Why do you think we’re here?”

  “So you can measure me against the Twos and Threes and validate your choice to send me home.” I didn’t mean to let that all come out. It was as if my biggest worries were battling for space in my head, and one finally escaped. I ducked my head again.

  “Amberly,” he murmured. I looked up at him from under my lashes. There was a half smile on his face as he reached across the table. Cautiously, as if the bubble would burst the second he touched my coarse skin, I placed my hand in his. “I’m not sending you home. Not today.”

  My eyes watered, but I blinked away the tears.

  “I’m in a very unique position,” he explained. “I’m just trying to understand the pros and cons of each of my options.”

  “Me doing the work of a Seven is a con, I suppose?”

  “Absolutely,” he answered, but with no trace of malice in his tone. “So, for my sake, that stays between us.” I gave a tiny nod. “Any other secrets you want to share?”

  He pulled back his hand slowly and started cutting into his food again. I tried to do the same.

  “Well, you already know I get sick from time to time.”

  He paused. “Yes. What’s that all about, exactly?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve always had a problem with headaches, and sometimes I get tired. The conditions in Honduragua aren’t the best.”

  He nodded. “Tomorrow after breakfast, instead of going to the Women’s Room, go to the hospital wing. I want Dr. Mission to give you a physical. If you need anything at all, I’m sure he’ll be able to help.”