The Selection (The Selection, #1)

by Kiera Cass

Maybe what I wanted was stupid. Maybe it wasn’t even something I could have. But still, it was mine. I didn’t think I could sacrifice my dreams, no matter how much my family meant to me. Besides, I had given them so much already.

I don’t think any girl in all of Illéa could have been smiling more than me.

I don’t know how to make it any clearer.” I put my hand on his heart. “The moment you’re ready to ask, I’m ready to say yes.”

“That’ll be good practice for when you’re a One.” If it hadn’t been for his eyes, I would have thought it was a joke, not an insult.

It was over, and I knew that. But you don’t love someone for almost two years and then turn it off overnight.

“Listen to me, kitten. Win or lose, you’ll always be a princess to me.”

It was meant to be sweet, but it wasn’t what I needed to hear. I wished she could have said that I was already something special to her, like I was to my father. But I guessed she would never stop wanting more for me, more from me. Maybe that’s what mothers did.

I wondered if any of the other girls were sad today. I imagined that everyone except for me was celebrating. And I at least needed to look like I was too, because everyone would be watching.

So here I was expecting at the very best a cordial welcome from the girls who were prepared to fight me to the death for someone I didn’t want. Instead I was embraced.

I gulped. Too many rules, too much structure, too many people. I just wanted to be alone with a violin.

Suddenly those stares made sense. My intentions didn’t matter. They didn’t know I didn’t want this. In their eyes, I was a threat. And I could see they wanted me gone.

That tiny thought—that this love I had been building in a quiet, secret place for years was really beyond my reach now—made my eyes well up.

“Yes. Let me stay, and I’ll help you. I’ll be your friend.” He smiled at the words. “You don’t have to worry about pursuing me. You already know that I don’t have feelings for you. But you can talk to me anytime you like, and I’ll try and help. You said last night that you were looking for a confidante. Well, until you find one for good, I could be that person. If you want.”

Yeah, Mom, I’ll just keep telling the prince that he has absolutely no shot with me and offend him as often as I can. Great plan.

Besides, these letters would be fun to hold on to. Proof I’d really been here when this whole place would be a memory.

Maxon smiled effortlessly. “America Singer,” he announced, “my closest friend.”

“You get confused by crying women, I get confused by walks with princes,” I said with a shrug.

There was a quiet smile between us. Our friendship—if I could even call it that—was obviously awkward and flawed, but at least it was honest.

We shared a small smile. I realized that if Maxon had simply been Maxon Schreave and not Maxon, future king of Illéa, he would be the kind of person I would have wanted to be my next-door neighbor, someone to talk to.

He seemed happy to hear those words, and they consoled me as well. Because I believed them. And if I couldn’t have love of my own, the best I could do was help Maxon find it himself.

“Maxon, I hope you find someone you can’t live without. I really do. And I hope you never have to know what it’s like to have to try and live without them.”

It seemed so funny that the palace—the beautiful cage—was the one place I could actually let myself be open about everything I’d been feeling.

I never thought to question the lack of truth until it had been placed in front of me. Why did the king just let us guess?

I could still remember the scars on Jemmy’s tiny back, and Maxon stretched his own back as if he felt it all himself.

“Maxon Schreave is the epitome of all things good. He is going to be a phenomenal king. He lets girls who are supposed to be wearing dresses wear jeans and doesn’t get mad when someone who doesn’t know him clearly mislabels him.” I gave Gavril a keen look, and he smiled. And behind him, Maxon looked intrigued. “Whoever he marries will be a lucky girl. And whatever happens to me, I will be honored to be his subject.”

“You know, you still have a choice in this. If you’re afraid to stay, you should say so.” He paused, thinking. “Or if you don’t think you can love me at all, it would be kinder to tell me now. I’ll let you go on your way, and we can part as friends.”

“No, I’m not choosing him or you. I’m choosing me.”

I ducked my head. “I do,” I said with a tiny nod. “He’s more than I ever imagined he was.”