“Your Highness,” she greeted. It was one of those funny things. Plenty of people called me that, but when Mom’s friends said it, they might as well have been calling me pumpkin or kiddo or baby. I didn’t mind it, but it was always kind of strange.

“Where’s Mom?”

She closed her book. “Migraine. I went to see her, and she made me leave. Any sound was excruciating.”

“Oh. I was supposed to be having a date right now, but maybe I should go check on her.”

“No,” she insisted. “She needed rest, and both your parents would be pleased for you to have a date.”

I considered. If she was really feeling that bad, maybe it would be better to wait.

“Umm, all right. Well, would it be okay if I used the room? Baden and I are going to make music.” I squinted. “I mean that literally, by the way.”

She giggled and stood. “That’s no problem at all.”

“Is it weird for you?” I asked suddenly. “That Kile is a part of this? That you know I’m about to go on a date with someone who isn’t him? Is it, you know, okay?”

“It was quite a shock to see you two on the front page of every paper,” she said, shaking her head like she couldn’t fathom how it had happened. Then she came close, as if we were trying to keep a secret. “But you forget your parents aren’t the only ones here who’ve been through a Selection.”

I felt like a downright idiot. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

“I remember watching your father scramble to find time for everyone, trying to please those around him while searching for someone who’d be a good partner. And it’s even harder for you, because it’s bigger than that. You’re making history while trying to divert attention. Saying it’s tough is an understatement.”

“True,” I admitted, my shoulders sagging under the weight of it all.

“I don’t know how you and Kile ended up . . . umm . . . in that position, but I’d be surprised if he made it to the top of your list. All the same, I’m thankful to you.”

I was taken aback. “Why? I haven’t done anything.”

“You have,” she contradicted. “You’re giving your parents time, which is very generous of you. But you’re giving me time, too. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep him here.”

A knock came at the door.

I turned. “That’ll be Baden.”

She placed a hand on my shoulder. “You stay put. I’ll let him in.”

“Oh!” Baden exclaimed when Miss Marlee opened the door for him.

She chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m on my way out. She’s waiting for you.”

Baden looked past her to find me, smiling the entire time. He looked so triumphant, so pleased to be alone together.

“Is that it?” he asked, pointing just behind me.

I spun, taking in the piano. “Yes. The tone on this one is wonderful, and this room has great acoustics.”

He followed me, and I could hear his guitar case bump into his leg or a couch as he navigated through the maze of seats.

Without asking, he found an armless chair and pulled it up beside the piano. I trilled my fingers over the keys, doing a quick scale.

Baden tuned his guitar, which was dark and worn. “How long have you been playing?”

“As long as I can remember. I think Mom sat me down next to her as a toddler, and I just went along with whatever she did.”

“People have always said your mother was a fantastic musician. I think I heard her play on TV once, for a Christmas program or something.”

“She always plays a lot at Christmastime.”

“Her favorite time of the year?” he guessed.

“In a way, sure, but in others, no. And she usually plays when she’s worried or sad.”

“How do you mean?” He tightened a string, finishing his preparations.

“Oh, you know,” I hedged. “Holidays can be stressful.” I didn’t feel right exposing Mom’s memories, losing her father and sister during the same time of year, not to mention a horrific attack that nearly stole my father.

“I can’t imagine being sad at Christmastime here. If she was poor, I could see why she’d be anxious.”

“Why?”

He smiled to himself. “Because it’s hard to watch all your friends getting piles of gifts when you don’t get any.”

“Oh.”

He took the stab at our social differences in stride, not getting mad or calling me a snob, which some might have done. I examined Baden, trying to learn more. The guitar was old, but it was hard to make a call about his financial status while he wore palace-issued clothes. I remembered what Aunt May said about his last name.

“You’re in college, right?” I asked.

He nodded. “Well, it’s on hold for now. Some of my professors were thrown off, but most of them are letting me send assignments back to finish the semester from here.”

“That’s really impressive.”

He shrugged. “I know what I want. So I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get it.”

I gave him a curious smirk. “How does the Selection fit into that?”

“Wow, no holding back there.” Again, no anger. He almost treated it as a joke.

“It’s a fair question, I think.” I started playing one of the classics Mom had taught me. Baden knew the song and joined in. I’d never considered how it would sound with strings.

The music won, and we dropped the conversation. But we didn’t stop communicating. He watched my eyes, and I studied his fingers. I’d never played with anyone before other than Mom, and I was engaged in a way I didn’t know I could be.