I swallowed, overcome by this admission. Smirking, trying to dull the feeling, I replied, “But he can’t even speak to me.”

“I know,” he answered solemnly. “Which is why I wonder . . .”

“Wonder what?”

He rubbed his hand over his mouth, trying to decide if he should continue. “It’s easiest to learn new languages when you’re a child. And it can be taught later in life, but the accent will probably always be bad. Henri simply has a difficult time retaining it. At the rate he’s going, it would be years before you’d be able to carry on the most basic conversations. And the nuances of languages—slang and colloquialisms—would take years beyond that. Do you understand what that would mean?”

That I wouldn’t be able to communicate with him for who knew how long. By the time the Selection should end, we still would hardly know each other.

“I do.” Two small words, but they felt massive, like they were filling up the entire hallway, crushing me.

“I just thought you should know that. I wanted you to be aware of what things might look like if you had developed feelings for him, too.”

“Thank you,” I breathed.

“Do you?” he asked suddenly. “Have feelings for him?”

I’d been so emotional already that the question sent me into a tailspin. “I honestly have no idea how I feel about anything.”

“Hey.” He reached out a hand before thinking better of it. “I’m sorry. I was being nosy. That’s really none of my business, and you’re obviously having a rough day. I’m an ass.”

I wiped at my nose. “No. You’re trying to be a good friend. To him, to me. It’s no big deal.”

He tucked his hands behind his back. “Well, I am, you know?”

“Huh?”

He sighed, seeming embarrassed. “Your friend. If you need one.”

It was such a simple offer, yet generous in a million ways. “I couldn’t imagine having a better one.”

He beamed but was quiet. It seemed like the times when we were silent were some of the easiest.

Eventually he cleared his throat. “I’m sure you have work to do, but I hate leaving you alone when you feel so bad.”

“No. I kind of prefer it.”

Erik gave me a halfhearted smile. “If you say so.” He bowed. “Hope your day gets better.”

“It already has,” I promised, walking around him to get into my room, a kind smile on my face.

“Miss?” Neena asked as I came through the doorway. I couldn’t imagine how awful I looked.

“Hi, Neena.”

“Are you all right?”

“Not exactly, but I’ll get there. Can you bring me the Selection forms, please? I have work to do.”

Though the confusion on her face was plain, she did as I asked. She also brought a box of tissues.

“Thank you.” I thought I was past the worst of it, but I did tear up again as I looked at the pictures, wondering who was maybe here despite having reservations and hating each of them on the off chance it applied to them all.

“Neena, could you get me some paper?”

Once again she obeyed, bringing a cup of tea along with a notebook. She really was too good.

I tried to plot out my week. Apsel’s application said he played the piano, so I’d arrange for us to work on duets tomorrow morning; and in the early evening I’d walk outside with Tavish. Monday would be tea with Gunner and a photography walk with Harrison. Dad would probably love that.

I finished my plans and set down my pile of papers beside me. Without a word, Neena started a bath. I sipped the last of my tea and put the cup back on the table next to the pot so she wouldn’t have to go hunting for it later.

In the bathroom, steam was filling the air, and I planted myself in front of the mirror, pulling pins out of my hair. Between the soothing water and Neena’s calming presence, I was free from most of Baden’s harsh words by the time I was ready to dry off.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Neena asked quietly, pulling a brush through my hair.

“There’s not much to say. People will throw food at me, people will throw words at me, and I have to be stronger than that if I’m going to survive.”

She let out a disapproving sound, and I watched her troubled eyes in the mirror.

“What?”

Neena stopped brushing for a minute, looking at my reflection. “For all my problems, I’d never trade them for yours. I’m so sorry.”

I pulled myself up. “Nothing to be sorry for. This was what I was born to do.”

“That’s not fair though, is it? I thought eliminating the castes meant that no one was born into anything. Does that apply to everyone except you?”

“Apparently.”

It didn’t matter that Apsel’s skills were so good I praised him endlessly. And it didn’t matter that the photos of Tavish and me in the garden were positively beautiful. With all the work I put in, neither of those things were headline material Monday morning.

Above the pictures of me and my dates was an entirely different story.

IT’S WORK! screamed the headline above a candid shot of me yawning. An “exclusive source” had shared that I felt the Selection process was “more work than anything” and that “we make it look exciting.” All I could think about was how badly I wanted to hurt Milla Warren.

I couldn’t blame her completely though. Baden’s exposé on how staged the Selection was helped nothing. He described me at length as frigid, two-faced, and distant. He spoke of our one charming moment alone and then my intentional disconnection from him, and said there was no way he could have stayed in the palace, living under such a lie. I knew it was likely that he was paid an exorbitant amount of money for his story and that he was probably worrying about a mountain of debt for his education. But I felt certain he would have said it all for free.