Neena was waiting for me with my nightgown ready. “Any plans for the evening? Or do you want to dress for bed?”
“Bed,” I assured her. “But wait until you hear what these boys are doing now.” I told her about the demanded group date, adding that Ean had excused himself from it.
“Smart move on his part,” she agreed.
“I know. I keep wondering if that warrants a special date, just for him.”
“A real date or a spite date?”
I laughed. “I hardly know. Ugh, what am I supposed to do with all these boys?”
“Weed ’em out. Ha! I found a piece of grass we missed earlier.” She pulled the blade around for me to see before tossing it in the trash.
“That was so much fun,” I said. “I’ll never forget Mom’s face, hanging out of the window telling me to go for it. I was sure I was in trouble!”
“I wish I could have seen that.”
“You really don’t need to hide in my room all day. It’s always clean, and it doesn’t take too long for me to get dressed in the morning. You should come with me places, see more of the palace than this room and yours.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps.”
But I could hear in her voice that she was excited about the possibility. I wondered if I should train Neena for travel. It would be nice to have her with me next time I went abroad. But if she really was planning on leaving within the next year or so, it might not be worth it. I knew I couldn’t keep one maid forever, but I dreaded the thought of someone replacing her.
I went down for breakfast the next day and noticed that Ahren didn’t come. I worried he was upset with me. We never stayed cross with each other for long, but I hated when that happened at all. Ahren felt like a piece of me sometimes.
I didn’t notice until a bit later that Camille didn’t make it either. I assumed one of two things had happened: Ahren had come to his senses and told her that he needed to consider other options, and they were both in the process of avoiding each other . . . or they’d spent the night together and were maybe still in bed.
I wondered what Dad would think about that.
Then I realized that a few of the boys were missing as well. Maybe Camille and Ahren weren’t wrapped in each other’s arms after all. It was possible there was a bug going around. That was far more likely . . . and much less exciting.
I left the dining hall to find Leeland and Ivan waiting for me. They both bowed deeply.
“Your Highness,” Ivan greeted. “Your presence is requested in the Great Room for the greatest date of your life.”
I smirked. “Oh, really?”
Leeland chuckled. “We were up all night working. Please say you’re free right now.”
I checked the clock on the wall. “I have maybe an hour.”
Ivan perked up. “That’s plenty of time. Come with us.” They both offered their elbows, and I grabbed on to them, allowing myself to be escorted into the Great Room.
Along the back wall, a small stage had been set up and covered with what appeared to be tablecloths from our Christmas supplies. Spotlights that we sometimes brought out for parties were aimed at the center of the stage, and as we approached, the boys all shushed one another as they stood in a line.
I was brought to the lone chair right in front of the stage, and I took my seat, simultaneously curious and confused.
Winslow spread his arms wide. “Welcome to the first ever Selection Variety Show, starring a bunch of losers competing for your attention.”
I laughed. At least they owned it.
Calvin jumped off to the side and sat at the piano, playing music that had a ragtime feel, and everyone left the stage except for Winslow.
He bowed very solemnly. But when he stood back up, he smiled hugely, bringing three beanbags in front of him. Then he started juggling. It was so silly, I had to laugh. Winslow turned to the side, and from offstage someone threw a fourth beanbag. Then a fifth and sixth. He managed to keep them going for a couple of tosses before they all fell to the ground, with one slapping him on the head.
Everyone lamented but applauded his efforts, even me.
Lodge got out a bow and arrow and a target covered with balloons, then managed to shoot and pierce each one. As they burst, glitter flew out of them, slowly settling on the floor. All the while, Calvin played on, switching up tunes for each act.
Fox, who I was surprised would rope himself into another group date, got onstage and drew. Horribly. I was sure Osten had made better stick figures as a child, but since this show seemed to either be highlighting their strengths in a ludicrous way or shrugging off their weaknesses as comedy, it ended up being quite charming. I was trying to think of a way to inconspicuously pilfer the picture he drew of me, which was little more than a balloon-shaped head and some brown waves of hair coming off it. I’d been drawn and painted countless times . . . but they never came out that sweet.
Leeland sang, Julian hula hooped, Ivan bounced a soccer ball for an incredibly long time, and Gunner read a poem.
“Our lovely Princess Eadlyn,