{This chapter was a winner of FanFic's Big Change contest!}

My father begins the address with somber words about the riots. It's the worst riot we've seen. The area is still not safe. Small fires keep breaking out and looting is still rampant. My dad urges them to settle down and work peacefully toward change. I recognize phrases from earlier speeches he has made. His ideas are tired and the people are tired of listening to him. None of us believe him anymore.

As I examine his appearance more fully, I notice a wan dullness that I have not seen before. I cast my eyes around for Mom. She is always visible during his addresses, somewhere in the background. I asked her once if she minded always being behind him. She told me she loved to be seen as his supportive, proud wife. Then she added that she was always a tad grateful it wasn't her behind the podium, because public speaking always gives her a wobbly stomach and nerves for hours. You could never guess that by watching her. Mom has a confidence about her that goes beyond clothes and hair and make-up. She exudes a warmth that the nation adores. 

No wonder Dad picked her. They have absolutely no doubt that they were meant to be. Which must be why even Mom thought I would find real love in the Selection. It worked for her. Why not me? 

I'm not as lovable. I'm cold. Selfish. But...I. Can. Change. 

I can be more like Mom, starting now. Except, where is she? I don't see her anywhere. She told me that she was ready to get back to normal appearances.  I would have been notified if she had a setback with her heart.

Without conscious thought, my gaze drifts to the Selection boys. There he is. His tie is the same awful one I thought I confiscated from him. How did he get that back? It's hideous! And it sets new levels of hideous when paired with that shirt. It's like he is trying to look awful.

As if he can feel my thoughts, he turns to me. His face is full of open hope. I close my eyes for a brief second. Why is it so hard to let him go? 

Maybe because he is the only thing I have ever wanted for myself, not as a future queen, ruler, and public figure. But as me, Eadlyn. 

But like my father, I am not just me and I can never be. I am Illea's leader and I will choose my country over my heart. 

Swiveling my head to face my father, I force myself to tune into his finishing remarks.

I notice again that this speech is old. I've heard variations of it on many occasions. But for the first time I notice something missing. Something that should be there--but never has been.

Dad doesn't say how they can peacefully promote change. He has no action points. No way for them to be safely heard. So they resort to violence. His lack of proactive directions fuels my own desire to be bold in my forthcoming address.

I am expected to report on my dates, or eliminate another fellow.

They are used to me being interesting to look at, with my original designs and what has been called my austere beauty. I probably gave them some chuckles when I haughtily eliminated the boys at the start, plucking them off like they had no feelings. Somehow I've changed since that taping. Now I am the one having my heart strings plucked as I try to sensitively navigate through this impossible selection.

Dad wraps up. Gavril introduces me with a flourish, speculating on why I would call another taping so soon after yesterday's mass elimination. Light, exciting music plays. My cue. 

It is my turn to speak to the people. Illea, my country, the land freed from the castes by my father. The same country who labelled me as cold, snobby, and much worse. The ones who broke into my home and stole my things and threatened my ascension. The ones who planted a spy in my own room to do my hair and nails and report every weakness back to them.

I missed my cue. Gavril makes a joke about love putting your head in the clouds. Then he introduces me again. This time he does it slowly, and I feel the interest in the room ratcheting up. No wonder. Dad was all business. Without the Selection, not many people tune in. Ratings soar when I am providing the entertainment after we squeeze in the serious stuff.

Gavril pats the yellow leather couch where he usually interviews me about the Selection. 

I can't move. I can't do this. I'm not strong enough, smart enough, tough enough. I swallow and feel tears welling in my eyes. With a shaky hand, I tuck a nonexistent stray hair behind my ear, just so I have something to do. My mind is blank. I open my mouth but nothing comes out. Gavril treads water, making small talk that requires no response. It's ridiculous but at least the silence is no longer pressing on me. Seconds tick by.  

Every pair of eyes in the room are pinned on me. Like a butterfly under glass, I am motionless. Lifeless. I am unable to escape. I have no choices. 

I've been fooling myself. Selection is the opposite of what I have. My life is servitude. With a crown and finery but tethered all the same.

Kile breaks through the line of boys standing in front of him and strides toward me. His face is full of concern. I don't think he cares about the cameras.

I manage to shut my mouth and focus on his awful tie. I shake my head at that tie. When he sees me glaring at it, he waggles his eyebrows and smirks. I blink. He is so goofy. I snort out a laugh and smile at him.

Kile reaches me and puts his hand out. I look up at him and I know my eyes are glistening with tears of gratitude. He has given me so much and I have not deserved it.

I let him help me up and escort me to the couch. His hand in mine is tingly and reassuring at the same time.

"You look like hot sauce," he whispers. I giggle and lean into him, walking a bit slower to extend this small moment. He brings me back to myself.

"Want me to hit the lights and we can make a break for it? Hide in the gallery?" he murmurs into my shoulder, right as we reach the couch.

I laugh loudly. Everyone is really staring now. When we were kids that's where we'd hide when they wanted us to take ballroom dancing or silverware lessons. We'd pick busts and hide behind them, hoping no one would think of looking in the rarely toured castle art gallery.

We stand together next to the couch, a picture of opposites. Me in my impeccable bright red power suit. Him in his wrinkled outdated plaid and still -always- messy hair. As different as we are, I am happiest when I am with him. 

I can't let him go. 

"Stay for a sec?" I whisper, slanting my head at the couch. 

His eye goggle out in surprise. 

"For my nerves," I add, so as not to get his hopes up. 

He nods. 

We sit down together, at the same time, close. Our sides are touching in a very un royal way and he is slouching a bit, into me. This is exactly where I want him to be.

I take a deep breath and ignore the opening question Gavril throws out for me. I smooth my skirt and straighten my spine. I can feel Dad's worried gaze. The cameras zoom in.

I squeeze Kile's hand, and hope he knows I owe him everything.

It's my turn. After all this waiting and planning and trying to be everything for everyone else, I am finally going to do something I think should be done.

I can do this.

Turning toward the close up camera, I speak with all the candor I can muster.

"My people, my Illea, I have an apology to make to you."

I pause as the audience, the boys, and my family all gasp.

"I apologize for being aloof and for trying to distract you with this show. Because you see, I'm a girl." I hold up my hands, showing all I have to offer. "A girl who is much like you I imagine: confused and scared for her country. A country that seems so upset and angry. I want to help. I want to rule well, like my father. More than anything, I want this land to operate in harmony." I swallow and lick my lips.

Everyone is shocked. Gavril's notecards are drifting out of his lap and onto the floor. His mouth is slightly open and I feel badly for him, being taken off guard like this. We have never veered off script before.

"I imagine we both wonder the same thing...how can we achieve harmony?"

Now the silence in the room is different. It's anticipatory, hushed, hopeful.

I allow a small shrug, even though it's been ingrained in me that such a gesture is crude.

"I don't know. I've not been a good listener so far. But I want to learn, try harder, and listen to you. Hear you. I've watched my brother Kadan listen and learn through every available resource. I've admired my brother Ahren when he listened to his heart. And I love and respect that my father listens to his soulmate, my mother. Together they work like a united team. But how can I help this country? How can I listen better to you? I've learned to ask that from these Selection boys, from each region of Illea."

I pause and let the camera pan to the boys, who are all slack-jawed in astonishment.

"Yes," I assure. "I'll get to the eliminations in a sec."

I adjust my posture and fold my hands in my lap. Kile sits completely still next to me. It's so rare to see him unfidgety. I take it as a good sign.

"My parents wanted you to be equal. They abolished castes. And yet, the girl whose family was a three doesn't feel free to pursue art. The boy whose family was an eight thinks he wasn't promoted because of the ghost of the castes. How do we move on from this? My first step to move this country forward is to be an active listener. I hear you demanding in your riots for opportunity. I agree. That's why my second step is to create opportunities in Illea that are abundant and equal."

A ruckus stirs behind the scenes and several assistant types motion for me to call a break in taping. This has a ten second delay but I'm not letting them take advantage of that. I plow onward.

"My first legislative act within my office of princess and as the future ruler of Illea is to establish a new position in our cabinet. It represents opportunity. This position will develop new living opportunities for the least advantaged of our people. Our cities are teeming with people living in the streets and in shantytowns. It is about time we had a system of caring for those in need. Illea's new Director of Development will design and oversee the building of efficient, self-sustaining homes for the many urban factory workers. The Director will also address each region's impoverished outskirts. I am appointing a man I know will do an excellent job to this position. My lifelong friend, a man I admire and respect, Kile Woodwork." The crowd gasps. Kile startles and the couch shifts, so I almost fall into his shoulder. I hold myself carefully separate, but I turn to face him.

His face is a hurricane of emotions. I have really done it now, putting him on the spot like this. It was the only way.

He takes my hand and squashes my fingers. I ramble on about his good heart. I list his impressive resume and accomplishments, that I beefed up on this afternoon. Finally, I run out of steam, and I work up the gumption to look him in the eye.

I see it all brimming in his grey green pupils. The sorrow, the pain, the rejection. But also the fire. He knows I did this on purpose. I created this way for him to leave, even though I want him to stay. He can't turn it down now. I've made such a spectacle of him being the right-the only-man for the job.

"Thank you for doing this for me, Kile," I say, with heavy meaning. His eyes sweep over my face, taking in how serious I am and also how much I am relying on him to do the right thing. The unselfish thing. Not even Marley could argue with this kind of set up.

I gesture for Gavril to pass Kile the mic. He flashes a petulant look at me but then clears his throat and makes a short but eloquent acceptance speech. He's amazing.

After a hard swallow, I thank him again. I nod toward the other boys and Kile gets it. He stands up and kind of wanders back to his seat.

The next minutes are filled with bubbly selection speculation by Gavril. Then I am back on, and I am ready.

"Establishing that position is my best idea about broadening opportunity through affordable, efficient housing. But, what are yours? I'm listening. I want to know. I want your ideas. I would like you to use the same system we use for the selection candidates. I want you to put your suggestions about how to better Illea in the hands of your mayors. They will deliver them to me. Give me time, I beg that of you. I want to read these ideas, think, and formulate more legislation. I'll do this while I get to know my new fiancé."

Chaos breaks out but I stand and use my hands to direct them to be silent.

"Yes, I'm going to end this extravaganza. I've enjoyed getting to know each Selection boy. Given the current circumstances, I feel it is time for me to make a choice and focus on one man. He will be the only one to stay on in the castle as my guest. He can get to know me without cameras, while we both work to know and understand our country better. He is well suited for this. He is well suited for me. I hope he feels the same way because I want him by my side always."

I turn and meet his glossy, stunned eyes.

"Ean."

Everyone turns to look at him. He stands slowly, but when he starts walking to me, a grin breaks across his handsome face.

"Did I hear correctly? Me? You have made a decision?" he calls out in that robust, deep voice of his.

"It's you," I manage to squeak out. He rushes to me. I regret not giving him a heads up. He might say no. He might be mad. I know he would have thrown on a tie had he known the future queen would be proposing to him. He didn't have any recent dates with me—so he didn't expect any camera time. He would have just been a handsome face in the background.

When he gets close I open up my arms and he swoops me into a huge hug. I relax into him as he spins me around and around. My feet fly up and my stomach flips. Just like Ahren, taking a game too far.

"Thank you," he murmurs into my neck. I kiss his cheek. When he sets me down, he leaves his arm around my waist to support me. The rest is a blur.