Betrayal.

That was the bitter feeling that had been weighing on his chest ever since he arrived in Illéa. Since he left Italy in haste, ignoring his family and court etiquette. Ever since he learned that his best friend, his only companion, and long-time love would be undergoing the Selection.

"My dear, I heard about your..." The Prince's velvety, measured voice echoes softly through the private library on the third floor.

The words die on his lips as he notices her condition and leads her to a chair. The room was well-lit and quiet after the servants left and the guards were out.

"My dear..." he grumbles. The bittersweet nickname. Now you were his dear, but for how long?

"You...will make the National Team." The words escaped her lips with difficulty. A bitter lump formed in her throat. An immense sorrow. A nightmare being told.

That strong yet sensitive man. Romantic. Clumsy and with a strange laugh, he was so close. But so unreachable. And now it seemed even further away.

That man, in a few months, would no longer belong to her. He would belong to some daughter of the homeland of Illéa, honoring the crown, the legacy, the desire to maintain order.

His eyes seem to open in an almost comical way, without words, and then he sighs, sitting up awkwardly and nervously. No more Prince. Just Maxon.

"I had no choice..." Maxon initially seems to have so much to say, and yet he can't quite put it into words.

His hand reaches for yours, gently caressing and squeezing as if trying to comfort you and himself. He was unaware of her feelings. Oh, God. He was so oblivious. Naive in this matter, and he seemed not to consider that years of friendship and closeness could blossom into romantic feelings.

For Maxon, he could find the woman of his life in a stupid competition. Love between thirty-five girls he wouldn't even know well, but who could become his queen. Your beloved.

"I...wanted to tell you. But you know, these are confidential matters and shouldn't be discussed before going to the Official Gazette." His words come out hurriedly, and his free hand ruffles his perfectly styled curls. He was nervous. Very nervous.

Maxon knew this upset you, but he didn't understand the depth of the mistake he made, nor the damage his inclusion in the Selection would cause.

He didn't know...