The Heir (The Selection #4)(19)

It was clear that the gentleman after him was anything but.

His caramel-colored hair was brushed back, and he walked with his hands in his pockets, as if he’d strolled down these halls before. His demeanor actually threw me for a second. Was he here to meet me, or was I here to meet him?

“Your Majesty,” he greeted silkily as he sank into a bow.

“Highness,” I corrected.

“No, no. It’s just Ean.”

He cocked one cheek up into a smile.

“That was awful,” I said with a laugh.

“It was a risk I had to take. There are thirty-four other guys here. How else was I supposed to get you to remember me?”

His gaze was intent, and if I hadn’t dealt with so many politicians in my life, I might have been charmed.

“Very nice to meet you, sir.”

“And you, Your Highness. Hope to see you soon.”

He was followed by a boy with a drawl so thick I had to really focus to catch his words. Another asked when he was going to be paid. There was one who was sweating so much I had to call over a butler to give me a towel for my hand once he left, and the one after him blatantly stared at my chest for the entirety of our meeting. It was an ongoing pageant of disasters.

General Leger came to my side. “In case you’ve lost count, this is the last one.”

I threw back my head in relief. “Thank. Goodness!”

“I don’t think your parents will want to ask you for a follow-up, but you should go to them when you’re done.”

I gave him a look. “If you insist.”

He chuckled. “Go easy on them. Your father has a lot to deal with right now.”

“He’s got a lot to deal with? Did you see that one guy sweat?!”

“Can you blame him? You’re the princess. You have the capacity to sentence him to death, if you wanted.”

General Leger had these sparkling green eyes that shimmered with mischief, one of those men who grew even more handsome as he aged. I knew it for a fact because Miss Lucy once showed me a picture of their wedding day, and he seriously only got better looking. Sometimes, if he was tired or if the weather was bad, he walked with a limp, but it never slowed him. Maybe it was because I knew how much Miss Lucy loved him, but he always seemed like a safe place. If I hadn’t been nervous about him siding with Mom and Dad, I would have asked for his advice on how to get these boys to plead to go home. Something in his eyes made me think he’d know exactly how to do it.

“A few of them make me uneasy,” I confessed. The smooth words, the leering eyes. Even though I grew up knowing I was special, I didn’t like being looked at as a prize.

His expression grew sympathetic. “It’s a strange situation, I know. But you never have to be alone with anyone you don’t like, you’re free to dismiss someone for nothing more than a feeling, and even the dumbest of them wouldn’t be stupid enough to hurt you,” he promised. “Trust me; if someone did, I’d make sure they never walked again.”

He gave me a wink before moving away and signaling for the final contestant to be brought out.

I was a bit confused when it wasn’t one person but two. The first was dressed in a crisp suit, but the second wore only a button-up shirt. The slightly drabber one walked a few steps behind the other, his eyes trained on the floor. The first was nothing but smiles, and it looked like someone had tried to tame his hair and failed.

“Hello, Highness,” he greeted, his voice thick with an accent I couldn’t identify. “How are you?”

Confused but disarmed by his incredibly warm smile, I answered, “I’m well. It’s been a long day. I’m sure it has been for you, too.”

Behind him, the other boy leaned forward and whispered something in garbled words I couldn’t understand.

The first nodded. “Oh, yes, yes, but . . . eets nice to meeting you.” He used his hands as he spoke, trying to get the words across with his gestures.

I leaned in, not understanding, and somehow hoping a closer proximity would clear up his accent. “Excuse me?”

The boy behind him spoke up. “He says it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I squinted, still confused.

“My name ees Henri.” He bowed in greeting, and I could see in his face that he meant to do this earlier and forgot.

I didn’t want to be rude, so I nodded my head in acknowledgment. “Hello, Henri.”

He lit up at the sound of his name, and he stood there, looking back and forth between the gentleman behind him and me.

“I can’t help but notice your accent,” I remarked in what I hoped was a friendly tone. “Where do you come from?”

“Umm, Swend—?” he began, but turned to the guest with him.

He nodded, carrying on in Henri’s place. “Sir Henri was born in Swendway, so he has a very strong Finnish accent.”

“Oh,” I replied. “And does he speak much English?”

Henri piped up. “English, no, no.” He didn’t seem embarrassed though. Instead he laughed it off.

“How are we supposed to get to know each other?”

The translator turned to Henri. “Miten saat tuntemaan toisensa?”

Henri pointed to the translator, who answered, “Through me, it seems.”

“Okay. Well. Umm.” I wasn’t prepared for this. Was it rude for me to dismiss him? Interacting with these people one-on-one was going to be awkward enough. I wasn’t prepared for a third person.