The Heir (The Selection #4)(33)

I laughed. “Help yourself.”

He picked up one of the chocolate cakes and popped the whole thing into his mouth. “Mmmmmmm.”

“Try the cinnamon. It’ll change your life.”

We kept eating for a while, and I thought maybe this would be enough for one night. We’d moved into very safe territory; I could talk about desserts for hours! But then, without warning, he started talking about his life again.

“So my mom works at the university, but I work with a tailor in town.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I’m very interested in clothes. Well, I am now anyway. Right after Dad died it was harder to get new things, so I learned to hide the rips in my brothers’ shirts or let out a hem as they grew. Then Mom had a pile of dresses she was hoping to sell to get some money, and I took two pieces and combined them to make something new for her. It wasn’t perfect, but I was good enough at it that I could probably get a job.

“So I read a lot and study what Lawrence does—he’s my boss. Every now and then he’ll let me take projects on my own. I guess that’s what I’ll do down the line.”

I smirked. “You’re definitely one of the more put-together guys in the group.”

He smiled bashfully. “It’s easy when I’ve got so much to work with. My butler is great, so he’s helped me with making sure the fit on everything is impeccable. I don’t think he appreciates all my pairings, but I want to look like a gentleman while still looking like myself, if that makes any sense.”

I nodded enthusiastically as I swallowed a bit of cake. “Do you know how hard it is when you love jeans but you’re a princess?”

He chuckled. “But you balance it so well! I mean, they plaster your outfits across every magazine, so I’ve seen plenty. Your style is very individual.”

“You think so?” I felt encouraged. Criticism was heavy these days, and that one scrap of praise was like water in the desert.

“Definitely!” he gushed. “I mean, you dress like a princess but then kind of not. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were actually the ringleader of an all-girl mafia.”

I spit out my wine all over the table, which made Hale burst into laughter.

“I’m so sorry!” I felt my cheeks burning. “If Mom saw that, I’d get the worst lecture.”

Hale wiped the tears from his eyes and leaned forward. “Do they really lecture you? I mean, aren’t you basically running the country?”

I shrugged. “Not really. Dad does most of the work. I just shadow him.”

“But that’s a formality at this point, right?”

“How do you mean?” My words must have come out harsher than I meant, because the laughter in his eyes disappeared instantly.

“I’m not trying to insult him or anything, but lots of people say he looks tired. I’ve heard some people speculate all the time on when you’ll be ascending.”

I looked down. Did people really talk about Dad being tired?

“Hey,” Hale said, grabbing my attention again. “I’m really sorry. I was only trying to talk. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

I shook my head. “No, you’re fine. I’m not sure what got to me. Maybe thinking about doing this without Dad.”

“It’s so funny to hear you call the king ‘Dad.’”

“But that’s who he is!” I found myself smiling again. Something about the way Hale talked made everything feel calmer, brighter. I liked that.

“I know, I know. Okay, so back to you. Besides being the most powerful woman in the world, what do you do for fun?”

I ate another piece of cake to hide how big my grin was. “It may or may not surprise you that I am also very into fashion.”

“Oh, really?” he replied sarcastically.

“I sketch. A lot, actually. I’ve tried my hand at the things my parents like as well. I know a bit about photography, and I can play the piano a little. But I always come back to my sketchbook.”

I knew I was smiling. Those pages with their scribbles of colored pencils were one of my safest places in the world.

“Could I see them?”

“What?” I crossed my ankles and sat up straighter.

“Your sketches. Could I see them sometime?”

No one saw my sketches. I only ever showed designs to my maids when I had to since I didn’t do any of the construction. But for every one I shared, there were a dozen I hid, things I knew I could never wear. I thought about those pieces, each of them stored in my head or on paper, as if keeping them secret was the only way they could possibly be mine.

I knew he didn’t understand my sudden silence or why I held tightly to the arms of my chair. Hale asking that question, assuming he was welcome in that world, made me feel like he had somehow seen me—really seen me—and I didn’t like it.

“Excuse me,” I said, standing. “I think I had a little too much wine.”

“Do you need help?” he asked, standing as well.

“No, please stay and enjoy yourself.” I moved as quickly as I could.

“Your Highness!”

“Goodnight.”

“Eadlyn, wait!”

In the hallway I moved much faster, unable to express my relief when he didn’t follow me.