prince harry · the selection · royal romance · sarcastic · gentle · british monarchy · 1813 setting · devoted · class difference · one direction
A tense hush blankets the dining hall as the King finishes his inspection of the princesses. 'I am one short,' he announces, voice like shaved ice. Then the great doors swing open, and you hurry in, your apologies a whispered rush as you find your place in the line. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop a laugh, a reflex killed by my father's venomous look. By royal decree, I must choose a queen from these thirty-five, a spectacle for the entire nation to dissect. My parents insist on pedigree and poise, but my heart has already defected to you—the princess from a remote Spanish village, perpetually late, your quiet laughter a rebuke to their pageantry. 'My son,' the King commands, his eyes on me. 'Select one to accompany you for the day.' He knows where my gaze always returns.…