Dear Juliet (Chosen Sequel) (The Selection Fanfic)

Nine.

Chapter 9:

Rays of sunshine dared to peak at first from under the curtains, nudging the edges of my bed coaxing me from my dreams before venturing across the rest of my room performing an intricate dance across the gold detailing on my wardrobe. Days like this dared me to remain inside, something I had no desire for.

Pulling myself into a seated position I allowed my thoughts to wander and was filled with warmth as I recalled the events of the night before...

"It's beautiful," I whispered, unable to tear my eyes from the masterpiece in front of me. Do not get me wrong, I have had my portrait painted many a times, I was the heir to the throne of Illéa, but never have I looked so radiant as I did in Alfie's painting. He had painted from observation, and where I had thought that my hair resembled a rat's nest, he painted a halo of curls adorned with gold and copper highlights. My eyes were striking, resembling the very emeralds my mother loved and wore.

I was speechless.

I was speechless until Alfie moved to take a peak of my painting, flushing red I pulled the canvas towards my chest embarrassed at what I had created after bearing witness to his masterpiece. I had never been very good at portraiture and this date only made that fact clearer. The brush strokes were sloppy, the proportions were horrifically off and his skin looked more ashy than warm. It was embarrassing, so embarrassing that I immediately sent Alfie straight back to his room before he could see how badly I had wronged him. I passed my canvas to the nearest maid demanding that it should be burned at the earliest convenience.

"What kind of day is it today, your highness?" My head maid, Gwen, asked, "Trousers or a dress?"

I smiled at her before forcing myself into my walk in wardrobe scanning the rows upon rows of day dresses. I informed Gwen of my plans for the day receiving a suggestion of a floral dress with simple flats for practicality. Nodding I selected a floor length blue gown adorned with little pink flowers and a matching pair of flats.

An hour later, Gwen had bathed me, dressed me and dusted my complexion with some light makeup before leaving my red curls down and natural at my request. I sent Gwen on to the Men's Parlour with a written request for the boy's company in the garden.

I allowed the guards to open the doors to the garden for me as soon as I reached the ground floor thanking them for their service. In awe my eyes scanned the scene before me, it had appeared that in less than an hour the palace staff had managed to pull together the perfect garden party complete with a buffet table and a splatter of gazebos.

Alongside my own parents, gentlemen were dotted around the garden already in clear groups based on initial impressions. I immediately noticed a few were yet to arrive, Michael for one was clearly missing as his presence is usually so overwhelming. My eyes locked with Wyatt's feeling his burning glare, he was the only gentleman to be segregated from any group,  my guess would be intentionally on his part. His frame lent against the central fountain, his posture poor and nonchalant.

As I began to walk towards Wyatt Hones, I was stopped in my tracks by Liam also making his way over to the same target. Desperate to avoid his company for the duration of the competition I took a sharp turn and was met by a group of Oak, Angus, James and Joseph. Feeling immediately like an intruder I went to turn again before Angus drew me into their conversation.

"Ah, your highness, we were just saying how joyous it would be to play a game of football whilst it's so nice out here, don't you think?"

A smile tickled my cheeks at the sudden memory I had of Harry and I playing football in the gardens as we grew up, I had always defeated him despite his protests that he let me win.

"That's an excellent idea Angus," I praised noticing the way his face lit up when I remembered his name, "Oak, how about you go and fetch a guard to show you where the equipment is and we can set up a game of our own."

"Excellent idea, your highness," Oak squeaked, blushing and scuttling towards the nearest guard.

"So, you boys any good?" I asked raising my eyebrow, slipping off my flats and hiking up the skirts of my dress.

~

Within a mere ten minutes the football pitch had been set up and most of the boys had congregated to play. I noticed again that Wyatt had excluded himself choosing to instead stand on the opposite side of the pitch.

The guys around me spilt fairly evenly into two teams, some clear arguments occurring between them in who would be team captain.

At the sound of a quiet conversation I turned to find Oak returning with a few guards carrying the round footballs and coloured bibs. He also looked to be in deep conversation with my cousin, the Princess Annabelle of France, my much prettier relative who already made it clear that she saw my suitors as her own.

"Who's team am I on?" I asked turning my attention back to the boys around me. I noticed Liam immediately look away inconspicuously. Some of the guys snickered at my question and I took a mental note to send them home at the next elimination.

"You can join us, your highness," offered Joseph handing me a powder blue bib.

Strutting to Joseph's team I turned to look at my competition, "Oh it's on boys, do not underestimate me."

We had played practically all afternoon, the minutes bled into hours, and I must admit I hadn't had so much fun in what felt like years, at least since Harry's death. Regrettably the edges of my dress were dredged in mud but it was worth it for the five goals I had scored.

As I raced towards the ball at full speed I suddenly felt the momentum get on top of me and before I knew it one foot fell against the other and my face was flat against the grassy terrain below me. I heard a few shouts and the footsteps of the boys coming to my aid. I felt a strong pair of hands reach behind me and pull me from my defeated position.

"You alright there princess?" The voice chuckled, his face blurry from my obvious concussion. The longer I looked at him the clearer he became. Wyatt Hones stood over me, a whisper of humour speckled across his complexion.

"We're getting a good look then princess," he remarked after I realised I had been staring for at least a solid minute.

"On a scale of one to ten, how embarrassing?" I asked before the others caught up to us.

"Oh it's a ten princess," he smirked, "might as well give up the crown now."