Four

                                    

                                          
   The Russian Confederation was set to arrive at seven-thirty in the evening. And that they did, marching through the doors at precisely that minute. We were dressed in red, white, and blue, as those were the colors of their flags. King Yaroslav, whose name I had to try several times to pronounce correctly, and Queen Inessa, had both been dressed as if they expected to arrive in a blizzard. However, they immediately removed their wraps, the queen even her sweater, exclaiming at just how warm it was. Paisley eyed Harper-Grey triumphantly, while Harper-Grey looked away. 
"It is so nice to be outdoors," said Princess Valeryia, who was about Kemper's age, if not a bit older, sighed, sitting down next to me. I was surprised that she was so becoming. We'd been prepared for a cold delegation of stiff people based on the way that Saline's packet had described them, but so far, they seemed, if not a little reserved, glad to meet us. Valeryia was holding a small glass of something alcoholic. "At home, it has been very, very cold." 
"It doesn't get very cold on this side of Illéa," I remarked. "Other provinces are colder." 
"Ah, you have provinces? I thought that you had states?" asked Valeryia, sipping whatever she was drinking.
"Oh, no," I said. "The United States of America had states, but Gregory Illéa changed it to be provinces." 
"This Gregory Illéa is your leader?" she asked, motioning to King Caspian. 
"No, Gregory Illéa died years and years ago. That is his descendant, King Caspian, and he married Queen Adria." 
"Oh. And you are an Elite?" 
"Yes." I motioned to a couple of the other Elite. "They are too." 
"That is a very odd way to get married," said Valeryia decisively. "What if he doesn't love any of you?" 
I felt affronted, but I recognized her confusion. Ever since I'd first heard of The Selection, I'd felt that it was strange. It made me wonder if Travon was simply trying to find the prettiest one of us, not someone he could talk to. However, clearly, that was false in this case. Travon was not that person-he wanted someone with opinions, ideas. 
"Unless," she said, a sly smile crossing her face, "is he in love with you?" 
"What?" I blushed. 
"He is for sure," she said in the same decisive tone. "I must go talk to the others." and she stood up and swept across the tent to talk to Princess Kemper. 
I was flattered by her confidence in me. The other Russians were poking interestedly at the Illéan food, admiring the carefully selected centerpieces, or dancing to the quartet's music. 
"May I have this dance?" someone asked me from behind as the quartet struck up a new tune. I was caught off guard to see the Russian Confederation King standing behind me, his hand extended. 
"Oh," I said, trying desperately to remember the basics of Russian that I'd learned. "Da." 
He placed a large hand at my waist, the other holding my hand. I placed my hand on his shoulder, feeling slightly uncomfortable. 
"You helped organize this?" he said, nodding his head toward the wall of the large tent. 
"Yes," I replied. 
"It is very well done. The centerpieces are very tasteful." 
"Thank you," I said smiling in satisfaction. 
He grew serious. "I know that you of Illéa want to be allies." 
"Oh, yes," I began but he cut me off. 
"I don't want to create any bad blood," he started wearily, "But I'm not sure that it will work. Good evening," he said, dropping his hands and returning to the food side of the tent.