Free The Heir by Kiera Cass Page A

other, please.”
    “Certainly, Your Highness. I’ll take care of it.”
    I turned and looked at the float. They’d taken the frame of one of the Christmas floats and adorned it with thousands of summer blooms. It was festive and beautiful, and the scent of the flowers permeated the air. I inhaled, and the clean, sweet smell soothed every piece of me.
    Over the walls I could hear the shouts of people who had lined up for this moment. Whatever ways I’d failed last night would be more than forgotten today.
    “All right, gentlemen.” General Leger’s voice boomed over the din. “I need you all to line up along the path, and we’ll get you up safely.”
    Mom was in the back with Dad, who had picked up a few stray flowers that had blown off the float and stuck them inher hair. She looked at him with absolute adoration as he stepped away with his camera.
    He circled the group, snapping pictures. He got plenty of the boys, some of the fountain, and a couple of me.
    “Dad!” I whispered, a little embarrassed.
    He winked and backed away, still taking shots but in a less obvious way.
    “Your Highness,” General Leger said, placing a hand on my back. “We’re going to send you up last. I heard you wanted Henri and Hale beside you, is that right?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good picks. They’re polite ones. Okay, we’ll be ready to go in a moment.”
    He walked over to my mother and relayed something to her. She seemed uneasy, but General Leger made motions with his hands, attempting to reassure her. Dad was a little harder to read from here. Either he wasn’t bothered at all, or he was hiding it very well.
    The boys were led up the hidden ladder, and I paced as I waited for my turn. Along the wall, mixed in with a few guards and guests, I noticed Henri’s translator standing, arms crossed, watching the scene. He bit at a fingernail, and I shook my head, walking over.
    “Don’t do that,” I started, trying to be firm without being rude. “You don’t want the cameras to catch you with your fingers in your mouth, do you?”
    He whipped his hand down immediately. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”
    “Not going up there?” I nodded toward the massive float.
    He smiled. “No, Your Highness. I think Henri can wave without interpretation.” Still, I felt the nerves buzzing around him.
    “He’ll be right beside me,” I assured him. “I’ll try to make sure he knows what’s going on.”
    The translator let out a massive sigh. “That makes this far less distressing. And he’s going to be so excited. He talks about you every waking moment.”
    I laughed. “Well, it’s hardly been a day. I’m sure it’ll pass.”
    “I don’t think so. He’s in awe of you, of everything, really. The experience alone is big for him. His family has worked hard to establish themselves, and that he finds himself in a place where he can have even a second of your attention . . . he’s so happy.”
    I looked up at Henri, straightening his tie as he waited on the front of the float. “Is that what he told you?”
    “Not in so many words. He’s aware of how fortunate he is, and he sees so many good things in you. He goes on and on.”
    I smiled sadly. It would have been nice if he could say as much to me. “Were you born in Swendway, too?”
    He shook his head. “No. First generation to be born in Illéa. But my parents are trying to hold on to our old customs and things, so we live in a small Swendish community in Kent.”
    “Like Henri?”
    “Yes. They’re becoming more and more common. When Henri was Selected, his family put out a call for a reliabletranslator, and I submitted my résumé, flew to Sota, and now I have a new job.”
    “So you’ve only known Henri for . . . ?”
    “A week. But we’ve already spent so much time together and get along so well, I feel like I’ve known him for years.” He spoke with a sweet affection, brotherly in a way.
    “I feel so rude—I don’t even know your name.”
    He bowed. “I’m