Hi Everyone! This is my first Selection story, perhaps my first real fanfiction. So it might not be that good, but give it a chance. Takes place after The Elite. Enjoy and please Review, Favorite, and Follow! :)

Maxon

My father and I had another disagreement. You know the story.

I get whipped.

This time it was over America. I told my father I was ready to propose to her. And, as you can tell, he didn't like it so much. He yelled at me, trying to convince me to choose someone else. I refused, saying I would do anything for her. He finally agreed, but with a consequence. I would be caned 101 times-all at once.

And I agreed to it.

"This way, Prince," he smiles fakely. His tone sends shivers down my spine. I gulp, every living fiber in my body was telling me to stand up to him. I remembered America, how she gave me strength.

I could do it now.

I turn my head towards my father. "King Clarkson," I said firmly.

He glares at me, "Yes, Maxon?"

I take into account how he doesn't refer to my title, when I did to his. This shuts me down a bit. I try to say something, but my voice falters. Damn it. If only I could say everything on my mind, I could do it-I could be free from his tight grasp. I could even fight him: he was a fatter man, while I had muscle. If only I had the courage to...things would be different.

"Nothing," I shake my head as we continue down the hall.

My head spins as we dawn closer and closer to the canning.

"Your Majesties?" A soft voice asks.

I whip my head around to see Elise standing there with a tea tray in her hands.

"Oh hello, Elise," I smile. "What are you up to?"

Elise grins, blushing a bit. "I'm performing a traditional New Asia tea ceremony. Would you like to come and watch? The tea is exquisite."

"I apologize sincerely, Lady Elise, but the Prince and I have duties to attend to. Perhaps another time?" King Clarkson intervenes.

Her smile falters. "Oh yes, of course," she curtsies, walking away. "Your Majesties."

I feel a pang of guilt and pity for Elise.

"Lady Elise!" I call after her.

She spins around, "Yes?"

"I'd like to see that ceremony. Tomorrow at noon?" I wink.

She giggles and nods, continuing to walk back to the Women's Room.

The King stares me down, and I look up realizing our location. We have arrived at the secret room where I am whipped by my father. My palms become sweaty, as my mind fills with fear.

"After you, my son."

America

The violin string snaps. Damn it, I would never be ready to perform at the Christmas Ball. I huff a strand of fiery red hair out of my face. I try to replace the string, but the replacement snaps as well. I scream in frustration, flinging the violin across the room (which luckily landed on my bed, safe and sound). I collapse to the ground, staring at the ceiling and sulk. The King has been giving me such a rough time lately-he never misses an opportunity to make me feel worthless; so often, that I think he thrives on it.

"Lady America?" A firm voice calls.

Speak of the devil.

"Yes?" I reply, bouncing up to my feet immediately and fix my hair.

The King enters, "Ah, your room is lovely. But I came here on more important matters, we must discuss something."

My lip trembles slightly, everything seemed wrong about this. My gut was telling me to get out of there and run. But I could not deny the King.

"Of course, your Majesty. I could never refuse you," I smiled fakely.

"That's wonderful," he grips my arm roughly and I gasp in pain.

He whispers in my ear, "Lady America, I hope there is no issue. You must obey my command. Now look like you're completely normal. No suspicion is to arise, alright?"

I whimper as he squeezes my arm firmly.

"Right," I say through gritted teeth and follow him through the halls.

I focus on my feet not to trip and fall in the dress my maids-Lucy, Anne, and Mary-made for me. My eyes scan the hallways, seeing if anyone is in sight. Someone to witness these events...just incase the worst happens. No one is here, not even a guard. The palace is deserted, strangely enough. I can only pray for a Rebel attack, even though that is not ideal. I am in danger.

Soon, he orders a blindfold for me. I cannot see anything. Everything is a dull, black color. I can only process the tapping of our feet on the marble floors.

Oh my God, he's going to kill me.

In my mind, I pray to God. I say final goodbyes to my family, Aspen, Marlee, and Maxon. This is it. America Singer will die at age 17, and no one will know why except for the evil King.

Soon, I am shoved to the ground. I shut my eyes, hoping that my death is quick and painless.

"Take off your blindfold, and stay exactly as you are." The King commands.

I take a few deep breaths, anxiety over my soon-to-be-murder. I lift up my blindfold over my head, tossing it to the side. But what I see is what kills me.

Maxon in chains, barechested and his back vulnerable. The King holds a whip in his hands, grinning menacingly. Maxon tilts his head up slightly, as his eyes meet mine.

No, this is much worse than death.