America

"I have a sister."

Whatever else I'd expected my husband to say to me as I tried to nurse Ahren, who would periodically forget himself and grin toothlessly up at me through a mouthful of milk, that wasn't it.

I gaped at my husband, Ahren's charm strangely well-combated with his words. "What did you just say?"

Maxon smiled sardonically in understanding of my surprise before he grimaced and wiped at his forehead as if to ward against an oncoming headache. "If you knew how many years I've wanted to tell you that and how dangerous that secret is, you wouldn't ask me to repeat it."

I gulped, feeling as if my mind had simultaneously stopped and shifted into overdrive.

Maxon. A sister.

But rumor had it that Queen Amberly had been fortunate to have even one baby. Luckier still that he'd lived long enough to grow into the man before me.

Which could only mean...

The idea filled me with disgust.

Up until this moment, I didn't think I could hate Clarkson any more than I already did.

I was wrong.

Nausea churned in the pit of my stomach. I felt betrayed. For Maxon whose father had given him such a terrible role model for the definition of manhood and power. For Amberly whose love had meant so little to the man she'd married. For Eadlyn and Ahren who had to call this man their grandfather. For the country who had once put their trust in this selfish excuse for a human being.

"What's she like?"

The words felt so idiotically imperfect for the situation, but I couldn't think of anything else I could ask. Who was her mother? What had changed to make Maxon willing to share her existence with me now? How old was she? What was the protocol in a situation like this?

Maxon sighed as he kneeled beside Ahren and me in the nursery. He leaned in and placed a kiss to the baby's forehead which brought Ahren's distracted eye from the task at hand.

I groaned without a sound. Someday I'd tell Maxon just how frustrating it was to see all of my hard work dribbled down a newborn's chin. Just not today.

He left his hand on Ahren's head as the baby decided he wasn't as finished with his meal as he'd let on and turned back to my breast.

"I—" Maxon's voice drifted off, his sight consumed by our son who was even now his spitting image. He hung his head slightly and I could see the shame weighing him down. "I've never met her."

That explained the secret in part, I guessed.

"I'm not even sure my dad ever met her," he continued, willingly distracted by the miracle of the twin in our arms.

My heart clenched with an ache from two sides. I couldn't imagine being a daughter who had never even met her father, no matter how horrible, and my mother's heart rebelled at the idea that any parent could willingly cast their child away. Perhaps there were situations in which it was necessary, but my heart seemed to believe otherwise.

And for Maxon to have a sister when he'd yearned to break free of his lonely life so often made my heart heavy on his behalf.

Ahren stared up at us, completely forgetting the meal he had insisted upon only moments earlier. I handed the baby to Maxon as I redressed. Ahren giggled as Maxon bounced him carefully in his arms. A loud belch surprised even the baby as Maxon chuckled softly to himself.

"What are you going to do?" I asked after a long moment. I didn't want to interrupt Maxon's moment with Ahren, but I had to admit that the curiosity was burning inside me.

Maxon was quiet for a moment as he walked out to the waiting nanny who took Ahren away. My heart ached as my son was taken from my room, and not for the first time since the twins had been born, I wished that Maxon was just another Five when we'd met so that our children wouldn't have suites that seemed miles away from us or nannies who could take them from the room or...

Maxon reached for my hand, tenderly pulling me to my feet. "This is a conversation best had in one of our suites," he said softly as he kissed my cheek.

I nodded. I'd been surprised that Maxon had said anything in the nursery, but I guessed that when courage struck, one needed to respond accordingly.

We walked in silence until we reached my suite. Maxon opened the door for me, and I slipped inside wordlessly.

Mary popped her head out from where she'd been organizing my closet. "Your Majesty!"

I smiled in her direction. "Could you give the King and me a few moments alone?"

She nodded immediately. "Of course, Your Majesty."

In a moment, she'd left the room and I expected that she'd make sure to give us a wide berth for about an hour.

I turned to Maxon. "You were saying?"

He offered me a resigned smile as he pulled me to the bed. "You asked what I'm going to do."

I nodded. Had it been that long of a walk from the nursery that he could have forgotten or was he trying to buy himself some more thinking time?

"That's the question, isn't it?" He laughed but the sound was hollow and brittle as if he had nothing to find amusing in the smoothest. "I know the expectation. I know what protocol dictates, but I don't know if I can actually go through with it."

A sick feeling curdled in the pit of my stomach. "What do you mean, go through with it?"

Maxon turned those ever-patient eyes to me as he tried to begin. "She's a threat to the royal line, isn't she?" His voice was lower than a whisper; I had to strain to hear what little he did say.

But it was enough.

My stomach lurched. Before I'd had a chance to think about it, I was out of my seat and headed to the bathroom. Only as I felt my long, red hair pulled back from my face as I emptied my stomach into the toilet did I realize Maxon had followed me.

This is your Queen, Illéa, a nagging voice in the back of my head murmured. It sounded suspiciously like Clarkson's. This woman who can't even stomach the thought of a mere execution is your Queen.

But it wouldn't be an execution, I reasoned with a shudder. It would be the murder of a child.

My stomach clenched again and I heaved again.

Maxon murmured platitudes in my ear as he rubbed my back. The incongruity of this tenderness with the action he'd just proposed stuck me almost immediately.

I clenched the clammy porcelain in my hands. "How old?"

"America?" Maxon seemed confused, like he didn't know what I was asking.

"How old is she?" I managed as I waited for another wave of nausea to crest over me.

Maxon swallowed. "I'm not sure. About twelve, I think."

I felt my strength leave me and I leaned heavily against my husband. "And your father didn't—?"

My voice trailed off as I tasted bile again.

Maxon shook his head. "Maybe Dad kept her around in case I got myself killed."

That didn't help.

The smoky scent of gunpowder filled my nostrils though I still knelt on the cold tile of my suite's bathroom with Maxon's and around me

My heart thundered in my chest. "Maxon," I whispered weakly, the sight of my husband's body lying on the floor as a red stain grew on his chest filled my view again.

"I'm here, America," Maxon murmured in my ear.

The warmth of his breath on my ear grounded me back to the present moment. I trembled as Maxon held me tightly. "I'm sorry," he whispered as he swept away the small wisps of hair at my temple which were wet with the cold sweat which the flashback had brought with it. "I should have thought about your nightmares."

My hand shook as I reached over to grasp at him, to hold him and reassure myself that this was just a bad memory, not some terrible omen of our future.

"You can't do this," I whispered.

Maxon groaned as I felt him stiffen against me. "I don't want to, but if I don't, I'm failing to discharge my duties to Illéa." His voice fell to a whisper. "I'm still not sure I'm not going to regret letting August Illéa live one day, but can you imagine the chaos which would come from not only a battle between the Schreave and Illéa lines but also between the two children of Clarkson Schreave?"

We'd only narrowly avoided an all-out civil war when Maxon had become King, and that was because the Northern rebels had come to the aid of the Crown. And they'd only come to help us because they believed Maxon would be a more benevolent ruler than his father.

The idea of a civil war breaking out because of our actions, a war which could be fought when Eadlyn was on the throne or when her children were the monarch, made my stomach churn with anxiety. No wonder Maxon had kept this knowledge a secret. No wonder he'd waited until we had secured a line of succession ourselves in Eadlyn and Ahren before he even told me.

"You're talking about executing a child for something she hasn't done yet—something she might not ever do," I managed softly as I controlled my stomach with deep breaths. I turned so I could see Maxon's face. "You're talking about punishing her for the sins of her parents."

He winced.

"Isn't that precisely what we're trying to do away with by ending the caste system?" I asked, my heart still as I hoped beyond hope that Maxon wouldn't do this. He'd regret it his whole life if he did.

Maxon was quiet as he pulled away and stood. He helped me to my feet as we both went about cleaning the bathroom and me so that Mary would hopefully see no evidence of my getting sick. The last thing I needed was Mary fussing over me or some tabloid getting wind of some rumor that I might be pregnant again so soon after the birth of the twins. Neither was really true, and I just wanted a moment of privacy to process what Maxon had just shared with me.

"I can't do anything about her right now," Maxon said softly as I brushed my teeth. "I don't know where she is."

I watched him in the mirror as he walked out to the suite again. I rinsed my mouth and smoothed my hair. "Are you going to try to find her?"

Maxon stiffened before he nodded. "Yes. I'd be irresponsible if I didn't at least know where she was."

I nodded, expecting the answer. "You'll ask Aspen to find her?"

It wasn't a question so much as a hunch. Maxon always seemed to entrust Aspen with his most closely guarded secrets.

His head bobbed again.

I wasn't entirely sure how things had changed between them since Maxon had first confronted Aspen and me about our past relationship, but somewhere along the line, the two had become more like brothers than adversaries. It warmed my heart.

"What on Earth could she do at twelve to overthrow you?" I whispered as I sat beside him on the bed.

Maxon swallowed. "I wasn't going to tell you, but she's always going to be tied to my first beating from my father."

I stared at him, stunned.

"Her mother left my father's room, and I felt brave enough to defend my mother's honor." He stretched his back as if he could still feel the sting of his father's lashings on his back. "I learned my lesson that night."

"But how—?"

Even as the question left my lips, I wanted to curse my loose tongue.

Maxon offered me a mirthless smile. "I didn't just confront my father about the affair," he breathed. "I confronted his mistress. And she said she'd pass along my regards to my little sister."

I could see the shame written on his face. I couldn't tell if it was personal shame about what he wished he done or if it was evidence of how ashamed he was to be his father's son.

I reached over and took his hand in mine, threading my fingers between his. He offered me a thin smile of gratitude for the support.

"What is it they say?" I murmured as I ran my thumb over the smooth back of his hand, "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?"

He looked at me, his curiosity playing on his face.

"If you find her and you really are worried about her future allegiances," I began slowly. "Maybe you should bring her here. Maybe we should invite her to live with us."

His jaw dropped. "America, are you crazy?"

I offered him a sardonic smile. "It wouldn't be the first time you thought so."

Maxon laughed, a sound borne out of exhaustion, worry, and desperation rather than out of some tiny sparkle of joy. "And what? Give her free reign of the castle?"

I shook my head. "Of course not. I'm not that crazy." I inhaled as the idea took root within me. "Maxon, you just said she's likely never met her father. Maybe she could use the influence of a big brother. Maybe you could take her under your wing and teach her politics."

Maxon openly scoffed at the idea. "What? So she'll have the tools to actually overthrow us?"

I put my hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him. "Or so she'll know exactly what she'd be in for if anyone came knocking. So she'd know she could trust you as a brother and as a monarch."

Maxon ran his hand over his face before he looked back at me. "My father's rolling over in his grave as we speak. You know that, right?"

"I never believed he deserved to rest in peace," I breathed, a little more darkly than I'd expected.

Maxon sighed as he turned to face me. "She might not actually want to have anything to do with ruling," he said with a shrug. "She might want to—" He shrugged as his mind attempted to grasp at something, anything, which might attract the attention of a twelve year old girl. It was rather funny to see the emotion play out in his face. "I don't know—become a model."

I snorted. "Is that what you expect all twelve year old girls want to be?"

"That's just it!" He threw his hands into the air. "I don't know any of this stuff!"

Boy, was he going to be in for a fun surprise when Eadlyn approached adolescence! Something told me that after a steady diet of commentary on her royal potential, even the slightest joke that she might want to be anything than the first rightful female heir to the throne of Illéa might be a near death sentence.

"She might want to be an engineer," I said with a chuckle. "Or a teacher. Or a novelist. Or any number of things." I took his hand in mine again with a smile. "But no matter what she wants to do or be, I think she should have the chance."

Maxon sighed again though he didn't say a word.

"And," I whispered carefully. "I think she's going to need her big brother if she has the best chance of real success."

Maxon sat quietly beside me for a few moments. Then, he turned back to me. "I'll take it under advisement," he admitted with a slight, conciliatory nod in my direction. "But I do have to find her before I can make any actual decisions."

I nodded as I leaned my head on his shoulder. He pulled his fingers out of my hand and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. "I trust you," I whispered up into his ear. "I trust that you're a good man with a good heart who wants what's best for his family, his people, and his country."

Maxon shook his head in disbelief as he looked at me. It was as if he'd never seen me before, and I relished the thought that even now I could surprise him sometimes. "I love you, America," he said as a smile lifted the corners of his eyes upward. "I don't know how you always know what I need to hear and when I need to hear it most. But that was perfect."

I grinned as he leaned in to kiss me. I leaned into him, my arms crawling up his strong arms which snaked around my waist. "Don't tell anyone, but I've used the royal coffers to employ a mind-reader," I teased as I nipped at his lips with my own.

Maxon laughed loudly. "If that's true, would you send him my way once in a while?" His eyes danced merrily, his troubles forgotten for a moment. "I'd love to be able to read your mind."

I giggled as I leaned back on the bed, pulling him to lean over me. "And just what might I be thinking now, Your Majesty?"

I batted my eyelashes at him as if I was far more innocent than I actually was.

Maxon growled playfully as he nuzzled his face in my neck. I gasped in delight as a door creaked open.

"Your Majesty," Mary's voice sounded as she walked in, and I wondered if she thought she'd given us enough of the privacy we'd asked for no more than thirty minutes earlier. "The nanny asked me to—Oh!"

I laughed as Maxon dropped his face with a groan into my shoulder. I turned in such a way to view Mary, a broad grin on my face as I did so. "Tell Nanny I'll be there in a moment."

Mary curtsied and left quickly as I looked back at my husband. "I suppose the real world has need of us, my dear."

Maxon's head snapped up. "Did you just call me your dear?"

"I regretted the words the moment they came out of my mouth," I groaned as I pressed my free hand to my eyes.

His eyes were twinkling now. "I don't quite know how to respond," he laughed. "There are so many things I could say. Something about not being your dear comes readily to mind."

I gave him a playful shove and rolled out from under him. "Ha ha."

I could hear Maxon's laughter even as I stood and his butler knocked on the adjoining door to our suites. "Your Majesty?"

I smirked as Maxon sat up, the amusement still playing on his face. "I'll be there in a moment."

The butler nodded as Maxon walked over to me. "I guess this is us reporting for duty again."

I nodded as he kissed me. "I love you, America Singer."

I smiled, feeling the radiant affection I had for my husband returned as I looked in his eyes. "I love you, Maxon Schreave."

A small niggle of worry played in the back of my mind. "You're going to be okay?" I whispered.

He took my hand in his and brought my fingers to his lips. "With you as my Queen, how could I be anything but?"

And then with another shake of his head accompanied by a low "my dear" whispered under his breath with a chuckle, my husband left the room.

"Your Majesty?" Mary asked as she entered the room again.

"I know," I said with a nod as I turned back toward her. "Nanny needs me."

"From the sounds of it," she said with an amused smile which she was trying to stifle, "it's Princess Eadlyn who needs you."

I laughed with a shake of my head and checked the clock. Twenty minutes after Ahren had eaten and just as he was likely about to fall asleep? Sounded about right. "Tell Nanny I'm coming."