'I have a proposition for you.'

'I'm not interested,' Maxon shot back.

King Clarkson raised his arms in front of him, gesturing that he meant no harm. 'Hear me out.'

Maxon sighed.

'These girls have been disastrous. Even the Asian's connections have done nothing for me. The Two is too concerned with fame; and the other, well, she's not entirely hopeless, but not good enough, if you ask me. This one,' he said, pointing at me, 'whatever value she's had has been completely overshadowed by her inability to contain herself.

'This has all gone terribly wrong. And I know you. I know you're afraid of missing something, so this is my thought.'

I watched the king walk round Maxon. 'Let's call this off. Let's get rid of all the girls.'

Maxon opened his mouth to protest, but the king held up a hand. 'I'm not suggesting you stay single. I'm simply saying that we still have the entries of all the eligible girls in the country sitting around here somewhere. Wouldn't it be nice if you got to handpick a few girls to come to the palace?'

'Father, I couldn't.'

'Oh, but you could. You're the prince. And I think we've had enough outbursts that we could deem this lot unfit. You could have a real choice this time.'

I looked up again. Maxon's eyes were focused on the floor. I could see he was struggling.

'This might even appease the rebels temporarily. Think of that!' the king added. 'If we send these girls home, wait a few months like we're calling off the Selection, and then bring in a new group of lovely, educated, pleasant women… that could change a lot of things.'

Maxon tried to say something but only closed his mouth again.

'Either way, you should ask yourself if that,' he said, pointing to me again, 'is someone you could really spend your life with. Dramatic, selfish, money hungry, and, to be quite honest, very plain. Look at her, son.'

Maxon's eyes darted down to mine, holding them for a second before I had to turn away from humiliation.

'I'll give you a few days. For now there's the press to deal with. Amberly.'

The queen scurried over, placing her arm through the king's, leaving us alone and speechless.

After a short pause, Maxon came to help me stand up.

'Thanks.'

Maxon only nodded. 'I should probably go with them. No doubt they'll have questions for me as well.'

'That's a pretty nice offer,' I commented.

'Maybe the most generous one he's ever made.'

I didn't want to know if he was seriously considering this. There was nothing else to say, so I made my way past him, taking the back route to my room, hoping to outrun everything I was feeling.

Two hours later, I lay in my room, sprawled across my bed, still in the white-and-gold dress from the ceremony, only slightly more crumpled than it had been in the throne room. When I had come back, my maids had taken one look at the expression on my face and had left me alone. Since then I had hardly moved from my position on top of the covers.

I considered changing my clothes so that I could wallow in my misery for the rest of the night – and for that matter, possibly most of the next morning – in comfort, when I heard a gentle knock at the door. Knowing that if it was my maids, they would crack the door open, I said nothing. The knock came again, quiet but insistent, so I forced myself to roll over so I could get up more easily. Unfortunately I misjudged my position relative to the edge and squeaked as I fell to the floor with a thud.

'America?' Maxon's voice, laced with worry, reached my ears through the door.

Crap.

'Just a sec!' I scrambled to my feet, yanking the yards of white fabric out of the way so I didn't step on the hem. I finally reached the door, smoothing my hair in an attempt to make myself look vaguely presentable, then opened the door to find Maxon, still in his suit from earlier, standing awkwardly in the opening. He raised an eyebrow, asking silently what the commotion was. I grimaced and waved a hand in the vague direction of the bed. 'I… fell.'

His answering smirk made me roll my eyes. He'd guessed. Obviously. Then his smile melted, morphing into something far more serious. 'May I come in?'

'Oh. Yeah, of course.' I stepped out of the way, holding the door open for him to pass. Closing it carefully behind him, I watched him make his way into the middle of my room and begin to pace. He ran his hand over his face, then through his hair – from the mess it was in this was clearly not the first time that afternoon. Suddenly he stopped, and beckoned me over. I stepped reluctantly away from the wall I was leaning against, heart fluttering like a hummingbird's wings. He was going to tell me I had to go, that he was taking up his father's offer, that this was goodbye… I couldn't cry. I wouldn't. I couldn't do that to him – this would be hard enough already without any histrionics on my part.

He stood right in front of me, hardly managing to look at me. This was going to be bad. Maybe his father had told him to let me have it? It would be no more than I deserved.

'America Singer, will you marry me?'

A buzzing filled my ears. 'What?' I heard myself say distantly. That's not what I meant to say.

'Marry me, America. We can call off the Selection. Once we're engaged, my father can't do anything about it. He can't send you away. The others will go home, and we can be together. Properly. Marry me, America, and make me the happiest man in the world.' He looked me in the eye, and all at once my head was clear. I stared back at him, this amazing, strong, beautiful man who was willing to brave his father again and again for me. How could I not love him? How could I not agree, tell him all I wanted was to stay with him forever?

'America?' The glow in Maxon's eyes was dying with every passing second. 'Say something. Please.'

Had I still not said anything? In my head I was screaming, but my vocal chords had died. I opened my mouth but nothing came out. Giving up on, well, words, I simply nodded. Yes, yes, yes.

The clouds of fear crossing Maxon's face were blown away by the awe I beheld in his eyes, the awe that he must surely see in mine. His face split into a huge grin, goofy and ridiculous, but so like Maxon it made my heart clench. He crossed what little distance there was between us and wrapped his arms around my waist, lifting me up in the air and swinging me round in a circle. My voice had somehow returned, and I was laughing at the total giddiness of the moment.

'Maxon… please,' I got out, in between bouts of laughter so strong my sides hurt. 'Put me down!' He finally got the message and set me down carefully, before taking my face in his hands and kissing me soundly. My arms twisted around his neck, holding him near me as my heart threatened to hammer through my ribcage. Moving in closer to his body, I felt his heart beating against my chest, almost as though it was trying to reach mine. What was that old story my father used to tell us? That in ancient times it was believed that everyone used to have four arms, four legs and two heads. The gods feared we would grow too powerful, so used magic to split into two bodies, leaving us to spend our lives searching for our other half.

Well, I'd found him. Two halves of the same heart, kept in two separate bodies because we were too powerful together. I understood why the gods were scared: when I was with Maxon, I felt as though nothing could bring me down. I was fearless, I was fierce, and I was Maxon's.

We stayed like that for a long time, bound together by months of anxiety and yearning, of lies and love. Somehow we had found each other, defied the odds in this strange game of chance, and I was never letting him go again.