To answer some questions: This is not a One-Shot(as you can see), I hope to write this story up to the wedding, while it will probably not hold every part of the rest of The Elite and then The One, it will have the big stuff as well as the consequences of changing the story in this way. Also, it will earn it's rating ;) just be patient for a few chapters. Let me know what you think in the reviews! Thanks.
Before I know it, we have arrived before the grand doors of the library. I'm bombarded by the smell of books and a sight that can only be described as a bibliophilic dream. The room is larger than the Great Room and the ceiling reaches three floors up. There are staircases on each side of the room but unlike the ones in the rest of the palace, they are not designed to be grand, they are made to take up the least amount of space possible. They are cast iron and spiral up the three floors, reaching each balcony overlooking the center sitting area.
"Do you like it?" Maxon asks.
I walk further into the room, turning in a circle to examine every side of the library. "Its beautiful," I whisper in awe. "How come I haven't seen it before?"
He steps forward, hands behind his back, looking at the room with me. "It's used as a personal study for my family and the advisers. There's a public one on the other side of the palace, you might have seen that one, but it doesn't have near the amount of books as this. Plus the only way to get here is from the Royal Wing or the boardroom. The two most heavily guarded places other than the saferooms."
Maxon offers me his hand and leads me to the left staircase. I expect it to be creaky and rusty like the ones I have seen in the refurbished building in Carolina, but its solid and no residue comes off on my hands when I touch the railing.
"The books are organized by floor," Maxon says. "The advisors are only supposed to use the first and second floors, history and social science and then poetry and literature, respectively. The third is personal books."
We arrive on the third floor and I realize the atmosphere has changed. The first two seem professional enough, but this is comfortable. Instead of tables and chairs taking up the limited space on the balcony, there are bookcases that run the partial width of the floor forming columns and rows. The colors of the books themselves are more varied, ranging from pink to blue to black. The floor is carpeted unlike the first two which were hardwood. And there is a small couch and side table nestled in to a corner behind the bookshelves.
Maxon leads us to the couch. "I used to hide here when I was a boy. Not that people didn't know where I was, but staff aren't even allowed up here without a direct order."
"So how does this help you keep your self control, if we've just traded one hiding spot for another?"
He laughs lightly. I look around at all the books and something comes to my head. I figured this would be the best way to decide if he knows whats actually in those diaries.
"So if no one is allowed up here, how come you keep the diaries hidden away?"
He pauses. "I don't know," he looks perplexed and his brow furrows like it does when something takes a lot of consideration. "I don't know why my father wouldn't just keep them up here."
I let him think for a few more moments, but as his frown deepens, I think about interrupting his thoughts. Nice going, America, you can stop ruining tonight anytime you feel like it.
"It—" I start at the same time he says, "Have you—"
I giggle. "You go."
He nods. "Have you found anything in those books? Things my father wouldn't want out?"
I bite my lip, now not knowing what to say.
"You did?" He asks incredulously. "What did it say?"
I take a breath to gather my courage and take the plunge. "It talks about how Gregory Illea came to power."
"And?" He pushes when I don't continue.
"And its not exactly good."
Maxon looks shocked and I scold myself for ever thinking he could have known. "How far are you into it?"
"Almost halfway."
"When did you read this?"
"Right after the caning."
He swears. "You must have thought the worst of me." He looks up at me suddenly, fear etched into his features. "You did, didn't you?"
"I didn't know what to think," I say quietly.
He lets out a long breathe. "I'm just glad you came to me before doing anything rash."
"Rash?" I fake outrage, attempting to lighten the mood. "Me?"
He laughs and the tension disappears. "No, not you, my darling. You are the most rational person I've ever met."
I smile cheekily. "I know. I don't understand why Silvia thinks she has anything to teach me. I'm already a model lady."
Instead of replying Maxon kisses me. I sigh happily and return it, but ultimately push him away. "You, Sir, are not good at staying away."
"Is there a reason I should?"
I roll my eyes, "You're impossible."
I sit down on the couch, picking up a thin leather-bound book. "What is this?"
Maxon lays on his back, resting his head in my lap, as I open the cover. The title page reads Poetry of the Nineteenth Century. Before I can start to read the first poem, Maxon begins to recite, "Lord Byron, 1813."
He looks up at me, his blonde hair drastically contrasted by the reds of my dress.
"She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies."
Maxon never looks away from my face, as if he was a student examining a new found philosophy that suddenly answered all their questions, as if looking at me now, made the poem adopt a new more profound meaning. My heart beats rapidly in my chest but I hear each word clearly, like my heart already knows what he means to say.
"One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place."
Maxon reaches up and traces the features he had been so carefully studying. I press a kiss to his wrist as his fingers tuck my hair behind my ear. I think I finally understand why poetry is so romantic. The way the words float off his lips, rehearsed, but sincere; a slow, composed delivery; and Maxon's voice, strong and sure, speaking the language of hearts. He finishes the poem with a small smile and a look that makes me melt. Yes, I think, poetry will definitely be explored more closely in the future.
I bring his head up off my lap to give him a chaste kiss. "Tell me, sir, why do you have a love poem memorized? Is there any past lovers I should be worried about? I would hate to be viciously attacked some day while meeting foreign dignitaries."
His eyes crinkle in amusement as he tries to keep a straight face. "Some number, I suppose. I have quite the reputation among the royal families."
"I knew it all along." I reply indignantly, smiling so he knows I'm teasing.
"You must be the only girl in the country then. Most believe I am the utmost example of a gentleman."
"I must warn them be careful not to go on walks alone with you during the next Report. There's no telling what ideas you may get once you send the camera crews away."
Maxon sits up quickly. "Then I will simply have to give my own warning. Once I am done, no man, if he believes himself to ever want children, shall dare go on a private walk with you again."
"Again? As in after the Report? Does this mean men are free to take me on walks now?"
"If a man is stupid enough to lay a hand on you, I'll be doing the world justice by removing his limbs from his body." His face is dead serious and I can't help the flutter in my stomach at Maxon's obvious possessiveness. But then I think of Aspen and those butterflies plummet, tossing and turning my stomach like a jar of beads given to a baby. Although we are teasing, I know there's always a hint of truth in everything someone says. Where I doubt Maxon will rip Aspen's arms off, I know he wouldn't—couldn't turn a blind eye if we were caught. Maxon just shared with me the biggest secret of his life, something that could ruin his father, his family and his actual reputation, and I'm cheating on him. Shit.
"America?" Maxon's concerned voice breaks thru my trance. I shake myself out of my thoughts. I can't do anything about it now. I'll talk to Aspen tomorrow, and Maxon, well, after that. Sometime.
"Sorry," I start. "Tonight's been. . ."
"Amazing," Maxon finishes, but his eyes are cautious. I hate that they're cautious again. He's right, tonight's been amazing, he's been amazing. How can someone like Maxon ever think it right to have to ask or even seek the love of someone so below him?
I nod in agreement and pull him close. I'm shaking and I know he feels it as he gently shushes me like he did when I was crying. "It's just a lot." I know he doesn't understand, but he doesn't have to. That's something I love about him.
Love about him, not love him.
Maxon turns me in his arms and holds me under his chin whole he lets me calm down. Soon I'm able to take full advantage of the stalwart body holding mine as I relax fully into him. I can feel him smile at this even if its just an instinct, but somehow, I seem to be growing increasingly aware of him and his mannerisms.
When I make no move to speak, Maxon picks up the book and begins to read the next poem, his voice a steady whisper in my ear. I bury my face in his neck so with every breath I take, my senses are overwhelmed by his scent and warmth. I feel myself start to drift away from the couch and the books and the only thing that remains is the shoulder I'm resting on. I've never fallen asleep with someone still talking, and if I wasn't so exhausted from my ample and plentiful emotions today, I'd take more notice of it. But all in all I find it quite nice. His voice, that had just moments ago seemed so clear, now seemed as if he was underwater; every word seeming both jarring and too far away to respond to. By the time I couldn't stay awake any longer, my eyelids felt as if they had a ton of gold weighing on each and my arms and legs felt like I had just run a marathon. Some where in my subconscious I know I should have Maxon take me back to my room, but that knowledge is against every desire in my body, including the most natural one: sleep.
