A/N: Thank you all for your reviews/favorites/follows! They mean so much to me! I thought I had written an author's note at the beginning of the story, but apparently not!

So I know the no rebel attack is written about all the time, so I want to reassure you about a few things: 1) Nothing weird is going to happen 2) This is the only chapter without Maxamerica 3) This story will be fairly short—I'm guessing 6-7 chapters? And it is all written, so no worries about me leaving it unfinished!

Thank you again so much for your reviews! I'm going to acknowledge them all here, but PM me if you want to talk Maxamerica! (or Warnette, just saying)

Snb4evss: I will take note: one vote for a happy ending ;)

Whisperblaze luvs Eikko: Thanks, superfan, for your comment as always! I won't promise they are getting back together haha. But I do promise the next chapter will include Maxon and America figuring it out together!

ReneFurterar0, Guest (1), Guest (2), katkitty05, Guest (3), and : Thanks so much! Your wish is my command. I love writing about Maxon and America! I almost wrote I love writing from Maxon's POV, but I realized I am thinking of this chapter! So enjoy that ;)

Lily: Thanks so much! Thanks for the Kriss hate, I love it. As satisfying as it would be to kill off Kriss, I have other plans, no worries

Hayley15: Thanks for always reviewing! I love to see people reviewing multiple stories, it means I am not doing too terrible!

Sweetwaterspice: You know I love making people cry! And… not sure how much hope you will get from this chapter. Oops. I just had to torture Maxon a little more. And he deserves it this time for pulling an Aspen!

MAXON'S POV

I sighed, looking at the clock in my office. Five minutes and I would have to leave and find Kriss for our date. It had been two weeks since I proposed and two weeks until we were to be wed, yet I still carried around with me the weight of another future, one I felt I had just missed. A future with a red-haired, vivacious girl with bright blue eyes who I saw now only in my dreams. I had hoped to have longer before the wedding, to try to forget her and focus on Kriss. But when I suggested postponing the ceremony, my father had pulled me into his office in the middle of the night and "convinced" me otherwise. I had barely slept a wink since and had agreed with all of his choices for the wedding. He seemed to like Kriss, or at least how easily she was controlled. I shivered, wondering how Kriss would handle it when I told her my secret.

As soon as I had been passed the microphone at the ceremony, I knew I was making a mistake. One look at America and I had wanted to pull her into my arms and never let go. Standing in front of the entire country, I had panicked. I wished I could have paused everything, talked to her, tried to understand. But instead, the world watched as I proposed to Kriss. Then, when I saw America in the garden, my world crashed around me as she told me of her ex-boyfriend's impending nuptials. What had I done? How could I be so stupid? Why hadn't I listened to her when she tried to explain? But there was no going back. Even if I wanted to, my father would kill me. Or her.

I pushed myself from my chair and headed down the hall. I repeat my mantra, as if saying it over and over will make the words come true. You love Kriss, Maxon. Kriss. Sweet Kriss. Honest Kriss. Beautiful Kriss…

A flash of red hair caught my attention and I stopped in my tracks. She was here. At the end of the hall, facing away from me, her hair bouncing at her shoulders. She was walking away, bundling something in her arms. I followed, my pulse racing.

Everything else was long forgotten, all of the reasons to stay away seemed so unimportant. I opened my mouth to call her name, but could not find my voice. Reaching out, I put my hand on her shoulder and she turned…

"Your Highness," the maid said, startled enough to almost drop her bundle of laundry.

I blinked once. Twice. The hair I thought was red was actually brown and the maid in front of me looked nothing like America.

"I—I—I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else." I backed away and fled down the hall, almost colliding with a guard when I rounded the corner.

"Excuse me, sir." The guard said, bowing. When he stood up, I found myself looking into the eyes of the man I had so carefully avoided for the past few weeks. Aspen Leger.

"Could this day get any worse?" I mutter under my breath, running my hand through my hair.

"Sir?" Leger looked nervous, as if I might rescind my forgiveness and send him to New Asia after all.

Glancing both ways, I find we are alone. "You ruined my life," I seethe, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth I know they are a lie. He opens his mouth but I hold up a hand to stop him. "No, I know. I ruined my own life. But it doesn't change the fact that if it wasn't for you I would be marrying America in two weeks."

Leger surprised me by smiling and crossing his arms, "And if it wasn't for you, I would have married America by now. So I guess we are even."

My glare softens when I realize how refreshing it is to have someone to know what is really going on in my life. To have someone who also loved and lost America. "What do I do?"

Leger laughs quietly. "I'm not the right person to ask, I never got her back, remember?" He shrugged and then said seriously, "But by the time I tried to win her back, I had already lost her heart to you. The difference is, I think you still have it." And with a quick bow, he walked away from me.

Minutes later, I found myself walking past the gardens. I hadn't gone out there since the last night I saw America, and now I leaned with one hand pressed to the glass doors. My chest was throbbing from the pain of thinking I had been near America once more and from my conversation with Leger. Even if he was right, and I did still have her love, I was trapped. He didn't understand the pressure I was under, my father's severity and the public outrage that would come from me calling off my engagement. I had to forget about this. It was time to move on. I closed my eyes, allowing my head to fall against the glass. This was how I stood until Kriss found me.

"Maxon?" She said shyly.

"Kriss!" I stood up and straightened my jacket. "I was just coming to find you."

"Did you want to go on a walk?" She gestured outside.

"No," I said too quickly. I smiled and took a step towards her, placing my hands on her arms. "Let's go watch a movie." So we wouldn't have to talk. I took her arm and led her to the theater. She chattered about her day and I felt myself relaxing. Sweet Kriss. Honest Kriss. Beautiful Kriss. I smiled at her joke. You can do this, Maxon. It will be easy. Just allow yourself to sink down into the warm embrace of Kriss' love.

Then why does it feel like I'm drowning?

That evening, I held Kriss in my arms, kissing her. As with Celeste, these few minutes always made me forget my misery and heartbreak. Unlike Celeste, though, I felt terrible for using Kriss this way. Since the engagement, our relationship had become much more physical, but there was no spark, nothing to make me feel alive.

Kriss was running her hands through my hair and I pulled her closer. She giggled and I pushed us onto the bed. My kisses moved down from her lips, to her neck, her ear...

Kriss was unbuttoning my shirt. I grabbed her hands, kissing her fingers, and moved them away. A few seconds later, her fingers were back at my buttons. I pulled away, slightly, wanting to keep the focus on kissing her and not on talking. "Not yet," I whispered.

She pulled away slightly, frowning. "Am I the only one not allowed to see you undressed?"

I sighed in frustration, "Kriss, it wasn't like that." I leaned in and began kissing her gently. I felt her smile and she pulled me closer using the front of my shirt.

Before I realized what was happening, her hands were snaking up underneath the back of my shirt. She gasped as her fingertips brushed one of my scars.

I pushed her hands away and sat up, putting my head in my hands. "I told you to leave it alone, Kriss."

"Maxon, what is going on?"

"It is nothing. I should go."

"It isn't nothing, what happened?"

I groaned, my face flushing with shame. There was no way to put off this conversation anymore. For a long time I thought my days of explaining were over once America knew. My heart skipped a beat, thinking of our time in the safe room. "My father is... very strict. And he has a temper. He sometimes takes it out on me."

"Maxon, why didn't you tell me?"

"I was planning to, when the time came. It isn't something I talk about."

"But you told America, right? She saw you with your shirt off."

Hearing her name made me feel sick. I wished myself away, to a place where I was not having this conversation.

"I didn't... it wasn't like that. She found out." I could see Kriss' question forming. "After America talked about the castes on the report, my father was angry. Very angry. America and I ended up in a saferoom together and I needed her help."

Kriss' eyes widened, "He hurt you? Because of America?"

"No," I ran my hand through my hair, "I mean yes. But it wasn't her fault."

"Why do you keep defending her?" Kriss frowned.

Because I'm hopelessly in love with her. I stood up, "I'm not. Kriss, you can't tell anyone about this, okay? No one else knows."

"Except America, you mean," Kriss said coldly.

"I'm not talking about this anymore, okay? I have to go."

I walked out of the door, storming down the hall, my mind racing. For some reason, Kriss finding out my secret felt like a betrayal. Of America. All of the time spent with Kriss now felt like a betrayal. Glancing around, I found myself in a small library. I took three steadying breaths and another flash of red caught my eye.

I pulled the magazine from the stack on the table. This time it was her, on the cover.

"America Singer, Illea's Most Eligible Bachelorette. But Who Will Win Her Heart?"

I flipped to the story. America and I's official portrait where she wore her sash was at the top of the page. "Prince Maxon, Who?" The title proclaimed. Below were paparazzi pictures of America in Carolina, surrounded by men. She wore the jeans I had given her, her hair pulled into a messy bun, a thin smile on her lips as she waved to the crowd. Her sister and brother-in-law were on each side of her, a barrier against the crowd. Scanning through the story, I learned that men from around the country had swarmed her town, vying for the chance at her heart. Another photo was of her peering out the door, a royal messenger from England holding out a letter. The magazine said its sources indicated America had suitors from around the world ranging from royalty to superstars.

I groaned, turning to place the magazine back on the stack, when the gossip magazine below caught my eye. Another photo of America, this time holding a violin in front of a captive audience of children. "The Princess of Illea's Heart" the title read. Below was another, the photo captured America's devastated look just as I knelt before Kriss, "Maxon's Big Mistake." I briefly wondered how that title had made its way to print. They had no idea. I laughed as I flipped through the pages. All that time spent worrying about how the country would receive America. They loved her.

When I saw the next photo my heart dropped. It was clearly a surveillance photo, zoomed in through the curtains of America's house. She sat on a chair at her kitchen table, her face buried in her hands, her sister's arms around her neck. In front of her I recognized my wedding invitation. "America the Beautiful to Attend Royal Wedding."

I stared at the photo, its sadness mirroring my own, before throwing all of the magazines on the floor. She was being stalked, every move she made watched. Did they not have any compassion? I closed my eyes, my fists shaking, but the image of her devastation burned behind my eyelids. She loved me and I had ruined everything.