Our reception goes on much longer than the first, and I suspect it was because our guests are too happy to actually leave. Still, for as lengthy as it is, the whole thing passes in a blur. The liveliness of the Italians is entralling, but I have to admit I am ready to sleep by the end of the night. Ready to sleep and hopefully see Maxon. I haven't seen his in two days, as he wanted me to get my sleep the night before.

"Lady America," Queen Amberly falls in step beside me as I head towards my room.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"You have done remarkably well these last two nights," she compliments

"Thank you, my lady. I enjoyed meeting the delegates from the German Federation and the Italian Monarch."

"It looked like you know german, did your mother teach you?" Her abruptness isn't rude, I think it is impossible for anything the queen does to be rude, but it's startling.

I don't respond immediately, not wanting to lie but unsure if I should tell the truth either.

"I'm sure the separation from Maxon has been quite difficult for you two." She looks at me from the corner of her eye and I know that she knows exactly where I learned my limited german.

"Your Majesty," I begin but she stops me.

"I trust my son," she says. "And if I'm being completely honest, I'm beginning to trust you as well."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." I feel as though everything is starting to go right. "For your trust and for last week," I add. She looks confused so I continue, "Maxon told me that the king wanted to send me home, but you fought for us. I'm beginning to realize, well," I look down at my hands, embarrassed. "I'm starting to see that I don't know what I'd do without him."

"That's all the thanks I need, America." She smiles softly, motherly, before an odd emotion crosses her face. "There's something I should tell you, something I learned the hard way when Clarkson chose me. The Selection is more than the future king choosing a queen. It's political, the process I mean. Even though Maxon might know who he wants, there are hoops and ceremonies and tests that need to be completed before he can propose. This means that even if his heart is already engaged, he will have to continue to court the other ladies."

"Why?" my chest started to hurt even thinking of it.

"The advisors choose the selected, the people choose the Elite, qualifications chose the final three, and Maxon chooses a wife. There are ways that a prince can influence these choices, taking a girl on a romantic date in front of cameras, talking about her the most on the Report, teaching her parts of a language to impress allies, or arranging for her to receive better training or advice during the final stages, but he must keep up the charade of the others. The Selection is a tradition for all of Illea, and everyone takes pride in playing their parts. If Maxon was to chose a lady the first week, the Selection would be seen as prearranged. If Maxon was to ignore a strategic candidate like Lady Elise, he would be seem as ignorant. If he was to dismiss a people's favorite like Marlee, insensitive. If the candidates were narrowed down to the final two, and he upset an influential family such a the Newcomb's, offensive."

"And if he married a five?" my vice was barely above a whisper, afraid of the answer. I had never thought anything could be so complicated.

"It can be done, America. But you need to be careful not to upset the delicate balance. If you asked, or even hinted, at wanting the Selection over tomorrow, I fear Maxon would do it. If you asked for a specific lady to be gone, Maxon wouldn't hesitate to think about the consequences. Because you were a five, proving to the country that you can be queen through opportunities like these dinners will be invaluable.

"But you will also need patient with Maxon as he attempts to navigate these dangerous waters. He will need to be seen with the other girls, dates, talks, maybe a few kisses. If he feels the way I suspect he does, it will be just as hard for him as it will be for you. Be his anchor. Let him know that you trust him. Love him selflessly."

Selflessly not selfishly. Could I do that? Maxon deserves no less, of course, but I'm not good at being selfless. I've known that Maxon has preferred me since before the Halloween Ball and I know that he was waiting for me to come around, not sparring with his own doubts. The queen seemed so confident that Maxon loved me, and he's hinted at it before, we both have. Perhaps it was time for me to get over my fears and just admit it. But how can I tell him I love when I'm still hiding what happened with Aspen from him.

I smile, which feels more like a lie, and thank her again. She could tell something was wrong, but probably chalked it up to being upset over her words. I was grateful when I reached my room without meeting anyone else. For the first time in a week, I have no desire to see my prince.

"Anne, can I take a bath?"

"A bath, my lady?"

I hadn't taken on since I got here, preferring the complex shower, so I know she's shocked. "Yes," I say simply as she hurries to ready the small pool that was sunken into the floor in the corner of the bathroom.

"You can go," I tell my maids as I step into the bath. "I'll dress myself for bed."

Once alone, I look down at the pinkish foam, trying to remember the last time I played with bubbles in a bath. I pull my knees up to my chest in the warm water as a hundred moths tore up the inside of my stomach. Tears stream down my face and they mix with the steam coming up.

I feel sick, so, so, sick. Why had I been so stupid? What the hell had I been thinking? I think back to that night Aspen first came into my room. He had only been there because Maxon had been worried about me sleeping alone. Because he thought I would be more comfortable with someone I knew. Maxon, being the kind, amazing man had stationed a guard outside my door to keep me safe, because he worried about me. And how did I repay him?

I sob. I don't want Aspen. I want Maxon, but how could I continue to look him in the face?

Love him selflessly, his mother had said.

How can I do that? I'm the most selfish person I know. I hate it. I hate that I did this. I hate my weaknesses and my flaws. I hate all these mistakes I made. I hate how I'm not free to love Maxon like he deserves. I hate how I'm not even capable of it. I hate how the only think I want is to be wrapped up in Maxon's arms right now.

I let the tears and the cries come, and they aren't quiet. My waters run cold but I don't care. My mind doesn't stop. I jerk and cry in frustration and sob and feel my shame like a thousand pounds trapping me in the only thing I hate more than my actions: myself.

I think about the queen and her gentle support and pride. I think about the Italian Princess's hope and faith in me. I think about the lashings on Marlee's hands and Carter's back. I think about the feeling I got when I introduced my family to Maxon. I think about Aspen's doubt that I could never be queen. I think about Celeste's stupid article. I think about the night I went to Maxon's room. I think about how a father could whip his child. I think about how a woman could betray a man. I think about how I'm no better than his father.

A hand on my shoulder startles me and I jerk away from the unexpected touch. Maxon kneels by the edge of the tub, concern and worry evident on his face. "My darling, are you alright?"

I should have known he would have come tonight. I try to speak but my throat is clogged so I settle for a pathetic shake of my head. He reaches for me, as if the sight of me in pain makes him forget everything else. He pauses, seeming to notice that I am, in fact, naked.

I know what I must look like, tear stained eyes that have been rubbed raw, a quivering bottom lip as I try to hold back my sobs, and a completely pruned body from the hour plus spent in the water. I expect him to advert his eyes like most gentlemen would, but he doesn't. It's like he doesn't even care, I might as well be fully dressed or wearing a ridiculous costume because he has more pressing matters to attend to. He leans down over the water, bringing my head into his shoulder. My soaking wet hair rests on his expensive suit but he pays my protest no heed.

Maxon grabs the towel Anne had left on the counter and helps me out of the bath, never once sneaking a peek or being anything other than absolutely perfect. I love him. It's so clear, so simple. So true. I love him, and I can't keep this from him any longer.

I take the towel from him and after making sure I was sturdy, he leaves me to change. Anne had kindly left out a nightdress and gown. I take the longest amount of time possible to dry off and dress, not wanting to do what I knew I have to.

When I'm finished, I find Maxon sitting on my bed. It feels so natural to see him there. A thought crosses my mind, I could just not tell him. I could forget about everything to do with Aspen and no one would ever be the wiser. But no, I couldn't live with myself. I love him too much to lie to him anymore.

I walk to his side and collapse into his arms, telling myself that I had sixty seconds. Sixty seconds before what I know will be the worst moments of my life.

Times up.

"I'm so sorry, Maxon," I begin. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry for what, my darling?" He asks confused.

He doesn't understand. He needs to stop calling me his darling. I'm not. I'm the one who hurt and betrayed him. I'm the one who cheated and lied.

"I-I," my stutter breaks way to more sobs.

Maxon pulls back, "America?"

I look up into his handsome, loving face. I want to tell his how much I love him. Tell him I want to marry him. Tell him I'll be his from this day till forever. But I can't. I won't taint those words by saying them tonight. I know after I tell him about Aspen, he'll send me home. I'll never be able to see his face light up when I finally tell him I love him. I'll never get to see his eyes look up at me in the face of my baby girl. I'll never hear him tease me out of my sleepy state again. I'll never spend another moment in the arms of my prince.

I look away from him, unable to see his face as I tell him this. "I kissed a guard."

"What?" Disbelief and accusation flood through that one word.

"One of the guards stationed at my door, the one from Carolina. I've kissed him."

"Why? When?" The words break me in a way I doubt will ever be fixable.

"He was the one who left me, the one who broke my heart. He wanted me back, said he made a mistake. I was confused, I, I didn't know what to do."

"You say no, America!" He jumps from the bed in righteous anger.

"I know! I know that now," I cry. "It was a mistake, it was all a mistake. I don't want him, Maxon, I don't love him anymore."

"I thought you loved me," he whispers to himself.

"I do," I admit, but he doesn't seem to hear me.

"Why?" He demands.

My sobs are interrupted by annoying hiccups that make the words even harder to get out. "I was homesick. He was safe. I–"

"Safe?" Maxon yells. "It could have gotten you killed!"

"I know. I wasn't thinking," I say.

"No, you weren't." He all but spits out the words. The prince runs a hand through his blonde hair like I had done so many times and would never do again. "God, I was so stupid," he says to himself.

Before I can oppose him he suddenly asks, "Do you love him, America? Do you want me to send you back to Carolina?"

"No, no I—"

"You what? You can't expect me to keep you here."

"I know," I choke on the words. But I wish you could.

"I wanted forever with you, America."

"I want that too," I beg him to understand.

"Then how could you do this?"

"I just—"

"You know, you just, you wanted. What about me, America? How could you sit there and tell me you wanted to marry me, that you were mine? This past week has been the best in my life, and it was all lies."

"No, nothing I said to you was a lie."

"You were seeing someone else," Maxon shouted.

"Not then. Not now. I stopped, Maxon, I swear to God I stopped. Everything that I have said to you since I came to your room has been true. Everything we've done. Everything we've felt."

Maxon shakes his head, "I trusted you." With that, he turns on his heel and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

One thought consumes me: I had just lost everything