Author's Note—The waits are a little longer between chapters, as I've basically caught up to what I had "banked" early on in this story. I have about 2/3rds of Chapter 14 done, so I feel better about posting this now and crossing my fingers that I'll finish 14 and get 15 started within the next two weeks. I also have updates for a few other stories close behind. Thanks for your patience, and for sticking with me.
All mistakes are mine. Thanks to El, for storyboarding and bouncing ideas and continuing to be in my corner. ILY.
~*~Chapter 13—The First Eliminations~*~
The morning of the eliminations feels different than the previous mornings. There's a nervous energy charging the air, almost like a storm is coming and everyone is just waiting for the first drumroll of thunder to precede the sky splitting open in a torrential downpour.
The tension in the dining hall is palpable when I arrive. It's unsettling. All of us girls sit there dressed in our black gowns, waiting for the royal family to make their appearance. Nothing has been said about when or how the eliminations will occur. Breakfast is the only scheduled event on the day's agenda.
Next to me, Delly's stomach growls audibly. Her cheeks pink up as she whispers an apology, but I imagine I'd be reacting similarly if my cheese buns hadn't reappeared by my bedside today. The delicious, yeasty smell of them had reassured me and put me at ease regarding my fate, at least for now.
The wait continues. I remember what Haymitch said about punctuality at meals and events. I suppose the same courtesy is not expected of the king and queen. I can almost hear Gale's voice at my ear, whispering dark words about entitlement. I bite back a wry smile. There are far more things that Gale has been wrong about, but I'll give him this one.
Just then, the dining room doors open. Loud whispers commence immediately. When I turn in my seat, I can't help but stiffen at the sight in the doorway. Haymitch and Peeta flank Glimmer, and Peeta has one arm wrapped around her in a comforting embrace. Her eyes are puffy. Her cheeks are streaked with tears. She's also trembling as Peeta escorts her to her vacant seat. She doesn't sit down; she continues to cling to Peeta. I suck in a breath through my nostrils.
King Wheaton and Queen Aster enter the room, their faces somber. We all rise obediently. King Wheaton doesn't tell us to take our seats, as he usually does. He clears his throat and cuts his eyes towards Glimmer. Her lower lip quivers. My brows dip and I narrow my eyes.
"Ladies, I am afraid that we have an unfortunate situation on our hands," he intones. "Earlier this morning, Officer Marvel summoned me to Lady Glimmer's room. Upon my arrival, she informed me a piece of her jewelry has gone missing."
"We are hopeful that this is a misunderstanding," Peeta adds, exchanging a look with his father, "and that with a thorough search the jewelry will turn up."
"But as it is," the king continues, "we are going to need every girl to return to her room so we can conduct such a search, as a thorough inventory of Lady Glimmer's wardrobe did not turn up the item in question."
Glimmer blinks. Twin rivulets slip from her red-rimmed eyes and roll down her already damp cheeks. "It..it's…" She stops and shudders. "It's my own personal brooch. My grandfather gave it to me for good luck. And now someone has taken it!"
I know instantly that she's speaking of that large diamond brooch that she wore yesterday, brazenly pinned to her dress below her cleavage. She had made quite the show of touching it frequently. Of course her grandfather would have gifted her with such a gaudy ornamentation. It makes me think of the burnished mockingjay pin that my father had bestowed on me before I left for the palace. I feel the tiniest sliver of empathy for Glimmer, if it's something she brought from home.
The king looks grim. "Let us not make accusations yet," he chides gently. Glimmer sniffles and lays her head on the prince's shoulder. An odd sensation slithers through me, insinuating itself in my consciousness as I think about Glimmer's callous behavior yesterday when the prince was consoling Cecilia. Funny how the tables have turned and now Glimmer is the one leaning on Peeta for comfort.
After the king informs us that breakfast will be brought to us once we are in our rooms, he dismisses us. I follow everyone else towards the main doors, venturing a quick look over at Peeta. His attention is fully focused on Glimmer, who is crying again. It sounds more melodramatic than genuine. Sighing, I exit the dining room without another look at him.
It's nearly a half-hour before Lavinia brings me my breakfast tray. Just as I've started to use the edge of my fork to cut into the thin pancake-like rolls bursting at the seams with strawberries and cream, there's a sharp knock at my door. Lavinia rushes to answer it. Two guards step over the threshold.
"We're here to search your room, Lady Katniss," the taller of the two announces.
"Can I continue to eat my breakfast?" I ask. The shorter guard cracks the faintest of smiles as his partner issues a curt nod.
As I chew, I watch them open each drawer of the bureau. They're empty as far as I know. My sole possessions are in the one bag I brought, which sits on the floor of my wardrobe. When they're satisfied with the bureau, they move on to the closet. The taller guard pulls out a tablet device not unlike the one Seneca had with him when he visited me in 12.
"Lady Katniss, I'll need you to witness this, please," the shorter guard calls. I wipe my mouth with my napkin and set it down on the tray. I stand and walk to my wardrobe.
"Witness what?"
"As per the conditions of the Reaping, we do not need your permission to search your personal bag. But it is a common courtesy that we shall offer you." He motions to the floor where my bag from home sits.
"Oh. Yes. Go ahead," I agree. I have nothing to hide in there. He kneels down to rummage through my bag. I crane my neck to see what the taller one is doing with the device. He is standing in front of the drawers that house all the necklaces and bracelets and hairpieces that Cinna selected for me. The guard's eyes keep drifting back and forth between the trays of jewels and his device, and each time he returns to the device, he taps the screen. I guess this is what the king meant when he talked about "inventory," but since I haven't really worn anything in the collection I wouldn't know what's supposed to be there and what's not. I do know they won't find a stupid, gaudy diamond brooch.
"All good here," the short guard declares, zipping my bag closed. He crosses to his partner and murmurs something. The taller guard's brows lift, creases bunching his forehead, but he continues his task at hand. The short one begins pushing aside hangers and checking the shelves.
I lean against the doorframe and wonder if Glimmer still has her pouty hooks into Peeta. She probably hid the brooch herself so she could—
"Is this your robe, milady?" The guard's question snaps me from my conspiracy theorizing. I look over to see him holding up a robe—Peeta's robe. Shit.
"No," I admit.
"Where did you get this?" His tone is markedly different than it was just moments ago. I can taste his accusation on my tongue, chasing away the sweetness from the berries and cream.
"The prince gave it to me," I reply. The guard's dubious expression implores me to keep talking in defense of myself. "I was cold. He offered it to me. I forgot I was still wearing it when I returned to my room. If he'd like it back, you may take it." I keep my voice as steady as possible knowing I am telling the truth, if not holding back a small part of it. I don't like the accusatory glint that I see in the guard's eyes.
To my relief, the taller one speaks up and suggests, "Contact His Royal Highness. If he corroborates her story, we can let it go." Still clutching the robe, the short guard raises his wrist towards his face.
"Your Majesty, it's Officer Mitchell. Are you there?"
A moment later I hear Peeta's warm voice. "I am, Officer Mitchell. Is there a problem?"
"I'm not certain, Your Majesty. I'm with Lady Katniss. Officer Jackson and I are conducting the search of her room."
"Yes?"
"She's in possession of something of yours, Your Majesty."
"And what would that be?"
"Your robe, sir."
Peeta's laughter rings through the device, rich and throaty. I can practically hear the amusement in it. "I have dozens of robes, Mitchell. I do not think that I should miss one of them."
Officer Mitchell purses his lips at me. "She said that you gave it to her. Is that correct?"
"I did," Peeta replies smoothly. "She was cold on our date."
The look that passes between Officers Mitchell and Jackson makes me shift uncomfortably on the balls of my feet. Their demeanors clearly suggest they think there's a far more salacious explanation as to how I might have come to be in possession of his robe. My cheeks flood with heat as I realize what conclusion they're jumping to—that I must have been in the prince's private chambers where he keeps his robes.
I tamp down the urge to blurt out the truth, because it is just as scandalous. I'm certain there would be consequences if it were to be disclosed I had been in the gardens with Peeta on that first night. His behavior and his conversation with Officer Thresh all but assured me of that.
"Officers? Are you still there?" Peeta's voice comes through the communicuff.
"Ah, yes, Your Majesty," Officer Jackson says. "We just needed to verify Lady Katniss's story, since, after all, we are in the process of investigating a suspected theft."
"But that robe is not the suspected item, now, is it?" Peeta replies. "She is telling the truth. You have both been in the theater. You know it is quite chilly, and as I often go down there after hours, wearing only my pajamas, I have been known to keep a robe lying around. End of the story. You are not to mention this again. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," they echo in unison.
"Lady Katniss?"
"Y-yes, Your Highness?" I'm caught off-guard at being addressed by the prince, not to mention how fluidly he just concocted a wholly believable story—even if it's largely untrue.
"Do you wish to keep my robe?"
I think of the warmth of the plush garment and how it still smells of him. My stomach flips pleasantly. I murmur, "Yes, I do."
"Then it's yours," he says huskily. His tone is brusquer when he says, "Are we finished, officers?" But even I know it's not a question.
"Yes, Your Majesty, we are. Thank you, sir." Officer Mitchell raises his hand, intent on silencing the communicuff.
"Lady Katniss?" Peeta calls again.
"Yes?"
"I shall see you later." There's a faint hum that indicates that he has ended the call.
"Where would you like this, milady?" Officer Mitchell holds out Peeta's robe. Without hesitation, I reach out and take it from him, hugging it to my chest. The guard's countenance softens and his smile is almost apologetic as he tells me they're nearly done with their search.
I leave them to the rest of their work, snatch one plump strawberry from what's left of my breakfast, and climb onto the window seat, draping Peeta's robe over my lap. Inhaling the woodsy cinnamon essence, I stare out over the palace grounds, and wait.
Sometime later—maybe an hour or so—the familiar chirp directs my attention to the screen. As the crest of Mellark looms, I lay Peeta's robe across the cushioned bench and hop down from the window seat, crossing to stand before the screen.
I wasn't aware I had been holding my breath, but when the crest of Mellark fades and I find myself gazing at Cecilia's pretty face, all of the air rushes from my lungs. I know what's coming next. The eliminations have begun. A second later, the portrait blanches of color, and after another several seconds, it disappears entirely. A lump rises in my throat. Poor Cecilia, being sent home after all that she's been through in the last 24 hours. It doesn't seem like Peeta to do such a thing. It makes me wonder if the girl actually asked to be eliminated.
I suck in another breath, waiting for the next portrait to materialize. But the screen goes dark. Then Claudius's voice echoes through my room, ordering all of us to the Great Room at once. Confusion washes over me, rooting me in place, but a knock at my door startles me into motion.
"Are you coming?" Annie's pretty face greets me, awash with worry. With an unexplained rush of happiness that she thought of me, I pull the door shut behind me and hurry to follow her down the corridor.
"This obviously means Cecilia has been sent home, right?" Annie says to me. "But only one elimination? I thought there were to be three."
"I don't know. Maybe the ones from earlier in the week do actually count. I don't know the pattern that the prince is supposed to follow." In truth, I didn't pay much attention to the pre-arranged elimination schedule in our handbooks. I only skimmed the manual that Effie had given to me.
As we near the Great Room, I drop my voice and share with Annie my suspicion that perhaps Cecilia asked to be sent home. She looks thoughtful and gives a little shrug that concedes she agrees it's a possibility.
It seems that the prolonged searches of our rooms has been sufficient time for Glimmer to recover from her trauma. She is the first person I see as I enter the room, standing by the District 1 couch with Cashmere, Clove, and Enobaria. Gloat colors Glimmer's visage as heavily as her reapplied makeup as she talks to the other girls. Pinned to the right strap of her gown is the diamond brooch, winking obnoxiously as it catches the sunlight streaming down through the high windows.
Annie spontaneously reaches for my hand and squeezes it before striding to where Adeline and Juniper are already seated. I settle between Madge and Delly, unable to keep from staring at the empty couch in front of me, and we wait some more.
We don't have to wait long. King Wheaton, Seneca Crane, and Plutarch Heavensbee enter the room. We all stand.
"Thank you for your cooperation this morning, ladies," the king begins. "Your cooperation and patience as we conducted a thorough search of your rooms is appreciated. Although we were prepared to search the premises more extensively, such efforts were not ultimately necessary, as the object in question has been located and is now back in Lady Glimmer's possession." He flashes Glimmer a warm smile. Her hand covers the brooch and the sycophantic smile that she gives King Wheaton in return is enough to activate my gag reflex. I can taste the strawberries, now sour, at the back of my throat.
The king's expression becomes graver. "In recovering Lady Glimmer's jewelry, however, we learned its disappearance was actually more serious than a misunderstanding. It was, indeed, a theft. The brooch was discovered in Lady Cecilia's possession, hidden among her personal effects." He pauses to allow us to absorb this information. A queasy sensation in my stomach curdles, a chill passing through me. I glance around to gauge everyone else's reactions. Some girls have their hands over their mouths; others shake their heads, whether in shock or disgust. Only Glimmer looks positively elated by this revelation.
Seneca takes a step forward. "Regardless of whether this incident was a sophomoric prank or a malicious criminal act, Lady Cecilia violated one of the rules of the Reaping. She committed sabotage against Lady Glimmer, and for that reason she has been dismissed from the competition. She has been sent home to District 8, where she may still face charges. That will be for King Wheaton and his court to decide."
"This incident," Plutarch pipes up, "is independent of today's eliminations. They will still take place as scheduled."
King Wheaton then informs us that at this very moment Prince Peeta is in his study, with Haymitch, locking in his choices as to which three girls he will eliminate.
"The prince has insisted that he be the one to personally deliver the news to the eliminated girls. You will all be sequestered in your rooms until he visits you to eliminate you, or until an announcement is made indicating the eliminations have concluded."
He ends his speech with the news that tomorrow evening, in celebration of those girls who remain in the competition, the palace will host a formal dinner for some Capitol emissaries and ambassadors, as well as Viceroys Snow and Coin and several members of their cabinets. I can think of a hundred different ways that I'd rather celebrate surviving elimination than mingling with a bunch of stuffy Capitolites and that snake Snow.
"What do you think will happen to Cecilia?" Delly asks, after the king wishes us luck in the impending eliminations and we are dismissed back to our rooms.
In Panem, stealing is a crime punishable by death. Such a harsh punishment is supposed to be a strong deterrent, but hunger and desperation are more powerful motivators. In 12, I know I'm not the only one to take such risks.
"I hope that they take pity on her and let it go," Madge says. "Unless they caught her in the act, it seems unfair that she could…" she doesn't finish her thought. She doesn't have to. The memory of what happened to Wren is too recent, too raw.
"Poor Cecilia," says Delly. "Even if Glimmer did deserve it."
"Delly!" Madge and I both exclaim. I don't think I've ever heard Delly say anything bad about anyone else, ever. I didn't think she had a mean bone in her body.
Delly juts her chin forward. "Well, it's true," she says hoarsely, lowering her voice. "She's one of the nastiest people I've ever met."
"She is awful," Annie agrees, falling into step beside us, Adeline at her side. She gives Delly a sympathetic smile. "She was practically bragging about Cecilia going home, like she had a hand in it."
"Why do you think she did it—Cecilia, I mean?" Delly asks.
"If she did it," I mumble, but I don't think anyone hears me.
"Oh, that's another thing Glimmer was going on and on about. She was ranting about how Cecilia wanted revenge on her," Adeline pipes up. "You know, because her grandfather was the one who ordered Wren's execution." We all fall quiet, and I consider the possibility that Cecilia might have been compelled to seek revenge. I don't know how close she and Wren were, but I guess I can see how she might have wanted vengeance for her friend if they were more than casual acquaintances. I can't say I'd feel similarly if Madge or Delly had been wronged. Only my sister, and probably Gale, would spur such action from me.
And then there's the other possibility—that Cecilia didn't do it. But if she didn't, how did that brooch get into her room?
Even though I am almost certain that Peeta's words to me earlier all but assured my safety, for the next hour I irrationally listen for a knock on the door. I'm so attuned to it that I nearly miss the screen coming to life and the anthem beginning.
The first portrait to materialize stuns me. I feel an immediate pang of sadness for Annie as Adeline's picture fades to grey. Unlike Cecilia and Wren, I know for certain that Annie and Adeline were friends back in 4. I imagine her elimination will upset Annie.
I don't know either of the next two girls who are eliminated—a girl from 6 named Alodia and one from 10 named Gwendolyn. Neither is particularly pretty. Alodia isn't even smiling in her portrait. As Gwendolyn's picture greys out and the screen darkens, Claudius declares that our presence is required in the conservatory.
Annie's door is closed when I step into the hall. I rap my knuckles on the door and wait. Her voice is muffled as she calls back that she'll be out in a second. I glance around, catching the predatory gaze of Officer Cato. I bristle and offer him a tight smile when he flashes a slow grin.
When Annie emerges a minute later, she smiles and drags her fingers through her long, dark hair, adjusting her jewel-encrusted headband.
"Let's go," she says brightly. I blink and tilt my head, studying her reflection. Other than a flush to her cheeks, she looks totally normal. Not at all like a girl who would be distraught over her friend going home.
"I'm sorry about Adeline," I say.
"What? Oh, yeah. I wasn't expecting that. I'm sure she wasn't either."
I'm kind of surprised that she doesn't seem more upset. She actually seems more distracted than anything, but I've learned that it's futile to predict what anyone is thinking and I probably shouldn't bother to try in the first place.
The queen is standing right by the entrance of the conservatory. Annie and I both curtsy and I try to make my smile more genuine than the cool one Queen Aster offers us in return.
The tea service cart is set out, but two servers bearing trays of champagne also meander through the room. One approaches Annie and me, and we both take a flute from him.
Once all the girls are present and everyone has champagne in hand, Queen Aster addresses us. She may not be warm and friendly, but she is undeniably graceful. Her speech is flawless; she never stumbles over her words as she congratulates us on surviving our first elimination and cautions us that each elimination will be more difficult than the previous one. She speaks from experience, of course.
The last thing she mentions is that the majority of our day tomorrow will be devoted to the first of our dancing lessons, as well as lengthy sessions with our prep teams so we can be perfect for the palace's dinner guests.
At the mention of the dancing lesson, my mind drifts to the feel of Peeta's strong hand clutching mine as he held me and I twirled. I'm so caught up in the memory that I nearly miss when Queen Aster raises her glass in a toast. I sip my champagne and shake myself from the reverie.
Queen Aster doesn't stay for the duration of tea, but the time that she is present she spends with Glimmer. They seem quite engaged in whatever it is they are discussing. I hover on the edge of the conversation Delly and several other girls are having. I'm relieved at the end of the hour when I have a reason to go back to my room.
Due to preparations being made for tomorrow evening's festivities, we are informed that tonight's dinner will be served in our rooms. This announcement comes as sort of a relief. I kind of relish the idea of being alone, without feeling as if I have to shun anyone to get some solitude.
I don't think anything of it when several hours pass and Lavinia has yet to arrive with my dinner, not until my stomach offers a meek protest and I peer into the hallway to see if I can get Officer Odair's attention. The hall is deserted; every door is closed. I don't see Officer Odair anywhere, but Officer Cato is where he was earlier, near the staircase, his gaze lowered to his arm. He appears to be watching his communicuff. With a sigh, I slip back inside my room.
Not but a minute or two later there's a gentle knock on my door. I wait for Lavinia to enter, but after several seconds I move to answer it myself.
The sight of Peeta in my doorway stuns me. Two maids who I don't recognize stand behind him, both holding trays.
"Hello, Lady Katniss," he says warmly. "May I come in?"
Speechless, I step aside and make a little waving motion with my hand to indicate he should enter. He strides inside. The maids follow, setting down the trays on the bureau. They curtsy to Peeta and he dismisses them with a kind smile and thanks. Once the door has closed behind them, Peeta turns to me, his smile stretching.
"I hope you don't mind me joining you for dinner."
"N-no," I stammer, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. "I just wasn't expecting company. I didn't know…you're allowed to…dine with me, in my room?"
"Yes, I'm permitted to take meals with any of you at any time."
"Do the other girls know you are here with me?"
"I don't think that anyone saw me arriving, though Officer Boggs is presently stationed outside your room, so I suppose if anyone saw him they might put two and two together." He pauses, and his forehead creases faintly. "Why, are you worried about what they might say?"
"No. Not at all," I answer.
"Good. Come, then. Sit." He gestures towards my window seat and I cross the room to where he stands. As I take a seat on the cushioned ledge, Peeta retrieves one tray and offers it to me. Then he grabs the other and carefully settles himself next to me.
I hadn't given much thought to just how intimate an act dining is, until now. This is not the same thing as Peeta eating at a table several feet away or us sharing the popcorn in the theater. It's a little intimidating to have him so close to me. It causes me to be hyperaware of every small action: cutting, chewing, swallowing.
"So," he begins, wiping his mouth with the linen napkin. "I wish I could say that my visit is entirely social, but considering all that has transpired in the past two days, I was hoping perhaps I could invoke some of my ally privileges."
I set down my fork. "Such as?"
He's quiet for a moment before he says, "Well, the situation with Cecilia and Glimmer was unfortunate. I'll be honest, Katniss, Haymitch and my mother both warned me that girls could be quite petty and cruel to each other, but I didn't genuinely think I'd witness it. Certainly not so soon." He glances over at me. "Did you hear anything? Was there any talk of the incident today after the eliminations?"
"I didn't really speak to anyone at tea." I shrug. "I told you that I am not that popular among the other girls."
There's another long pause. "Do you think Cecilia took the brooch?" he asks.
A humorless little laugh escapes me. "I don't know. I didn't know Cecilia that well. She seemed very nice, and I felt awful for her…given what happened with Wren."
Peeta's expression becomes somber. "Yes, that was terrible."
"I know the law is the law…and I know what Wren did was wrong…" I find it a struggle to actually say the words, to voice her indiscretion, in the presence of Peeta. I know about sex, but that doesn't mean that I'm comfortable with the topic.
"She was prepared to deceive me," he replies quietly, though I can see there is some empathy etched in his handsome features.
"Yes," I concur, "that was wrong, and I don't know how she planned to hide it. But no one but her knows her reason for doing what she did. She had to have known she would pay greatly for her deceit. Still, it wasn't just her who lost her life."
"The baby," Peeta echoes, his eyes crinkling with sadness. I nod.
"As I said, I understand the law. What I don't understand is why no compassion could be shown, given the circumstances."
"I think the circumstances are what why my father felt obligated to carry out the sentence. He felt he needed to make an example of her. Because of the Reaping, all eyes are on me, but he's still the king."
"What would you have done?" The question spurts out. I can tell it catches Peeta by surprise.
"You mean…if I were king?" he asks.
"You're going to be king one day, so yes, I guess that's what I mean."
"I know the right answer is that I would have followed the law and carried out Wren's sentence. That's what would have been expected of me." He swallows. "But that's not what I would have done. I believe that people make mistakes and deserve second chances.
He continues, "You said it a moment ago. Whatever they were, Wren had her reasons. I'd like to think at the very least I would have allowed her to make a statement to defend herself. I guess I don't see things as my father does, as black and white." He sets his lips into a thin line. "This is precisely why my mother has always said I won't make a good king."
His candid admission hangs between us, and something fierce blooms in my chest as I consider what he just shared with me. I know my mother and I don't have a lot in common, but I'm fortunate that she believes in me despite that. It saddens me that Queen Aster can't see what a phenomenal man her son is.
"You'll be an excellent king," I say. His gaze becomes intense and he looks deep into my eyes. "You aren't your father, so you won't be the same kind of ruler that he is. But that's not a bad thing. There is so much more to being a good ruler than carrying out the laws of the kingdom."
His expression softens. "Thank you," he says quietly. He removes the tray from his lap and sets it down on the floor, off to the side, and then he does the same thing with mine. Then he inches closer to me and laces his fingers through mine. "I know it's a long time away…but I just don't want it to change me, you know? When it's time for me to take the throne, I still want to be me. Does that make sense?"
"Perfectly," I whisper. He's summed up exactly how I felt about the whole Reaping. How I still feel now that I am here in the palace amongst all these girls. I want Peeta to like me for me, without having me to put on any silly pretenses. I don't want this competition to change me.
Peeta clears his throat. "I guess this is as good a time as any to ask you something that I've been wondering about…from your application." A ripple of apprehension roils through my stomach, though I can't explain why.
"Uh, okay. Ask away."
A wry smile pulls at the left side of his mouth. He reaches over and glides the knuckles of his free hand along my jaw. The gentle, intimate touch freezes me in place. "Why do you look so terrified?" I stare down at my abandoned meal. He uses his thumb to tip my chin up, forcing me once more to gaze directly into his big, blue eyes. "Relax. Nothing is wrong. I have just been wondering about one of your answers."
"Just one?" I joke, attempting to placate my nerves and ease some of the tension clogging the air.
His head tilts back in laughter. "Fair enough. Anyhow, the question I'm wondering about is the one about children."
"Oh." I glance down and pick at the seams of the cushion in order to give my suddenly restless hands something to do. I hadn't thought about my application in a while. But I definitely remember that particular question and how much difficulty it presented me in phrasing an answer to it.
"You said you didn't want children," he says. "Or rather I should say you were the only one to answer anything but a definitive 'yes' to that question." I feel his eyes on me, watching me expectantly. My bottom teeth seize a portion of my upper lip as I prepare to explain myself. When I answered that question in that moment, unhappy at the prospect of the changes that were looming in my life, I had jotted down my honest answer: maybe.
"I'm sixteen," I begin haltingly. "So no, I don't want children, not now. And that's the way I answered the question. But if you mean do I ever want them…I can't say that I don't ever want them. With the right person, in the right circumstances, well…I think it's only natural to want a family."
He smiles, his face awash in something like relief. I can tell my answer pleases him, and I smile in return. I'm not naïve. The entire point of this competition is to find Prince Peeta a suitable bride, one who will make a good queen—and one who will bear his children, the future heirs of Panem. There is simply no way that Peeta will choose to keep a girl who won't give him that. It would never be allowed.
"I can't tell you how refreshing your honesty is," he says. "Sometimes I think that you're the only one who dares to tell me the truth. And yet, there is so much of you that you're not willing to reveal to me. How is that possible? How are you such an open book, but such an enigma?"
"What sort of things do you want to know about me?"
"I want to know everything about you. I know what I read on your application. And I've learned a lot in the time you've been here. Like how you do that thing with your hair when you're nervous. But I want to know more. I want to know the deep stuff."
"The deep stuff?" I echo.
"That's the kind of stuff that friends should know about each other," he replies.
I arch my brow and purse my lips at him. "Are we friends now, Peeta?" The sensual curl of his mouth holds something suggestive, but I can tell he's amused by my teasing tone.
"You were the one who used the word "friend" in your confessional yesterday," he says. "I heard it. All of Panem heard it." The way he's watching me has my veins humming like the fence in 12 when it's pulsing with current.
"I thought you were here strictly as my ally," I say.
"Yes, well, sometimes, lines need to be crossed," he murmurs. His voice has taken on a huskier cadence. My breath catches and my heart kicks my ribs. I fully expect him to close the scant distance between us and kiss me. Truthfully, I want him to kiss me.
But instead he says, "And I feel it's my duty as your friend and your ally to give you some advice about tomorrow evening, as I may not have the chance to speak with you privately before then."
I push aside any disappointment about him not kissing me and listen to Peeta as he tells me that his father has ulterior motives in hosting the dinner. Mayoral appointments are imminent. According to Peeta, there are several districts where incumbent mayors could be replaced. This dinner is a way for King Wheaton to have all of his prospective candidates in one place under the ruse of celebrating us, the Reaped.
"That's very shrewd of him," I say.
"It was my mother's idea. My father would have preferred to keep the two agendas separate." He rubs his thumb over my knuckles. "One last thing. Do your best to pay attention to the guests and make note of names and faces. Remember as much as you can."
"Why is that?"
There's an impish gleam in his eyes that makes its way to his mouth. "Might be useful a day or two from now." He raises my hand to his lips and kisses the back of my palm, then rises from the seat. "I should go." Another ripple of disappointment wends through me, mingling with the electricity still lighting my nerves, but I nod and stand.
"Thank you for the company," I say when we both reach my door. "And for the advice."
"That's what friends are for." I extend my palm towards the door, but Peeta covers my hand with his and drops his mouth to mine. The kiss is brief, though the pressure of his lips is firm and I can tell he's reluctant to pull back. But he does, giving me a smile that stirs more fluttering in my belly. "Good night, Katniss," he whispers, opening the door.
"Good night, Peeta," I echo. I hover in my doorway for a moment, watching Peeta and Officer Boggs make their way up the corridor. Once their disappear around the corner, I close my door and slump against it.
And then, inspired by Peeta's advice, I recall something I had seen when I was idly scrolling through the channels on my screen the other night. I race towards my bed and snatch the little remote, smiling as the orb chirps to life.