Something entirely unexpected and borderline unprecedented happened to America on Wednesday morning. After a quick meeting with May to make a few decisions regarding their upcoming clothing drive, America found herself with actual free time on her hands. She didn't have anywhere to be until lunch, and Maxon was busy in a meeting about the new security measures Aspen was enforcing on the Palace. America spent a half a minute thinking about joining them in there, because that would have been the responsible thing to do, but before she could force herself into it her feet had already taken her to the music room on the third floor.
She walked past the precious instruments Maxon had given her as wedding presents nearly every day, but they'd been collecting dust for almost a year now. Suddenly, the idea of going down for that security meeting was unthinkable.
Her first move was to sit down in front of the piano and trace her fingers over the keys, just enjoying the feel of them. Maxon had spared no expense, making sure to gift her the finest instruments in all of Illéa. He'd never wanted her to be sorry for moving into the Palace with him on any level, even if that level was only missing the music she used to made in Carolina, so he'd made sure she had everything her heart could desire as wedding gifts. And really, why bother telling him that he was the only thing her heart truly desired when he was so willing to splurge on these incredible instruments anyway?
She played a few notes, and considered playing a few more, but it was difficult to get comfortable on the piano bench. The way the baby was positioned, it was getting harder to breathe when she was sitting down and her internal organs were all squished aside to make room for it. What she really needed was an instrument that she could play while standing.
She smiled at the thought and turned on the bench, standing and crossing over to a beautiful wooden table atop which sat a top-of-the-line violin case. America opened it, reveling in the crisp sound the snaps made as she opened them, and withdrawing from the velvety cushions her own precious violin from Carolina.
Maxon had given her a new violin, of course, but he was adamant that she hold on to the old one, her violin, and Magda had been more than happy to bring it with the Singers when they moved across the country.
According to Mary, one of the maids was assigned to this room three times a week, and that maid came in to clean and keep the instruments in tune. America tested the unknown maid's work by drawing her bow across the taught strings and listening to the crisp sound that echoed out, a smile stretching across her face. All this time, her violin had been ready and waiting for her.
America carefully adjusted her dress to allow for maximum breathing room, not that the dress was really the culprit, and then she drew up her violin and bow. For a moment, she wasn't even sure what to play first. Then, as if her fingers had lives of their own, her hands began running through the entire gamut of warmup exercises that, in a different lifetime, she'd practiced every morning.
Soon she was playing her way through songs she'd forgotten she even knew. Sometimes she had no idea what note would come next, but her hands remembered and they never faltered once. The baby had been fluttering around within her all morning, almost to the point of distraction, but it had gone noticeably still since she'd hit the first few notes. The baby, it seemed, was entranced by this music.
It was a long time after she started playing when she finally noticed him. She wasn't exactly sure when Maxon got there, but she heard his warm applause as she ended a particularly laborious but beautiful sonata. She rounded on him with a smile. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to find you for lunch."
"It's lunchtime?" America blinked, stunned. Between all of the warmups and all of the songs she'd played, the morning had flown by. She turned to the plush case and replaced her violin inside, setting the bow in its compartment and closing the lid.
Maxon crossed to her in three large steps and swept her left hand into his, pressing her fingertips to his lips. She bore the marks of having played for so long without calluses built up, her fingertips had deep ridges cut into them and some of those ridges were purpling with bruises. "I haven't heard you play in ages, Ames." Maxon said, smiling.
"That's because I haven't played in ages. There's just no time."
"We can find time for you." He frowned.
"I don't think so. Especially not once the baby gets here." America shook her head.
"Hmm. Yes. The baby." he mulled that over and placed each of his hands on her burgeoning stomach as he did so. The baby sprang back to life at his touch and began wiggling around again, and America rolled her eyes. She really did have a dynamic duo on her hands. "We could still find a way. We should start interviewing nannies soon, that'll help."
"Eugh." America frowned.
"Really? Even if their being with the baby for an hour allows for you to continue playing that beautiful music?"
America sighed, "Did you have good nannies?"
"I had the best nannies." Maxon nodded.
"Well, you turned out okay, I guess. Fine, we can start interviewing nannies." America shrugged.
Maxon chuckled and pecked the tip of her nose with his lips, then began peppering her cheekbones with kisses, back and forth.
"What are you doing?" America finally asked with a little giggle.
"Your freckles are showing, my love. And I want to eat them up." He continued his assault.
It was true, the freckles on her face and arms had become much more pronounced in the past few days. She hadn't spent much more time out in the sun, either, so she was forced to conclude that this was just yet another weird pregnancy thing.
"Should we go down to lunch?" America asked, trying not to be distracted by Maxon's feathery lip-lashing.
"Mmm." Maxon paused. "Not sure. I need to kiss all of your freckles first."
America lifted an arm and held it out to him, displaying hundreds of golden brown dots. "We're going to starve, if that's the attitude you're taking."
"I like a challenge." He grinned mischievously, before assaulting her arm with kisses.
"Come on, your Majesty." America rolled her eyes. "Kiss and walk at the same time, I'm hungry." America tried not to blush when he did, in fact, continue kissing her arm all the way down to the dining room, despite the pointed throat clearing and stifled chuckles of the guards they passed on their way.
They were having lunch with Silvia and Gavril that day, both of whom were still pointedly trying to pretend like they weren't seeing each other outside of work. That afternoon, America and Maxon were going out into Angeles for a photo opportunity, and they would get their final briefing from the Palace's chief image experts over salads, soups, and sandwiches.
"Your Majesties." Gavril said as Maxon and America entered the dining room and Maxon finally gave up pelting America's arm with kisses.
"Hello Gavril." America smiled, taking her seat.
"You are looking absolutely radiant today, your Majesty." Gavril said, still standing.
"Thank you."
"It's all of her lovely freckles." Maxon boasted, taking his seat so that Gavril and Silvia could take their seats as well. "God, I love being married to a redhead. Freckles, Gavril. Have you ever seen anything more entrancing?"
Gavril chuckled and glanced at Silvia as though he had seen something more entrancing, but he spoke to humor Maxon, "No, sir."
"Now, then." Maxon said, as an under-butler came in serve the food. "Officer Leger went over security measures for the trip to Angeles with me as part of our meeting this morning, but I still want to keep it short. We're scheduled for a three hour trip, from the time we leave the Palace gates to the moment we cross back through them, and I'd like to cut 45 minutes off of that estimate."
"Because I'm so much safer in the Palace?" America asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"Because it's the safest place. Other than Atlin." Maxon reminded her, firmly. He'd been keeping the threat of Atlin held over her head for the past three days, and she was getting sick of it. He couldn't seem to make up his mind about it either way, not that they'd spent any time really discussing the matter. Still, she didn't want to pick a fight with him this time, so she let it drop.
During this exchange, Gavril pulled out his copy of the schedule for the day and was looking through it. "We can change the facility tour route, cut off some time that way. We can probably cut five minutes from your arrival speech." Gavril said, thoughtfully. "I've been thinking about cutting the section on arts-specific curriculum, I think it's redundant and might be considered pandering to lower-castes. Let me see the cue cards, sir, and I'll do some editing."
Maxon fished around in his inside jacket pocket, pulling out several cue cards that he would be reading that afternoon in front of Report cameras, a few magazine columnists, and, of course, the paparazzi. Gavril took them from him and got to work while everyone else started eating. The french onion soup was delicious enough to evoke a heavy sigh from America as it splashed across her tongue. Maxon smirked at this, but he'd stopped commenting on her food-related noises years ago.
"Do they have french onion soup like this in Atlin?" America murmured, unable to stop herself from needling Maxon a little bit.
Maxon rolled his eyes, "Sure. I'd send the Palace chef with you, America."
"You're damn right you'd send the chef with me. I'd be eating delicious soup like this all day and all night and you'd be eating nothing but bologna sandwiches, and it would serve you right." America frowned. Maxon pointedly ignored this.
"Um, Maxon?" a timid voice called from the entrance to the dining room, and everyone paused what they were doing to look up.
"Gerad?" Maxon asked, eyebrows raised.
"You said to ask again… about if I could maybe go with you and Ames today. I asked you yesterday and you said to ask again later." Gerad ran a worried hand through his hair, a habit he'd learned watching Maxon.
"Oh, that's right." Maxon breathed. "I don't know, Ger. It's kind of—"
"I want to help." Gerad begged. "It'll all be kids my age at the learning center today, and I can go play with them, and it'll help make the new law, won't it Mr. Fadaye?" Gerad looked to Gavril for support.
Gavril smiled benevolently, "It's true that Mister Gerad's presence at the learning center would make a nice addition to the photographs." Gavril told Maxon.
Maxon sighed heavily and considered it. They were going to tour an afternoon learning center in Angeles, a facility that was funded by a prominent socialite Two who had once been a Three, and run by her sister, who was still a Three and had spent many years as a teacher. This was a place that accepted children of all castes and held free afternoon activities for them, providing them with a healthy snack and a supportive place to play sports or try new art forms or read. The hope was that the presence of the royal family at a place like this would lend it local support and lead to other similar types of facilities being founded in other provinces.
"You want to go so that people can take pictures of you, Ger?" America asked, buying Maxon a few moments to deliberate.
"If it will help the baby. And I want to see what kinds of stuff they do there, and if they have good soccer balls. If they don't have good soccer balls, I want to give them some of mine because I can always get more."
America blinked, stunned by her brother's kindness, and then looked over at Maxon imploringly. Gerad had won her over with that.
"It's going to be dangerous, Gerad, you know that." Maxon reminded him, unconvinced. "The guards are going to secure everything that they can, but we never know what could happen with the rebels."
Gerad nodded, seriously. "That's why I want to go, too. Brothers have to protect their sisters."
This had been the thing to say to Maxon, who smiled over at Gerad, clearly now onboard. But this gave America pause. "Ger, I have a whole army to protect me, you don't have to protect me."
"Yes, I do. I'm your brother." Gerad answered simply.
"Boys shouldn't feel the need to protect girls just because they're girls, Ger." America said, kindly.
"No, that's not what I mean." Gerad frowned, realizing he wasn't making himself clear. "I mean, even if I was your sister, it would be my job to protect you like you and Kenna and May protect me. But I'm not, I'm your brother, but I still feel guilty when something happens and I'm not there to help."
Maxon nodded, understanding completely. "It's okay with me, if it's okay with the boss." He turned to America for final approval.
America sighed and nodded. Gerad hardly ever got to get out of the Palace, this would be good for him. Barring any violent rebel attacks and mass blood-shed, that is.
"Thanks, Ames!" Gerad grinned.
"Alright, then." Maxon said, returning to his soup. "You can come along, but you have to do everything Aspen, Ames or I say, okay? That's very important"
Gerad grinned and nodded, "I will, Maxon."
America sighed and looked down at her plate, "You hungry, Ger?"
"Yeah."
"Come here." They all had a half a sandwich, sliced in triangles, to go with their soup and salad, and America picked her triangle sandwich up. "Here. The baby doesn't like swiss cheese right now." America told him, and he took it from her, eagerly biting in.
"That's okay." Gerad replied, mouth full of food, nearly sending Silvia into some kind of conniption. "It's just a baby. It might like swiss cheese when it gets bigger. Sometimes I like carrots now, and I didn't when I was little." he explained.
"Take this, " America handed him a crisp red apple from the fruit bowl in the middle of the dining table, "And go tell Mom where you're going. Then go wash up and get ready for the trip." America pecked her brother on the cheek and he ran off, sandwich and apple in hand.
"We'll be very lucky if our kid is half as good as your brother." Maxon marveled, returning to his soup.
"He's all Dad, that boy." America shook her head in wonder. "All the rest of us remember Dad as clear as day, Gerad's the only one who can't really remember him, and Gerad is the one who is Dad's little clone. How is that possible?"
"Maybe he holds on to your dad in a different way, since he can't recall clear moments and events. Maybe he holds on to feelings and impressions, more the essence of your father. If he internalized that over things your dad said or did, it makes sense that he's better at emulating him." Maxon suggested. America stared into her soup, weakly, thinking this over. "Although," Maxon added, "It's worth noting that I see a lot of your father in you, too. More than you think. And I know he'd be proud of you. I certainly am."
America could feel heat in her cheeks as she blushed at this praise. She didn't know how to respond, but she glanced over at him and grinned, before returning her attention to her food in a newly cheerful mood.
After finalizing the details of the trip with Gavril and Silvia, and finishing lunch while they did it, America went upstairs to get ready for the public outing. She was expecting to find Mary up there waiting for her, as she was no longer allowed to be in her room alone, but when she walked in, she found Esther.
"Oh. Hello, Esther."
"Your Majesty." Esther sank into a curtsey. "One of the maids is sick and Mary is busy rearranging our schedules to cover for her." That was one of Mary's many duties, as head of the Queen's staff. "I'm here to prepare you for the press event."
America smiled, "Mary must have a lot of faith in you, to trust you like this." she turned and Esther began unbuttoning America's dress.
"It was really more that Paige has the day off, Ma'am." Esther's voice smiled, though America couldn't see her face.
America realized that this was her first chance to talk privately with Esther since Esther's promotion. "How do you like being a Queen's maid? Is it working out for you? I know it's a very different job from the serving maid you were before."
"It is very different, but I'm learning so much, and I am so well respected now. Mary, Paige, and I are the first to be served in the servant's dining room."
"That must be nice." America said, realizing that she'd never even seen where the servants took their meals.
"I feel as if I've found my place in the Palace now, ma'am. I'm very grateful for your faith in me."
"I'm very grateful to you, for keeping my secret when I needed you to. That demonstrated so much loyalty to me, and I need to keep that kind of loyalty close at hand."
Esther didn't respond at first. When she did, it was carefully, "You inspire loyalty, ma'am. I was thrilled when I got the job at the Palace, but not because I would get to serve the royal family. It was just the best job I could have hoped for in my caste. It wasn't until I started serving you that you inspired that kind of loyalty in me, the loyalty that led me to keep your secret."
"What did I do?" America asked, turning to face Esther and stepping out of her dress as Esther collected it to hang up.
"…You knew my name." Esther said, simply.
"Your name?"
"I was called off of my usual rounds because I was near at hand when the King sent word from a budget meeting that they were ready for lunch. I'd only been working at the Palace for a couple of months, and I'd never been the only maid in a room full of advisers before. I didn't know what to expect."
"You were afraid?"
"Not fearful. Only nervous." Esther assured her, turning to the enormous closet and disappearing inside to find the dress Mary had chosen for the afternoon outing.
"So what happened?" America asked, breathlessly, absent-mindedly rubbing a hand soothingly over her belly as the baby danced inside of her.
Esther didn't reply at first, and then a moment later she reappeared carrying a simple white day dress with a deep v-neck and blue trimming along the cuffs of the three-quarter length sleeves and the three-quarter length skirt. "Well, I went in to see his Majesty and collect all of the food orders. I thought I'd break my ankles, my legs were shaking so badly as I curtsied for them."
"Was Maxon kind?"
"He was… nonchalant. Distracted, I think. He said nothing except his order and a simple 'thank you'."
"But where was I?" America asked.
"You came later, your Majesty. Don't you remember?" Esther reminded her with a smile, tugging the white dress over America's head and then adjusting it so that it hung off her shoulders, breasts, baby bump, and hips in exactly the right way. "You stopped me on my way back with the cart."
"And I remembered your name?"
"You thanked me by name as I took a very special note in to your husband." Esther smiled, glancing down at America's stomach as America's face registered recognition. "Not many people in the Palace knew my first name yet, and of course, my last name was erased when I came here to start work."
America nodded, sadly. She knew about this practice, taking away the maids' last names and replacing them with 'Pal' like some kind of cattle branding. She'd argued for Maxon to end the practice, that it was just another way to legally own women, but he'd reasoned that once the Sixes were subsumed into the Fives, that practice would disappear anyway. Why waste time with a single battle when the war will take care of the problem?
"Mary oversees all new maid hires." America said, as Paige ushered her over to her vanity and began to remove America's makeup with a moist towelette. "She shows me the files of the women she selects, and I give final approval. It's one of my duties as Queen. That's where I saw your name."
Esther nodded, "I know that. But to remember our names, even when all we've ever been to you is a picture in a file… that's not what we've come to expect from royalty, ma'am."
America shrugged and took a breath. "Well… I was nothing but a picture in a file, too, once. That's how I ended up in Maxon's Selection. I know what it's like to be a picture in a file."
"You do great things, ma'am. Unexpectedly great things, even the little things you do can be great. It had been a whole week since anyone had called me by my name, I was beginning to fear I'd lost myself, and all of the sudden I heard my name on the lips of a queen." Esther shook her head like she still couldn't believe it.
America sat there, staring at her own reflection for a moment, thinking back on the day she'd first told Maxon that she was pregnant. "Esther?"
"Yes, ma'am?"
"What was your last name before you came to the Palace?"
"It hardly matters, ma'am."
"Did you like your last name before?"
"I did, ma'am. It wasn't anything remarkable, but it reminded me of my family." she said, softly.
"Would you tell me, then? Please?"
Esther nodded as she removed the bobby pins from America's hair.
"My last name was Fields, your Majesty."
"Esther Fields." America smiled.
"Not anymore." Esther reminded her. She bit her lip nervously, "Please don't tell Mary or Paige that I've told you—"
"Don't worry, Esther. You keep my secrets, I keep yours." America reassured her, and Esther smiled.
Maxon was nervous in the seat next to her, and the tension in his body was setting America's teeth on edge. The closer they got to leaving the Palace, the more misgivings he'd voiced, until finally they sat together in the back seat of their idle car, getting ready to leave, and he was on tenterhooks.
"K could be anywhere." Maxon seethed.
"Which is why we're no safer locked away in the Palace than we are in Angeles." America reminded him. They'd had this conversation at length, with multiple advisers, the day before.
"I have a bad feeling about this."
"No worse than your feelings about everything right now, Maxon, you're stressed out over K's note and it's messing with your mind." America said.
Maxon leant his head back against the seat of the car and sighed heavily, then lolled over to rest on her shoulder. "I don't want to send you to Atlin." he confessed with a frown.
"I know you don't, Maxon." America said, surprised. Of all the times to finally talk about it, she wasn't expecting him to bring this up now.
"But I want to be the kind of king who could." he reasoned, and America turned her head to kiss his golden hair.
"I don't think you do."
"My father did it without a second thought. It was what was best for my mother, me, and the country. But I can't do it, I can't be without you for that long. I can't do what's right for you, because I'm weak."
"You are not weak, Maxon." America scolded him. "And the fact is that you could do it. You're a great king and you're not dependent on me for that. You could send me to Atlin and Illéa would be more than fine. But you love me, and you would be sad to send me away. You want to be the kind of husband and father who holds my hair during morning sickness, fetches me food at all hours of the day and night when I have cravings, rubs my back when it's all seized up in painful knots, and holds my hand through every last contraction. You can't do all of that if I'm in Atlin."
"I'm worried I'm being selfish. That I could be making the greatest mistake of my life by keeping you here to make myself feel better, even though you're in danger."
"I'm in danger everywhere, Maxon." America reminded him. "K could follow me to Atlin."
Maxon frowned. "You might like Atlin. You might like being away from the Palace for a while."
America imagined the safe house, it was probably luxurious if Queen Abby had been its original occupant. Amberly would have softened the place greatly, adding homier touches during her stay. It might make a secure and wonderful vacation home, soothing and relaxing during an otherwise stressful pregnancy.
"Maxon." America said, and he sat up straight so that he could look at her. "If I wanted to be away from the Palace, I'd have gone back to Carolina and you'd be in this car with Kriss right now."
Maxon shook his head, sadly. "Kriss would be in Atlin. It would have been a no-brainer to send Kriss to Atlin, the easiest decision of my life."
America sighed and looked into Maxon's worried brown eyes. She kissed him hard, placing a hand on his cheek and stroking that smooth skin softly with her thumb. "I love you." she told him.
"I love you, too."
"If my being in Atlin makes any of this easier on you, I'll go. But I would much rather stay." she said. "And not just for the amendment."
Maxon smiled weakly at her. "I appreciate that, Ames."
"Does it help?"
"It does, actually." he sighed. "It means I won't run the risk of losing you either way. You'll forgive me if I have to make the hard decision."
America linked her hand with his and frowned. Then she said, "I really would take your chef with me."
"Darling, I wouldn't dream of depriving you of him." Maxon laughed.
"You'd be stuck eating burnt pasta every night."
"There are other chefs in Angeles, I could invite any of them to the Palace."
"No, I would ban them."
"Oh." Maxon laughed and then pressed a kiss to her red hair.
The car door opened and Gerad climbed in, followed by Silvia.
"Did she give you the whole 'representing the monarchy with your behavior' lecture?" America asked her brother, with a laugh.
Maxon consulted his watch, "It couldn't have been. It's only been twenty minutes. He must have gotten the abridged version."
Silvia scowled at them, but she wasn't really very annoyed. Now that they were all in the car, it, along with two others carrying extra guards, began to roll forward down the long Palace drive.
When they were around the corner from the learning center, Silvia pulled a small clipboard and checklist out of her bag and began to scan it. "King Maxon, Gavril asked me to remind you that you're to spend three minutes before the speech answering paparazzi questions."
"He'll time me?"
"Of course. And Queen America, while his Majesty answers those questions, Gavril has arranged a line of babies for you to pose with."
America grinned. "A line of babies? Sounds like my kind of party."
"All under five years old, they'll be on your side of the barricade, their parents will be just behind them on the other side. Spend plenty of time interacting with the children, but remember, you mustn't kneel to be at their eye level, when you crouch down, your knees mustn't touch the ground." Heaven forbid the Queen of Illéa bow down to a two year old, America shook her head.
"I'm staying with Ames." Gerad announced to the car at large.
"Are you going to help Aspen and the guards keep a look out?" Maxon smiled.
"Yeah. Carter showed me how to scan the crowd, I'm going to do that while I sign autographs."
"Good boy." Maxon ruffled Gerad's hair. If anyone else in the world had done this, Gerad would have huffed and hurried to correct the mess, but since it was Maxon, Gerad just smiled, deciding it looked better mussed up anyway.
"Gerad… You don't want to be a guard when you grow up, do you?" America asked, nervous at the thought.
"I don't know." Gerad shrugged. "Sometimes they let me run with them when they're outside training. It's really fun. I'd like a job that lets me run all the time, even though I'm a grownup."
"But it's so dangerous, Ger."
"Yeah, but Aspen always says that the best guards stop fights from happening before they start. It's like soccer, where you have to plan a strategy to keep the ball from getting close to your goalie. I wouldn't want to be the goalie, I'd want to be the guy keeping the danger from getting close." Gerad sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve, causing Silvia to heave a massive sigh, "Or, you know, I also might be a soccer player. I'm getting a lot better now that I get to practice all day."
The sidewalks of the street they were driving down became crowded with barricaded people waving the Illéan flag and cheering enthusiastically at the sight of the cars from the Palace.
"Keep touching between you to a minimum." Silvia reminded America and Maxon, "Remember, in the tabloids, loving gazes are worth ten gratuitous embraces."
America turned to Maxon with a smirk and mouthed 'gratuitous embraces?' to which Maxon simply shook his head, mystified. Silvia didn't notice this exchange because the car was slowing to a stop and they had arrived at the afternoon children's educational facility. They watched as guards in the black cars in front of and behind them emerged and moved to reinforce the security detail that was already there.
A moment later, Aspen came jogging up to their car and opened the back door. "All clear, your Majesties."
Silvia was the first out of the car, and she hurried off to find the facility administrator and run through the schedule with her. It was Silvia's job to keep them on time today, and she took that responsibility just a little too seriously.
Gerad was the next one out of the car, and at the sight of him, what sounded like a hoard of screaming young girls began shrieking. Gerad took it well, though, waving and smiling, posing for the pictures the paparazzi were taking and then moving to stand next to Aspen to wait for America to emerge.
Maxon was next, ducking out of the car and waving to the assembled crowd. America couldn't help but admire how young, athletic, healthy, handsome, and regal he looked as he straightened out his suit and turned back to the car to offer America his arm.
"Thank you, my dear." America said, winking at him as she took his arm and by the time she was out of the car and they'd turned to face the cameras, he was still laughing at that.
The intensity of the cheering and screaming almost made America take a step back. Luckily, she was permitted to hold Maxon's arm for a moment longer as they posed together outside of the car. The baby could hear all of the noise out, too, America was sure of it, because it began squirming inside of her again. She brushed a reassuring hand over the bump, knowing that was the best she could do.
Maxon leant in to her ear, "Three minutes of questions and then I'm starting this speech. I don't like being out here in the open like this."
"Three minutes." America nodded, and then she led Gerad to the right towards the line of children she was to greet, and Maxon pealed off to the left to address the paparazzi.
Gerad signed a few autograph books that girls his age were holding out, but he kept an eye on America the whole time. For her part, America was more than enthralled with the line of babies Gavril had set up for her. They sat on a plush red rug in front of the barricades so that they were easy to get to, and comfortable while they waited. Behind them, mothers and fathers stood, smiling and keeping a close eye on their young ones. America spotted one young mother who was on the other side of the barricade from a four year old girl who looked just like her. In the young mother's arms was another baby, too small to sit up on his or her own. America walked up to this woman. "Hello." America smiled.
"Your Majesty." The woman curtseyed as best she could in the crowd.
"Is this your daughter?" America asked, looking down at the three year old girl who sat, peering right back up at her, several flowers in her hands.
"She is, ma'am."
"She's about my niece's age." America smiled. She lowered herself so as to be at eye-level with the child, but she was careful to keep her knees off the ground. "What's your name?"
The girl looked up at her mother, then back to America, "Jonna." the girl finally said.
"Jonna?" The girl nodded. "It's nice to meet you, my name is Queen America." The girl nodded again. "You're wearing a very pretty dress today, Jonna. Where did you get it?"
"Mommy." the girl reported.
"Oh. Did your mommy sew it?" America chuckled.
"Yeah. She made it a twirly skirt." The girl said, looking at her mother again.
"A twirly skirt? That's wonderful." America grinned. "Is it a good twirly skirt?"
"Yeah, it's a good one."
"Would you show me?"
The girl checked with her mother again, who nodded with a smile. Jonna stood up, gathering some pink flowers she'd been holding into one hand, and then spinning twice in place so that the ruffled skirt of her blue dress flew around her knees. When she stopped spinning, she had a huge smile on her face.
"That's a wonderful twirly skirt." America smiled. "Is it any good at curtseying?"
"I don't know." Jonna puzzled.
"Here. Let's give it a try. This is how you curtsey." America showed the girl a shallow little curtsey, and the girl mimicked her, wobbling just a little. "Oh, that's a very good dress for curtseying."
"Yeah." Jonna agreed.
"Is that your baby brother or sister?" America asked, looking up at the baby in Jonna's mother's arms.
"That's my baby brother, he's new." she explained.
"Oh, yes. That's my baby brother, but he's not very new anymore." America pointed over at Gerad, who was busying himself with a different young child in Gavril's line of babies.
Jonna nodded, considering Gerad, and then she turned to America, "Mines name is Mikah, you can holds him if you're careful."
America smiled at this and then stood upright, with some degree of difficulty since her small but heavy belly was throwing off her balance so much. "Would you mind if I held him for a moment?" America asked Jonna's mother.
"No, not at all, your Majesty. It would be an honor." the woman smiled and carefully handed the baby over the barricade, and America adjusted the infant carefully in her arms. He yawned and blinked up at her with curious brown eyes, but otherwise he did not fuss. Jonna stood on tiptoe to see her brother in America's arms.
"Is he a good baby, Jonna?" America asked, happily studying the baby in her arms.
"Yeah, he's not bad." Jonna shrugged. "I wish he was a sister."
Across the way, Maxon was answering a question about how he was coping with his pre-fatherhood jitters when he caught America's eye. He hurriedly finished his answer and then crossed over to see her.
"Who do we have here?" Maxon asked, giving America one of those valuable, loving looks.
"This is Mikah, and his big sister Jonna."
"Why, hello, Lady Jonna." Maxon bowed to her, and Jonna mimicked America's curtsey again, bright grin on her face at being called 'Lady' by the King.
"Isn't he beautiful, Maxon?" America said, softly, entranced by the baby in her arms.
"Gorgeous." Maxon nodded, placing a hand on the small of her back and peering down. "But we need to head up to the platform now, it's time for the speech."
"Three minutes already?"
"Mhmm."
"One of these days, there won't be any rebels, and we'll be able to stay out here and hold babies all day long." America pouted as she returned Mikah to his mother.
Though the words were meant for Maxon, the woman nodded on hearing them, "We pray for that day, too, your Majesty."
"Thank you." America said, genuinely. "That's very nice to hear." Sometimes, in the chaos of K, it was easy to forget that only a very small fraction of the population wanted them dead, and everyone else liked having them around. Their approval ratings weren't just numbers that might lead to an amendment, they were a real representation of the overwhelming majority of people who support the monarchy.
Jonna held her fistful of flowers up to America, "These are for you."
"For me?"
Jonna's mother nodded, "She wanted to bring them for you. They're from the garden in our backyard. For the last two weeks, every time she's gone outside to water them, she's talked of nothing but bringing them for you."
"Oh, Jonna, thank you." America smiled, taking the flowers as the girl leant in to hug her around the hips. America leant over and hugged her back, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I have to go now, but it was nice to meet you, Jonna."
Jonna just nodded and looked back and forth between Maxon and America before resuming her seat on the red carpeting. Maxon waved Gerad over and the three of them headed to the platform where Mrs. Lavender, the woman who ran the facility, and Mrs. Chamberson, who funded the facility, stood waiting.
Gavril hopped up onto the platform to give Maxon a brief introduction, but before stepping up to the microphone, he paused by America's ear and grinned, "I was hoping you'd find that baby."
"Good pictures?"
"The best!"
America smiled, shaking her head at Gavril as he abandoned her to embrace Mrs. Lavender and Mrs. Chamberson, before starting his introduction.
Maxon's speech was all about the importance of investing Illéa's resources in its children, heralding this learning center as an exemplary model for how to do the most good. These children would emerge into adulthood with skills ranging from social to artistic to academic that would serve them, their community, and their country for their entire lives. Skills they would pass on to their children and so on and so forth.
America's job during Maxon's speech was to stand there with the handful of flowers Jonna had given her, smile, and look prettily pregnant, reminding everyone of babies and hope and the bright future of Illéa. This was something she'd gotten very good at in the three years since she'd married Maxon, but she decided while standing up there that she should have Silvia schedule a few group events where America delivered the speeches and Maxon's job was to stand back, look pretty, hold flowers, and smile. In the interest of fairness.
When the short speech was over, the cameras clicked in a fury of flashbulbs and Maxon came back to share a few encouraging words with the women responsible for the facility.
Gavril stepped forward and called for his official royal photographers and the Capital Report video cameras to head into the facility and get set up, and for all others to return to their place behind the barricades, and the King and Queen would pose one more time on their way out. There were a few goodnatured grumbles from the camera men and women denied access to the event, but for the most part they were used to it.
It made America think of Elise's husband, Rolph Lemex, and his life's quest to free the press. If he had his way, would all of these cameras be following them into the learning center? The idea made her stomach flutter nervously. Oh, no, wait, that was the baby.
"Where's Rolph Lemex?" America asked Gavril as he stepped back to usher America and Maxon inside. "Shouldn't he be here covering this event for his news-paper?"
"One would think so." Gavril frowned, the suspicious disapproval of Rolph audible in his tone. "Last I heard, Mr. Lemex was headed down to the southern provinces to research an expository series on its troubled history."
"Troubled history?"
Gavril shrugged, "He's planning on telling stories of southern oppression, a different angle on the usual narrative of the southern rebels. It's part of how he's covering the King's cleanup initiative. The insinuation being that there's a lot more to clean up down there than the air and the soil."
"Is that true?"
Gavril shrugged, "We've had a difficult two centuries, your Majesty, we've all suffered. Personally, I prefer to offer tales of hope rather than desolation, but that's why I have my job and he has his." There was an underhanded insult in that. Gavril was the most well-respected journalist in Illéa, and undoubtedly charismatic, but that didn't make what Rolph did any less valuable. They were clearly performing two separate services. America was glad, as she walked into the facility with Maxon, that both sides of the story of Illéa were finally being told. If there was anything Gregory Illéa's kingdom needed, it was a less-scripted version of its own history.
The inside of the learning center was beautiful, the walls were painted clean, bright colors and covered with framed art, hand-made by the children who came here every weekday afternoon to play and to learn. Some of these children were Sixes, coming after school, some were Twos and Threes, coming from their tutoring. Some were Fours and Fives taking a break from homeschooling and allowing their parents the afternoon to complete work without children to mind. All were treated equally while they were here, and many were forging close inter-caste friendships.
There was a music room, an art room, a homework room, and a game room inside, as well as a large yard in the back with plenty of balls, jump ropes, and sidewalk chalk. America caught Gerad's eye as they finished the tour and she knew they were thinking the same thing. This place would have been paradise if they'd had it back in Carolina.
"You're just in time for snack, your Majesties." Mrs. Lavender explained. "That's where all of the children are gathered now, in the snack room. Would you care to join us?"
"We would love to." Maxon smiled, and they followed Mrs. Chamberson and Mrs. Lavender into the snack room.
Some sixty children between the ages of five and eighteen were seated around various tables, some of the furniture was small to accommodate the youngest children, and the rest was the usual size but brightly colored. Before them were plates full of carrot sticks, apple slices, crackers, and cheese, as well as small wax-paper cartons of milk.
Gerad immediately zeroed in on a likely looking group of boys about his age and asked if he could sit with them. America almost cried, hormones getting the better of her for a moment, when she thought of how rare it was for Gerad to get the opportunity to socialize with other boys his own age. For the first time since stepping out of the car at the learning center, Gerad wasn't scanning the crowd or keeping an eye on entrances and exits for possible intruders. He was just being a boy.
"Of course. Have fun, Ger." America smiled weakly, and Gerad took off, befriending the other ten-year-olds almost on sight.
Mrs. Lavender had another place for America and Maxon to sit. There was a round table with two empty seats and a diverse group of children waiting for them. This would be another one of Gavril's photo opportunities.
America and Maxon went to the window to get their plates, on the other side of which a small kitchen was visible. There was no stove, but plenty of refrigeration to keep the fruits and vegetables fresh. A cheerful woman about Magda's age, wearing a hairnet over her dark blond hair, handed both of them their plates with a tiny curtsey, not that America or Maxon could see anything other than her head bob down and up again.
Maxon was borderline boisterous, talking to all of the kids seated at the table with them, a far cry from the tormented man she'd been living with since K's last note. Getting out of the Palace agreed with this king. America let him do a lot of the talking because he was in such an unusually good mood, but she also stayed quiet because she was eating every last bit of the snack on her plate, and then mercilessly plundering Maxon's as well. He chuckled at her as she stole a third carrot stick from him, and then he kissed her cheek to the sound of much camera clicking. The more they adored each other, the more they were adored.
After snack, it was time for the true main event. Maxon was going to teach a photography class to the kids, and America couldn't have been more excited to watch him do it. She would be observing with the facility's usual caretakers as Maxon led the class and she had a feeling that even Gavril's professional royal photographers would learn a thing or two.
"I'm actually nervous, Ames." Maxon said, softly, as he and America watched the kids file into the art room ahead of them.
"Worse than strategizing battles for New Asia?"
"Worse."
"Worse than watching the announcement of your Selected live on television?"
"About on-par."
America smiled up at him. "You know, that worked out alright for you in the end."
"What if I make a fool of myself?"
"Then Gavril will refuse to release the footage and we'll tell the world that you were brilliant, and that will become the truth."
"Something like our first kiss? We'll be the only ones the wiser?"
"Exactly. Isn't that how history works in Illéa?" she teased him.
He nodded distractedly. "I could really use one of those gratuitous embraces Silvia was going on about earlier."
"Why not? The cameras are already in the classroom getting set up. There's no one to record us here." America smiled and then wrapped her arms around his neck. She leaned in close and whispered in his ear, "You'll be great at this, Maxon. They're not asking you to teach them military strategy. They just want you to share what you know about photography."
"Either way, we can eat chocolate cake tonight?" Maxon asked, hopefully, of the leftover slices of his birthday cake.
"I promise." America smiled.
"You'll still love me even if I'm a terrible teacher?"
"You won't be."
"How do you know?"
"Because you've taught me everything I know about being Queen."
"Silvia—" he argued.
"She taught me how to be royal. But you taught me how to be Queen."
Maxon smiled down at her, locking eyes with her and saying, "You must be my star-student, then, because you are an excellent queen."
She kissed him once for luck and then let him go. "Come on, your Majesty. Those kids want you to teach them how to take a picture."
Maxon took a deep breath and followed her into the classroom.
He was, of course, a natural and had all of the students completely charmed within two seconds of his lesson. There was a cabinet in the back of the room with shelves of different kinds of cameras, and he had the kids break into groups of three so that they could split the cameras amongst them. The youngest children were placed in a group with some older ones so that they could be given extra help.
As America stood to the side with Mrs. Lavender and a few other women who worked for the learning center, she watched Maxon explain the differences between the cameras that the kids had, how to focus and un-focus, how to adjust the exposure, what the different lenses meant. Somehow, he kept the attention of the five year olds and the eighteen year olds at the same time. Even when he made a lame pun about the kids giving photography their best 'shot', they didn't mutiny against him. That ability to keep them all engaged was even more incredible than his knowledge of photography, and America smiled warmly as she thought of raising her family with this terrible-joke-making man.
Next, Maxon had the groups of kids, one of which Gerad had somehow managed to get himself ingratiated in so that he was learning as much as anyone else, go out to the backyard and find one subject each to photograph. He'd brought the camera America had given him for his birthday, the sleek little rectangle, and he was going to take a few pictures himself to demonstrate composition and lighting.
The kids bounded out to the backyard, eager and laughing, and the adults (including the photographers) followed subduedly behind. Maxon walked up to America once they were outside with a hopeful expression on his handsome face.
"You're doing an amazing job, Maxon." She promised him, and he laughed before taking off to check on Gerad and then find his photography subjects.
"It's really cute how much he values your opinion." one of the teachers next to her said. She was a young woman, maybe a few years older than America, with bright blond hair and carefully stained red lips.
"I know." America smiled, watching her husband bound around the yard.
"I mean, you'd think that being the King would make him 'above it all', but he doesn't seem that way."
"He's not. He's incredibly sweet and grounded." America said.
"I wish we'd known more about him before his Selection." A pleasantly plump brunette woman with an impressively large bosom added. She was another caretaker for the learning center, and this one was younger than the blonde.
"Oh, I know." The blonde woman said. "I didn't even enter. I thought he was so stiff and boring."
"So did I." America chuckled.
The women laughed and the brunette said, "You should let the people get to know your son, once it's time for his Selection."
"She might be having a daughter." The blonde woman reminded her.
"Oh, I know. I just meant eventually, when she does have a son." The brunette smiled sweetly.
"I would have thought the same thing," America mused, "But I think I understand it now that I live in the Palace. The people of this country ask a lot of us as leaders and as celebrities, and it can be difficult to stay grounded and sane in the whirlwind of it all. I understand wanting to protect Maxon from that as much as possible when he was young. King Clarkson and Queen Amberly were very selective about his interaction with the media before he came of age. Sometimes I feel like locking this one away and never letting it out. Boarding up the doors and shuttering the windows." America's hand drifted over her stomach, and then she smiled, "But their way was probably wiser."
The women laughed, and they returned their gazes to the groups of children laughing, yelling, and taking pictures.
A little bit away from them, one of the groups of three children began having a vocal disagreement. There was a ten year old girl with blonde hair animatedly gesturing, speaking rapidly, and the other two girls in that group folded their arms across their chests and frowned. Finally, one of the other girls, maybe twelve years old with black hair tied down her back in a long braid, shouted loudly enough so that America could hear it clearly, "Stop being so bossy, Alyss!"
"Oh, no." sighed the blonde caretaker. "Of course. I should have known this would be too much for Alyss."
"What's wrong with her?" America asked, watching the girls try to solve the heated dilemma amongst themselves.
The brunette shook her head, "She can be a bit of a drama queen, a little attention-seeking, if you know what I mean."
America had no ungodly idea what this woman meant.
"She's just very bossy, any time she's in a group." The blonde woman shook her head. "Alyss!" She yelled. "Reighlee, Tasha, come here!" The girls dashed over to their caretaker, sparing a nervous glance at America, but mostly their little faces remained incensed. Alyss clutched the camera possessively in her hand.
"Alyss, what's the problem?" The blonde woman asked.
"I had an idea, if all of our pictures were the same thing, but different, like, different looks, depending on what our favorite part of it was. Like if we did the tree—"
"I don't wanna do the tree!" the brown haired girl in the group huffed.
"I know, we don't have to, it's just an example, Tasha!" Alyss said, exasperated.
"Each of you is to take one photograph to show the King." the blonde woman scolded Alyss. "You can't force the other girls in your group to take pictures they don't want to take."
"I'm not!" Alyss was almost to the point of tears. "They didn't know what they wanted to do anyway! I was just telling them my idea, but they wouldn't let me finish!"
"That's enough. If you weren't so bossy, they might have listened to your idea. You'll take your picture last, hand the camera over."
"But—"
"No 'but's, young lady." The blonde woman scolded. The black haired girl ripped the camera from Alyss' hands as a tear fell down the poor girl's face.
America had to pick her jaw up off the ground. Alyss hung back, watching the others run off to pick something to photograph, trying to recover some pride before rejoining them. America walked up to her and tapped her on the shoulder, making sure they were within earshot of the caretakers who'd disparaged her behind her back and to her face. "Alyss?"
"Yes?" Alyss asked, before turning back to see America. "Oh!"
"Are you alright?"
"Yes." Alyss nodded. "I'm sorry."
"You don't need to apologize. I think King Maxon would have really liked your idea. Different points-of-view on the same subject? I'll bet you three girls are from different castes, too, that really would have interested him."
"Yeah, I'm a Four." she confessed with a frown. "They're both Threes."
America sighed and bent down to be eye level with the girl. "They just didn't understand your idea."
"The kids here are always like that."
"It helps to be kind, and to value their ideas, too. They want to feel like they've contributed to the group."
"I didn't mean to be unkind." Alyss frowned.
"Maybe you weren't, but it might have seemed that way to them. I used to get called 'bossy' a lot, too."
"Really?"
"Mhmm. I was homeschooled, so I didn't see very many kids my age or older. I was used to playing with my little brother and sister, and I'd always be the leader and make the rules for our games."
"I'm a big sister, too." Alyss grinned.
America smiled, "So you know what I mean?"
"Yeah."
"Any time I was in a group with kids my age or older than me, I'd get called 'bossy' by them or by their parents. It was very frustrating. I never felt 'bossy', and I wasn't trying to be mean."
"Yeah." The girl sniffed and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands.
"But in time, I learned to be kind and thoughtful when I proposed my ideas, and to listen to all of their ideas. Most of the time they'd pick mine, but sometimes they wouldn't. I had to learn how to accept that."
"Hmm." The girl frowned, clearly thinking that would be a challenge.
"And now," America said, as if letting her in on a big dramatic secret, "All of those kids and grown ups who called me 'bossy' don't call me 'bossy' anymore. Do you know what they call me now?"
"What?" Alyss asked, wide-eyed.
"The Queen." America smiled.
"Wow." Alyssa grinned.
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
"I don't know. My dad has a jewelry shop, if my brother doesn't want it, I might take it over."
"What if you could be any caste in the world? Then what would you do?"
"I'd be a magistrate and make really fair punishments with my judgements." She seemed to glare at the caretakers listening in on their conversation as she said this. "But I can't, I'm a girl." she sighed.
"Well. You keep working on being a kind, fair, attentive leader and I'll work on getting girls a few more rights around here. By the time you're a grown up, the magistrates might just be ready for you."
All the tears were gone without a single trace as Alyss beamed at this. She ran off to join the others in her group, and America clearly heard her kindly admiring the black-haired girl's picture of a stick.
"What was that about?" Maxon asked, snapping a picture of America as he approached.
America sighed, "A culture that verbally polices women's ambitions in order to keep them docile and subservient."
"Um…" he was confused as he offered her his arm.
"Nothing." America amended with a smile and he nodded. "But we should let women serve as magistrates." she said as they began to walk.
"Why?"
"Why?" she raised her eyebrows.
"Oh, no, um, of course." he hurriedly added. "Women should be able to do anything they want to do."
America laughed at him. "You're cute, Maxon."
"So you're not canceling our chocolate cake date?"
"I'd never cancel chocolate cake!" America insisted, aghast.
Maxon smiled but he studied her face a bit longer. "You're still troubled."
"No. Well… just thinking… we might still have a long way to go before the people are ready to accept a woman as their boss and queen."
"We were going to start working on that in the last trimester." Maxon reminded her.
"I don't know if we can wait that long. We should get Gavril to start a media blitz to sway that opinion now. If we get the right, fashionable people talking about it, then when we announce the amendment, it'll be almost like the people thought of it themselves. And we'll just be giving them what they want. "
"We'll talk to Gavril at the next strategy meeting." Maxon nodded.
America hoped they weren't already too late. The truth was, if they couldn't find some way to convince the people of Illéa that a woman asserting her authority wasn't 'bossy', repulsive behavior, then their amendment to the laws of inheritance was dead in the water.