America's family was mostly in-the-loop about the party. They didn't know specific strategy details, but they knew what the purpose of the party was, and they proved themselves more than useful. May, Kenna, and Magda helped Silvia with all of the planning, which was an enormous burden off of America. There would be all the trappings of a party: decorations, music, food; but America did not have to contend with planning any of it.

It turned out to be a very good thing that America had gone through the paperwork to have Silvia granted full security clearance because, for the first time in her career, Silvia was coordinating with Stavros for a Palace event. The guests would be a mix of guards in dress uniform, soldiers in plainclothes, and the entire English contingent of spies, hidden throughout, but ready for combat. To make it seem like a real party, A few real guests had to be invited, but Maxon was incredibly selective and made certain each guest knew, at the very least, that they were part of a trap. Several governors from nearby provinces, including Angeles, were confirmed guests, as well as Elise and Rolph, and Celeste's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Newsome.

America objected to the last pair. They'd suffered more than enough at the hands of the rebels, and if something went wrong with the trap, they could suffer even more. But when she personally telephoned Mrs. Newsome and begged her not to come, Mrs. Newsome flatly refused her. They had a gift for the baby, and they wanted to wish America well in-person, before the birth. And they were staunch supporters of both Maxon and America, so if they could help the King and Queen by attending this party, then nothing would stop them.

Gavril was back to subtlety, teasing this party in a similar method to the way he'd hinted at America's pregnancy during her first trimester. He announced that there would be footage on the Report next week, and he leaked to several magazine columnists that Her Majesty was hosting this party as a last hurrah before the baby was born. It would be her final public appearance before the baby was born, excluding her brief presence at the opening ceremony of the formal legislative session.

Suddenly, it was all anyone was talking about. What would the Queen be wearing? It would be the final say on fashion until she reappeared after the baby (she had to wear a traditional cloak at the opening ceremony, no one would be able to see what she wore underneath). This was also the last chance to get a good look at the royal baby bump, possibly for another generation. There was no telling when or if the King and Queen would be blessing the nation with another baby, and hence another chance to fawn over America's stomach. Overnight, this party became the must-attend event of the season.

Silvia, with the help of Kenna, May, and Magda, as well as her usual assistant, Marlee (who was only working part-time, as she helped Carter recover), was inundated with invitation requests. Almost all of them were refused, which only added to the air of exclusivity. The buzz surrounding the party took on a life of its own.

Gavril also released a statement on the Palace attack, formal and dry, stating the number of injured guards and dead rebels. This was standard practice after an especially bad attack, but what wasn't standard was the slightly inflated rebel mortality count. They'd counted the captured rebel, Fisher Tracks, among the dead. There were no names released, of course, but the hope was that the rebels would count their missing and compare it to the number of dead in the statement, and assume Tracks was dead. This way, they would not suspect that the Palace had an informant, and they would not expect a trap.

Though this was the least she'd ever had to work on a Palace event since becoming Queen, America was agonizing over it day and night. This was the best chance they'd have to defeat K, to save the lives of whoever K might end up killing in the future. Innocent bystanders like Kota, not-so-innocent bystanders like Esther, or even Maxon or the baby. There was so much that could go wrong, and so much was at stake.

To make matter worse, Dr. Ashlar had America placed on partial bedrest for the entire week following the attack and leading up to the party. It was purely a precautionary measure, more to make sure her body was resting properly than anything else, but America had never been very good at being the kind of queen who laid in bed all day and let others do everything for her.

She couldn't deny that it was helping, as stir-crazy as it made her brain. She was going out of her mind, but her body was recovering strength and health by the day, so it was all worth it.

Being trapped in bed except for meals, bathroom breaks, and walks through the garden for exercise during the week leading up to the party was a little like torture for America, but she endured it for the sake of the baby. Astra made things easier, taking all nap times with her Aunt and providing much in the way of entertainment and blood pressure-lowering cuteness. Sometimes Kile would join them, along with Kenna or Marlee, but mostly it was just America and Astra, having some quality Aunt-Niece bonding time. Before every nap, they'd have story time (from a book, or sometimes stories about real princesses America knew. Nicoletta was Astra's favorite), and after every nap they'd have snack time in bed, with Mary or Paige bringing a tray of something enticing for them to share.

They even played castaways a couple of times, pretending that the floor was an ocean and the bed was their boat. Astra always took especially good care of the baby anytime they were castaways, making sure the baby had plenty of imaginary food and imaginary apple juice, as well as imaginary shade so the baby would stay nice and cool. Maxon joined them at the end of a castaway game once, trying to make as if he was rescuing them, but Astra quickly put a stop to that nonsense.

"No, Mackin, we are saving you from the sharks."

"I thought I was here to guide you beautiful princesses safely to shore?"

"No."

"But I have this map." he said, gesturing to an imaginary map. "I can get us safely home."

"No, I drive the ship." Astra shook her head. "I know the way. We are saving you from very hungry sharks."

"Hm. Okay, I suppose." Maxon relented. "If you're sure you don't need a handsome prince like me to rescue you?"

"No." And that was that.

Astra was doing well during daylight hours. Her parents were keeping her busy, and well-situated in an active routine. She was shadowing Kenna during party planning sessions, she was playing with Kile both inside and in the tree castle, and she had those regular, repetitive naptimes with America. These created a kind of schedule, something dependable, there were no surprises in Astra's week, and that was good. She knew what to expect and when to expect it, and that really seemed to help with her leftover anxiety from the rebel attack.

Nighttime, however, was a different story.

At first, Kenna and James tried to go back to a normal bedtime routine. They tucked Astra in at the usual time, read to her, kissed her, told her they loved her, and then turned out the light. They hadn't really thought that would work, but it had been worth a shot.

The crying, the nightmares, and the constant searching for any excuse to leave her room landed Astra in Kenna and James' bed. She had to try to sleep for hours on her own, until Kenna and James were ready for sleep, themselves, though it seemed to be worth it for her, to get to stay with her parents overnight.

Except then she worried over Maxon and America.

She tossed and turned until she couldn't take it anymore. With both of her parents fast asleep, she wiggled out of bed and worked diligently to twist the doorknob on the door leading to the hallway. When she finally had it pried open, she dashed out, her little pink nightdress skirting around her ankles. Officer Avery was on-duty in the hall, and Astra reached up to take his hand without saying a word. He accepted her hand and she tugged him down the hall to Maxon's room.

"What are we doing?" Avery asked.

"We're going in." Astra explained.

"They're sleeping, my lady."

"We have to see them." Astra insisted.

"Oh, we're checking on them?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." Avery silently opened the door, followed Astra through the family room, and then creaked the door to Maxon's bedroom open. Astra hurried over, launching herself up onto Maxon's mattress, using the blankets to help her the rest of the way like a mountain climber.

Maxon stirred and opened an arm to her, though his eyes remained closed. "Sleeping in here?" he mumbled.

"Yeah." Astra agreed, curling up next to him, relieved.

Relieved, until she began to worry about her parents. She stayed with Maxon and America for a good hour, dozing off occasionally, but eventually her anxiety became too much, again.

She slipped out of bed, hurried out into the hall, took Avery by the hand, and dragged him to her parent's room.

Where she stayed until, again, she couldn't take it anymore. When she was just too worried about Maxon and America, she slid out of bed again.

She went back and forth all night, though dawn found her in Maxon's bed. Avery knocked the moment he was off-duty. Maxon was finishing getting dressed and invited him inside. Avery explained how Astra had spent her night, in case Maxon couldn't remember all of the coming and going. Maxon was devastated.

That was the day Kenna and James temporarily moved into America's room. Astra still went back and forth, but the doors between the rooms were wide open, and Maxon left a little stepping stool by each bed so that Astra could get up more easily. She still swapped beds a few times a night, but the dark circles under her eyes were much less pronounced, and her naps during the day were softer and gentler, less like she was making up for hours and hours of sleep lost to anxiety. It was a step in the right direction.

Other than the occasional appearance during the day to share a quick lunch or check on America with his own eyes, or that one time he'd swung by for that quick game of castaways, America only saw Maxon at night for that week. He'd come in to his bedroom absolutely exhausted, tear off his suit in a zombie-like state and collapse into bed, nearly asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He would try to ask about her day, try to have one whole conversation with her, but the strain was simply too much. It only got worse as the day of the party approached.

Sometimes America suspected that the baby actually missed his voice. There was no way to be sure, and it was probably just her own mixture of hormonal, lonely, and worried, but it certainly seemed like the baby only chose to squirm around during Maxon's brief appearances, these days. She still got the occasional swift kick or punch to a vital organ, but now that she was less than a month away from her due date, the baby was just plain out of room.

Occasionally, America would lay there, as part of her partial bedrest, and stare up at the ceiling, and try to imagine this time next month. She'd try to imagine having her baby in her arms, spending hours at a time in Amberly's rocking chair, or bundling the baby up and taking it out for a December stroll through the gardens. It was a difficult thing to fathom. It still felt like such a long way off, mostly because anything that would happen after this treacherous chess game of a party was over felt like another lifetime away.

America was allowed to attend one of Maxon's meetings that week. It was immediately clear that the pressure was starting to get to her husband.

"Sir, our scouts in the woods have located K amongst the rebel camp. If we act now and annihilate the camp-"

"No!" Maxon had yelled at his adviser's perfectly rational suggestion. "It would be too easy for K to disappear out there. We can't afford to risk losing track of him in the woods. He can't escape again. We cannot fail in our attempt to destroy him, we're running out of time."

Maxon's eyes had skirted over America's stomach, and she'd sank a little in her chair. So it seemed that both the King of Spades and the King of Hearts were working off of this unborn baby's timeline, both planning their offensives based on how much longer America's uterus could support this child. It seemed ridiculous, to her.

"Yes, your Majesty." The adviser had acknowledged. "We'll keep with the plan as outlined."

'The plan as outlined' involved surrounding K beyond hope of escape, trapped in the tunnels leading into the Palace. Meanwhile, there would be soldiers in the woods, following K's reinforcements and ready to remove them from the equation at the first available opportunity. Any rebels left behind at the camp would also be rounded up and immediately punished for their crimes. The punishment for their crimes being death. America was still working to get Maxon to reconsider this one.

"What about that captured rebel, he's been so helpful during the preparations for trapping K!" America had argued, vehemently. They'd been alone, in his bedroom after the meeting, and he hadn't been in the mood for the discussion.

"He deserves death, and I still think he should be put to death—"

"He might deserve death, but isn't it in our best interests to put a stop to the violence?"

"This again?" Maxon asked, amazed, thinking of the appeal she'd made, down in the dungeons, that had won the rebel his life in the first place.

America couldn't help but feel that she was at a disadvantage, stuck as she was on the bed for the sake of her health while Maxon got to tower over her, arms folded firmly. "Think of what it will mean to the south, the message it will send—"

"That we tolerate assassination attempts?"

"It's just an olive branch, and it's not letting them walk free. But we can put them to work, use them to rebuild the southern provinces—"

"We have law-abiding citizens who need those jobs, Ames. I don't want to discuss this anymore. The penalty for treason and attempted assassination of the King of Illéa is death. And that does not even take into consideration the crimes against the royal family. Astra still can't sleep through the night—"

"Do not bring Astra into a discussion about executions, Maxon." America warned. "She has no place in this decision."

"You're right." Maxon relented. "But I'm not going to change my mind on this, Ames."

"What about the amendment?" she hadn't wanted to bring it up. It didn't really have a place in this discussion, either, but she was running out of options. "We're stagnant at 71% joint approval. What will happen to our numbers in the south when you do this. If you show mercy, goodwill towards the families that would be ripped apart—"

"Oh, America." he sighed heavily, every trace of confrontation now gone from his posture and tone. "The people who are camped out in those woods right now don't have families left. These are the desperate ones. The ones with families gave up the fight after I took the throne and it became clear that I was working to make things better in the South. These are the ones with nothing to lose and no one to go home to." He was sympathetic now, almost pitying. He was realizing that she hadn't been thinking about these rebels in the right way. He sank onto the bed next to her and studied her face, closely.

America blinked, her throat growing tight at his words. "There has to be something left to save, Maxon… everything can't be destroyed. We have to think about the future."

Maxon rubbed his eyes exhaustedly, but when he looked up at her a moment later, it was lovingly. "You truly still are the girl who gave her jewelry away at the Convicting, aren't you?"

America bit her lip, thinking back to that day. "Yeah, and you married me."

Maxon let out a long exhale as he nodded, thinking it over. "I'll discuss a less vengeful outcome for the rebels with Stavros, that's all I can promise."

"Thank you, Maxon!"

"Only the grunts. The leaders, the rebels in positions of authority will not be shown leniency."

"I understand."

Maxon nodded, taking in the pleased expression on her face with an air of pride. Like he'd just completed a job well done. "Now." he stretched out next to her and put his feet up on the bed. "Give me my baby."

"Not yet." America grinned.

"I want it now. Place it in my arms, please, at once."

"Just a few more weeks." America promised.

Maxon grinned, his petulant demeanor faltering as he pressed his lips to her stomach and ghosted his fingers along the enormous curve. "Yeah. Alright, then." he agreed, happily.


The whole Palace seemed to be thrumming with nervous energy the night before the party. Only a very few Palace occupants knew the real reason for the excitement, and their energy was decidedly darker, but everyone knew that the following day was important. A defining moment. Perhaps even a turning point in Maxon's time as King, as he and America celebrated their final days before becoming parents and welcoming in the next generation, the bright and brilliant future of Illéa.

America was so riddled with nerves, she found herself trembling, even as Dr. Ashlar checked her over and released her from partial bedrest, praising her recovered health and the unwavering health of the baby. In a normal world, that would be all that mattered. She'd be able to rest easy that night. But she never got to do anything the easy way, and neither she nor her baby would be anywhere near safe until K was dead. Not just apprehended and properly tried, because he could escape. She wouldn't truly be free until K was in the ground.

The baby was keeping her up that night. Maxon had fallen asleep as soon as his body landed on the bed beside her, but between her worries and the small, subdued gymnastics routine the baby was performing in order to exercise its muscles and get ready to be born, America simply lay there, staring at the wall, curled away from Maxon so as to avoid disturbing him. Not that it seemed like much would disturb him, he was sleeping like a rock.

America was actually relieved when Astra made her appearance, first the sounds of tiny, running footsteps, then her loud breaths as she gulped in air, working to keep her balance on the little stool at the foot of the bed, then the dip of the mattress as she climbed on by their feet and the back and forth as she crawled, an arm then the other, a knee then the other, up the bed to join them.

America popped her head up, "Hey, Astra." she whispered.

Astra paused in her well-worn path to Maxon's chest, where she usually fit perfectly as a little, little spoon when Maxon slept on his side, as he was now.

"Aunt Ames, you awake?" Astra whispered loudly, surprised.

America laughed quietly at the question. It was as if Astra thought America might be sleep-talking. "Yeah. How about you?"

"Yeah. I'm awake." She confirmed, changing course and crawling towards America.

"Any bad dreams?" America asked.

"No. You have any bad dreams?"

"Nope." America said, rolling over with some effort and then stretching out an arm for Astra to settle into. "Are you excited for tomorrow?"

"Oh, yeah!" Astra exclaimed, but she tried to keep her voice to a whisper.

"You and Kile are going to have so much fun at his grandma and grandpa's house."

Astra wasn't going to be within a twenty mile radius of the Palace when Maxon's sting operation went down. On that point, everyone had agreed.

"Kile says they have ice cream there."

"I'll bet they do. Will you eat an extra scoop for me? Tell me how good it was later?"

"Yeah, I will do that." Astra grinned happily.

"Thank you." America pressed a kiss to Astra's forehead, right along the line where her red hair began spouting out in loose curls. She soothingly combed her fingers through that hair as they both settled in.

"I like that." Astra reported, about her head massage.

"Okay. I'll keep going for a little while." America promised.

Astra blinked heavily for a few seconds, breathing in and out, taking in the silence. "Does that baby have red hair like us?" Astra asked, after a moment.

"I don't know." America said. "The baby is a surprise. We won't know if it's a boy or a girl, or what color hair it has, or even what its name will be, not until after it's born."

"We could name her Astra." Astra suggested. "If that baby is a girl like me."

"That's a beautiful name." America agreed. "But wouldn't it get confusing, once the baby is bigger? You'd never know if Maxon or I were calling you or your little cousin."

"We can call her Astra 2." Astra said.

Next to them, Maxon shuddered. Though his back was turned, America suspected he was awake now, and fighting off laughter. Astra didn't seem to notice.

"If the baby is a girl, we probably won't call her Astra 2. Astra is a beautiful, special name, for a beautiful, special girl like you."

Astra grinned, but her hand came to rest on America's bump, "That baby is beautiful, special, too. I can share. That baby should be Astra 2."

"Even if it's a boy?"

"Yes."

America bit back her giggles. "We'll think about it."

"Okay." Astra yawned, her whole face contorting widely in the dark. "Let's tell stories."

"Will you go first? The baby didn't get a bedtime story, yet."

"Yes. That baby needs a bedtime story." Astra's little hand petted America's belly, before coming to rest on it again. "Dear baby. Once upon a time, there was a beautiful prince named Astra 2. He lived at a tower that was very tall, and he had long hair, so long and red, it fell all the way to the ground."

America grinned, "Did your mommy tell you this story before?"

"Mackin did."

"Oh, I see."

"But he said Astra, not Astra 2."

"Astra, you're so thoughtful to change the name to include the baby." America complimented her, genuinely impressed.

"It's what you're s'posed to do, sometimes. Sometimes no, but sometimes yes."

"I see. Okay, keep going."

"Okay, so Prince Astra 2—"

"I have another question."

"Okay."

"Was Astra a princess in Maxon's story?"

"Oh, um, yes, but that baby will not like to be called a girl if he is a boy."

"Hm. Okay."

"Shhh." Astra reminded her.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Astra reassured her. "So, Prince Astra 2 had hair all the way to the ground, and lived all the way in a very tall tower, and he was all alone. Then one day a princess came, um, her name was… Mommy."

"Her name was Mommy?"

"Lots of people are named Mommy!" Astra reminded America. This time, Maxon snorted, but he tried to pass it off as a snore.

"I'm sorry, please keep going."

Astra yawned again. "So, the princess Mommy had a horse that was a rainbow of colors, and diamonds. She rided—"

"Rode—"

"Rode the horse to the very tall tower, but she could not fit through the door because the door was too small. But then Prince Astra 2 saw her, and gave her some hair to climb all the way to the top, and they played games and ate ice cream… and um… they had a sleepover, and um… went swimming…" she couldn't remember the end of the story.

"Did the princess help the prince escape from the tower?" America suggested.

"Oh, yes, and they went camping, too, and they moved to princess Mommy's castle, because the doors were bigger and she had more toys, too. The end."

"That was wonderful, thank you, Astra."

"You're welcome."

"Now I'll tell you one, but you have to try to fall asleep, okay?"

"Yes, I'm tired." Astra agreed, snuggling in.

America told the story of the three little pigs, but since Astra was obsessing over princesses, she changed it to the three little princesses. It was only halfway through the story that America realized how much like K the 'big bad wolf' was. How he showed up and knocked everything down, and they ran and ran, hoping one day they'd have a house strong enough to withstand him.

America fell asleep in the middle of these musings, and woke up to the sound of a camera clicking loudly above her. There was pale morning light drifting in through the windows, and apparently, Maxon hadn't been able to resist himself. He had his small red camera up, grinning at what he saw in the display. America narrowed her groggy eyes at him.

"I wasn't sure if I had time to fetch my DSLR." he whispered softly. "The two of you are perfect right now." Then he grinned, "Three of you, I mean."

America peeked down at the warm, soft little body still sound asleep next to her. "She slept through the night?"

"I doubt she so much as twitched." Maxon nodded.

America inhaled deeply, the smell of Astra's baby shampoo invading her nose in the most pleasant way. She knew what that shampoo looked like now. They had some in the nursery, a gift from Kenna, ready and waiting for their baby's first bath.

As Maxon took a moment to transfer the picture to the small machine he used to store his favorite images for future printing, it occurred to America that it was the morning of the party. Her heart began hammering in her chest, but she was careful to match her breaths with Astra's deep, steady ones, and to breathe through the jolt of adrenaline that had just shocked through her system.

Maxon tucked the little red camera into the breast pocket of his suit, and transferred the old note from K and the newest ultrasound of the baby into his clean pants pockets. He lingered over that note from K. This might be the last day he would ever carry it. This time tomorrow, if everything went the way it was supposed to, he wouldn't need it anymore. K would be dealt with. They did not plan so much as to hold him overnight. He would be immediately charged, the evidence would be laid out against him, he would be immediately convicted and sentenced, and his execution would take place that night. If everything went right, this would be K's last morning. America knew it would be better for herself if she could work up some kind of compassion, if not for the monster K had become, then for the man who had lost everything and been driven to become the monster.

But she remembered burying her brother, and the way Gerad had cried at Kota's funeral. She remembered the sound of Astra's tiny, frightened sobs in the bunker, the way everyone, including Astra, had been willing to lay down their lives to protect America and the baby. She remembered Carter's injured leg and all of the rehabilitation he would have to go through before returning to normal, and the look on Marlee's face when she realized how close she had come to losing her husband. She remembered the months and months of Maxon's troubled sleep, the way his brow furrowed even while he dreamed. All because of K. And she felt no compassion. But she felt no relief, either. She was trapped in a vice of fear and hate, and she just had to have faith that tomorrow morning would dawn, brighter and kinder, and maybe then she'd have her peace.

Astra still sleeping undisturbed at America's side was a good sign. A hopeful omen. A wonderful place to start.


America and Maxon spent their morning in security briefings, the final details of Maxon's plan falling into place. They took a break for lunch, and then to see Astra, Kile, and Marlee safely to the car with the armed guard escorting them to Carter's parents' house. That guard was dressed as a chauffeur, and would be driving them over, but he would be staying all day, until Marlee got the call that it was safe to return.

America, Maxon, Kenna, and James stood and watched until the car carrying the most precious cargo in all of Illéa disappeared from sight.

"They're safe." James said, but he didn't sound as if he could believe it.

"We'd know already if the rebels planned an ambush on guests coming or going from the Palace." Maxon reassured them. We have eyes on the camp, and well-placed spies."

"Good." Kenna lied. Nothing would be good until Astra was back in her arms, and America knew it. She felt the same way.

"Besides," Maxon continued, "If they are attacked, we'll know immediately. The guard will radio back, or the car itself will transmit a distress call and its location. Aspen has a team on standby, ready to react."

Everyone looked stared at the place where the car had disappeared around the corner. "But they won't need it. They're safe." Maxon said. "Safer than being at the Palace."

It didn't feel true, but it was true. The Palace was about to become a hotbed of rebels and guards. Astra, Kile, and Marlee were out of the crosshairs, that's what mattered most.

America felt a low, persistent twinge aching in her lower belly and rubbed at it, frowning down at her stomach. The sudden movement caused the others to look over at her.

"Ames?" Maxon asked, worriedly. This was not the day for something to go wrong.

"No, I'm fine." America promised. "I've just been having contractions all morning."

"What?!" Maxon's hands grasped onto America's upper arms in a panic.

"Oh, God, no!" America realized how that had sounded, and her face became a hurried apology. "Not that kind of contraction! It's the pre-labor contractions, the ghost contractions. They help my body prepare and loosen up for labor, remember?"

Maxon, still frozen with eyes wide, twitched his eyebrows. "You're not in labor?"

"No. Not even close. Not for three more weeks, at least." she reminded him. "Probably more like four or five."

"The baby isn't coming early?"

"Not today."

Kenna placed a tentative hand on Maxon's shoulder, and the tension there melted away. "This is normal, Maxon. She's fine. The baby's fine. This is supposed to happen, it's a good sign."

"Good?" Maxon blinked.

"Very good. But if those tiny twinges become stronger, or in any way frequent, then she'll go see Dr. Ashlar and he'll look her over." Kenna reassured him.

"I was joking when I said I wanted the baby now." Maxon said, eyes wide, like his words might have somehow triggered her contractions. Like the baby had really heard, understood, and taken his words to be a command to be born right away. "I don't want the baby to come until after the party. Until after the amendment!"

"I understand. I'm sorry I said anything, I didn't mean to worry you." America reassured him.

Maxon shook his head, "No. You should tell me everything. Does it hurt?"

"Not really. It's just uncomfortable, a little achy. Not as bad as my feet or my back get at the end of a long day."

"Breathing helps, Ames." Kenna reminded her. "You can practice your breathing techniques to breathe your way through these pre-contractions, too."

Breathing techniques. Somehow, in the chaos, learning breathing techniques for labor had fallen off of America's to-do list. "Right." she said, uneasily realizing that she knew next to nothing about labor, or how to cope with the extreme pain and fatigue that she'd been told came along with it. She had a nursery all prepared for the baby once it was born, but she had done almost nothing to prepare for the actual birth. A small place in the back of her mind felt panic at that, but the rest of her mind was consumed with this party, consumed with K and the rebels and keeping the right people alive while the others were killed. It was almost laughable to be worrying about something three weeks away, when there was no telling if the Palace would even be left standing after tonight.

Maxon recovered from his shock and released her upper arms, wrapping her in a warm embrace. He knew what she was thinking. He knew that she was woefully underprepared. "We'll get through tonight, and then we'll devote ourselves to this baby. We'll ask Dr. Ashlar for recommendations, and we'll do everything he says. Every single thing. Everything is going to be fine."

America distinctly remembered teaching him those words, in the now-destroyed safe room, under the threat of a different kind of rebel attack. Even though he was parroting her own reassuring platitude back to her, part of her still believed him.

And part of her was braced for the very stars to fall from the sky and shatter the earth as they fell.


America and Maxon dressed for the party in Maxon's room. They'd insisted Kenna and James go back to their own room, just for the day of the party, to leave America's room unoccupied. If K somehow struck early, and somehow made it through all of the guards and precautions designed to stop him, he'd make breaking into America's room his top priority. That room would be abandoned, except for the guard stationed inside. It didn't matter that the scouts still had eyes on K back in the forrest, and he couldn't be in two places at once, Maxon was taking no chances.

For the very first time, Mary and Justin were both in Maxon's room, helping America and Maxon get ready. Justin kept his back respectfully turned anytime Mary was dressing or undressing America, but he was helpful to have around, somehow anticipating Maxon's, America's, and Mary's needs before they vocalized them.

America liked having something to discuss other than the party, which would be bringing K back into the Palace, or the baby, who would be dangerously close to a desperate, wild madman tonight. And whose parents still didn't have the approval ratings required to make sure it would inherit the throne, boy or girl. And whose mother did not know how to breathe through labor to make being born any easier for it yet. So America was glad to have Justin and Mary together, and talking about their wedding plans.

They hadn't decided on much, but they knew they wanted blue flowers for their spring wedding, and Mary had a friend in the kitchens, a very talented baker, and he would be baking their wedding cake as a gift to them.

"It sounds beautiful." America sighed.

"We were thinking Ms. Astra might like to be our flower girl."

"Oh." Maxon chuckled at the thought. "She would love that."

Mary grinned, as she curled another small section of America's hair around the hot iron, "We thought so, too, your Majesty. We weren't going to bother with a large wedding party, just Justin's brother for his groomsman, and Paige and Lucy for my bridesmaids. But then we realized how happy little Astra would be, tossing around flower petals and wearing a special dress. That's the kind of joy we want our wedding day to bring, so… we think we'll ask her parents in a few weeks, once we have more details settled.

Justin wasn't very talkative, he was letting Mary do the speaking, but he had a warm smile on his face, and he watched Mary work with a familiar, loving light in his eyes. A light America recognized, because she saw it any time she caught Maxon staring at her from across the room.

"Good things are coming." America said, softly, looking between Mary and Justin. If America didn't keep reminding herself of that, she knew she'd collapse into the pit of fear and despair that threatened to claim her at the thought of K.

Something about this whole party, this whole trap, still wasn't sitting right with her. She tried to tell herself that it was just nerves and anxiety, that she was just worried, but she was starting to wonder if it wasn't something else. She was starting to wonder if her newly heightened intuition was trying to warn her not to let the rebels anywhere near her family, not to let K come back into the Palace.


'Guests' started arriving at sundown. Most of them were armed soldiers in crisp suits, English spies in fancy attire, or guards in their dress uniform, as if they were off-duty. America could tell that Aspen was nervous, not having Carter there. In Carter's absence, he seemed to be leaning on Avery quite a bit, and America thought that was a good choice. After all, Avery was still waiting on his medal for nearly tossing America down the stairs to the safe room and saving her life during that rebel attack early in the previous spring. America never had gotten around to telling Maxon that it had been Avery who'd pushed her in. Once the panic of the moment passed, Maxon had never asked again.

Other than the fact that the party was obviously lacking in female guests, the whole thing looked impeccably real. Kenna, May, and Silvia had done an amazing job coordinating this whole thing on such short notice. They were all hiding in a safe room now, along with the rest of America's family. Maxon didn't think K would pass up a chance to kill Maxon and America just because he wouldn't also get the Queen's family in the deal. Surely the allure of destroying the baby before it was ever born would be enough.

There was food, though very few servers (most of the staff had been preemptively sent to their safe rooms), there was music, though it wasn't live (As a security measure, no one had been contracted for this party. Every single worker came from inside the Palace. The Queen and her mother were the only true musicians inside the Palace, so pre-recorded music had been obtained). Still, the songs were clear, the tone warm and realistic. America might never have noticed that the music wasn't being performed live, if it wasn't that she was a former Five, and always aware of the performers at her parties.

There were cameras moving throughout the crowded Great Room, both for video and for photographs. Gavril was there, interviewing the few attendees who were not officers in disguise, though he looked strained. Pale. America could have been mistaken, but between takes, it actually looked like he was breaking a sweat. No one was cooler under pressure than Gavril Fadaye. Somehow, his visible strain was making America even more nervous.

The other main and plainly visible difference between this party and any other was that Maxon would not be leaving America's side all evening. They would not split up to greet guests, they would not mingle in separate groups, he would not dance with anyone else, and she would not sit and rest her feet while he continued to work the party. They were attached at the hip for the whole evening.

Gavril worked his way through the crowd, until he finally got to Maxon and America.

"Your Majesties." he bowed.

"How are the interviews going, Gavril?" Maxon asked.

"Well, sir."

"You'll have enough for the Report segment?"

Gavril dropped his voice when he replied, "More than enough to make it believable, sir."

"Good." Maxon said.

Gavril turned his attention to America, "How are you doing, your Majesty?" he was genuinely concerned.

"I'm worried. I'll feel so much better once this is all over with."

"Yes, ma'am." Gavril agreed.

"But the baby is fine, Gavril. Don't worry about us." She placed a hand on his arm, emphatically, and he smiled back at her. Now that she was this close to him, he did have the look of a nervous grandfather about him. She knew he'd covered Clarkson's Selection, and that he'd known Maxon since Amberly had announced her pregnancy. It suddenly occurred to her that his nervous demeanor, the way he seemed unusually tense during this party, had more to do with Maxon, America, and the baby than it did with rebels and subterfuge and the threat of an attack.

"Shall we get this over with?" Gavril suggested.

"Yes, please." Maxon nodded. Then he held up a hand and turned his attention away. Aspen was hurrying over, through the crowd. Maxon leant in Aspen's direction and Aspen whispered something urgently in Maxon's ear. They met each other's eyes importantly, and then Aspen hurried off.

"The rebels are on the move." Maxon said, softly enough that Gavril's camera and audio crew, keeping a respectful distance until Gavril waved them over, would not overhear.

America sighed, heavily. "I suppose K is going to wait until the end of the party to make his move. Some kind of grand finale nonsense?"

"Seems like it." Maxon nodded.

America tried to sound untroubled when she said, "I was hoping we'd get this over with early so that I could go to bed soon."

Maxon chuckled at her brave attempt at a joke. "Are you tired, my love?"

America thought of everything they'd been through, in their dealings with K. "Yes. In so many ways. Maxon, I need a vacation."

"I know you do." Maxon took her palm and pressed a kiss to it. "We'll have a break after New Years. Perhaps a family vacation?" Maxon suggested, eyeing America's stomach briefly.

"That sounds wonderful."

"In the mean time." Maxon's expression was grim and resigned as he turned back to Gavril, "We should record our interview now. Before I need to leave and attend to… other matters."

"Yes, sir." Gavril agreed.

Doing interviews with Maxon at her side was never hard. He was always charming and funny, and never let her flounder. America hardly remembered what Gavril asked, or what she and Maxon replied with, with the rebels dominating so much of her mind, but Gavril offered them a smile and a nod, before moving on. She thought they'd talked a little about her dress, the aubergine hues a perfect choice for a late November party, but she couldn't remember anything else they'd said about it. She was in autopilot for that interview. The rebels were coming.

Maxon steered the both of them to the head table, and several guards in dress uniform moved to stand surreptitiously around them.

"Water, my love. You should sip some water."

"Unless you want to escort me to the bathroom seven times before the night is over, I think I should stay away from the water." America warned.

"Tell me how you're feeling." Maxon said, studying her carefully. "Be honest."

"My heart is pounding so fast, Maxon." America said, honestly. "And adrenaline has me shaking."

Maxon considered this, frowning, placing a hand over hers to determine how bad the trembling was. "Protein." he determined. "You need protein and water."

"What? You want me to eat right now?" America asked, almost angry. "The rebels are moving through the forrest on their way to the Palace, and you expect me to eat?"

Maxon moved his chair closer to hers, so that their knees were touching, and he held both her hands in his. "They'll be apprehended in the tunnels, Ames, they're never going to set eyes on this party. They don't know we know they're coming. They think we're going to be as surprised as ever. We've got them where we want them, Love. So I'm going to have a guard bring us each a few small quiches to eat, and some water to drink, and we're going to keep our strength up. Alright?"

America nodded, reluctantly, and twisted her hands nervously in her lap the moment Maxon released them to draw the attention of one of the guards around them. She sucked in a deep breath and released it, allowing herself a moment to focus inward, on the baby and the small, mini-contraction she was having. This one didn't even ache, it just felt like a tiny stiffening of her muscles. She allowed herself to imagine what she would be doing one year from now. Cuddling with her eleven-month-old, lamenting that soon she would have a one-year-old. Maybe she, Maxon, and the baby would all be settling in for an early bedtime or splashing around in the indoor pool. Maybe she'd be chasing the baby around, as it crawled all through the Palace, causing more mischief than should be possible for such a small human.

"Are you alright?" Maxon asked, and her eyes flickered open. Her moment of peace over.

"I'm fine. Just thinking about the baby."

"How about 'Thomas', for a boy?" Maxon suggested, as they waited for their food. "King Thomas Schreave?"

"Tommy?"

"Cute, isn't it?" Maxon asked.

"Very."

"'Rosalind', for a girl?" Maxon continued.

"Rosie?"

"Mhmm." Maxon nodded. "A little redheaded girl named Rosie… Princess Rosie, would be too adorable for words."

"Perhaps we should stay with Astra's suggestion and make things simpler for ourselves." America joked, and Maxon laughed, hence confirming that he had, indeed, been awake and eavesdropping the previous night.

"Prince or Princess Astra 2." Maxon snorted. "That would certainly be the easy way out."

America and Maxon sat at the head table for another twenty minutes, resting their feet and nibbling on their food, sipping their water and making plans for their baby, or Astra, or Astra and their baby. It was the least anxious America had felt all night.

Aspen returned to burst their bubble of relief, hurrying over and bending down to Maxon's ear. America felt a flurry of hope. Was Aspen here to tell them that the rebels had entered the tunnels and been captured? America thought back to the map where that boy rebel had circled the location of the camp. It was too far away, wasn't it? For them to be in the Palace already?

Maxon leapt to his feet, the chair squealing out from under him, his entire body tense, his face angry. He took two strides, as if he and Aspen were going to leave the party to have a discussion, but then he froze in his tracks and turned back. The look in his eyes was fear, as he surveyed her. He didn't say anything, she doubted he could have pried his jaw open enough to get the words out, as tense as he was, but he tilted his head toward the door. America pushed herself up to her feet, using the table to help support her weight and keep her balance.

Maxon offered her his arm, which she was more than happy to accept, and he followed Aspen out into the hall beyond the Great Room. This wasn't a real party, so the King and Queen were allowed to both disappear from the festivities at the same time. America shuddered, upon seeing this crack in the facade. The longer this went on, the more uneasy this fake party made her.

"Explain." Maxon ordered.

Aspen nodded, looking like a wound up coil ready to burst. "Our scouts in the woods lost visual on K, eight minutes ago."

Maxon cursed, gripping America's hand tightly. "I knew he'd be too easy to lose in the woods. All those damned trees and shadows—" he cursed again.

"He was headed this direction, sir," Aspen said, "We still believe he'll attempt to enter the Palace through the tunnels as predicted. As soon as he sets foot inside, he'll be apprehended."

"You have permission to kill him on sight, I'd rather lose our official trial than lose K."

"I understand."

"Let me know the moment you find him again."

"I will."

"Lockdown the entrances and exits to the Palace. No one is coming or going, except through those guarded tunnels."

"Yes, sir."

Maxon paused, thoughtfully. "Have the staff lock all the windows."

"Sir?"

"That scout we captured? Remember? He got in through Astra's window."

"Astra's window has been locked ever since."

"He might try a different window. Just do it, I want to be certain that he'll be going through the tunnels. And then have the staff return to their safe rooms."

"Yes, sir."

"Go." Maxon dismissed, and Aspen hurried away.

Maxon and America did not linger out in the hall to react to this news because all of their protection was in the Great Room. Instead, they immediately returned to the party and then shared their grave looks of concern. What did it really mean, that the scouts in the woods had lost sight of K? Surely it didn't mean much? K still wanted Maxon and America dead, which meant he still had to come and find them. And they were going to stay here, surrounded by guards, until he showed himself. This was just a minor hiccough, in the scheme of things.

But America's intuition was screaming one word, over and over. Disaster.


Maxon and America danced.

Still no K.

They spoke with each of the unarmed guests who'd shown up to help make this party look real, and thanked them one by one.

Still no K.

They took five trips to the bathroom, due to the strain on America's bladder, Maxon reluctantly agreeing to let America use the toilet alone and wait for her in the women's powder room outside, only after inspecting every inch of the lavatory and deeming it safe and with no rebels in sight.

Absolutely no rebels in sight. Still no K.

It was getting late, the party was only supposed to last for another half an hour. Unless K was having a leisurely stroll on his way to the Palace, there was no way it should be taking this long.

"Maybe he's running?" America suggested. "Headed out of Angeles? Like he knows it was a trap?"

Maxon shook his head. They were back at the head table, standing together with Maxon's arm at America's back, a wall of guards around them. "He doesn't know it's a trap, and even if he did, I just don't think he'd care. He's not planning a long and exciting life after killing us. He wants revenge for his family, and all of the families like his. After that, what does he care what happens to himself?"

America swallowed hard at that thought. A desperate mad man with nothing to lose, and they couldn't find him, and he was coming for them.

"We should make arrangements." Maxon said, grimly. "Send the real guests home, send Gavril and his crew to a safe room, have some comfortable clothes brought in for you, maybe even a sofa for you to nap on. We might be here a while."

America hated to think of this painful, difficult night lasting any longer than it already had, but she was prepared to do anything at this point. Anything to get rid of K before her occasional little pre-contractions turned into the real thing.

Maxon stood and pivoted away to address the nearest guard, Avery. When Aspen wasn't in the Great Room, he had his temporary second-in-command near America and Maxon at all times, it seemed. Avery nodded as he listened to Maxon's decision, consulting his own wristwatch. They agreed to wait another ten minutes, and then start preparations for a longer stay.

America's eyes scanned through the crowd, trying to determine who would be left once the real guests were gone. She saw Gavril and his crew, still hard at work. They'd be gone. She saw Elise and Rolph, Rolph scribbling animatedly into a notepad. They needed to be sent away first. She refused to let anything bad happen to them. And Mr. and Mrs. Newsome, they needed to be kept safe at all costs. Mrs. Newsome looked so much like Celeste, and Mr. Newsome sometimes got a look of amused mischief on his face that was so very like Celeste that she might as well have been alive and standing in front of them. It was so brave and strong of Mr. and Mrs. Newsome to come here to the Great Room, the same place where their daughter had been murdered, just to try and help Maxon and America. They needed to be protected.

Thinking of Celeste in the Great Room sent chills down America's spine. She looked over to the place in the room where Celeste had been shot straight through the head, the catalyst for the complete chaos that had followed. America was so lost in the memory, reliving the moment of her friend's murder, that it took her several long moments to remember that her eyes were still open.

She wasn't reliving the time surrounding Celeste's murder.

She was here, now, in the Great Room, at the party, and the face staring back at her was no memory. She wasn't seeing the echo of the man who'd shot Maxon in the chest. She was seeing that man.

K was in the ballroom, dark eyes locked with America's blue, a satisfied smirk on his lips when the moment of horror and recognition dawned on her face. He was pleased that she remembered him. Pleased that he was a fixture in her nightmares, and now he was standing before her, all her nightmares made real.

Her breath caught in her lungs and she reached a hand out to Maxon's arm, grasping tightly.

"What is it?" Maxon turned back to her.

She couldn't believe K had let her move. Let her get so far as to touch Maxon's arm. K hadn't moved, he was just watching them. Soaking in the sight of them. Reveling.

Maxon followed her horrified gaze out through the crowd until his eyes landed on K. She felt him stiffen. Very carefully, without making any sudden moves that might trigger action from K, Maxon murmured, "Avery." And Avery turned, following Maxon's and America's frozen gaze.

Around the room, various guards, soldiers, and English agents were slowly falling silent, their eyes glancing over to check on the monarchs and then realizing what was wrong. The atmosphere crackled as guns were drawn and pointed at K.

Maxon noticed when K began ogling America's baby bump, and shifted ever so slightly in front of her to block it from view, keeping his gaze glued to K's, watching for any sign that this movement might break K's stillness.

K simply nodded. He'd been expecting that. He expected Maxon to shield America with his own body. That's exactly what had happened last time. K seemed to find this funny. K was very, very happy. That was not a good thing.

Maxon didn't say a word, the silence seemed to be the only thing keeping this scene from devolving into chaos. In the background, America noticed a shifting as guards and soldiers moved into a formation around the few civilian guests attending the party. This would not be like the last time K had pointed a gun at America. There would be no chaos, no haze of bullets flying everywhere.

K seemed to realize this with some surprise. That was satisfying. K hadn't been expecting a room full of guards. He didn't look troubled by this revelation, merely disappointed. Maybe he'd been expecting a more frightened audience? Or a larger pool of victims?

America felt herself sway, and realized that she needed to breathe. She pressed herself to Maxon's back, and he reached back with one hand to lace his fingers with hers. Now she had an anchor, Maxon was there to hold her steady. She sipped in some air and the burning in her chest subsided. The world grew clearer. She realized that K did not have a gun.

In fact, K slowly lifted his hands in the air. He was unarmed. He did not look away from Maxon and America the whole time, but the show was for the room full of weapons pointed at him.

Maybe he wanted a trial? Maybe he wanted to be held accountable for all that he'd done? To take credit for it, or to have a chance to apologize? Maybe he'd seen the error of his ways, and was sorry?

For a moment, time stood perfectly still.

And then America felt herself fly backwards through the air, not understanding why, as the silence of the room was replaced with a dull ringing in her ears. She couldn't breathe, the breath had been knocked out of her lungs, and getting air down her throat was her greatest struggle, her only struggle, for several seconds.

The whole world was pitch black, until she realized her eyes were closed and pried them open again. Not that the images they started feeding her made any more sense than the darkness had.

She was lying on the floor, someone else lying on top of her uncomfortably, pressing too hard against her stomach. This couldn't be good for the baby, and where was K?

She struggled to sit up, but the body on top of hers held her down. Weaver, with an enormous bloody cut on his forehead. He was saying something urgently, but there was no sound coming out. Only ringing.

America continued her struggle for air, her lungs filling with nothing but smoke that hung heavy around her. She coughed, choked, and tried again.

It was hot, and not because Weaver was lying on top of her. It was hot like a fireplace, or like an oven.

Weaver was trying to talk to her again. This time she read the word 'fire' on his lips. He was moving, rolling off her body, but staying close to shield her. She'd thought that having her stomach free would help her breathe, but between the smoke and the gasping, it made no difference at all. She was suffocating.

Weaver gave up talking, and instead he started pulling. He pulled her to her unsteady feet, feet that wholly refused to support her weight, feet that were like wet noodles beneath her legs, and then he lifted her into his arms. It was not as comfortable as being lifted into Maxon's arms.

Maxon.

Where was Maxon?

Where was K?

Why was there a fire?

America tried to ask where Maxon was, but no sound came out. Still, Weaver must have heard her. He was saying something back, but she didn't know what. She couldn't leave without Maxon. Except, she realized with dawning horror, that she was already gone. Weaver was sprinting down the hallway with her in his arms, rocketing toward what seemed to be the hospital wing.

She could breathe again, though tenuously, and there were other sounds beginning to mix with the ringing in her ears. Namely, Weaver's quick footsteps.

"I can hear." America reported.

"Thank God." Weaver said, glancing down at her but not slowing his pace.

"Where's Maxon?"

"He had Avery and Markson on him. I lost sight of them in the smoke, but they'll get him to the hospital wing."

That was smart. Don't look for each other in the haze, get somewhere safe and then meet up. America was glad Weaver had pulled her away. "What happened?"

"Explosion."

America would have rolled her eyes, but she was still too shaken. Apparently she made a noise of impatience, though, one that she still couldn't hear, because Weaver continued, "K didn't move, didn't blink, didn't flinch. He just… blew up."

"Oh, God." America realized. "It was bad?"

Weaver nodded. "It was bad. I pulled you back half a second later… I'm sorry, I think you fell pretty hard—"

"That was you? That wasn't the explosion?"

"No, ma'am. That was me."

"K… blew up?"

Weaver nodded, grimly.

"You covered me."

There must have been gratitude in her tone, because Weaver shook his head. "Don't thank me until we know you're safe. Until we know that I didn't… that the baby… I did what I had to do to keep you alive, but—"

America gulped, "Nothing hurts. Well… my shoulder blade. That's where I landed, I think."

Weaver just kept running, adjusting his grip on her to try to avoid the offending shoulder blade.

There were lots of people running into the hospital wing when America got there. "I have the Queen!" Weaver called, and nurses, guards, and a few of the lightly injured leapt out of the way.

"I have the Queen!" Weaver said, again, and he ran into a room where Dr. Ashlar was already hard at work on a patient lying on a hospital bed.

"How is the Queen?" Dr. Ashlar asked, keeping his tone urgent but calm. He didn't glance at them.

"I think I'm okay." America said. "Let me try to stand."

Weaver gently set her on the floor and she swayed, but she found her bearings. "I can do it. I can stand."

"Bleeding?"

America did an assessment of herself. Weaver checked her back while she checked her front. "No."

"Cramping?"

"No."

"Sit, your Majesty." Dr. Ashlar said, still focused on his task. He was cleaning and stitching, cleaning and stitching, and when he moved aside, America got a clear view of the patient. A man lying on the table, bloody and covered in wounds, completely unconscious.

She didn't feel her mouth move, but her throat stung and she heard her own voice clearly through the now distant ringing in her ears.

"MAXON!"