All rights to Kiera Cass. This book is designed to make story edits that largely follow the original plot. So even in the edited parts it is often largely Cass's writing.

…. …. ….. …..

Author's note: This chapter is a bit less intense than the last, but we do have a sequence of engaging chapters.

…. …. …. …..

(cass)

(edit warning for ab*se)

CHAPTER 28

THE LAST THING I WAS expecting as I ran down the hallway was being applauded for by every maid and guard. I wasn't sure why they were clapping, but I knew I had to get to Maxon.

My plan was to try and sneak past the guards, unsure if they would let me through. I was trying to walk casually up the stairs so I could slip passed the chatting guards, but a few maids saw me and began clapping. The guards saw me, and since my cover was blown anyway, I stopped the maids. "Excuse me. Why is everyone clapping?"

The three of them look at each other and the first one pipped up. "It was so well said, miss."

I saw in her eyes how much she cherished my words, and for a second I didn't feel so awful.

"I can't believe you did that! No one ever stands up for us!" the second added.

"And you were doing it your whole life. You see people as people: not just a number." The third declared.

"Oh Maxon has to choose you!" The second one said and the other girls agreed. "You're the only one that gives us hope."

Hope. I hoped I was able to see the sun again. They clearly had heard what I said about the garden, the kids were in so much danger now.

I moved up the staircase and looked at the guards. They looked sympathetic. "Any chance you would be able to not see me for a minute? If anyone asks I'll say I slipped by." They glanced at each other and let me through. I went to Maxon's room and heard yelping. It was awful. My first instinct was to break in the door, but I hesitated. Would going in embarrass Maxon? I have no idea what's happening. The sound stopped and shortly after the king came out. He looked even more menissing.

"If by some act of stupidity, Maxon had actually chose you, your little stunts would cost us everything. Decades, generations of work gone because you thought you were being a hero!"

He got in my face, so close that I actually took a step back. But he came closer, leaving very little space between us. His voice was low and harsh, and far more frightening than when he was yelling.

"You're going to need to learn to hold your tongue. If not, you and I will be enemies. Trust me when I say that you do not want to be my enemy."

His angry finger was pointing into my cheek. He could rip me to shreds right now. Even if there was someone nearby, what would they do? No one was going to protect me from the king.

I tried to sound calm. "I understand."

"Excellent," he said. "Also your future as an advisor is in jeopardy. While you did not spill any classified information, you did show a tendency towards radical ideas. I do not like the idea of a radical informing an impressionable king."

I once again walked the brave and stupid line. "With all do respect You Highness, you have every right to be mad at me as an Elite. I have displayed only one quality of a princess and that is love for our nation and its people, which very well may not be enough. However, my work as an advisor is flawless."

He paused, clearly unable to deny that fact. "But for whatever reason you are still here as an elite. A contender for a position you will never be suitable for. Well you're in the selection for now at least." I didn't disagree, but I didn't like threats. "So until then I will treat you as a pest in need of removal. And Lady America, like always this stays between us."

Despite the rough start I couldn't help but wonder if he was going softer on me? He didn't seem to entirely despise me as an advisor which was an improvement. Maybe telling my story was part of it. Did he really know it was that bad? Although I'm aware he wouldn't have cared. He's like Gregory Illea reincarnated: cares for nothing but his own power.

After the King was out of sight I moved into Maxons room. He was tenderly pulling a suit jacket on. The sharp movements familiar to ones people in pain make. "Maxon." I huffed out running towards him.

"I do not wish to speak to you." He declared the words coming harsh off his lips.

"Please." I whispered. He didn't move or look at me. "After Marlee's canning I was mad at Prince Maxon but I would still talk to my best friend Maxon. Do you at least want to see your best friend America?"

He turned to look at me. "Why did you do it. All your talk about being there for me. Was it pretend?" Of course not. Where was this coming from? "You said you were packed ready to go. You knew that doing this would most likely mean you left. Frankly I'm surprised my father even wanted to keep you as an advisor."

He stood up and huffed and passed me. He was walking faster than I could truly keep up with, but accepting the risk of a fall, I matched his pace. "Maxon. Maxon please talk to me." I called after him as I chased him down the stairs and across the castle. He went inside the infirmary. I wasn't sure why but he whispered to the nurse to get something.

Finally stopped, I spoke, "Yes Maxon, I knew I would probably be kicked out. Knowing I might be leaving you was the hardest part. Harder than putting my trauma on display. Harder than suggesting what would be considered radical ideas. Harder than taking a stance I knew likely no one in the room would understand. Harder than knowing I would probably be silenced once again. It was harder, Maxon, because you mean so much to me." He looked me in the eye, he was so mad. "But I also have a conscience. I chose morality over our friendship because I needed to be able to live with myself. I couldn't allow the trauma known as their lives to be silenced once again. I couldn't propose a plan that would do almost nothing. I am who I am, and the friend I am, because of my morals. I had to listen to them." Maxon's eyes locked in mine and for a moment I thought he might have understood.

But then the nurse came back with a gold metal box, I noticed it had his name on the side of it. He turned out and left at a quick pace.

I kept running after him and called Maxon, "I'm so sorry if I hurt you."

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to me. "You didn't hurt me America, you crushed me." I was stunned. All the anger seeped out of his eyes and all that was left was sadness. "What did you think was going to come of it anyways America. You can't go on television complaining about the way things are run and expect to have my father's, or anyone's, support. Did you not pay attention at all to the way I'm doing things? It's quiet and small. That's how it has to be for now."

He was right and I knew it. I don't know what I expected, I just wanted change. Before I got any more words out we heard the shouting. Maxon turned and started walking, and I followed, trying to make sense of the sound. Was someone fighting? As we got closer to the intersection of the main hallway and the doors to the gardens, we saw guards come flooding toward the area.

"Sound the alarm!" someone called. "They're through the gates!"

"Guns at the ready!" another guard yelled over the shouts.

"Alert the king!"

"Maxon", I called, "It's the southern rebel attack we've been expecting." He seemed to come to the conclusion at the same time.

And then, like bees intent on landing, small, quick things buzzed into the hall. A guard was struck and fell back, his head hitting the marble with a disturbing crack. The blood pouring from his chest made me scream.

Maxon instinctively pulled me away, but not very quickly. Perhaps he was in shock as well.

"Your Majesty!" a guard called, racing over to us. "You have to get downstairs now!"

He gruffly turned Maxon around and shoved him away. Maxon cried out and dropped the metal box again. I looked over at the guard's hand on Maxon, expecting to see that he'd driven a knife into his back based on the sound Maxon had made. All I saw was a thick, pewter ring around his thumb. I picked up the box by the handle on the side, hoping that didn't mess up anything inside, and ran in the direction the guard was trying to move us.

"I won't make it," Maxon said. I started to piece it together. The screams I heard earlier were Maxon, and in the box must be some sort of treatment. I turned back to him and saw that he was sweating. He was really hurt.

(cass)

"Yes, sir," the guard said grimly. "This way."

He pulled Maxon around a corner to what appeared to be a dead end. I wondered if he was going to leave us there when he hit some invisible trigger on the wall and another one of the palace's mysterious doors opened. It was so dark inside, I couldn't see where it went; but Maxon walked in, hunched over, without a second thought.

"Tell my mother that America and I are safe. Do that before anything else," he said.

"Absolutely, sir. I'll come back for you myself when this is over."

The siren sounded. I hoped that was fast enough to save everyone.

Maxon nodded and the door closed, leaving us in complete darkness. The seal was so secure, I couldn't even make out the sound of the alarm. I heard Maxon's hand rubbing against the wall, and he eventually came upon a switch that dimly lit the room. I looked around and surveyed the space.

There were some shelves that held a bunch of dark, plastic packages and a different shelf that held a few thin blankets. In the middle of the tiny space was one wooden bench big enough to seat maybe four people, and in the opposite corner was a small sink and what looked like a very crude toilet. Hooks lined one wall, but there was nothing on them; and the whole room smelled like the metal that appeared to make up the walls.

"At least this is one of the good ones," Maxon said, and hobbled over to the bench to sit.

(Edit)

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said quietly, and propped up his head on his arms.

I sat beside him, placing the metal box on the bench and looking around the room again before looking at him. "I heard your screams earlier." He avoided my eyes.

I changed the topic. "That was the first time I saw any part of a southern rebel attack first hand." I shook my head. "We even knew this was coming and couldn't stop it."

Maxon looked down. "I would like to say that was less common than it is. Since you've come on the rate of successful attacks has diminished significantly."

"I really thought we had a couple more days." I admitted.

"They easily could have moved up their plans. We'll never know."

I tried to slow my breathing and erase what I'd just seen from my mind. There's no way that guard would survive. Could anyone survive something like that?

(cass)

I wondered how far the rebels had gotten in the time it took us to hide. Was the alarm fast enough?

"Are we safe here?"

"Yes. This is one of the places for servants. If they happen to be down in the kitchen and storage area, they're pretty safe as it is. But the ones running about doing chores might not be able to get there quickly enough. It's not quite as safe as the big room for the royal family, and we have supplies to survive down there for quite some time; but these work in a pinch."

"Do the rebels know?"

"They might," he said, wincing as he sat up a bit straighter. "But they can't get in once the rooms are in use. There are only three ways out. Someone with a key has to activate it from the outside, someone with a key can activate it from the inside"—Maxon patted his pocket, implying that he could get us out if he had to—"or you have to wait for two days. After forty-eight hours, the doors automatically open. The guards check every safe room once the danger has passed, but there's always a chance they could miss one; and without the delayed-unlocking mechanism, someone could be stuck in here forever."

It took him a while to get all this out. He was clearly in pain, but it seemed that he was trying to distract himself with the words. He leaned forward and then hissed when the action added to whatever was hurting him.

"Maxon?"

"I can't … I can't take it anymore. America, help with my coat?"

He held out his arm, and I jumped up to help him slide his coat down his back. He let it drop behind him and moved to his buttons. I started helping him, but he stopped me, holding my hands in his.

(edit - this is in the original too, but I will still put a warning for ab*se)

"Just to be absolutely clear, this secret goes to your grave. And mine. Do you understand?"

(cass)

I nodded, I wondered what made Maxon yelp like that, but I didn't have to wonder for long. Maxon released my hands, and I slowly unbuttoned his shirt. I wondered if he'd ever imagined me doing this. I could admit that I had.

I had been raised a musician, but I was surrounded by artists. I'd once seen a sculpture that was hundreds of years old of an athlete throwing a disk. I'd thought to myself at the time that only an artist could do that, make someone's body look so beautiful. Maxon's chest was as sculpted as any piece of art I'd ever seen.

But everything changed as I went to slide the shirt down his back. It stuck to him, making a slippery, sticky sound as I tried to get it to move.

"Slowly," he said. I nodded and went behind him to try from there.

The back of Maxon's shirt was soaked with blood.

I gasped, immobile for a moment. But then, sensing that my staring made things worse, I kept working. Once I got the shirt off, I threw it on one of the hooks, giving myself a moment to gain my composure.

I turned around and got a good look at Maxon's back. A bleeding gash on his shoulder tore down to his waist and crossed over another one that was also dripping blood, which crossed over another one that had been healed for a while, which crossed over yet another one that was puckered from age. It looked like there were maybe six fresh slashes across Maxon's back piled on top of too many more to count.

How could this have happened? Maxon was the prince. He was royal, sovereign, set apart from everyone. He was above everything, sometimes including the law, so how had he come to be covered with scars?

(edit)

Then I remembered the look in the king's eyes tonight. And Maxon's effort to hide his fear. And the sounds….I should have gone in, but I never thought. How could any man do this to his son?

(cass)

I turned away again, hunting until I found a small washcloth. I went to the sink, glad to find that it worked even though the water was ice-cold.

I steadied myself and walked over, trying to be calm for his sake. "This might sting a little," I warned.

"It's okay," he whispered. "I'm used to it."

I took the wet washcloth and dabbed at the long gouge in his shoulder, deciding that I'd work from the top down. He pulled away a bit but took it all silently. When I moved on to the second gash, Maxon started talking.

"I've been preparing for tonight for years, you know? I've been waiting for the day when I was strong enough to take him on."

Maxon was silent for a moment, and some things made sense: why a person who sat at a desk had such serious muscles, why he always seemed half dressed and ready to go, why he is so good at hiding his broken.

I cleared my throat. "Why didn't you?"

He paused. "I was afraid that if he didn't have me, he'd want you."

I had to stop for a moment, too overcome even to speak. Tears threatened to spill over, but I tried to hold it together. I was sure it would only make things worse.

"Does anyone know?" I asked.

"No."

"Not the doctor? Or your mother?"

"The doctor must, but he's quiet. And I would never tell my mother or even give her a reason to suspect. She knows Father is stern with me, but I don't want her to worry. And I can take it."

I kept dabbing.

"He's not like this with her," he promised quickly. "She gets mistreated in her own ways, I suppose, but not like this."

"Hmm," I said, not sure of what else to say.

I wiped again, and Maxon hissed. "Damn, that stings."

I pulled away for a minute while he slowed down his breathing. After a moment, he made a small nod, so I started again.

"I have more sympathy for Carter and Marlee than you know," he said, trying to sound light. "These things take awhile to stop hurting, especially if you're determined to take care of them on your own."

I paused for a moment, shocked. Marlee got caned fifteen times at once. I think if I had to, I'd pick that over them coming at times you weren't prepared.

"What are the others for?" I asked, then shook my head. "Never mind. That's rude."

He shrugged his uninjured shoulder. "Things I said or did. Things I know."

"Things I know," I added. "Maxon, I'm so …" My breathing hitched, threatening to send me over the edge. I might as well have caned him myself.

He didn't turn around, but his hand searched and found my knee. "How are you going to finish fixing me up if you're crying?"

I laughed weakly through the tears and wiped my face. I got everything cleaned, trying to stay gentle.

"Do you think there are any bandages in here?" I asked, looking around the room.

"The box," he said.

As he sat there, steadying his breathing, I opened the clasps on the box, looking at the abundance of supplies.

"Why don't you have bandages in your room?"

"Sheer pride. I was determined never to need them again."

I sighed quietly. I read the labels, finding a disinfectant solution, something that looked like it would help soothe the pain, and bandages.

I moved behind him, preparing to apply the medication. "This might hurt."

He nodded. When it made contact with his skin, he grunted once and then reverted to silence. I tried to be quick and thorough, ready to make him as comfortable as possible.

I started putting ointment on his wounds, and it was clear that whatever I was using helped. The tension in his shoulders eased as I worked, and I was glad; it felt in a way like I was making up for some of the trouble I'd caused.

He snorted out a light laugh. "I knew my secret would come out eventually. I've been trying to come up with a good story for years. I was hoping to find something believable before the wedding since I knew my wife would see them, but I'm still stumped. Any ideas?"

I thought a moment. "The truth works."

He nodded. "Not my favorite option. Not for this anyway."

"I think I'm done."

Maxon twisted and bent a little bit, moving gingerly. He turned to look at me, his expression thankful. "That's great, America. Better than any job I ever did."

"Anytime."

He looked at me a moment, and the silence grew. What was there to say now?

My eyes kept darting to his chest, and I needed to stop that.

"I'm going to wash your shirt." I buried myself in the corner, rubbing his shirt against itself, watching the water turn rust colored before it escaped down the drain. I knew all the blood wouldn't come out, but at least it gave me something to do.

When I finished, I wrung it out and placed it back on a hook. I turned around, and Maxon was staring at me.

"Why don't you ever ask questions I actually want to answer?"

I didn't think I could sit next to him on the bench without being tempted to touch him. Instead I settled on the floor across from him.

"I didn't know I did that."

"You do."

"Well, what am I not asking that you want me to?"

He let out a long breath and gently leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

(edit)

"Don't you want to know why you're still here? Don't you want to know why I at least tried to stop you from leaving the selection?"

... ... ... ...

Thanks for reading. As always please comment! I love to hear your thoughts!