"So, tell me about them."
"You've been spending time with them this whole week, Mom. I highly doubt I could tell you anything you haven't already guessed."
"Don't you dare think you can get off the hook so easy, boy! Tell me. It's a queen's order!"
"You are no good than little Rue or Dahlia!"
"Aw, dumpling. Get out with it already."
We were sitting in my room after breakfast. I had a free time in my schedule for the first time in weeks and Mom took the opportunity to fill it up for me. She brought a photo album with her as well. We were sorting them out. Aunt Adele's birthday was coming in a week. She wanted to give her a handmade gift. A portrait. All her photos that I've managed to click were sprayed on the desk in front of us, waiting to be selected.
Picking up a recent photo of aunt, I started speaking as well. "Celeste is a confident lady. She knows how to get her way and is proud of it."
"Yeah. I've seen her. She is as much delightful as she is trouble."
"True. Although, she can be a marvellous queen. Not compassionate, but full of ideas at least."
She nodded, already knowing it, but also knowing I wasn't being honest. She was a Two. She doesn't know hardships. She'll not be able to make decisions accordingly, or rather just decisions.
"Kriss on other hand... I'm not sure about her. She is good, compassionate, kind...a sweetheart in many ways."
"Yes. I've tried my best to get to know her and you'll be proud to know you made the right choice by selecting her. She is perfect."
That was actually what the problem was. She is perfect. A perfect woman, a kind lady, no doubt she'll become a just queen. Maybe a good wife. But there was where it ended. The uncertainties. Because there was no spark between us. We were friends, acquaintances, or whatever it was, but not something that can grow into that. Yes. She was a sweetheart, but not mine.
"Elise on the other hand..."
As an answer she squeezed my shoulder. She knew Elise got on my nerves and the actual reason why she was here.
"Natalie is opposite of her, but so similar to Marlee. She isn't creative for one thing. But Kriss helps us everytime. They are the unlikely couple who got in a happy friendship."
"Friendship never comes to us when we expect it. You know that well. It comes in the most inconvenient way, at the least expected time, with the most unlikely person."
"You told the same about love."
"And both are true. Friendship is just another form of love, honey. Same predicaments, but different depths."
"True." Marlee and America were examples of that. In both ways.
"America..." I sighed. She was my strength in a way and my weakness in other.
Another squeeze of my shoulder was the only thing she could offer. She knew the basic about my relation with her. We were more than friends. I liked her—as far as she knew—and that she wasn't ready for me.
"About Marlee..." She murmured, looking at her in a photograph of the reception thrown a few weeks ago. "She is such a humble Lady. One of the best options you've got."
I got the hint she was trying to subtly indicate. In case things don't go as planned or as wanted with America, Marlee could be my best choice then. A perfect queen, people's favourite and a just ruler. And she knew I liked her as well. But she didn't know the major thing: I liked her as a friend. Or that we had talked and knew where we stand.
I didn't say anything. Not because of one reason, but for another.
It had happened the day after I'd selected the Elites. She was sitting on a bench in the hallway, underneath a window, looking out to the ground. When I was closer, she turned and smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. I waved back. She'd stood up, walked over to me and asked, "Can I ask you something, Maxon?"
I nodded, waving a hand to the bench she'd just vacated. Walking back to the bench, we both sat down, looking at the almost setting sun.
"Why am I still here, Maxon?" She asked, not trying to circle around like others do but instead coming directly to the point. We'd met this morning, gone for a morning stroll in the backyard gardens. We haven't had a single thing to talk about. She'd looked glum, whereas I was lost. We were both trying to avoid it, after all the cameras were everywhere now, but the topic had to be discussed in case we're captured by any camera.
"You mean as an Elite?"
She shook her head. "Despite knowing we don't have any chemistry, that we don't love each other. Respect sure. Love—we both know better. Is it because America has been pulling for me?"
I shook her head, smiling. "You have a charismatic personality, Marlee. You are not only people's favourite but also of a few advisors'."
"You don't love me." Not a question. Merely a fact.
I didn't know what to say or do.
"I've tried, Maxon. Trust me. I tried my hardest to love you. But..."
"I understand, Marlee." I'd told her, understanding it first-hand.
She sighed, rubbing at her forearns. "What do we do now?"
"Nothing. You enjoy the palace for as much long as you're here."
A sigh of relief escaped her, a smile not replacing her frown. "You are good, Maxon. And you'll be a better king."
"I've also been told I'm an amazing friend."
She'd laughed and hit me in the arm, the awkwardness between us evaporated as things were cleared between us.
Back in the present, I looked at Mom who was glancing between two photos, trying to decide which one of a baby Adele should be selected.
"Mom? How do I know I'm doing the right thing? I'd thought shortening the number to Elites will help but it'd only increased my trepidation."
"It'll feel that way, sweetheart," She replied, putting the photos down and looking me in the eye. "even if you narrow it down to two, what-ifs will hang over your head. The only thing you can do is to—"
"Think with your mind and listen to heart as well." I repeated with her.
Her advice to every situation.
.
.
.
"It's been near about a month, Maxon." Father reminded me in the meeting in the conference room, after discussing all the matters of security and defence and attacks and everything that I had to have to be a part of, among all the advisors', his eyes fiery for a good news. "What is the status about your project?"
"As you've said, it's just been a month, sir. Right now we're focusing on the PSO booths. We were able to provide free food as promised within a month. There are many people who have been giving us donations for the cause. Twos and Threes and many Fours. The reception was spectacular. Now that the main PSO booths have gained incredible results, we were wondering if we could include minor booths as well. It'll take time but I've been given the green signal."
He nodded. I couldn't tell if he was pleased or not. Just like everytime.
He was my father, but never acted as one but a king. Even when alone. It was very difficult to please him, when he was quite certain I will displease him in every manner. He noticed my back flexing with pride while I made the announcements, a frown marring his face.
"I hope you'll make the project a success."
"It will." I had a more big picture in mind but that had to be a secret for the time being.
"Okay, then." When the meeting was adjourned and I still had spare time for my dates with the Elites, I went on the second floor to America.
What I didn't expect was to find her sitting on her desk, rubbing her temples, asking her maids to solve her reports for her. When they denied and she retorted by saying she'll have them replaced and they laughed, knowing all well she was teasing, I grinned. She truly adored them. Not just because they were Sixes and she was a former Five, but because she saw them as friends. Something that made her different—special in a way.
The shy one of her three handmaids laughed watching me leaning against the door. Puzzled why, the others looked and they both chuckled as well. At last America turned and saw me. "You gave me away!" I hissed at them.
Her reaction was the least unexpected. She ran in my arms. "You read my mind!"
"Did I?"
"Please tell me we can go outside. Just for a little while?"
Simpering a little, I murmured. "I have twenty minutes before I have to be back."
She pulled me out in the hall, too excited or irritated to rest. The chattering of her maids faded behind, and so did the other sounds as we descended to the gardens. Our place. Like I had with the other Elites, but unlike then still.
Celeste liked to stay inside the castle, Elise, too. Marlee liked the places where we could roam around and Natalie liked horse riding or hunting. Kriss liked the libraries and the historical places. I took all of them to other places as well yet there was no denying with America it was always the gardens. Either be our evening strolls or dates or anything. We always wandered in the gardens.
I liked that.
Her fingers slid against my palm and I felt them scrape my skin. They were unlike others. Marred and rough. Not at all soft as the others' had. "What are these?" I asked, brushing the tips of our fingers together, liking the feel of my smooth ones against her roughened.
"Calluses." She answered, lost in her memories. "They're from pressing down on violin strings four hours a day."
"I've never noticed them before." I mused aloud. After all, it was her playing the violin that strained so many strings in my heart.
"Do they bother you?"
How could she think that?
I stopped our walk and lifted our linked fingers to my mouth, kissing hers. "On the contrary. I find them rather beautiful." She blushed a deep red. ""I've seen the world—admittedly mostly through bulletproof glass or from the tower of some ancient castle—but I've seen it. And I have access to the answers of a thousand questions at my disposal. But this small hand here? This hand makes sounds incomparable to anything I've ever heard. Sometimes I think I only dreamed that I heard you play the violin, it was so beautiful..." I still remember the scene perfectly. Her dress, her closed eyes, her smile as she played the tune she remembered so perfectly. It was her playing the strings but in was my heart that vibrated along with the tune. She stirred something deep inside me then. The day I realised I loved her. "These calluses are proof that it was real."
"Do you really have the answers to a thousand questions?"
Of all the things...
"Absolutely. Ask me anything; and if I don't know the answer, I know where we can find it."
"Anything?"
"Anything."
She tried to think. Hard. We walked around for a but in silence and she thought. The she asked suddenly after a few minutes, "What's Halloween?"
" Halloween?" That's a word I have no idea of. A festival? An occasion? A theatre?
She teased. "Not so certain now, Your Royal Smartness?"
I hated not giving her something. And it was a very simple thing to give her. Though I was only acting to be annoyed at not having answers...when I could have...
Yes. I could have them. I had access to the information that no one else had. The information that had perished from the rest of the country. The restricted library.
But...
I was planning on making her my wife...
Looking at my watch, I made a snap decision. If caught, we could be punished severely, but there was a desperate need for a little adventure in the middle of the Selection. A crazy decision was all it took for that.
Grabbing her hand I made a run to the library that had been hidden from everyone's eyes from since George Illéa's rule. "Come with me. We have to hurry."
Oh, those damn heels!
A girl with calluses for fingertips had to be a good runner but those heels were slowing us. And if we took lot more time that we should...she stumbled a lot as we ran, but still I did not slow down, trying to keep our pace. I greeted a few guards as we climbed the stairs, and assured America that it was all worth it and that she'll love it when she complained about me running fast, though I slowed down a little to match her, even when I was eager to get there faster.
Turning toward the west corridor and then the North, we went for the Great Room, and when I was sure there were no eyes upon us for the moment, I ducked in the spiral staircase which was restricted for everyone but our family. We climbed up and up till we crossed the third floor and reached almost the attic area.
"Where are we going exactly?"
This time, making sure we weren't overheard, I turned to her. To make sure she gets what I was putting on risk, I made a stern face and looked deeply in her eyes, my gaze series. "You have to swear never to reveal this little chamber. Only a few members of the family and a handful of the guards even know it exists."
She nodded, her blue eyes intrigued yet her small gulp told me the secret would go to grave. "Absolutely."
Reaching the end of the staircase, I held the attic area—it wasn't particular that but we called it such—door open, holding my hand for her to go in. Leading her down the almost narrow hallway, the one which wasn't used much, we reached the far end of the wall. There hanging from the wall was a beautiful, magnificent painting of the palace in Angeles, surrounded by the many houses forests.
The main part of Illéa was that it's history was taught orally rather than written. So there were very few who knew George Illéa believed in irony. The place where no one thought to look was the one where he hid all the secrets. For everyone else who were looking, they were trying to dig in libraries and royal treasuries or the historical pictures, but no one would think that the sources of them were hidden in the palace, behind the palace.
Hiding them just beneath their nose and away from them.
I found the button that helped me move the frame. I heard a gasp. Turning, I grinned at her. With my attention back at the matter in hand, I did a fast job in moving the painting away all the way to the ground. The now free space now revealed a small trapdoor, a foot above the ground, small in height as well, along with a small touchpad beside it. Punching the correct password on the keypad—the date when Illéa was formed—the door was unlocked, a beep echoing faintly around us. With the inbuilt system, the doors would lock itself back in fifteen minutes. We couldn't miss anymore minutes. Turning back a little, I gave her my hand. "Let me help you. It's quite a high step."
She was shocked, clearly, but recovered fast, walking in without any hesitancy or fear. Just curiosity.
The room inside was a small room, with wall pushing in, no windows, lit just by the artificial lights and the lamp I'd lit by the front door. The ceiling wasn't high that my head touched the top. The walls were covered with shelves, each one full of books and diaries and notes and photos and all the stuff that had been stored by George Illéa himself. Many were liked by him, had been a part of his personal collection, while some were the only copy existing in the country. One wall had the atlas attached to it, the page opened to Italy. Father must have been thinking about how to establish relations with them.
In the middle was a table with more books and computer—the thing that'll help me have information about Halloween.
She looked around the room, her curious eyes scanning everything with wonder. She asked me about the red stash and I told then about them being banned and the only existing copies. Before she could ask, and also because I could read the question in her eyes, I told her, "Yes, you can look at them."
While she made herself comfortable, I sat on the table, switched on the computer and searched for Halloween.
"What's that?" She questioned, coming to stand behind me.
"A computer. Have you never seen one?" She shook her head. Well, I shouldn't be surprised. It was a rare luxury. "Not many people have them anymore. This one is specifically for the information held in this room. If anything about your Halloween exists, this will tell us where it is."
The search ended, showing the book which will give me the required information. "Oh, excellent!" I exclaimed. "Wait right there." I told her, standing up to grab the source.
There were three books which held the information. One was George's favourite Religion and their myths. It said, 'Halloween is a Celtic festival that marks the end of summer' and that ' spirits passes in and out of the world on Halloween'. It was easy to believe that as it was a Celtic festival and the Europeans were often considered to be believers of myths. They later transformed their myth into a secular festival for their children by allowing them to dress up in costumes. They went around the town, singing songs or playing their characters and were rewarded by candies, hence recreating the phrase trick and treat as they did a trick to get a treat.
I wanted to laugh. It was almost absurd as well as a whimsical way of fun.
The second book—Traditional Stories Of The Modern World—was actually a few notes. In it, Halloween was defined as a festival that marks the end of summer, according to Jewish. It was the Christian definition that intrigued me. It consisted of spirits and pumpkins and summers and children. Almost like a horror story.
"This will be the interesting one." I murmured, flipping through the pages to get to the context.
The hand-written letters fading, the pages were thinner and oh so delicate that I had to slow down for the fear of tearing it down.
She came around me, looking over my shoulder. "How so?"
I felt smug as I said—no doubt showing it off—" This, Lady America, is one of the volumes of Gregory Illéa's personal diaries."
"What?!" She yelled with excitement. "Can I touch it?"
I grinned, enjoying it. "Let me find the page we're searching for first. Look, it even has a picture!" The picture was of George Illéa, a year after he was crowned as the king of the newly-formed country Illéa, with his wife, Bethany Illéa. George was standing proud and straight, forever the king, wherever Bethany was looking bored in the photo. Just like her, Katherine was standing with a stiff back, too straight, whereas Damon too lax, like a lady prince. Spencer was full of determination, his posture attentive and firm.
Beneath it, George himself wrote: THE CHILDREN CELEBRATED HALLOWEEN THIS YEAR WITH A PARTY. I SUPPOSE IT'S ONE WAY TO FORGET WHAT'S GOING ON AROUND THEM, BUT TO ME IT FEELS FRIVOLOUS. WE'RE ONE OF THE FEW FAMILIES REMAINING WHO HAVE ENOUGH MONEY TO DO SOMETHING FESTIVE, BUT THIS CHILD'S PLAY SEEMS WASTEFUL.
"Do you think that's why we don't celebrate anymore? Because it's wasteful?"
Looking over my shoulder, I thought aloud. "Could be. If the date's any indication, this was right after the American State of China started fighting back, just before the Fourth World War. At that point, most people had nothing—picture an entire nation of Sevens with a handful of Twos." The picture was gruesome at it's worse.
"Wow." She mumbled, amazed and in awe, as she again glanced at the book on the table. "How many of these diaries are there?"
Flicking my wrist to encompass the shelf at the South wall, I said, "About a dozen or so."
"Thank you. This is something I would never even have dreamed of seeing. I can't believe all this exists."
I wished it was enough to make her choose me, love me.
It didn't mean I couldn't fulfil her one desire. Even if how ludicrous it was. "Would you like to read the rest of it?" I could come get her in the late hours of the evening before dinner...
"Yes, of course!" She yelled. Then something in her face shifted as she shook her head. When she said again, it was a whisper. "But I can't stay; I have to finish studying that terrible report. And you have to get back to work."
"True. Well, how about this? You can take the book and keep it for a few days."
"Am I allowed to do that?"
"No." Of course I couldn't lend it to her. They were worth more than anything. If any of the rebels got their hand on it...If it got damaged...or teared up...It was far more important to messed it around with.
But wasn't America important, too? Wasn't she responsible?
"Okay." She hedged, going against all my better judgements, looking at the fight goings l within me. "Just a night or two and then I'll give it straight back."
This was the first time she was asking me if something. Something that I could give her.
"Hide it well."
The big smashing hug I got in return was worth it. I squeezed her to me, putting my chin on her head. "You do realise what I'm lending you, right." I felt her nod. "I know you will take care if it and hide it well. Do not, in any case, take it lightly. And no other than the two of us should know about it. Got it?"
"Yes, Your Highness." She looked up at me. "Thank you."
I ran my fingers over her cheek, wondering if the small act was enough to make her realise I love her and trust her...
The alarm announcing the fifteen minutes were over started. I rubbed her back. "Gimme the book. I'll escort you both to your room."
.
.
.
Though I was late for my date with Celeste, parting with America after being rewarded with a kiss as an early "trick or treat" gave me an idea.
Maxon's Elites were a choice he'd made, but a choice he actually didn't have a hand upon.He loved America, but he wants to give the others a fair chance as well, so he dates everyone equally.Among all the mess that the Selection is in his life, his constant solace is his Mom. His guide, philosopher, advisor, friend, and and so much more. He always shares things with her.As of Elites, the most promising I always likes was Marlee, and as I saw, even Maxon noted it. As soon as they cleared their differences in why and hows, they become fast friends.Maxon needs a free time and Marlee provides her that. Marlee wants to stay in and Maxon helps her in that.It's not a friendship they both had eyes upon, but a nice change nonetheless.The hints were given in the novella The Favourite, where Marlee explains about how good a friend Maxon really is.