A/N: I can't promise I will always update this quickly or this often, but I was just way too eager for you guys to read this chapter! Thank you so much for the kind reviews and messages; my cup runneth over. Enjoy!

Quick note: I'm so glad, in this alternate timeline I'm using, I get to explore Celeste a little bit. She's such a great character! And SO MUCH FUN to write.

Chapter Four: Maxon

"Celeste, you came!" Kriss called out as we awaited her guests in the hall, clearly glad to see her former enemy despite her lack of RSVP.

"Had to make sure no one spoke ill of those not here," She said simply, accepting Kriss' hug with one hand. Kriss blinked, obviously hurt.

"Who? America? I wouldn't speak ill of her, Celeste," She shook her head, then gestured for the butlers to take the ladies' luggage, "She's my friend."

"I wasn't talking about you, K," Celeste murmured as she glared at me, frowning around the nickname she must have caught on some edition of The Report.

I licked my lips, ignoring her. I glanced over the top of my fiancée's head towards the door, but the guards were closing it. No one else must be en route.

"She's not coming," Celeste muttered as she pushed past me, as confident as ever. If I had not been so angry with America, I would have found Celeste's newfound loyalty to the girl endearing. Once Kriss was out of earshot, giggling with the other girls, Celeste turned to me.

"You messed up, Maxon," She offered simply, keeping the familiarities we had shared during The Selection despite its being over. She turned and followed the other ladies, leaving me dumbfounded in the foyer.

XxXxX

The conversation around the dinner table was a throwback to the palace during The Selection, and despite Celeste's not-so-subtle glares between bites of steak, I may have even enjoyed myself.

May have, if conversation of America had not sprung up before dessert.

"I'm very sorry, daughter," My father sighed, seeming so sincere that he almost convinced me. He patted Kriss' hand where she sat between us at the head table, "I know you were hoping all of your friends would be here, and one let you down."

"You'll remember, Clarkson, that Mary Ann Maben didn't come to our engagement party," My mother gently reminded him, not even looking up from taking a sip of wine, "And she and I are very dear friends now. America has a sweet heart. She is as soft as she is fierce. She will just need time." She glanced at me, her mouth set in a line.

I had never revealed to my parents what had shifted my affections so abruptly away from America. My mother, especially, knew the depth of my feelings for her. As fond as she may be of Kriss, I know she had already begun to let herself love America as one of her own.

I felt another flash of anger towards the redhead. She had not only broken my heart, but that of my sweet mother.

"I hope you're right, Ma'am," Kriss sighed, still uncomfortable with addressing my parents more casually, "She was always fun, even if she sometimes…"

"Was a snob?" Elise offered.

My father laughed.

"A Five? A snob? Imagine."

I bristled, as did my mother, but everyone else around the room joined in. I saw a couple of the guards share a glance, unimpressed by the King's slight of their champion.

"Not a snob, Your Majesty," Celeste corrected with a smile so sweet, my father had no choice but to return it, "Lady America was private. Very much so. It was important to her that her secrets remain hers. The Prince's as well. We have become remarkably close, America and I, and I still don't know what truly went on behind closed doors. She's very guarded with her heart."

She hesitated, clearly feeling very deeply about something that had transpired between the two of them.

"She's very guarded with her heart, but even more so with those of the people she loves. I'm grateful that I can now count myself among them."

She smiled as the waiter set her dessert in front of her, cutting into the decadent treat as if nothing had happened. I glanced sideways at my mother, who was appraising Celeste with newfound respect.

I flexed the muscles in my back, remembering the way it had felt to have America's gentle fingers nurse my wounds. She guarded that secret still.

I caught Kriss peering at me and took her hand. I raised it to my lips to kiss the ring on her finger.

I would be lying if I said Celeste's words had not moved me, had not reminded me of the America with whom I had fallen so desperately in love. I would be lying if I said it did not highlight the difference between that passion and the warm, calm affection I held for Kriss.

I would be lying, too, if I said I was not furious that Celeste was continuing to make America out to be the hero in my mother's eyes, cheapening the marriage I would have instead.

Did you know that America's ex-boyfriend was standing guard outside her door every night? I had wanted to ask her. Did you know that she claimed to love me while having him hidden here, right under my nose?

The questions were on the tip of my tongue, but to ask them would have surely sent two people to their deaths. Three, perhaps, if Lucy (how strange, was May certain?) was truly in love with Officer Leger.

I offered Celeste a cool smile instead and reached for my wine.

XxXxX

"Isn't it beautiful?!"

I leaned against the wall just outside the Women's Room, listening as Kriss showed off her engagement ring. I fiddled in my pocket, then silently held up the small box that had been hidden there. The ring enclosed was so different, and if I were being honest with myself, infinitely more precious than the single large diamond on my fiancée's finger.

"If that isn't the sound of a woman in love, I don't know what is," My father came up behind me, startling me. I quickly pocketed the ring that would go unused, but treasured, for the rest of my life.

"Mmm," I agreed quietly, glancing up at him as he clapped me on the back. Did he know? Did he sense that, even as angry as I was, I longed to be hearing America's voice just beyond the door instead?

"You chose well, Maxon," he assured me, glancing through the crack in the door at the group of ladies fussing over Kriss' ring. I was unsurprised to see Celeste sitting on the couch, completely unimpressed. Somehow America's defender to the end, despite their hating each other at the beginning of The Selection.

"Thank you, Father," I smiled, convincing myself he was right as I watched tears of joy sparkle in Kriss' eyes, "I think so, too."

He nodded, then opened his mouth as if to say something more. We were interrupted before he could say anything further.

"Your Majesty!" A guard ran up to us, all sense of decorum somehow forgotten. I glanced at my father, but he seemed too concerned by the guard's urgency to be irritated by anything else.

"Yes, what is it?"

"You're needed in the War Room, sir. Both of you. There has been a violent attack in the east."

Without a second thought, my father followed the guard, tightening his tie. I hurried behind him, doing the same. There was no sound except our dress shoes tapping on linoleum as we followed the Officer further into the palace, going 'behind-the-scenes' as so many of our staff called it.

Gone was the plush carpets of the main body of our home. This was where business was done.

Business that the world was not always privy to.

"What's the nature of this meeting?" My father asked brusquely, taking papers from his Chief of Staff.

"We are afraid there have been calculated war actions taken by the Southern Rebellion, Sire," Matthew stated, all business, "An attack."

"They have been attacking for decades! They have bombarded this very palace many times over!" My father shook his head, clearly confused by the urgency.

He took off his jacket as we entered the darkened War Room, surrounded by maps and television screens. I mirrored him, tossing my suit jacket over the back of my chair. I waited for him to sit so I could, but he remained standing.

"Harris." He pointed to his General, a tall, imposing man, his dark hair showing flecks of gray at the temples, "What makes this different?"

"An entire neighborhood burned, Your Majesty," the man replied quickly, something else hidden in his gruff voice, "Countless homes scorched."

"My God," My father breathed, and for a moment, I saw the good and kind King that the rest of the country adored, rather than the father who had me under his boot heel for my entire life, "How many dead?"

"We were lucky, Sire." General Harris answered quickly, pointing a remote control towards the screens. Horrible images of older wooden homes, burning like kindling, began playing silently, "Some of our Officers were there quickly, but the rebels had already fled. There are many injured, some admittedly critical, but only one presumed death."

My father took a deep breath, nodding. It could have been so much worse. He pulled out his chair and took a seat, so I finally did the same beside him.

"Get me up to date," he demanded, opening his folder. He gestured towards the screen. "Show us the footage."

General Harris nodded, shooting me a glance before turning on the sound.

I watched in horror as imaginable destruction flashed before my eyes. Entire neighborhood blocks were up in flames as families stood in front of them, their polyester pajamas singed. People were being carried on stretchers and placed in the backs of ambulances, others with more minor injuries were being tended to on the sidewalk.

Some of the victims had been interviewed, their eyes heavy with unimaginable sadness and loss.

"My dog," One man cried, holding his hand to his forehead, "He was all I had! My wife died last year, and he was all I had. I knew I should have come home earlier." The camera cut away as he began to sob.

"I lost my piano," A teenage girl cried as she clung to her mother, who appeared to be ill, "How are we going to eat now? Everyone's counting on me!"

"Where is this?" I whispered to my father, an unfathomable tingle beginning to bloom on the back of my neck. The victims' slight regional accent was achingly familiar. He waved me into silence, eyes glued to the screen.

A woman knelt beside her husband, holding his hand as a doctor spread ointment over painful-looking burns. Children cried, clinging to their parents. Teenage lovers held hands, soothing each other's tears.

"We lost everything," One man cried.

"Why would they do this?" Sobbed another.

"It doesn't make much sense," A stoic gentleman muttered into the microphone, a burn mark on his nightshirt still smoking as he held his wife with one arm and carried their toddler daughter in the other, "We're mostly Fives here. Some Sixes, some Fours. Even a few threes who like the simple life. But we are mostly Fives. We have nothing to do with anything happening on the West Coast, except abiding by our nation's law." He kissed his wife's forehead, bouncing his daughter to quiet her cries, "Why would they do this to us?"

The camera switched to another family, but the last interview had terrified me. I gripped the edge of the table, forcing myself to stay seated.

"Where is this?" I asked again, louder this time. Everyone ignored me.

"Ours was the first to be hit, I think," A heavily pregnant woman cried as she held two young sons, "We were trapped, but our neighbor's daughter saved us."

"Like an angel," The youngest boy cooed, obviously repeating a sentiment he had heard from his mother's lips. She smiled through her tears and kissed his mud-stained cheek.

"Like an angel," She agreed, "She was right there at our window and helped us out. She was already bleeding, but she came for us when no one else did. She helped us get away from the rebels."

"What happened to her?" The reporter asked, "We would love to interview your hero."

"She…" The woman hesitated as if she were reliving the horror, "We were running across the field here, behind the neighborhood. There was gunfire, and she… she was hit again. Badly from the way she screamed. Then Kenny here fell."

She patted her older son's head, who sniffled, much more affected by the evening's events than his baby brother.

"She saved me," He cried, bravely speaking into the microphone as his mother smoothed back his hair, "She picked me up and pushed me away from the bad man. But he got her."

"She fought him, just like she said she would," The mother cried, kissing her older son's head.

Just like she said she would. I swear, my heart sunk from my chest down into my shoes. If I could have died to spare myself from the heartbreak I knew was coming, I would have gladly joined the woman's heroine in the spray of gunfire.

"She punched and scratched, but he was too much for her. We watched more of them come for her, and they finally beat her down. But, my God, she gave them hell. For us, to make sure we got away, she fought to the very end."

The General stopped the video and brought up the lights. My father heaved a pained sigh, removed the reading glasses he had donned at some point during the presentation, and rubbed his eyes.

"Where is this?" I asked for the third time, confident I knew the answer.

"Carolina."

I closed my eyes and did something I rarely did. I whispered a quick prayer to myself as the room remained silent.

Please, God. Not her. Don't take her from me. Not now. Not like this.

"You said there was one death?" I asked calmly, nodding towards the video, "Was it the girl mentioned in the last interview?"

"Correct, Your Majesty."

"Her name, please." My voice had fallen to little more than a whisper. The General nodded and opened the binder in his hands.

"Investigators found a lot of blood in the field in question, and a broken tooth," He began, reading from a list, "As well as other signs of a struggle such as- "

"I ASKED FOR HER NAME!" I bellowed, my fist coming down so hard on the heavy table that even the seasoned general jumped. My father remained still, but nodded to give the General permission, never looking up from the folder in front of him.

"Lady America Singer is missing," The General answered finally, closing his own binder with a little snap. He did not relish the idea of being the one to share this news with me. "Potentially captured… Presumed dead."

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I love hearing from you guys!