A/N: My loves! It has been almost a year since my last update, and I'm so sorry. I'm sure you all thought I had forgotten you and this story, but I promise I haven't. I think about it all the time but like so many of you, I'm sure, 2020 and 2021 have thrown me for a loop. The other day, I was rereading The One and wanted to reread the story, and in doing so, I reread your reviews and realized there were new ones, made even as recently as July. Since I realized then that you all are still interested and of course, so am I, I've returned to finish this story... which very well may be a series. Mums the word. This chapter may be short, but it's important. I'm so glad to be back!

Chapter Ten: Maxon

"Maxon! Stop!"

I ignored my father as I tore out of the room, storming down the hall towards the stairs. I was furious. Furious at my father for taking so long to publicly acknowledge America's kidnapping, furious with the men who were torturing the woman I loved even then as my father chased me through the palace, and furious, mostly, with myself. We could have avoided all of this only had I let America explain the situation with Officer Leger… If only I had been less determined to hurt her like she had hurt me. If only had I been a more understanding, patient man. If only I had deserved her.

"Maxon Schreave! By order of your king, halt!"

I squared my shoulders as I reached the stairs, tensing when I felt an angry hand on my arm. I struggled against my father's pull, but although I knew I was stronger than he had ever been, he managed to turn me around in his anger.

"I said HALT, God dammit!" He gripped the tops of my arms, held tense and taut against my sides.

"Let me go," I seethed, speaking with more conviction than I ever had, "You cannot hold me here. I'm going."

"To where?" My father shook me, "To pick up some Five out of the dirt? You are the crowned Prince of Illea! You are not to leave this palace."

With a strength I had not realized I possessed, I shoved him, forgetting in that moment that I had ever feared the man before me.

"I AM the crowned Prince of Illea!" I agreed with him, drawing myself up to my full height as I returned his glare, "So I'll be damned if I'll let anyone, even you, sire, stop me from going after her!"

I spun on my heels, leaving my father stewing in his shock at the bottom of the stairs.

"You won't leave this palace!" He screamed after me, sure of the loyalty of his guards and servants. I ignored him, although he was right to assume his guards would all remain loyal to their King and his commands, even if it meant disappointing me.

All but one.

As if my thoughts had summoned him, Aspen Leger appeared out of one of the secret passages and, without a word, fell in step beside me.

"You heard?" I breathed as we continued to my bedroom. The officer nodded, turning to me as we reached my door.

"Pack light. Don't wear a suit. Boots, if you have them." He spoke quickly, glancing down the long hall towards the landing, "No hunting rifles. You have a pistol?"

I nodded once.

"Bring it. Extra ammunition if you have it." Aspen paused, letting his green gaze soften, "I will get you to her, sir."

He breathed that last sentence as if it were an oath, and for the first time since I had banished America from the palace, jealous and heartbroken, I felt my hatred for Leger ebb. Slightly, of course, but enough so some gratitude took its place.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"Ten minutes. Kitchen." He replied rather than acknowledging my thanks, then disappeared behind a bookcase and back into the palace's secret passages.

Without wasting any more time, I ducked into my room, glancing at the now incomplete collage on the wall. I had stripped America from my room in the hours after she left, furious and in pain. I did not want to see the mirth in the happier memories, feeling in those dark moments as if she were laughing at me rather than the jokes we had shared during The Selection. I had told her I had wanted her gone, and I tried to make certain that she was.

Except, my heart had not allowed me to throw them away. I opened my nightstand drawer, where the discarded pictures were hidden. Through the days I thought she had been taken from me, murdered, I had been so grateful that my own sentimentality had prevented me from burning them. They had provided comfort to my grieving heart in those moments.

And now, I realized as I scooped them into a large envelope, along with America's letter and mine, they would bring me strength. I packed quickly, pulling an unused tactical backpack from the back of my closet, a gift from my parents when they had thought that travel would be possible in my younger years. I shoved a few articles of clothing into its depths, then the envelope. I dug ammunition from a hidden box and grabbed my pistol, a weapon that had only been used for sport. I tucked it away, then quickly changed into a pair of jeans, a dark long-sleeved shirt, and long dark socks. As I sat on the bed to tie the laces of my boots, the door swung open. I glanced up from the task at hand as my father slammed the door behind him, strap in hand to punish me.

"It's of no use, Father," I said simply as I finished tying my shoes, standing to face him, "You will have to come up with new tactics to stop me this time."

"You embarrassed me down there, Maxon," He seethed, "And this newfound bravery can't change the fact that you are obeying direct orders from your King. Turn around."

"No," I refused, reaching for the backpack and slinging it over my shoulder, "You have wielded that thing over me for the last time." My father took a furious step forward and my hand shot out, catching him in his chest, keeping him at bay as I used my full strength on him. I saw shock in his eyes as I pushed him away, swallowing as he stumbled backwards.

"You are my father," I said softly, stepping around him, making sure to keep distance between myself and the strap he still held in his hand, "And that will never change. But you raised me, not only to be a king… but a man." I glanced back at him once more, wishing I could see something besides bewilderment and anger in his gaze. And if love was too much to ask for, I would have settled for sympathy, concern, or even understanding. When I saw none of those things, I sighed and opened the door, "Tell my mother I will be back," I called over my shoulder as I made my way towards the bookshelf behind which Leger had disappeared only a few minutes before. As I shifted it slightly, my father stepped out of my room.

"And your future wife? YOUR princess?" He asked, counting on my own good heart to stop me from hurting someone else I cared about. I hesitated, wanting to tell him I was on my way to find her and bring her home with me, but the thought of Kriss somewhere in the palace stopped me.

"Kriss?" I whispered, knowing I owed her more than silence, that she deserved more than what was happening to her now, "Tell Kriss that I'm sorry."

And with that I disappeared into the passageway, leaving my gob smacked father behind.

A/N: I've missed you all! 3