A/N: Look, the first Maxon outtake! This one is set in chapter 10 of Playing the Game, but you'll figure that out pretty quickly. Lady Ellie of Illea made me. I wasn't going to post this until tomorrow morning, but she told me she was waiting for an update, so I had no choice. I clearly have no self agency- I was also convinced to leave the TRASH outtake up, so go read that if you want to judge me lol.

I quickly slip down the hallway, trying to escape the rather large group of people who are all talking about me in the foyer at this very moment. I make my way to my office quickly shutting the door behind me, finally taking a deep breath.

I would have been nervous enough if it had just been America's family, but having to meet Kriss, Elise, Celeste, and Natalie's families at the same time was nearly too much. So many people with so many expectations… and I know I'm going to let down so many people. I wonder if this would be more or less stressful if I hadn't made my choice already.

Would it be easier to face them all, with no idea who would be the only one left with me in a month? Would it be harder to face Elise's parents, to see the expectation in their faces, and wonder if I could meet it? At least this way, I know I'm going to fail them all.

Frankly, I couldn't care less.

I don't give a damn if Celeste's parents like me, or if Elise's family curses my name for the rest of their lives. I would be disappointed if Kriss grew to hate me, but if that's what it takes to win America, then so be it. None of this surprises me; I was prepared to feel this way.

What does surprise me, however, is the desperation with which I want to be a part of the Singer family.

Coming to the top of the stairway, seeing them run to each other and collapse on the floor, so completely overjoyed to finally be reunited that they could not physically contain themselves. No one has ever been that happy to see me, even my mother. She is always the picture of decorum. I know that she misses me when I leave, and she is always glad to see me back, of course, but it is not the same as the affection I saw this afternoon.

I had to hold myself back in the hallway and peer out over the stairs, utterly fascinated, longing to go over and offer my hand to America's father, kiss her mother's hand, and to introduce myself as the man who is in love with their daughter. But I had to wait, treat them with no more interest than I would with the other families.

It wasn't torture, but was closer to it than my father would have liked.

I move to my desk, unbuttoning my suit coat as I pull a stack of budget reports to me. Having guests is not an excuse to shirk your duties, my father's voice echoes in my head. Especially when the majority of those guests will be wholly irrelevant in six months' time.

I doubt he has any idea which guests will remain relevant.

I sigh, sifting through the papers, retaining nearly no information.

I just wish there was some way to prove to her that it's over for me; I know she worries that I'll change my mind, that I'll decide she wouldn't be a good enough queen. Is there nothing I could do to make her see that, not only would I never do something so cruel, I believe she would be the best queen out of all the girls that came here?

You could propose.

I laugh out loud at the fleeting thought. I couldn't propose then immediately ask her to keep it a secret from everyone else, especially while her parents are here. I definitely can't propose without her father knowing. We've never explicitly discussed it, but I know that is important to her.

Still, I mull it over as I wade through masses of paperwork and briefing notes. There must be some solution.I manage to focus on my work until it is time for dinner with the families, and I find myself so engrossed that my mother has to come find me.

"Sweetheart?" she calls, entering after knocking gently.

"Mother," I say with a smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Am I not allowed to visit my son?" she teases.

"Of course." I rise and sketch a bow, which never fails to make her laugh.

She pulls me over to the sofa against the wall and sits, gesturing for me to do the same.

"It's nearly time for dinner," she says sheepishly, "but I'm going to make us the tiniest bit late."

"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow. This is unusual.

"I just wanted to check in with you," she says, grasping my hand. "I'm sure this is hard for you, and having all the families here doesn't make it easier."

"What was it like for you?" I ask, suddenly curious. I tend to forget that my mother went through this exact same thing. Even the caste issue- I'm sure my grandfather was less than thrilled that my father wanted to marry a Four.

"In what way?"

I laugh cynically. "All of them, but I doubt we'd ever have time for that. I suppose I mean this close to the end. Did you- did Father tell you that he was choosing you before he ended everything? What was it like having your family here before you knew you were staying?"

My mother smiles, but she doesn't seem wholly present. I can only assume she is lost in her memories.

"I would not recommend repeating this, but yes, he did tell me," she admits. "Not long before, but I always had an inkling. He spent more private time with me, out of the eyes of the others. We also had my caste as a barrier, so I had to be aware to work through that. He outright told me he loved me two weeks before he officially proposed."

I nod. We are significantly earlier than my parents' timeline, but the idea is similar.

"I was thrilled to have my family here. Obviously, none of us had ever been somewhere so nice for any extended period of time, so it was nice to enjoy it with them, instead of feeling out of place, since the others were all of higher castes."

"Do you think America feels that way?" I blurt out.

My mother's eyes twinkle with mischief. "Do you think about her often?"

I try not to blush. "Only sometimes. I am fond of her, and I wonder if she has more in common with you than with any of the other girls here."

She nods thoughtfully. "I would say so, yes. You haven't seen much of the lives of lower castes, but it is hard. Though Lady America does seem to have adjusted marvelously," she adds graciously.

I rest my chin on my fingers. "When you said that you would look at my choice through my eyes, that you would support me no matter what, did you really mean it?"

"Oh, my love," my mother sighs, wrapping me in her arms like I'm a boy again. "So much. I promise to love her as if she were my own daughter, no matter who it is. Though I may have a sneaking suspicion," she winks at me as she pulls away. "Come now, we are going to be far too late."

She takes my arm as we walk to the formal dining room, and I bow as I open the door for her. Everyone else is there already, and they rise to greet us. I catch America's eye and smile, but I skip over her quickly, making sure to meet all the other girl's eyes as well. Marlee looks troubled, Elise demure, Natalie excited, Celeste seems… calculating, and Kriss just seems pleased to be here- that's the only read I can ever get off her. I quickly take my seat at the left of the head of the table, greeting my father with a short clap on the back. I survey the room, trying not to linger too long on any one group of people. The Newsomes are engaged with the Whisks family, and Kriss' family seems to be enjoying their conversation with the Lucas.

It comes to me suddenly when I see the Singers sitting next to the Tames family and I find myself wanting to talk to Mr. Singer about what America might like.

Why couldn't I?

It would be awkward, to be sure, but I believe it would be my best option at this point. Certainly he would know his daughter best, and now would be an ideal time to ask for his daughter's hand. I know I'll be asking for it eventually.

I spend another moment watching America. She is sitting between her sister and Marlee, across from her parents. I see May whisper something to America, who then looks up to catch me watching them. She elbows Marlee, who looks up as well, and all three of them roll their eyes at me in tandem. My eyebrows fly up my forehead. America is clearly thrilled to have her family here- she never acts like this around other people, let alone roping Marlee into it. Not that I mind. Far from it, in fact.

My father, on the other hand, is less than pleased.

"Ladies would never have behaved so rudely in my Selection," he rumbles. "It is highly inappropriate."

I nod. "I'm sorry, Father. I'll speak to them," I lie,

"See that you do," he says, waving in the next course.

At times like this, I can't wait for him to be gone.

~HtBBaM~

"Justin?"

"Yes, Your Highness?"

He's just come in to take my suit away to be pressed and to leave a clean one for tomorrow morning, and I've realized I need him for something else.

"What would the process be if I wanted to look at all the jewelry in the Vault? Not crowns; rings and necklaces specifically."

My butler smiles as he folds my pocket square. "I could bring you a list with descriptions, Your Highness. Or you could go and see them yourself; no one would block your access."

"Hm." Could I go now? Would that be suspicious? "This must seem ignorant, but I suppose I've never had a reasoning to go there. Where in the palace is it located?"

"That doesn't seem ignorant at all, Your Highness. It's on the same sublevel as all the safe rooms, but separate, of course. Would you like me to take you there now?"

"Yes, actually," I decide on a whim. I mark my place in the book I am reading and throw off the blanket covering my legs. "Sorry, but I think I'll need my clothes back."

Justin hands me my pants, shirt, and tie, then bows and leaves the room. I dress quickly, eager to leave.

Justin guides me through the secret passageways, and I recognize turn-offs that would take us to the royal safe room. We don't take any of them, though, and we wind through halls I've never seen before. If my internal sense of direction is correct, and it usually is, we are somewhere underneath the rooms of the Selected.

Justin stops at a door that looks like all the others and presses a latch that reveals a keypad, much like the one that opens the room of banned books I once planned on showing America. There's a loud buzz and then a click, and he pushes the door open. I follow him, amazed that I've never been here before

We reach another door, made of thick steel this time. Justin flips open another keypad, but this one doesn't have any numbers on it. He presses his thumb to the pad and looks into a small hole that's opened just below his eye level. Another buzz, as well as humming from what seems like inside the door. Justin turns a wheel at the center of the door, and it finally swings open.

I knew we were wealthy- we're the royal family of one of the biggest countries in the world, we couldn't be anything else. But this…

There are boxes stacked ten feet tall lining the walls of a room nearly the size of our throne room. There are more piles in the center of the room, and while I can't see inside any of the boxes, this is the Royal Vault. There are only so many things that could be in them

"You said rings and necklaces, Your Highness?"

I nod. "The necklace should be appropriate for everyday wear. The ring will be as well, but can be… more of a statement?" I'm unsure of the terminology- I've never looked for jewelry.

Justin nods. "Let's start with the necklace." He pulls several boxes down from a nearby shelf and leads me over to a counter with bright lights shining down on it. "We have a jeweler on staff, so if there are any details you like to change on any of the pieces, that can be done rather quickly."

He shows me so many necklaces that I could never count them, but none of them are right. I finally decide on silver, or anything that looks like it, over gold- who knew there were so many? Rose gold, yellow gold, even green gold.

America wears her songbird necklace every day, and this will need to go with that. She won't be able to wear an engagement ring for a while, so hopefully a necklace can ease that sting. Rubies aren't right. Sapphires are close, and I make note of a stone that Justin says is called a peacock sapphire, but it's all too… ostentatious. People will certainly notice, especially those who live here in the palace, but there's no need to draw more attention to it than necessary.

Half an hour passes, and we still haven't found anything satisfactory. I run my hand through my hair and sigh.

"I'm sorry, Justin. I'm not trying to be difficult."

"I know, Your Highness. You want something small, subtle, and probably colorless, correct?"

I nod.

"I seem to recall seeing something once that would fit the bill; let me look in the registry and see if I can find it." Justin bows as he vanishes through a side door. I shake my head. I've been trying to get him to stop calling me 'Your Highness' for years, or at least stop bowing, but he refuses. I see him for a moment in the back of the room, digging through the back of a stack, towards the bottom. He gently disassembles a shelf and looks intently at a few boxes.

Finally, he opens a box and lets out a shout of victory, but quiets himself quickly. He deftly puts all the boxes back in their place and trots back over to me.

"I found it!" he announces. "I'm sorry, I'm not usually looking for jewelry."

I nod, taking the box from him. "Perfectly acceptable, Justin. I know I'm being picky."

I open the box, and it is perfect.

"Diamond?" I ask.

"Yes, Your Highness. And white gold."

A rectangular stone about the size of my thumbnail is attached to a delicate chain by the setting. That's what makes it different from the rest- instead of sliding along the chain, the stone's setting is soldered to the chain itself so the diamond would lay lengthwise on the wearer's sternum.

I pull the necklace from the box and hold it to the light.

"I'd like the chain shortened," I say. It looks like it will land about even with the songbird; America would probably appreciate it being shorter.

"By how much?" Justin asks, pulling out a notepad and marking down a serial number on the inside of the case.

"I'm not sure. Something more similar to that emerald one we looked at?" I'd considered a similar necklace, but it looked like it would rest closer to her collarbones.

"Very good, Your Highness," he says, taking the necklace from me and laying it precisely back in the case. "On to rings?"

I follow him over to another shelf, where he pulls down several boxes; these are much smaller than the necklace boxes.

He opens them all on the counter again, explaining as he goes. "These are all fairly simple, but, as you said, not as subtle. We can swap out stones, or rework settings as you please. Do you have any metal preference?"

"I don't think so," I say as I examine the first ring. It's similar to the peacock sapphire from the necklace, set in platinum, Justin says. The others are all pretty enough, but none feel quite right.

"Am I overthinking this?" I ask Justin. I'm beginning to get frustrated. I've been staring at jewelry for over an hour; I thought it would take twenty minutes at maximum.

"Not at all, Your Highness," he assures me. "I have another one in mind, just a moment."

He steps up on a small step-ladder and retrieves a box from the top shelf. "The royal family acquired this one in the late years of Gregory Illéa's reign, from a Two who was close to the family and left some heirlooms to the Illéas." He hands the box to me and continues as I open it. "There aren't any stones in it- there were originally two, but Queen Abby had them reset into earrings, I believe."

"That's alright," I mumble, examining the band. I recognize the rose gold, and instead of one solid line of metal, this one is a hundred tiny threads woven around each other, converging to support two stones one top. As Justin says, the gems aren't there, but I can see perfectly where they'd fit.

"The stones were diamonds," he tells me, "but there are many colored stones that would go well with rose gold. The peacock sapphire, for one. Chocolate diamonds are popular as well; you saw that in one of the necklaces. You could also choose two different gems, or the setting could be reworked to have only one."

"No, I like having two," I say thoughtfully. Light green would go well- that's my birthstone. America's birthday is February; that's… amethyst. Green and purple, in rose gold? "How do you think peridot and amethyst would look?"

His face is turned towards the notepad, but I see the quirk of his lips nonetheless. "It would be unusual, but very good, in my opinion, Your Highness."

I turn the band over in my fingers a few more times, trying to picture the stones in the ring. I like it.

"That's what I want," I decide. "This ring, with peridot and amethyst."

"And the ring size?"

I hesitate. I know it, of course- that was one of the measurements taken when all the Selected arrived at the palace, and I memorized every bit of information about America the night I met her. But if she is the only girl with a size six, then everyone who is involved in resizing and setting will know who is getting the ring. That could be disastrous.

"If I may," Justin interrupts my thoughts. "All the remaining girls are between five and a half and six and a half. If we split the difference and size it at six, then it will fit initially, though may be uncomfortable, and minor adjustments can be made later if necessary."

"Yes, do that, please." Good. We won't even need to make adjustments.

"When would you like these to be ready, Your Highness?" he asks as he scribbles notes on the pad.

"As soon as possible," I say firmly. "Tomorrow afternoon would be ideal."

"Of course," Justin says, snapping the ring box shut and setting it on a tray. "I will bring them to you as soon as they are finished."

"Thank you, Justin," I say tiredly.

"Would you like me to lead you back?" he asks.

"No, I can find my way." That may require ascending back into the main building, but I can get back. Justin bows, and I walk to the large steel door. "Oh, Justin?"

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"You may very well see someone wearing that necklace soon. I expect your discretion," I say firmly. I'm sure he would never give anything less, but reminders never hurt.

"Of course, Your Highness," he says with a bow as I exit the Vault.

There's just one more thing to get settled, and I'll be on my way to proposing. The thought is only slightly nerve-racking

~HtBBaM~

I'm hiding. Again

This time, though, it is out of discretion, not fear. That's an improvement at least.

I peek my head around the corner, waiting for Mrs. Singer to turn around the opposite corner before I emerge. As she disappears, I straighten my spine, pulling my jacket and tie into alignment. I rap firmly on their door and step back a bit so as to not crowd Mr. Singer when he opens the door.

"Just open the door, Magda," he says as he pulls the door towards him. "I'm the only one he- oh. Your Highness." He bows, and I wave him off.

"Please, call me Maxon," I say genuinely. I clasp my hands behind my back. "I'd like to speak with you, privately, if you agree."

"Of course," he says, very clearly confused. He moves to let me into the room behind him, but I shake my head.

"I believe the gardens would be best, if you don't mind." Less chance of someone seeing us.

He nods and steps into the hall with me. I gesture down the hall, leading us outside.

"How are you enjoying your stay here, Mr. Singer?" I ask politely. I hope I rehearsed enough.

"It's been lovely," he says, voice level. "Of course, we've heard quite a bit from America, but it isn't quite the same as seeing it."

"No, I imagine not," I say with a half-smile. It's not lost on me that he didn't ask me to use his given name, though I'm not bothered by it. "But you've been treated well?"

He hesitates, but says "Yes, of course."

I breathe deeply as we walk outside. The scent of freshly turned earth intertwined with sweet florals will always be one of my favorites. Not least because this very spot is where America told me she loved me for the first time. And I her. Which reminds me.

"I hope you feel comfortable speaking frankly with me, Mr. Singer," I say, channeling every lesson in manners Silvia ever gave me.

He nods in acknowledgement. "Well then, to be frank, we are the lowest caste here. A few people are not afraid to make their distaste known."

I sigh. "I am sorry about that. I assume you are speaking of the Newsomes. I hope you know that their sentiments are not felt in the royal family." Well. I suppose Father might agree, but he can't say it out loud.

Mr. Singer nods again. "Of course. I hope you would speak frankly with me, as well. I doubt you sought me out to gossip about your other guests."

I give him a small smile as we round a corner, officially out of range of any of the windows or balconies of the palace. "No, that's correct. Actually, Mr. Singer, I have a rather awkward question for you."

"Go on."

"I wonder- that is, I was hoping- Well, actually, I thought-," Damn. I did not rehearse enough.

"Just say it, son," he says, a smile playing at his lips. "I won't judge you for the words you use at the moment; I've been in your shoes."

He has, I marvel. This experience is one that every man shares, regardless of caste or creed. Some might argue that I have a leg up in this situation, due to my birth, but we've established that titles are irrelevant in this conversation, I believe.

I clear my throat. "Very well then.

"Mr. Singer, I am in love with your daughter, and she feels the same. You know her best, so I wanted to know, hypothetically, how you think America might feel about my proposing soon, then having to keep our engagement a secret. Hypothetically. Provided you grant your permission, of course," I amend.

He doesn't answer. We continue walking, his hands in his pockets. I start to run my hand through my hair, then think better of it at the last second.

After another few moments of tense silence, Mr. Singer finally speaks.

"America is not one who would appreciate being left out of things-"

I laugh abruptly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. Yes, I am aware."

He gives a small smile, but it's genuine. "So I've heard. I don't apologize for her behavior, though I'm sure she might."

I laugh again, grinning widely. "Yes, but she'd never admit it to anyone else. I don't really mind."

He laughs softly, staring a bit too intensely at a rosebush to be casual. "Hypothetically, I think it would be your best option at this point. I won't pretend to understand the stress both of you are under right now, but, as you say, I know America.

"She second guesses herself- she never believed that she could be a successful musician until she went out and did it. I think something similar will happen here. She's going to have a hard enough time adjusting to being royalty; we've already talked about it, in fact, so it would be in your best interest to give her as few reasons to doubt you as possible."

"That was my thought as well," I agree. "I wonder though, if having the other girls here would make it too hard on her, to have to hide everything."

"Oh, that's an easy answer," he says surely, before clamming up. "I probably shouldn't have said that. How much do you know about how America spent her time in Carolina?" he asks cautiously.

My mind immediately jumps to Officer Leger. "A fair amount, I'd say. Is there something specific you're referring to?"

He sighs. "And about her friends?"

I choose my words carefully. I'm nearly certain he's referring to Leger, but America is so sure her family doesn't know anything about that. I won't be the one to give up her secret. But he's clearly trying to make a point, and how will he make it if we continue dancing in circles around it?

"I know she had a boyfriend that she tried to hide from you," I say slowly. "It seems she didn't succeed?"

"Not even close," he says with a laugh, and I see a glimpse of the man who fell to the floor in joy upon seeing his daughter for the first time in months. "Yes, I knew when she snuck out and I know his name. Do you?"

"Yes," I sigh in relief. "Thank goodness."

Mr. Singer laughs again. "Imagine that you were in America's position, then, since it should be easier for you with him here. You and Aspen are both publicly fighting to marry her, and she says she loves you, but every time she goes on a date with him, he comes back besotted," he proposes.

Ha. 'Proposes'. How fitting.

"Would you rather wonder if she's telling both of you that she loves you, or know for a fact that she's chosen you?" he continues.

"There's no question," I say quickly. "That's helpful, thank you."

"Of course." He inclines his head slightly. Almost a bow, but not quite. A reminder that there's still one more thing to do.

We've come into view of the palace again, and I look up at a window I know is in the Women's Room. I think I see a flash of red hair, but I could be wrong.

"I know that I don't have to tell you that I can provide for her physically; obviously, that will never be a hardship. That extends to your family as well. For security purposes, you will all likely have to move here, or nearby. I'm not sure if you knew that. But I would like to assure you that I will do my best to provide for her emotionally, as well. I don't want you to think that her caste or background has anything to do with my choosing her.

"Well," I amend. "I suppose it does in the sense that those things may be why America is who she is. But this isn't a political decision. I truly care for her, and I would like to live the rest of my life proving that to her."

"I'm glad to hear that," Mr. Singer says thoughtfully. "I was worried about that. I know that you have to worry about public image, but I won't have my daughter being a pawn in your games."

"Never," I vow. "I would never."

He nods, but doesn't say anything.

"Well." I take a deep breath. "I'd like to officially ask for your daughter's hand in marriage."

"Would you, now?" His eyes glitter with laughter. It's kind, though- almost like he is making fun of me.

I fight the blush creeping up my neck. "Yes. Mr. Singer, may I have your permission to ask America to marry me?"

He extends his hand for me to shake. "You may," he says certainly, fully smiling for the first time today. "Call me Shalom."