A/N: It's still technically Wednesday for me; leave me alone. I procrastinate- you do it too, don't pretend you don't. Anyways, here's Maxon's POV of Chapter 20 of PtG. I'm not sure how I feel about it, but it is currently 11:25 PM and I want to go to sleep. Maybe I'll rewrite it later. See you on Friday for our regularly scheduled programming!

"What do you expect me to do about it, America?" I ask, fully fed up with this conversation.

"I don't know," she throws back. "I'm sorry I don't respond well to my fiancé cuddling with other girls in front of me!"

"Shh!" Does she want everyone to hear us? Does she have any idea what kind of disaster that would be?

"Oh, please," she rolls her eyes. "They can't hear us; I'm not stupid."

"I would have said the same," I say through gritted teeth, "but you are behaving irrationally. We knew this would happen, and I told you I would be with them last night. She could barely walk when she got to the doors, of course I carried her in!"

"I'm positive one of the guards offered to do it, Maxon Schreave, but you volunteered as always," she fires back, hands on her hips and venom flying out with her words. "What, do you need a backup in case you decide I'm not worth the effort?"

I shut my eyes and inhale. My anger softens a little- I know that's a real fear she has, but won't admit.

"You know that's not what's going on, America Singer," I say in a low voice. I'm not quite ready to be kind and sympathetic. "Neither of us got much sleep last night, and we both have work to do. I'll talk to you later."

I walk off, leaving America behind me to do whatever she's going to do. If she's not going to trust me, then we don't need to talk about it. Once I get back into sight of everyone working outside, I pull my shoulders back and straighten the shoulders of my coat, coming up next to my father at our table of advisors.

My father cuts me a glance and I see him catch sight of America making her way back to her table with Kriss.

He doesn't say anything, but I'm sure he would if we were in private.

I accept a folder that someone hands me with a nod. I quickly glance at the overview of the Illéan economy as my father grills all the advisors about why our budget for the palace staff has been cut.

"We have the added expense of the Selection, Your Majesty," Evans defends, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. If anyone can talk him down, the finance advisor will be able to do it. "We also are furthering the prince's food initiative. While saving the payments to the Selected was helpful, as well as sending many of them home so quickly, we are still housing and clothing five young women, many of whom expect a certain… standard from the palace."

I shuffle the papers in front of me, avoiding my father's eyes. I'd end it tomorrow if he'd let me. I don't know if he thinks that's a good thing or a bad thing.

A large figure catches my eye, in the defense budget.

"This looks more inflated than it needs to be," I mention cautiously. "We could siphon off something from there."

"That would be my suggestion as well, Your Highness," Evans agrees. My father flicks a corner of the report in his hand, which he only does when he's angry.

"No, we need to be firm with New Asia," he decides. "I'd sacrifice jobs here before I sacrifice supplies there."

The advisors chorus their agreement. Like they could do anything other than agree with what he says- he's fired others for less.

They move onto another item on the agenda, my father pointedly deflecting any questions I ask or statements I make. I look up to see America watching us and I wave, but Kriss is the one who waves back. Wonderful. I smile, and excuse myself to move to the refreshment table to take a moment to myself.

Of course, that is too much to hope for. As soon as I've poured a glass of water, Celeste has made her way over.

"Good afternoon, Lady Celeste," I say, bowing shortly to her.

"Oh, please," she simpers. "Haven't I told you to just call me Celeste?" She sways closer to me, pulling her red painted lip between her teeth.

Just then, Kriss comes up, and I automatically offer her my arm, to help with her injury.

"Thank you, Your Highness," she says quietly as she leans on me and takes the weight off her ankle. I glance back to America to see her watching us all intensely.

I smirk and turn back to Celeste and Kriss.

"- isn't it, Your Highness?" Kriss looks up at me.

"Hm?" I move my arm to her waist to ease the sting of my rudeness. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

Celeste tosses her hair over her shoulder. "We were just discussing how lovely the gardens are."

"Quite. I might go so far as to say they are my favorite place in the palace, but there are other places I enjoy as well."

Smooth.

"I think I might enjoy the libraries the most," Kriss adds. "I love books."

"Ugh. Books are so boring though." Celeste gently adjusts her necklace, drawing my attention to the neckline of her dress, which is nearly too low for civilized company. I quickly avert my eyes, sharing a small smile with Kriss.

"Yes," she says calmly. "Some are, but there are-"

We all look over at the men as my father yells at another advisor- MacMillan, I think. He's usually the one that provokes my father the most. Naturally, he's one of my favorites

"Rebels!" a guard yells. "Run!"

I look around the gardens, suddenly on edge.

"What?" another guard calls back, as confused as the rest of us.

"Rebels! Inside the palace! They're coming!"

I remember the words that the rebels carved into the walls last night

WE'RE COMING.

I turn to see my mother's maids guiding her towards the far side of the palace, some pulling her faster and some blocking her from behind. Good. They'll get to the safe room fastest that way. Celeste bolts after her, rightly assuming that will be the safest way to go.

I start to tell Kriss to follow, but one look at the terror in her eyes reminds me that she is in no shape to outrun anyone. I scoop her into my arms and find the nearest guard to hand her off to. I still need to get America out.

"Run!" I order whoever has taken her; I don't have time to see who it is. "Run!"

"Maxon, no!" Kriss calls back as he hurries away with her.

I ignore her as gunshots ring out from inside the palace. Elise and Natalie are gone; they must have followed my mother as well. My father and the advisors are flurrying to tuck documents into their suits. America is still sitting at the table, staring at the swarm of rebels now flooding out of the palace.

What the hell is she doing?

She runs, finally, but into the woods.

"America!" I yell. "No! Come back!" I start to follow her, but my father yanks me back by my shirt.

"No, you don't, boy," he growls. "You are infinitely more valuable than she."

Guards start firing at the rebels following America into the woods, and a few falter, but not enough.

"Stand down!" I shriek, tearing at my father's grip. "You'll hit her! Cease fire!"

"You'll do no such thing," my father orders firmly as America disappears. He wrestles me back to the palace as I scream at the guards to cease fire, but I'm too distracted to really fight him.

Once we get into the palace, my father pushes me forward, and I nearly fall to the floor.

"Never presume to risk your life for someone else. There is no one more important than you in this country," he says coldly as we run towards the safe room. "If you die before you have an heir, this monarchy ends. If you love her more than you love your country, I have failed in raising you."

"I can love both and serve both," I argue. "They are not conflicting interests."

"They are in situations like that. You would have chased after her had I not held you back and that is unacceptable."

I hold my tongue as we descend down into the sublevels to the safe room. We are the last to arrive- maids are massaging my mother's hands and temples, and the rest of the Elite are huddled together in cots on the other side of the room.

My father quickly turns to my mother, and I make my way over to the girls. At least they're all together- I can talk to them all at the same time this way.

Their hushed voices quickly silence as I get closer and sit on the edge of the bed across from them.

They stare at me as I search for words. "I- are any of you hurt?"

Natalie, Elise, and Kriss shake their heads silently, still wide-eyed.

Celeste laughs quietly. "They'd have to try harder than that to get me."

"I'm sure," I say with a forced smile. America is twice the woman Celeste will ever be and who knows what's happening to her right now? "Lady Kriss, is your ankle alright?"

"Oh, yes. Officer Leger was very gentle."

Damn. I didn't know that was him.

"I'm glad," I tell her. Truly, I am. I just wish America were in here, safe, to be mad at me.

"Where's America?" Natalie asks, hugging her knees to her chest.

I sit up as straight as an arrow, pulling my public persona over my fear.

"She ran into the woods," I inform them. Kriss looks suspicious, like she noticed my change in demeanor, but people rarely do. "There are guards out looking for her as we speak." At least, I assume there are. There had better be.

"What about the rebels?" Elise reminds me. "That's two attacks in as many days."

I nod. "They didn't appear to be violent this time. I don't know much right now, but no one appeared to be seriously injured." They looked like Northerners, with their clothes, and there weren't enough gun shots for it to be the Southerners.

"So America should be okay," Kriss presses.

I nod. "I sincerely hope so. I'll let you all know if she's found, as soon as I know anything. Now, if you'll excuse me."

I stand and button my suit coat before making my way back to my parents.

I sit in the open chair at the round table pushed aside for us and turn towards Mother.

"Are you alright?" I ask, looking her up and down. She doesn't seem to be hurt, though I'm certain she'll have a headache tonight.

"Yes, thank you," she smiles. "My maids have it well in hand. And you?"

My facade slips for just a moment, but I force it back into place. "I'm fine. Worried, of course, for everyone, but nothing more."

She reaches out to clasp my hand in hers. "It's alright to be worried for her," she whispers. "I am too. Everything will be alright."

My father tosses a stack of paperwork to me that he took from the gardens. "Here. While we're stuck down here, you may as well make yourself useful."

I sigh and bend my head over the military expense report. If nothing else, it does take my mind off imagining horrible things happening to America.

But not for long.

~HtBBaM~

An hour or two later, they finally sound the all-clear. I rush out the door, quickly finding a guard.

"Has Lady America been found?"

"No, Your Highness," he bows. "We will alert you as soon as… anything is found."

My stomach drops to the floor. They aren't expecting to bring her back. Just-

No. I won't think it.

"No," I swallow thickly. "I don't wish to be disturbed for the time being. I will ask when I am available."

"Sir." The guard bows and turns away to help Kriss get back to her room. I walk down a corridor away from everyone else, away from people that expect a certain level of composure from me, away from my responsibilities.

I wind through the tunnels, not thinking of anything. My mind is blank. If I'm not thinking of what it will be like if she comes back, then I'm not thinking about what it will be like if she doesn't. To think of one is to think of the other, so I can do neither. Once I'm sure that I'm away from anyone who might hear me, I let myself think aloud.

"Okay," I say to no one. "Worst case. She- she doesn't come back. They take her, and they- she can't come back." I take a deep breath and slide down the wall to sit on the floor. "We search. We search until…" Not forever. I can't- I can't become that king. The one who chased something for years after everyone told him it was gone. "Until Mother tells me to stop," I decide. She'll know. She'll know when… when it's been enough.

"Other worst case," I say more quietly. "We find her and… we can't save her. It's too late." I can't make myself say the words. "What do I do then?"

I'll never be happy; I know that much. Will I become as cold as my father? Did he ever lose someone like this, or was he born this way? I'll have to end the Selection. If- if one of the girls- I couldn't keep a competition going like that.

Would I pick one of the remaining girls, or would I start over again?

It couldn't be Kriss. She'd always remind me that she was second, and every time I'd look at her I'd wish she was America.

Who am I kidding; I'll think that no matter who I marry.

But I have to marry.

Not Celeste, I couldn't stomach that.

Elise could be useful. But she's so… spineless. I'd always wish she had more fire in her, like America.

This isn't going well.

It would have to be Natalie. I could forget about her when I needed to. My life would be going through the motions, but I could do it.

I wonder if she'd be open to a... celibate marriage. We'd need an heir, preferably two, but there are ways around that. If she wanted to have someone else, I wouldn't mind, as long as she could keep it secret.

"Okay," I say to the floor. "Worst case, I marry Natalie and go through the motions for the rest of my life. I… I can do that."

I rest my head on my knees, letting a few tears soak into my pants.

"Best case," I whisper, "she comes back. She's fine. Maybe she overheard the rebels in the woods but none of them saw her, and it will be a good thing. We tell everyone that we're engaged in a month or two. We're married by March. We'll be okay."

I press the heels of my hands to my eyes and stand up. I roll my shoulders and button my jacket. I am Maxon Calix Schreave, heir to the throne of Illéa. I can weather any storm, outlast any attack. I may come out of it as a shadow of myself, but I will come out of it.

I make my way back to the main level and pull myself back together. I quickly run into a guard after closing the passage behind me.

"Your Highness," he acknowledges with a bow.

"Officer Avery," I nod back. "Has Lady America been found?"

"No, sir," he says with a frown. "There's a group out searching for her now; we won't stop until we've searched every inch of that forest."

"See that you don't," I order. I make my way back to my room and lock the door behind me.

With every minute they don't find her, it becomes less and less likely they will. Should I join them? I know her better, maybe I'll find something- no, they'd just be on edge guarding me, that wouldn't be helpful. I stand on my balcony, looking out over the forest. She has to be out there.

I won't-

I can't-

She has to be okay.

I go back inside and pace back and forth at the foot of my bed, eyes trained on the floor. I won't look at my wall- too many photos of her. What if they are all I have left of us?

She's fine, probably hiding in a tree.

Maybe she found a weapon of some kind, and was able to fight her way through, but she got lost.

I should take a shower; spending time in a safe room always leaves me a bit disheveled.

Does that even matter? That doesn't matter.

Maybe I should. If she comes back in the middle of the night, I don't want her to think that I didn't care to make sure I was clean.

I fiddle with my gun case and pull one out to clean it. The bullets are kept in the stables, so there's no risk, but I make sure to keep my finger away from the trigger, even after I've disassembled it.

I usually enjoy cleaning my rifles. It's methodical. I've been doing it for so long that I don't have to think about it, which is usually a gift. Right now it is not.

I try reading next, but I can't focus on the words long enough to comprehend the point of the chapter. My mind flashes through images that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Left on the forest floor. Blood pooling beneath her head. Eyes wide and unseeing. Then another-

Hung from a tree, facing away from me. Swaying in the breeze. Someone has placed a twisted diadem of twigs on her brow. Then another-

Carried back to me by a guard. Arms hanging loose at her sides. Then another-

Sitting against a tree. So serene she could be sleeping- were it not for the wound in the center of her forehead. A dark circle. Blood dripping between her empty eyes. Then another-

A shallow grave dug in the hard dirt. A single pale shoe left sitting in the leaves. Then-

"STOP!" I bellow as my knees collapse beneath me, clutching my head. No more.

How is it that I can look at hundreds of photos of slain soldiers in New Asia with nothing more than a lingering sense of failure, when I can't even think of her name anymore? Shouldn't I care for my subjects the same way I care for her?

Is this just more proof that I will be nothing more than a mediocre king? That I can't care about my subjects unless I know them personally?

If that is the kind of person I am now, what kind of person will I be once she's gone?

I pull myself to standing with the windowsill. I turn my head, just for a moment, and see a contingent of guards coming towards the palace. Another group, and nothing to show-

Wait.

Her hair has come undone, and there are no shoes on her feet. Her head rests on the chest of a guard I don't recognize, one arm strewn across her abdomen and the other hanging down; swinging with every gentle step he takes.

If she were still here, they'd be rushing her to the hospital wing.

Her eyes would be open.

She would never let anyone carry her if she could walk on her own.

I watch until they've crossed out of sight, memorizing the red of her hair against the cream of her skin. Will I be able to remember the exact blue of her eye next week? Next year?

I rest my open palm on the window, right over where I saw her last.

"I love you, America Singer, my darling. Forever."

I'll have obligations tomorrow. I should probably get things done tonight. This has never happened before.

But for now, I sit on the floor, staring at nothing, feeling my grief dull as I cover it in blankets of heavy apathy. No one can ever know. No one can ever know that rebels were allowed to break into the palace and-

And-

And-

And-

Do it, my father's voice commands. Get over your childish feelings. Illéa does not need your weakness.

No one can ever know that the rebels were allowed to break into the palace and kill their future queen.

And with that thought, I shatter into a million pieces, held together only by the constraints of duty.

~HtBBaM~

Several knocks sound against my door throughout the rest of the afternoon. I don't answer, and there are only two people in the palace who would dare open the crown prince's locked door.

One of them, it appears, was impatient.

Habit has me straightening my shoulders, tugging my tie closer to my collar. He won't approve of my sitting on the floor, but I find that I don't give a damn.

Fortunately, I don't need to.

"Maxon?" my mother calls softly from the door. I don't recall the last time she used her key to my door.

"Here." My voice is hoarse and weak. My father would be ashamed.

"What are you doing, my love?" Her voice is full of concern, coming over to sit on the floor with me. I haven't seen her do that since… I don't recall the last time she did that either.

"I- I don't know."

"You were told that they found America, weren't you?"

I shrug, unable to focus my eyes on anything. "I think they tried. I saw- I saw them bring her back."

"I'm surprised that you aren't with her," Mother says gently. "No one would blame you; it would be understandable."

"I can't- I don't want to- I just can't."

Her brow furrows. Why is this so hard for her to understand?

"Did you two have an argument? I'm sure that it's nothing that can't be resolved."

The ice in my veins turns to dry ice. The last thing she ever heard me say was that she was stupid. I am a monster.

"Maxon?" Mother comes to sit beside me, taking my hand in hers. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. You know you can tell me anything."

"How can I possibly go on?" I whisper. I made a plan, but… I can't imagine seeing it through.

My mother frowns. "As we always do. The rebels are a nuisance, sometimes a dangerous one, but few people were hurt this time."

I wrench my hand from hers. "How can you say that?"

"I'm- Maxon, what did you see when they brought her back?"

"I can't." I will never be able to describe it. To anyone.

"Maxon Schreave," she says firmly. "Look at me." Our eyes meet, and I didn't know it was possible for me to feel such contempt for my mother. "What did you see?" she demands.

"A- a guard was carrying her b- her," I mumble, turning to staring at my ankles. "She could have been sleeping."

"Maxon." I can hear the smile in her voice and it makes me sick . "She was sleeping."

So, we're using euphemisms now?

"Yes, I know."

"No, Maxon," Mother says gently, turning my face towards her. "She was sleeping. She woke up once they got to the hospital wing, and convinced Dr. Ashlar to let her recover in her rooms. She is fine, I promise."

"What?"

"Go to her, sweetheart. I'm sure she's waiting."

I'm running out the door before she's finished her sentence, nearly crashing into several tables as I careen down the hallways.

She's alive.

She's fine.

She's waiting for me.

I'm sure I reach her room in record time, but that's not something I waste time thinking about. I knock quickly and let myself in, too impatient for anything like courtesy.

America is sleeping in her bed, like I've seen so many times before.

"Your Highness." Anne jumps into a curtsey from her chair in the corner, startling me from my examination of any injuries she might have.

"Is she alright?" I beg.

"Perfectly," she grins. "Some scrapes and bruises, and a little sore, but she'll be right as rain in a few days."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I've been holding since I entered the room. "Anything to keep an eye on?"

"I'll be here throughout the night in case she needs anything, but no specifics, Your Highness."

I nod. "You may go, I'll stay with her."

"It's no trouble at all-"

"Please," I interrupt. "I want to."

Anne nods and curtseys again. "Of course."

I pull a chair over to the side of America's bed while Anne gathers her things and approaches the door.

"If I might, Your Highness," she says tentatively, "Lady America hasn't said anything, but I'm very happy for you both, if my suspicions are correct."

I smile and bring America's knuckles to my lips. "Thank you."

Anne curtseys again, shutting the door softly behind her.

"You are never allowed to do that to me again," I murmur. "I have never felt like that before in my life, and I never want to again."

America mumbles something unintelligible and rolls over onto her side, facing me. I brush a few strands of hair from her eyes, tucking them behind her ear.

I fold our hands together so I can feel her pulse thudding against my wrist if I focus.

"I love you, America Singer, my darling," I whisper as I brush a kiss onto her forehead, then her nose and cheeks. I refuse to let my most recent speaking of those words stand for any longer. "Forever."