I thrash and shriek all the way back. The guards have to hold me so tightly that I know I'll be covered in bruises later, but I don't care. I have to fight.
"Where's her room?" I hear one ask, and twist to see a maid walking down the hall. I don't recognize her, but she clearly knows me. She escorts the guards to my door. I hear my maids shouting in protest at the way I am being handled.
"Calm down, miss; that's no way to behave," a guard says with a grunt as they throw me onto my bed.
"Get the hell out of my room!" I scream,
My maids, all of them in tears, rush over to me. Mary tarts trying to get the dirt from my fall off my dress, but I slap her hands away. They knew. They knew, and they didn't warn me.
"You, too!" I yell at them. "I want all of you out! NOW!"
They recoil at my words, and the tremors running down Lucy's little body almost make me regret saying them. But I have to be alone.
"We're sorry, miss, Anne says, pulling the other two back. They know how close I am to Marlee.
Marlee…
"Just go," I whisper, turning to bury my face in my pillow.
Once the door clicks shut, I slip off my remaining shoe and climb deeper into bed, finally making sense of a hundred tiny details. So this was the secret she was too afraid to share. She didn't want to stay because she wasn't in love with Maxon, but she didn't want to leave and be separated from Carter.
A dozen moments suddenly make sense: why she chose to stand in certain places or stared toward doors. It was Carter; he was there. The time the king and queen of Swendway came and she refused to get out of the sun… Carter. It was Marlee he was waiting for when I ran into him outside the bathroom. It was always him, standing silent by, perhaps sneaking a kiss here and there, waiting for a time when they could truly be together.
How much must she love him to be so careless, to risk so much?
How can this even be real? It doesn't seem possible. I knew that there would be a punishment for something like this, but that it happened to Marlee, that she is gone,... I can't understand it.
My stomach writhes. It so easily could have been me. If Aspen and I hadn't been so careful, if someone had overheard our conversation on the dance floor at lessons, that could have been us.
Will I ever see Marlee again? Where will she be sent? Will her parents have anything to do with her? I don't know what Carter was before the draft made him a Two, though my guess is he was a Seven. Seven is low, but it is better than Eight by a long shot.
I can't believe she is an Eight. This cannot be real.
Will Marlee ever be able to use her hands again? How long do such wounds take to heal? And what about Carter? Will he even be able to walk after that?
That could have been Aspen.
That could have been me.
I feel so sick. I have a cruel sense of relief that it isn't me, and the guilt of that relief is so heavy it is hard to breathe. I am a terrible person, a terrible friend. I am ashamed.
There is nothing left to do but cry.
~PtG~
I spend the morning and most of the afternoon curled in a ball on my bed. My maids bring me lunch, but I can't touch it. Mercifully, they don't insist on staying and let me be alone in my sadness.
I can;t pull myself together. The more I think over what happened, the sicker I feel. I can't get the sound of Marlee screaming out of my head. I wonder if time will come when I'll forget.
A hesitant knock comes at the door. My maids aren't there to open it, and I don't feel like moving, so I don't. After a brief pause the visitor comes in anyway.
"America?" Maxon says quietly.
I don't answer, but a lone tear trickles down my cheek.
He shuts the door and walked across the room to stand by my bed.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't have a choice."
"It was that or kill them. The cameras found them last night and circulated the footage without us knowing," he insists.
He doesn't talk for awhile, maybe thinking that if he stands there long enough, I'll find something I want to say to him.
Finally, he sits on the end of the bed and takes my hand. I almost pull away, but I can't bring myself to. "America? Look at me, darling."
The endearment makes my stomach turn, and I don't know if it is in pleasure or disgust. I do look at him though.
"I had to. I had to."
"How could you just stand there?" My voice sounds funny. "How could you not do anything?"
"I told you once before that part of this job is looking calm, even when you aren't. It's something I've had to master. You will, too."
My brow folds together. He can't think I want that? That I want to be calm in the face of things like that? Apparently he did. As he slowly takes in my expression, his falls into absolute shock.
"America, I know you're upset, but please? I told you; you're the only one. Please don't do this."
"Maxon," I say slowly. "I could never do that. I could never stand by and watch someone get hurt like that, knowing it was my judgement that sent them there. Especially when it's someone like Marlee. I can't be a princess."
He draws in a staggered breath, probably the closest thing to a truly sad emotion I've ever seen from him.
"America, that's what we'd get to change. We would be able to change the rule that forces a punishment upon them; even with the rule, I was able to help them. They're together, they're okay. I promise."
I sit up and blink at him. "How can you say that? Marlee's hands must be destroyed, and Carter… will he even be able to walk again?" My voice is barely above a whisper, and I am seconds from dissolving into tears.
"America," Maxon says, like he needs me to believe him more than anything. "I asked you to trust me. Do you? Or do you think that I got any pleasure at all from that today?"
I turn his words over in my head for a moment. "I think you didn't care. You had the power to stop it, and you didn't. If you had asked me five hours ago, I would have said that I trusted you with my life-"
"Would you have trusted me with Marlee's life?"
"Yes. And apparently it would have been a mistake."
Maxon stands and paces. He doesn't seem angry, just frustrated. I feel numb.
"There are things I can't tell you right now, America. More than anything, I want to tell you the truth. I need a little more time to get things lined up and… I know you're upset. You should be," he admits. "I would be furious in your place, too." He sighs like the world rests on his shoulders. I suppose it does, in some ways. "I know… I know that you're hesitant about the job. I always know that would be hard for you to embrace. And I'm sure this makes it harder. But… what about me? Do you still feel sure about me?"
I fidget, uncertain of what to say. I think about how he's begged me to trust him, that I don't know everything, and I weigh his words I've heard against his actions I've seen. I brush my fingers against my necklace, then curl my fingers around the chain.
Maxon stiffens next to me, and I realize I could rip the chain from my neck easily, ripping his heart from his chest at the same time.
No take-backs. I breathe deeply.
"I-" I'm not sure what to say. "I'm not sure. I can't think."
"Oh. Right." His absolute dejection is clear. "I'll let you be for now. We'll talk soon."
He leans forward and kisses my temple. "I love you."
I don't say anything back, and he clears his throat. "Goodbye, America."
Then he is gone.
And I break down all over again.
Maybe minutes or hours later, my maids come in and find me bawling. I roll over, and there is no way they can miss the pleading in my eyes.
"Oh, my lady," Mary cries, coming to embrace me. "Let's get you ready for bed."
Lucy and Anne begin working on the buttons of my dress while Mary cleans my face and smooths my hair.
My maids sit around me, comforting me as I cry. I want to explain that it is more than Marlee, that it is this sick ache over Maxon, too. I don't know what to do.
Then my heartbreak doubles when I ask for my parents, and Anne tells me that all the families were escorted away quickly. I didn't even get to say goodbye.
Anne strokes my hair, gently shushing me. Mary is at my feet, rubbing my legs comfortingly. Lucy simply holds her hands to her heart, as if she feels it all with me.
"Thank you," I whisper between sniffles. "I'm sorry about earlier."
They exchange glances. "There's nothing to apologize for, miss." Anne insists.
I want to correct her, because I'd certainly crossed the line with how I treated them, but another knock comes at the door. I try to think of how to politely say I don't want to see Maxon right now, but when Lucy hops up to answer it, a guard I don't recognize hands Lucy a note.
She thanks him, then comes back to hand it to me. I open it, then crumple it up and throw it as hard as I can at the wall, dissolving into tears once more. Mary picks it up and reads it.
She comes over and leaves it folded on my nightstand before sitting next to me and wiping my tears.
"I know it's hard, miss," she says kindly. "But he is kind, and good, and he loves you. Don't throw that away because his job is difficult."
"How could he, though?" I beg. "How could he do something like that, then send me a note telling me to talk to him when I'm ready like I'm the one doing something wrong?"
"Now, that's not true," Anne chides gently. "I'm sure he just doesn't want to push you. Don't do something you don't want, but if you gather your thoughts and decide that His Highness is what you want, then let yourself be happy."
Lucy kneels in front of me timidly and takes my hands in hers. "The kingdom needs His Highness, miss. And he needs you. Good men are hard to come by."
I take a shaky breath and nod. "Okay. I'll speak to him later."
The girls nod and pat whichever parts of my body they can reach. No one says anything else as they get me ready for bed, and before I know it, I've drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
~PtG~
Hey Kitten,
I'm so sorry we didn't get to say goodbye. The King seemed to think it would be safest for the families to leave as soon as possible. I tried to get to you I promise. It just didn't happen.
I wanted to let you know we got home safely. The King let us keep our clothes, and May is spending every spare moment in those dresses. I suspect she's secretly hoping she never grows another inch so she can use her ballgown at her wedding. It really lifts her spirits. I'm not sure I'll ever forgive the royal family for making two of my children watch that firsthand, but you know how resilient May is. It's you I'm worried about. Write us soon.
Maybe this isn't the right thing to say, but I want you to know: when you ran for the stage, I've never been so proud of you in all my life. You've always been beautiful; you've always been talented. And now I know that your moral compass is perfectly aligned, that you see clearly when things are wrong, and you do everything you can to stop it. As a father, I can't ask for more. That thing we talked about in the hall? Sweetheart, you are needed. We need someone like you.
I love you, America. And I'm so, so, proud.
Dad
P.S. Go easy on him. Challenge him and call him out on things, but remember he was raised differently than you. He's doing his best, and his best will become great, I think. Help him do that.
How is it that Dad always knows what to say? I kind of want someone to rearrange the stars so they spell out his words. I need them big and bright, and somewhere I can see them when things feel dark. I love you, America. And I'm so, so proud.
His words about Maxon are annoying, but- as always- right on the nose. Maxon will be a great king. It's me I'm worried about. And he even manages to comfort me about that.
The Elite are given the option of breakfast in their rooms and I take it. I'm not ready to see Maxon yet. By the afternoon I am a bit more put together and decide to go down to the Women's Room for a while. If nothing else, there is at least a television, and I can stand to be distracted.
The girls seem surprised when I walk in, which I guess is to be expected. I do tend to hide from time to time, and if there is even a moment to do that, it is now. Celeste is lounging on the couch, flipping through a magazine. Illéa doesn't have newspapers like I've heard other countries do. We have the Report. Magazines are the closest things we have to printed news, and people like me can never afford them. Celeste always seems to have one on hand, and for some reason, that irritates me today.
Kriss and Elise are at a table drinking tea and talking as Natalie stands in the back, looking out a window.
"Oh, look," Celeste says to no one in particular. "Here's another one of my ads."
Celeste is a model. The idea of her flipping through pictures of herself drives my irritation deeper.
"Lady America?" someone calls. I turn and see the queen and some of her attendants in the corner. She looks like she is doing needlework.
I curtsy and she waves me over. My stomach does a flip as I consider my behavior yesterday. I never intended to offend her and am suddenly afraid I've done just that. I feel the eyes of the other girls on me. The queen usually speaks to us as a group, rarely one-on-one.
I give another curtsy as I approach. "Majesty."
"Please sit, Lady America," she says kindly, motioning to an empty chair across from her.
I oblige, still very nervous.
"You put up quite a fight yesterday," she comments.
I swallow. "Yes, Your Majesty."
"You were very close to her?"
I choke back my sadness. "Yes, Your Majesty."
She sighs. "A lady ought not to behave in such a way. The cameras were so focused on the action at hand that they missed your conduct. Still, it doesn't behoove you to lash out like that."
It isn't the order of a queen. It is the reprimand of a mother. That makes it a thousand times worse. It is like she feels responsible for me, and I let her down.
I bow my head. For the first time, I truly feel bad about how I reacted.
She reaches over and rests her hand on my knee. I look up to her face, shocked by the casual touch.
"All the same," she whispers, "I'm glad you did it." And she smiles at me.
"She was my best friend."
"That doesn't stop because she's gone, sweetheart." Queen Amberly pats my leg kindly.
It is exactly what I need: motherly affection.
Tears bite at the corners of my eyes. "I don't know what to do," I whisper. I nearly let everything spill out right there about how I am feeling, but I am conscious of the eyes of the other girls on me.
"I told myself I wouldn't get involved," she states, then sighs. She looks back to me, then notices my necklace from Maxon. Her eyes widen, nearly imperceptibly. "That necklace is from Maxon?" It's not really a question.
"Um," I stammer. "I- yes." It's not like I can lie.
The queen tilts her head, considering, then smiles slowly. "I'd like to speak to you again, sometime this week, if that is acceptable?"
"Of course, Your Majesty," I say, completely shocked.
"Good. I'll send someone to collect you when I have a moment." She smiles at me kindly and gestures that I am free to go. I wander over to sit with Elise and Kriss.
"How are you doing?" Elise asks sympathetically.
"I'm fine. It's Marlee I'm worried about."
"I wish they could still be together," Natalie frowns.
"They are," I say, remembering what Maxon said. "But who knows how they're doing beyond that."
"How do you know Marlee and Carter are together?" Kriss asks suspiciously.
Oops. Was I not supposed to say anything?
"Maxon told me," I admit. I'm still mad at him, so thankfully I don't blush.
Celeste scoffs and rolls her eyes. "What, did you cry so much he came running to console you?"
"I- what?"
Elise takes the reigns of the conversation. "I was impressed with how calm he was about it. He had to have been hurt. He's too kind to wish that on anyone, but she still betrayed him."
"So they both deserved what they got, is that what you're saying?" I say a little incredulously.
"What she did was wrong," Natalie remarks. There isn't anything judgmental about her tone, only a quiet acceptance, like she is following instructions.
Kriss speaks up. "He could have had them killed. The law is on his side in that one. He showed them mercy."
"Mercy?" I scoff. "You call having your skin torn apart in public merciful?"
"Yes, all things considered," she continues. "I bet if we could ask Marlee, she'd choose caning over dying."
"Kriss is right," Elise says. "I agree that it was absolutely terrible, but I would rather have that than death."
"Please," I sneer, my anger coming to the surface. "Kriss, you're a Three. Everyone knows your dad's a famous professor, and you've lived your whole life in libraries, completely comfortable. You'd never survive a beating, let alone a life as an Eight afterward. You'd be begging to die."
Kriss glares at me. "Don't pretend that you know anything about what I can and cannot tolerate. Just because you're a Five, you think you're the only one who's ever suffered?"
"No, but I'm sure I've experienced far worse than you," I say, my voice rising in anger, "and I couldn't take what Marlee went through. I'm saying I doubt you'd fare any better."
"I'm braver than you think, America You have no idea the things I've sacrificed over the years. And if I make a mistake, I own up to the consequences."
"Why should there be any consequences at all?" I pose. "Maxon keeps saying how hard it is to make this choice, and then one of us falls for someone else. Shouldn't he be thanking her for making his decision easier?"
Natalie, seeming distressed, tries to interject. "I heard the funniest thing yesterday!"
"But the law-" Kriss calls over her.
"America has a point," Elise counters quickly, and the ordered conversation crumbles.
We are speaking over one another, trying to make our opinions heard, justifying why we think what happened was wrong or right. This is first, but something I've been expecting from the start. With this many girls together, competing against one another, there is no way we wouldn't fight eventually.
Then, in a disconnected voice, Celeste mumbles to her magazine as we continue to argue, "Got what she deserved. Whore."
The following silence is just as charged as our quarrel.
Celeste looks over her shoulder just in time to see me lunge at her. She screams as I land on her, knocking us both into a coffee table. I hear something, probably a cup of tea smash to the floor.
I close my eyes midjump, and when I open them, Celeste is underneath me, trying to grab at my wrists. I pull back my right arm and slap her as hard as I can across her face. The burning sensation in my hand is nearly overwhelming, but it is worth it to hear the satisfying smack that erupts when it makes contact.
Celeste immediately lets out a shriek and starts clawing at me. For the first time I regret not keeping my nails long like the other girls do. She makes a few cuts on my arm, which only angers me more, and I strike her again. This time I cut her lip. In response to the pain, she reaches for something- the saucer from her cup of tea- and slams it against the side of my head.
Thrown off, I try to grab at her again, but people are pulling us apart. I am so consumed, I didn't notice anyone calling for the guards. I take a swing at one of them, too. I am tired of being manhandled.
"Did you see what she did to me?" Celeste cries.
"You keep your mouth shut!" I scream. "Don't you ever talk about Marlee again!"
"You're psychotic! I'm going to tell Maxon right now. You can kiss the palace goodbye!" she threatens.
"No one's seeing Maxon right now," the queen says sternly. She looks into Celeste's eyes and then into mine. Her disappointment is clear. I hang my head. "You're both going to the hospital wing."