Neither of us are seriously injured, so they bandage us up and send us on our separate ways. Unsurprisingly, we sit at opposite ends of the table at dinner. Maxon and the Queen are there, but the King is noticeably missing. Conversation is very subdued, and I wonder if anyone told Maxon about the fight. I'm not sure if the members of his harem disagreeing about the beating of a former member merits bothering the Crown Prince. I study him a little, trying to figure out if the tension in his shoulders is from stress of work, or something else. Either way, his brow is furrowed and there are bags under his eyes.

Maxon notices me staring and studies me back. I'm not sure what he's looking for, or even if he finds it, but he tugs his ear, and I tug mine back. Most of my anger has dissipated, though definitely not all of it. Apparently physical violence can help relieve stress. Who knew?

I retire to my room early; I don't have the energy to socialize tonight. My eyes droop as I get closer to my room and, by extension, my beautiful bed. I don't mean to fall asleep, but apparently I do, because a guard wakes me from a dead sleep.

I sit up quickly, hiding a yawn behind my hand. "Yes, Officer Dormer?" I respond, peering at his nameplate.

"His Highness has requested your presence, miss," he relays with a bow.

"Oh, " I frown. The clock on my nightstand tells me it's nearly eight- Mary would be coming up soon. And Maxon always comes to me, he never calls me to him. "Can you give me a moment?"

"Yes, miss." He gives another bow and shuts the door quietly. I unzip my dress as I go to my closet, quickly pulling out my jeans and a soft lavender sweater. I pull the pins out of my hair and quickly twist it into a bun and slip a pair of flats on. I give myself a once-over in the mirror, deem myself presentable, and slip out the door.

Officer Dormer leads me up to the third floor as I nervously follow. I'm ready to talk things out with Maxon, but I definitely do not want to run into King Clarkson while I'm here.

The corridor looks identical to the hallway with our bedrooms, but there aren't nearly as many doors. Just three or four compared to the seven or eight on our floor. Officer Dormer knocks on a door that looks identical to all the others. I don't know how I'll keep all these doors straight. If I stay, that is.

"You may enter," I hear Maxon call from inside. He almost sounds nervous. Officer Dormer opens the door for me, then closes it behind me.

It is huge. The paneling is dark, some wood I'm not familiar with lining the whole space. On the far wall, a wide fireplace stands, waiting to be used. The whole thing must be for show since it never seems to get cold enough here to justify a fire.

His bathroom door is cracked open, and I can see a porcelain tub on the elaborately tiled floor. He has his own collection of books and a table near the fireplace that looks like it is intended for dining rather than work. I wonder how many lonely meals he's had here. Near the door that opens to his private balcony, a glass case full of guns sits, perfectly lined up. I forgot that he loves hunting.

His bed, also made from a dark wood, is massive. I want to go and touch it, to see if it feels as good as it looks.

"America?" Maxon asks timidly.

I shake my head to refocus. "Sorry, your room is huge. It startled me."

He gives me a small smile. "Can't have the prince feeling claustrophobic."

We both stand there awkwardly for a moment.

"I'm so sor-"

"Can I ple-"

We both laugh and motion for the other to go ahead. I speak first.

"I know we're fighting, and I have myself together now, and we can talk about it, but-" I bite my lip. Someone has to take the first step, America. "Will you hug me first?" I blurt out. "I- I've missed you."

"Oh, darling," Maxon breathes, grabbing me to him and holding me tightly. The knot of sadness in my chest doesn't unravel completely, but it does a little. "I'm so sorry about everything. I couldn't tell you anything before it happened; there was no time. I can tell you whatever you want to know now, though," he says, hugging me so tightly I can barely breathe. I don't want him to loosen it at all.

"I understand," I say. "I think. I understand that there was more to it. I realized that if you really wanted to punish someone for being unfaithful, it would have been me."

Maxon huffs a laugh and pulls me to sit on the end of his bed. He keeps an arm around me. "How much do you want to know?"

"Everything," I say quickly. "Actually, before that, I think we should talk about… what we're doing right now."

"What?" Maxon looks concerned. "Love, I know this-"

"No, not like that." I shake my head. "Maxon, I've made my choice. I love you, and as nervous as I am about being a princess, I know we can figure it out." I curl into his shoulder and wrap an arm around his waist. "We'll fight, and yell at each other, but we'll figure it out. I mean right now. Because I can't do you running around and doing things and sort of telling me when you get a chance." I sit up and look at him. He doesn't look as nervous as he did at dinner, or even when I first came in the room. He does look serious though, mulling over my words.

"I'm the heir to the throne of Illéa, America. There are going to be secrets, at minimum until we take the throne, and maybe even then."

"No, see that's what I'm talking about. I don't mean now, I get that you can't tell me state secrets and everything, but… you could have warned me about Marlee." Maxon starts to interrupt, but I hold a hand up. "You could have. And if we are going to be engaged, and if I'm going to be trying to convince everyone that I'll make a good princess, and queen, eventually, I need to know when I'm expected to put on a face."

Maxon frowns. "I can accept that, I suppose. I can promise to do everything I can to do that, but I can't promise to always be able to."

I nod. "So what's the plan? How much longer is the Selection going to go on? I assume you have one," I say. He wouldn't have proposed without it.

"I would say another month," Maxon estimates. I don't love the thought, but that's about what I thought it would be. "There are still a few more events for you to get through; Silvia is cooking up something with my mother, and you all will have to come up with a social works project and present it on the Report. That happens every Selection, so I can't end it before those. I have another week before I have to eliminate someone, probably Natalie, next."

I roll my eyes. "Can't you just kick Celeste out tomorrow?"

Maxon huffs. "I did hear about your little scuffle today. You really shouldn't let her provoke you."

"Well, then she shouldn't call my best friend a whore," I grumble.

"Either way, I think I should keep her until the top four. If one of them does noticeably worse on your first test, so to speak, I'll have cause, but I doubt it. Celeste is very popular. Which, coincidentally, is something I'd like to speak to you about," he says hesitantly.

"Yes?" I say innocently. I'm curious to see where this is going.

"Actually, before I do," he reaches over to his coat hanging on his bedpost and pulls something out of the breast pocket. "Would you like to wear your ring while it's just us?"

I snatch the ring box out of his hand before he can finish his sentence and have my ring on my finger so fast it makes Maxon laugh his embarrassing-adorable-snort laugh. He takes my hand and kisses my ring, then my forehead. "I do love you."

I smile and curl back into his side. "So what's this about popularity?"

"Well, I'll have to play along with pretending to be interested in everyone else, which I am definitively not," Maxon says firmly, "and I would also like you to think about playing nice and trying to get your popularity up with the people. It would make things much easier on us once we ascend, and also give me more ammunition against my father."

I pout for a minute. If they don't like me, then I don't really care. "This is what the rest of my life is going to be, isn't it? Trying to make people not mad at me?"

Maxon weighs his words for a moment. "It's a bit more diplomatic than that, and also I'm not really sure. I have a theory that if I can convince the people to like me, then I'll be able to institute more social reform. I don't have any crazy ideas, but high on the list are ending the war and finding a way to clean up the South. If more public appearances and interviews mean less rebel attacks and protests, then so be it."

Now it's my turn to weigh Maxon's words. "That makes sense. I didn't know there were many reforms you wanted to institute."

Maxon's eyes light up, then dim again. "I have a lot of ideas. I'm sure a lot of them are too idealistic and aren't feasible. My father thinks so, at least. We'll see, I suppose."

"There's no harm in hoping for something too good, is there? If you try and it fails, that's one thing. You already have the food initiative. Obviously I've never seen one, but I can't even imagine the good it's doing. Maxon, if that's something you can do quickly, you can do so much for your people. I have no doubt. You'll be amazing."

"Our people, and we'll be amazing," Maxon corrects. "I wouldn't have come up with the food initiative without you. I'm sure that will happen many times. I just… I want Illéa to have stability and happy people."

"You'll make it happen," I say firmly. "What can I do about public perception?"

"Well," Maxon starts, scrubbing a hand over his face, "actually, that's a little difficult. The lower Castes like you pretty well. The cameras didn't catch much of you at… well, you know, but they saw some. Fives and below liked that someone fought against it, apparently. Fours and up, however, want you to play more by the rules, and they're the ones my father and everyone else care about."

"Well, that's helpful."

"Quite," he answers wryly. "I would recommend playing by the rules in general, and coming up with something fabulous for the Report. I'm not supposed to help you with that, but I will if I can."

"Maxon… I'm not good at that."

He presses a kiss to my forehead. "I'll help, darling. And Sylvia will be there too, you won't be totally alone."

"I'll think of something."

"I know you will."

We sit in silence for a few moments; it's not uncomfortable, actually, it's nice. I look over after a few minutes and gasp.

On the wall by Maxon's door is a vast collage, wide enough to be wallpaper for my room back home. There don't appear to be any sort of order to it, just image upon image. Piled up for him to enjoy.

I can see photos that surely have to have been taken by him, because they are of the palace, which is where he is almost all the time. Close-ups of tapestries, shots of the ceiling he must have laid flat on the carpet to get, and so many pictures of the gardens. There are others, maybe of places he hopes to see or has at least visited. I see an ocean so blue it doesn't seem possible. There are a few bridges, and one of a wall-like structure that looks like it goes on for miles.

But above all this, I see my face a dozen times over. There is the picture of me that was taken for my Selection application, and the one of Maxon and me taken for the magazine when I wore that sash. We seemed happy there, as if it was all a game. I've never seen that photo, or the one from the article on Halloween. I remember Maxon standing behind me while we looked at designs for my costume. While I'm staring at the sketch, Macon's eyes are slightly turned toward me.

Then there are the photos he took. One of me shocked when the king and queen of Swendway visited and he quickly yelled out "Smile." One of my sitting on the set for the Report, laughing at Marlee. He must have been hiding behind all the blinding light, stealing little images of us when we were all just being ourselves. And there is another one of me in the night, standing on my balcony and looking at the moon.

The other girls are in them, too, the remaining ones more than the others, but every once in awhile I see Anna's eyes peek out from under a landscape or Marlee's smile hiding in a corner.

"Maxon," I breathe, "It's beautiful."

"You like it?"

"I'm in awe of it. How many of these did you take?""

"Nearly all of them, but ones like this," he says, pointing to one of the pictures used in the magazines, "I asked for." He points again. "I took this one in the very southern part of Honduragua. I used to think it was interesting, but now it makes me sad."

The image is of some pipes spilling smoke into the sky. "I used to look at the air, but now I remember how much I hated the smell of it. And people live in that all the time. I was so self-absorbed."

"Where is this?" I ask, pointing to the long brick wall.

"New Asia. It used to be to the north of what was the Chinese border. They called it the Great Wall. I hear it was once quite spectacular, but now it's mostly gone. It runs less than halfway through the middle of New Asia. That's how much they've expanded.

"Wow."

Maxon rubs his hand along my arm and I rest my head on his shoulder. "I was really hoping you'd like it. You scared me when you didn't say anything about it." His tone is teasing, but I know it really did make him nervous.

"I was too distracted by you," I tease him. "I love it. So much. I want you to make me one."

"You do?"

"Yes. Or teach me to. I can't even tell you how often I wished I could catch snippets of my life and hold on to them like this. I have a few torn pictures of my family and the new one with my sister's baby, but that's all. I've never even thought of keeping a journal or writing things down…. I feel like you make so much more sense now."

This is the center of who he is. I can feel the things that are permanent, such as his constant confinement in the palace and the brief bits of traveling. But there are also elements that shift. The girls and I are on the wall so much because we've taken over his world. Even as we leave, we aren't really gone. I move Maxon's arm from around my shoulder so we can hold hands and hug his arm tightly. And then something that should have been obvious the whole time suddenly comes to me.

"Maxon?"

"Yes?"

"If things were different and you weren't the prince, and you could pick what you did for a living, would this be it?"

"Taking pictures, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Absolutely. For art or even just family portraits. I'd do advertising, pretty much whatever I could. I'm very passionate about it. I think you can see that though."

"I can." I smile, happy with this knowledge.

"Why do you ask?"

"It's just... " I turn to look at him. "You'd be a Five."

Maxon slowly takes in my words, and he smiles quietly. "That makes me happy."

"Me, too."

I flop back to lay on the bed and Maxon laughs before he follows.

"Palace beds are so comfortable it's disgusting," I inform him.

"Hm," he laughs again. "I can change that, if you like."

"Don't you dare," I threaten, sitting up on an elbow to look him in the eye. "I would be forced to join the rebels if you did."

He cocks an eyebrow. "That is a frightening thought indeed," he says with a lazy smile. "You'd miss the food though."

"Damn," I frown. "Fine, you got me."

Again, we sit in silence for a few more minutes- I nearly fall asleep.

"Darling?" Maxon asks softly.

"Hmm?"

"I really do want to tell you about Marlee, if you want to hear. There's a happy ending, I promise."

I sit up and let my hair out of it's bun to rub at my scalp. "Alright. Go ahead."

Maxon takes my hand, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. "Cameras found them in the closet about an hour after we toasted on the balcony. They circulated them damn near immediately- I had words with Gavril about it; we should know before anyone prints anything about us, I'm not sure how this got past. We're working on it, but it looks like it was just too many things going on, and someone was a little shady."

I narrow my eyes. "Someone in the palace?"

"Oh no, someone at the tabloids. I don't think we'll ever know about that. Either way, I was informed around three in the morning or so. The advisors were preparing to… follow the letter of the law-"

"Kill them," I interrupt. "Your advisors were preparing to murder Marlee and Carter because the had the audacity to fall in love while she was the property of the royal family."

"Yes," he sighs. "I am planning on going over the rules of a Selection with a very fine-toothed comb before my son has to go through this. That will definitely be taken out."

I nod, satisfied for now. We can talk about sexism later- would there be anything so wrong with having his daughter as his heir? Either way, now isn't the time.

"Once I got all the information, I realized why she was so distant. I honestly knew more about Elise than her, and I could never figure out why. I never sent her home because people were so fond of her, but I never felt more than mild friendship, even from her, which was strange.

"I had to beg to get the sentence taken down. My father thought it would show weakness, that we should demand more respect from our guests." Maxon shifts a little. "He doesn't think caning is… overly harsh, so he didn't like the idea. I eventually persuaded him by leaning on how much people love her, and publicly executing the favorite would not help the rebel situation. It wasn't easy, though."

"That was smart," I acknowledge. "I… from our perspective, it looks like you can do anything you want, stop or start anything. I get that it's not like that now, though."

"No, it's really not. Maybe more so once I'm king, but my father will still be involved. I'm not sure how that will work, though."

"So… what happened to them after? Where are they now?"

Maxon grins at this, which shocks me.

"The plan was to send them to Panama that night. My father figured they'd die there anyways, so if we could improve public perception then we could go ahead with it-"

"Maxon they will die, you have no idea what it's like to live as an Eight, especially with those wounds-"

Maxon hushes me. "They're not in Panama." His eyes dart around, but I'm not sure what he's looking for. "America, you can't tell anyone about this. No letters, no conversations. No one, do you understand?"

I nod, wide-eyed. What has he done?

He takes a deep breath. "I swapped them. I found a brother and sister who had essentially just sold themselves to the palace from Panama. They needed money for their family but didn't actually want to leave. So, I switched their places. I gave them some money and sent them home. Marlee and Carter never left; they're still here."

"What?" I shriek.

"Shh!" Maxon says loudly, looking at the door. "Quiet, America."

I cover my mouth, my eyes filling with tears. "They're okay?" I manage to whisper.

Maxon nods. "They're not great, obviously, but they're okay. Marlee will work in the kitchens and Carter will start as a groundskeeper when they're a little more healed."

"Oh, Maxon," I say before the sobs take over as I crawl into his lap.

"Shh, it's alright," he says, holding me tightly. I know he's trying not to laugh at me, and he does pretty well. "In fact, we should-"

I sit straight up as someone knocks on the wall in a pattern. Maxon clearly knows what's happening. "Wipe your tears, darling," he says, going over to an armoire. "This is mostly used as access to the safe room, but you can get to lots of places with it," he explains as he presses a panel and the wall swings forward, along with the furniture. A small opening appears inch by inch.

Marlee stands in a doorway, dressed in rags, but looking more radiant than I've ever seen.