A/N: Hello! We are once again back- I finally got my head on straight and finished that outtake, so Marlee's wedding is now posted! Thanks for your patience. Also, a bit of sad news. I'm going to have to take a break for a few weeks- I actually don't have anything written after this chapter for the first time since I started posting again in May. I have a few breaks from school coming up, so I can like 87.3% guarantee that I'll be back Friday, November 27, or the Friday after that. I just need a few weeks to get caught up on homework and to figure out what the french toast is happening with my life hahah. I'm so sorry, but I thought this was better than trying to churn out short, mediocre chapters! Love to you all.

I can't just wait here. I can't just sit in my room, wrapped in blankets and warmth while Maxon is…

I need to get out.

But where? I can't go to the gardens; that would defeat the purpose of distracting myself from Maxon, and also isn't allowed at the moment. I'll need bandages, I realize, and something to clean his… wounds. I wonder if the hospital wing would give me some.

I think that if I came across the king right now I might try to kill him.

As I get to the hospital wing door, it swings open and I run right into Maxon, who drops a sealed metal box. He groans after we collide, even though it really wasn't that hard.

"Oh, Maxon…"

"I'll be alright," he smiles weakly. "No worse than usual. What are you doing here?"

I brush a curl out of his eyes. "I was wandering. I couldn't stay still, so I came to see if I could get some bandages or anything that might be helpful."

Maxon smiles wryly and raises the box in his hands just a little, but hisses and drops his shoulder quickly. I notice that the box has his name written on the side, and the fact that this happens often enough to need a designated box of supplies makes me furious.

"Hey," Maxon says softly, not moving very much. "I'll be fine. Let's go back to-"

We hear the shouting at the same time. Maxon turns and starts walking, and I follow, trying to make sense of the sound. Is someone fighting? As we get closer to the intersection of the main hallway and the doors to the gardens, we see guards come flooding toward the area.

"Sound the alarm!" someone calls. "They're through the gates!"

"Guns at the ready!" another guard yells over the shouts.

"Alert the king!"

And then, like bees intent on landing, small quick, things buzz into the hall. A guard is struck and falls back, his head hitting the marble with a disturbing crack. The blood pouring from his chest makes me scream.

Maxon instinctively pulls me away, but not quickly. I follow, so he doesn't hurt himself.

"Your Highness!" a guard calls, racing over to us. "You have to get downstairs now!"

He gruffly turns Maxon around and shoves him away. Maxon cries out and drops the metal box again. I rush over to help him up and pick up the box by the handle on the guard moves us away, and we move as fast as Maxon can.

"I won't make it," Maxon says

I look over at him and see that he is sweating. This is never going to happen again.

"Yes, sir," the guard says grimly. "This way."

He pulls Maxon around a corner to what appears to be a dead end. I wonder if he is going to leave us there when he hits some invisible trigger on the wall and another one of the palace's mysterious doors opens. It is so dark inside, I can't see where it goes, but Maxon walks in, hunched over, without a second thought.

"Tell my mother that America and I are safe. Do that before anything else," he orders.

"Absolutely, sir. I'll come back for you myself when this is over."

The siren sounds. I hope that is fast enough to save everyone.

Maxon nods and the door closes, leaving us in complete darkness. The seal is so secure, I can't even make out the sound of the alarm. I hear Maxon's hands rubbing against the wall, and he eventually comes upon a switch that dimly lights the room.

"Shirt off," I say firmly once all the lights have buzzed on.

"Yes, ma'am," Maxon smiles weakly. He winces as he raises his arms to slip his suit jacket off, and I stop him half way, gently tugging it over his broad shoulders.

I bite my lip, stifling my words of pity when the jacket reveals his blood soaked shirt. Maxon gasps as I peel it from his back, and I can tell that trying to peel his undershirt off his wounds will be torturous.

"Maxon? Are there scissors in that box?"

Maxon only grunts in response, but moves his hand in the general direction of the box. I quickly open the clasp and retrieve a small pair of scissors. I look around the room, looking for some way to make Maxon more comfortable.

There are some shelves that hold a bunch of dark, plastic packages and a different shelf that holds a few thin blankets. In the middle of the tiny space is one wooden bench big enough to seat maybe four people, and in the opposite corner is a small sink and what looks like a very crude toilet. Hooks line one wall, but there is nothing on them; and the whole room smells like the metal that appears to make up the walls. I grab a few blankets from the shelves and find a washcloth.

"Okay." I take a deep breath. "I- is it better to do this while sitting or laying?"

"Doesn't matter." Maxon tenses as I pull his T-shirt off his back a little to start cutting it off him, but I stop.

"Here," I motion, pulling a chair towards the bench. "Lay on the bench and I'll sit next to you." While he gets situated, I go to the sink and wet the washcloth.

I sit next to him, just staring at his back for a moment. I want to be angry, I should be angry. But all I can feel is pain, and sadness for everything Maxon has gone through. We all thought he lived this charmed life; that he wanted for nothing and could do whatever he pleased. And all I've seen these last few months is that he bends over backwards trying to please everyone, to please his father, the person who should be the easiest to please, and he will never be able to.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper.

"What was that?" Maxon lifts his head from the bench and winces at the movement.

"Nothing," I shake my head. "Ready?"

He nods, and I slowly cut the shirt away from his back, leaving a rectangle still glued to his back with blood. I pull the sleeves down Maxon's arms so he's just laying on the front of his shirt.

"Tell me if you need to stop," I say nervously. "I've never done this before."

"It'll be fine, Ames," he says as he shuts his eyes and braces himself. "I'm used to it."

I gently pull the shirt off his wounds, wincing along with Maxon when it gets stuck on a particularly deep cut.

I toss the ruined fabric in the sink and get a good look at Maxon's back. A bleeding gash on his shoulder tears down to his waist and crosses over another one that is also dripping blood, which crosses over all his other scars. It looks like there are six fresh slashes piled on top of too many more to count.

I take the wet washcloth and dab at the long gouge in his shoulder, deciding that I'll work from the top down. He pulls away a bit but takes it all silently. When I move to the second gash, Maxon starts talking.

"I've been preparing for tonight for years, you know? I've been waiting for the day when I'd be strong enough to take him on."

Maxon is silent for a moment, but I'm curious. I clear my throat, stalling a bit.

"Why didn't you?"

"He'd want you instead," Maxon says simply. "I told you; I will never let that happen."

"And you don't think I feel that same way?" I'm finally angry, but I make sure to stay gentle as I clean further down his back. "You don't think I'd do anything to be the one on this bench, so that you don't have to be whipped by your own father?" I stop talking, because I know tears will come and that would not be helpful.

Maxon's hand drops to stroke my ankle, which is the only part of me he can comfortably reach.

"It's alright," he says softly. "I'm okay."

I wipe my eyes quickly and retrieve a bottle of a disinfectant solution, something that looks like it will help with the pain, and bandages.

"This might sting," I warn, preparing to dab the disinfectant. He nods, then hisses when I do.

"Damn, I always forget how bad this part is."

"Do you want me to wait?" I offer.

He shakes his head. "Just get it over with."

I move as quickly as I can, trying to talk to distract him. "How do you do this on your own?"

"I don't. Usually Doctor Ashlar helps. My father sent me to him after the first time, and I kept going. He isn't here tonight."

I move onto the pain relief, and it's clear that it works. The tension in his shoulders eases and I'm glad. It's my fault he's in this situation; the least I can do is make it better.

"Hey, stop it," Maxon says with a small smile.

"Sorry." I quickly move my hands from his back. "I thought it was helping."

"No, no, keep doing that," Maxon amends. "I could hear you blaming yourself from here."

"Am I wrong?" I counter, dabbing ointment on the last of his wounds. "If I hadn't said that- If I hadn't tried to keep it a secret, you would have stopped me, and you wouldn't-"

"You're right," he says solemnly. I start bandaging his back, but I'm surprised he agreed this easily. "I probably would have tried to convince you to pick something less controversial. But then your project wouldn't have been your idea, and it would have shown. I wouldn't be surprised if people like you more after this; it really is an interesting idea."

"You think so?"

"I do. It might even be a good first step to dissolving the castes all together."

My hands freeze over the last bandage. "You- what?"

"Come here." Maxon holds his hand out as I tape the last bandage down. I sit on the bench and lift his head onto my lap, winding my fingers into his hair. He wraps one arm behind me and grabs my hand with the other to start playing with my fingers. It doesn't look comfortable, but I don't suppose many things are for him at the moment.

"You're right about the castes," he says after a moment. "We need to get rid of them. I'm working on it, but I think your idea is a good place to start."

"Really?"

"Of course. People will start minging, and getting used to being around people of other castes. There will be push back- there always is. But it's a decent middle ground.

"I've been thinking about the actual removal of castes- it'll be slow, but if we absorb them into each other, it'll work."

"Absorb them into each other?" That doesn't make any sense.

"Yeah. Like, first, all the Eights will be named Sevens, and all Sevens can do the work of Sevens or Eights. Then once that's stabilized, everyone who is a Seven will become a Six, and so on."

"That's… not a bad idea," I say thoughtfully.

Maxon snorts, then winces. "Thank you?"

I smile and play with his hair some more. "It means a lot to me that you take my ideas seriously."

"America, I promise I will always take your ideas seriously. I won't promise to always agree with them, but I will always consider them."

I don't know what to say. I tangle my fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck.

"I love you," I say finally. "I never- I just love you."

"And I, you, my love," he says sweetly, kissing my hand. "Thank you."

I roll my eyes. "What was I supposed to do- let you bleed out on the floor?"

Maxon laughs delicately. "Not for that. Well, yes, for that. But for everything, more generally. For… for being everything I need and everything I never knew I wanted."

"I am pretty great."

Maxon laughs again, but I barely hear it. He must be so tired.

"Go to sleep, Maxon," I say with a smile. "I'll still be here in the morning. You can tell me how amazing I am later."

"I'll hold you to that," he yawns.

I lean my head back against the wall, and even though it's not the most comfortable I've ever been, I sleep deeply with Maxon at my side.

~PtG~

I wake to someone pounding on the door, Maxon frantically buttoning his shirt and swearing.

"My coat, America!" he begs. I hurry over to get it from the hook, helping him lift it over his shoulders.

"What do we do?" If this is the rebels…

"Nothing," Maxon says shortly. "If it's the rebels, they can't get in. It would be impossible. If it's us, then there's no problem. It's not like we're going to get in trouble for being together when the rebels stormed the palace."

I nod. Deep breaths. I sit on the bench and lower my head between my knees, but the door creaks open, and the light streaming in is so bright I have to block my eyes.

"Your Highness?" someone asks. "Oh, God! I've found him," he screams. "He's alive!"

There is a sudden flurry around us as guards and butlers storm to our location.

"Were you not able to get downstairs, Your Highness?" one of the guards asks. I look at his name. Markson. I'm not sure, but he seems to be one of the higher ups in the guard.

"No. An officer was supposed to tell my parents. I told him to go there first," Maxon explains, trying to straighten his hair. Only once does his face give away that the movement pains him.

"Which officer?"

Maxon sighs. "I didn't get his name." He looks to me for confirmation.

"Me either. But he was wearing a ring on his thumb. It was gray, like pewter of something."

Officer Markson nods. "That was Tanner. He didn't make it. We lost about twenty-five of the guards and a dozen staff."

"What?" I cover my mouth.

Aspen.

I pray he is safe. I was so consumed last night, it didn't occur to me to worry.

"What about my parents? The other Elite?"

"All fine, sir. Your mother has been hysterical, though."

"Is she out yet?" We start moving, Maxon leading the way.

"Everyone is. We missed a few of the small safe rooms and were doing a second sweep, hoping to find you and Lady America."

"Oh, God," Maxon says. "We'll go to her first." But then he stops dead in his tracks.

I follow his eyes and see the destruction. That same line, the one from last time, is scrawled across the wall.

WE'RE COMING

Over and over, by any means they could find, the warning covers the halls. Beyond that, the level of destruction is elevated yet again. I've never seen what the rebels manage to do to the first floor, only to the hallways near my room. Huge stains in the carpet announce where someone, perhaps a helpless maid or fearless guard, died. Windows shattered, leaving jagged teeth of glass in their place.

Lights are broken, some flickering as they refuse to give up. Terrifyingly, there are massive gouges in the walls; and it makes me wonder if they had seen people going into the safe rooms, if they were hunting. How close were Maxon and I to death last night?

"Miss?" a guard says, bringing me back to the moment. "We've taken the liberty of contacting all the families. It appears the attack on Lady Natalie's family was a direct attempt to end the Selection. They're targeting your relatives to get you to leave."

"What?" I gape at Maxon, who frowns as he nods.

"That's what my mother was telling the other Elite last night. I meant to tell you, but I forgot. I'm sorry."

I know he means it, but he is singularly focused on finding his mother. I wonder if she knows about how her husband treats her son. She can't know. Maxon wouldn't tell her. And I doubt the King would.

We turn down the hallway, towards the stairway to the third floor, and I turn to go to my room.

"What are you doing?" Maxon asks, eyes wild.

"Going to my room?" I say, suddenly unsure of my place.

"Stay with me," he says calmly, but I know it's a facade. He holds out a hand to me, and I gently take it. He kisses my knuckles and offers an elbow

"Of course," I assure him. I fall into step beside him, holding tight to his arm. As much for his reassurance as mine.

"The queen is in her room, yes?" Maxon asks the guard.

"Yes, sir." he answers. "The king is with her."

Maxon pales ever so slightly, and I fight to keep my anger from my face.

"Of course," he murmurs. "Very well. Thank you, officer," Maxon commands, a clear dismissal. "We'll be fine from here."

"Your Highness," he bows, trotting off with the other guards.

I wait until we are well out of earshot before asking, "Will you be alright?"

He nods, but it is far from convincing. "The hardest part will be that he'll know that you know… that could be dangerous. It will be odd for Mother to be the only one in the room who doesn't know, but it's better than her knowing."

"Is it?" I ask, genuinely curious. "If she knew-"

"No," he says sharply. "America, you can never tell her. Ever."

"I won't," I vow.

"Will you be alright?"

"It's going to take everything in me to avoid throttling him with my bare hands," I say frankly. "But I'll be fine."

Maxon laughs at me. "What a sight that would be," he says, kissing my temple as we ascend the stairs leading to the Schreave's private floor. He stops walking and turns me to look at him. He brushes a strand of my hair away from my forehead. "I love you." he whispers, ducking down to kiss me quickly.

I smile beatifically. "Who wouldn't?"

Maxon laughs again and keeps walking. We go in silence, more and which grows more uneasy as we get closer to the queen's rooms. It doesn't seem like the rebels made it up to this floor; there doesn't seem to be much damage, and there aren't any bloodstains on the carpets. I catch notice of the corridor that would lead to Maxon's rooms, and down to the first floor rooms as well.

"There are the king's rooms," Mason says, gesturing to the door directly across from us, "and these are the queen's." He raps on the door, and I can hear a quiet moan from behind the door.

It flies open. revealings the king's raging face. I immediately fall into a curtsy and Maxon into a bow, but King Clarkson yanks Maxon into the room and shuts the door before I can follow.

Maxon blocks it with his heel.

Then, he nearly bowls over into me as Queen Amberly falls onto his chest, tears still wet on her cheeks.

I catch Maxon with a hand on his shoulder, where I know there are no wounds. Though he still winces at the touch. I glance up at the king's face, and his beady eyes do not overlook the intentional placement of my hand, nor my careful watch of Queen Amberly as she clings to her son.

I do not flinch from his gaze, which only makes him angrier.

Once Maxon has gotten his balance back, I take my hand away and simply stand at his side as he wraps his arms around her making sure to keep her arms pinned close to his chest. After a few more seconds, Queen Amberly composes herself and stands back, coming to embrace me softly. After I recover from shock, I return the hug, glancing up at Maxon to see him smiling at us, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"I'm so glad you're alright," the queen whispers in my ear as she steps back to King Clarkson's side.

"Come inside," the king says firmly, gesturing reluctantly to me. Maxon guides me to a group of soft chairs with a hand on my back. The room is larger than the princess' room. The walls are painted a royal blue, a neat arrangement of photographs on one wall. There is a set of doors on one wall, though I don't know what they lead to. I wait for Queen Amberly to sit, then Maxon and the king take their seats as soon as my body touches my own.

"So?" the king asks cooly, setting his hand on his wife's knee."Where were you?"

I look to Maxon, unsure of what our explanation is.

He tells the story, changing few details. Instead contemplating the king's physical abuse of his son, I was feeling restless after the Report. Maxon was considering all our projects.

"Obviously, I'm not worried about who to eliminate," he says, "but I think Kriss and Elise's ideas have merit. I may want to consider implementing them, even though they won't be queen." Queen Amberly smiles wanly. "Poor Lady Natalie."

"Are either of you injured?" the king interjects.

"No, sir," Maxon answers before I can gouge my nails into his eyes.

"Good. Lady America, you must want to freshen up. Please, don't let us keep you from it." A clear dismissal. I stand and look to Maxon as he and the king stand with me.

"Go, love," he says. "I'll see you soon."

I nod and squeeze his hand, curtseying on my way out. I make my way back to my room in a daze. Everytime I think I've made my way to being comfortable with the idea of becoming a Schreave, something happens, like I see the rooms of the Queen of Illéa and realize that they will be mine within the next few years.

There's more damage on the second floor. Threats carved into walls, tapestries torn from the walls. There are fewer bloodstains than there were on the first floor, but there are a few.

When I finally reach the corridor where my room is, I feel the aches and exhaustion set in. I realize that I have no idea what time it is; the curtains in the queen's room were drawn shut and I haven't passed any other windows. All I want is to put on something soft, fall into bed, and sleep for three days.

Those hopes are quickly dashed however, when I open my door to see Anne, Mary, and Lucy all waiting for me.

"Oh, miss!" Mary exclaims rushing over to clasp my hands in hers. "We were so worried!"

"Are you hurt?" Lucy asks,her eyes roaming across my body, looking for anything that she might be able to fix.

"Girls, girls," Anne says briskly, brushing them away from me. "What can we do to help?" she asks.

I shake my head. "I just want to clean up and sleep for a month," I admit.

"You've definitely earned it," Lucy says. "Your presentation was wonderful."

"Thank you." I blush.

"Mary, go draw a bath for Lady America," Anne orders. "Lucy, find some fresh night clothes."

As Mary and Lucy move to obey, Anne guides me to the seat in front of the vanity and starts brushing out my hair. The smooth, rhythmic strokes lull me into a trance as Anne speaks softly about a new fabric she's found for me that she can't wait to make into a dress. The trance remains when my bath is ready, and even when the water starts to go cold and they have to pull me out. I barely feel the nightgown slip over my head, or the gentle pull on my hair as Mary weaves it into a braid.

They tuck me into bed and I'm asleep as soon as my body realizes that it is horizontal.