Disclaimer: The Hunger Games isn't mine.

Note: Thank you to SomeDays, Greybeard mmmmmm3, bobothebear, AmericanPi, and wazowskis for Annemae, Darian, Etora, Leo, and Margo, respectively.

District Two
Hope

Toshiro Koyama, 25
Victor of the 43rd Hunger Games

He hoped this year would live up to the hype.

Tosh drummed his fingers on the arm of his seat, waiting for the others to arrive. The square was slowly starting to fill with people – some nervous or anxious, but most excited. Even with five tributes this year, the younger teens knew their odds were low. And the older ones were prepared. Or, at least, most of them were prepared. Some of them. Enough of them. Enough to give their district a good chance.

Five good chances, actually. Five out of thirty-five. One seventh of the tributes in the arena would be from District Two. All things being equal, that was a fourteen percent chance that someone from District Two would be coming home. Compared to their usual two tributes, that was impressive.

And, of course, all things weren't equal. Even without volunteers, there was still a greater chance that a tribute from District Two would have some level of training, some preparation for what they might face in the arena. And perhaps just as importantly, their district's reputation for loyalty would help any tribute from Two – training or no – as long as they didn't do anything to directly undermine the assumption that they supported the Capitol.

And that reputation was something the Victors were doing everything they could to project – especially this year. There had even been rumors that Balthasar had finally talked Vester into mentoring one last time. Whether that would be directly helpful for their tributes, Tosh wasn't sure. But it would almost certainly give them a boost with the Capitol audience. Despite Vester's open criticism of the Career system, even he knew better than to appear hostile towards the Capitol itself.

And no one in the Capitol would question his loyalty. Even after forty-nine years, no one would forget the tribute who had promised a slow and painful death to any rebels in the arena, and who'd had no qualms about delivering on that promise. No matter how hard Vester might try to erase that image, that was all the Capitol audience would see. Because that was all those in charge of the Games would let them see.

Tosh grinned as the other Victors slowly began to arrive, each one greeted by thunderous applause despite the tension in the crowd. Harriet and Mortimer arrived together, smiling and waving at the audience. Even they looked a bit more tense, however. Usually they would already know exactly who their tributes would be. They would have chosen their tributes together, weeks before the reaping. They would have an extensive list of back-up choices prepared. They would have decided who would be mentoring whom, and maybe even consulted with their counterparts in One or Five to begin discussing strategies.

None of that applied this year. Everything was different. But the two of them were doing their best to hide it. And Balthasar even seemed to be enjoying it, grinning broadly as he took the stage, high-fiving the other Victors. Tosh nodded a little as he returned the gesture. Maybe Balthasar's enthusiasm was a little over-the-top, but it was a good balance for what was certainly coming.

Sure enough, Ariadne arrived with considerably less excitement. The crowd still cheered, and she still smiled, but there was something almost formulaic about it. To her, this was just another reaping to get through. She had offered to mentor if it was necessary, but if Balthasar had, in fact, convinced Vester…

As usual, Vester was the last to arrive, with Talitha at his side. District Two's pair of pre-Career Victors always looked a little out of place onstage with the others, but that didn't seem to matter to the crowd – at least not this year. They practically roared with excitement – the sort of excitement that, whether he liked it or not, only the Victor of the First Hunger Games could inspire. Vester shook his head in disapproval before grudgingly taking a seat next to Talitha. "Let's get this over with."

Tosh glanced over at Balthasar. Did that mean that he had agreed, and that he wanted to get the Games over with? Or did it mean that he wanted to get the reaping over with so that he could go back to … whatever it was he usually did after the reapings were through? Balthasar shrugged. Maybe he hadn't even gotten a clear answer. Maybe he'd been hoping that if he spread the word that Vester was going to be joining them, he might be able to talk him into actually doing it.

District Two's escort, Carenza Lesage, certainly seemed to hope that was the case. She was beaming as she took the stage, flashing a smile in Vester's direction as she called, "Thank you soooooo much for joining us!" Vester couldn't hide a cringe of distaste, but she flatly ignored it as she turned towards the crowd. "Welcome to the reaping for the Second Quarter Quell!"

Sure enough, the audience burst into applause once more as Carenza approached the single reaping bowl at the center of the stage. "I'm so excited!" she crooned. "All these names – and whoever's lucky enough to be picked actually gets to go this year." She giggled as she plunged her hand into the bowl. "And our first lucky tributes is … Darian Travers!"

The crowd quieted a little as the fourteen-year-old section parted around a boy in a red suit and black dress pants. He was tall for his age and muscular, with medium brown skin and slicked-back black hair. He nodded a little as he stepped into the aisle, a couple friends offering pats on the back. Tosh nodded. He was young, but old enough to realize that making a fuss wouldn't do him any good.

In fact, as he neared the stage, a smile found its way to the boy's face, his dark brown eyes studying each of the Victors in turn. Balthasar broke into a smile as the boy locked eyes with him. "This one's mine."

Mortimer raised an eyebrow. "You don't want to wait and see—"

Balthasar shook his head. "Nope. Mine. As long as that's all right with you, kid."

Darian hesitated a moment, clearly a bit flustered, before nodding. "Fine with me."

Carenza giggled. "Well, well, then. One down, four to go. Let's see who we've got next." She swirled the papers around a little before plucking another and unfolding it. "Annemae Carty!"

This time, it was the eighteen-year-old section that parted around a girl in a light blue dress and white stockings. She was a little shorter than Darian, with shoulder-length platinum blonde hair, pale skin, and icy blue eyes. "Great," she muttered, barely loud enough for the microphones to pick up her voice as she stepped into the aisle, running her hand through her hair before making her way to the stage.

As she neared the stage, however, something caught her eye. Someone in the crowd, maybe. She clenched her fists tightly and made her way quickly up the stairs, glancing around at the Victors. Maybe she was hoping that someone would volunteer immediately to be her mentor, as Balthasar had. No one spoke up, but Harriet nodded slightly towards the crowd, a silent reminder that, right now, the audience was more important. There would be plenty of time to figure out mentors later.

Carenza, too, quickly refocused, reaching deep into the reaping bowl for the next slip of paper. "Etora Nanovi!"

There were a few mutters as the twelve-year-old section parted around a girl in a red knee-length dress and black flats. She was shorter than the other two and lean, with dark skin and curly, shoulder-length brown hair. A smirk found its way to her face as she made her way towards the stage, her gold bracelet and hoop earrings bouncing a little as she bounded up the stairs.

Still smiling, she offered her hand first to Annemae, who hesitated a moment before shaking it, and then to Darian, who not only shook her hand but clapped her on the shoulder, as well. Etora returned the gesture, but then stepped away crisply, glancing up at Carenza. Waiting to see who the next tribute might be.

"Margo Devereaux!"

The eighteen-year-old section parted again, this time around a petite girl in a pink silk dress with cap sleeves and a plunging neckline. Her high heels added a few inches to her height, but she was still only a little taller than Etora. Her chestnut brown hair reached just past her chin, and her skin was pale and soft.

For a moment, she didn't move. Her green eyes darted back and forth, finally coming to rest on a man in the crowd. Maybe her brother; he certainly wasn't old enough to be her father. He was crying silently, and, for a moment, the girl looked like she might break down crying right along with him. But, slowly, she started to make her way to the stage, keeping her tears in check.

Carenza quickly picked up the slack. "Well, hello, dear. That makes two eighteen-year-olds. My, my, my, we must be quite lucky this year. But we've still got one more. Let's hear it for … Leonardo Choi!"

The eighteen-year-old section parted one last time, this time around a small, slight boy in a white collared shirt, black dress pants, and a black tie. He had olive skin, black hair, and dark brown eyes that were quickly filling with tears. He was shaking like a leaf, but made no move towards the stage, even as the Peacekeepers started to stir at the edge of the crowd.

Tosh shifted a little in his seat. He was sure Mortimer had asked the Peacekeepers not to step in unless it was necessary. Having to drag a tribute to the stage was a bad image for any Career district. But if the boy wasn't going to make it up on his own…

Just as Tosh was considering signaling to them, however, Vester rose slowly from his seat and made his way down the stairs. A raised hand was enough to keep the Peacekeepers from moving in, and he quickly approached the boy, who was still shaking as Vester put an arm around his shoulders. Slowly, the pair of them made their way towards the stage, Vester whispering something too quietly for the microphones to pick up. The boy nodded a little as they climbed the stairs, and wiped his tears away before turning to his district partners and offering his hand.

While the tributes continued to shake hands, Talitha laid a hand on Vester's arm. "If you want, I can—"

Vester shook his head, cutting her off. "No. I'll take Leo." He turned to Mortimer. "I hope you're happy."

Mortimer shrugged, unusually calm. "Perfectly. Tosh?"

"Yes?"

"Three left – take your pick."

Tosh studied the girls quietly for a moment, and, one by one, they all turned to look at him. But it was the youngest who had caught on the quickest – who had been aware enough to realize what was going on. That was all he needed. "I'll take Etora."

Mortimer barely raised an eyebrow. "Harriet?"

Harriet didn't miss a beat. "I'll take Margo."

Mortimer turned to Annemae. "I guess that leaves me with you. I'll see you all on the train." And, without another word, he turned and left.

Tosh shook his head as the tributes were herded off towards the Justice Building. "What was that all about?" he asked Harriet. "I don't think I've ever seen Mortimer this ... relaxed."

Harriet shrugged. "Don't mind him. He's been in a bad mood ever since the Quell was announced. He'll come around eventually."

Vester shook his head as they headed for the train. "I wouldn't count on it."

Balthasar raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Remember what happened the last time we had an untrained tribute in the Games?"

Balthasar shrugged. "Sure. Eight years ago. I finally got to mentor."

"Because he refused," Vester finished. "Didn't want to mentor anyone he hadn't personally trained and selected. He knows he can't outright refuse this year – not with this number of tributes, and certainly not without drawing unwanted attention for refusing to mentor during a Quarter Quell. But I wouldn't count on him being as … invested as usual."

"And you?" Tosh asked.

Vester smiled a little. "What about me?"

Tosh shrugged. "Mortimer sees this Quell as an example of why we need the Career system. He's convinced they're all going to die, so there's no reason for him to care. But you … you've opposed the Career system for years. If we manage to bring a tribute home this year, of all years, you have your proof that we don't need the Career system in order to win."

Vester couldn't help a chuckle. "Is that what you think?"

"It makes sense."

"A victory this year won't halt the Career system. It's too late for that. And while it would be refreshing to have another Victor who's not a trained killer … no, that's not why I'm here."

"Then why?"

Vester shook his head. "These tributes, Tosh – even the older ones, even the Careers, even the ones who have convinced themselves that this is what they want – in the end, they're still so young. They're still children, really. Some day, I hope, you'll be as old as I am. And when you're that old, when you've seen as much as I have … you can't just stand there and watch children cry."

Tosh nodded a little. "That's why you helped him. Leo."

"Yes."

"And Avery," Balthasar added. "That's why you came to the Capitol eight years ago during the Games. That's it? You just couldn't help yourself?"

"I don't expect you to understand," Vester shrugged. "But when you've done what I have – when you're even partly responsible for the horrors of the Games – and you have a chance to do something that's good, something that's truly, honestly, irrevocably good … it's hard to resist."

Tosh shook his head as they boarded the train. Vester was too hard on himself, but maybe that was to be expected. Maybe the Games had been that bad once. But that was why they had Careers in the first place. Mortimer was a bit of a grump sometimes, but he was right. Training volunteers was much better than sending tributes into the Games unprepared. It wasn't perfect, and it didn't guarantee victory, but it was better than doing nothing.

Anything was better than doing nothing.

Etora Nanovi, 12

She hoped they couldn't tell how nervous she was.

Etora clenched her fists tightly as her parents, brothers, and sister finally left. None of them had said it out loud, but she could practically feel the disappointment coursing through the room. Not disappointment that their little girl had been reaped – not really. Disappointment that, even though she'd been training for years, she probably wouldn't be coming home.

Etora glanced down at the locket in her hands. A locket that bore the Nanovi family crest. Her mother had given it to her without saying a word, but, in her mother's eyes, she had already failed to live up to that name. Her parents, high-ranking business partners in District Two's largest mining operation, had always seen her training as a waste of time. Why risk her life for something that could be gained through intelligent maneuvering, trading favors, and cutthroat deals? The Games were useful because they brought attention and profit to District Two, but nothing else.

They didn't understand. They had never understood. Training had given her something they never had – something they never could. Her trainers recognized her talent. The other students respected her. At the academy, she was one of the best – something she had never been at home.

Or, at least, she was one of the best for her age, Etora reminded herself, turning the locket over in her hands. But she wasn't going into the arena with other people her age. District Two alone was sending three eighteen-year-olds. And while she didn't recognize any of the older ones from the academy, they might still have an edge when it came to sheer physical strength simply because of their size.

And Darian … She'd seen him at the academy a few times recently. But she'd also heard rumors. Rumors that he'd killed a fellow trainee over a minor disagreement. Rumors that the instructors were considering banning him from the academy.

All of that, of course was rather moot now. If he was already a killer, so what? Everyone in the Games was eventually a killer if they wanted to survive. And banning him from the academy would do nothing now. Still, maybe that was why Balthasar had…

Cut it out. Balthasar's opinion didn't matter. Tosh had picked her. Maybe he wasn't one of the most experienced mentors, but at least he helped out at the academy occasionally. Maybe he'd seen her there. Maybe he'd been impressed.

Or maybe he'd simply felt sorry for her.

Etora shook her head. Pity wouldn't do her any good. Pity didn't win the Games. It sometimes kept tributes alive through sponsor gifts or compassionate allies, but, eventually, those things ran their course. The only thing that really lasted – that really helped – was a tribute's own attitude. What they were willing to do to survive.

No. No, that wasn't the only thing. She was willing to do whatever it took, but the Games weren't always a question of what tributes were willing to do. Sometimes it came down to what they were able to do. What they were prepared to do. She'd hoped to volunteer in five or six years. When she would be older, stronger, more prepared. This was exactly what she wanted – but not when she wanted it. She had years of training, but would that really be enough?

She would just have to hope the answer was yes.

Annemae Carty, 18

She hoped Tyson wouldn't come.

Mae took a deep breath as she paced the floor of the small room. Her parents had already come and gone, as had her older brother. She wasn't expecting anyone else. In fact, she was hoping no one else would come. Hoping for a little time alone with her thoughts before…

Before she had to get on a train to the Capitol. To the Games. There was nothing that could stop that, of course, but if she could have a little peace beforehand, a little time to think, then maybe that would help. Besides, she couldn't think of anyone else who might show up to say goodbye.

Anyone except Tyson.

Mae shook her head. He probably wouldn't come. He'd left her almost five months ago for one of the 'hot Career girls' he was always going on about. If he came to see her now, it would only be to rub it in. To remind her how horrible she'd always been when she'd practiced with him. To point out how she'd been all of the mentors' last choice.

Mae smirked. If he tried, she would make sure it was worse for him. After all, he was eighteen, too. This had been his last chance. And there had been rumors – rumors she'd never quite believed – that he would have been Mortimer's choice for the Games this year. Now he would never have the chance.

And she would. Not a chance she had ever wanted. When she'd practiced with Tyson, they had simply been having fun together. She'd never really been as serious as he had. Never really wanted to volunteer. It had only been something fun to do with her boyfriend.

Back when they'd actually had fun.

When the door opened again, however, it wasn't Tyson. It was Ethel, her boss from the clothing store. Mae breathed a sigh of relief as the older woman took a seat and patted the chair beside her. She hadn't been expecting Ethel to come, but there were worse possibilities. Mae took a seat beside her, and, for a moment, neither of them spoke. "Guess I'll have to find myself a new helper," Ethel muttered after a little while.

Mae looked away. Great. Even Ethel didn't think she had a chance, and was already resigned to the fact that she wouldn't be coming back. But then the Ethel continued. "It's not as if a Victor would really want to come around after school to help an old woman with her shop."

A Victor? A smile finally crept across Mae's face. "You really think…?"

Ethel patted her arm gently. "You deserve it, kiddo." With that, she got up slowly and made her way to the door. "Make us proud."

Mae nodded a little as the door closed once more. Maybe she did deserve it. But she was one of thirty-five tributes. Who was she to say that the others deserved it any less? And even if she did deserve to win, the Games didn't always go to the tribute who deserved it the most.

But they didn't always go to the obvious choice, either. It wasn't always the strongest or fastest or most prepared tribute who won. She was none of those things. But maybe that didn't matter. Maybe the only thing that mattered, in the end, was how hard she was willing to work for it.

She just hoped that would be enough.

Leonardo Choi, 18

He hoped they would find a way to manage without him.

Leo brushed the tears from his eyes as he held his girlfriend Light and his best friend Electra tightly. Off to the side, Dove watched silently as the three of them said goodbye. Leo swallowed hard. After two years of training to be a nurse and years of volunteering at the hospital before that, maybe he should be used to goodbyes.

But he'd never thought he would have to say his own goodbye quite so soon.

Leo closed his eyes. This was supposed to be his last year. His last reaping – usually a mere formality in District Two. Maybe the Career system was awful, but it did keep people like him safe. People who didn't want to fight. People who didn't want to kill.

People who didn't stand a chance in the Games.

"Be careful," Light offered quietly. As if that would really be much help in the arena. As if being careful enough would save his life. She meant well – she always did – but they all knew the truth, even if none of them were willing to say it yet. He wouldn't be coming home.

"I will," he promised. He didn't want to say it any more than she did. Didn't want to be the one to remind them all that winning the Games meant killing – something he had sworn never to do. Do no harm. But how was he supposed to do that in the arena? The Games brought nothing but harm.

Finally, Light and Electra left, still crying, leaving only Dove, who silently held out something in her hand. Leo smiled when he saw it – his nametag from the hospital. A reminder of the life he was leaving behind … or maybe the life he would be taking with him into the arena. "Are you all right?" Dove asked softly as he pinned the nametag on his shirt.

Leo nodded a little. "I … I think so. As much as I can be. I just wish…" He trailed off, not really knowing how to finish the sentence. I just wish they'd picked someone else? But how could he wish something like this on another person? Someone who might have even more of their life left than he did? One of his district partners was twelve. Only twelve years old. Leo shook his head. "I just wish the Games didn't exist."

A stupid wish. A futile wish – especially in District Two, where his peers seemed to eat, sleep, and breathe the Games. His family had been excited – jealous, even – to see him going into the arena. Only his friends from the hospital really understood. And even Dove took a step closer, laying a finger over her lips. "Enough of that sort of talk – unless you want to get in real trouble. It's fine to be afraid – you'll have plenty of company there, I imagine – but nothing against the Games or the Capitol, you hear?"

Leo nodded. She was right. Speaking out against the Games wouldn't just mean trouble for him; it could hurt his family and friends. District Two had been spared any retribution after the fiasco of the 41st Games, but he'd still seen the effects on other districts. He knew better than to speak out.

No, whatever he was going to do, he would have to do it quietly. Maybe a silent refusal to play the Games on the Capitol's terms would mean even more, in the end, than an outright revolt. He certainly hoped so. Hoped there was something he could do that would give his time in the arena some sort of meaning. Something that would give his death some sort of purpose.

His death. It was good, almost, to finally allow himself to finish the thought. He was going to die. But he didn't have to die pointlessly. And he didn't have to die on the Capitol's terms.

He just hoped he could find a better option.

Margo Devereaux, 18

She hoped her sister would have some good advice.

Margo leaned forward in her chair as her mother and older brother Jaden left, leaving her alone with her twin sister Amber. Amber nodded a little, as if already recognizing what Margo wanted to say. They both wished it could have been her, instead. Amber was the one who had wanted this. The one who had trained for this. The one who, thanks to the Quell twist, would never have a chance.

A chance Margo had never wanted. The idea of risking her life in the Games had never been an appealing one. Why fight and kill for prestige and power that could be earned through other venues with much less risk? But she was the one going into the Games now – not her sister. So as much as she hated to admit it, she needed all the advice she could get. "Any helpful hints?" Margo asked sweetly.

Amber chuckled a little. They both knew exactly how far a few minutes' worth of advice would get her in the Games. But it was better than nothing. "Listen to your mentor," Amber answered immediately. "She knows what she's doing, and I'm glad she chose you."

Margo scoffed. "Yeah, she chose me after the first three picked a twelve-year-old, a fourteen-year-old, and a crying boy who couldn't make it to the stage on his own. What does that say?"

"That the younger ones probably have some training," Amber offered. "Don't ignore them. We don't train with the younger trainees much, and I don't think I've seen the boy, but the younger girl looks familiar. Don't write them off – as threats or as allies. Not yet, at least."

"Even though she's twelve."

"Twelve-year-old won last year," Amber pointed out. "Physical strength isn't everything. Having both is good, of course, but, given the choice, go with technique over brute force every time. Harriet knows that, too. Listen to her."

Margo glared a little. "All right, already. I get it. Listen to my mentor. But there has to be more to it than that. I mean, she's been mentoring for … what? Eleven years?"

"Twelve."

"Whatever. And the only Victor we've had since then is Tosh."

Amber nodded. "You're right. It's not that simple. But there's only so much I can tell you in a few minutes. She'll be able to help you until you're actually in the arena. And then…"

"And then I'm on my own," Margo agreed.

"Not at first. Not if you find some allies. But you can't rely on them forever. That's the trouble with Careers sometimes. They get so used to working together as a group that they hesitate when the time comes to fend for themselves."

"I'm not a Career."

Amber nodded. "I know. And maybe that's a good thing. With this many untrained tributes, anyone with even a moderate amount of training – anyone who seems like they might be a threat – will have a target on their back from the very start. So don't try to fake it. Don't pretend to have skills you don't have. Just show them what you can really do, and you'll probably find some allies. But don't rely on them too much."

A knock on the door startled the pair out of their conversation. Amber wrapped her arms around Margo one last time before letting go. "Good luck."

Margo smirked as Amber closed the door. Good luck. Right. It was going to take a lot more than luck for her to make it back to District Two. It was going to take patience. Practice. Skill. Skill she didn't have – not yet, at least.

She just hoped she would have enough time to learn.

Darian Travers, 14

He hoped they could get along without him for a while.

Darian nodded a little as the door closed behind Trisha and Dominick. His father and older brother had come and gone, but it was his friends he was really worried about. His father probably wouldn't even notice he was gone, and his brother would manage just fine without him. But his friends … He'd always been there to protect them. To defend them. Willing to do anything – anything – he could to look out for them. Even…

Darian clenched his fists tightly. They would be fine. They weren't the ones who were going into the Games. They weren't the ones who would be facing thirty-four other tributes in a fight to the death. Maybe it was okay to worry about himself this time.

Before he could get settled in his chair, however, the door swung open one more time, and his mentor, Balthasar, poked his head in the door. "Got a moment?"

Darian raised an eyebrow. He wasn't expecting anyone else, but surely the two of them would have plenty of time to talk on the train. Maybe Balthasar wanted some privacy, some time away from the other tributes and mentors – especially since there were five of them this year. But he didn't seem like the sort who cared what others thought or said about him. "Sure," Darian agreed, nodding to the seat beside him.

But Balthasar didn't sit down. "Lots of rumors floating around about you."

Darian shrugged. "And you."

Balthasar chuckled. "Touche. But I'm not the one who's about to be fighting for his life. I can afford not to care what other people think. You, on the other hand…"

"You want me to tell them the rumors aren't true."

"I want you to tell them that they are. Even if they aren't. Even if they're embellished. The Capitol loves a good story – even if it's not completely true. Maybe especially if it's not completely true."

Darian shifted in his seat. He didn't mind telling people what had happened. Maybe it would even be good to get it out in the open. To admit that it wasn't an animal attack that had killed Voss. Clearly, not everybody had believed that story, anyway. Maybe it would be better to tell the truth.

But that wasn't what Balthasar was suggesting. "So what should I say?"

Balthasar shrugged. "Whatever you like. This kid you were fighting – how old was he?"

"I…" Darian hesitated. He wasn't entirely sure. He'd never bothered to find out. "A little older than me, maybe?"

Balthasar grinned a little. "Good. But details are important. Let's say sixteen. Still impressive, but not entirely out of reach. No one would believe you were dumb enough to challenge a full-fledged Career to a duel to the death."

"It wasn't a—" A look from Balthasar cut him off. "It wasn't supposed to be a duel to the death. Things got carried away, and—"

"And it became a duel to the death," Balthasar finished. "His death. Don't try to hide it, kid. Don't try to justify it. You don't have to. You're in the Games now. You don't have to justify anything. Not to the Capitol. Not to your friends. And certainly not to me. You're a killer. It's not something that can be learned – or taught. It's what you are. You don't have to hide it anymore."

Darian swallowed hard. Maybe Balthasar was right. He'd never wanted to be a killer. But it was what he was now. Maybe it was what he had always been. And it was certainly what he would have to be if he wanted to survive.

He just hoped his friends would understand that.

"Do you not hope your children shall be kings?"