A/N:

I've had a couple requests to slow down the story. (Guest, and .books). I think we're at the meat now, and I can. We'll stay at this spot for awhile, but I can't promise no more skips. :)

The Selection Fangirl and MyWorld MyWords, thank you so much. That little bit of positive feedback motivated me to write this chapter. Hopefully, you continue to enjoy it.

And, speaking of, to those of you that repeatedly review-totally makes my day. XOXO to you!

Athenachild101: Okay, here you go! I know the skips could make figuring the ages hard to follow. So, a description of the growing Schreave brood...

Calix is 8.5 at this point in the story. He looks like Maxon's mini-me, except for his eyes. His eyes look like America's father. He loves his brothers and sister. While he is the first to defend them, he is also first to tease. He is confident and intelligent, a necessary trait of the Crown Prince of Illea. He has a stubborn streak knows exactly how far he can push his mother and father. He has a knack for languages. Nickname? Cal

Abrielle is 4.5. She is the only girl, and has all the boys in the family wrapped around her finger. She definitely favors the Schreave side of the family, but has strawberry blonde hair with a curl to it and blue eyes. She's sweet and bubbly like May, but hides a razor sharp intelligence unless it proves a benefit. She is girly—and loves being fussed over. Her favorite color is green and wants to copy everything Aunt May does. She is already quite the artist. Nickname? Brie

Barrett is a little over 1. He is the most laid back of his siblings. He will sit and watch the activity without having to participate, agreeable to most things but preferring story time. (The ultimate time for observation and making connections.) Even at 1, he has a deep belly laugh. He is the only red head, and the family thinks he favors Gerad. His eyes are blue, like America's. He will sleep anywhere at any time, like a puppy falling asleep wherever he drops. He isn't truly speaking yet, because Calix and Abrielle can be counted on to give him whatever he needs. And he doesn't need much to be content. He thinks Calix hung the moon. He doesn't have a true nickname, but is alternately called Baer by the family.

Griffin is a little over 1. He looks like Maxon and Calix. If Maxon and America wanted to, they wouldn't have to take pictures of Griffin, because they could take old photos of Calix and say, "Like this one." Unlike Barrett, he doesn't sit and watch. He needs to be right in the middle of the activity, and will shriek for attention. He is intent when he tries to solve problems, and shows remarkable coordination for one so small. One work to describe him: determined. He follows Calix around whenever possible, and tries to imitate him. His first clear word? Cal.

Onward and upward... SJ

My steely resolve from earlier in the morning is waning. The lack of sleep is starting to wear on me. In a twist of routine, Marlee and I will work in the Queen's study today by Maxon's request. I typically use a desk in the common room, and only take formal meetings in my study. That way, I can be close to the children. Marlee often brings her youngest boy Everett with her. He is just a year older than Abrielle, and they have a love-hate friendship for the ages. However, with the recent turn of events, I need to be more accessible to Maxon and Aspen. Though no one but family knew that Aspen and I had once dated, constant visits of the Commander of Special Forces would be seen as odd in our family rooms. I would either be accused of another affair, or the loyalists would discover that we know of their existence.

I pinch the bridge of my nose-a habit I began due to my pregnancy with Cal-and check the clock on the mantel. It is 9:30 AM and Cal has joined the other palace children for lessons in the school room. Knowing that everyone in May's apartment is trained to defend us-both with weapons and hand-to-hand-I had no qualms about sending Carter to walk him. Cal, however, was horrified. "Mama," he exclaimed. "What did I do wrong?" He thought he was being punished. I pulled both into the room, and shut the door. And, with my heart breaking, I explained to my little boy that we had several reports of civil unrest. Then, I solemnly reminded that he could not speak of this to anyone except for Mama and Daddy, and only in the family rooms. I tried not to hate all the former twos. Lumping everyone together into a caste goes against everything I believe in. But, now with my family at risk, it was hard to avoid. And then my eight year old realized last night's disturbance and his new escort are connected. As I try to hold myself together, Carter and Cal concocted a plan where it didn't look like Cal was in trouble or danger but under escort just the same. So like his father.

I hear giggling from the nursery. May and Brie and the little boys are playing a game of some sort. We'll have to find time to brief May today. I breathe heavily-in and out. The count slowly back from five. Marlee enters, Everett in tow, as I reach one.

"Good Morning, America!" Her bright smile greets me and it is too much.

I will stay composed. "Good Morning, Lady Marlee." I direct my attention to the little boy. So many children depending on us... "Morning, Everett. Brie and the boys are in the nursery. I think Aunt May is planning a picnic in the garden today. Why don't you run and join them?" He hugs Marlee around the knees and complies.

As soon as the door to the nursery closes, the mask I wear on my face begins to crack. I thought I had cried all the tears I was going to cry. "Oh, Marlee!" I collapse against her shoulder.

The confusion across her face is plain, but she leads me to the couch and pats my hand until the emotion that floods me ebbs. "America, what is wrong?"

"So much, Marlee. So much," I whisper as I take the offered tissues and dab at my face. I take another deep breath. "Give me a minute to straighten myself up, but we will be working in my study today. I will explain, I promise. But not here. Would you please grab the most urgent project files? I would call a runner, but I don't want to draw attention."

She nods, furrows between her brow. "Of course." As she sets to work, I return to my room to freshen up. A queen must always display a calm demeanor, regardless of the circumstances. Even if her world is falling apart.

Without the cameras following me around the palace, and Lucy's retirement, Mary was my only dedicated maid. She picked others to help her for state events and when important delegations visited. But many days, I readied myself, depending on her for flexibility and discretion, and preferring to have fewer invasions of privacy as my not-so-little family grows.

I look in the mirror as I reapply my make up. A woman's face looks back at me, bright blue eyes, softened by fine laugh lines. Hair in a neat knot, still as fiery as ever. She looks a little woebegone. Maxon pledged that loyalist threat would not damage his family connections. I cannot lose myself in fear, either. I take another deep breath, and the woman staring back reflects a quiet confidence. There. I smooth a tailored blue blazer over my cream-colored day dress, and turn from the room.