A/N: So, I had 45 minutes of downtime today when I was waiting to pick someone up from the airport. So, it is short, but important and necessary to continue the arc. :) Let me know what you think, and happy reading! SJ

The Devil Wears Westwood: Thanks for reviewing! Maybe this chapter adds enough angst? :)

Princess Grace: Glad you enjoyed it. :)

Selection Fan: Awww, thanks so much. That's what I am going for...hopefully, it turns out. :)

sushi: Apparently, I can't be depended on not to write. ;) It is just such a great break! Thanks for your kind words. I am glad you are enjoying it-and I don't plan to leave y'all without a complete story. :)

Totalbooknerd13: Thanks! :)

The jolt from the touch down shakes me out of my dream, which is a relief. My dreams provide no solace right now. I pass my hand over my eyes and glance around the cabin. Again, everyone continues to doze except for Aspen, the on-duty guard, and me. Aspen whispers into his phone, likely giving orders to the ground crew and triple-checking the security detail.

Sota will not be as welcoming as Kent. Bariel was released early in the competition, before I got to know anything more about her than she and Celeste had a strange alliance. It was almost as if they had targeted each other as the one to beat, so they kept each other close. From my notes, I learned that Bariel married the Mayor of Sota who she met during a three-year stint in France. She has two children, nine and seven, both boys. And, she seems to occupy her time with traveling all over the world. Sota's larger concentration of past twos is also a concern.

A few hours later, we arrive at the town hall, a beautiful building that reflects the style of the palace in Angeles. Bariel waits on the front step to greet our entourage, flanked by what can only be her sons. They are tall and light-complected, with white blonde hair matching her own. Gabriel's remote camera personnel are rolling to capture our greeting. She curtsies properly as her sons bow, "A pleasure to have you visit our province, Queen America."

I return the smile, guarding my eyes from showing my wariness, "Thank you for having us, Lady Bariel. A pleasure to see you, again."

"My husband sends his regrets, as he had an urgent issue arise this morning that only he can attend to. I'm sure you understand."

I allow a polite, guarded laugh to escape my lips, "Indeed I do." We pose for the cameras alone, then with all the children. To everyone else, I am sure we look like old friends. I scan the crowd that gathers. Some are holding signs. Quite a few seem to be favoring the sign, "Rest in Peace, King Clarkson." Quite a sentiment. A smattering of on-lookers hold "Long live, King Maxon!" posters. Less than a handful share "Welcome, Queen America" banners. I smile and wave demurely at the crowd, then lead Abrielle into the building behind Bariel. The reception was chillier than I had warranted; I am sure the Honorable Mayor wants to make sure my name is not associated with his. I catch Aspen's eye—he is muttering into his ear piece and the nod he offers into return is almost imperceptible. His face is stony and his eyes look hard.

During the school tour, Abrielle chatters happily with Mary and is enamored with the art classroom. The teacher invites her to paint with the other children, which she readily accepts. Bariel's sons both decline, and step to the side. The younger one looks a little longingly at the easel, and the older one puts a hand, in what I perceive as a warning, on his shoulder. Their faces remain in politely composed. Bariel tilts her head toward mine and says conspiratorially, "It's good of you to allow her to fraternize with the class."

I raise an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

She sounds surprised as she continues, "Well, I prefer my children to be around our kind of people. Some of these children come from less refined homes." Disdain drips from her voice as she whispers the last few words. "That's why Devon and Michael are privately tutored in our home, along with a few other select students. We feel that removing them from that element while they are receiving their schooling is important."

"Oh, well Calix is schooled in conjunction with all the palace children. As we feel it is important for him to associate with and appreciate those who he will one day rule," I quietly control the rage I feel boiling through my blood, and maintain a look of calm.

Bariel sniffs, trying to find the insult within my statements. "You haven't changed a bit," she finally says, pointedly. "We should probably move along. We wouldn't want to keep these students from their learning." Her tone reveals that she could care less that the children were learning anything. She smiles broadly at the teacher. Mary helps Abrielle remove her smock and my little one thanks the teacher without prompting, and offers her the picture she created. The teacher curtsies back, and prompts the class in a "Good bye, Princess Abrielle. Thank you for visiting us."

The day marches on as Mary, Brie, and Georgia return to the plane with two of Aspen's guards and Marlee and I return to town hall with our security detail. We have meetings still to conduct, and then a large reception in my honor this evening.

Very late that afternoon, as Marlee and I prepare to change into our evening wear, I join Bariel in her office to thank her for her hospitality. I am feeling discouraged, as I am no closer to bringing Bariel or Sota onto our side. And, I have been kept so busy, I haven't had a chance to overhear anything. I would have nothing to share with Maxon in our nightly update. As I enter Bariel's office, I almost trip on a leather overnight bag waiting by her door. I laugh quietly at myself, and she raises an eyebrow, surprised that I am unembarrassed. Trying to make conversation, I nod to the bag, "Are you coming back from a trip or leaving on one?"

"I just returned from Bonita," she smiles thinly, obviously irritated and trying to hide it. This day has been as miserable for her as it has been for me, and she did not pretend otherwise. "And I am heading to France. We are lucky enough to have a vacation home there. With the pressures of this life, it is nice to have a place to go where we are anonymous."

I feel a pang of jealousy that she can be anonymous anywhere, "That does sound nice." I excuse myself to change when Marlee appears at the door, her face pinched.

Marlee is uncharacteristically quiet in the hallway, and holds her hands stiffly in front of her. She walks pointedly in the opposite direction of our ladies changing room, and shakes her head slightly as I begin to ask where we are heading. She slows near a door that adjoins what is probably the Mayor's office, and I hear a familiar voice. I stop short in surprise. Just as the door slams shut, I see him. Didasko.