A/N:

Thank you for continuing to read! Here's a longer chapter to make up for the wait. :) -SJ

The Devil Wears Westwood: Here's your update. :)

jthornestudent: Hope this chapter doesn't disappoint! Thanks for reading! :)

Selection Fan: Glad you're still enjoying it. I am, too! :)

Aspen seems more annoyed that we are running behind schedule than concerned when we appear at the air strip with an extra passenger. The grudge against Kota is my own, and I will have to put it to the side for now. "The Queen is always on time, Commander Leger. Everyone else is just early," I remind him. I can't help poking at him a little, because I am barely camouflaging my own irritation. With the attack in Bonita and my tour, I know our resources are stretched too thin to send Kota to Angeles alone, and I don't want to send him on a commercial plane.

As we settle in to our seats, I hear Abrielle chatting away to her long-lost uncle. Now she has another experience for Calix to be jealous of—meeting Kota first. I head to the back of the cabin to call Maxon, and Marlee follows me. We turn our backs to the others, and my air of formality dissipates quickly.

"Are you okay, America?"

"I will be," I sigh. "I did the right thing?" I needed confirmation that leaving Kota there is something a good sister wouldn't do, royal or not.

"If it is what you think you need to do." She continues, "Remember, I'm an only child, and I only have to look out for myself." She half-smiles when I do the same. "I know this is hard for you after how he behaved. I know you truly looked up to him and you have a right to be angry after the way he treated your family, especially your poor mom when your dad died. Maybe some good will come out of it?" We look back and see Brie giggling as Kota shares a story.

"Maybe so. I'm going to call Maxon," I nod back toward the cabin. Marlee takes the cue and turns toward her seat. "I'll see if Carter is available, too. So you won't have to wait until tonight, either." She flashes her bright smile over her shoulder as I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial.

Maxon's voice is clear as our call connects, so his exasperation shines through, "Hello?"

"What a reception for a phone call from your wife," I chide him quietly. My ire is up today, and I will have to contain it to keep from spawning an argument.

"Oh, hi, America. Sorry, love. I have been arguing with Daphne for the last hour and a half. I thought she had called back."

Teasing this time, I say, "Lover's quarrel?" And, I am rewarded with a small guffaw from the other end of the line.

Daphne's temper always runs high, and it has become a running joke with us that she once was deeply in love with Maxon. However, he had so little experience with women at the time that he had no idea. France is one of our allies all the way back to the days before Illea, and while that is helpful on a world stage, sometimes the long history wears on us personally. For instance, Daphne has Maxon's personal number. And she calls it regularly enough to almost become a nuisance. "Actually, she is currently disappointed that France's importance in the world seems to be declining. I'm not quite sure what she wants me to do, but she is quite passionate about the discussion."

"Maybe she's just upset about the fact the King of Illea no longer flies to France once a month?" King Clarkson took frequent trips, but we try to show equal attention to our allies and political friendships.

"She did mention something about unrequited love." It's good to hear him laugh, even if it can't be in person. "Not that I am not enjoying our conversation, Ames, but did you need something other than to hear your darling husband's voice?"

"I wanted to let you know that I found something at my parent's house."

"Go on."

It all comes out in a rush. "Kota. I found Kota when I went to visit the house. And, I'm bringing him back with me. Don't tell anyone, yet, or you won't get a moment's piece. His right hand is practically destroyed, and I want to register him at Angeles Memorial for rehabilitation."

"Right. Am I correct in assuming this is one of those brother/sister things that I won't fully understand?"

"Possibly."

"Then whatever you feel you need to do, I support you. You know that."

"Thanks, I need to hear that right now. Especially since I am resisting my impulse to throw him off this plane while we're airborne."

"Is he that bad?"

"No, he's being wonderful. Brie is giggling with him right now. I'm just jealous that I could have had my older brother in my life all this time, but I wasn't important enough to him."

"Will it help if I tell you that I love you?"

I'm smiling now as I say, "Marginally."

"How about if I tell you that you're coming home for after Clermont?"

"Now that is good news. I know I've only been gone a few days, but I am more than ready. News coming in from Bonita tomorrow?"

He pretends I didn't ask the question. So that is probably a yes. "And, your mother, Kenna, James, and Astra are here. Gerad is busy being in his early twenties at University. He declined my offer to come visit."

"I think I might owe you one."

He chuckles, "I have a few ideas of how you can pay me back."

I try and keep the flush out of my cheeks, "Hmmm. Marlee would like to talk to Carter. Is he close?"

"Actually, he just walked into the room. We have a meeting in a few minutes. I'll see you soon."

"See you soon." Marlee's smile floods her face as I pass the phone to her and take my seat next to Brie. She and Kota and Mary are playing a simple card game, and I pull out my Clermont folder. We'll be arriving just in time for me to visit the school. Unfortunately, it will be very close to the end of the school day. If our timing is off by even a little, we'll have to stay the night. But if we work straight through to the reception, we can sleep on the way home. Home.

We touch down and rush to the waiting car, all but ignoring the small crowd and leaving Kota on the plane with the usual guard, and race through town to the school. I try not to let my impatience for home to show through to the children, and allow Abrielle to participate in story time in a kindergarten classroom. She beams the entire time, and I am glad that I do. Marlee and Georgia make a valiant effort to conduct the administrative interviews at a normal pace, though we practically have to sprint to the town hall to change for the reception. Mary's fingers are flying as she puts the finishing touches on our hair, and sweeps on light coats of fresh makeup. I finally stop to take a breath to look around the room. The changing area is almost as big as my common room, and impeccably decorated. Mirrors lean against one wall, and I catch a glimpse of my reflection. A forest green evening gown accentuates my figure without drawing attention to any possible imperfections, and my upswept hair balances Mary's overall picture. I turn to Abrielle, her hair in matching twisted knots above her ears. The green chiffon dress was as perfect as I thought it would be, and she shines in it, eager to attend the event.

A knock at the door reveals our guards, ready to escort us down the hall. I inhale deeply to slow my breathing and my heart. If everything goes well, I will be waking up in my own bed in the morning. The smile across my face is real, and I allow myself to relax. I take Brie's hand, and guide her into the room as we are announced. Only a few more hours. I can withstand almost anything for a few hours. I make sure my smile is calm and composed. After the first hour, Abrielle's eyes start to droop. I send her back to the plane with Mary and a small guard, keeping Georgia, Aspen, and Marlee with me. She is too tired to disagree.

I make small talk with business owners and provincial politicians, though I allow my eyes to occasionally wander around the room. Finally, I catch the eye of Mr. and Mrs. Newsome. Celeste's mother and father have become strangely dear to me, as I spent time with them after the funeral. I always visit them when in Clermont. Mr. Newsome seems to take a circuitous route to leave the ballroom via a door very close to me, and curiously, Mrs. Newsome heads in the other direction. I think I catch him nod at me, though he could have been focusing on where he intends to go. Within minutes, the ensemble begins to play, and Mr. Newsome reenters near me.

"Your Majesty," Mr. Newsome bows. I can't help but call him "mister." Calling him by his first name seems too informal, as he is the parent of one of my friends. "May I have this dance?"

I curtsey in reply, and allow him to lead me onto the floor. "Please, tell me what's wrong," I look into his face, and can see the worry. He looks pale despite his darker complexion, and there are pronounced lines around his mouth and etched into his forehead. I keep my face composed, and look around the room as we make our way across the floor.

"I am risking everything to talk to you tonight."

His words ring true, and I lean in as he lowers his voice even more. "They're closer than you think, and this is even bigger than you imagined." A sheen of sweat covers Newsome's forehead, and he swallows hard as he continues, "Celeste's death wasn't an accident; it was a warning to me. Because I refused to cooperate." He forces himself to smile, just a polite older gentleman sharing a dance with his daughter's childhood friend.

I nod to him, and barely move my lips, "With whom?"

"Think, Your Majesty. Sometimes strange allies are made in desperate circumstances. Allies that seem as if they are bitter enemies."

I smile as if he had told me a pleasant joke, and prepare to ask another question. But the song ends, and I am forced to relinquish my partner. Keeping my composure is proving to be more difficult than I thought, and I excuse myself from the dance floor and deposit myself into a nearby chair. The Mayor of Clermont tilts his head to me with some concern. We are fairly sure he supports the monarchy and the movements toward greater freedoms, as he has profits personally through his family business. But, I know we are surrounded by bitterness. I wave off his look, "Do not worry, Your Honor. I plan on staying awake for this event." The crowd around us chuckles quietly, as they heard from Sota about my episode.

We stay another two hours, a respectable amount of time, and then make our excuses. I can feel the fatigue clear through my bones and sigh in audible relief as we reach the plane.

Except for the guard, everyone aboard is already dozing, and Abrielle is snoring lightly in her fully reclined seat. Mary had thought to put her in her pajamas and robe. Our arrival home would be in the wee hours of the morning, and we would be able to roll her quietly into bed without waking the boys. I had been in such a hurry that I did not take the time to change before getting into the car. I am stuck instead behind screens with Marlee and Georgia trying to protect my modesty and help me out of the gown. I replace the beautiful garment with a pair of dress trousers and a soft green sweater. Then I grab my emerald flats and collapse into my seat, leaving them to change.

Aspen leans to me and lets me know that Maxon knows we are on our way, and that the cars will be waiting for us. As we lift off, I close my eyes, thinking about what Mr. Newsome shared with me. I can't say anything about it until I talk to Maxon. My thoughts turn naturally to Celeste, and our strange companionship that would have been close friendship with more time. I cannot get the image of the gun held to the back of her head out of my mind. My hand drifts to my waistband, and I touch the cool metal hidden there and resist the retch I feel in the back of my throat.

It seems as if my eyes are barely closed when I feel the familiar bump of the landing gear touching down on the tarmac. I check my watch. We are home without incident. Right on time. I notice Aspen with his hand to his ear piece, standing suddenly and then speaking urgently as he moves to the back of the plane. I follow, "Commander Leger, report."

He turns and looks at me devoid of emotion, noticing the formality that I address him with, "I've been unable to connect with the palace guard, Your Majesty. I'm sure it is just equipment failure, but I cannot allow you to leave the aircraft without making positive contact."

"Besides equipment failure, what else can cause the disconnection," I say flatly.

"Mer…"

"Commander Leger, what do you think has caused the disconnection?" My voice is quiet and terrible. I need him to say it and make it real.

Aspen's green eyes, full of empathy, look straight into my blue ones. "Your Majesty, palace security has been breached."