A/N

Only one chapter after this one... Hope you enjoy reading! I've appreciated your feedback. :) -SJ

I throw open the door, knocking Pearson off balance as I dart down the hallway. "America, slow down," Georgia follows behind me, as Campbell and Pearson work to catch up to both of us.

"Can't." I palm my weapon, just in case we run into Frederick before Avery does. I know the men behind me won't make me shoot anyone again, but they may not have that choice. I wonder when I will feel safe enough to not carry a gun in the palace.

"America. It's not going to help anyone if you go barging into somewhere and actually land yourself in a coma."

I slow down just enough to let her catch up. "You used to be faster than me, what happened?"

"You usually don't have such a head start!"

I just snort in reply and lead the way to the guest wing. We both know exactly where the French delegates are staying, because we assigned their suites. They are the farthest guest rooms from mine, and if Aspen's team did their job, they are currently empty.

I throw open the door, and stand with my hands on my hips as I orient myself. Daphne had not been in the room yet, and the luggage actually sits open on the bed. Their personal assistants were surely unpacking as they were detained.

Georgia looks at me, "Now what?"

"Maxon told me that Clarkson carried a book in his inside front suit pocket. It went everywhere with him. So, that's what we are looking for. Something small enough to fit in a jacket pocket and somewhere in this mess of luggage." I turn to the guards, "Campbell. Pearson." They nod, wordless, and resume their watch.

We systematically go through each suitcase and garment bag. The French, apparently, do not pack light. But we are empty-handed. "Again." We begin again, when a leather attaché case at the desk catches my attention. It is in the seat of the chair, and I had to be at a very specific angle to see it. I slide my hand into the front pocket, and am rewarded with a small brown moleskin book. That wasn't really hidden at all. They weren't expecting any resistance. The pages are gilt-edged and the handwriting is Clarkson's. I hold it up to Georgia, "This is it."

I flip to a random page and read aloud: "Studying the strategy of Gregory Illea has served me well. Money and fear. I'm using the wealth of this nation to create the fear that proves the need for the caste system and the legacy of my reign. This should silence the naysayers. They don't want the obvious anarchy of the Southern Rebels to take over the entire country. And they don't need to know that I'm pulling the strings. Of course there may be collateral damage—but such is war."

Further in I find: "Newsome will not agree to work within the parameters I set. I can't remove his caste because he has too many connections that would push against me. I will have to find another way to show my displeasure. Lucky that his daughter is representing Clermont in the Selection."

And, the final entry, "I hoped against hope that the soft heart of my son would harden as he aged. But, he insists on looking for the peaceful instead of the powerful; justice instead of might. I regret that he is not strong enough to rule the country I have built for him. But what must be done must be done. Tomorrow, I will mourn a son, but secure my power world-wide. It is a worthy sacrifice." Tears threaten to spill down my cheeks, but I hold them back.

Georgia wraps me in a hug, "He was truly an evil man."

I draw a purposeful breath. "We don't have time for tears, yet," I declare, squaring my shoulders and raising my chin. And I walk resolutely out of the room, down the stairs, and to the receiving parlor. Georgia and the guards follow behind, not even attempting to stop me.

When I enter the room, everyone is listening to Kota give his confession. No one but Aspen and Carter gives any notice as I slip in to the back and take my place where I belong, beside my husband. And, when Maxon sees me appear and simply places an arm around my back, they aren't in a position to do anything about it. "I'm sorry," I whisper and place the journal into his hand. "Here's your evidence."

"I expected you long ago," Maxon mumbles back, barely moving his lips. He pulls me tighter, a grin ghosting his mouth.

Two young guards flank Frederick and Daphne. Carter stands behind them, a hand on Frederick's shoulder. Kota's confession echoes Bariel's, except he explains how he kills Stavros and allows the palace to be attacked on Calix and Abrielle's birthday. He finishes with the part about being in love with Daphne and the plan to eliminate the King of France. As Maxon brings the lights back to full strength, Frederick's booming voice exclaims, "I am glad I crushed his hand! Daphne, is this true? You were planning to kill me?"

"We have a daughter together, Frederick!" Daphne's face is tear-streaked and wild. She just watched fifteen years of work come down around her shoulders.

"And that is not an answer!" His exclamation reverberates throughout the small space. "Ladies and gentlemen," he says, contritely. "Please allow me to go with these guards to my guest room, and I will provide you with all the evidence you require. I only ask that you spare my life, for my child's sake."

"Frederick, you coward," Daphne hisses, "Face your death honorably."

Maxon steps back to the front of the room, "No one will die here, today." He holds up the journal, so everyone can see. "We have had enough death in this palace, in this country to last a lifetime. Dare I say, we've had enough throughout the world?" There are nods and noises of agreement around the room. "Daphne, we are not here today to put you to death. But we are here to put you off of your throne. As an international alliance of nations, we have a responsibility even to your citizenry to avoid war. But, if you will not allow us to depose you, then we will all work together to eliminate all visages of France. We humbly ask you to spare your people."

Daphne refuses to answer, choosing instead to spit in Maxon's general direction. Frederick speaks again, "We will come to agreeable terms, and step away from power. We do not wish war. Now, if we could be excused to our quarters for a time? My wife and I have much to discuss."

Maxon nods. They both stand and the guards begin to lead them out of the room. As Daphne passes me, it is like she notices me for the first time. She cries out from the back of her throat and lunges. The guards and Frederick underestimate her desperation to get to me. The hands around my throat are surprisingly strong, but she is off her balance. I am hardly thinking about what I am doing as I bring my fist up into her face to break her grip. My adrenaline rushes as I watch her crumple to the floor, blood streaming from her nose.

I step back, allowing the guards to pull Daphne to her feet and keeping myself from hitting her again. Frederick inclines his head in a small bow, and two additional sets of guards meet the group at the door. Knowing they will be confined is a relief, but realizing this part of our history is closed is even better. Maxon is at my side again, and I assure him that she did not harm me.

Nicoletta's voice carries across the room, "Ah, Queen America. I am so happy to see that a coma couldn't keep you away from our meeting. How dedicated you are! Welcome back!"

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I can't believe this book is almost finished... *sniff* Thanks for reading and reviewing. It means a lot! -SJ