-Maxon-

My father stood before me, his face as stern and austere as ever. Just looking at him you would think he was perfectly fine, but I recognized the look in his eyes. It was how he always looked at me before…before, um –

"Maxon, what are you doing?" My father asked, cutting off my train of thought.

I tried to maintain a calm face, showing fear would only serve as an admission of guilt.

"I was just about to take a shower, father. Why what's wrong? Is mother ok?" I asked, trying to sound genuine. I wasn't sure if he'd bought it, because instead of responding, he simply narrowed his eyes at me.

"Son, do you think I'm stupid?" He asked, his eyes boring into me relentlessly. "I suppose you think, that just because I'm growing old, I'm slipping up, right?" My father snarled up his top lip, breaking the perfect austere mask he usually wore, and I knew I was done for.

I almost flinched when I felt arms wrap around me. "Maxon, are you coming back to b–," I heard a soft feminine voice say, and that's when I noticed the halo of red hair cocooning me.

"Oh, I'm sorry," America said tucking her head in the place where my neck met the rest of my body. Her messy locks tickled my cheeks. "Am I interrupting something?" She sounded so innocent.

My father's facial expression changed dramatically. His eyes widened slightly, and a look of understanding crossed his face, before it morphed into a smug grin. He raised one of his eyebrows.

"No, no, not at all," My father said as he tucked his hands into his pockets. "I was just hoping to have a word with my son."

America had a bewildered, innocent look in her eyes, as she quickly nodded and stepped away from me.

"Yes, your highness, of course your highness," she chirped, and if I didn't know better I would have believed her "obedient subject" routine.

My father gestured for me to step out into the hallway, and that's when I noticed what she had shed her jeans and stood only in my shirt, which fell around her upper thighs.

Well there's one thing you can't deny: that girl was an amazing actress.

"Maxon, my boy" my father practically purred when we'd gotten out into the corridor. He was grinning from ear to ear. "A chip off the old block, I see."

I fought the urge to frown. "What do you mean?"

He put his arm around me. "You, know I wasn't always married to your mother, but that's not the point," he said, waving his hand in the air as if dispersing flies. "I never took you as one to do such a thing. Maybe you're not a lost cause…" His voice trailed off.

"Uh huh," I silently agreed, hoping that he would leave soon.

"She's far too plain for my tastes, but to each his own, I suppose," he rambled on. "But, to think, I thought you were doing something treasonous, Maxon. I should have never doubted you."

"Yeah," I said, rubbing the back of my neck unenthusiastically.

"Maxon, why didn't you ever tell me about, ah" my father asked, his usually articulate speak snagging on the one detail he missed.

"Am – melia, Amelia," I prompted, catching myself before I gave away America's real identity.

"Amelia," he echoed, then cleared his throat. "Why keep it – I'm sorry, her – a secret? Was it the selection? Oh, son, we can cancel that, it's been done before."

I shrugged, trying to think up a believable lie. "Well, it's illegal, so I thought that you'd have us arrested, or worse."

My father tossed his head back and laughed heartily, "oh, no, you needn't worry about that. So long as you're careful, and she doesn't end up with a potential contender to the throne, I have no problem."

I blushed deeply, "That won't be a problem."

"Maxon?" America called from the bedroom.

I turned to see her poking her head out of the doorway. "Yes, Amelia?"

She took the sound of her fake name in stride, not even showing the slightest surprise. America opened her mouth to speak, but my father cut her off. "I shall take my leave now, Maxon," he said nodding in my direction. "Amelia, it is a pleasure to finally meet you."

America smiled widely, "Oh, meeting you was just fantastic, Your Majesty."

The king flashed a toothy grin, "Please call me, Clarkson."

I strode up to the figure sitting precarious at the edge of the roof, legs dangling like a human ornament from the dark green shingles.

"America, I brought you some food, in case you're hungry," I said holding out a plate of chicken. After my father left I'd went down to the kitchen to find that he'd left two staff members behind, likely to keep an eye on me.

"Thanks," she said turning to take the plate from me.

I carefully sat down next to her, my hands folded in my lap; I didn't know what to say, we hadn't spoken since my father's untimely "visit."

"Maxon?"

"Yes?"

"Your dad's a jerk."

"I could use far worse word to describe him, but, yes, 'jerk' just about sums it up."

"He's like King of the Jerks," she muttered as she shoveled food into her mouth.

"That he is," I chuckled. "He's actually much nicer to you than he is to anyof the girls in the selection."

"Wow."

"I know."

She frowned slightly. "All I really knew about him was that a) he was king, b) he did lots of bad things, and c) it always looked like he had a stick shoved up his butt."

I tried to conceal my laughter, but just ended up making it worse. "How did you come to that conclusion?"

"He just looked, I don't know, off every time I saw him on The Report."

"Mmm," I murmured, a grin stretching on my face.

We sat in silence for a few moments, lost in our own worlds. By this time, America had finished eating and had set the plate by her side.

"When I first heard his voice I thought you had turned us in," she confessed so quietly I had to strain to hear it. She didn't look at me as she said this, rather she kept her gaze trained on the surrounding forest.

"No, you can trust me," I said not as quiet she had.

America turned to look at me finally. "I shouldn't. I don't want to, but I think it's the only way," she murmured, looking down at her jean clad lap, and the shirt I had pretty much relinquished ownership to. "I still don't, I've trusted you too much already, by coming here."

I watched her wring her wrist and wished that I could hold her hand, before frowning and shaking the thought from my head.

"That is understandable," I said slowly. "I still have reservations about trusting you, but it's necessary."

America nodded in agreement, then got up from her perch, the now empty plate in hand, and started towards the door to the stairs.

I almost welcomed the solitude, but before she left, there was one thing I had to know.

"America," I called over my shoulder.

She stopped and turned to me.

"Do you still plan on killing me?" I asked tentatively, and felt something twist inside of me as I heard her say: "yes."

Thanks to all of you who reviewed, or yah know, just viewed it means a lot! Thank you so much and I will try to post again before the end of the week.

-FF