The beginning of this chapter may be a bit confusing to some people so I'm going to explain: The last chapter has Cato rushing off (presumably to confront Clove after she treated Lavinia so) but its last section also has Cato with Katniss as she informs her mother of her pregnancy. Cato confronted Clove in-between these two events, however that confrontation was not shown in the last chapter. It shall be shown in this chapter as one of Cato's flashbacks.
Here is the sequence of events: 1. Cato rushes out of Lavinia's room, 2. Cato confronts Clove, 3. Cato goes with Katniss to tell Mrs. Everdeen about the baby.
I was trembling when I released this chapter.
[Thank you for participating in my little contest! As there were so many lovely, brilliant reviews to choose from, I couldn't decide and so I decided it wasn't fair that there were so many great reviews and so little room. So as of upcoming chapters, you may see your name used as a phrase or a character. Anyone who has had a review that was a couple sentences can look forward to it! Not all of you will appear in this chapter. But if you reviewed, you might make an appearance as a phrase, dialogue, character or a Hunger Games tribute in upcoming chapters). Thank you all so much and I thoroughly enjoy and appreciate each and every one of them. The names have been edited a bit, too. I love having you as part of my story and you all are so inspiring to me. I'm going to place additional notes at the bottom.]
Cato Flashback
He remembered seeing red. Not the soft, cherry crimson of Lavinia's hair but rather the darker hue of blood he's been around all his life. Only red as he stormed out of the tower, down the open steps, not caring if he fell. Besides, he was too dignified even this state and he was in too much of a hurry to fall. His cape billowed out behind him as if he were a superhero about to commit some heroic deed.
He did not feel heroic in the slightest, however. He only felt anger. Rage. Fury.
Vengeance.
He did not stumble to consider why he cared. All he knew was that he cared, and he raged. He seethed. He gritted his teeth. His hands curled into fists. Little hairs on the back of his neck bristled.
He did all those things. But most of all he raged.
The force that he ripped open the doors with was a force to be reckoned with. His eyes, still seeing red, spotted her, sitting there, slicing fruit as if she had not a care in the world. When she heard him (who wouldn't?), she stood up. And smiled.
And smiled.
Smiled. Pleasantly.
And said, "I did not expect you to visit on such short notice, my king, but I am overjoyed that you're here." She started forward, her arms out to embrace him.
He let her come close enough so that he could at length reach out and grab her. His nails dug into her skin, his grip the one of steel. His glare that of death.
She widened her eyes, making them look as big as possible. "Majesty," Clove breathed, struggling to get out of his grasp, "Why do you grip me roughly? And why do you look at me like that?"
When his voice came out, it was colder than his eyes. "You're not stupid, Clove. Do you think I am? Do you take me for a fool?" And dangerously low.
Clove's large lashes blinked once, twice, her bright red lips already folded into a well-practiced pout. "Majesty, I-I don't u-understand..."
"Then I'll ask you. Once." His grip did not turn any looser. "Was it you who removed Lavinia's tongue?"
Clove ceased squirming for a second. She wondered how she should approach this.
"ANSWER ME!" Cato roared in a tone that would've sent her reeling back if he hadn't been grasping her at the time.
"Yes."
Cato stared at her, his eyes piercing deeply into hers. "What did you say?"
"I said YES. Now let go of me."
He did and she tried to run past, but he flung her into the wall. She struggled to get out of his way, but he had her by the shoulders, pinned, as she had done to Katniss the other night.
"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT FOR?" he bellowed, his bloodshot eyes right in her face.
"Why do you care?!" snapped Clove. "Did you find another girl to cheat on me with?"
Cato stared at her. "The fuck you're talking about?"
"Oh, don't even try," spat Clove. "I know all about your little 'visits' with that 12 girl, Katniss." She said the name as if it were a venomous poison.
Cato didn't reply.
"So it's true, then." A bitter laugh emitted from those smirking, bright red lips. She leaned closer to Cato, who was not bothering to look at her that moment. "And guess who told me?"
Cato didn't guess. He didn't have to.
"That's right, hers truly," she said. Her eyes glittered maliciously as she inspected Cato's expression. "Not so sweet now, is she, Cato?"
"This has nothing to do with Lavinia," he seethed, his nails digging into his fists, "I'm the one who visits Fire girl."
"Oh, so we're on a nickname basis, aren't we?" sneered Clove. "Well I suppose it's all neat and dainty that you go fuck some dirty coal slut while I, the future queen, sit in here alone all day. LIKE A PRISONER!"
"She's not a dirty coal slut," Cato gritted his teeth, the red flashing like lightning in his vision, "For your information, dear, she has the hell of a cleaner mouth than you do. You have a choice. She's a prisoner."
"Yeah, your personal prisoner," muttered Clove.
Cato's eyes grew icier, if that were even possible. "That doesn't matter. What's the damn matter here is that you tortured Lavinia. By fuck's sake someone completely innocent and cut off their tongue, all by the fucking means of spite!"
"I should have known. I should have known that you wouldn't be faithful, you want me to stay in this room all day while you go sleep around like a happy whore." (Cato's face was livid.) "Well, guess what, happy whore, your days are over! From now on, you have a full-time gig being faithful to your future wife, as you should have been from the very beginning!" She leaned closer to his face. "And that would be me."
Cato's fingers, of their own accord, flew and curled around Clove's throat. He seized her, leaving her clawing at his hands, struggling for air, eyes bulging out of her head. It was a moment of horror, a moment quick as lightning.
She stopped movement completely when he violently thrust his lips next to her ear. "Listen to me, you crafty bitch. No one tells me what to do. No one." His clasp tightened. "You think you are high and mighty because you have your eye on the throne, because I am betrothed to you? You think I'm wrapped around your little finger? You have committed a crime, Lady Clove. It is a devastating act to torment an innocent citizen. I thought you knew better, but I now know you know less than a common dog. And I think a common dog would not be fit to sit on the throne. GUARDS!" he called.
"Your Majesty?" Immediately, a pair of Peacekeepers appeared.
"Lock this wretched wench in the South tower of the castle. Let her out for no reason and let no one visit her without my word. Bring her food and water three times a day, but make sure she can never come and go as she pleases."
The guards' hands briefly flew over their ears as Clove's expression turned hysterical.
"Just like the 12 girl, Your Majesty?"
At this point, Clove bit down on Cato's hand. Hard. "Yes, just like the 12 girl." Cato thrust the woman into the guards' hands (she had been turning blue).
"At once, Your Majesty!"
She kicked and struggled and fought, screaming obscenities at the king (and the world) until the guards stuffed her mouth with rags. Then they dragged her off. Her last glimpse of Cato was his red king's cloak fluttering behind him.
The last words she heard him say were, "Oh, and the engagement's off."
He was surprised to find Lavinia tucking Katniss in back at the tower. The walk to the tower had seemed unusually long compared to the many other times he went. The hallway had seemed just a bit longer, just a bit narrower, and the atmosphere a shadow darker. Even the round room of Katniss's tower did not give off its usual cozy vibe upon entrance.
"Lavinia, did you see a doctor?" He asked, surprising her. She jumped and turned around and bowed her head and then bobbed her head up and down. The sight was so pitiful it sickened him.
"Well, if you are done here I need you to step in the hall and wait for me. I must speak with you," said Cato.
Lavinia looked nervous. She began gesturing wildly with her hands.
"Do not worry about Clove. She will not bother you anymore. I guarantee it."
Lavinia nodded. As she got up, she casted a wary glance at Katniss, one that Cato didn't understand at first, then tentatively stepped out into the hall. She closed the door after herself.
Cato turned his attention to Katniss, who was in bed with the blankets fully up to her neck. "It was indeed Clove," he said slowly, as if processing the thought. He shook his head. "I didn't...I just never thought..."
"I met Clove," Katniss blurted.
"What?" he said. "When?" He hoped she was referring to the feast. In his mind, he referred to it as hell.
"On the night that the guard..." She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence. Her voice sounded nasal and very choked up at this moment.
"Did she do anything to you?" He was furious. He had underestimated Clove! He must not underestimate anybody. It was a mistake he would not make again.
"No..." Katniss, in her weak state, observed the signals of his fury. "I got away. I spat on her."
He closed his eyes and played their possible confrontation in his head. A tiny smirk tipped on his lips. "You are such a Firegirl, always slapping and spitting."
Katniss didn't even come close to cracking a smile. "You're such a jackass," she spat through gritted teeth. Her hands clutched the sheets tighter.
Cato opened his eyes. "There's the Firegirl we know."
"I hope you're happy now," she said, sinking back into the pillow, "You got what you wanted."
He opened his eyes and looked at her.
"Don't pretend you're clueless. You've gotten what you wanted anyways. Why do you have to torment me further? Are you happy seeing me like this? I've finally become what you wanted: the common whore."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" he finally asked.
Her body temperature had been rising, as told by the two patches of red becoming more visible on her cheeks. "Don't play games with me!" She grabbed her pillow and hurled it with all her might at him. It would've been a perfect blow - right in the face - if he hadn't ducked, so perfectly timed and planned. The pillow plopped down, gaining new wrinkles from its momentum.
When he turned back to Katniss, she no longer wore that scowl he'd gotten familiarized with. Instead, there was something in her eyes, something that could be best described as impassive, perhaps haunting. He noticed the way her hands balled with the sheets still clutched in them. He noticed how she had stopped making eye contact with him. She suddenly reminded Cato of a shy maiden.
If he knew her at all for these past months, she must've had something to say. Perhaps a request to make, usually mere and small and meager and not very common.
He waited.
It seemed like she was debating whether to beat around the bush or to come right out with it. She made the choice within the next minute, never looking up, never looking at him, glancing only down at the sheets she was crumpling into balls.
"I'm pregnant."
He froze. He was pretty sure he had heard her right. Feelings surged through his veins, old feelings that had been kept dormant for years but now felt new as they coursed through his veins, to his heart and brain. He felt a strange warmness embrace him in its tender arms.
He was surprised. Although he shouldn't be. He'd been with her for months, nearly every day and sometimes multiple occasions on one day (he did skip a couple of days to lessen Clove's suspicions). He should've expected this, should've known this was bound to happen sometime or later. And he didn't. He didn't keep this in mind. He made a mistake.
It was because he'd thought that once he had his fun, he would've let her go, tossed her away (like the others before her). Never did he imagine keeping her, keeping around a maiden from 12. And one thing constantly bugged him. He didn't understand why he kept her. She was nothing too special. Well, wrong. She was a girl of her own. But why was that really enough for him to spare her? He couldn't be weak for someone - he wouldn't. Could there be another reason?
There shouldn't be. There couldn't be.
"I'm pregnant. Are you happy now?" She repeated the question. Like he hadn't heard her the first time.
He wasn't sure what to say to her. He doesn't know how in hell to express any of the fires he's feeling inside. They burned like crazy, igniting him into new sensations, one cycle after the other, and were hard to control. He imagined a chubby, gurgling ball of flesh held near the softness of her bosom, in the crook of his folded arms. It would laugh and giggle and coo with wide young eyes, and when it looked up and saw him it would cry, "Papa!" Strangely, it made his insides ache with something he couldn't describe - but his lips did want to crook into something like a smile...
"Say something, you bastard!" Katniss had gotten up now - blankets thrown aside. She was angry. Furious. In a flash she was near him and beating him with small fists roughened with years of stringing arrows. His hard chest felt nothing but a gentle tapping. He knew bits and pieces about a pregnant woman's moods. Still...
"Fuck." he said, to satisfy her.
She stopped punching him, but she still had a scowl for him on her face. He stared back, thoughts running a mile a minute. This was big news. As much as he hated to admit it, he was going to need help. He was going to need a lot of it.
When she raised her fists towards him again, he let her hit him once. Twice. For awhile. Then he said without blinking, "It's been awhile since you've seen your sister and mother."
Third Person
At first, they were thrilled to see Katniss. It had been another couple of weeks, months, and she had changed and they had changed. (They'd grown a little plumper, but that was besides the point.)
The stone walls no longer seemed so gray, the darkness seemed to lift when their sacred one stepped in. It drew the attention of the entire mass of 12 prisoners (many of them were still alive). Empty eyes were beginning to feel emotions again, vacant expressions were vanishing. Even the angry moans silenced themselves. Their attention were all so fixed on her that none of them noticed the way she walked, or more or less staggered in. And not very many of them noticed the tall, looming figure of golden crown and hair trailing behind her. They just saw her, still alive.
Mrs. Everdeen had something to tell her. An apology. She was going to apologize to her daughter. Not just a mere sorry, but to apologize sincerely and profoundly for leaving her when they needed her the most. Apologizing for everything she had to go through, everything she had to endure on her own. Katniss was just a child, still is, and there are certain things she could not manage on her own.
Mrs. Everdeen didn't realize how important her girls were to her...until they had been taken away. Well, one of them. But the other had been absent without her sister's presence as well.
Selfless, brave, caring...there were so many words to describe Katniss, and yet she cannot find her lips to speak them. How she has struggled these past few years! How she swallowed the pain! In times like these...what else do you have besides your family?
But Katniss...Katniss...
Looked too much like him. She had his hair, his personality, his eyes...
How she longed to see him one last time. To be held in his arms. To be reunited, to be loved, to be told that everything was going to be okay...
She looked down at her Prim and stroked the head of matted hair. I should've been there for you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
Was it too late? she had wondered. She inclined her head, not meaning to, but a teardrop fell from her eye and landed on the messy, somehow still-soft head of golden hair.
Prim's hand closed around her own.
And no, she thought when she saw Katniss. Katniss was still alive. Her daughter still alive. It was a moment for her to dwell on - for one teeny, tiny, little moment her heart soared with something she had not felt in years. Joy. She was sure she was being given a second chance. And she would not mess up this time - no, she will change. For him.
She will take care of their daughters for him.
"Katniss - is that really you - "
"Oh Katniss, I thought...I thought..."
A feeling of comfort settled in her chest as Katniss got closer.
She will do anything in her power to help them - make the most of life - not end up like her -
Closer.
She will help them. It felt good to touch her skin, to make sure she was alive and whole. She had certainly filled out during this time. That was good, she was closer to healthy -
And then, "I'm pregnant."
Time seemed to pause itself for a moment. In a moment of silence, breathing was all that was heard.
Katniss closed her eyes, not wanting to be judged, hoping against hope. She was closing herself off to judgment, and when she opened her eyes, none of her family's were going to be hard and cold and sharp as knives on her.
Mrs. Everdeen felt as if she'd just pricked her finger on a spinning needle, but only this one was sharper and bigger than all the others combined. This one didn't make her bleed, it tore and drained at her.
"What?" she said in her soft, whispery voice. Prim didn't speak, her mouth was simply hanging open.
Katniss swallowed, her mouth dry. She did not want to repeat those words that felt like acid on her tongue.
"I'm pregnant."
Mrs. Everdeen felt her insides leap a bit. Must control self, she thought, biting her lip. OH, she came away surprised when she tasted the metallic blood. Her hands clenched a bit. Pregnant? Pregnant? Katniss? Her head spun, and it kept on spinning. Katniss. Pregnant. Forcing her voice to be composed and controlled (with all her will), she asked, "What happened?"
She was afraid of the answer. But it was her duty as a mother to ask that question (although she had a general idea of what the answer was). Beside her, Prim, trembling, looked up at Katniss with poignant eyes. Looking into those eyes was breaking Katniss's clenched heart. There was no disdain in those eyes, not even a slightest trace of disgust. The look in them made Katniss's own eyes want to flow over.
Anyhow, her stomach did a little flip-flop of relief. Prim would never judge her. Prim accepted her no matter what she's done. Prim loved her. Oh, how she loved Prim back!
"I..." Looking into the eyes of the woman who abandoned and left her on her own had never been harder for Katniss. But in that certain moment, nothing had ever looked so familiar...and so warm...and so comforting. Katniss felt a flutter of frustration as she was suddenly seized with the urge to throw her arms around her mother and weep into her shoulder.
She stood her ground with clenched teeth and fist. She was stronger, had to be stronger than that.
"I will always protect Prim," she tried to drawl out, tried to drop hints, "No matter the cost."
At this both little Prim's eyes and her heart brimmed with tears. "Katniss..." Her lower lip trembled, her heart of a child blown up like a balloon. Mrs. Everdeen felt her chest swell. Lord! Her own eyes were a bit salty. They darkened immediately, however, as she caught on to Katniss's hint. The child! Stupid, stupid, poor child!
"Oh, Katniss," she whispered hoarsely. Her daughter...her brave little girl...pregnant. And at the hands, at the hands of -
"Does anyone else know?" Mrs. Everdeen tried to make her voice as firm as possible.
"No," whispered her eldest child.
The looks in their eyes and the stench of tears were more than Katniss could take. It was one thing to support her (she needed support). It was another to pity her, and even to pity her with silent stares but quivery eyes. She forced herself to stand up straight, to hold her bosom high and proud. (It was so high, so proud that in the background, the background, King Cato couldn't help comparing her this stance with one that of a warrior's.)
"I'll be alright. Prim, Mother," Katniss said in a natural, composed tone, "Don't worry about me. As long as you are well, I will be too. I only want you to be safe and well. That's all I ask for." And then she looked into her mother's eyes, something that she hadn't done in years. "And I know that's what Dad would ask for, too."
Mrs. Everdeen's heart gave a lurch, her hands clenched and unclenched into fists, and then her eyes burst with teardrop after silent teardrop. Her hand trembled as it found her eldest daughter's cheek. And hereby she stroked and Katniss's eyelids fluttered closed, something that had been lost to them for years.
"Katniss...daughter..."
A mother's embrace. A mother's gentle touch. Katniss had almost flinched at the touch, it was so unfamiliar. But she didn't flinch and she let the warm hand caress her sharp cheek, which seemed to soften as her mother's palms traced it, and which seemed to turn back the time...
"Katniss, it's time." Cato's voice breaks the little spell casted by time. Three faces glanced at him, two with contempt, one with compliance.
Katniss turned back to her mother and sister. "I... You...you are doing well?"
Nods from them. But as figures, they were never ones to complain much.
A pair of dainty little hands grasped a pair of older, more calloused hands through the cell bars. "Don't leave, Katniss," begged Prim. Tiny, pearly tears dropped from her eyes and onto their joined hands. "Please, don't leave. Please."
"Prim..." Katniss grapsed her sister's hands tighter, closer. "I - I will never let anybody hurt you, Little Duck. I promise. I love you so so much."
"Katniss..."
"Prim..." She stopped herself from saying the rest, for if she said the rest she would surely break down. The sooner she leaves, the sooner she doesn't have to look into those sad eyes. But how can she leave her Little Duck behind? How can she desert her family?
She needed to make sure they were at least well cared for. Who could bear to be trapped in this dark, lonely place of misery and despair hanging throughout the atmosphere?
"Give them a better place."
King Cato jerked his head sharply. Her voice had snapped him out of his thoughts. "What?"
"Give them a better place." Her tone was calm yet firm. The expression in her eyes; they said it all.
Inwardly, he smirked. Outwardly, he replied: "I will think about it."
She nodded. She could say everything she wanted to later, when it was just her and him. For right now, though...
"Prim. Mother," she turned her gaze back to them. "You... you have no idea how much it meant to me to be able to see you." Her voice quivered, but somebody in Katniss's position was beyond caring at that moment.
Mrs. Everdeen felt her throat dry up. "Katniss..."
Prim's big heart gave a painful lurch in her little chest. "Katniss..."
"Don't pity me. You know I hate pity."
"Katniss, you..." Prim didn't even know what to say. Her voice was choked up, and the tears were brimming out of her eyes, "You are incredible, Katniss. You are the bravest sister anyone could ever have." She had to literally bite her tongue to hold back her next words.
"Katniss...I love you so much. Both of us. Both of you."
"And I love you too," Katniss whispered as she found her feet walking alongside the king's and arms on her arms.
"Wait."
They stopped. Katniss was sure that he would make her go on.
But to her surprise, she found herself back at her mother's side. One of Mrs. Everdeen's hands touched her daughter's shoulder. To both her surprise, the girl did not flinch, as she had been expecting her to.
The other hand went to brush back a couple strands of dark hair. Blue eyes met brown, flecked with specks of silver.
"You have your father's eyes," she whispered, her hand lingering for more than a couple of moments.
As they were leaving, Cato whispered in a Peacekeeper's ear, "Give them a better place," in a tone he knew no one else would hear.
Third Person Pov
He'd grown to a half-mad creature, eyes a watery red and lips always curled into a snarl. The other inmates did their best to avoid him, which was perfectly fine with him. Nobody dared to whisper about him and nobody glanced about his way, if they could help it.
He always ate alone and he always ate the full of his share. No one, not even the other boys, dared to challenge him to that. He was handed a full chicken thigh one time. He ate it by picking pieces off the bone instead of ripping out chunks with his teeth, as he knew they and the Peacekeepers wanted him to. But he refused. He would never become an animal for them.
They made sure to exclude him when they fought, and they never fought too close to him. They were terrified of every part of him; his hair now a shaggy mane, the way his shoulders looked when he crouched, his hunched back, his foaming lips. But most of all they were terrified of meeting his eyes.
He often sat leaning against the cold stone walls, his eyes glazed over nothing. People grew especially worried when he began foaming at the mouth, but they were too terrified to provoke this creature. The once-hunting had become the hunted, with the hunter still in him.
So it was only natural that he glared at the Peacekeepers suspiciously when they came in one day - who the hell had time to keep track of time these days - and asked him to come with them. Usually not even the Peacekeepers liked to provoke him; their general's temper had gotten worse these days. Yet this time it was by order of the king. Upon hearing that name, he snarled as harsh as a man could snarl.
They grabbed him and gripped his shoulders, tight. He was as tall as they were but nowhere near as trained and nowhere near their health. As a result, he was dragged through what seemed like miles of dimly lit halls and passageways until they were in a small hallway some floor slightly above the dungeons. Here the air was cleaner and not as draft.
He took what seemed like his first breath of clean air in months as they unlocked a plain, small door at the end of the hall. He wondered what would be waiting for him inside it. He laughed bitterly. Sitting in hell for a couple months, what had he to be afraid of?
The room was bigger than he'd expected it to be, and brighter too. If he hadn't personally come from the prisons, it would've been hard for him to believe that the prison and this richly-furnished room were all in one castle. However, it was the people inside the room that surprised him the most. They were the last people he'd ever expected to see.
Both women's expressions brightened as they saw him. Prim reached him first. She gave him a big bear hug, crying aloud her relief to finally see someone else alive. Mrs. Everdeen embraced him as well, muttering things that went into one of his ears and out the other.
"Katniss...is she..." were the first words spoken from his lips. He almost grimaced at the taste of his foul breath, but Prim and Mrs. Everdeen didn't seem to mind at all. However, their smiles vanished and they glanced at each other unsurely. Gale felt his heart sank.
"She's alive." Mrs. Everdeen said, her face solemn as a statue.
Gale felt his face muscles lift. He wanted to shout for joy at the top of his lungs with his terrible breath. But he refrained from doing so, puzzled. If Katniss was alive, then why did they look so troubled?
Mrs. Everdeen hesitated. "Gale, there's something you should know..." she stopped herself. She wasn't sure if he was in the condition to take it in.
"What? What do I need to know?" his voice was raspy with hunger and thirst. Prim poured him a glass from a pitcher he didn't even notice was there.
He didn't take it. "What do I need to know? Tell me!" he demanded.
"Well..."
Prim's lip thinned. It looked like her mother wasn't going to spill the beans. She knew what she had to.
"It's Katniss. She got...she got pregnant."
Gale stared at Prim with a gaze in his eyes that made her want to cower and hide. It was a look of anguish. It was a look of extreme disbelief, then anger, then pain.
If one or two of the Peacekeepers had hung around out in the hall, they'd have heard the violent smash of something expensive being broken.
Month 1 - Katniss First Person Pov
I fell back onto the bed, my head exploding with the patterns of the ceiling that strangely morphed into rose shapes one after the other. I'm drowning - drowning in a river of sheets and fabric and all that was supposed to be soft and comforting - I'm slipping from their surfaces, falling deep into their depths - with no bottom.
I'm trapped. I finally admitted to myself, and yet I wanted to wring my own neck for it - for being weak - for failing Prim. After seeing the look in my family's eyes, how can I stand to be related to them? I have shamed them and the entire line of Everdeen's for all eternity.
I have my father's eyes my mother whispered to me, and inside I felt as if my heart were splitting into two. I cannot even begin to imagine what my father would think if he saw me now. I have let them down greatly. I have let all of them down - everybody, all of 12: Prim, Mother, Gale, the Hawthornes, King Undersee, Madge, Haymitch, Peeta, the bakers, the neighbors, the children from the Seam. I have been exploited and now I am the prisoner of a monster, a terrible monster.
How Prim and Mother have suffered, I see it, I see it all. The looks in their eyes reflected ones in my own - they have seen far too many deaths for their age, far too many tragedies striking, one after the other. Like a tidal wave. Crashing and dragging and drowning and taking everybody and everything away. It's all my fault, I couldn't protect them and I didn't look out for them and I didn't look out for myself and now we've fallen off the edge, with no way back up.
I gritted my teeth at the mere thought of him. I despised him. I loathed him. He who created this child.
I bet he's sitting on his high and mighty throne right now in his rich old throne room drinking some sort of expensive wine and being congratulated by his dog guards and generals. I bet his eyes lit up at the idea of me carrying his child in my body right now, a tiny, undeveloped thing, a fragile wisp of life in the body he's abused to his will.
I put my hands up to my face and buried my face in the nest of my arms, one of the only things that I am sure still belongs to me. I was never going to have children, I had promised to myself that I would never bring a child into this world. I don't want this child. I don't want it. Who could they grow up to be? What kind of bleak future would this child have, coming from this kind of background?
I suddenly had a mental picture of me barreling into the nearest wall, with my stomach exposed. I can see it clear as day. Blood stains on my hands and in my eyes.
I swallowed hard, closing my eyes. This is why I never wanted children - I am not above contemplating to kill my own child. But I was only thinking it. I only wanted to save them.
I want to weep for this child - this poor innocent child that is growing inside me of right now. It is not their fault they are unfortunate enough to have a monster for a father. But despite the irony of it all, I can just as easily toss my head back and bitterly laugh. Perhaps I am a perfect match for him. I'm a monster, too.
In a way, the child is like Lavinia, innocent and sweet, born into a world of corruption. In this world, the sweetness and innocence are devoured without mercy, without regard. It's my fault that Lavinia lost her tongue to Clove. It was because of me that she got angry.
And then there's me.
When I dare to sneak a glance in the mirror, I am not sure who she is. I do know that what I see is like an eggshell, brittle and vulnerable, ugly and fragile. She is way too fragile to protect the delicate golden treasure she carries inside of her.
But it is not my child's fault they are the spawn of two monsters.
No, it is not their fault their life is practically over before they are even born.
Month 1 (Continued) Katniss First Person Pov
I will never forgive myself for having those incoherent thoughts in my head last week. If there's one thing about being locked up in a tower all day, it's that it gives you time to think. And I've come to a decision. I may be pregnant, but I'm still alive. Prim is still alive. Mother is still alive. Gale is still alive (although I haven't told him I'm pregnant, but I'm not sure how much longer he'll stay alive if he will scream so many obscenities at the king like he did last time).
I closed my eyes, listening to what my mother said to me last time...
I'm not sure. I'm not sure if I can trust her.
I looked down at my fingernails. Untrimmed, unpolished, yet no familiar streaks of dirt or blood of game. Nothing. Not even a reflection. Everybody's changing.
Besides my Prim, I don't know who I can trust anymore. I don't think I can. This entire thing is a messy web of which someone has to untangle or watch it get messier (not to mention the morning sicknesses). Now coming to think about it, all those times when Cato used me, I did feel like a slut. My attempts to convince myself otherwise seemed rather futile and desperate, I realized. I wasn't ready to accept it - I couldn't accept it. And now I understand.
I didn't want to be another Seam girl who used her body to ensure her survival. All my life, it hasn't ever needed to come to that (even if there were a couple of times that came pretty close). As sorry as I felt for them, my warrior pride had always been stronger, and although I never turned up my nose at them like merchants do, I did hold and regard myself as a higher standard. And now, now that I have to do what they'd done and sell my soul for the survival of my family, I've fallen from the pedestal I'd painstakingly built. I fell hard.
But as long as Prim's still alive, I'm doing my job well. That's all that matters. I needed to stay alive for Prim, at least long enough for us to find a way out of this. This won't go on forever. I opened my eyes.
Today, someone visited me with a basket of food. As crazy as it sounds, I've always had food here, plenty more than enough and plenty more than I ever had back in District 12. It's the wickedness of reality. District 12 was home, but at home, people starved, people suffered, people lived in misery. Death was a common visitor around home.
I lived in an in-and-out weave of guilt. It's part of human nature to enjoy luxury, to what they have never had a chance at before, but under when they are enjoying it despite the surrounding circumstances, the guilt eats away at them.
Ever since I've become pregnant, my appetite significantly increased. The doctor said it's something very common for pregnant women to go through - a woman at this time is in her prime of sensitivity, he'd said.
That made me despise him. I am not sensitive. I am not weak. I don't need protection. I never needed it!
However, I needed food. I will admit that. I was never one to deny any food. I knew all too well what being hungry felt like.
I surveyed the food that was brought to me. Big green slices of some kind of melon that doesn't grow back home, succulent lions of pork cut thin and drizzled with honey glaze and a sweet, tangy sauce that made its juices sizzle with flavor, tender white clumps of melting broccoli, and golden shrimp bathing in butter and garlic-brushed mushrooms. It's all delicious and so appetizing to me and I couldn't help but to greedily inhale it all.
As I'm busy stuffing my mouth, I realized how familiarized I have become with food. Ever since leaving District 12. Ever since coming here.
The basket was rather particular though. My food was always brought to me on a plate or platter of some kind. Why would they bother with a basket when they simply could have stacked everything into a pile on the platter?
"A bit hungry, are you?" said a voice I had never heard before.
Old instincts reawaken in me as my head jerked around. A girl, looking no older than Lavinia, stood by the door. She wore the signature maid dress and a little smirk played on her pink lips.
"Who are you?" I demanded. I'd never expected anyone other than the king or Lavinia to enter this room. I didn't know that many people even knew of my tower's existence. I glanced down. Was she the one who brought this in, and I didn't even notice?
She began changing the bed sheets, taking a considerable while before answering me. "Just a maid, nothing more."
A spark of irritation flared inside me. "Where's Lavinia?" And why are you here instead of her?
"I don't know every maid in the castle."
I felt the irritation become ablaze. Who did she think she was? "So I guess not all maids are friendly chitchats."
I noticed something flash in her eyes. "We speak when spoken to."
"But you opened your mouth first!" I snapped indignantly, with half a pork loin in my mouth, not used to being spoken back to. Who was I?
A shadow of something crossed the woman's face, before she grew rigid and replied rather stiffly, "I am very sorry, mistress. It will not happen again." She seemed to be fighting with something, and it was fighting to come out.
I hated being called mistress, but that moment her apology rang like a wake-up call in my head. I looked at her more closely, at the plain maid's dress she wore (and even that hugged tightly around her starved-for-curves body), her skin that has seen the sun far too little, eyes that looked more like gray fog than the sky, the defiance in them, down to each little freckle dotting her nose. She probably didn't like the place she's in right now, but like me, she probably had little choice. There's nothing much she can do right now but to bear through.
"It's fine." The loin of pork was dry as I swallowed.
I felt her study me with her sharp cerulean irises. They weren't pearls of warmth, but they did lose the chill they had a few seconds ago. She was probably surprised that I didn't try harder to give her a more difficult time. So many must do.
I finished the food in silence as she worked. It was not a comfortable silence nor a particularly awkward one, it was honestly more solitary than anything (and perfectly fine with me). I didn't give her a hard time and she responded by not giving me any attitude. No words passed between us as she piled fabrics and when I was finished, the empty basket into her arms. She had worked at a pace that was clear she couldn't wait to get out of here. (I could not blame her, I would have done the same thing.)
When she was almost to the door, she stopped suddenly and turned around, slowly. She hesitated. "If you need anything," she bit her lip, "Any small things...if you ever need them...ask me. My name is Milly."
I stared at her in surprise before acknowledging this small yet amiable courtesy with a nod. She's just closing the door when I remembered something.
"Wait."
The door opened and here she was again.
"Can you..." I bit my lip; I don't usually do this, I hate doing this. "Can you tell Lavinia I would like to see her?" (Would like sounded a little friendlier than want.)
She pursed her lips, making me wonder if she was going to say no. I felt frustration bubbling inside me like a cauldron. She just told me - if she'd have the nerve to say no -
"I will. But I think it'd be better if you to tell her that."
Damn, she had a point.
Cato - Third Person Pov
"Fifty seconds," The general announced, tipping the hourglass over so that it began to rain sand all over again. His loud, growling voice echoed slightly in the large, spacey room of the gleaming metal and wooden apparatuses.
Brutus is stupid, thought Milly, her eyes subconsciously trained on the hulking figure strolling over, You can't tell time with sand. At least not without carefully calibrating it. And Brutus wouldn't know how to calibrate his own height - not that he needs to, anyways. She snickered to herself as the king had to bend to retrieve a moist towel on the tray Brutus was holding.
If King Cato knew that Brutus's time was dreadfully estimated or even heard Milly snickering, he did not acknowledge it.
"How are the new Peacekeepers? Training going well?"
Brutus bowed. "With upmost improvements, Your Majesty... " He bent his head especially low to conceal a forming smirk.
Milly tried not to watch (too long) as the king swabbed the towel all over his hulking body. Of course, doing that wasn't easy, considering she had to walk over to the king to hand him his drink.
He took a couple of swigs and then set it back down on her tray, his entire form still panting. Milly tried to ignore the beads of sweat that glistened like pearls on his body and Brutus's pair of deep-set, stone-like eyes that followed her every movement.
"Brutus, it seemed as if you have more to say but are hesitant to go on. Do go on."
"Well... "
"I'm waiting, Brutus." He eyed Milly coldly. "You may go."
The maid bowed and hurried out, eager to get away in case His Majesty had a temper brewing but also disappointed, as she had been passionately curious as to what Brutus's confession is. Although, she assumed it was going to come out dull, like everything else he said.
The king had waited until she closed the door. "You know my patience is not to be tested. She is gone."
Brutus bowed again. "My deepest apologies, Sire. I regret to inform you that one of our newer trainees...has gone missing."
"What is his name?"
"Casper, Sire. Tall. Burly. Ginger."
"Why did you not inform me of this before?" Cato said softly, very icily. One fist curled and uncurled at his side. A bead of sweat rolled down his body as if a drop of melting wax on a pine-scented candle.
"Well...I... Sire..."
He knew what Brutus meant to say: that he never asked. In fact, Cato was glad that the subject had not been deeply looked into. Casper was new in town, didn't have family, and nobody really liked him all that much. Let him get what he deserved.
"Sire... " Brutus couldn't believe he was actually starting to ask this. He'd debated with himself many times whether this was worth it or not.
Cato dabbed at the last beads of sweat coating his neck, smirking deviously every once in awhile that he reached a hickey or some love bite (scar).
"Sire...about Clove..."
Cato stopped. "What about Clove?"
Brutus flinched at the utterly cold tone the king had switched to in just less than a minute. Really, this wasn't going to be his fault if it all didn't work out. "She's, er, a very...very nice young lady, isn't she? Befitting of being a queen," he added upon seeing one thick eyebrow arched, "Might I ask what made Yer Highness - "
Suddenly Cato felt like going one more time around slashing heads and limbs off the wooden dummies.
"You may go, Brutus."
The burly general stopped and stared at the king; he had wanted to say something else, but he didn't want to say it when and if the king was going to get angry. He hovered, unsure what to do and started to sweat (which was very unmanly-like! he thought).
"Get the FUCK out, Brutus!" A knife lodged itself into the wall where Brutus's left ear had just been. He bowed clumsily, grabbed his empty bottle on the ground, and scurried off without completely standing back up.
As soon as the general left, King Cato rubbed his temples. He needed a few moments alone. He needed to think.
About everything that's happened for the past few months. About the new things that came around this month.
About what he's feeling.
He knew this was absurd. As a king, he was supposed to have as little feeling as possible. As a warrior, none at all. Yes, he understood every bit of it. Still, why does it still occur to him then? Why does she appear so much in his life?
Oh, he's made himself a part of her life, he's got that all right. It was not so much sentimentality, but just the very thought that her face appeared - and disappeared - on his every coherent thought, and everything and anything somehow, in some way, had relations to her.
He knew it didn't make sense. It didn't, no, make the least bit of sense to him. It was not his way, the way he'd been taught, not the way he'd been raised.
Yet it was here and it was in him, this strange thing they called longing, this strange thing called feeling. He'd heard of it before, but could hardly relate to it. His father brought him up training him to be a warrior. Warriors were anything but warm, living, feeling. Could it be?
No! He hated it. Women were supposed to depend on men, not the other way around - though he wouldn't really call himself dependent. No. He's stronger than that. Better than that. Manlier than that.
Warriors killed for honor. They killed because they have the power and capability of doing so. They're the stronger, dominating ones. Warriors did not kill for others. Warriors did not kill one of their own soldiers for a woman. Warriors most certainly do not kill for women.
"Either you control them, or they control you," his father's words rang like a bell in his head, "Do not fear women. Make them fear you."
Now that he thought about it, there really were a lot of women in his life. Clove, Lavinia, and Katniss just for starters... and they were a bunch of pains in the asses.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, something he didn't get to do often when he was surrounded by company. He wasn't being fair to Lavinia. Not that he normally cared about fairness, of course (justice was an entirely different matter). But Lavinia wasn't one of his...lovers. She was a maid, of course, but she was actually more of a sister to him. Yes, a sister. He closed his eyes. Now was not the time to let thoughts drift back to his childhood, to remember all the times he wished he had a sibling to play with.
He didn't notice that he'd knocked them over until he heard the loud crash and saw the swords, daggers, and other small weapons rolling across the floor. He began to pick them up, then thought better of it. Let a servant or some maid do it. He had other matters to attend to.
His steps echoed as he marched swiftly out of the mess he'd left in the large, training arena he had visited everyday since a day in his childhood he didn't like to remember.
Cato Continued- Third Person
Things weren't at all in his control.
They had been moving too quickly way too fast. They had been like little torpedoes, zipping in and out of his sight and whenever he reached for one, another whisked by him, mocking him, laughing at him.
He fucking hated it. He really hated it. How was he to be a king if he had no control?! (Plus, he could not tolerate being laughed at).
At the end of the day, he was as troubled in his study as he was in the training center. Piles of paper sat in front of him, and there an open book he'd just been flipping through sat in front of him, urging him on with its gilded covers and page after page of writing. He snapped the book shut, letting out a growl. The paper he had in his hands made the blaze of the fireplace a little brighter.
The king sat back in his great wooden chair and rubbed his eyes. The meeting with the King of the Capitol was more tiring than fighting a battle.
And Snow was as malevolent and as manipulative as a man could get without being mistaken for a snake. With beady shining eyes, overgrown white hair like a bush, and injected lips, the little dictator of Panem had gleefully announced the short upcoming of the Hunger Games to finally arrive. Reaping would begin in June.
There had been many people he knew at the meeting. Not particularly friends, not exactly acquaintances, but not so much enemies either. Just people who were confined in the same trap as him, the people who had to endure the same things as him, the people who had to make choices directly resulting in the outcome of their districts. These people had the same troubles as him, bore the same weights on their shoulders.
He knew some better than others. Present were Gloss and Cashmere, the brother and sister monarchs of District 1. Cato didn't know them personally as well as their nephew, Marvel, but all three of them had warm handshakes and hearty, tired smiles for him (which were more than what most people had been giving him). Also in presence was Finnick Odair, grandson of the aging queen of District 4.
Cato had only good words to speak of Queen Mags. Not that he would ever admit it, but she had his eternal gratitude for aiding him in some of his darkest hours. He shook his head; that was not to be thought of here. It belonged in the past.
The room had been elegant, even for the Capitol. Arched windows encircled the magnificent square hall- the royalties' table was just a small occupant in a less extravagant corner. A high-strung chandelier hung down from the ceiling, illuminating the otherwise-dim room. However, even with its luxurious fineries, something about the room made it oddly empty, vacant, as you will.
He could still remember the terrifying silence that had accompanied Snow into the room, along with the strong scent of roses. Cato normally liked roses, well all except for white. It was too pure, too bleached, too flawless, as if it would try too hard, as if it would do anything. And the person who always wore a white rose on his breast seemed like that kind.
Snow had came in wearing a smile as hideous as his lips; Cato knew that couldn't have been good. He was right. It almost seemed like everyone had came out of the meeting with the same thoughts: 1. Fuck Snow and the Capitol. 2. How am I, as king or queen, supposed to reveal and subject my people to the horrors Snow dubbed the Hunger Games, which would start soon?
Nobody mentioned these things out loud, but Cato was pretty sure everybody was thinking it.
But then the meeting was dismissed and the rulers left to waddle back to their kingdoms, the Hunger Games plaguing their minds.
And now, nearing the hour of midnight, Snow's voice still remained with him clear as a bell and the upcoming Games themselves still played shadows in the darkest corner of his mind.
It shouldn't be this way. 24 children encased in an arena. One comes out. The nation must watch. Chosen by lottery. Marked by death.
The other normal monarchs were perhaps thinking of ways to protect, or better yet save their people. But he, Cato, was thinking of how to save one person. Then it dawned on him. On one of those rare nights when they would embrace each other after their activity (somehow, snuggling didn't seem like the right word), hadn't she revealed that she was almost twenty? She was too old to get reaped.
Cato thought it strange when he felt his heartbeat sped up at this news. She had been here for far longer than he'd planned, and he wasn't sure how it happened, but he had done everything to justify that it was all a coincidence. With her belly having grown swollen and all, it wouldn't be convenient for him to simply toss her. It wouldn't really give him a surge of power and it wouldn't really benefit his reputation as king. That was all. (He swallowed other opinions down his throat. Oddly, the swallow felt empty.)
But becoming a father had never really crept up in his plans. It just sort of crept up on him when he didn't give much thought about it. His lip curled in a snarl. If anyone thought the pregnancy had overcome him, they were wrong. Completely wrong. Nothing overcame him. Nothing. If fate wanted him to have a baby, then damn it, he was going to fucking have a baby. He was going to be the best damned father there ever was. Not even Snow could stop him, the old bastard.
He wondered if Snow knew how much they secretly hated him. Old man was one sly ass. Cato knew his father had an alliance with Snow. He'd even been encouraged to continue it and to pass it on. "It would give you great power," his father had spat at him.
But as of now, he wasn't sure about that. He doesn't know what his father would have said if he'd heard about the Hunger Games, but personally, he thought Castor wouldn't have seen much of a difference. In other words, his father would keep his alliance with the Capitol.
It was all a scheme for power, that much he knew. And Cato knew that Snow knew of the kingdoms' lust for power. He's playing us for fools.
He, Cato, would not be a piece in anybody's game. He was not going to let Snow claim the ultimate power over the kingdoms. Why should the Capitol get more kingdoms than he, when his army made up half of Snow's? Why should he only get to keep his own district when that was already his right as king, not a privilege? Who did Snow think he was?
Cato frowned. He wasn't afraid of him. He wasn't afraid of anybody. To hell with Snow and damned his white roses. Cato was the king of 2, and the old bastard wasn't going to come between him protecting his people. That is, performing his duty as king.
Suddenly more inspired than he'd been before, he picked up a blank piece of paper and began to write furiously on it. For a moment, the sound of pen meeting paper was the only sound accompanying the crackle of the fireplace.
Midway through, he reconsidered. No, he thought as he crumpled up yet another unfinished piece. It was better if he did the deed himself. His father would be horrified if he learned that his son just wrote a reminder in ink on the palm of his hand. Against his willpower, Cato smirked.
He reconsidered another entirely different subject for yet another while, and in the end he got up and opened a trunk that had been tucked away in the most isolated corner of his magnificent chamber.
He looked inside, and after long moments of hesitance and consideration, finally picked three books (with a frown, one might add). He carried them back to his desk. After yet another wave of hesitation and reluctant thoughts, he set them in a small, hand-crafted box sitting at the edge of his desk.
He then sank into his comfy armchair by the fireplace and watched the flames flicker in the mantelpiece before he gradually descended into a light sleep. But this time, reality followed him even to the land of dreams.
Katniss Third Person (Morning)
The moment her eyes opened, Katniss sat up right away. There stood a familiar young woman a few feet from her bed, the very one she knew she was destined to confront sometime or later.
Her red hair had been combed neatly since the last time, and it was arranged into a delicate braid that curled around the lovely porcelain neck. A choker, just as delicate, encircled her throat. Unlike the old days though, her butterfly eyes did not outshine the red gems of her choker this time. She stood as straight as a statue, her hands moving very little against a small box she clutched closely to her chest. Her posture indicated that she had something heavier on her mind than her hands, and it shone through her eyes.
"Lavinia... " Katniss said unsurely. Dread filled her soul. This was the moment where she would go deep down and find that teeny tiny flame of hope, no matter how deep, and somehow ignite it and then Lavinia would smile and open her mouth and say everything was alright as the sunshine streaming in through the window.
Miracles scarcely occurred.
Instead, it took a long time for Lavinia's eyes to meet up to hers. Katniss didn't know whether to cringe or cry out as Lavinia raised those red-rimmed eyes, full of fear and indignant.
What happened to the beautiful young woman who'd lightened the halls of this very castle? Where had her energy, her youth, her spirit gone? How could bad turn from worse in such a short time?
A lump formed in Katniss's throat. If she hadn't known better, if she truly hadn't, Lavinia could have passed for a statue, if her eyes weren't flickering as she looked anywhere but Katniss's eyes.
The lump in Katniss's throat grew bigger. "This was all my fault," she whispered, fiddling with her hands. She desperately wanted to find a way to make up this horrible ordeal, but how do you return one's tongue back? "Her anger, it was meant for me. If it weren't for me this wouldn't have happened to you." She was furious at herself. She wondered if Lavinia hated her as much as she hated herself.
She jerked her head up in surprise when she felt a thin, delicate hand squeeze hers. Glancing up, she found herself looking into Lavinia's eyes, eyes that were finally looking into hers. Lavinia gently shook her head, then touched her chest.
"You don't blame me." Katniss translated hoarsely.
Lavinia offered her a small smile. Somehow, this made Katniss feel guiltier. She wondered if the woman in front of her secretly hated her.
"I would understand if you hate me. I hate me, too."
Lavinia looked shocked, raising one fiery eyebrow. She shook her head again, more firmly this time. She took Katniss's hands in her own and gave them a meaningful squeeze.
Katniss took to this as a sign that Lavinia didn't hate her, and both guilt and joy flooded her. "I'm so sorry..."
Lavinia shook her head as if to say Don't pity me.
"I won't pity you," Katniss heard herself saying, "I don't. You're so brave. Incredibly brave."
Lavinia blushed. Katniss had never thought it possible for one to beam and flush at the same time. It was, in lacking of better words, adorable.
"But there is one thing I don't understand."
Lavinia's smile vanished into a look of confusion.
Katniss continued, "Why don't you blame me?" Did she secretly hate her? Or did she really bear no grudge?
Instead of replying to that, Lavinia opened the box she had been carrying and pulled out the last things Katniss had been expecting to see: three books, each with their own covers. She felt something stir up inside her. It had been a long, long time since she'd last seen a book. In fact, the last time she'd seen a book was when she was still in school. Of course, the school wasn't anything extravagant in 12. Addition and subtraction did not seem like anything useful to hunting or war, but if there was one thing school taught Katniss, it was how to read. She was one of the rare ones in her kingdom who had actually learned how.
It was a well-kept secret; aside from herself, the only other people who knew were her mother and sister. She'd never shared with even Gale, although it wasn't anything particularly enduring. She just never thought it of enough significance to bring up.
And now, turning these books over and over in her hand and examining their gilded covers and tracing her fingers over the lettering, she suddenly felt very, very glad she could.
"Did he send these to me?"
Lavinia responded with a nod.
The apprehension in Katniss was growing. Why would he have sent books to her? He thought her a slut, didn't he? A common whore? Nothing more than dirt from the slums.
He saved your life that night, something in the back of her brain whispered.
But he got you pregnant. He's the cause of all this, argued the logical part of her brain. Think, now. He mocks your district, he uses you solely for his desires. Why would he bring you books if he thought so less of you?
Poor Lavinia was quite frightened indeed when Katniss grabbed one of the books and hurled it at the nearest wall. The other two soon followed, one just barely missing Lavinia's head.
In Katniss's newfound rage, however, she hardly noticed. She wanted to scream until her throat was raw. That arrogant, scheming, diabolical bastard! "I hate him!" she yelled to her one audience member, "I hate him so!"
She calmed down from her rage once realizing Lavinia's expression of confusion. And another emotion on her face that made Katniss feel guilty all over again: terror.
"I...he...he did this on purpose, didn't he? He probably thought that I couldn't read, and so he sent me these to mock me!" She was still breathing hard.
Lavinia looked quite shocked. But then a different emotion overtook her face and she went around picking up all the books. Katniss was at a loss for words when the maid handed them back to her with a gentle smile on her face.
"He's mocking me with these, Lavinia. He's saying that I'm not as good as him." But one question hung in the air: Was she?
Lavinia simply shook her head, then gestured back to the books she was still holding out to Katniss.
Suddenly, Katniss found herself very irritated at Lavinia, thought she knew she shouldn't be. It wasn't fair to Lavinia, not at all. It just wasn't fair that she was forgiving and pure and something Katniss will never be. It wasn't her fault that she could be angelical to those whom were so cruel to her, to those so cruel in nature.
Katniss didn't want to take the books, but the last thing she wanted to do was to hurt Lavinia any more. She hesitantly took the books, forcing a smile onto her face. "Thanks."
It was fake and cheap and all in all, a rather icy smile, but Lavinia accepted it with a genuine one of her own. She squeezed Katniss's hands one last time before blowing her a soft kiss and heading out of the room.
Katniss was now alone, more miserable than ever. She snuck a glance at the books but then dropped them aside in disgust. She would never read those books, even if her life depended on it.
She turned her head to the side and looked at the outside world. It was going to be a long wait for the sun to go down.
Peeta (Third Person, District 12's hideout)
"You bring us very urgent news, my boy," King Undersee tried saying neutrally, but Peeta could hear the graveness of his tone, "This Hunger Games you mention, they are in the upcoming month?"
"Brought to us by the Capitol," Peeta said as he took a long swig of water. His face fell as his mind registered something. "Your Majesty, do you think - do you think she'll be in grave danger?"
King Undersee stroked his beard, but Peeta could understand that he was frowning beyond the bushy exterior. "Ah, I do not believe these Hunger Games were designed towards one individual person, Peeta. If they are such the horrors you speak of, then the old King Snow must have had a group of targets in mind to come up with something this big. Since you say Katniss is still alive, I believe they would not have kept her alive this long without reason. But I can also see her being used as a ploy in the Hunger Games for District 2."
Peeta wrinkled his nose. "I don't understand, Sire." He wished he'd knew more information about Katniss, other than that she was alive. All the kitchen folk were gossiping about now were the Games.
"Two children are reaped by lottery from every kingdom, yes? But how do we know they are really by lottery? What's to say that 2 won't play a dirty trick, it's in their blood, and sacrifice their prisoners instead of their own?"
"But Sire, wouldn't every kingdom do that?"
The king actually smiled a bit. "Every kingdom except for us, Peeta. We will not be participating in the Hunger Games."
Peeta couldn't help noticing there was a bitter undertone to the king's words. "Thanks to good men like you, Sire."
"Thank you, dear boy, but it is also thanks to those such as Katniss and yourself that we have managed to be where we are today. You are carrying a whole nation's burdens on your shoulders."
King Undersee has a fatherly gaze, Peeta noticed. "Sire, I am willing to do whatever it takes to see Katniss Everdeen safe and sound. And put a stop to the Hunger Games," he added as an afterthought (though less confidently).
The king sighed. "Then I am afraid you shall have to keep up your great spy work for us, Peeta, though I do hate asking you to put yourself in danger."
"Sire, as I stated before, I will stop at nothing to see District 12 liberated."
"I appreciate your faith, Peeta. Now, you better go get some rest. You've had a long journey, Silver Winged One." He didn't need to add, And lots more journeys ahead.
"Thank you, Sire." He bowed and began walking towards the food rations. He thought that if they could spare some rations of flour, he could perhaps bake bread for everyone. It was not likely for anyone to see a fire.
"Peeta, wait."
He stopped, turned around, and immediately headed back to the king. "Yes, Your Highness?" One didn't have to be a genius to hear the worry in his voice.
The king gave him a sad smile. "I only wish I could be of more help to you and Katniss, my boy. I only wish there were something more I could do for my own kingdom."
Peeta was shocked to hear his king sound so...so unsure. He was determined to be the best spy in the history of Panem.
Cato Third Person Pov
Snow was not particularly an easy person to trick. He still wondered if he did the right thing.
He squeezed the paper in a fist. Fuck, how could he doubt his own power as king?
He didn't know if Snow knew. He might eventually figure it out, but when would that be? No one else was going to figure out that someone had taken a slip of paper from the reaping ball; there were simply too many names. And only Cato himself knew who had done it.
The king smirked. Thank goodness he did the deed himself. He only hoped that this would benefit him in the future.
He fingered with the small slip of paper in his hands. Two little words. Two little words that had such a big effect on a certain someone who liked braids. Two little words that took him a great amount of time to get.
Primrose Everdeen
Come to realize, I've edited this chapter so much. Amidst Katniss's hormones and Cato's confusion of his feelings and all that raging and scheming, they have to deal with the Hunger Games, which will happen in the next upcoming chapter. Ooh, but why does he personally take Primrose's name out of the reaping? And does he have another reason, an entirely different reason for sending Katniss those books? Stick around at the end of the notes for the upcoming chapter previews. If you see a mistake in the chapter, I will be editing it one more time after release.
I'm excited for the next few chapters, with the Hunger Games upcoming and all (and of course, a couple of my little twists). It's almost degrading to me the fact that I take awhile to update. No one notices it more than I do, and I really hate keeping you guys waiting for so long. In the past, I usually take however long I needed to because I did not want time to interfere with the quality of how turned out. But now, I feel bad. I really want to apologize to you guys over the whole 5 months thing. I don't know how I could possibly make it up to you.
Oh, and I'm going for a shorter chapter next time.
I have a question for you guys: Would you rather read a chapter that has taken quite awhile to write but is of the best possible quality, or read a rather mediocre chapter that was written for the sake of time? Just out of curiosity, because it's something I've never really considered thoroughly before.
I had a (severe) case of writer's block for this chapter (because I think it's the chapter before the chapter that really gets things going, and that gets me anxious!) I managed to get through it, and none of that could have been accomplished without all of your patience and support. You've always stuck with me, no matter how hard it is. So thanks, guys. :) I'm also working on some original work which I'm considering to send off to editors, once I complete them, of course (thank you so much to those of you who suggested me on going professional, that is a huge compliment I'll never get over!)
Oh, and kudos to those of you who have been noticing the "little things" all long, because I am going to reveal some of them in the next chapter. Remember, if your name didn't make it into this chapter, it might make it into the upcoming couple of chapters!
All of you have been amazing with your patience, and just, just thank you. You know, if you have any comments, concerns, or just anything you'd like to talk to me about my stories in general, please don't hesitate to pm me. I'm not that scary and I enjoy talking to people who enjoy the literary world as much as I do :) (It takes me awhile to respond to reviews)
I missed all of you!
Congratulations to
Silver Winged One (used as a phrase by the king)
Milly as Milly the maid
Everybody's Changing as a phrase said by Katniss :D (because it was difficult for me working it into a character name)
To reply to your questions: How long has Katniss been in with the king? A: A couple of months.
Will Cato ever ask her what's up with her and Peeta? A: I don't know, will he? Heh, Cato's not a big fan of admitting envy. Or any of his other feelings :)
Thanks again to everyone who reviewed and a special thanks to those who replied to my replies. Here is a preview from an upcoming chapter:
"CATO! HE'S OUR CHILD! HE'S OUR CHILD!"