Sooooo...I don't know if this was requested or not but I decided to get back in Maxon's head and write a bit from his POV and guess what I've chosen...the end of the Elite and that fateful night in the safe room! Woo hoo! So it starts during the Report and then progresses from there.
Trigger warnings: violent abuse
"These violent delights have violent ends. And in their triumph die like fire and powder, which as they kiss; consume." - Shakespeare
What is she doing? I thought furiously as I watched America give her presentation. There were so many things she could have done. With her difficult upbringing and background, her ideas should have been endless. She could have started a food program or arts initiative. Not this. Anything but this.
She looked at me but I tried to keep my face stony, not willing to give anything away. I was still angry about the argument we had in our room, sure, but I had forgiven her. I was going to speak to her that night after the Report and hopefully make amends. But then she shut me down prior to the Report, refusing to tug her ear back to me. Now I just wasn't going to leave her a choice; I was going to storm up to her room after her and talk to her. But now I had to reassess. I couldn't let on that I wasn't truly mad at her for this idea of eliminating the castes. How could I have been mad at her for that? I couldn't, not when I had the same idea. I had the bill drafted and sitting in my room, waiting for the day that I would be king and could finally make my mark.
At my side, I could hear my mother's breaths come out in shallow draws. She was scared too. We both knew that this was not going to end well. Whether it ended with rebels knocking down our doors or my father's anger exploding, it was going to end poorly.
"And how do you suggest we eliminate the castes?" Father challenged. "Just suddenly take them all away?"
"Oh…" she faltered, clearly not expecting the question. If I knew America as well as I thought it did, she was doing this to make a point and hadn't thought through anything beyond the presentation itself. "I don't know." C'mon America, just keep it together. Don't let him intimidate you. Please. But then I looked closer at her stack of books. There, in the middle of the stack, was Gregory's journal. I almost jumped out of my chair when I realized what it was. No. She had to get rid of it. She couldn't have it here. She was begging me to be upset with her at this point. But my fear overpowered my anger tenfold. Misbehaving was one thing; I couldn't protect her from what was coming as soon as she revealed that journal.
I glanced over nervously and saw my father smirk a bit, knowing that he was going to win this argument. "And you don't think that would cause riots? Complete mayhem? Allow for rebels to take advantage of public confusion?"
She was struggling and I wanted to toss her a lifeline but not with my father in control of this situation. He had successfully hijacked her presentation and turned it into a suicide mission. For a second I was awed at how she collected herself but her hand ghosted toward her books, toward the binding of the journal. "I think the creation caused a decent amount of confusion, and we managed that. In fact, I have a description here."
As she opened the journal, I almost shot out of my seat. "Are we off?" Father bellowed.
"Yes, Majesty," someone called.
America must have noticed that the cameras had all been turned off because she seemed to wilt. "Point them to the ground," Father ordered and the cameras were all turned down. He stormed over to America and ripped the diary from her hands. I had to move. I had to do something to protect her. "Where did you get this?" he yelled.
This time I came unglued from my seat and sprinted over to them. "Father, stop!" I pleaded.
"Where did she get this?" Father turned to me, his eyes angry and full of fury. "Answer me!"
"From me," I confessed. We were looking up what Halloween was. He wrote about it in the diaries, and I thought she'd like to read more."
Father laughed darkly in spite of himself. "You idiot." I drew back slightly, hating the blush that was spreading across my cheeks at the insult. "I knew I should have made you read these sooner. You're completely lost. You have no clue of the duty you have!" He paused a moment to temper down his anger. "She leaves tonight. I've had enough of her."
Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. I had the choice to make. Protect her or protect myself. I couldn't send her home. I couldn't part with her now on this note and not while the rebels were attacking the girls' homes. But my father…what was he going to do to me? I knew already but the thought made me want to vomit. I could feel the sting in my back just thinking about it. Hear the whistle of the cane flying through the air…
But it really wasn't a choice. Just like who was going to be my wife at the end of this. That's why I had to protect her. "You can't send her home. That's my choice, and I say she stays," I said calmly. There. It was out. I couldn't take this back now.
"Maxon Calix Schreave, I am the King of Illéa, and I say…"
"Could you stop being the king for five minutes and just be my father?" I exclaimed. There was definitely no going back now. I didn't want to get into this in front of the girls but what else was I going to do? Let America take my place in Father's study? "This is my choice. You got to make yours, and I want to make mine. No one else is leaving without my say so!" Especially America. If I was going to go through this I had to have her here at the end.
"Amberly, take this back to where it belongs," he said, shoving the book in her hand. She stood there, nodding her head but not moving. I could see the fear in her eyes. She was frightened of him but she didn't know just how frightened she should be. "Maxon, I need to see you in my office." There it was. I had been waiting for it. But as I steeled myself Father turned to America. "Or, I could simply talk to her."
"No," I said quickly, not giving him the chance to even finish the thought. "That won't be necessary. Ladies, why don't you all head upstairs? We'll have dinner sent to you tonight." I took a deep breath and faced America. "America, maybe you should go ahead and collect your things. Just in case," I added, not wanting to completely close off the chance of her staying. Even though at that point I knew the chances were slim.
"Excellent idea. After you, son," he admonished. I walked to the door, only barely listening to Mom remind Father of Natalie's sister. I looked at America and wanted to say something but anything I said now would just be used against me. It was for her own good that I stayed quiet.
Soon he returned to me, placing a hand on my shoulder and practically pushing me out of the door. I walked in front of him, not daring to look behind him as we made our way to his study. I desperately wanted to run and hide and cower until the worst of his anger passed but I couldn't run from the king of Illéa. I was a prisoner trapped in my own home. America didn't know how right she was when she said that the palace was a cage.
I waited in the middle of the room as he pounced around the perimeter, searching the bookshelves rabidly for the last place he had hidden the cane he saved especially for me. It had only been used on one other person and she was more or less safely working in the kitchens some hundred feet beneath my shoes. Father had arranged that on purpose. It was just one of the many reasons I barely stomached that morning.
"Sir, I can explain," I said desperately. He hadn't done this since the girls arrived. How was I going to explain this to them if I ran into them? How was I going to explain this to the one who became my wife within the next year? It would take much more than a year for my scars to disappear. I could fight Father but all I could see was America in the same spot as me, her own back bare and bloodied with my father cackling maniacally above her. It may have been an exaggerated image but it was one I was willing to die to prevent from ever becoming a reality.
Father finally found the cane in one of the many safes in the bookshelf, slicing it through the air to test his grip. "We both know that your negotiation skills are at a minimum. You won't smooth talk your way out of this one. Unless you want me to pay your darling Five a visit downstairs?" he taunted, coming toward me slowly.
I shook my head frantically. We were the same height and I was bulkier from my endless nights of training but I still felt so small when he gave me that look. That look that conveyed total control and awareness. I wished he would black out from anger. But he would remember this. He would remember this and in the morning he would pretend it never even happened, as would I.
I was lost in my thoughts and didn't see the cane coming until it caught my shoulder, knocking me to the floor. "What do you think for this time? I think five was too much last spring when I did this. You could barely hold yourself upright. Although, I could give you five now." The cane struck my back again, tearing cleanly through the fabric of my shirt and through my flesh, making me groan. I tried to crawl away from him but his hand yanked me up by the collar of my shirt, forcing me to stand on my own two feet.
"You wouldn't want anyone to suspect anything, Father," I spat, really having nothing left to lose. But then I remembered America and remembered that I had to keep my mouth shut. If I provoked him even more, who was to say that he would stop at me? Who was to say that he wouldn't go after her when he was finished with me.
"I know where her room is Maxon. Do not provoke me," he warned, echoing my thoughts.
I shook my head. "You can't. You know how big her mouth is; she'll tell someone. Then what will the rebels do to you?"
Father shoved me back down on the floor, throwing the cane down on my back again. This time hurt even more, the slice opposite the one that came before it. "I could do five to represent her caste. To remind you that Fives have no place in the palace except for the background with their poor wooden instruments, making those squealy sounds. How poetic that would be," he purred, making me shiver. "Yes, I do think it will be five."
Another slash, another burst of light behind my eyelids as I fought to stay quiet. If I yelled it would alert the guards and America would be dead within minutes. He couldn't kill me but he could kill my soul. Someone pounded on the door and for a few horrifying seconds I was terrified that I had been too loud and the guards were here to intervene.
"Your Majesty, there's been an alert for security on one of the far borders of the palace grounds," the guard reported through the door.
I looked up at my father as he crouched down in front of me. "You were lucky tonight boy. Three is all you get. Now get out of my sight."
I didn't need to be told twice. With one hand gripping my hip where I could feel blood dripping, I stumbled to the door and went the back way to my bedroom. The pain of my back was blending into a familiar ache and with the worst of the sting gone, my vision clouded and I got angry. I couldn't believe I had let him get away with that again. But what other choice did I have? I had America to think about and protect from horrors she was completely ignorant of. She didn't even have a clue what was going on behind the scenes. How would her opinion change if she knew the truth? No. I couldn't use this as a way of getting her affection back. I refused to turn this into a sob story.
I had to change into fresh pants and a fresh shirt. They would be ruined as well but my tailors took it upon themselves to ensure that I rarely wore the same thing twice anyway. I just needed them to get down to the infirmary and back.
The hallway was crowded with guards. As I approached the landing of the steps I saw my mother round the corner and I quickly ran down the stairs, not wanting to face her own disappointment and not wanting to give her any reason to suspect that something had happened between Father and I. A charade as old as me but an important, nonetheless.
Dr. Ashlar was not in his office, thankfully, so I didn't have to face his knowing stare as I retrieved my box from a small filing cabinet in the corner of the room. I gripped the box tightly, telling myself that I just had to get back to my room and I would be fine and could move on.
As I pushed myself out of the hospital though, I collided with someone. I groaned and my vision clouded from pain but the red hair in front of me was unmistakable. I had told her to go to her room. I hadn't done all of that for her just now for her to still not listen to me. Then again, she had no idea what lengths I was going to in order to protect her. For all she knew, I had gone to my father's study for an argument. Not a beating. "What are you doing out of your room?" I asked, trying to distract myself and act normally as I retrieved my box.
"I was going to the gardens. I'm trying to figure out if I did something stupid or not," she answered, her voice only holding a bit of the anger she no doubt still felt for me.
I straightened myself painfully and nodded. "Oh, I can assure you it was stupid."
"Do you need help?" She was frowning at me and I could see her wondering what was in the box, what was wrong with me, why I was behaving so strangely.
"No. Just heading to my room. And I suggest you do the same," I said quickly, just wanting her in her room. My father was probably still angry and if he ran into her in the hallway I couldn't guarantee that she'd be safe.
I had just started to move past her when she spoke again, calling out to me in a desperate plea. "Maxon. I'm so sorry. I was mad, and I wanted to…I don't even know anymore. And you were the one who said there were perks to being a One, that you could change things."
I rolled my eyes. "You're not a One." I paused. My pain was getting the better of me. "Even if you were, did you not pay attention at all to the way I'm doing things? It's quiet and small. That's how it has to be for now. You can't go on television complaining about the way things are run and expect to have my father's, or anyone's, support," I explained. She had to understand this. If she just stuck with me for a while longer, we could carry out her plan. But we had to do it right.
"I'm sorry!" she cried. "I'm so, so sorry."
Her being sorry wasn't going to change anything that had happened in the last half hour. "I'm not sure that…"
We heard the shouting at the same time. I turned and started walking, pain momentarily forgotten, and she followed, both us trying to make sense of the sound. Was someone fighting? Guards came pouring in from the gardens and I immediately knew what was happening. And that my actions to protect America could have been naught with what was about to happen.
"Sound the alarm!" someone called. "They're through the gates!"
"Guns at the ready!" another guard yelled over the shouts.
"Alert the king!"
And then, the bullets started flying through the air with America and I dangerously close to the crossfire. She screamed quietly as a guard in front of us was shot, falling back and surely dying. I pulled her away but I couldn't move quickly. It took every muscle in my body to keep myself upright.
"Your Majesty!" a guard called, noticing me and racing over to us. "You have to get downstairs now!" He pushed me in the direction to a passage for the safe room but he hit my shoulder and I couldn't smother the cry of pain that came out reflexively at his touch. America snatched up my box and grabbed my elbow, trying to pull me in the direction of the safe room.
"I won't make it," I told them both. This was when I would die. Or both of us would die. She had to leave and get to the safe room now. Sweat broke out along my forehead with the simple exertion of standing up.
"Yes, sir. This way," the guard said, understanding and he pulled us both around a corner to one of the safe rooms for the maids. I walked in and practically yanked America in behind me.
He was about to close the door when I stopped him. "Tell my mother that America and I are safe. Do that before anything else," I told him even though I knew he probably wasn't going to make it to the safe room.
"Absolutely, sir. I'll come back for you myself when this is over." I nodded and the siren sounded as the door shut, locking us in and sealing us off from the attack. On the other side of that wall, rebels were killing my men all in the hope of eventually killing me. These rooms had never been really tested against something like a bomb but in order to keep America from being scared I had to stay positive. Finally I found the light switch and hobbled over to the bench in the middle of the room.
"At least this is one of the good ones," I resigned, slowly lowering myself down.
"What's wrong?" she asked. She had to know that I was hurt in some way with the way I had been acting but I couldn't tell her. Not yet at least. I could make it through this.
"Nothing," I lied, propping my head up on my arms to keep myself from looking at her.
I heard her sit down next to me, a safe distance from me. "I'm guessing those were Southern rebels?" she asked quietly. I could only nod. "Are we safe here?"
"Yes. This is one of the places for servants. If they happen to be down in the kitchen and storage area, they're pretty safe as it is. But the ones running about doing chores might not be able to get there quickly enough. It's not quite as safe as the big room for the royal family, and we have supplies to survive down there for quite some time; but these work in a pinch." If she kept asking me questions I could be distracted from the pain but I knew it wouldn't last forever.
"Do the rebels know?"
I sat up, testing how mobile I was. I didn't have much luck. "They might. But they can't get in once the rooms are in use. There are only three ways out. Someone with a key has to activate it from the outside, someone with a key can activate it from the inside," I patted the pocket of my jacket where the key was safely stowed, "or you have to wait for two days. After forty-eight hours, the doors automatically open. The guards check every safe room once the danger has passed, but there's always a chance they could miss one; and without the delayed-unlocking mechanism, someone could be stuck in here forever."
Her distracting me wasn't working anymore. The pain was getting unbearable and I kept thinking that if there was no way of hearing what was going on outside, how were we supposed to know that the attack was over? I couldn't leave my back open and bleeding for forty-eight hours as we waited. I had to bandage it and I had to do it soon or I would risk getting an infection. Then how would I explain this? "Maxon," she whispered gently. I could listen to her speak in that voice all day.
"I can't…I can't take it anymore. America, help me with my coat?" I held out my arm, and she jumped up to help me slide my coat down my back. I let it drop behind me and moved to my buttons. She started helping me but I stopped her, holding her hands in mine. "Your record for keeping secrets isn't that impressive right now. But this is one that goes to your grave. And mine. Do you understand?" She had to understand. I wasn't giving her a choice.
She nodded and I released her hands, slowly unbuttoning my shirt. I wondered if she'd ever imagined herself doing this. I could admit I had. Halloween night, I had lain in bed and dreamed of this very second in our future. I thought it would be much different. Still, a thrill went through me. I realized that if I had to do this with any of the Elite it could have only been her. Despite everything, I did trust her and she wouldn't pity me or baby me like the others. She was braver than anyone I knew. She was certainly braver than me. I could have never gone on the Report and done what she had done that night.
I didn't miss the way her eyes lingered on my torso but she eventually tore them away and moved to my back. "Slowly," I said in a low voice, wanting to fill the silence with something other than the sound of her breaths.
America gasped behind me and she stopped. It was a few agonizing seconds before she went back to work, just as I expected her to do. She left to get a small washcloth and ran it under the water of the sink. "This might sting a little," she warned.
"It's okay," I whispered. "I'm used to it."
She pressed the washcloth to my shoulder first. The sensation of it made me recoil at first but I tried to settle myself, pressing my fist to my mouth to keep from making a sound. I couldn't lose myself here in front of her. "I've been preparing for tonight for years, you know? I've been waiting for the day when I was strong enough to take him on."
She cleared her throat. "Why didn't you?"
I paused, not wanting to give away too much. "I was afraid that if he didn't have me, he'd want you."
There was another long pause before she asked, "Does anyone know?" This was exactly the question I feared most. People couldn't know about this and she had to understand that.
"No."
"Not the doctor? Or your mother?"
"The doctor must, but he's quiet. And I would never tell my mother or even give her a reason to suspect. She knows Father is stern with me, but I don't want her to worry. And I can take it. He's not like this with her," I promised quickly, knowing that it was important for her to know that. "She gets mistreated in her own ways, I suppose, but not like this." I thought of my father's short tempered that was never hidden from Mom, the way he seemed to always be taking advantage of her kind heart.
"Hmm," she mused and I knew she didn't have anything else to say.
She wiped at something and I hissed reflexively. "Damn, that stings." She waited for me to regulate my breathing again and then I gave her a small nod and she started again. "I have more sympathy for Carter and Marlee than you know," I said, trying to sound light. Hopefully now she'd understand the full depth of my sympathy for them. "These things take awhile to stop hurting, especially if you're determined to take care of them on your own."
"What are the others for?" she asked in the same soft voice she'd been using. It was borderline maternal and I couldn't stop the image of her rocking a baby with soft red hair and brown eyes in her arms, using the same voice to get the baby to sleep. "Never mine. That's rude."
I managed to shrug my uninjured shoulder. "Things I said or did. Things I know."
"Things I know," she added. "Maxon, I'm so…" Her breathing hitched and I could hear the guilt in her voice.
I couldn't turn around but my hand searched and found her knee, wrapping itself around the joint. "How are you going to finish fixing me up if you're crying?"
She laughed weakly through her tears and kept cleaning with a much gentler hand. When she was finished she asked, "Do you think there are any bandages in here?"
"The box," I said. I worked on steadying my breaths as she opened it, taking in the abundance of supplies.
"Why don't you have bandages in your room?"
Another question with a complicated answer. "Sheer pride. I was determined to never need them again."
She positioned herself behind me again and I heard her open a bottle. "This might hurt." I steeled myself and the first application stung more than the cleaning but it faded, taking with it the pain of the wounds. I finally was able to relax my back a bit as she continued to work quickly and thoroughly.
"I knew my secret would come out eventually. I've been trying to come up with a good story for years. I was hoping to find something believable before the wedding since I knew my wife would see them, but I'm still stumped. Any ideas?" If I had my way, she'd be my wife but at this point there was absolutely no guarantee of that.
"The truth works."
I nodded, considering it. "Not my favorite option. Not for this anyway."
"I think I'm done," she suddenly announced.
I twisted and bent a little bit, moving gingerly. I turned to look at her. "That's great, America. Better than any job I ever did."
"Anytime," she said kindly but I prayed that this would never happen again. Just like I did every time it did happen.
"I'm going to wash your shirt," she announced abruptly, burying herself in the corner, rubbing my shirt against itself, watching the water turn rust colored before it escaped down the drain. I knew all the blood wouldn't come out but it at least gave her something to do to fill the awkward silence.
There were so many things I wanted to tell her but I didn't even know where to begin. If she just asked it would give me a gateway but no, I had to be the one to initiate the conversation. "Why don't you ever ask questions I actually want to answer?"
She sat down on the floor across from me. "I didn't know I did that."
"You do."
"Well, what am I not asking that you want me to?"
I let out a long breath and gently leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "Don't you want me to explain Kriss and Celeste? Don't you think you deserve that?"
She crossed her arms in what could only be a defensive move. "I've heard Kriss's version of what happened, and I don't think she's exaggerating anything. As for Celeste, I'd rather never talk about her ever again."
I couldn't help but laugh. Her light tone indicated that she was over our disagreement but I knew there was still a bit of resentment in her, even if she was hiding it. "So stubborn. I'll miss that."
She was quiet for a moment. "So it's done then? I'm out?"
I looked at her, those eyes as blue as the ice I had seen everywhere when I visited Whites once. Even if I somehow found a way to convince Father to let her stay, it wouldn't be easy. It would be the biggest sacrifice of my life but it was better for her to go. "I'm not sure I could stop it now. Isn't that what you wanted?"
She shook her head. "I was mad," she whispered. "I was so mad."
As she looked away from me in a clear effort to not cry, I had to resist the urge to tuck her hair behind her ear and kiss her to make her happy again. So that was it. She was leaving. And if she was leaving, it was going to be on a good note. I hadn't worked this hard for her to just leave without understand my whole side of things. And now I finally had her trapped so she had to listen to me.
"I thought you were mine," I said. I had to look at the ceiling because if I looked at her anymore I would never get this out. "If I could have proposed to you at the Halloween party, I would have. I'm supposed to od something official with my parents and guests and cameras, but I got special permission to ask you privately when we were ready and have a reception afterward. I never told you about that, did I?"
I finally looked at her and saw her shake her head. Of course I hadn't told her. When would I have told her? Since the night Marlee was caught we had been fighting. I couldn't have even dreamt of broaching the subject with her so upset with me.
"I had this speech prepared, all these promises I wanted to make." I smiled at the thought of it, most of it still engrained in my mind. I had taken to reciting it at night if I was having trouble sleeping, letting the pleasant fantasies of a life with my America lull me to sleep. "I probably would have forgotten it and made an idiot of myself. Though…I can remember it now. I'll spare you." There was a time and place for that speech and this certainly wasn't it.
"When you pushed me away," I continued, "I panicked. I had thought that I was done with this insane contest, and I found myself feeling like it was the very first day of the Selection all over again, only this time my options were far more limited. And just the week before, I'd spent time with all those girls trying to find someone who out shone you, who I thought I could want more, and failed. I felt hopeless."
I had to stop talking for a few seconds and gather myself. If I was going to make her departure any easier, I couldn't let her believe that I still had such high hopes of spending my life with her. I had to let her believe that my feelings for her were gone. "And then Kriss came to me, so very humble, only wanting to see me happy, and I wondered how I'd missed that in her. I knew she was nice, and she's very attractive; but there was something more to her this whole time. I think I simply wasn't really looking. What reason did I have when there was you?"
She wrapped her arms around herself and she looked so small, sitting on the dark stone floor with pain etched all across her face. It was a pain I had never seen before. Not when she told me about being hungry, not when Marlee was caned…I realized it was heartbreak. Real, genuine heartbreak. "Do you love her?" she asked meekly.
In order to really drive this home, I had to really word this part correctly. All of my years of training in public speaking never prepared me for facing the great America Singer. "It's different than what you and I had. It's quieter, maybe friendlier. But it's steady. I can depend on Kriss, and I know without question that she is devoted to me. As you can see, there is very little certainty in my world. She's refreshing in that way." But not nearly as refreshing as the reckless love I feel for you, I added in my head.
She nodded and I noticed that she was pointedly avoiding looking me in the eye. I could see that my anecdote had done the trick but now I was worried that I was leaving her with a more long-lasting pain. I was about to say something, anything, to amend that when she suddenly asked, "They why Celeste? If Kriss is wonderful…"
Of course she would want to know about Celeste but it felt strange for me to admit this part of the story to her. At least this part I could be completely honest about. "As you now know, my life is full of stresses that I prefer not to share. I live in a constant state of tension. I'm always being watched, judged. My parents, our advisers...there are always cameras in my life, and now you're all here. I'm sure you've felt trapped at least once because of your caste, but imagine how I feel. There are things I've seen, America, and things I know; and I don't think I'll ever be able to change them.
"You're aware, I'm sure, that technically my father is supposed to retire in my twenties, when he feels I'm ready to lead; but do you think he'll ever stop pulling the strings? That's not going to happen so long as he lives; and I know he's terrible, but I don't want him to die…He is my father." For all of his faults and failures, he was my father and I couldn't separate myself from him. I knew there were parts of my personality that came him from, some darker parts, but I had learned how to use them properly with time.
"Speaking of which, he's had his hand in the Selection from very early on. If you look at who's left, it's pretty clear." I started rattling the girls off with my fingers, needing to keep them straight. "Natalie is extremely pliable, and that makes her my father's favorite, as I am too willful in his opinion. The fact that he's so fond of her makes me have to fight the urge to hate her.
"Elise has allies in New Asia, but I'm not sure if that's of any use at all. That war…" How much of the truth could I tell her? None. I couldn't tell her anything else and risk my father finding out that she knew yet another dark secret about our regime. "And she's so…I don't even know the word for it. I knew from the beginning that I didn't want some girl who would agree with everything I said or just roll over and adore me. I try to contradict her and she concedes the point. Every time! It's infuriating. It's like she doesn't have a spine."
I had to stop myself before I went on too long of a tangent in front of her, sure that that would not help things. Finally I looked at her. "You were my pick. My only pick. My father wasn't enthusiastic; but at that point you hadn't done anything to upset him. So long as you were quiet, he didn't mind me keeping you. in fact, he was fine with me choosing you, if you were well behaved. He's used your recent actions to point out the flaws in my judgment and is insisting that he have the final say now."
I shook my head. "That's beside the point. The others – Marlee, Kriss, and Celeste – were chosen by advisers. Marlee was a favorite, as is Kriss. Kriss would be a fine choice. I wish she would let me closer, if only for the fact that I don't know if we have…chemistry. I'd like to at least have an idea.
"And Celeste. She is very influential, a celebrity in her own right. It looks good on TV. It sounds right for someone who is close to being on the same level as me to be my final choice. I like her if only for her tenacity. She at least has a backbone. But I can tell that she's got a manipulative streak and that she's working this whole situation for everything she can get out of it. I know when she holds me, it's the crown she pulls close to her heart."
This part was the worst for me to admit. "She's using me, so I don't feel guilty using her. I wouldn't be surprised if she'd been encouraged to throw herself at me. I can respect Kriss's boundaries. And I'd much prefer to be in your arms, but you've barely spoken to me…
"Is it so awful of me to want fifteen minutes of my life not to matter? To feel good? To pretend for a little while that someone loves me? You can judge me if you want, but I can't apologize for needing something normal in my life." I stared deep into her eyes, waiting for her to reproach me and hoping she wouldn't at the same time.
"I get that," she said quietly. I wondered how but didn't let myself dwell on it too much. "Would you ever pick her? Celeste, I mean?"
I couldn't stand being this far from her anymore so I finally moved and sat at her side slowly. "If I had to, I'd take her over Elise or Natalie. But that won't happen unless Kriss decides she wants to go."
She nodded. "Kriss is a good choice. She'd make a much better princess than I ever would have."
My heart throbbed painfully at her use of the conditional tense but I laughed nonetheless, letting myself really think about America as a princess. It was funny but I couldn't separate that from the great things she could probably accomplish. "She is less of an instigator. Lord knows what would happen to the country with you at the helm."
She laughed and nodded with me. "I'd probably ruin it," she said honestly.
I shrugged, thinking again of the bill sitting in the bedside table in my room. "But maybe it needs ruining."
We sat there in silence for a little while. I wondered what our world would look like ruined. We couldn't get rid of the royal family – how could we possibly transition it out? – but maybe we could change the way some things were run. Offices could be elected instead of inherited. And the castes…I really would love to see those dead and gone. "Would you indulge me?" I finally asked her. Sitting this close, I could make out the scent of her lavender shampoo.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I've shared a lot of things with you tonight that are very difficult for me to admit. I was wondering if you could answer one question for me." Her answer had to possibility of either satisfying me or destroying me but she was not leaving this palace until I knew the truth.
"Yes. Anything."
I swallowed. "Did you ever love me?"
I looked into her eyes and I thought I could see something there, just the faintest glimmer of devotion. It disappeared a wall almost immediately though. "I know that when I thought you were responsible for hurting Marlee, it crushed me. Not just because it happened, but because I didn't want to think of you as that kind of person. I know that when you talk about Kriss or when I think about you kissing Celeste…I'm so jealous I can hardly breathe. And I know that when we talked on Halloween, I was thinking about our future. And I was happy. I know if you had asked, I would have said yes."
Those last words were a whisper and I could tell they were difficult for her to say. It was coming, I could feel it. Like a cane flying through the air toward my bare skin, I could feel the blow coming straight to my heart. "I also know that I never knew how to feel about you dating other people or being a prince. Even with everything you told me tonight, I think there are pieces of yourself that you will always guard…
"But with all that…" She simply nodded. I couldn't blame her for not saying the words aloud. If she did, she'd never be able to leave.
So that was it then. She had loved me. And we had both ruined it. "Thank you. At least I can know for certain that, for one brief moment of our time together, you and I felt the same thing."
Her eyes filled with tears and she looked away from me again. "I've been so foolish. I kept letting the crown scare me out of wanting you. I told myself that you didn't really matter to me. I kept thinking that you had to lied to me or tricked me, that you didn't trust me or care about me enough. I let myself believe that I wasn't important to you."
She finally met my eyes again and the words she hadn't been able to say aloud were clearly written in the crystalline blue irises. "One look at your back says you'd do damn near anything for me. And I threw it away. I just threw it away…"
I opened my arms, unable to see her in pain any longer and she fell into them. I ran my hands through her hair silently. I wished I could erase everything else and hold on to this moment, this brief second when he and I knew how much we meant to each other.
"Please don't cry, darling. I'd spare you tears for the rest of your life if I could," I whispered, breathing in the heady scent of her soap. After all I had just told her to try to protect her from hurt, nothing spared her from this crushing pain that we both were feeling.
Her voice shook as she spoke. "I'll never see you again. It's all my fault." My heart throbbed at that as it really did sink in that this was probably the last time I was ever going to see her. I'd be damned if I never saw her again but it was best if she stayed in Carolina on the other side of the country. If I saw her again sometime down the line I would surely question all of my decisions. And if I had learned anything from Father, it was that being unsure could start wars.
"No, I should have been more open," I told her, that being the only response I could think of. It was true though. If I had just been more open with her she wouldn't have had reason to be mad at me and maybe all of this could have been avoided.
"I should have been more patient."
"I should have proposed that night in your room."
"I should have let you."
I laughed because it was a very true thing for her to say. Proposing for me wouldn't be the hard part; it would be her letting me and then saying yes. I swept away the tears from her cheeks and gazed into her eyes, seeing longing echoed back to me in hers. "America…I don't know how much time we have left together, but I don't want to spend it regretting things we didn't do."
"Me either." She turned her face into my palm, kissing it. Then she kissed the tips of each of my fingers. I wanted to do the same to hers and kiss each of the little callouses on her dainty hands but there was something else that I wanted even more. So I slid my hand deep into her hair, reveling in the silken texture, and pulled her lips to mine.
I had missed these kisses, so quiet, so sure. I knew that, in my whole life, if I married Kriss or someone else, no one would ever make me feel this way. It wasn't like she was the world, but she was everything that made the world good. It wasn't some explosion; it wasn't fireworks. It was a fire, burning slowly from the inside out. It was the kind of heat I needed. I had enough explosions in my life. I needed the warm candle providing the only light on the darkest of nights. I needed the quiet assurance and confidence that only a woman as tenacious as America could possess.
We shifted, sliding so America was on the floor and I was above her. I ran my nose along her jawline, down her neck, across her shoulder, and kissed the same path back to her lips. How I would miss the smell of her soap and the impossibly smooth skin of her neck when she was gone. She kept running her hands through my hair, a gesture I wasn't used to and one I never wanted to grow tired of.
After a while we pulled out the blankets and built a makeshift bed. I held her for the longest time, looking into her eyes. We could have spent years doing this if not for my father. Once my shirt was dry, I put it on, covering the dried stains with my coat. It wouldn't be comfortable to sleep in but I didn't trust myself to sleep by her side without all of my clothes on.
When we both got tired, we started talking. I didn't want to sleep through a second of this, and I sensed she didn't either. This was the date we never had. The date where we just spilled everything and held nothing back. If only we had done this sooner. As my mind drifted to her impending departure, I let myself think about her life back in Carolina without me. "Do you think you'll go back to him? Your ex?" I eventually asked. At least she did have some possibilities back there but from what she had told me about him, I didn't want her to go back to him. Not after the way he had treated her.
"He's a good choice. Smart, brave, maybe the only person on the planet more stubborn than me," she answered. I laughed quietly but it still sounded strange and I was again left with a nagging feeling that I didn't have the full story concerning her ex. "It would be awhile before I could think about that though."
"Mmm." That was good at least. At least then I knew that she would be leaving this competition as scarred as I was letting her go. "Could I write you?" I asked, desperately wanting to find a way to avoid never seeing or talking to her again.
She considered it for a few moments. "Maybe you should wait a few months. You might not even miss me." I almost laughed, the thought of me not missing her seriously ridiculous. I was already preparing myself for the incessant thoughts of her never leaving me. "If you do write…you have to tell Kriss."
"You're right," I agreed. But then I realized that I couldn't write to her. Not if I married Kriss. She would put on a brave face about the whole thing but I knew she wouldn't be happy. If I ever wanted to make my life with Kriss work I had to sever all ties with America. And if the press got wind of me keeping communication with her…this was just one more thing that was being decided by everyone except me.
She suddenly gasped and I was worried that something was wrong as she sat up quickly. "Maxon, what if the Northern rebels are looking for the diaries?"
The question was so juxtaposed to our prior conversation it took a few moments for me to catch on. "What do you mean?"
"When I was chased that day in the gardens, I saw them as they passed me. A girl dropped a bag full of books. The guy with her had bunches, too. They're stealing books. What if they're looking for a specific one?"
I opened my eyes fully to look at her. "America…what exactly was in that diary?"
"A lot. About how Gregory basically stole the country, how he forced the castes on people. It was awful, Maxon." As terrible as it was to think, my father was right. I should have never given that diary to her. I knew what Gregory was like; how did I ever consider giving it to her without my reading it first? I would give it to her if she was my wife but as an Elite? It was wrong of me to do.
"But the Report was cut off," I insisted. "Even if that is what they're looking for, there's no way they could know that was it or what's inside it. Trust me, after that little display, my father is making sure those things are even more protected than usual."
She shook her head and stifled a yawn. "That's it, I know it."
"Don't," I told her, not wanting her to blame herself for one more thing. "Don't get worked up. For all we know, they just really, really like to read."
She moaned and rolled her eyes. "I seriously thought I couldn't make this any worse."
"Shh," I said, getting closer to her, grounding her to the earth with my arms. "Don't worry now. You should probably sleep."
"But I don't want to," she refused in a whisper, curling closer to me.
I closed my eyes again, still holding on to her. "Me either. Even on a good day, sleeping makes me nervous," I admitted. It felt good to finally be able to say these things openly, especially knowing that with America I would have no judgment.
And then it happened. After all I had done to prevent this from happening, all I had done to protect my own heart from hurt, and despite the fact that she was going home in a matter of hours, I let myself completely love her. I was born to rule a country someday but I had never truly understood what it meant to be born to do something until that moment when I realized that I had really been born to marry America. Because she wouldn't judge me. Not for this, at least. This was the woman that was the perfect antithesis to my own personality. This was the woman who patched me up and let me cry, pushing aside her own tears in the process. This was the woman who I couldn't stop thinking about even when I was on the other side of the world. I loved her. I loved America Singer.
I wanted so desperately to tell her but I knew I couldn't for two reasons. For one, she wouldn't be saying it back and it would be unfair of me to tell her that with the expectation naturally being her repeating it back to me. And second, she was leaving. If I told her I loved her and she left, I would never end this competition. I would just be a dog running in circles trying to find what something remotely close to what he had lost.
With nothing else for me to do, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the bracelet that I had been carrying around with me for days like a security blanket. "I've been carrying it in my pocket. I'm a pitiful romantic, right? I was going to keep it, but I want you to have something from me." I tied the bracelet over the little button she had on her wrist, another piece of a puzzle that I knew I didn't have all of the pieces to. I could only hope that with time she would reveal all.
"Thank you. It makes me happy," she said quietly, her voice thick with sleep. I had nothing else left to lose so I let myself imagine what it would be like to hear that voice every night and morning, a voice for my ears only that came from my wife.
And, despite the fact that my heart was shattering with a pain more unbearable than any lashing I had ever taken, I told her, "Then I'm happy, too."
How was that? I hope y'all liked it! I've already started the next chapter and as fair warning, it may be a bit choppy with some time skips because i'm just trying to fill y'all in on some stuff before i skip ahead to the teenage years. and in more upsetting news, i know how this Fic is going to end and the end is near. I know, i'm not ready for it to end either but i want to be done before the Heir comes out to minimize confusion as much as possible!
I could not believe the response i got from last chapter! A few reviewers mentioned a couple chapters ago that they found just a brief mention of America's body image really interesting so I just went on and elaborated but i never expected you all to take it to heart so much! Thank you so much again!
Oh, and if you haven't found me yet, head over to Tumblr and find me at gingertags tumblr com (thank you Hushed Hands for teaching me how to put my URL in all sneaky like)
Just a quick PSA about social media: I love that you guys have found me and I love having the chance to connect with you guys in different ways BUT if you want to talk about the Fic, i'd like to keep it on Tumblr and off of my Twitter and Instagram. my Twitter and Instagram are personal for me and you can follow me but i use Instagram and Twitter to stay in touch with family and close friends mostly; I don't know how to put this gently but I just do not appreciate having my comments spammed. If you want to talk to me about the Fic, find me on Tumblr or PM me on here but not on Insta or Twitter. I hope this didn't sound harsh but it did need to be said after having a few different experiences with getting spammed on Instagram. Thank you for understanding!
Annie: I try my best, really! And to be fair, I was going to update a couple days ago but then the website freaked out on my computer and it wasn't working for me again until this morning.
Guest: hmm...maybe next chapter you'll get lucky. I understand that Maxerica smut is practically nonexistent but I don't want this Fic to turn into a Smut Fic so I will only write one if it's appropriate for the characters and the story.
Kuriyantako: aww, that's so sweet! haha yeah i wrote that part with America finding out she's pregnant a LONG time ago, like in August. it was before we found out about America having twins because Shalom was her only child at the time when i wrote it so i had to change Shalom to Shalom and Amber and add Win in there. glad it worked out for you though!
WeatherBug02: I'll give an update on ages with the next chapter because a few other people asked me that too...and ugh, the Patriots? Really? I cannot stand Tom Brady. I'm not necessarily a Seahawks fan and common Pro Ball courtesy would have it that I should have cheered for the conference that my favorite team is in but that's the Patriots and i cannot stand them...so yeah, Seahawks!
winterprincess: actually, the end of the road for Maxerica babymaking is coming up in the next chapter so sit tight! (is it too late to say Spoiler alert?)
Someone the World Forgot: I wasn't even thinking about this message in a more universal way; i was focused on the Selection world while i was writing it but i am so excited that you all were able to get something deeper from it!
Mac: Trust me, Shel is about to get really involved in the Schreave family!
Guest: thank you!
prnamber3909: Maxerica and Everlark...if those are your OTPs you are living life properly.
ThisGirlActuallyReads: someone else asked that and i told them that i'll put a quick age update in the next chapter!