America:

It had been two months since I had last seen him, since I had last been in his arms, since he had promised to be different. Two months since my heart had last beat, two months since I could take a breath without the pain, as if oxygen itself had been made foreign by his betrayal.

Max—he, even thinking his name had the power to bring me to my knees—had returned to Angeles about a week after we had been sent home. He never tried to contact me, not a note, not a proclamation recognizing us, nothing. And that almost hurt more. Not that anyone could see this. No, I've managed to hide it well. My parents no longer believe I'm going to kill myself. Most of the buzz around town has even died down, and tonight I was taking my first job since before the selection.

Lowering my cast had been a shocking and scorn filled decision. The media had had a field day, not that I actually read any of the articles, but I smiled at each new one that came out, imagining Celeste reading them in Clermont. I miss her most out of the elite. Sometimes I even hear her snarky comments at my hopeless thoughts.

I had almost no idea what to expect from tonight. The party was being thrown by Mrs. Reynolds, a regular of mine before the Selection. She was a Four, a rich one. But whatever I had imagined it never could have prepared me for this.

"America," Mrs. Reynolds called in a sing-song voice.

I froze and the party lulled, every eye turning towards me. Never before had I been addressed like this. I set down my violin and walked carefully towards her. She was standing in a circle of ladies and as I approached, they parted.

"Yes, Mrs. Reynolds?" I asked hesitantly.

"Oh! America, darling, there's no need for formalities. Call me Neava."

I nodded once and smiled politely, wishing to return to my small stage in the corner of the room.

"Now, America," she reached across the circle and laid her hand on my arm. "What are you going to play for us tonight?"

"I was planning on some classics from Bach and Beethoven," I said slowly, unsure of what she wanted. Surely she didn't want to hear every song on my list for the evening.

"Oh!" she squealed. "That sounds splendid, just splendid."

Skeptically my eyes traveled around the circle. Then it struck me. She was showing me off. I reigned in my anger and put on the calm face I had begun to master at the palace.

"My Lady," the woman next to Mrs. Reynolds spoke. "I didn't realize you were going to be resuming work as a five."

"It's just America," I correct. "I relinquished that title when I lowered my caste."

"That's a shame," the lady said. By the look of her clothes she was a two. I briefly wondered at her presence here. "You could have been attending parties much fancier than even this. I heard General Fordson's son called on you and you didn't accept him. You could have been a Two." Despite her words, her tone held no malice, only curiosity.

"I'm quite happy with the caste I was born into. I love music, and I could never imagine doing anything else."

She smiled, pleased with my answer. "Spoken like a queen."

Her words shocked me and for a split second, my mask dropped. I smiled thru the turmoil swirling in my heart. "Thank you."

"I'm Jaklyn Sroach."

"A pleasure, Miss Sroach," I said, noting the lack of a ring on her left hand.

"I can assure you the honor is mine," she smiled again. "I was unaware you were planning on continuing entertainment."

"Yes, well, the Selection compensation will only last so long."

"Wouldn't you have made more if you had stayed a Three?" Someone asked, looking at me like I was no more than a child.

"I'm sure she would," Miss Sroach defended. "But to some people there are things more important than money."

"Like what?" She cackled.

"Like family." I interjected.

The woman scoffed. "I would sell my family for a chanced at being a Three."

I watched half the circle nod their heads in agreement. I made eye contact with Miss Sroach and somehow I knew we were thinking the same thing. People can be deplorable, and the more I meet, the more I want to distance myself from.

I excused myself, using my instrument as an escape pod. I played harder than I had in a long time, desperately trying to forget how crude the world has looked since he left me.

c C c

The house was quiet when I got home. I walked into the kitchen and pulled out the money jar, now 50 dollars heavier. That's twice what I could have even hoped for before the Selection. I sighed; even after I've left he's still feeding my family.

I grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the sink. Looking out the window above the counter, I watched the snow start to fall. It's been a pretty mellow winter, but then, this is the first winter we've not had to choose between heat and food. We were even able to exchange gifts at Christmas.

There was a letter resting on the table. I picked it up and nearly dropped it when I recognized the handwriting scrolled across the front side of the envelop. I quickly tore it open, but paused before unfolding it. What could Aspen possibly say to me after everything?

With a few seconds of courage gathering heartbeats, I unfolded the paper and began to read:

America,

I don't know how this letter will be received but before you do anything rash I beg you to read it till its end. I have delayed writing this letter for months, telling myself I was giving you the time you no doubt need to wrap your head around this mess of a life you have been handed. But for as long as I have been telling myself this, I have known it not to be the truth. I have come to learn that there are many things in life I am going to regret.

When I first suggested that you join the Selection, I was thinking about the life I would never be able to provide for you. But when I was drafted and assigned to the palace, I had the foolish notion I could then do so. But I know now that I would never be able to give you everything you deserve, because you deserve to be happy, and you will never be happy without him.

You don't know how hard it is to see him every day, to guard him, to "protect" the man who has caused you so much pain. I was there when his mother informed him you had gone. She did not say the Selection ladies had been sent home, she said you had been. I could see in her eyes that she wanted him to go after you. At the time, I had truly believed he would. Since you are not here by his side and the contents of this letter are not being explained to you in person, I assume he did not.

It was soon after that the news announced that you had lowered your caste. I had never been prouder to know and love you than in that moment. Your gentle refusal to comment, your polite rejection of your title, and the grace you held yourself with was the essence of a queen.

You had once asked me if I thought you could do it. If you had what it takes to be the next Queen of Illea. I had told you no at the time, and I'm ashamed when I think of why. The bullshit I had said about you not being strong enough was just a cover for the jealousy I felt every time I thought about the prince.

Mer you would never have made a conventional queen, you wouldn't have been a Queen Abby or an Amberly. But I don't think that's what the country needs. We need your compassion. We need Prince Maxon's willingness to listen to the people. I have had a chance to observe the new Crown Prince, or rather the old one, and he is, if not worse than, an exact replica of King Clarkson.

I am well aware that this letter, if found and read by someone else, would incriminate us both. And we both know that the King would like nothing more than to finally find a reason to punish you. But know that I am smiling when I say that has never stopped us before.

You have been my partner in crime since you were fifteen. America Singer and Aspen Leger against the world. When we were together in that tree house nothing else mattered. The imposed curfew, the potential anger of your family, and the bounds of our castes couldn't touch us. I told you once that as long as the sky was blue and the grass was green I would always love you. And I do. I always will.

When I showed up at the palace you promised that you did not love him. At the Halloween Ball I knew you were not being honest with me. You may have not even been honest with yourself. Through our secret meetings you continually denied that he was anything other than a friend, if you could even call him that, but then you were there telling me not to write to you, staying to fight for him, asking me to stop fighting for you.

I was lost. I had thought we were it. True love, soul mates, two halves. Happily ever after. But I think I'm starting to understand.

You know those thousand piece puzzles that you do on Christmas Eve to distract from the cold or the hunger? The ones that your entire family groans about doing but once they sit down they all start divvying up the different sections. Each member looking for the hardest one, either for the satisfaction of the accomplishment at the end or for the excuse if they don't finish first. You know that feeling of excitement when you find two pieces that match out of your mismatched pile of the future sky. But then, as the pile becomes less of a mess and the constellations and stars start to match themselves you realize that one of those pieces that you thought went together actually fits better somewhere else. And then as you finish the sky, that one left over piece is needed to not only complete your section but also for the fulfillment of its own purpose.

I think I've found my purpose. She's a little broken, but so am I. I think that's why we work so well. We heal each other.

Just like you had done with you prince, I couldn't admit my feelings until I almost lost her. I have denied my feelings longer than even I know and hurt her deeply because of it. As I had mentioned above, this letter had taken me a long time to write. Lucy found one of the previous versions and I had to explain, I hope you do not blame her. But I know that her hurt is only a fraction of what you would of felt had your prince found out about us during the Selection. Not even considering the physical punishment that would surely have awaited us.

And with all this I can't help but wonder if that was all we were ever meant for. Maybe the only thing we will ever accomplish is to hurt. And if that's true than maybe we were destined for an end like this from the beginning.

But Mer you are every bit the lady you deny you are. If you were dear to them during the selection you are ever more so now. You should hear the palace talk about you. Read all the magazines are writing. You'll realize then that you are more than a five from Carolina. You have always been.

The title you refuse, it's not yours because the selection gave it to you. It's yours because you have earned it. True titles are not given to rich men because they have money, nor are they given to soldiers simply because they fight. They are given to people who have the courage to do something about the wrongs in this world. You have that courage, Mer, you always have.

I have not been a very good confident ever since the beginning of the Selection but I hope to reestablish that part of our friendship. I love you, Mer. If you decide to write back, my sister will be by before the end of the week. We send all the letters in a care package to save funds. If not I won't blame you, but the offer will stand till the day I die.

Forever in your service and friendship,

Aspen Leger