America's POV
My fingers twirled through the bubbly water making tiny whirlpools, as I relaxed after the long plane ride. My sore muscles wore already feeling better, the warm water consuming my tension.
I was happy my maids presented me with this idea before I had to attend a formal dinner with the royals of France. Queen Daphne and her fiancé arrived at the palace a few days ago, interrupting Maxon's and my honeymoon. Nevertheless, they were now guests at the palace for a few days.
Before my head could sink beneath the surface, an ear-piercing wail filled the steamy air. I shot upwards as the rebel alarm made itself known throughout the whole palace.
The perfect time for an attack, four royals at the same place.
My heartbeat quickening as Mary burst into the bathroom, a worried expression on her face. I mirrored her face as I quickly dried myself and put on something suitable.
I made a deal with Maxon because every rebel attack he rushes through the palace looking for me instead of going to the safe room. He promised to wait in the safe room for me, but if I didn't come after the first ten minutes, he could come looking for me.
Now, as the time went from nine to ten minutes without me in a dress, I started to worry about Maxon.
Mary working quickly got me into a short purple dress with thin straps. Without shoes, I grabbed her hand, and together we rushed out of the room, going to the nearest secret passage way. There was no guard stationed outside my door… weird.
As we ran through the hall, distance screaming could be heard vibrating through the walls. Without gunshots, it was probably Northern rebels.
The safe room door coming in sight would have been a relief if not for the rebel casual lying against the framework with a gun pointing straight at as. Mary gasped will my eyes locked on the guard, who was supposed to be at my door, behind the rebel, he had a finger on his mouth indicating silence.
I was confused, were we dealing with Northern or Southern rebels.
Running was not an option, so I stood still, hoping the guard had a plan.
As the guard lifted his own gun in an attempt to shoot the man threatening us, a shot was given from a completely different direction.
A searing pain gripped at my waist as the mystery shooter and the other rebel made a run down the opposing hallway.
I grabbed at my burning side as we were pushed through the door by our saviour. Stumbling done the poorly lit stairs was already difficult enough without the pain.
Still, I managed with a lot of help from Mary. Soon we reached the bottom, and were met with a worried Maxon pacing through the royal safe room. He still wore the same clothes from the plane ride.
At first, he didn't realise we had arrived, until my own pain filled moan escaped into the air.
His head whipped to our position and for a few seconds relieved before his eyes travelled to the bloody hand gripping my waist.
I heard him whisper in an anxious voice, " No, not my America."
Exhaling sharply, I said while he rushed to my side," I'm fine, really." Even Mary gave me a disbelieving glance before Maxon replaced her as my support system. He swiftly picked me up and rushed to the nearest bed, trying to avoid touching my wound.
As I was gently placed on the bed, Maxon began yelling instructions at non-other than the king and queen of France. He was 'asking' for the medical kit we always keep down her for emergencies.
As soon as the kit was placed in his hand, he turned to shield my body from view, so that he could tend to the wound without prying eyes.
Relived washed over me as I saw the wound, the bullet only grazed my side. Even though it still needed some stitches, it was as if the whole room let out a kept breath.
Maxon brought out some cleaning whips and a bandage, ready to deal with the situation. The medicine covered wipes cleaned the wound as my screaming ruined the silence.
Once the cleaning process was done, Mary stepped into my line of site. She held a tiny needle and some thread.
As she advanced, memories of a similar situation made itself known, and I couldn't help the small smile from spreading on my face. Maxon's face had his own smile as he looked at Mary.
The pain was at least tolerable as I sat in my true love's lap, squeezing his hand each time a new wave of pain hit.
As the last stitch closed the wound and the bandage was tightly rapped around my waist, I finally realised how tired I was.
I snuggled into Maxon's embrace, not caring what our guests thought. Sleep took me in a few moments later.
Author's notes
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