This fic is intended to be read on archiveofourown. I suggest you read it there (I'm under the same username). I will try to fix the formatting problems that fanfictiondotnet inevitably introduces, but I am likely to miss things.

This fic diverges from canon after the first novel and is set 3 years later. It essentially replaces Katniss' unwilling political marriage to Peeta with an even more unwilling marriage to Snow. I was curious how this dynamic might play out with an older, more confident Katniss, as aggressor as well as victim.

This is not a romance. If I continue this, it is likely to delve into mutual abuse and misery, with some sexual elements. I don't yet know how far or dark that will go, but assume content warnings for violence, abuse, and sexual violence.


Katniss is covered in blood. This is not unusual. It's coyote blood today, which is thick and sticky like honey. They used to drink it, when they were starving. Blood, not honey. They could never find honey.

Everything tastes good when you're starving to death.

When they eat blood in the Capitol, they call it pudding. Katniss always found this amusing.

There's blood in her hair, which is annoying, and somehow it has soaked through her hunting pants and left a film of damp slime that makes a wet shhk noise as she walks back from the forest. It's all over her hands, too, but that's to be expected. You can't disembowel a coyote without getting blood on your hands. That's just politics.

She doesn't need to hunt anymore, but Gale does, so she might as well. He works in the mine, she hunts his food. It keeps her busy and it keeps her out of town, where there are riots more often than not these last months. Today, someone has set fire to something and smoke is rising casually above the square. The air smells of burnt wood and flesh.

A couple dead Peacekeepers this month, she guesses. How many more dead protestors? Someone must be keeping track, but Katniss can't. Checks and balances. One death is a tragedy. Is a million a comedy?

She decided long ago that it's better to be out in the forest, crotch-deep in animal blood. This is a kind of violence that makes sense to her. It's comforting.

Katniss comes home from hunting to find a sleek, catlike limousine in the drive of the house in the Victors' Village where she, her mother, and Prim have lived for the past three years. This really is not her day.

She dumps the coyote carcass in the shed, out of sight, and she considers doing something about the blood before deciding against it. If it was just Peacekeepers at the house, she'd make the effort. But the President won't care. As if he's offended by blood.

She wipes off the worst on the frost-licked grass before going in. This is for the sake of the doorknob, not the President. Then she pushes inside. Everyone is gathered in the parlor: her mother, Prim, the President, two Peacekeepers. It's a party. Her mother has laid out truffle chocolates. Katniss wants to toss the platter at the wall. But they have to play nice. It's a fun game.

'Welcome home, honey,' says her mother. Her skeletal smile is cobweb-thin. 'We have a guest.'

The guest is President Snow. The Peacekeepers are just a bonus.

President Snow is seated by the fire, in pride of place, with a cup of tea and a half-bitten truffle perched on a little China plate beside him. He looks magisterial today and faintly monarchical, thick fur over a dark blazer. He rises to meet her. She has not spoken to him in three years. He looks much worse than the last time they met: tired, stretched, faded. But his smile, insincere and violent, fills the room like the sun.

On account of all the blood, the President does not offer to shake her hand.

'Have a pleasant morning hunting?' he asks her. Faux affable, voice like sugar.

'Hunting in the forest is illegal,' she responds, the words taut. They bare their teeth at one another in smiles. You could take big, birthday-cake size slices out of the tension.

'Then where did the blood come from?'

Katniss pauses. 'I got my period.'

Prim is the only one who laughs, a young teenager's guffaw in the silence. Her mother does not find this funny. Katniss does not know what President Snow thinks.

'Charming,' he says, unfazed. 'If you wouldn't object, Miss Everdeen, I would like to speak to you in private.'

Katniss and Prim exchange a look. Katniss gives her a real smile, the kind that conveys I promise I'll come back safe and I won't murder anyone. It's a specific smile she's had to perfect.

She lets President Snow guide her into the study. He knows the layout of their house. Perhaps this should trouble her, but it is eminently ordinary. He must know everything. It's easier to assume such things, and then nothing surprises you.

He takes the leather chair on the other side of the desk, by the window. That's Prim's chair. It's too big for her, but she loves to sit in it. After Snow leaves, maybe Katniss will chop it up for firewood. The whole house already smells of him, of artificial roses. Maybe she'll burn the house down, too.

'Please sit.' President Snow gestures at the chair opposite.

Katniss considers refusing, then she smiles and obeys. There ensues a gross, wet sound as the animal blood squelches against her chair. President Snow pretends he doesn't hear this.

'Perhaps you're wondering why I am visiting you.' His voice is pleasant. He has a lifetime of practice in public speaking. Katniss is wheeled in front of the cameras every few months for some interview, to act as mentor, to laugh and joke and entertain. She does her best. She always sounds sarcastic in the playbacks.

'Have I won a prize?'

'Of sorts, Miss Everdeen.' He smiles, and she gets the impression he's genuinely entertained by her cheek. Well, that's fine by her. They might as well have fun where they can. 'I am sure you are aware, Miss Everdeen, that the civil unrest that has plagued our great nation for the past three years has not abated. Three years after your little display in the arena, and the Districts are as ill at ease as ever they were.'

'I hear they're upset their children keep getting murdered.'

President Snow smiles at her as though this is a particularly funny joke. 'I assure you, the cost of twenty-three children each year is a small price to pay for the thousands of lives we would lose in a rebellion.'

'What simple math.'

He examines her, and she examines him. His blue eyes bore into her like polynya. 'There were two riots today, one in District 11 and one in District 12. Quite small riots, as far as they go, but enough to kill a few good Capitol officers. On both occasions, a symbol was burned into the side of a nearby building. Can you guess what that symbol might be?'

'A love-heart?'

'A mockingjay.'

This is the first thing to shake her. She can't get her composure back quick enough: President Snow sniffs out her discomfort even over the stench of animal blood and genetically altered roses.

'Do you know what it's like out there, Miss Everdeen? Or do you hide away so deeply in your lovely new home and your forest that you have failed to notice your enduring appeal among the masses?' His smile slides away and suddenly she's looking at a well of open contempt. 'They wear their hair in braids for you. They wear replicates of your mockingjay pin. Did you know I found the mockingjay symbol graffitied on the outer wall of my home?'

Katniss wants to tell him, good. But she says nothing. She still has a hunting knife in her boot. She could kill him right now. If it wasn't for the Peacekeepers in the parlor, she could have him skinned and dressed for dinner and they could eat him stuffed with apples and cinnamon.

But perhaps not. What he'll lack in flavor she doubts he'll make up for in nutritional value.

'It is remarkable that a single girl can inspire such violence,' the President opines. It doesn't sound like a compliment. 'It's not really about you, of course, Miss Everdeen. But you contrived to make of yourself a symbol—'

'I didn't contrive anything.' It's not just self-defense: she's genuinely offended. 'I just played your stupid Games and tried to win. If you didn't like the outcome, you should have designed a better game.'

President Snow's smile returns. 'As you know, Miss Everdeen, I do not design the Games. And the man who designed your game, I assure you, was justly punished for his oversights.'

That means he's dead. Katniss shrugs. If this is meant to intimidate her, President Snow will need to try harder. And try harder he does.

'You are now a symbol of insurrection, no matter how much you may try to stay hidden from the world. This makes you useful to me. Your utility is the only thing keeping you alive, and the only thing keeping your mother and sister alive, for that matter.' He smiles. Katniss pictures his entrails: pulling out intestines by the handful, bouncing his liver on the carpet. 'I am here to make you an offer. I would like you to assist me in extinguishing these riots, and saving the many lives that would otherwise be lost in open rebellion. As the symbol of the girl who defied the Capitol, you will make a speech to each and every District. You will tell them how grateful you are for our protection and love. You will make a plea for peace. You will obliterate your image as symbol of rebellion. If you succeed in quelling the insurrection, I shall refrain from having your mother and sister killed. Now, Miss Everdeen, do you think you can do that?'

For a moment, Katniss isn't even thinking about the implicit threat to murder her mother and sister. She's too distracted by the profound stupidity of what has just been said.

'Do you honestly think that will work?' she blurts out. 'The people have been rioting almost nonstop for three years. District 11 tore a Peacekeeper apart with their teeth a few weeks ago. Do you honestly think a people who are so angry and so near starvation that they ate a man raw are going to be dissuaded by a few speeches?' She laughs. It's been a while since she laughed. It sounds like sawdust. 'You might as well kill us all right now. It'd save time.'

President Snow holds her gaze and a flicker of frustration goes through him. Up close, she can see how exhausted he looks. He never looks like this on the big screens in the square. He knows this is an unworkable plan.

'If you do as I say, I assure you, Miss Everdeen, you have my word that I will protect you and your family.'

This falls hollow on her ears. President Snow would betray her sooner than look at her. And even if he didn't, how can he protect them? If someone is coming for President Snow, well, Katniss doubts they care much for those he protects.

'I don't believe you,' she says. He smiles: he's testy, but unaccommodating.

'You can do as I instruct, or I can have your family killed,' he repeats. 'I can have your mother shot now, and I'll take young Primrose back with me. We can kill her more slowly. Over years, if necessary.'

Katniss decides she hates this man. She hates him with the sharpness of an arrowhead relaxing into a ripe eye.

'It won't work,' she repeats. 'Come up with something better. Aren't you the political mastermind?'

'This is the best plan we have,' he responds, and she realizes he is desperate. He is a deer caught in a ditch, scrabbling against a wall it cannot climb, with clean death bearing down on him.

But whose death? Is it his he's concerned about, or the deaths of a million civilians?

'Get a better plan!' She is half-shouting. 'I'll do whatever you want. I'll jump through your stupid hoops. But this is impossible. You know it's impossible! If you want to torture me, why not just throw me back into the Games? Might as well put Prim in as well! At least it'd be honest!'

Neither says anything. Even over the smell of animal blood, roses, and her own sweat, she can taste the iron on his breath. President Snow looks like he must feel as awful as she does. But he can't. He doesn't feel anything. He's gravedirt and bones, six feet deep.

He rises. 'I will give you until tomorrow morning to consider it, Miss Everdeen.' He adjusts his fur cloak, which has slipped down. 'First we'll shoot your mother. Then the boy, Hawthorne. Then Peeta Mellark. We will keep your sister alive, though not in one piece. We can do miraculous things with medicine, these days. We could keep her alive for a very long time.'

Katniss wonders if she could stab Snow in the temple, then get behind the door and wait there for the Peacekeepers to enter one by one, and then slash them in their ankles. If Haymitch and Peeta were here, then perhaps… Perhaps…

She hasn't spoken to Peeta in two years. They take turns to mentor. That way they never have to be in the same room.

President Snow nods a pleasant goodbye to her. 'Miss Everdeen,' he says, and he lets himself out. Katniss watches the car leave the drive. She can still smell him in the air. Salt-blood and roses.

When she rejoins the parlor, she finds that little half-eaten truffle still on its plate. Her mother puts a hand on her shoulder.

'Is everything alright, dear?'

Katniss studies the teeth marks in the truffle. She will find a way to kill this man. She traces those little teeth-grooves with her eyes, and thinks about how she will make him choke.


Katniss does not tell her mother or her sister that the President intends to have them killed. Instead, she tells Haymitch.

He's not surprised. He invites her in for a drink, and the two of them are three sheets to the wind before lunchtime.

'It's a damn terrible plan,' Haymitch muses, swirling whisky and studying it like it's a bottle half-full of stars. His house is a mess: half-eaten food, dirty plates, that smell of unwashed bodies. 'No way you alone are gonna cool down the shit that's been stirring these past three years. It's a bloodbath out there.'

'He's desperate.' Her voice is slurred. She's not used to the alcohol. 'Grasping at straws.'

'Kid, he's grasping at your neck. He'll wring it whether he wants to or not.'

'Even if I do it,' she says, the words thick, 'And succeed, somehow, then what? Can he actually protect us? Insurrectionists… rival politicians…' She licks up the drops in her glass. 'He can kill me easily. But keeping me alive… I don't know.'

'If he put down the rebellion, yeah, maybe.' Haymitch shrugs widely. Neither knows what they're talking about. Throw ideas at the wall. See what sticks. See what slides down and leaves a blood smear. 'That might keep him in power. But he won't be around forever. And you and your family would be wearing targets the moment he loses control, or dies.'

Katniss gives an ugly snort. 'The enemy of my enemy is just one more person who wants me dead.'

Haymitch smiles his yellow teeth. 'Hey, no one ever said life was fair.'

She starts counting on her fingers. 'Okay. Step one, ally with Snow. Then stop the rebellion. Stay useful to Snow. Keep Snow alive and in power. Then I might be safe.'

Haymitch aims a finger-gun at her. 'I admire your can-do attitude in the face of your certain, brutal death.'

'What choice do I have?'

He shrugs. 'Come up with a better plan.'

'You come up with a better plan.' She hurls a cushion at him.

'You want advice on how to cull a hangover or drink yourself to death on a budget, I'm your man. You want to put down a rebellion and keep a President in power? I don't know, talk to…' He trails off. 'Well, I don't really have anyone in mind.'

They sit in silence. Haymitch has a clock that has been running forty-two minutes slow for at least a year. It's the precision of it that gets Katniss. It's not running down. It's just wrong. He can't be bothered to change the time. Or perhaps he doesn't know what the time really is.

'Maybe,' Haymitch says at last, and his drawl is unusually quiet. 'Maybe it's not such a bad thing.'

Katniss fixes him with reptile eyes. 'Maybe the slow torture and death of my sister isn't such a bad thing?'

Haymitch maintains eye contact with his whisky bottle. 'If the rebels can actually do it… Overthrow the Capitol… I don't know, sweetheart… She's just one kid. We lose dozens every year.' He shrugs. 'Acceptable loss, maybe.'

This time, Katniss throws her glass instead of the cushion. It cracks Haymitch on the head and he rouses from his stupor. 'Hey—!'

'They can't win,' she says. 'The Capitol has weapons that could vaporize us. It'll be District 13 all over again. And you know what? Even if they could win, I wouldn't care. I'd let every man, woman, and child die in every single District before I handed over Prim. I would fight in the Games every year for the rest of my life and kill every child they put up against me, just to keep her safe.'

Haymitch smiles at her and wags a calloused finger. 'You,' he says, 'are not a very nice person, Katniss Everdeen.'

She stands. She's so drunk the room spins, but she likes it better this way. It makes it harder to see Haymitch's face.

'No, I'm a survivor,' she says.


The solution comes to Katniss when she wakes with a mouthful of blood. This, too, is not unusual. She has nightmares, bites her tongue, and wakes choking. She dreams of being strangled in mud and she wakes in silk sheets, wet with blood and sweat.

She goes to the ensuite, flicks on the light, gets blinded by white ceramic. She spits blood into the basin.

The solution comes not from the taste of blood but the particular combination of its smell and the way it fills the gulf of her mouth. It reminds her of someone.

Half-asleep and kicking off nightmares, she thinks about the smell of President Snow's breath, and she wonders if she smells like that right now, and then she thinks about how really awful it would be for their mouths to smell the same. She thinks that President Snow must taste like rotten grave soil.

She can't sleep more, so she goes to wander the Victors' Village. It's a cold, black night. She's still thinking about Snow, in an abstract, sleepy kind of way. Is he sleeping deeply, in the luxury of the Capitol? Or is he awake like her, waiting for the rebellion to break down his doors?

She thinks back to Haymitch's idea. Do the rebels have a chance? Is the death of her family and friends a worthwhile sacrifice? Would letting Prim get taken apart, piece by piece, be worth it for a shot at overthrowing the Capitol?

Katniss contemplates the smattering of stars above. No, it is not worth it. She would rather kill every rebel with her bare hands than let anyone touch Prim. Yes, she would land an arrow in the face of a thousand innocent people to keep her safe.

Perhaps this makes Katniss a worse person than President Snow. On average, at least he's trying to save lives.

She tastes the remnants of blood in her mouth and wonders what it would take for President Snow to protect her, and that's when the solution slides into her, like a joker into a pack of cards. It takes her a moment to shuffle through herself to find it. And then there it is, plain as day: how to keep her family safe, how to stop the rebellion, how to secure President Snow's authority while ruining his life, how to ruin her own.

Katniss laughs. She never had much of a sense of humor, but this one is funny. This is the funniest idea she's ever had.

She goes back to bed and slips into her familiar nightmares like a warm bath. She wonders if Snow can get her something stronger than Haymitch's whisky.


Katniss dresses up nice for President Snow's return. The dress is one she wore as mentor two years ago. It's white with crimson trim, low-cut; sultry, even, if you're into that whole bleeding pigeon look.

Which President Snow probably is.

Katniss has no talent for seduction. The dress will be her only concession. If she had to choose her chances between talking every District down from a rebellion and seducing the President, she'd take the former. Fortunately, she doesn't need seduction. Only persuasion.

She adds lipstick. Wipes it off. Adds it again. Wipes it off. She considers adding the Mockingjay pin. The idea is funny, but perhaps she doesn't need another joke. She already has such a good one planned.

She finds Prim at the breakfast table. Her mother, serving pancakes, nearly drops the plate when she sees what Katniss is wearing.

'You look very nice today,' she says, with the tone of someone talking to a terminal patient.

'Might as well make an effort for the President,' she says, and kisses her mother's cheek. 'Thought it'd make a change from animal blood.'

Prim, now fifteen years old and a miniature of their mother, sticks out her tongue.

'It's a really good dress,' she concurs. 'You look super uncomfortable.'

'I'm wearing heels.' Katniss regards her feet. 'Just got to stay upright.'

Katniss gives Prim a hug before she sits, smelling the homey, spicy scent of her hair. Whatever the outcome of the President's visit, they'll be saying goodbye soon. She doesn't have the heart to tell her. Either Prim sees her sister shipped off to the Capitol, or she gets tortured to death.

Well, lesser of two evils, and all that.

Katniss does not eat breakfast. She's not exactly nauseous; it's more the anxiety that precipitates nausea, like a flood-warning. The taste of blood hasn't left her, though she's brushed her teeth three times. She might have to get used to that.

The car pulls up at the same time as the day before. Her mother wrings her hands. She's dressed up nice, too: forget-me-not blue frock, and eyeshadow. Prim would usually not deny an occasion to wear a pretty dress, but today she refuses to change out of her crumpled nightclothes. Their mother frets; Katniss is quietly delighted. Atta girl. Sometimes Katniss thinks Prim hates President Snow more than she does.

And that would be saying something.

The Peacekeepers enter first. They sweep the place, sticking gun barrels in toilets and fingering grenades like they get a sexual thrill out of it. Katniss anticipated this and has left her bed unmade, toilet unflushed, and three pairs of dirty underwear on the floor. Let them suffer in a hundred tiny ways that she can inflict on them, until she can slit their throats. This is how she keeps herself sane.

When they're satisfied that there isn't a dozen-strong militia hiding in a spare bedroom, the Peacekeepers fetch the President. Katniss awaits him in the study. She occupies Prim's grand chair that he took so presumptuously on his first visit, and when he enters she rises to meet him as though it is she who has deigned to bestow him with her presence.

'President Snow,' she says.

He is wearing lilac today. It's a color you never see in District 12. It's a nice suit, if you care about that sort of thing, but a bad clash with her red trim. Well, how could she possibly have anticipated?

Her dress makes him hesitate. 'You look lovely, Miss Everdeen,' he says. It isn't genuine. He wouldn't care if she was wearing a dress woven from human skin. What a waste of effort.

She offers her blood-clean hand for him to shake, and he takes it. He wears suede gloves and she is grateful that she does not need to feel his shiny skin against her own.

There'll be time enough for that.

He sits. Her mother has provided them with tea, again, and he pours a cup and cradles it, undrunk. 'Well, Miss Everdeen. Have you given any thought to my proposition?'

'I have.' Her voice is marble: immaculate, unbroken.

'And have you made a decision?'

She leans over the desk and folds her hands upon it. She can smell him from here. It's rancid. 'In fact, I have a counter-proposal, President Snow.'

He raises an eyebrow. He would love to deny her. He would love to have his personal escort break down the door and empty enough bullets into her face that no one would be able to identify the body. But he doesn't. He's a desperate man. She's a desperate woman.

They have so much in common.

'You have my attention, Miss Everdeen,' he says.

She pauses. She takes a breath. Outside, frost has turned the leaves to glass and they glitter like cement.

'I need you to do certain things for me. You will guarantee the protection of my family and friends for as long as it is possible for you to do so. I expect this to extend to the end of your life, if not beyond. You will also tell the Peacekeepers to step down their violence against the protestors. This is for their own good as well as the good of the people in the Districts. In return, I am going to destroy any potential I have as a symbol of rebellion. I am going to become a voice of support for the Capitol. I am going to act as a symbol of unity and a distraction for all of the Districts. The way that I am going to do this will allow you to secure your power over threats to the Capitol both inside and out.'

President Snow is watching her with amusement. 'You can promise all of that with certainty, can you?'

Katniss shimmers like polished bone. 'I can.'

'Your confidence is inspiring.'

'I have more demands.'

'Oh, do tell.'

'You will increase the food rations. Less starvation will mean fewer riots.'

He's brimming with wary intrigue. 'And what makes you think I would consider any of these demands?'

'Because you're desperate,' she says. 'You wouldn't be here otherwise. And that means I have leverage.'

He smiles, his teeth white and beautiful against the dark red of his gums. 'Be careful, Miss Everdeen. You never know how strong the ice is beneath you, until it cracks.'

'Do you still want to hear my proposal?'

He inclines his head. He is pretending to merely indulge her. But if she has a lifeline, he will take it. The wolves are at both their doors.

Katniss keeps her breathing even. She's learned a bit about manipulating an audience. She counts to ten silently, but there is no break in Snow's attention. They're both patient predators today.

'Instead of a symbol of rebellion, I'm going to become one of obedience and unity. Together, you and I are going to usher in a new age of peace. No one has to die.' She breathes in sulfur. 'I thought that you and I could get married.'

There is the sound of nothing, then one note of quiet, dismissive laughter. 'Very amusing, Miss Everdeen. Do you have a real proposition or are you just here to waste my time?'

'I am entirely serious. If pretending to love Peeta Mellark won me the Hunger Games, imagine what pretending to love the President could accomplish.'

He surveys her. More than anything, he looks disappointed.

'I must say, I underestimated your naivety, Miss Everdeen,' he says. 'But I can see how a little girl might think marriage was a simple solution to political upheaval.'

'I'm not a little girl.' She speaks too quickly, curses herself, and continues. 'If you parade me around and have me denounce the insurrectionists, it'll look like you have a gun to my head. Which you do. No one will believe it. I need… character motivation.'

President Snow's disappointment sharpens into anger. 'Have you completely lost your wits?'

Katniss considers. Yes, she is probably mad. But she doubts sanity is a trait President Snow much treasures in a wife.

'Imagine it. Me, the lovestruck bride. You, won slowly around by my pure, adoring affections. I declare my undying love for you and for the Capitol's virtues and urge the rebels to stand down. You loosen the noose of violence and starvation, in a gesture of good faith. Together, we stand for a new, brighter future for Panem. Everyone will lose their minds.' She shrugs a bare shoulder. 'And who doesn't love a wedding?'

President Snow stares at her like he wants to snap her neck. Then he stands so suddenly that Katniss jolts and reaches for a knife that isn't there. Nowhere to conceal a knife in stilettos.

Snow walks to the window behind her and she rotates her chair to watch him. He is observing the frost beyond the glass, which is choking the dry lobelia plants.

He does not look at her. 'How old are you, Miss Everdeen?'

'Nineteen.' He glances back to the window. He looks disgusted. Katniss, despite everything, feels offense. 'I'm an adult.'

'To me, you're a child,' he says. 'My late wife was almost twice your age when we married.'

'So?' Katniss rotates side to side in the chair. 'We don't need to actually like each other. It's a political arrangement, not a relationship.'

'Thank goodness for small mercies,' President Snow drawls.

Neither says anything for a long time. Outside, smoke rises again as fire, somewhere, spreads from one thing to another thing. There will be firefighters, but they will be slow and inefficient. More will probably die in the next few hours. And here Katniss sits, drinking tea with the President. She thinks what it would look like for the skin to burn off his face like pork scratchings.

'Everyone loves a wedding,' President Snow says at last, echoing her. He doesn't meet her eyes.

Each says nothing. You can hear distant gunshots, now. Peacekeepers are shooting at the rioters. With luck, they'll miss.

Katniss doesn't have the best of luck.

There is more silence in the study. Somebody somewhere is screaming.

'No one would believe it,' President Snow says, at last. 'A girl your age with a man of mine. It would be an embarrassment. The very notion could destroy my reputation.'

Katniss runs a tongue around her teeth and wonders how hard it is to kill a man with just your fingernails and canines. 'I could make them believe it,' she says. 'We met before I fought in the Hunger Games, and I've nursed a burning crush on you ever since. Peeta was just a boy. I outgrew him. I'm a mature woman now. Blah, blah, blah. I'll profess my unrequited love for you on live TV. If people hate the idea, you remain unscathed. If they buy it and support the match, then you can reciprocate my tender feelings.' She smirks. 'Depends how well you can act.'

'Oh, immaculately,' he responds.

Katniss bets that literally any other female tribute could have pulled this off better. There is a version of this scenario where some goddess-tall, achingly gorgeous Victor from District 2 or 4 is slipping her hands into Snow's, whispering into his ear, selling this scenario like it's not just a good political move but the best personal gift he could ever hope for.

Katniss is just glad she remembered to scrub off the blood from behind her ears. It had started to mold.

Katniss pretends to be mildly absorbed by the growing column of smoke. She cannot read Snow's expression. He might be about to order her execution. He might be about to kiss her.

She doubts it. If anything, he seems more disgusted about the proposal than her.

Which, if Katniss is honest, she finds a little insulting.

'Alright,' says President Snow, after an age of waiting has passed. 'Alright. To be clear, I agree to exactly none of your demands, Miss Everdeen, and I most certainly do not agree to your ridiculous marriage proposal. But I will grant you your television spot. Convince a nation that you…' He seems to quite genuinely struggle with the concept. '…are in love with me, and demonstrate that there is overwhelming public support for such a marriage, and do so while leaving my own reputation spotless. And then I shall give you an answer.'

Fireworks explode inside her. The joy subsides as soon as it has come, and in its wake she feels anxiety and sickness rinse her clean. It's almost comforting to feel such familiar emotions.

Katniss stands. She offers President Snow her hand once again. He takes it, and the two stare into one another and each picture the other strung up, stomach sliced open, guts spilling out like lametta.