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“But you have sisters; won’t they mind?”
“They’ll understand. Please?”
“Absolutely! I wouldn’t miss your wedding for the world.” Her tone implied that my wedding would be the event of the century.
“Promise me that even if I get married to a nobody Eight in an alley somewhere, you’ll be there.”
She gave me a disbelieving look, positive that no such thing could ever happen. “Even if that’s the case. I promise.”
She didn’t ask me to make a similar vow for her, which made me wonder as I had in the past if there was another Four back home who she had her heart set on. I wouldn’t press her though. It was clear we both had secrets; but Marlee was my best friend, and I would do anything for her.
* * *
That night I was hoping to spend some time with Maxon. Marlee had me questioning a lot of my actions. And thoughts. And feelings.
After dinner, as we all stood to leave the Dining Room, I caught Maxon’s eye and tugged my ear. It was our secret sign to ask for time together, and it was rare to pass up an invitation. But tonight Maxon’s expression was disappointed as he mouthed the word “work” to me. I gave him a mock pout and a tiny wave before leaving for the night.
Perhaps it was for the best anyway. I really needed to think on some things where Maxon was concerned.
When I rounded the corner to my room, Aspen was there again, standing guard. He looked me up and down, taking in the snug green dress that did amazing things for the few curves I had. Without a word, I walked past him. Before I could turn the handle on my door, he gently grazed the skin on my arm.
It was slow but brief, and in those few seconds I felt that need, that sense of longing, that Aspen tended to inspire in me. One look at his emerald eyes, hungry and deep, and I felt my knees start to go shaky.
I moved into my room as quickly as I could, tortured by our connection. Thank goodness I barely had time to think about what Aspen made me feel, because the moment the door shut, my maids swarmed around me, preparing me for bed. As they chatted away and brushed my hair, I tried to let myself forget about everything for a moment.
It was impossible. I had to choose. Aspen or Maxon.
But how was I supposed to decide between two good possibilities? How could I make a choice that would leave some part of me devastated either way? I comforted myself with the thought that I still had time. I still had time.
(#ulink_78f19bfd-8210-5273-a58a-86534d39ba2b)
“SO, LADY CELESTE, YOU’RE SAYING that the quantities aren’t sufficient, and you feel the number of men taken in the next draft should be raised?” Gavril Fadaye, the moderator of discussions on the Illéa Capital Report and the only person who ever interviewed the royals, asked.
Our debates on the Report were tests, and we knew it. Even though Maxon didn’t have a timeline, the public was aching for the field to narrow; and I sensed the king, queen, and their advisers were, too. If we wanted to stay, we had to perform, whenever and wherever they said. I was glad I’d made it through that awful report about the soldiers. I remembered some of the statistics, so I stood a decent chance of making a good impression tonight.
“Exactly, Gavril. The war in New Asia has been going on for years. I think one or two rounds of inflated drafts would give us the numbers we need to end it.”
I really couldn’t stand Celeste. She’d gotten one girl kicked out, ruined Kriss’s birthday party last month, and literally tried to rip a dress off my back. Her status as a Two made her consider herself a cut above the rest of us. To be honest, I didn’t have an opinion about the number of soldiers Illéa had, but now that I knew Celeste’s, I was unwaveringly opposed.
“I disagree,” I said in as ladylike a tone as I could manage. Celeste turned my way, her dark hair whipping over her shoulder in the process. With her back to the camera, she felt perfectly comfortable blatantly glaring at me.
“Ah, Lady America, you think increasing the numbers is a bad idea?” Gavril asked.
I felt the heat of a blush on my cheeks. “Twos can afford to pay their way out of the draft, so I’m sure Lady Celeste has never seen what it does when families lose their only sons. Taking more would be devastating, particularly for the lowest castes, who tend to have larger families and need every member to work in order to survive.”
Marlee, beside me, gave me a friendly nudge.
Celeste took over. “Well, then what should we do? Certainly you aren’t suggesting that we sit back and let these wars drag on?”
“No, no. Of course I want Illéa to be done with the war.” I paused to gather my thoughts and looked across at Maxon for some sort of support. Next to him, the king looked peeved.
I needed to switch directions, so I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “What if it was voluntary?”
“Voluntary?” Gavril asked.
Celeste and Natalie chuckled, which made it worse. But then I thought about it. Was it such a terrible idea?
“Yes. I’m sure there would need to be certain requirements, but perhaps we’d get more out of an army of men who wanted to be soldiers as opposed to boys who were only doing what it took to stay alive and get back to the life they left behind.”
A hush of consideration fell on the studio. Apparently, I’d made a point.
“That’s a good idea,” Elise chimed in. “Then we’d also be sending out new soldiers every month or two as people sign up. It might be invigorating to the men who’ve been serving awhile.”
“I agree,” Marlee added, which was usually the extent of her comments. She clearly wasn’t comfortable in debate situations.
“Well, I know this might sound a little modern, but what if it was open to women?” Kriss commented.
Celeste laughed aloud. “Who do you think would sign up? Would you be heading into the battlefield?” Her voice dripped with an insulting disbelief.
Kriss kept her head together. “No, I’m not soldier material. But,” she continued, to Gavril, “if there’s one thing I’ve learned from being in the Selection, it’s that some girls have a frightening killer instinct. Don’t let the ball gowns fool you,” she finished with a smile.
Back in my room, I allowed my maids to stay a little later than usual to help me get the pile of pins out of my hair.
“I liked your idea of the army being voluntary,” Mary said, her nimble fingers hard at work.
“Me, too,” Lucy added. “I remember watching my neighbors struggle when their oldest sons were taken. It was almost unbearable when so many didn’t come home.” I could see a dozen memories f lash before her eyes. I had some of my own.
Miriam Carrier was widowed young; but she and her son, Aiden, managed all right, just the two of them. When the soldiers had shown up at her door with a letter and a flag and their meaningless condolences, she’d caved in on herself. She couldn’t make it on her own. Even if she had the ability, she didn’t have the heart.
Sometimes I saw her begging as an Eight in the same square where I had said my good-byes to Carolina. But it wasn’t as if I had anything to give her.
“I know,” I said to Lucy’s reflection.
“I thought Kriss went a bit too far,” Anne commented. “Women in battle sounds like a terrible idea.”
I smiled at her prim face as she focused intently on my hair. “According to my dad, women used to—”
A short burst of knocks came at the door, startling all of us.
“I had a thought,” Maxon announced, walking in without waiting for an answer. It appeared we had a standing date Friday nights after the Report.
“Your Majesty,” they said together, Mary dropping pins as she sank into her curtsy.
“Let me help you,” Maxon offered, coming to Mary’s aid.
“It’s all right,” she insisted, blushing fiercely and backing out of the room. Far less subtly than I’m sure she intended, she made wide eyes at Lucy and Anne, begging them to leave with her.
“Oh, um, goodnight, miss,” Lucy said, tugging on the hem of Anne’s uniform to get her to follow.
Once they were gone, Maxon and I both broke down into laughter. I turned to the mirror and continued to work the pins out of my hair.
“They’re a funny lot,” Maxon commented.
“It’s just that they admire you so much.”
Modestly, he waved the compliment away. “Sorry I interrupted,” he said to my reflection.
“It’s fine,” I answered, tugging out the last pin. I ran my fingers through my hair and draped it over my shoulder. “Do I look okay?”
Maxon nodded, staring a little longer than necessary. He came to his senses and spoke. “Anyway, this idea . . .”
“Do tell.”
“You remember that Halloween thing?”
“Yes. Oh, I still haven’t read the diary. It’s well hidden though,” I promised.
“It’s fine. No one’s looking for it. Anyway, I was thinking. All those books said it fell in October, right?”
“Yes.”
“It’s October now. Why don’t we have a Halloween party?”
I spun around. “Really? Oh, Maxon, could we?”
“Would you like that?”
“I would love it!”
“I figure all the Selected girls could have costumes made. The off-duty guards could be spare dance partners since there’s only one of me and it would be unfair to make everyone stand around waiting for a turn. And we could do dancing lessons over the next week or two. You did say there wasn’t much to do during the days sometimes. And candy! We’ll have the best candies made and imported. You, my dear, will be stuffed by the end of the night. We’ll have to roll you off the floor.”
I was mesmerized.
“And we’ll make an announcement, tell the entire country to celebrate. Let the children dress up and go door-to-door doing tricks, like they used to. Your sister will love that, yes?”
“Of course she will! Everyone will!”
He deliberated a moment, pursing his lips. “How do you think she would like celebrating here, at the palace?”
I was stunned. “What?”
“At some point in the competition, I’m supposed to meet the parents of the Elite. Might as well have siblings come and do this around a festive time as opposed to waiting—”
His words were cut off by me barreling into his arms. I was so elated by the possibility of seeing May and my parents, I couldn’t contain my enthusiasm. He wrapped his arms around my waist and stared into my eyes, his own glittering with delight. How did this person—someone I’d imagined would be my polar opposite—always seem to find the things that would make me the happiest?
“Do you mean it? Can they really come?”
“Of course,” he answered. “I’ve been longing to meet them, and it’s part of the competition. Anyway, I think it would do all of you good to see your families.”
Once I was sure I wouldn’t cry, I whispered back, “Thank you.”
“You’re quite welcome. . . . I know you love them.”
“I do.”
He chuckled. “And it’s clear you’d do practically anything for them. After all, you stayed in the Selection for them.”
I jerked back, putting space between us so I could see his eyes. There was no judgment there, only shock at my abrupt movement. I couldn’t let this pass though. I had to be absolutely clear.
“Maxon, they were part of the reason I stayed in the beginning, but they’re not why I’m here now. You know that, right? I’m here because . . .”
“Because?”
I looked at Maxon, his adoring face so hopeful. Say it, America. Just tell him.
“Because?” he asked again, this time with an impish smile coming to his lips, which made me soften even more.
I thought about my conversation with Marlee and the way I’d felt the other day when we talked about the Selection. It was hard to think of Maxon as my boyfriend when there were other girls dating him, but he wasn’t just my friend. That hopeful feeling hit me again, the wonder that we might be something special. Maxon was more to me than I’d let myself believe.
I gave him a flirtatious smile and started walking toward the door.
“America Singer, you get back here.” He ran in front of me, wrapping an arm around my waist as we stood, chest to chest. “Tell me,” he whispered.
I pinched my lips together.
“Fine, then I shall have to rely on other means of communication.”
Without any warning, he kissed me. I felt myself dip backward a bit, completely supported by his arms. I placed my hands on his neck, wanting to hold him to me . . . and something shifted in my head.
Usually when we were alone together, I could block out the other girls. But tonight I thought about the possibility of someone else in my place. Just imagining it: someone else in Maxon’s arms, making him laugh, marrying him . . . It broke my heart. I couldn’t help it; I started to cry.
“Darling, what’s wrong?”
Darling? The word, so tender and personal, enveloped me. In that moment, any desire I had to fight my feelings for Maxon disappeared. I wanted to be his dear, his darling. I wanted to be Maxon’s alone.
It might mean welcoming a future I never thought I would and saying good-bye to things I never intended to, but the thought of leaving him now wasn’t something I could handle.
It was true that I wasn’t the best candidate for the crown, but I didn’t deserve to be in the running at all if I couldn’t at least be brave enough to confess how I felt.
I sighed, trying to keep my voice steady. “I don’t want to leave all this.”
“If I remember correctly, the first time we met, you said it was like a cage.” He smiled. “It does grow on you, though, doesn’t it?”
I gave my head a small shake. “Sometimes you can be so stupid.” A weak laugh pushed through my choked-up throat.
Maxon let me pull away just enough so I could look into his brown eyes.
“Not the palace, Maxon. I could care less about the clothes or my bed or, believe it or not, the food.”
