by Kiera Cass
EITHER WAY, WE ARE SLATED TO HAVE THE CORONATION TOMORROW. NOW THAT SWENDWAY HAS GOTTEN THE POWERFUL ALLY OF THE NORTH AMERICAN UNION, I CAN HAVE WHAT I WANT: A CROWN. I THINK THIS IS A FAIR TRADE. WHY SETTLE FOR PRESIDENT ILLÉA WHEN I CAN BE KING ILLÉA INSTEAD? THROUGH MY DAUGHTER, I’VE BEEN DEEMED ROYAL.
EVERYTHING IS IN PLACE. AFTER TOMORROW THERE WILL BE NO TURNING BACK.
He sold her. The pig sold his daughter to a man she hated so he could have everything he wanted.
My instinct was to close the book again, to shut it all out. But I forced myself to flip through it, reading passages at random. In one place a rough diagram of the caste system was laid out, originally dreamed up with six tiers instead of eight. On another page he plotted to change people’s last names to separate them from their pasts. One line made it clear that he intended to punish his enemies by placing them lower on the scale and reward the loyal by placing them higher.
I wondered if my great-grandparents simply had nothing to offer or if they had resisted this. I hoped it was the latter.
What should my last name have been? Did Dad know?
My whole life I’d been led to believe that Gregory Illéa was a hero, the person who saved our country when we were on the edge of oblivion. Clearly, he was nothing more than a power-hungry monster. What kind of man manipulated people so willingly? What kind of man hawked his daughter for his own convenience?
I looked at the older entries I’d read in a new light. He never said he wanted to be a great family man; he just wanted to look like one. He would play by Wallis’s rules for now. He was using his son’s peers to gain support. He was playing a game from the very beginning.
I felt nauseated. I stood and paced the floor, trying to wrap my head around it all.
How had an entire history been forgotten? How was it that no one ever spoke of the old countries? Where was all this information? Why didn’t anyone know?
I opened my eyes and looked to the sky. It seemed impossible. Surely, someone would have disapproved, would have told their children the truth. But then again, maybe they had. I’d often wondered why Dad never let me talk about the timeworn history book he had hidden in his room, why the history I did know about Illéa was never in print. Maybe it was because, if it was there in writing that Illéa was a hero, people would have rioted. But if it was always a point of speculation, where one person insisted it was a certain way and another denied it, how would anyone ever hold on to the truth?
I wondered if Maxon knew.
Suddenly a memory came to me. Not so long ago, Maxon and I had our first kiss. It was so unexpected that I had pulled away, leaving him embarrassed. Then when I realized that I wanted Maxon to kiss me, I suggested that we simply erase that memory and plant a new one.
America, he’d said, I don’t think you can change history. To which I replied, Sure we can. Besides, who’d ever know about it but you and me?
I’d meant it as a joke. Surely, if he and I end up together, we’d remember what really happened no matter how silly it was. We’d never actually replace it with a more perfect-sounding story simply for the sake of show.
But the whole Selection was a show. If Maxon and I were ever asked about our first kiss, would we tell anyone the truth? Or would we keep that little detail a secret between the two of us? When we died, no one would know, and that fraction of a moment that was so important to who we were would be gone.
Could it be that simple? Tell one story to one generation and repeat it until it was accepted as fact? How often had I asked someone older than Mom or Dad what they knew or what their parents had seen? They were old. What did they know? It was so arrogant of me to discount them completely. I felt so stupid.
But the important issue wasn’t how this all made me feel. The important issue was what I was going to do with it.
I’d lived my whole life stuck in a hole in our society; and because I loved music, I didn’t complain. But I had wanted to be with Aspen, and because he was a Six, it was harder than it had to be. If Gregory Illéa hadn’t coldly designed the laws of our country, sitting comfortably at his desk all those years ago, then Aspen and I wouldn’t have fought and I never would have cared about Maxon. Maxon wouldn’t even be a prince. Marlee’s hands would still be intact, and she and Carter wouldn’t be living in a room barely big enough for their bed. Gerad, my sweet baby brother, could study all the science he wanted instead of pushing himself into the arts for which he had no passion.
By obtaining a comfy life in a beautiful house, Gregory Illéa had robbed most of the country of its ability to ever attempt to have the very same thing.
Maxon said if I wanted to know who he was, all I had to do was ask. I’d been afraid to face the possibility of him being this person, but I had to know. If I was meant to make a decision about being a part of the Selection or going home, I needed to know exactly what he was made of.
Donning my slippers and robe, I left my room, passing the nameless guard on my way.
“You all right, miss?” he asked.
“Yes. I’ll be back soon.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, but I left too quickly for him to speak. I headed up the stairs to the third floor. Unlike the other floors, guards stood at the landing, preventing me from simply walking to Maxon’s door.
“I need to speak to the prince,” I said, trying to sound firm.
“It’s very late, miss,” the one to the left said.
“Maxon won’t mind,” I promised.
The one to the right smirked a little. “I don’t think he’d appreciate any company right now, miss.”
My forehead creased in thought as I played that sentence in my head again.
He was with another girl.
I had to assume it was Kriss, sitting there in his room, talking, laughing, or maybe giving up on her no-kissing rule.
A maid came around the corner with a tray in her hands, passing me as she descended the stairs. I stepped to the side, trying to decide if I should push the guards to let me through anyway or give up. As I went to open my mouth again, the guard cut me off.
“You need to go back to bed, miss.”
I wanted to yell at them or do something because I felt so powerless. It wouldn’t help, though, so I left. I heard the one guard—the smirking one—mumble something as I walked away, and that made it worse. Was he making fun of me? Feeling sorry for me? I didn’t need his pity. I was feeling bad enough on my own.
When I got back to the second floor, I was surprised to see that the maid who had passed me was there, kneeling as if she was adjusting her shoe but clearly doing nothing of the sort. She raised her head as I approached, picking up her tray and walking toward me.
“He’s not in his room,” she whispered.
“Who? Maxon?”
She nodded. “Try downstairs.”
I smiled, shaking my head in surprise. “Thank you.”
She shrugged. “He’s not anywhere you couldn’t find him if you looked anyway. Besides,” she said, her eyes full of admiration, “we like you.”
She moved away, heading down to the first floor very quickly. I wondered exactly who “we” was, but for now, her simple act of kindness was enough. I stood for a moment, leaving some space between the two of us, and headed downstairs.
The Great Room was open but empty, as was the dining room. I checked the Women’s Room, thinking that would be a funny place to go on a date, but they weren’t there either. I asked the guards by the door, and they assured me that Maxon hadn’t gone into the gardens, so I checked a few of the libraries and parlors before guessing that he and Kriss must have either parted ways or gone back to his room.
Giving up, I turned a corner and headed for the back stairwell, which was closer than the main one. I didn’t see anything; but as I approached, I heard the distinct hiss of a whisper. I slowed, not wanting to intrude and not completely sure where the sound was coming from.
Another whisper.
A flirtatious giggle.
The sounds focused, and I was certain where they were coming from. I took one more step forward, looked to my left, and saw a couple embracing in the shadows. After the image settled and my eyes adjusted to the light, a shock went through me.
Maxon’s blond hair was unmistakable, even in the darkness. How many times had I seen it just so in the dim light of the gardens? But what I’d never seen before, never imagined before, was how that hair would look with Celeste’s long fingers, nails painted red, digging into it.
Maxon was all but pinned to the wall by Celeste’s body. Her free hand was pressed against his chest, and her leg was wrapped around his, the slit of her dress revealing her long leg, tinted slightly blue in the dark of the hall. She pulled back slightly, only to fall back into him slowly, teasing him it seemed.
I kept waiting for him to tell her to get off him, to tell her she wasn’t what he wanted. But he didn’t. Instead he kissed her. She lavished in it and giggled again at his affection. He whispered something in her ear, and Celeste leaned in and kissed him, deeper, harder than before. The strap of her dress fell off her shoulder, leaving what seemed like miles of exposed skin down her back. Neither of them bothered to fix it.
I was frozen. I wanted to scream or cry, but my throat felt constricted. Why, of everyone, did it have to be her?
Celeste’s lips slid off Maxon’s and settled onto his neck. She gave another obnoxious giggle and kissed him once more. Maxon closed his eyes and smiled. With Celeste no longer blocking him, I was in Maxon’s line of sight.
I meant to run. I meant to disappear, to evaporate. Instead I stood there.
So when Maxon opened his eyes, he saw me.
As Celeste drew pictures in kisses up and down his neck, Maxon and I merely stared at each other. His smile now gone, Maxon had suddenly turned to stone. The shock in his eyes willed me finally to move. Celeste didn’t notice, so I backed away quietly, not even stirring a breath.
Once I was out of earshot, I broke into a run, blazing past all the guards and butlers working late into the night. The tears started coming before I made it up the main stairway.
I pulled myself up and moved quickly to my room. I pushed past the concerned guard and through the doorway, sitting on my bed facing the balcony. In the quiet stillness of my room, I felt my heart ache. So stupid, America. So stupid.
I’d go home. I’d forget this ever happened. And I’d marry Aspen.
Aspen was the only person I could count on.
It wasn’t long before there was a knock on my door, and Maxon came in without waiting for an answer. He stormed across the room, looking about as angry as I was.
Before he could say a word, I confronted him.
“You lied to me.”
“What? When?”
“When haven’t you been? How could the same person who talked about proposing to me want to be caught dead in a hallway with someone like her?”
“What I do with her has absolutely nothing to do with how I feel about you.”
“You’re joking, right? Or because you’re the next king, I suppose it’s acceptable for you to have half-naked girls draped across you whenever you like?”
Maxon looked stricken. “No. That’s not what I think at all.”
“Why her?” I asked, looking to the ceiling. “Why, of anyone on the planet, would you want her?”
When I looked to Maxon for an answer, he was shaking his head and looking around the room.
“Maxon, she’s an actress, a fake. You have to be able to see that under all that makeup, and the push-up bra is nothing but a girl who wants to manipulate you to get what she wants.”
Maxon huffed out a laugh. “Actually, I do.”
I was taken aback by his calm. “Then why—”
But I already had my answer.
He knew. Of course he knew. He’d been raised here. Gregory’s diaries were probably his bedtime stories. I didn’t know why I’d expected otherwise.
How naive had I been? When I kept thinking that there was a better option than me for his princess, I’d been imagining Kriss. She was lovely and patient and a million things that I wasn’t. But I’d been seeing her next to a different Maxon. For the man he would have to be to follow in Gregory Illéa’s footsteps, the only girl here for him was Celeste. No one else would be so content to keep a country under her thumb.
“That’s it,” I said, wiping my hands in front of me. “You wanted a decision, and here it is: I am done with this. I’m done with the Selection, I’m done with all the lies, and I am especially done with you. God, I can’t believe how stupid I was.”
“You’re not done, America,” he contradicted me quickly, his stance saying as much as his words. “You’re done when I say you are. You’re upset right now, but you aren’t done.”
I gripped my hair, feeling like I was seconds away from pulling it all out by the roots. “What is wrong with you? Are you delusional? What makes you think that I will ever be okay with what I just saw? I hate that girl. And you were kissing her. I want nothing to do with you.”
“Good God, woman, you never let me get a word in edgewise!”
“What could you possibly say that could explain that away? Just send me home. I don’t want to be here anymore.”
Our conversation had been going back and forth so quickly that his silence was startling.
“No.”
I was enraged. Wasn’t this exactly what he’d been asking for? “Maxon Schreave, you are nothing but a child who has his hands on a toy that he doesn’t want but can’t stand for someone else to have.”
Quietly, Maxon spoke. “I understand that you’re angry, but—”
I shoved him. “I’m beyond angry!”
Maxon remained calm. “America, do not call me a child. And do not push me.”
I shoved him again. “What are you going to do about it?”
Maxon grabbed my wrists, pinning my arms behind my back, and I saw the anger in his eyes. I was glad it was there. I wanted him to provoke me. I wanted a reason to hurt him. I could tear him to bits right now.
But there was no rage in him. Instead I felt the warm buzz of electricity that had been missing for a long time. Maxon’s face was inches from mine, his eyes searching my own, perhaps wondering how he’d be received, perhaps not caring at all. Though it was all wrong, I still wanted it. My lips parted before I realized what was happening.
I shook my head to clear it and stepped back, moving toward the balcony. He didn’t put up a fight as I pulled away. I took a few steadying breaths before I turned to him.
“Are you going to send me home?” I asked quietly.
Maxon shook his head, either unable or unwilling to speak.
I ripped his bracelet off my wrist and threw it across the room. “Then go,” I whispered.
I turned back to look out my balcony and waited a few heavy moments to hear the click of the door. Once he left, I fell to the floor and sobbed.
He and Celeste were so much alike. Everything about them was a show. And I knew that he would spend the rest of his life sweet-talking the public into thinking he was wonderful, all the while keeping them trapped where they were. Just like Gregory.
I sat on my floor, legs crossed under my nightgown. As upset as I was with Maxon, I was even more upset with myself. I should have fought harder. I should have done more. I shouldn’t be sitting here so defeated.
I wiped the tears away and assessed the situation. I was done with Maxon, but I was still here. I was done with the competition, but I still had a presentation due. Aspen might not think I was tough enough to be a princess—and he was right—but he did have faith in me. I knew that. And so did my father. And so did Nicoletta.
I wasn’t here to win anymore. So how could I go out with a bang?
CHAPTER 27
WHEN SILVIA ASKED WHAT I would need for my presentation, I told her a small desk for some books and an easel for a poster I was designing. She was particularly excited about my p
oster. I was the only girl here with any true experience making art.
I spent hours writing my speech onto note cards so I wouldn’t miss anything, flagging sections in books to be my resources midpresentation, and rehearsing it in the mirror to get through the parts that particularly worried me. I tried not to think too hard about what I was doing; otherwise my whole body started trembling.
I asked Anne to make me a dress that looked innocent, which made her eyebrows pucker.
“You make it sound like we’ve been sending you out in lingerie,” she said mockingly.
I chuckled. “That’s not what I mean at all. You know I love all the dresses you’ve made me. I just want to seem … angelic.”
She smiled to herself. “I think we can come up with something.”
They must have been working like crazy, because I didn’t see Anne, Mary, or Lucy the day of the Report until the hour before it started, when they came bustling in with the dress. It was white, gauzy, and light, adorned with one long stream of green and blue tulle running along the right side. The bottom fell in such a way that it looked like a cloud, and its empire waist added a level of virtue and grace to the gown. I felt lovely in that dress. It was by far my favorite of everything they’d designed for me, and I was glad it worked out that way. It would probably be the last dress of theirs I’d ever wear.
It had been hard to keep my plan a secret, but I did. When the girls asked what I was doing, I simply said it was a surprise. I got a few skeptical looks for that, but I didn’t care. I asked my maids not to touch the things on my desk, not even to clean, and they obeyed, leaving my notes facedown.
