Hi all! This scene is taken from right after the report where America plans to remove the castes, and before she discovers Maxon's secret in the saferoom. What will happen if King Clarkson "talks" to America instead of Maxon? WARNING this may be upsetting to some.

All rights to Kiera Cass

America's POV

King Clarkson said, "Maxon, I need to see you in my office."

I watched Maxon; and maybe I only imagined it, but it looked like panic flickered briefly behind his eyes.

"Or," the king offered, "I could simply talk to her." He gestured over to me.

"No," Maxon said quickly, holding up a hand in protest. "That won't be necessary. Ladies," he added, turning to us, "why don't you all head upstairs? We'll have dinner sent to you tonight." He paused. "America, maybe you should go ahead and collect your things. Just in case."

The king smiled, an eerie action after his recent explosion. "Actually," he countered, "I think I need to see both of you."

"No, father, that absolutely won't be neces—"

"Maxon, my mind has been made up! Don't contradict me!" And with that, he sharply grabbed my wrist and practically dragged me out of the room.

"Father, please! She hasn't done—"

"She has done more than enough! I'm sick of her!"

My head was spinning and I was so confused by what was going on. Yes, of course I was scared about how angry the king was, but what could he possibly be about to do that would cause that look of terror in Maxon's eyes? As we reached the door to the king's office, he let go of my arm to unlock the door and Maxon rushed over to me. I turned to meet his eyes with a questioning glance.

"America," He cupped my face in his hands and pulled me close, "I need you to know that whatever is about to happen is not your fault, and—"

"Silence!" the king bellowed, grabbing Maxon by his shirt collar. He harshly pulled him in the door, and flung him down in a chair in the corner, so I followed weakly, aching for Maxon's comforting words. I started to sit in the seat next to Maxon, but the king practically picked my up and threw me down in the middle of the carpeted floor. I was too scared to get back up, and I began to cry silently; this definitely was going to be a lot worse than whatever I expected.

Maxon jumped up to make sure I was ok, but the king harshly grabbed his shoulders and shoved him back in his chair. The king walked over and knelt down in front of his desk and began fiddling with something in its drawers as I trembled. He began to talk while looking in the drawer.

"Since I've done it enough times before to you," the king shot a menacing stare at Maxon, "I thought maybe it was time for you to watch instead."

Done what enough times before?

"Father, no!"

But before either of us knew what was going on, Clarkson rushed over to Maxon, with rope and a whip in his hands, and began tying Maxon's hands behind his back, behind the chair. Maxon tried to stand up, but the chair was bolted to the floor. I was so confused and dizzy, I was praying this was a nightmare, but when the king lifted me so I was standing, I knew I couldn't be dreaming.

"Strip," he ordered me, whip in hand.

Maxon's POV

My father was going to beat America and there was nothing I could do about it. When he was tying my hands behind the chair, I fought as hard as I could, but before I realized what was going on, it was too late. I was stuck, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't free my hands from the rope.

"Strip," my father ordered America.

No. No, no, no. "America, run!" I shouted. "Please! Get away from here!"

America stood, bewildered, knowing what my father could do to me if she left. She pleaded, "Maxon, I can't leave you here like thi—"

"Damn right you can't!" Clarkson yelled. "I thought I told you to take your dress off! You don't want Maxon getting hurt here do you?"

"America, no! Don't worry about me, you need to get out of here!"

"Maxon, I—"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" my father bellowed. He took two strides across the room, pushed America to the ground, climbed on top of her and began to rip her dress off of her. I felt lightheaded. This couldn't be happening. I was absolutely helpless; I strained again at the ropes tied around my hands, but it only seemed to make the knot tighter. Shit.

Clarkson had her dress down around her waist, so from her waist up she was only wearing a bra. I could see her trembling from across the room, her face bright red with humiliation and she was avoiding eye contact with everyone. The urge to run to her and comfort her was overwhelming. The only thing I could do was to keep talking to her. I had to make sure she knew I was here for her.

America was kneeling, leaning over a chair my father had placed in front of her. Her brilliant red hair was swept over the pale, smooth skin of her neck, and I was reminded of my complete and utter adoration for her. I needed to tell her that everything was going to be ok.

"Ames, listen to me," I pleaded. "Please, just keep listening to my voice, I'm here."

The whip was brought down on her back; a scream tore through the air. The muscles on my back involuntarily flexed, I couldn't believe she was experiencing the same pain I had been feeling for years.

"I'm here, listen to me, I'm here America," my voice was quavering. I had to stay strong for her. The whip crossed over the first cut, creating a new one. My voice grew louder. "Ames, I'm so sorry. I'm right here, you're going to be ok, I'll always be here."

"Shut up, Maxon!" my father reprimanded. "If she's bold enough to let out one of Illea's greatest secrets on live television, she can handle this!"

America's back was to me, her shoulders shaking with the sobs that were racking her body. I would do anything to see her face, to look her in the eyes and tell her how much I loved her; to take her away from this chaos.

"Don't listen to him America!" I yelled. The whip cracked. "Are you listening to me? Focus on my voice. Do you hear me?"

She sobbed, "Ma—axon, help, make it sto—" Another crack. She screamed in agony.

I had to get my father away from America, at least for a second. "You worthless piece of shit!" I directed at him. It worked. He whirled around, bringing the whip down over my legs, leaving a line of America's blood on my dress pants. It stung, but it was nothing compared to what I have felt before.

"No!" America bawled.

Clarkson bellowed, "She's worthless scum!" He cracked his whip on her back. "You don't really love this bitch do, you?" Crack. "No one could love someone as disgusting as this rat!"

"Don't listen to him America! Keep listening to me," I continued talking to her, unaware of the words coming out of my mouth. I just knew I had to say something, anything, so she could focus on my words more than the physical and verbal abuse from my father.

He continued punctuating his sentences by bringing down his hard whip. "You are a disgrace to this country!" Crack. "Maxon was an idiot to keep you here!" Crack. "Anyone would be stupid to let you into their lives!" Crack.

I continued to throw heartless insults at my father to try and distract him, but it was no use. At some point during this, I had begun to cry through my talking to America. It was too much for me to hear her crying in agony, to hear the untrue things my father was yelling, to watch her as she experienced the pain I felt many times before and to see her back became more and more layered with wounds.

My tears were falling with abandon at this point, and it was everything I could do to keep talking. My voice had become hoarse from trying to yell over the mayhem so America could hear me. By the end, things were coming out of my mouth that I had never said before.

"I love you America I always will I'll always be here for you I'm so, so sorry I love you keep listening to me I love you you hear me I love you I love you I love you," I was hysterical at this point, sobbing so she probably couldn't understand me.

After what felt like hours, I had almost lost my voice completely and my father decided he had had enough. He threw down the whip in disgust and muttered, "I've had enough of you two. Do what you please," and stormed out of the room. America was curled on the ground almost unconscious, and my hands were still tied to the chair. I had to get America out of here as soon as I could, before she lost too much blood, but there was no way for me to move. I needed her help.

"America," I called out.

America's POV

The pain was blinding. I had never felt anything like it before. When I heard Maxon's voice, everything seemed a little better, but eventually the pain even drowned that out, too. I must have passed out, because the next thing I registered was the cold tile floor under my cheek and Maxon's voice, pleading.

"Please, America, I need you, don't give up on me I know you can wake up, please just wake up."

I opened my eyes and began to sit up to face him, but a searing pain roared across my back, causing me to let out a yelp. My hand reached around and felt at my back, and when I brought it back to look at it, it was drenched in blood. I felt so weak, and I began to cry.

"Maxon, ple—ease, I need you, I need you."

"Ames listen, I can't help you, I'm stuck, I need you to untie me."

I began to stand up to walk over and help him, but I was overcome with dizziness and fell.

"No, no! Please don't stand America. Crawl over behind me and see if you can untie me. I know you can do it, I know it." He continued saying encouraging words to me as I continued to sob, slowly and painfully crawling across the room to his chair. I had to drag myself through some puddles of my own blood, and I felt nauseous and began to gag.

"I'm so, so sorry, Ames, you can do this I believe in you you're so close, please."

Hearing my family's nickname for me was comforting, and it was now that I looked at his face for the first time. Red and tear-stained, I could see how upset he was. I stopped in my tracks. "I'm sorry Maxon," I whispered. "So, so sorry."

"America, no! Please don't be so selfless, I'm fine, I really, truly am, I just need you to come untie me and we can get out of here."

It seemed to take all my strength, and my hands were shaking uncontrollably. By the time I got the knot loose enough for Maxon to pull free, I was exhausted and the pain had more than doubled. I looked down and realized for the first time that my dress was still around my waist. Humiliation. Another bout of tears wracked my body, which just increased the pain. Had the king really done this to Maxon before? How could he bear it? How could a father even think about doing things this despicable to his son?

My mind was clouded with questions and agony, and the next thing I knew, Maxon was kneeling next to me, kissing my face and my tears and my hair, and scooped me up into his arms.

This is only part 1! Part 2 is about halfway done, I will try to have it up as soon as possible! Please review so I can make the next part better, and let me know what you think! Thanks for reading.