There isn't a word strong enough to express my loathing for this train. Every time I board is in anticipation of something dreadful. The first time, I was being sent to certain death. When I came back alive, I was sent around the country to rub it in the faces of the families of those who didn't.

This time trumps the others by a wide margin. On this trip, I lose my freedom.

When I suggested the public marriage proposal, I thought Peeta and I would have a few years to worm our way out of it. Maybe stage a bad breakup or something. Or at the very least, we'd just have to put on the pretense of being blissfully married during our yearly trips to the Capitol. I never imagined Snow would be in such a hurry to throw a televised wedding for all of Panem to witness. Who forces two seventeen-year-olds to get married?

A dictator who enforces his will by making children kill each other for sport. That's who.

And, yeah. It's an official marriage. Peeta and I got the paperwork in the mail a few weeks ago. Snow was sure to enclose white rose petals in my packet. I got his message loud and clear: Don't even think of backing out.

But what's the point? The whole purpose of continuing the stupid song and dance is to calm the unrest in the districts—unrest that I'd inadvertently inspired in the arena. But the fact is the people were fed up with the Capitol long before I whipped out those stupid berries. They're so itching for revolution that it doesn't matter what Peeta and I say or do at this point. It's not like they're going to say, "Oh, what a beautiful wedding. They really are in love. Well, never mind the uprising, then. Let's get back to work."

Now they're more restless than ever.

Maybe the purpose of the wedding is to entertain the spoiled citizens of the Capitol. Maybe Snow is trying to humiliate me. Maybe he's trying to show me who's in charge. Maybe all of the above. I don't know. I've given up trying to figure out his motives.

According to Haymitch, if the worst thing I have to face as a Victor is legally binding myself to a devoted young man who loves me unconditionally, I'm getting off easy. Sure I am. We'll see how easy it is twelve years from now when Peeta and I are forced to mentor the kids I've always been determined to prevent as tributes in the Games.

And if that's getting off easy, I don't want to know what's happened to the others.

The day began with a visit from my prep team. A fitting start for such a dreaded endeavor. Because having all the hair on my body yanked out by the roots can't wait until I get to the Capitol. Of course not. Because the camera crews were there to film us boarding the train. Only in the Capitol do they consider stepping onto a train newsworthy, and heaven forbid we should look like a couple of hicks from District Twelve.

To make it worse, I got to listen to my prep team prattle on about how they love weddings, and how beautiful I'm going to look by the time they get through. I can usually tolerate them. They're not very bright after all, and they mean well. But today I just wasn't in the mood. I did my best to tune them out, and outright ignored them whenever they spoke to me. They just chalked up my behavior to pre-wedding jitters. Yeah, I guess you can call it that.

As soon as I could politely break away from the crowd, I feigned a headache and came straight to my compartment. I've been in here for the majority of the trip, resisting the urge to break things. Peeta checks on me every now and then, and my mother and Prim bring me food, but I'm not hungry. They've all been gracious enough to respect my wish to be left alone.

Our families, of course, were invited. Peeta's mother didn't come. His father says it's because they can't afford to close the bakery for three days, but I suspect the real reason has something to do with the fact that he's about to tie the knot with Seam trash. I don't care. Even Peeta agrees that the last thing we need is that insufferable witch making things worse. Like that's even possible.

Gale, who is thought to be my cousin, also declined the invite. He's stopped talking to me.

It's dusk when the train has to stop for fuel, and I take advantage of the opportunity to get some fresh air. I step off the train and, unwilling to look back, I let my feet carry me as far as they will. No need to worry about becoming stranded. No such luck. They'll send someone to find me when it's time.