I'm running fast, running away from the rebels. I know they're behind me. I can hear Maxon screaming my name. I keep running down the hall, towards the hidden door where I know I'll be safe. But just as I reach the door, a shot of pain bursts through my shoulder. I cry out and fall forward, blacking out as my head collides with the steel door in front of me.

I wake up to a pair of unfamiliar brown eyes. I blink a few times, yawn, and then try to sit up. The mysterious pair of eyes follows me, lending a hand as I shift to a sitting position. "America?" he whispers, his voice foreign to me. "America? Are you okay?"

My head pounds and I place a hand gingerly to my forehead. I can feel a large bump forming there and wonder what happened. I look around and notice I'm in a hospital-like room. White, sterile walls. Various machinery. An IV is pinned into my arm. "I'm . . . I'm fine," I whisper. I look over at the mysterious boy and hold back a scream.

"What is it?" he replies, grasping at my shoulders to calm me down. I only get more frantic at his touch, alarmed at the feel of his hands against me. "America, stop screaming, please, tell me what's wrong," he pleads. I find softness in his eyes, worry in the creases of his forehead.

"What . . . what are you doing here?" I ask him, scooting away in horror. I study the prince with hesitancy. He's dressed in a simple gray suit, though his shirt is wrinkled. His hair is tousled, a golden mess of curls. And his chocolate eyes are blinding me with sympathy. And confusion.

A lot of confusion.

He lets out a soft laugh, one of disbelief. "What am I doing here? Ames, why wouldn't I be here? I mean, yes I have some meetings to attend, but you were hurt and I think that's a bit more impor-"

"But you're the prince! You're Prince Maxon . . . And you're here with me because I'm hurt?"

Prince Maxon's eyes fill with shock and then understanding. His eyes drop as realization sets in. What he's realizing, I don't know. But he's definitely coming to some sort of conclusion. "America," he whispers, placing a gentle hand on my cheek. I shrug it off, uncomforted by his touch. "Do you . . . do you not know who I am?"

"Of course I know who you are!" I exclaim, almost laughing. "You're the freaking prince of Illéa!"

"King, actually," he mumbles, his eyes disconnected, his voice cracking. "But that's not what I meant. Do you . . do you not know who I am in relation to you?"

I practically laugh. What could the prince have to do with me? "Umm . . no? Why would I be related to you. You're the Prince and I'm a Five," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Oh, God," he mumbles, standing up and pacing the room. I watch him nervously, unsure of what he's thinking. Did I say something wrong? What am I missing here? "Shit, shit, shit," he mutters, running his hands through his hair. I watch him speechlessly, trying to understand what's going on. The Prince was at my bedside, waiting for me to wake up, and now he's acting as if I should know who he is.

And then the strangest thing happens.

He rushes back to me, holds my face in his hands and kisses me on the lips. I gasp at the feel of his warm lips against mine, shocked by the way his hands hold me like they know me. But I feel some hint of recognition and I kiss back automatically -that is until one thought breaks through my mind: Aspen.

I pull away in disgust and slap the Prince. He recoils, clutching his red cheek, but doesn't seem surprised at my assault. I expect guards to come rushing in to punish me, but no one comes. The Prince just stares at me in horror, awe, worry and, most of all, sadness. Loss. "You may be the Prince, but that doesn't give you the right to just kiss any girl you want. I happen to have a boyfriend, your highness," I say, my voice dripping sarcasm. The Prince stays silent. He just stares at me in complete amazement. "What?" I ask him, annoyed by his glaring at me.

He shakes his head and rushes out the door. I call after him, wanting answers, but he ignores them. I fall back against the pillow and sigh. From outside I can hear the frantic words of the Prince as he talks to somebody. Or a few people. I can hear some unfamiliar voices mixed in with some recognizable ones. Is that my mother's voice? And is that . . . is that Aspen I hear?

A few seconds later they all enter the room - Prince Maxon, what appears to be a doctor, a guard, my mother and Aspen. His face is full of worry, but there's something different about him. He looks older. Stronger. And he's dressed differently.

"Aspen!" I cry out, reaching out to him, desperately wanting to kiss him, to wipe away the taste of the Prince and replace it with my boyfriend's. But rather than kiss me, he simply hugs me, squeezing me like . . . like a friend. "God, Mer, are you okay? I was so worried about you," he says, looking into my eyes with concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say, aching to kiss him. But the Prince is still staring at me, and it makes me feel uncomfortable. I decide that I'll have plenty of alone time with Aspen. "I'm just very . . . confused."

"You hurt yourself pretty bad, honey," my mother said, joining me on the opposite side of my bed. She takes my hand in hers and squeezes it gently. She looks older, too. Are those grey hairs? No, they couldn't be. My mother's too young for that. "There was an attack and you were shot an-"

"I was shot?" I say, horrified. What kind of attack? Why would anybody hurt a useless Five? "Where? I don't feel it."

"You're on a lot of pain medication, Que- Ms. Singer," the doctor answered. "But the bullet grazed your left shoulder. There's still a scar but it should be healed in a few weeks." I look over to my shoulder and finally take note of the bandage covering a small patch of skin. I touch it and feel nothing - it's almost numb. I nod in appreciation for the doctor.

"America, darling," my mother said, stealing my attention away from the wound. "After you were shot, you fell against a steel door. You hit your head really badly."

"I noticed."

"And we think it may have, um, caused some problems," my mother says, looking at the doctor for support.

"What do you mean?" My head hurts, of course, but I can't think of anything that could be seriously wrong. Other then the crazy Prince that's standing just a few feet away from me, everything is fine. "What kind of problems?"

The doctor gives a sharp look to Prince Maxon, who's been silent throughout this whole conversation. He gave a painful nod - why, I don't know - and the doctor locked his eyes with me. My mother squeezed my right hand. Aspen kissed my left one. Maxon looked away. "I'm afraid you're suffering from amnesia, Ms. Singer."

"Amnesia?" I look around for confirmation. Aspen nods solemnly, my mom fights back tears, and Maxon is stoic. "How . . . how bad?

"I'm not sure," the doctor replies. "At least five years, maybe more."

"Five years?" I gasp, horrified. That explains why Aspen looks older, as well as my mother. But that doesn't explain why the Prince is here. "But . . I don't . . how do-"

"I know it's a lot to take in, honey," my mother says, stroking my hand with her thumb. "But it will be alright."

"Within a few months, your memories should return. I've examined your head in depth and there's no permanent damage. The amnesia is just a side effect from the head trauma. I recommend that you rest as much as possible. Being around your family will help bring memories back. It might help if you show her some videos of the Selection, as well, my King." The doctor whispered the last part to Maxon and I looked at Aspen for an explanation. He just bit his lip and averted his eyes.

"Alright," Maxon replied, his voice shaky. "Thank you, Doctor. We'll let her rest. You're dismissed." The doctor bowed and quickly left the room. "Officer Lee, if you would please escort Mrs. Singer back to the guest room," he said, nodding to the guard who waited silently in the corner. My mother rose, kissed my forehead, and promised to visit me later. She then followed the guard out of the room, leaving me alone with Aspen and Maxon.

"Aspen, why don't you take America back to her room? I need to . . . attend a meeting," Maxon said, though I could tell there was a hidden message in his eyes. Aspen seemed to understand what the prince was trying to say, and he nodded. "Of course, Your Majesty." Aspen stood up and extended a hand to me. I took it gratefully and stood up. I was shaky at first, but Aspen steadied me, placing an arm around my waist.

We walked in silence down the large corridor. I realized belatedly that we were in the palace. Why, I don't know. Maybe I was here for a concert when I was attacked? Whatever the reasoning is, I can't help but be in awe. The palace is absolutely beautiful, a stunning piece of architecture. I gawk at it as Aspen directs me towards a large hallway. Gigantic doors lined in gold and decorated with brilliant designs are at the end of the hall.

"Is this . . . " I start, trying to recall the image from my memory. I know I've seen these doors before in my textbooks at school. "Is this the King's suite?"

"Yes," Aspen said, not giving away anything.

"But why are you taking me here?"

"Because, America," he says, placing his hands gently on my shoulders, and looking into my eyes. His face is etched with worry and pain, but most of all, sympathy. As if he pities me for being in this situation. "You're the Queen."