I sip my tea again. King Clarkson drifts over to Celeste, and she gives him a seductive smile. It's a little disturbing. Where are her boundaries?

Kriss leans over to touch my dress. "That fabric is amazing. With your hair, you look like a sunset."

"Thank you," I say, blinking my eyes. The light has caught on her necklace, an explosion of silver on her throat, and it blinds me for a moment. "My maids are very talented."

"Absolutely. I like mine, but if I become princess, I'm stealing yours!"

She laughs, maybe meaning her words as a joke, maybe not. Either way, something about my maids hemming her clothes bothers me. I force a smile though.

"What's so funny?" Maxon asks, walking over.

"Just girl talk," Kriss flirts. She's really on it tonight. "I was trying to calm America. She's nervous about speaking to your father."

Thank you for that, Kriss.

"You don't have a thing to worry about. Be natural. You already look fantastic." Maxon gives me an easy smile. He's clearly trying to open up our lines of communication again.

"That's what I said!" Kriss exclaims. They share a quick look, and there's this feeling of them being on a team. It's strange.

"Well, I'll leave you to your girl talk. Good-bye for now." Maxon gives us both a short bow and goes over to join his mother.

Kriss sighs and watches Maxon go. "He's really something." She gives me a quick smile and goes to talk to Gavril.

I watch the elaborate dance of the room, couples coming together to speak, separating to find new partners. I'm even happy to have Elise join me in my corner, though she doesn't say much.

"Oh, ladies, the time has gotten away from us," the king calls. "We need to make our way downstairs."

I look up at the clock, and he's right. We have about ten minutes to get down to the set and prepare ourselves.

It doesn't seem to matter how I feel about being a princess, or how I feel about Maxon, or how I feel about anything. The king clearly thinks I'm so unlikely a candidate that he didn't even want to bother speaking with me. I was excluded, perhaps on purpose, and no one even noticed.

I hold it together through the Report. I even make it through dismissing my maids. But once I'm alone, I brake down.

I'm not sure how I'll explain myself when Maxon came knocking, but that ends up not mattering.

The door never opens. I can't help but wonder whose company he's enjoying instead. Maybe he's with Kriss. Or Celeste. Probably Kriss. Every time I think about how they seem to be growing closer I want to scream. She's so incredibly patronizing, its truly an art.

I think about getting changed and just going to sleep. But I know I won't get any. I know I promised I'd give him time, but I need him. I'm not going to let him slip away from me. I remember the Halloween Ball and all that went unspoken but communicated nonetheless. If he would have asked that night, I would have said yes.

Before I can change my mind, I'm walking out of my room and heading towards the forbidden third floor. As I round the corner towards the stairs, a guard passes. I press myself against the wall until he's gone and then sprint silently up the stairs, glad for the flats I had changed into after the Report. It doesn't take me long to find his room, he had described the door to me earlier and it was hard to miss. Red wood, glossed over with a finish and markings and symbols I didn't understand carved into the face.

I stare at it for a moment then gather my courage and knock. Twice. When no immediate answer comes, I don't know whether to sigh in relief or disappointment. I just turn around to go back to my room when the door opens.

"America?" My head snaps back to look at him. He's in his full suit still, although his tie is loosened slightly. I wonder if he ever lets his guard down. "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't come," I whisper, now realizing how stupid it must sound. I've pushed him away all week but then expect him to come to me after the Report. I feel like crying.

His eyes widen. "I didn't think you wanted me too."

"You always come," the sob breaks thru my words and just like I've been prone to all week, I burst out in tears. Suddenly, I'm enveloped in strong arms and pressed against an even stronger chest. Why is he holding me? We're not supposed to be friends at the moment. I press closer to him. Why does he have to have such a strong chest?

"Shh, my dear, come in." I break down even further as he invites me into his sanctuary, the only part of his home that hasn't been invaded by weepy eyed girls. The door shuts behind us, the wood making a solid sound that for some reason makes me feel safe, like nothing outside that door matters in here.

He holds me until I stop crying and as I'm calming I start to notice things I hadn't really before. Like how his hands gliding up my back make me feel petite like a china doll. And how he must shave everyday in the morning and then again before dinner because I had never noticed the stubble that was now resting against my forehead. Or the way his voice is more soothing than even the sound of my violin.

"I'm sorry, America. I can't stand the thought that I'm the cause of your pain."

Another dry sob leaves my mouth and I nuzzle into his neck, his skin warm and comforting against my own. "Maxon?"

"Yes, my de-darling?" He stops himself before he can call me 'his dear.' I had let it slide earlier, too overwhelmed that he still could consider me dear anything. I smile against his shoulder.

"Why are you so good?" I murmur helplessly.

He pulls back to look at me, shocked into silence. We stand there, wrapped tightly in each others arms, light blue on chocolate brown.

"Do you remember the Halloween Ball, Maxon?" I whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear. He nods, his eyes sad. I want to take away that sadness, take it away and never let it come back. "You made a toast at the end of the night. Did you mean it?"

His furrowed brow lifts and his beautiful brown eyes come back to life. "With ever beat of my heart."

"Dance with me," I beg tugging on his arms to let me go.

He smiles so brightly and it reminds me of Gerald when he plays soccer back home. Maxon spins me under our arms but quickly, as if he can't bare even that much separation, pulls me back to him. Despite my begging, we're not even really dancing, just holding each other, letting our hearts heal.

"I'm so sorry, America." He says after a while.

"For what?" I ask, lifting my head off his chest.

"Marlee and Carter."

I stiffen, feeling the castle I had built fall apart around me, leaving me broken and gasping for air.

He feels me doing this and holds me tighter. "Please, America, please let me explain."

"Explain what," I snap, trying to disentangle myself from him. He doesn't let me.

"America, you have to let me explain—"

"I don't have to do anything."

"America!" He raises his voice, something he's never done to me, not really. "Sit down."

I sit, the anger I had been reaching for was shocked into submission. I watch him from his small couch, he paces, runs his fingers through his hair, curses quietly, then paces some more. I can see the turmoil plainly displayed on his handsome face. A few minutes ago I wanted nothing more than to remove his sadness and seeing him now tears me up.

"Maxon," my voice breaks but it gets his attention.

His pacing stops as his gaze falls on me. He fall to one knee in front of me and grabs my hands in his. "I don't know how to lose you, America."

"I can't be Queen." For the first time laying everything out.

"Is that your only reservation?" He sounds so broken.

"I'll never be able to stand by and watch something like that."

"Canings are rare, so rare. And even when they do happen, it won't always be like that. You'll get used to wearing a mask. You'll probably never know them again."

"I don't want to get used to it."

"But thats the only thing?" he asks again, and then I realize why.

"Its not you, Maxon," I say immediately but he looks like he doesn't believe me. "It could never be you," I insist.

"It is me, America. This is me. I know I failed you that day. I let your best friend be caned and publicly disgraced. I'd hate me too."

"I don't hate you."

He doesn't believe me and he shakes his head to refute my claim. I start to get defensive.

"I could never hate you."

"You could never hate me? Even when I'll have to sentence someone to death? Even when you force me to marry someone else? Even when I fail and the Rebels take the crown, throwing the entire country into anarchy? Even when—"

I couldn't listen to any more, not with every question worse than the one before. I interrupt him, "Even then!"

"Why!"

"Because I lo—" I cut off my own voice. Mortified at what almost came out of my mouth. "L-like you," I stammer. What the hell just happened? I didn't . . . love Maxon. . . did I?

Maxon stares at me shocked, but then his gaze intensifies and I feel as though I am sitting in front of a fire. "Thats not what you were going to say."

"Yes, it was."

"No." Maxon rises up from his knees and places his hands on the black leather couch on both sides of my lap.

"What else could I have said?" I squeak.

He smiles like a cheshire cat, his eyes mischievous. He leans forward to whispers in my ear. "We both know what you were going to say. But even so, I have ways of finding out the truth."

I shiver. "And what are those?"

"Did you know lying to the crown prince is illegal?" His lips make contact with the sensitive skin on my neck.

"Are you going to turn me in, Your Highness?"

Maxon lays open mouth kissed down my neck, breaking from the light suction to say his response. "I might just. . . punish you myself."

"You have no proof of my crime."

He scoffs. "My word is infallible, I don't need proof."

I laugh and shove him backwards by his shoulders causing him to fall back onto the floor. And then I'm running towards a door—I think his closet—but he's just able to grab me as I reach my destination.

"Where are you going?" He growls playfully. Maxon uses our new location to push me against the wall. "Tell me the truth, my lady, and I shall spare your crimes with a royal pardon."

"Like you could actually do anything about it." I taunt.

Maxon leans closer. "Tell me."

"Never."

His mouth crushes into mine, immediately searching me like I have the answers to life itself. Warmth spreads through my body and I slide my hands up his arms and across his chest to the lapels of his suit jacket. I've never felt anything like this in my life, not even some of those times I almost let Aspen take things further. This was stronger, our bond was deeper, like our bodies already knew what our minds wouldn't let our hearts feel. I need to be closer to him.

"Off," I say instead of taking a breath in between one of the kisses. I tug off his jacket but he stops me when I reach his tie and shirt.

"Tell me." He demands like its an obvious trade. Maybe it is.

I yank my mouth away. We stand there sharing breaths and he somehow finds the will to raise an eyebrow at my discontinuation of the kiss. I bite my lip. "And what if I did?"

"Did what?" His resumes his torture of my neck.

"What if I did?" I repeat anxiously.

He looks up at me with such hope and love in his eyes I want to cry again. He lightly drags the back of his fingers down my cheek and then his thumb across my swollen lips. I reach up and grab his hand, opening it and placing a kiss on his palm. "I'd make you my wife." He says plainly.

"Can I have your word on that?" My eyes are shut tightly and I firmly press my cheek into his hand, waiting for his answer.

"You can have the world." He promises.

"I don't want the world, I just want you."

"And I want you, America. Just say it."

"I. . ."

"Say the words, my darling, and I swear to you, I'll be yours till the end of my days."

I close my eyes, my heart beating faster than a hummingbird. What do I do? I search my mind for an answer as Maxon, the prince of Illea, the next ruler of my country, the future king, waits patiently for a girl to tell him if she loves him or not.

"I—" I start again but am cut off by my own erratic breathing. I'm panicking.

Maxon's hands come ups to frame my face gently. He shushes me quietly. "This isn't something to fear, America." He waits a moment for my breathing to calm, it doesn't. "What are you so afraid of?"

I'm finally able to get myself back under control. "Last time, it was so easy for him to leave. And he was just a six, you're the Prince, you still have four other girls who are infinitely better suited to be queen—"

"Even if that's true, and it's not," Maxon stresses. "I'm not here looking for a queen like I would search for an advisor, I'm looking for a wife. Yes, someone to share my thoughts with and get insight from but also someone to love. Someone to share in the joys of life. Someone to have children with. Someone hold during thunderstorms and share my bed with ever night. Someone to help me navigate the tough politics of the world but then to come back here and block everything else out with. I've craved the love and the passion of my future wife since the day I found out about my fated selection, and you are the only one I'm convinced can give that to me." He leaned forward, resting his forehead on mine. "The only one." He whispered. "Just say the words."

"Okay," my voice shook with the breaths I struggled to continue.

Maxon cuts me off before I could go into full hysteria. "You don't trust me," he sighs and I could hear the anguish in it. Maxon rested his head on mine, his eyes closed in concentration. Then he takes my hands in his. "What I'm about to show you goes to your grave. Understood?"

I nod, a little confused but also excited as he brings my fingers to the buttons on his shirt. I start undoing them and feel my eyes widen as I catch sight of that strong chest I had so admired earlier when he held me. He looks like a sculpture of a Greek god. His chest hard and clearly defined and his stomach chiseled into a perfect six pack and a sexy V teased me from beneath his belt line.

I reach out to touch him but he catches my fingers and presses a kiss to them before turning. I stood confused for a moment before caustically removing his shirt. It takes me a moment to register what I'm looking at.

Scars crisscrossed his back, some looking well healed over from years ago while others looked merely months old, still pink. "Maxon?" I ask, completely horrified. He's a prince, a ruler of the land how could this have happened to him? Who could have done this?

"I have more sympathy for Marlee and Carter than you'd think." He laughs slightly, irony lacing his voice.

I grab his shoulders and turn him to face me. I stare into his face, fear clutching at my heart. I throw my body into his, my arms wrapping around his back. I spread out my hands, using my plans to cover as much skin possible as if I could somehow turn back time and protect him from this. "W-who? H-h-how?"

His hand is gently stroking my hair as he rests his check on the top of my head. "My father."

I squeeze him tighter at this revaluation. Of course, it makes sense. Who else could have tortured the crown prince this way? But a father is supposed to love and nurture you, and yes, punish you for you mistakes but help you learn from them. Not this. Never this. This was done out of malice, not a desire to teach. My good, kind prince could never have done something to deserve such evil.

"Never again." I swear vehemently.

"I know, my darling."

At the soft resignation in his words the dams break and I cry for him. For his pain, for the absence of a father's love, for his yearning for the love of a broken five from Carolina. I run my hands up and down his back, feeling his scars and wishing I could heal them with the love he so desperately wants. The uneven skin makes my silent cry worsen and I know he can feel my tears on his chest.

"Who knows?" I ask, my voice wavering.

"No one. Only the doctor but he's very discreet."

I move my head to find his heartbeat. "How could he do this to you?"

Maxon doesn't respond and I know it's a question he must have asked himself many times. After a few minutes of silence, Maxon speaks. "You don't have to tell me anything tonight. But know you now hold my deepest secret, and I will do everything in my power to gain your trust."

I hold him close.

"We should probably get you back to your room, even if you think no one saw you, most likely someone did. I would hate to give the staff reason to gossip, or my father a reason to force me to eliminate you."

"I don't think I can let go of you," I confess, pressing my face into his chest.

His fingers comb thru my hair in a reassuring manner. "I can take you somewhere."

"I'd rather not see another human at the moment, especially if there's a chance of running into your father."

"Don't worry, I was thinking someplace where we'd be undisturbed."

"Where?"

"The library." He pulls away with a pacifying kiss to my forehead and puts back on his white shirt.

When he reaches for his suit coat, I stop him. "Leave it off."

He quirks an eyebrow, something that makes me bite my lip at the handsomeness of this man.

"I like how you look without it on. Like you trust me enough to let your guard down."

He smiles softly, his eyes bearing into mine, letting me know just how much he trusts me. And I can feel a tug in my heart, a longing to repay the favor. He offers me his arm and leads me out of the room. Yes, this trust is too precious to ever break. I will be worthy of this man, if it takes me a year.