by Kiera Cass
“Maxon?”
“Yes?”
“Would you stay with me tonight?” I asked. Maxon raised an eyebrow, and I giggled. “I’ll behave, I promise. Just . . . would you sleep here?”
He looked to the ceiling, debating. Finally he caved. “I will. But I’ll need to leave early.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Maxon took off his pants and socks, neatly stacking his clothes so they wouldn’t be too wrinkled in the morning. He crawled back into the bed, snuggling up with his stomach against my back. One of his arms he laced under my neck and the other he gently wrapped around me.
I loved my bed at the palace. The pillows were like clouds, and the mattress cradled me into it. I was never too warm or too cold under my covers, and the feeling of my nightgown against my skin was almost as if I was wearing air.
But I’d never felt so settled as I did with Maxon’s arms around me.
He placed a gentle kiss behind my ear. “Sleep well, my America.”
“I love you,” I said quietly.
He held me a little tighter. “I love you.”
I lay there, letting the happiness of the moment sink into me. It seemed only seconds later that Maxon’s breathing was slow and steady. He was already asleep.
Maxon never slept.
I must have made him feel safer than I’d imagined. And, after all my worries about how his father acted toward me, he made me feel safe, too.
I sighed, promising myself that we’d talk about Aspen tomorrow. It would need to happen before the ceremony, and I felt sure I knew how to explain things in the best way. For now, I would enjoy this tiny bubble of peace and rest securely in the arms of the man I loved.
CHAPTER 28
I WOKE TO THE FEELING of Maxon sliding an arm around me. Somewhere in the night, I ended up with my head on his chest, and the slow sound of his heartbeat was echoing in my ear.
Without a word, he kissed my hair and went to hold me closer. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I was here with Maxon, together, waking up in my bed. This morning he would be giving me a ring. . . .
“We could wake up like this every day,” he mumbled.
I giggled. “You’re reading my mind.”
He sighed contentedly. “How are you feeling, my dear?”
“I feel like punching you for calling me ‘my dear’ mostly.” I poked his bare stomach.
Smiling, he crawled to sit over me. “Fine then. My darling? My pet? My love?”
“Any of those would work, so long as you’ve reserved it solely for me,” I said, my hands mindlessly wandering his chest, his arms. “What am I supposed to call you?”
“Your Royal Husbandness. It’s required by law, I’m afraid.” His own hands glided over my skin, finding a delicate spot on my neck.
“Don’t!” I said, shying away.
His responding smile was triumphant. “You’re ticklish!”
Despite my protests, he started running his fingers all over me, making me shriek at the playful touching.
Nearly as quickly as I began squealing, I stopped. A guard rushed through the door, gun drawn.
This time I screamed, pulling up the sheet to cover myself. I was so frightened that it took me a moment to realize the determined eyes of the guard belonged to Aspen. It felt as if my face caught on fire, I was so humiliated.
Aspen looked stricken. He couldn’t even put a sentence together as his eyes flashed back and forth between Maxon in his underwear and me draped in a sheet to cover mine.
My shock was finally broken by a deep laugh.
For as terrified as I was, Maxon was the picture of ease. In fact, he seemed pleased at being caught. His voice was a little smug as he spoke. “I assure you, Leger, she’s perfectly safe.”
Aspen cleared his throat, unable to look either of us in the eye. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He bowed and left, closing the door behind him.
I fell over, moaning into my pillow. I would never live that down. I should have told Aspen how I felt on the plane when I had the chance.
Maxon came to hug me. “Don’t be so embarrassed. It’s not as if we were naked. And it’s bound to happen in the future.”
“It’s so humiliating,” I wailed.
“To be caught in bed with me?” The pain in his voice was clear. I sat up and faced him.
“No! It’s not you. It’s just, I don’t know, this was supposed to be private.” I ducked my head and played with a piece of the blanket.
Tenderly, Maxon stroked my cheek. “I’m sorry.” I looked up at him, his voice too sincere to ignore. “I know it’s going to be hard for you, but people will always be looking at our lives now. For the first few years, there will probably be a lot of interference. All the kings and queens have had only children. Some by choice, I’m sure; but after the difficulty my mother had, they’ll want to make sure we can even have a family.”
He stopped talking, his eyes having moved from my face to a spot on the bed.
“Hey,” I said, cupping his cheek. “I’m one of five, remember? I have really good genes in that department. It’ll be all right.”
He gave me a weak smile. “I really hope so. Partly because, yes, we’re duty bound to produce heirs. But also . . . I want everything with you, America. I want the holidays and the birthdays, the busy seasons and lazy weekends. I want peanut butter fingerprints on my desk. I want inside jokes and fights and everything. I want a life with you.”
Suddenly the last few minutes were erased from my mind. The growing warmth in my chest was pushing everything else away.
“I want that, too,” I assured him.
He smiled. “How about we make it official in a few hours?”
I shrugged. “I guess I don’t have any other plans today.”
Maxon tackled me on the bed, covering me with kisses. I would have let him kiss me like that for hours, but Aspen seeing us together was enough. There was no way I’d be able to stop my maids from gushing if they saw this.
He got dressed, and I pulled on my robe. It should have felt funny, maybe, this little moment in the afterward. All I could think about, though, as I watched Maxon cover his scars with his shirt, was how incredible this was. This thing I’d never wanted to happen was making me so happy.
Maxon gave me one last kiss before opening the door and heading on his way. It was harder to part with him than I thought it would be. I told myself it was only for a few hours and that the wait would be so worth it.
Before I closed the door, I heard Maxon whisper, “The lady would appreciate your discretion, officer.”
There was no response, but I could imagine Aspen’s solemn nod. I stood behind the closed door, debating what to say, wondering if I should even say anything. Minutes passed, but I knew I had to face Aspen. I couldn’t move forward with everything that was going to happen today without talking to him first. I drew in a breath and nervously opened the door. He tilted his head toward the hallway listening for voices. Finally Aspen turned his accusing eyes my way, and the weight of his stare broke me.
“I’m so sorry,” I breathed.
He shook his head. “It’s not as if I didn’t know it was coming. It was just a shock.”
“I should have told you,” I said, stepping into the hall.
“It doesn’t matter. I just can’t believe you slept with him.”
I put my hands on his chest. “I didn’t, Aspen. I swear.”
And then, at the last possible moment, everything was ruined.
Maxon stepped around the corner, holding Kriss by the hand. His eyes locked on to me, body pressed into Aspen with the intensity of my defense. I backed away, but not quickly enough. Aspen turned to face Maxon, prepared to give an excuse but still too stunned to speak.
Kriss’s mouth dropped open, and she quickly covered it with a hand. Looking into Maxon’s shocked eyes, I shook my head, trying to explain without words that this was all a misunderstanding.
It was only a second before Maxon
regained his cool demeanor. “I found Kriss in the hall and was coming to explain my choice to you both before the cameras showed up, but it seems we have other things to discuss.”
I looked at Kriss and was at least consoled by the fact that there was no triumph in her eyes. On the contrary, she looked sad for me.
“Kriss, would you please return to your room? Quietly?” Maxon instructed.
She curtsied and disappeared down the hall, eager to get away from the situation. Maxon took a deep breath before looking at us again.
“I knew it,” he said. “I told myself I was crazy, because surely you would have told me if I was right. You were supposed to be honest with me.” He rolled his eyes. “I cannot believe I didn’t trust myself. From that first meeting, I knew it. The way you looked at him, how distracted you were. That damn bracelet you wore, the note on the wall, all those times when I thought I had you and then suddenly lost you again . . . it was you,” he said, turning to Aspen.
“Your Majesty, this is my fault,” Aspen lied. “I pursued her. She made it perfectly clear that she had no intentions of being in a relationship with anyone but you, but I went after her anyway.”
Without responding to Aspen’s excuses, he walked right up to him, looking him in the eye. “What’s your name? Your first name?”
He swallowed. “Aspen.”
“Aspen Leger,” he said, testing the words. “Get out of my sight before I send you to New Asia to die.”
Aspen’s breath caught. “Your Majesty, I—”
“GO!”
Aspen looked at me once, then turned and walked away.
I stood there, silent and still, afraid to risk a peek into Maxon’s eyes. When I finally did, he nudged his chin toward my room, and I went in, with him following me. I turned to see him close the door and run his hand through his hair one time. He moved to face me, and I saw his eyes catch on the unmade bed. He laughed humorlessly to himself.
“How long?” he asked quietly, still in control.
“Do you remember that fight—” I started.
Maxon erupted. “We’ve been fighting since the day we met, America! You’ll have to be more specific!”
I shook where I stood. “After Kriss’s party.”
His eyes widened. “So basically since he got here,” he said, something like sarcasm in his voice.
“Maxon, I’m so sorry. At first I was protecting him, and then I was protecting myself. And after Marlee was caned, I was afraid to tell you the truth. I couldn’t lose you,” I pleaded.
“Lose me? Lose me?” he asked, astonished. “You’re going home with a small fortune, a new caste, and a man who is still pursuing you! I’m the one losing here today, America!”
The words took my breath away. “I’m going home?”
He looked at me as if I was an idiot for asking. “How many times am I supposed to let you break my heart, America? Do you think I’d honestly marry you, make you my princess, when you’ve been lying to me for most of our relationship? I refuse to torture myself for the rest of my life. You might have noticed, I get plenty of that already.”
I erupted into sobs. “Maxon, please. I’m sorry; it’s not what it looked like. I s-swear. I love you!”
He sauntered up to me, his eyes dead. “Of all the lies you’ve told me, that’s the one I resent the most.”
“It’s not—” The look in his eyes silenced me.
“Have your maids do their best. You should go out in style.”
He walked past me, out the doorway and out of the future I’d held in my hands only a few minutes before. I turned back to the room, holding my stomach as if the core of my body was about to crack from the pain. I went over to the bed, rolling onto my side, no longer able to stand.
I cried, hoping to get the ache out of my body before the ceremony. How was I supposed to face that? I looked to the clock to see how much time I had . . . and saw the thick envelope Maxon had given me last night.
I decided this was the last piece of him I would ever have, so I opened the seal, desperate.
CHAPTER 29
December 25, 4:30 p.m.
Dear America,
It’s been seven hours since you left. Twice now I’ve started to go to your room to ask how you liked your presents and then remembered you weren’t here. I’ve gotten so used to you, it’s strange that you aren’t around, drifting down the halls. I’ve nearly called a few times, but I don’t want to seem possessive. I don’t want you to feel like I’m a cage to you. I remember how you said the palace was just that the first night you came here. I think, over time, you’ve felt freer, and I’d hate to ruin that freedom. I’m going to have to distract myself until you come back.
I decided to sit and write to you, hoping maybe it would feel like I was talking to you. It sort of does. I can imagine you sitting here, smiling at my idea, maybe shaking your head at me as if to say I’m being silly. You do that sometimes, did you know? I like that expression on you. You’re the only person who wears it in a way that doesn’t come across like you think I’m completely hopeless. You smile at my idiosyncrasies, accept that they exist, and continue to be my friend. And, in seven short hours, I’ve started to miss that.
I wonder what you’ve done in that time. I’m betting by now you’ve flown across the country, made it to your home, and are safe. I hope you are safe. I can’t imagine what a comfort you must be to your family right now. The lovely daughter has finally returned!
I keep trying to picture your home. I remember you telling me it was small, that you had a tree house, and that your garage was where your father and sister did all their work. Beyond that I’ve had to resort to my imagination. I imagine you curled up in a hug with your sister or kicking around a ball with your little brother. I remember that, you know? That you said he liked to play ball.
I tried to imagine walking into your house with you. I would have liked that, to see you where you grew up. I would love to see your brother run around or be embraced by your mother. I think it would be comforting to sense the presence of people near you, floorboards creaking and doors shutting. I would have liked to sit in one part of the house and still probably be able to smell the kitchen. I’ve always imagined that real homes are full of the aromas of whatever’s being cooked. I wouldn’t do a scrap of work. Nothing having to do with armies or budgets or negotiations. I’d sit with you, maybe try to work on my photography while you played the piano. We’d be Fives together, like you said. I could join your family for dinner, talking over one another in a collection of conversations instead of whispering and waiting our turns. And maybe I’d sleep in a spare bed or on the couch. I’d sleep on the floor beside you if you’d let me.
I think about that sometimes. Falling asleep next to you, I mean, like we did in the safe room. It was nice to hear your breaths as they came and went, something quiet and close, keeping me from feeling so alone.
This letter has gotten foolish, and I think you know how I detest looking like a fool. But still I do. For you.
Maxon
December 25, 10:35 p.m.
Dear America,
It’s nearly bedtime, and I’m trying to relax, but I can’t. All I can think about is you. I’m terrified you’re going to get hurt. I know someone would tell me if you weren’t all right, and that has led to its own kind of paranoia. If anyone comes up to me to deliver a message, my heart stops for a moment, fearing the worst: You are gone. You’re not coming back.
I wish you were here. I wish I could just see you.
You are never getting these letters. It’s too humiliating.
I want you home. I keep thinking of your smile and worrying that I’ll never see it again.
I hope you come back to me, America.
Merry Christmas.
Maxon
December 26, 10:00 a.m.
Dear America,
Miracle of miracles, I’ve made it through the night. When I finally woke up, I convinced myself I was worried for nothing. I vowed that I would
focus on work today and not fret so much about you.
I got through breakfast and most of a meeting before thoughts of you consumed me. I told everyone I was sick and am now hiding in my room, writing to you, hoping this will make me feel like you’re home again.
I’m so selfish. Today you will bury your father, and all I can think of is bringing you here. Having written that out, seeing it in ink, I feel like an absolute ass. You are exactly where you need to be. I think I already said this, but I’m sure you’re such a comfort to your family.
You know, I haven’t told this to you and I ought to have, but you’ve gotten so much stronger since I met you. I’m not arrogant enough to believe that has anything to do with me, but I think this experience has changed you. I know it’s changed me. From the very beginning you had your own brand of fearlessness, and that has been polished into something strong. Where I used to imagine you as a girl with a bag full of stones, ready to throw them at any foe who crossed her path, you have become the stone itself. You are steady and able. And I bet your family sees that in you. I should have told you that. I hope you come home soon so I can.
Maxon
December 26, 7:40 p.m.
Dear America,
I’ve been thinking of our first kiss. I suppose I should say first kisses, but what I mean is the second, the one I was actually invited to give you. Did I ever tell you how I felt that night? It wasn’t just getting my first kiss ever; it was getting to have that first kiss with you. I’ve seen so much, America, had access to the corners of our planet. But never have I come across anything so painfully beautiful as that kiss. I wish it was something I could catch with a net or place in a book. I wish it was something I could save and share with the world so I could tell the universe: this is what it’s like; this is how it feels when you fall.
These letters are so embarrassing. I’ll have to burn them before you get home.
Maxon
December 27, noon
America,
I might as well tell you this since your maid will tell you anyway. I’ve been thinking of the little things you do. Sometimes you hum or sing when you walk around the palace. Sometimes when I come up to your room, I hear the melodies you’ve saved up in your heart spilling out the doorway. The palace seems empty without them.