The Selection Stories Collection

by Kiera Cass

  CHAPTER 3

  I LET THE HOT WATER run over me, hoping the day would follow it down the drain. I kept thinking of the stable keeper’s words, more angered by what he said than anything else that had happened.

  I let America in. I knew what I was fighting for.

  I toweled off, taking my time, trying to let the routine of getting dressed settle my mind. The starched uniform embraced my skin and with it came a sense of purpose and drive. I had work to do.

  There was an order to things, and at the end of the day, Mer would be there.

  I tried to stay focused as I walked to the king’s office on the third floor. When I knocked, Lodge opened the door. We nodded at each other as I entered the room. I didn’t always feel intimidated by the king, but within these walls I could watch as he changed thousands of lives with the flick of his finger.

  “And we’ll ban the cameras from the palace until further notice,” King Clarkson said as an advisor took notes furiously. “I’m sure the girls have learned a lesson today, but tell Silvia to up the work on their decorum.” He shook his head. “I can’t begin to imagine what possessed that girl to do something so stupid. She was the favorite.”

  Maybe your favorite, I thought, crossing the room. His desk was wide and dark, and I quietly reached for the bin that held his outgoing mail.

  “Also, make sure we keep an eye on that girl who ran.”

  My ears perked up, and I moved slower.

  The advisor shook his head. “No one even noticed her, Your Majesty. Girls are such temperamental creatures; if anyone asked, you could just blame it on her erratic emotions.”

  The king paused, pushing back in his chair. “Perhaps. Even Amberly has her moments. Still, I never liked the Five. She was a throwaway, never should have made it this far.”

  His advisor nodded thoughtfully. “Why don’t you simply send her home? Concoct a reason to eliminate her? Surely it could be done.”

  “Maxon would know. He watches those girls like a hawk. No matter,” the king said, snapping back to his desk. “She’s clearly not qualified, and sooner or later it will all surface. We’ll get aggressive if we have to. Moving on, where was that letter from the Italians?”

  I scooped up the mail and gave a quick unacknowledged bow before leaving the room. I wasn’t sure how to feel. I wanted America as far away from Maxon’s hands as possible. But the way King Clarkson talked about the Selection made me think there was something more there, maybe something dark. Could America fall victim to one of his whims? And if America was a “throwaway,” was she here by design? Brought specifically to be dismissed? If so, was there one girl who was expressly meant to be chosen? Was she still here?

  At least I’d have something to think about while I stood outside America’s door all night.

  I thumbed through the mail, reading addresses as I walked.

  In the small post room, three older men sorted the incoming and outgoing mail. There was one bin marked selected that spilled over with letters from admirers. I wasn’t sure how much of that the girls ever saw.

  “Hey there, Leger. How you doing?” Charlie asked.

  “Not great,” I confessed, placing the mail in his hands, not risking it being lost in a pile.

  “We’ve all seen better days, haven’t we? At least they’re alive.”

  “Did you hear about the girl who ran for them?” Mertin asked, spinning around in his chair. “Isn’t that something?”

  Cole turned, too. He was a pretty quiet guy, perfectly suited for the mail room, but even he was curious about this.

  Nodding, I crossed my arms. “Yeah, I heard.”

  “What do you think?” Charlie asked.

  I shrugged. It seemed that most people felt that America had acted heroically, but I knew that if anyone said that in front of someone who devoutly adored King Clarkson, they might find themselves in serious trouble. For now, neutrality was best.

  “The whole thing is a little crazy.” I’d leave the perception of crazy good or crazy bad to him.

  “Can’t deny that,” Mertin commented.

  “Gotta get to my rounds,” I said, ending the conversation. “See you tomorrow, Charlie.” I gave him a little salute and he smiled.

  “Stay safe.”

  I went down the hall to the storeroom to grab my staff, though I didn’t see the purpose behind it. I preferred the gun.

  As I rounded the stairs and landed on the second floor, I saw Celeste coming toward me. The moment she recognized my face, her whole demeanor shifted. It seemed that unlike her mother, she was at least capable of feeling shame.

  She walked up to me cautiously, then stopped. “Officer.”

  “Miss.” I bowed.

  Her features looked sharp as she stood there, thinking over her words. “I just wanted to make sure that you knew the conversation we had last night was meant to be purely professional.”

  I nearly laughed in her face. Her hands might have stayed safely on my back and arms, but there was no mistaking the flirtation in her touch. She had been walking the line of breaking the rules herself. After I told her I had been a Six before becoming a guard, she suggested I look into modeling instead of staying in the service.

  Her exact words had been, “If this doesn’t work out for me, we’re one and the same now. Look me up when you’re out.”

  Celeste wasn’t the kind of girl to wait around, so I didn’t think she was truly attached to me in any way, and I suspected that her lips were especially loose last night because she’d had a little too much to drink. But there was one thing that was absolutely clear after our conversation: she didn’t love Maxon. Not even close.

  “Of course,” I answered, knowing better.

  “I simply wanted to give you career advice. Such a serious caste jump is hard to adjust to. And I wish you luck, but I want to be clear that my affections are singularly devoted to Prince Maxon.”

  I nearly called her on it. I was so close. But I saw the desperation in her eyes mixing with a consuming fear. In the end, if I accused her, I would accuse myself. I knew Maxon didn’t matter to her, and I wasn’t sure if any of these girls mattered to him—at least, not the way they should—but where would condemning her or playing some game get any of us?

  “And I am wholly dedicated to protecting him. Good evening, miss.”

  I could see the lingering question in her eyes, and I knew she wasn’t completely satisfied with my answer. But nothing could benefit a girl like that more than a little fear.

  Inhaling, I rounded the corner to America’s room, aching to walk in. I wanted to hold her, to talk to her. I stopped in front of the door and put my ear to it. I could hear her maids, so I knew she wasn’t alone. But then I could make out her hitched breaths, the sniffs of her tired crying.

  I couldn’t handle the fact that she’d been crying all day. That was the last straw.

  I’d promised her parents that Maxon favored her, and that she would be comforted. If she was still in tears, then he’d done nothing for her. If I wasn’t meant to have her, he’d sure as hell better treat her like a princess. So far, he was failing catastrophically.

  I knew—I knew—she was supposed to be mine.

  I knocked on the door, not giving a damn about the consequences. Lucy answered, and she gave me a hopeful smile. That alone made me think I could be of help.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, ladies, but I heard the crying and wanted to make sure you were all right.” I gently moved past Lucy, walking as close to America’s bed as I dared. Our eyes locked, and she looked so helpless there, it was all I could do not to steal her away from this place.

  “Lady America, I’m very sorry about your friend. I heard she was something special. If you need anything, I’m here.”

  She was silent, but I could see in her gaze that she was taking every tiny memory of our last two years and stringing them together with the future we’d always hoped to have.

  “Thank you.” Her voice was both timid and hopeful. “Your ki
ndness means a great deal to me.”

  I gave her the smallest of smiles while inside my heart was thrashing. I’d studied her face in a dozen shades of light, in a thousand stolen moments. With her words, I knew without a doubt: she loved me.

  CHAPTER 4

  AMERICA LOVES ME. America loves me. America loves me.

  I had to get her alone, really alone. It would take some work, but I could make it happen.

  Hours before my shift started the next morning, I was ready to go. I looked over all the guard posts, the cleaning rotations, the meal schedules for the royal family, the officers, and the help. I studied it until the lines overlapped in my head and I could see all the holes in the security. Sometimes I wondered if the other guards did this, too, or if I was the only one who looked close enough.

  Either way, I had a plan. I just needed to get word to her.

  My afternoon post was in the king’s office, where I had the extraordinarily boring job of standing guard by the door. I liked being on the move, or at least in a more open part of the palace. Honestly, anywhere away from the cold gaze of King Clarkson.

  I watched Maxon attempt to work. He looked distracted today, sitting at his small desk that seemed thrown in the room as an afterthought. I couldn’t help but think that he was an idiot for being so careless with America.

  Midmorning, Smiths, one of the guards who’d been at the palace for years, came rushing in. He darted over to the king, bowing quickly.

  “Your Majesty, two of the Elite, Lady Newsome and Lady Singer, just got in a fight.”

  Everyone in the room paused, looking at the king.

  He sighed. “Yelling like cats again?”

  “No, sir. They’re in the hospital wing. There was a little blood.”

  King Clarkson looked to Maxon. “No doubt that Five is responsible for this. You can’t be serious about her.”

  Maxon stood. “Father, all of their nerves are frayed after yesterday. I’m certain they’re having a difficult time processing the caning.”

  The king pointed a finger. “If she started it, she’s gone. You know that.”

  “And if it was Celeste?” he countered.

  “I doubt a girl of such high caliber would stoop so low without provocation.”

  “Still, would you dismiss her?” Maxon shot back.

  “It wasn’t her fault.”

  Maxon stood. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. I’m sure it was nothing.”

  My mind was spinning. I didn’t get him. He clearly wasn’t treating America as well as he ought to, so why was he so determined to keep her? And if he failed to prove she wasn’t at fault, would there be enough time for me to see her before she left?

  The rumor mill at the palace was fast. In no time at all, I learned Celeste threw the first words, but Mer threw the first punch. I swear, I wanted to give my girl a medal. They were both staying—it seemed their actions canceled each other out—though it sounded like America was doing so begrudgingly.

  Hearing those words made my heart even surer I’d gotten her back.

  I ran to my room, trying to squeeze everything I needed to do into the few minutes I had. I scribbled the note as clearly and quickly as possible. Then I moved up to the second floor, waiting in a hallway until I saw America’s maids leave to eat. When I got to her room, I debated over where to leave the letter, but there was really only one place to put it. I just hoped she’d see it.

  As I made my way back into the main hallway, fate smiled on me. America didn’t look like she was bleeding, so she must have left marks on Celeste. As she got closer, I could make out a small, swollen patch of skin almost completely covered by her hair. But past all that, I saw the excitement in her eyes the second she knew it was me.

  God, I wished I could just sit with her. I breathed. Restraint now would mean real privacy later.

  I stopped as we came close, bowing. “Jar.”

  I straightened and left, but I knew that she had heard. After a moment of thought, she nearly ran down the hall without a look back.

  I smiled, happy to see the life come back to her. That was my girl.

  “Dead?” the king asked. “By whose hand?”

  “We’re not sure, Your Majesty. But we could expect no less from down-casted sympathizers,” his advisor said.

  Walking in quietly to get the mail, I instantly knew he was talking about all the people in Bonita. Over three hundred families had recently been demoted at least a caste for their suspected support of the rebels. It seemed they weren’t taking it without a fight.

  King Clarkson shook his head before suddenly slamming his hand on the table. I jumped along with everyone else in the room.

  “Don’t these people see what they’re doing? They’re tearing apart everything we’ve worked for, and for what? To pursue interests they might fail in? I’ve offered them security. I’ve offered them order. And they rebel.”

  Of course the man with everything he could ever need or want didn’t understand why any average person might want the same chance.

  When I was drafted, I had been simultaneously terrified and thrilled. I knew that some considered it a death sentence. But at least the life in front of me would be more exciting than the paperwork and housework I faced if I had stayed in Carolina. Besides, it wasn’t much of a life anyway after America left.

  King Clarkson stood, pacing. “These people have to be stopped. Who’s running Bonita now?”

  “Lamay. He’s chosen to move his family to another location for the time being, and has started funeral arrangements for former Governor Sharpe. He seems to be proud of his new role, despite the obstacles.”

  The king held out his hand. “There. A man accepting his lot in life, doing his duty for the general public. Why can’t they all do that?”

  I scooped up the mail, close to the king as he spoke.

  “We’ll have Lamay eliminate any suspected assassins immediately. Even if he misses the mark, we’ll send a clear warning. And let’s find a way to reward anyone with information. We need to get some people in the South in our pocket.”

  I turned quickly, wishing I hadn’t heard. I didn’t support the rebels. More often than not, they were killers. But the king’s actions today had nothing to do with justice.

  “You there. Stop.”

  I looked back, not sure if the king was talking to me. He was, and I watched as he scrawled a brief letter, folded it, and added it to the pile.

  “Take this with the post. The boys in the mail room will have the correct address.” The king flung it onto the pile in my arms carelessly, like it held nothing of value. I stood there, immobile, unable to carry that load. “Go on,” he finally said, and as always, I obeyed.

  I took the pile and moved at a snail’s pace toward the mail room.

  This is none of your business, Aspen. You’re here to protect the monarchy. This does that. Focus on America. Let the world go to hell around you so long as you can get to her.

  I straightened and did what I must.

  “Hey, Charlie.”

  He whistled as he took in the stack. “Busy day today.”

  “Looks like it. Um, there was this one . . . the king didn’t have the address on hand, said you’d have it.” I pointed to Lamay’s letter on top.

  Charlie flipped open the letter to see where it should go, scanning it quickly. By the end he looked troubled. He checked behind him before lifting his eyes to me. “Did you read this?” he asked quietly.

  I shook my head. I swallowed, feeling guilty for not admitting that I already knew the contents. Maybe I could have stopped it, but I was only doing my job.

  “Hmm,” Charlie mumbled, quickly spinning in his chair and running into a stack of sorted mail.

  “Come on, Charles!” Mertin complained. “That took me three hours!”

  “Sorry about that. I’ll tidy it up. Say, Leger, two things.” Charlie picked up a lone envelope. “This came for you.”

  I immediately recognized Mom’s handwriting. “Tha
nk you.” I clung to the paper, desperate for news.

  “Not a problem,” he replied casually, picking up a wire basket. “And could you do me a favor and take this scrap paper for the furnace? Should probably go in right away.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Charlie nodded, and I tucked my letter away to get a better hold of the basket.

  The furnaces were near the soldiers’ quarters, and I set the basket down before carefully opening the door. The embers were low, so I tossed the papers in gingerly, leaving room for air to get to them.

  If I hadn’t needed to be so careful, I probably wouldn’t have noticed the letter to Lamay stuck in with the empty envelopes and scraps of miswritten addresses.

  Charlie, what were you thinking?

  I stood there, debating. If I took it back, he would know he’d been caught. Did I want him to know he was caught? Did I want him to be caught at all?

  I threw the letter in, watching to make sure it burned. I’d done my job, and the rest of the mail would go out. There would be no place to put blame, and who knew how many lives would be spared?

  There’d been enough death, enough pain.

  I walked away, washing my hands of it all. True justice would come eventually, to whomever was right or wrong in that situation. Because just now, it was hard to tell.

  Back in my room, I tore into my letter, eager to hear from home. I didn’t like Mom being without me. It was a small comfort that I could send her money, but I always worried for my family’s safety.

  It seemed the feeling was mutual.

  I know you love her. But don’t be stupid.

  Of course she was two steps ahead of me, guessing things without prompting. She knew about America before I told her, knew how angry I was about things when I’d never said a word. And here she was, a country away, warning me to not do what she was positive I would.

  I stared at paper. The king looked to be in the middle of a vicious streak, but I was sure I could keep out of his grasp. And my mother had never steered me wrong, but she didn’t know how good I was at my job. I ripped the letter up and dropped it in the furnace on my way to meet America.