Happily Ever After Read online

  Mr. Newsome rolled his eyes and turned to his wife. “Can’t believe our baby has to associate with a Five.” He whispered the words, though he obviously intended for all of us to hear.

  “I hope she hasn’t picked up any of her sloppy manners. Our girl’s too good for that trash.” Mrs. Newsome flicked her hair again, and I could see where Celeste learned to sharpen those claws of hers. Not that I expected anything more from a Two.

  I could hardly look away from Mrs. Newsome’s wickedly happy face, except for the muffled sound next to me. May was crying into her mother’s shirt. As if this day hadn’t been hard enough already.

  “Safe trip, Mr. Singer,” I whispered. He nodded to me and escorted his family through the front doors. I could see the cars were waiting already. America was going to hate that she didn’t get to say good-bye.

  I walked over to Mr. Newsome. “Don’t let them bother you, sir. Leave your bags right here, and I’ll make sure they’re taken care of.”

  “Good lad,” Mr. Newsome said, and patted me on the back before straightening his tie and pulling his wife along with him.

  Once they were outside, I walked to the table near the entrance and pulled a pen out of the drawer. There was no chance of me getting away with doing this twice, so I had to decide which one of the Newsomes I hated more at the moment. Right now, it was Mrs. Newsome, if only for May’s sake. I unzipped her bag, stuck the pen inside, and snapped it in half. I got a dot of ink on one hand, but seeing as I had thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes in front of me to wipe it on, the mark was quickly taken care of. I watched as the Newsomes climbed into a car, then threw their bags into the trunk and allowed myself a small smile. But while destroying some of Mrs. Newsome’s clothes was satisfying, I knew it wouldn’t really affect her in the long run. She’d replace them within days. May would have to live with those words in her ears forever.

  I held the bowl close to my chest as I lifted forkfuls of eggs and chopped sausage to my mouth, eager to get outdoors. The kitchen was packed with guards and servants, wolfing down meals as they started shifts.

  “He was telling her he loved her through the entire thing,” Fry was saying. “I was posted by the platform and could hear it the whole time. Even after she passed out, Woodwork was saying it.”

  Two maids hung on his every word, one tilting her head sadly. “How could the prince do that to them? They were in love.”

  “Prince Maxon is a good man. He was just obeying the law,” the other maid shot back. “But . . . the whole time?”

  Fry nodded.

  The second maid shook her head. “No wonder Lady America ran for them.”

  I stepped around the large table, moving to the other side of the room.

  “She kneed me pretty hard,” Recen shared, wincing a little at the memory. “I couldn’t stop her from jumping; I could barely breathe.”

  I smiled to myself, though I felt for the guy.

  “That Lady America is pretty damn brave. The king could have put her on the block for something like that.” A younger butler, wide-eyed and enthusiastic, seemed to be taking the whole thing in as entertainment.

  I moved again, fearing I’d say or do something stupid if I heard any more. I passed Avery, but he only nodded. The set of his mouth and eyebrows was all I needed to see to know he wasn’t interested in company right now.

  “It could have been so much worse,” a maid whispered.

  Her companion nodded. “At least they’re alive.”

  I couldn’t escape it. A dozen conversations overlapped, mixing into one commentary in my ears. America’s name surrounded me, the word on nearly everyone’s lips. I found myself swelling with pride one moment only to plunge into anger the next.

  If Maxon truly was a decent man, America never would have been in this situation in the first place.

  I took another swing with the ax, splitting the wood. The sun felt good on my bare chest and the act of destroying something was helping me get out my rage. Rage for Woodwork and Marlee and May and America. Rage for myself.

  I lined up another piece and swung with a growl.

  “Chopping wood or trying to scare the birds?” someone called.

  I turned to see an older man a few yards away, walking a horse by the bit and wearing a vest that marked him as an outdoor palace worker. His face was wrinkled, but his age didn’t dim his smile. I had a feeling that I’d seen him around before, but I couldn’t think of the place.

  “Sorry, did I spook the horse?” I asked.

  “Nah,” he said, walking over. “Just sounds like you’re having a rough one.”

  “Well,” I answered, lifting the ax again, “today has been rough on everyone.” I swung, dividing the wood again.

  “Yep. Seems to be the case.” He rubbed the horse behind her ears. “Did you know him?”

  I paused, not really sure I felt like talking. “Not well. We had a lot in common, though. I just can’t believe it happened. Can’t believe he lost everything.”

  “Eh. Everything doesn’t seem like anything when you love someone. Especially when you’re young.”

  I studied the man. He was obviously a stable keeper, and though I could have been wrong, I was willing to guess he was younger than he looked. Maybe he’d been through something that had weathered him.

  “You’ve got a point,” I agreed. Wasn’t I willing to lose everything for Mer?

  “He’d risk it again. And so would she.”

  “So would I,” I mumbled, staring at the ground.

  “What, son?”

  “Nothing.” I shouldered the ax and grabbed another hunk of wood, hoping he’d take the hint.

  Instead he leaned against the horse. “It’s fine to be upset, but that won’t get you anywhere. You gotta think about what you can learn from this. So far, looks like all you’ve learned is how to beat up on something that can’t beat you back.”

  I swung and missed. “Look, I get that you’re trying to help, but I’m working here.”

  “That ain’t work. That’s a whole lot of misplaced anger.”

  “Well, where am I supposed to place it? On the king’s neck? On Prince Maxon’s? On yours?” I swung again and hit. “Because it’s not okay. They get away with everything.”

  “Who does?”

  “They do. The Ones. The Twos.”

  “You’re a Two.”

  I dropped the ax and yelled. “I’m a Six!” I hit my chest. “Underneath whatever uniform they put on me, I’m still a kid from Carolina, and that’s not going away.”

  He shook his head and pulled on the horse’s bridle. “Sounds like you need a girl.”

  “I got a girl,” I called at his back.

  “Then let her in. You’re swinging your fists for the wrong fight.”

  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, cro
ssing 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 kindness 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.