“This is going to be tough,” Kriss said. “Even with the extra day.”
“Don’t worry,” I assured her. “We’re going to win.”
She laughed nervously. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because,” I said decisively, “there’s no way I’m letting Celeste do better than me.”
It took two hours to read through the packet and one more to digest everything it said. There were so many different things to consider, so many details to plan. Silvia claimed she would be at our disposal, but I had a feeling asking for help would make her think we couldn’t do a good enough job on our own, so that was out.
The setup was going to be challenging. We weren’t allowed to use red flowers because they were associated with secrecy. We weren’t allowed to use yellow flowers because they were associated with jealousy. And we weren’t allowed to use purple anything because that color was associated with bad luck.
The wine, food, everything had to be opulent. Luxury wasn’t seen as showing off; it was meant to make a statement about the palace. If it wasn’t good enough, our guests might leave unimpressed and completely unwilling to meet with us again. On top of all that, the regular things we were supposed to have learned—speaking clearly, proper table manners, and the like—had to be adapted to a culture of which neither Kriss nor I had any knowledge besides what was printed in our packets.
It was incredibly intimidating.
Kriss and I spent the day taking notes and brainstorming while the others did the same thing at a nearby table. As the afternoon wore on, our groups started complaining back and forth about who had the worse situation, and after a while it was actually kind of funny.
“You two at least get another day to work,” Elise said.
“But Illéa and the German Federation are already allies. The Italians might hate everything we do!” Kriss worried.
“Do you know we’re supposed to wear dark colors for ours?” Celeste complained. “It’s going to be a very … rigid event.”
“We probably don’t want it to be floppy anyway,” Natalie said, doing a little shimmy. She laughed at her own joke, and I smiled before moving on.
“Well, ours is supposed to be superfestive. And you all have to wear your best jewelry,” I instructed. “You need to make a great first impression, and appearances are very important.”
“Thank goodness I’ll get to look good at one of these stupid things.” Celeste sighed, shaking her head.
In the end, it was clear we were all struggling. After everything that had happened with Marlee and then being somewhat dismissed by the king, I felt strangely comforted to know we were miserable together. But it would be a lie to say that paranoia didn’t take over before the end of the day. I was convinced that one of the other girls—Celeste in particular—might try to sabotage our reception.
“How loyal are your maids?” I asked Kriss at dinner.
“Very. Why?”
“I wonder whether we should store some things in our rooms instead of in the parlor. You know, so the other girls don’t try to take our ideas.” It was only a tiny lie.
She nodded. “That’s a good idea. Especially since we go second, and it would look like we copied them.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re so smart, America. It’s no wonder Maxon liked you so much.” And she went back to eating.
I didn’t miss her casual use of the past tense. Maybe while I’d been worrying about being good enough to be a princess and feeling completely unsure I wanted to be one at the same time, Maxon was forgetting all about me.
I convinced myself that she was just trying to make herself feel more confident about her standing with Maxon. Besides, it had only been a few days since Marlee was caned. How much could she possibly know?
The piercing scream of a siren jerked me from my sleep. The sound was so foreign, I couldn’t even begin to process what it was. All I knew was that my heart was pounding in my chest from the sudden rush of adrenaline.
Before a second had passed, the door to my room flew open and a guard ran in.
“Damn it, damn it, damn it,” he repeated.
“Huh?” I said groggily as he raced over to me.
“Get up, Mer!” he urged, and I did as he said. “Where are your damn shoes?”
Shoes. So I was going somewhere. Only then did the sound make sense to me. Maxon had told me once before that there was an alarm for when the rebels came, but it had been thoroughly dismantled in a recent attack. It finally must have been repaired.
“Here,” I said, finding and slipping my feet into them. “I need my robe.” I pointed to the end of the bed, and Aspen grabbed it, trying to open it for me. “Don’t bother, I’ll carry it.”
“You need to hurry,” he said. “I don’t know how close they are.”
I nodded, heading for the door, Aspen’s hand on my back. Before I hit the hallway, he jerked me toward him. I found myself in a deep, rough kiss. Aspen’s hand was behind my head, holding my lips to his for one long moment. Then, as if he forgot the danger, his other hand pulled my waist to his, and the kiss deepened. It had been a long time since he’d kissed me this way—between my fickle heart and the fear of being caught, there was no reason to. But I could feel an urgency tonight. Something might go wrong, and this could be our last kiss.
He wanted to make it count.
We stepped apart, barely taking a second to look at each other one more time. He put his hand around my arm and pushed me out the door. “Go. Now.”
I dashed for the secret passage hidden at the end of the hall. Before I pushed the wall, I looked behind me and caught sight of Aspen’s back as he ran around the corner.
There was nothing I could do but run myself, so I did. As quickly as I could manage, I made my way down the steep, dark stairs to the safe room reserved for the royal family.
Maxon had told me once that there were two kinds of rebels: Northern and Southern. The Northern ones were pesky, but the Southern ones were deadly. I hoped whatever I was running from was more interested in disturbing us than in killing.
As I descended the stairs, the cold set in. I wanted to throw on my robe, but I worried I might trip. I felt steadier as the light of the safe room came into view. I leaped from the last step, and I could see a figure standing out among the shapes of the guards. Maxon. Though it was late, he was still in his suit pants and his shirt, slightly rumpled but presentable.
