“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.
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