This fanfiction takes place from Prince Maxon's point of view after the events of The Prince By Kiera Cass. In case you haven't read it or need a refresher, this is after his and America's first date where America knees him in the "thigh". These characters are not mine and this is my first fanfiction. Sorry for any misspellings!

-theselectionseriesfan

It was the next day. I got ready for breakfast, wondering what on earth I was going to say to America. I stepped into the dining hall, trying my best to not give away how my date went with my expression. Father stared at me, telling without words that the date better have been the last I would have with a five. I swallowed and look around the room at all the ladies coming in. All of a sudden, I heard shouting from the hallway.

Shit, I thought slamming my fork down on the table, why now? "To the back of the room, ladies" Father yelled, running to the window to pull down the metal shade. Mother and I quickly followed him pulling the other shades down over the windows. A group of guards sprinted into the dining hall, into a line, and the doors were closed, bolted, and secured with bars.

"They're inside the walls, Majesty, but we're holding them back. The ladies should leave, but we're so close to the door-" "Understood, Markson" Father replied interrupting Officer Markson. I searched the room for America, and saw her running to pull down another metal shade with a few other girls following to do the same. To my horror, something crashed into the shade she was pulling down, sending her backwards.

I ran to her immediately, "Are you hurt?" I asked, worried. "No, I'm fine". "To the back of the room. Now!" I ordered, helping her up. I raced down the hall, snatching up girls who were frozen, with shock or fear, bringing them to the back of the room. There was so much crying, and one girl fainted. What was her name? Tiny? Thankfully, not all of the girls were crying, some like Celeste were the picture of ease.

Father's arm was wrapped around Mother as he talked with a guard. I noticed a couple of the girls staring at them in awe, including America. Walking to some of the girls, I asked them if they were ok, and awkwardly tried to stop their crying, but failed. Two of them even asked to leave when this was over. Finally I went to America, and stood beside her, staring at the flowers that held her gaze, not sure what to say. "Are you doing all right?" I asked finally. "Yes" she whispered. I paused, "You seem unwell". "What will happen with my maids?" she asked, worried.

"Your maids?" I asked, why would she be worried for her maids? "Yes my maids" she said, looking into my eyes with a fierce look, shaming me. I stared back, realizing that she wasn't far from being a maid herself. "They should be hiding by now. The help have their own places to wait. The guards are very good about getting around quickly and alerting everyone. They ought to be fine. We usually have an alarm system, but the last time they came through, the rebels thoroughly dismantled it. They've been working on it, but……" I sighed.

She stared at the floor, visually upset. "America," I begged. She turned toward me. "They're fine. The rebels were slow, and everyone here knows what to do in an emergency". She nodded. We stood quietly for a minute, and I went to move on to the next girl, "Maxon," she whispered. I turned, surprised to be addressed so casually.

"About last night. Let me explain. When they came to prep us, to get ready to come here, there was a man who told me that I was to never turn you down. No matter what you asked for. Not ever." "What?" I asked, my blood starting to boil. "He made it sound like you might ask for certain things. And you said yourself that you hadn't been around many women. After eighteen years…...and then you sent the cameras away. I just got scared when you got that close to me."

I shook my head, I felt humiliated, upset, and disbelief. "Was everyone told this?" I asked, horrified at the idea. I don't know. I can't imagine many girls would need such a warning. They're probably waiting to pounce on you" she replied nodding to the rest of the girls. I chuckled darkly. "But you're not, so you had absolutely no qualms about kneeing me in the groin, right?" "I hit your thigh!" she argued.

"Oh, please. A man doesn't need that long to recover from a knee to the thigh," I replied, my voice full of skepticism. She laughed, and I started to laugh as well, until something hit the windows, and we stopped, for we had nearly forgotten about the attack. "So, how are you handling a roomful of crying women?" she asked with a slight smirk. "Nothing in the world is more confusing!" I whispered urgently. "I haven't the faintest clue how to stop it."

"Try patting them on the back or shoulder and telling then everything is going to be fine. Lots of times when girls cry, they don't want you to fix the problem, they just want to be consoled" she advised. "Really?" "Pretty much" "It can't possibly be that simple" I asked intrigued and doubtful. "I said most of the time, not all the time. But it would probably work on a lot of girls here."

I snorted. "I'm not so sure, two have already asked if I'll let them leave if this ever ends." "I thought we weren't allowed to do that." she said surprised, "What are you going to do?" "What else can I do, I asked, I won't keep someone here against her will." "Maybe they'll change their minds," she said hopefully. "Maybe, I paused, what about you? Have you been scared off yet?" I asked almost playfully.

"Honestly? I was convinced you were sending me home after breakfast anyway," She admitted.

"Honestly? I had considered that myself" and we smiled at each other.

"You didn't answer me. Do you want to leave?" I asked. Something hit the wall. Her ice blue eyes stared into mine, "If you're not kicking me out, I'm not leaving." I smiled, relieved. "Good. You need to tell me more tricks like this shoulder-patting thing". She smiled back. "America, could you do me a favor?" She nodded. "As far as anyone knows, we spent a lot of time together yesterday evening. If anyone asks, could you please tell them that I'm not...That I wouldn't…."

"Of course, and I am really sorry about everything." "I should have known that if any girl was going to disobey an order, it would be you." I said. A collection of heavy objects hit the wall at once, making a handful of girls scream. "Who are they, and what do they want?" America asked. "Who? The rebels?" She nodded. "Depends on who you ask. And which group you're talking about," I answered. "How many are there?" she asked a little nervous. "Two generally, the Northerners and the Southerners. The Northerners attack much more frequently. They're closer. They live in the rain patch of Likely near Bellingham, just north of here. No one really wants to live there-it's practically all ruins-so they made it a home of sorts, though I guess they travel. The traveling is one theory of mine-one no one listens to. But they're far less likely to break in, and when they do the results are….tame almost. I'd guess that this is a Northern job right now," he said over the din.

"Why? What makes them so different from the Southerners?" America asked. I hesitated, should I tell her? I looked around to see if anyone could hear us and decided that no one was close enough to eavesdrop. I leaned in to whisper, "their attacks are much more…..lethal." America shivered, "lethal?" I nodded, "They only come once or twice a year, as best I can tell from the aftermath. I think that everyone here is trying to protect me from the statistics, but I'm not stupid. People die when they come. The trouble is, both groups look alike to us-dingy, mostly men, lean but strong, no sort of emblem as far as we can tell- so we don't know what we're getting until it is all over."

She looked around the room, "But I still don't understand. What do they want?". I shrugged. "The Southerners appear to want us demolished. I don't know why, but I am guessing some dissatisfaction or another, tired of living on the fringes of society. I mean they're not even Eights technically, since they have no part in the social network. But the Northerners are a bit of a mystery. Father says that they just want to bother us, disrupt our governing, but I don't think so. I have another theory about that as well." "Do I get to know it?" she asked.

I hesitated again, would I be taken seriously? I leaned in and whispered,"I think they are looking for something". "What?" "That I don't know. But it's always the same around here after the Northerners come. Guards are knocked out, injured, or tied up, but never killed. It's like they want to be followed around. Though some people get taken with them, that is a bit disturbing. And then the rooms-well the ones that they can get into-they're a mess. Every drawer pulled out, shelves searched, carpet upturned. Lots of things broken. You wouldn't believe the number of cameras I've replaced over the years."

"Cameras?" "Oh, I said bashfully, I like photography. But despite all that, they don't end up taking much. Father thinks my idea is rubbish of course. What could a bunch of illiterate barbarians be looking for? Still, I think there must be something." "Do you think it is silly?" I asked. "Not silly. Confusing, but not silly." We shared a small smile.

I cleared my throat. "I suppose I should finish my rounds." "Yes, I imagine there are quite a few ladies wondering what's taking you so long." "So, buddy, any suggestions as to whom I should speak with next?" America looked over her shoulder and smiled. "See that blond girl over there in the pink? That's Marlee. Sweetheart, very kind, loves movies. Go." I chuckled and walked in her direction.

Thanks for reading and please review!