The Elite (Selection)

my eyes wander over to Maxon. He was trying to look busier than he was. Anyone really watching could see how the king pretended not to hear his comments. I didn’t understand that. If the king was worried about Maxon being a good leader, the thing to do was to truly instruct him, not keep him from doing anything because he worried his son would make a mistake.
    Maxon shuffled some papers and looked up. He caught my eye and waved. As I went to raise my hand, I saw Kriss enthusiastically wave back from the corner of my eye. I focused on the papers again, fighting a blush.
    “Isn’t he handsome?” Kriss asked.
    “Sure.”
    “I keep imagining how children would look with his hair and my eyes.”
    “How’s your ankle?”
    “Oh,” she said with a sigh. “It hurts a little, but Doctor Ashlar says I’ll be fine by the reception.”
    “That’s good,” I said, finally looking up at her. “Wouldn’t want you hobbling around when the Italians come.” I was trying to sound friendly, but I could tell she was questioning my tone.
    She opened her mouth to speak but then quickly looked away. I followed her gaze and saw that Maxon was heading over to the refreshment table the butlers had set up for us.
    “I’ll be right back,” she said quickly, and limped toward Maxon faster than I would have thought possible.
    I couldn’t help but watch. Celeste had walked over, too, and they were all talking quietly as they poured water or grabbed finger sandwiches. Celeste said something, and Maxon laughed. It looked like Kriss was smiling, but she was clearly too bothered by Celeste interrupting her time to be genuinely amused.
    I was almost grateful for Celeste at that moment. She might have been a hundred things that irritated me, but she was also impossible to intimidate. I could use some of that.
    The king bellowed something to one of his advisers, and my head snapped in his direction. I missed exactly what he’d said, but he sounded irritated. Over his shoulder, I caught a glimpse of Aspen, walking his rounds.
    He looked my way briefly, risking a fast wink. I knew that was meant to ease my worries, and it did a little. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder what he went through last night that led to the slight limp in his step and the bandaged gash by his eye.
    As I was debating whether there was a way to inconspicuously ask him to come see me tonight, a call rang out from just inside the palace doors.
    “Rebels!” a guard yelled. “Run!”
    “What?” another guard called back, confused.
    “Rebels! Inside the palace! They’re coming!”
    The guard’s words made the threat on the walls this morning flash through my mind: WE’RE COMING.
    Things started moving very quickly. The maids ushered the queen toward the far side of the palace, some pulling her hands to make her move faster while others dutifully raced behind her, blocking her from an attack.
    Celeste’s red dress blazed as she followed the queen, rightly assuming that was probably the safest way to go. Maxon scooped up Kriss and her injured foot, turning to place her in the arms of the nearest guard, who happened to be Aspen.
    “Run!” he screamed at Aspen. “Run!”
    Aspen, faithful to a fault, bolted, carrying Kriss like she weighed nothing at all.
    “Maxon, no!” she cried over Aspen’s shoulder.
    I heard a loud pop from inside the opened doors to the palace and screamed. As several of the guards reached under their dark uniforms and pulled out guns, I understood what that sound was. Two more pops came, and I found myself frozen, watching the flurry of bodies move around me. The guards pushed people to the sides of the palace, urging them to move out of the way as a swarm of people in rugged pants and sturdy jackets raced outside, running with backpacks or satchels packed to the brim. Another shot came.
    Finally realizing that I needed to move, I turned and ran without thinking.
    With the rebels flooding out of the palace, the logical thing to do seemed to be to run away from them. But that put me heading toward the great forest with a pack of vicious people chasing me. I ran and slipped a few times in the flats I was wearing, and I considered taking them off. In the end, I decided slippery shoes were better than none.
    “America,” Maxon called. “No! Come back!”
    I risked peeking back and saw the king grabbing Maxon by the neck of his suit jacket, pulling him away. I could see the terror in Maxon’s eyes as he stared after me. Another