The Elite ✓

fourteen | A hint of America

"Remember that a favor becomes doubly valuable if granted with courtesy, and that the pain of a refusal may be softened if the manner expresses polite regret."

illéan royal etiquette booklet

*

Pain.

Excruciating thoughts of torture surged my mind, each higher up the scale of severity. It felt as if the pointed tip of glass was tracing my wrist, leaving me to hanging; waiting for the moment it would pounce. There was only one thing worse than pain itself, and it was the moment just before. The feeling when you knew that it was coming and there'd be no stopping it. The point at which your eyes are sealed tight and you're awaiting a definite ending you don't want.

My eyes burst open, chest into flames. My breathing was heavy and almost a torturous squeak. No more rosé for me. I was perched atop a mystery man's back, being led into either the infirmary or the safe room, but either way, I lived to tell the tale.

It could be described as the ensuing force of pure carnage. It was enough that they were being torturous to us, people, they still had to retaliate anger onto inanimate objects. Trees were flailed, glass is broken, doors smashed. It was a fit of ever-consuming rage. Lightning of destruction was spat ruthlessly in the form of burning venom. The scene itself was a sight of terror.

Suddenly as if the world was hell-bent on swallowing me alive, the guard who I was draped across for safety was shot. In one placid attack. Dropping to the ground, I found time to search for my surroundings. Amidst my state, I had managed to ward off a rebel long enough to attract the attention of a guard.

I was on the second floor, and I knew no safety rooms on this level. Which meant I either had to hide it out or somehow manage to get onto the first floor despite the rebels guarding the staircase. In that moment, had I been completely sane, I would've figured that the secret staircase from the first floor to the hidden piano room also connected the second, which I could've used as an escape route, however, I was anything but in the prime mental condition to use my brain, and so, I had decided to take a jump for it.

Both Lucas and Will were prepared to break my fall, opening their arms to catch me, but I motioned for a guard to escort them out. There was no way they could be doing something as dangerous as opening themselves up as a target.

I was preparing to take a jump when I felt my body turn to jelly. I could feel my mind blank once more, but I wasn't ready to die. I knew that if I had at least made it to the first floor, I'd still have a chance at living. So, slowly, I coerced myself around the handrail, my legs tipping off the edges, and hands, behind me, holding onto the railing as if my life depended on it. It was the last thing connecting me to my safety. Then I did something stupid. I let go.

I fell slowly. Too slowly. I could almost feel myself crashing into reality, but as my body was numbing and preparing to hang limply, someone had caught me. The person had planned on saving me too. Connected to the window pane on a thick piece of rope, someone had swung fifty metres in the air to specifically save me. I had a guardian angel.

"Are you psychotic? Get to safety this instant." Esteban's voice seethed. "I thought my warning was sufficient."

"Migraine," I whisper unwittingly, "I had a migraine and the guard who was carrying me to the safe room was shot."

"Well," he says, "Do you know where it is?" I nod, "Then go. Keep running, and don't look back. I've got to go."

I pause, "Wait, why are you even here."

He laughs, "What do you think? Here to steal. And also, to make sure these rebels don't actually get what they came for. The head of anyone in the royal family. Or yours."

Then I ran. Ran my fastest.

*

America was waiting for me when I came back from recovery. She was sitting at my dresser, twirling the violin bow in her hands. I couldn't hide the shock from my face, I was honestly surprised.

"America!" I squealed as she wrapped me in a warm embrace, "Wow, you're here."

"No spoilers," she grins, "So, how's my favorite musician. No, but seriously. Start talking. The migraines."

I sigh, "How'd you hear so quickly, they only started this morning when I hit my head."

"Like shards stabbing your mind apart?" she asks, and all I can do is nod. "Okay, well, I'm serious. Holly, I love you, my sons both love you, which is slightly disturbing to say aloud, but you cannot be Queen if this continues. It's not just unsafe for you, especially including the rebels attacking at any moment. It's also unsafe for the state. If their Queen is vulnerable it will spark thoughts of anarchy. So, for now, we're going to have you checked by a doctor daily. Just to make sure nothing drastic is going to happen, and that you'll be alright."

My face must've crumpled because she offers me a reassuring smile, "But it's just a migraine," I say softly, "Everyone has those."

She gives the thought a chance, "Then how many have you had today. Headaches, I mean. Even the smallest amount of pain."

I sigh, "Well, I don't know, I guess it's been painful throughout the entire day. But there were three standouts: When I first bashed my head, during the date, and mid-rebel attack."

"Okay," she says, "Let's start with a daily checkup since it seems like a temporary problem. But remember, you're treading dangerous lines here. Which means, no strenuous activities or wine and champagne."

I nod, sadly.

Her serious demeanor changes instantly into a big, bright smile. She's just the perfect firecracker to balance Maxon, and anyone can see that instantly, "Meanwhile, why don't you join me in the music room. It's a hint of America." The violin which is in her grasp is handed over to me, and my expression mirrors hers.

"I'll take you up on that."