Peanut Butter Fingerprints

Chapter 5

"Happily Never After"

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"Find a place inside inside where there's joy, and the joy will burn out the pain."

-Joseph Campbell

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America

"Ten. . ."

"Maxon, I can't do this," I whispered urgently, my head whipping towards him as the cameraman counted down the seconds until The Report began.

My sweaty fingers clung so tightly to the armrests of my throne that my knuckles lost color. I tried taking deep breaths to calm myself, but my stomach churned wildly. Besides the fact that I felt as if I was going to throw up all my insides, waves of cramps ran through my abdomen. I didn't know what was causing it, but I knew it couldn't be from nervousness. 

Something felt wrong, and there was nothing I could do at that point but smile. 

Maxon's eyes melted as he took in my panicked expression. Seeing my distress, he pinched the tiny mic hooked to his shirt collar between his fingers to silence it and asked quietly, "What's wrong?"

"Six. . ."

To avoid the entire crowd hearing my response, I rested one of my hands over my stomach and widened my eyes.

"Oh," Maxon replied, his voice distant. And then the situation sunk in, and he pressed his lips to my cheek in what appeared to be a kiss to hide his words from the audience. "Do you need to go to the hospital wing?"

"Four. . ."

"I-I don't know," I whispered back. "Something doesn't feel right."

"Two. . ."

Maxon rested his hand over mine, squeezing my shaking fingers. "I'll cut it to ten minutes, a few less if I can skip the general announcements for next week. Can you do that?"

"One. . ."

I gulped, doubting that I had the strength to keep going. But I reminded myself that this was one of the queen's duties: pretending that everything was okay for the sake of the country. I couldn't fall apart, not now. Though it would be understandable that I'd be nauseous because of the pregnancy, I had to keep a brave face for the camera. In less than a second, I made up my mind.

To hide the distressed looks on our faces, I pulled away in a rush and planted a kiss on Maxon's lips just as the red lights flickered to life above the cameras. Somehow, the feeling of his hand clutching mine and his gentle kiss settled my nerves and gave me a false sense of security. His touch whispered to me words that he was forbidden from speaking in front of the cameras.

It's okay. You'll be okay. I'm right here. 

"Your Majesties," Gavril interrupted after clearing his throat, and I quickly pulled away.

Blushing as if surprised to be caught, I giggled sheepishly and tucked a loose curl of hair behind my ear.

"My apologies, Gavril," Maxon chuckled while straightening his lapels.

Turning to the crowd with a raised eyebrow and a smile, Gavril teased, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

The audience laughed in response, and I eased back into my throne knowing that all suspicion had melted away. The last thing I'd wanted to see was a tabloid with a picture of us looking panicked on the front cover. It'd happened too many times before, and I knew that it always upset Maxon when the public pried into our private life and made wild (and usually very wrong) guesses about us—divorces, affairs, crimes. . .  they accused us of just about everything.