I swore again as I felt a sharp prick in my thumb.

I was in the Women's room, working on my needlepoint project we had been assigned for work outside of class this week. It felt incredibly mundane and silly when we had been studying economics for the past two weeks, and I didn't have the patience for it.

Though, I had better reasons to hate it. It was yet another task that made me feel inferior to all the other Elites. I wasn't an artist, and my hands were so arthritic that they ache only a few minutes after I start. I had broken my right hand twice and it never healed quite right, so all the delicate, fine work of the needle was painfully difficult to do. It meant I needed to practice more and work harder than the other girls, and my work was still messy.

I wanted to throw the work across the room out of frustration, but I set down the wooden frame onto the table gently to avoid making noise. I flexed my hands, feeling the unyielding scar tissue stretch the skin around it. I turned my head to look out the window, trying to calm myself down before I started crying.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by the polite laughter coming from the sitting area in the middle of the room. The queen had joined us today, and the other Elites were all doing needlework in a circle as the queen talked about her Selection and told anecdotes of her daily life in the castle. No one seemed to mind that I was sitting away from the rest of the group, and I wasn't keen on torturing myself like that.

It wasn't like I was seeking any of their approval anyway.

"Oh, the boys were so rambunctious when they were little," the Queen mused, only needing to glance down at her needlework to continue her flawless rhythm, "it was quite the challenge to rear them, but they eventually recognized their responsibilities and calmed down."

She said it with such casual flippancy, but I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as I listened. The Elites quietly giggled as the queen explained how she and the king had broken their sons' spirits. I wondered if she knew about Alex's punishments, but the hollowness of her personality made me think she wouldn't care.

"They're quite the gentlemen, your majesty," Fox gushed, sickly sweet. I stopped myself from rolling my eyes.

Still, I felt a pang of jealousy. These girls had grown up with mothers; they had been taught how to act like a woman, and now they were effortlessly interacting with their potential mother-in-law. Even if the queen didn't hate me, I didn't think I would be able to have any kind of meaningful relationship like they would. It was just one of the countless times I had been forced to question my femininity since I arrived here, and it intimidated me because of how complicated it was. There was no one to fight, no tangible thing to hate except myself.

I was chewing on my thumbnail and kicked myself when I felt the paint on it chip. I thought about how Luna would scold me again for the bad habit, and then remembered my maids were waiting for me in my room with unending, unconditional support. I didn't need to be here.

"Fuck this," I muttered in a whisper, unceremoniously bunching all the threads together in a fist and grabbing my unfinished piece with the other hand. I slunk around the walls of the room, but I still felt everyone's eyes on me, so I picked up my pace and kept my eyes glued on the exit.

I thought I was in the clear and heaved a sigh of relief when I escaped the room but froze when I didn't hear the door close behind me.

"Atlas," the queen called, forcing me to turn around, "Why don't you take a walk with me?"

I felt an icy fear settle in the pit of my stomach. "Thank you your majesty, I'm honored, but I-"

"It wasn't an invitation," she cut me off, her red lips pulling back in a grin that didn't reach her eyes.

I considered defying her command, but then remembered it would immediately get back to the king, so I had no choice but to sulk back to the queen. She threaded her hand around my arm in an iron grip, and then started down the hallway at a languid pace. I was surprised at how well she glided across the floor and I felt clumsy next to her.

"See?" she said after a moment, "Is this not nicer than scurrying to go hide in your room?"

I was taken aback by the comment and she took advantage of my silence. "Though, that is what rats are known to do. . ." she continued with venom dripping from her voice.

I balked and went to rip my arm out of her hands but winced as she dug her nails into my skin and held me there. She guided me down the hallway without missing a beat and two guards paused to bow before continuing their patrol.

"I would like to leave," I told her as evenly as I could once we had put distance between us and the two men.

"Ah, then we have something in common," she replied smoothly, "I want you gone as well."

"I meant back to my room," I mumbled, feeling adrenaline rush through my body. My instincts all screamed at me to run, but something about the queen's demeanor kept me hostage next to her.

"You know, Atlas," the queen said, ignoring my comment, "I find you endlessly annoying and your mere presence is an insult to me and my family."

She had the same type of diction Ross had, and it distracted me as I fumbled out a response. "I have bad news for you about the rest of the country then," I blurted out, trying to sound sarcastic but falling flat.

"That is right," she mused, unfazed by the comment, "the rat is also a justice warrior." I refused to look at her, choosing to stare ahead as we meandered through the hallways, but I could feel her eyes on me, gauging my reaction.

"I'm not as easily insulted," I fired back, my mouth going dry as my breathing picked up speed. I knew how to control my outward appearance from years of fighting, but with her this close, she could probably tell how uncomfortable I was.

She laughed through her nose. "Your defiance. . . your speeches," she continued, "they are hopelessly pathetic, and whatever you think you are doing here, will not work."

"What exactly do you think I'm doing?" I snapped.

"I understand that you consider my husband to be vicious and cruel," the queen started slowly.

"An understatement," I interrupted, wincing as she gripped my arm hard again.

"But he has gifted me four beautiful children," she replied, "and I will do anything to protect them."

I ripped my arm out of her grasp, throwing myself back to turn and scoff at her. "Except when you allow them to be beaten and abused," I growled, rubbing my arm as I glared at her.

The queen blinked a couple times, but she showed no other reaction. She did know about Alex's canning. Her eyes scanned me up and down, and quietly she commented, "so it is worse than I thought."

"How could you?" I asked in disbelief, "How can you say you want to protect him and then let that continue?"

"The way my children are disciplined is none of your business, eight," she threatened, nearly spitting out the last word, "Maybe if you were disciplined as a child you would not be so disrespectful."

"You're a monster," I breathed, narrowing my eyes at her.

"And you are nothing," she shot back, deadly calm. She closed the gap between us, leaning forward so I couldn't look away from her cynical expression.

My breath caught in my throat and I felt something deep inside of me breaking. Panic gripped my heart, and I tried to visualize a bottle, willing the pain to be shoved down inside of it so she couldn't see how badly she was hurting me. I was never supposed to be this weak. . .

I was so tired of people telling me that I was nothing.

"You will never sit on that throne, Atlas," she continued, shaking her head at me in pity, "even if by a miracle - or through some traitorous plot - you win this competition, you will never be a queen. You do not have what it takes. . . and deep down, I think you know that. Am I correct?"

"I don't want to be queen," I barked, my hands balling into fists.

She gave a twinkling laugh and put her fingers delicately up to her face. "Stupid and delusional," the queen said with a flourish of her hand, "I pity you, Atlas, watching you so desperately try to be somebody."

"Are you done?" I asked, looking away as tears pooled in my eyes.

"If you really do care about my son," she continued, not specifying which of the three princes she was talking about, "then you will stay away from him. Do not ruin his Selection just because you are a petulant child with a constant need for attention."

My teeth ached from clenching my jaw so hard. "Go choke on it," I snarled, unable to come up with anything better.

She smiled at me smugly. "Good day, eight," she leered, turning away from me without another glance. She had won this conversation, and I had the deep wounds to prove it.

I couldn't move, so stunned by the unexpectedly cruel hurl of insults. The tears in my eyes escaped to run down my cheeks and curl under my chin, and my bottom lip quivered.

She was wrong.

She couldn't be right.

Was I really nothing? Is all this just a desperate grab for power and relevance?

I was already powerful. I was a cage fighter. No one could bring me down.

But even with all of that, I was still an eight. Real things were happening in this world; the princes were going to balls, meeting other royalty, learning military strategy, and I had still thought that my sad, pathetic life was just as valuable as theirs.

A sob escaped my mouth, and I slapped my hand over it before taking off down the hall. The garden was to my right, so I shouldered open the doors and ran across the snow dusted lawn. Escaping to a bench far away from the doors, I collapsed onto it and sobbed into my hands.

The air was frigid, and it stung at my nose and cheeks, but I welcomed the pain. It was an annoying distraction against the hurt I was feeling. I couldn't stop hearing the queen's words inside my mind, repeating so much that it became a head splitting din that blocked out all the noise around me.

I jumped when I felt something fall across my shoulders and I looked around, bewildered.

Alex had appeared behind me, and his hands were on my shoulders as he wrapped a blanket around my back.

I blinked at him; my eyes were bleary from crying and the sunlight reflecting on the snow made me squint. "What are you doing here?" I asked as he sat down next to me on the bench, "How did you know I was here?"

"I uh," he looked over his shoulder and up at the castle, ". . . saw you." He must have been on the roof.

Alex left plenty of room between us. I saw how hard he was trying to be nonchalant and casual, but he was always awkward and nervous around female emotions. I took a deep breath and pulled the blanket around me tighter, shivering.

"You shouldn't be out here in a short-sleeved dress," he commented passively, "do you want to go inside?"

I thought about what had happened in there and fresh tears threatened to spring from my eyes. I just shook my head and let it fall to my chest, not trusting myself to speak without starting to cry again.

I saw Alex clasp his hands together in his lap and take a deep breath, slouching with the exhale. I didn't know all the reasons why he went up onto the roof, so I couldn't tell if he was also upset or just needed space.

I could see him looking around the garden out of the corner of my eye, and then he turned to me. "What. . . happened?" he asked, jamming his hands between his knees to keep them warm.

My conversation with his mother came crashing back into the front of my mind.

"Why do you care?!" I snapped, whipping my head up to look at him.

He startled and straightened, turning his knees to face me. There was a flash of anger across his face, but it was quickly replaced with confusion. I waited for his answer, wishing he would mirror his mother and tell me I was nothing so I could get it over with.

His eyebrows knit together. "Because I don't like seeing you upset?" he replied, shrugging.

"Yeah, right," I blurted, biting back tears, "why would a One care about me? An eight!" In the back of my mind I knew I wasn't being fair to assume he was lying, but I projected my anger onto him anyway.

He ran a hand through his hair, and I could see him biting the inside of his cheek. "Where is this coming from, Atlas?" he asked gently, "I mean, personal feelings aside, you are one of my subjects. . . but you're also my friend. You already know I care about you."

"No, I don't!" I shot back, "You're lying!"

He rolled his eyes, but his eyebrows were still wrinkled together in concern. "Did someone say something to you?" he asked after another sigh, "Was it Chris?"

"Don't you get it!?" I sobbed, "I'm nobody! I'm. . . nothing. You. . . shouldn't care." It hurt to say out loud, but as the words left my mouth I realized just how true they were. I was ruining his Selection. I was ruining everything.

He was quiet for a moment as he stared at the ground, but then turned back to look at me fully. "I guess I won't be able to convince you. . . but I think you're pretty great," he said, raising his shoulders before looking up and adding, "kinda stubborn and hot-headed. . ."

I squinted my eyes at him, but then the side of his mouth twitched up in a half smile. ". . . but great," he reiterated, looking at the garden again, "I think. . . after what you've been through, you have every right to be bitter and vitriolic and resentful, but. . ."

He paused for a breath, his eyes sliding back to meet mine with a surprisingly intense look. "You are still a really kind, genuine person," he continued, his gaze unwavering, "you care about the people around you, regardless of their caste or job. I haven't met a lot of people who do that."

I searched his face, looking for any hint of dishonestly or pity, but there was none. He was being completely genuine. I was at a loss for words.

He straightened, pulling back his sleeve to look at the watch at his wrist. "I have to go," he announced, but then paused as he was about to get up to say, "I'm sorry someone made you feel this way. . . but they were lying."

He didn't wait for a reply, and I was unsure I would have been able to give him one. I watched him walk away until he had disappeared behind a cluster of bushes, pulling the blanket tighter and feeling more secure.

Even with all the tension and fighting lately, he had noticed me and decided to come down anyway. His words were their own type of blanket, and they warmed me as I sat in the garden and collected myself before returning to the castle.