With Kile's hand in mine, I feel a surge of happiness and belonging. I'm not sure we can make it out of here but we have to try. Together, we turn toward the door.

Five guys with guns stand there. Not guards. Hale's men. Neena is behind them peeking over one of their shoulders with a gloating expression.

"I knew it. Hale, you okay?" she calls out.

Kile puts his other arm around my shoulders. I wince. I can feel the blood flowing freely down my back from my reopened wounds. Deep, sharding pain detonates from the areas to every nerve in my entire body.

"You're hurt?" Kile whispers.

I nod and whisper hurriedly, "I'm being held in a stone church, surrounded by fields and through some woods. I wish I knew more."

"Eady, I'm not leaving you."

"Kile, you have to tell my dad and bring help," I say. "There are plans to bomb the walls."

I barely register Hale has moved before he is in front of me.

Hale jerks me away from Kile by the wrist. I cry out. Kile pulls up a fist.

"No fricking way are you taking her from me." Kile's jaw is set.

Two guns swivel and point directly at his head.

His face does not change. "She's coming home with me," he says.

From the hard shine of Hale's eyes, I know he is about to hurt the man I love. Suddenly, I am petrified beyond anything I have ever known.

"No!" I scream.

Hale darts his eyes to me and I am certain I see a change in them as he gazes at me. A warmth.

"Please," I beg. "Don't hurt him."

Hale's lips thin and his eyes narrow.

I turn to Kile, ready to say anything to keep him safe. Ready to break his heart –and my own- if I have to in order for him to leave here alive.

Watching our interaction, Kile's face becomes wild with understanding.

"Help us!" Kile cries to the crowd. His wide eyes plead with the women surrounding us. Women who have spent their lives in the dim light straining to pull out seams and reuse worn fabric for scant pay and no benefits.

"They are loyal to Hale," I say in a defeated voice. "They do as he says."

"What?" splutters Kile.

I simply say, "Things in Illea are not as they seem."

Kile stares in shock at the amount of people not raising a hand to help the future queen. Or that's what we thought I would be.

Hale has a death grip on my wrist but with my free hand I tug his sleeve. "Please, Hale, don't hurt him. I won't be any good to you if you hurt him. I swear. I'll kill myself!"

"Oh, how romantic." Hale rolls his eyes.

I turn to Kile. Holding back tears, I choke out, "I love you."

Shock and anguish cover his features. Now he knows, too. We won't be getting out of this together. The only question is how hard will he fight before the inevitable conclusion.

Hale looks me up and down. I know he is noticing the extent of my new injuries. My chin is busted open and my temple throbbing with a sure bruise. My one shoulder droops as if detached from my body and I sway, mostly held upright by Hale's grip on my wrist. The back hem of my shirt drips from the re-traumatized, festering whip wounds.

He blinks and when he refocuses on me, I know I have achieved his mercy. To some degree.

"You've given me an idea." He twists his lips in a smirk but it doesn't reach the pity in his eyes. He does have some humanity left, it's just buried deep.

Hale says slowly, "I will spare him if you do anything I say."

"Okay," I agree with a quick nod.

"No!" Kile shouts. "Eady, no!"

I look at him. "He'll do it, Kile. He'll hurt you...I have no doubt."

"Think of what this means," Kile argues desperately. "Illea needs you. I'm nothing."

Kile's anguish is hard to bear. But I have to.

"No, Kile. You are everything to me. I love you. No matter what." The words free something locked tight in my chest. I never thought something would be more important to me than my country but here he is, this boy. Kile. He is my everything.

"You'll side with me on a broadcast," Hale says, stroking his chin with his free hand. "You'll denounce your father and the monarchy. You'll have my babies and bow down and nod at all of my commands."

"Of course," I say deferentially. "If you let him go. Now."

"Stop this, Eady! It's madness!" Kile fists his hair and pulls, as if he is barely retaining his sanity. I need to get out of here before he does something stupid.

"I don't want you to help me if it means hurting yourself!" Kile locks eyes with me. "Nothing is worth you tying yourself to this piece of scum." I've never seen him so angry. But his swollen jaw and the careful way he is holding himself tell me he is already hurt. And I know better than anyone that Hale will not flinch from getting rid of Kile.

I also think I know Hale will not kill me, for whatever reason. He has had every chance. And instead of taking those chances, he has cleaned and bandaged my back, slept next to me, and even joked around some with me.

"Take her to the cart," Hale says to the guards.

"Take me too, then," Kile begs.

Hale ignores him and stares at me like he can't believe he is doing this.

"Nothing can happen to him," I squint at Hale, trying to determine if he is at all listening.

"Hasn't this gone on long enough?" Neena sneers. "I think there was a tragic accident at the factory. We all know there are plenty of those. The Woodwork boy and unidentified woman burnt alive in a storage room. A pity. But all too common in a building made of tinder and filled with cheap fabric."

Hale sneers, "Obey me or find yourself in the blaze, Neena. I mean it. Enough of your sass."

"You're soft with her!" she screeches.

Kile is inching toward the back door, very slowly. I have to give him time.

"Jealous?" I shout to Neena. "Somethings never change."

Hale jerks me behind him just as Neena caterwauls her body at me. She bounces off Hale with a grunt and falls on her rear. The rebel guards snicker.

"Focus!" Hale's voice booms in the silent room. The guards stand straighter.

Hale points to Kile and they move to block his possible exit. He was so close. If only I'd been a better distraction. I blink back tears.

Hale tugs me toward the door. His roughness kills my back and I grimace, trying to follow him so he won't be mad, but falling to my knees when the pain is just unbearable.

"What have you done to her?" Kile gasps.

Hale actually winces at my position. He bends and scoops me up, but not over his shoulder this time. He carries me in his arms like firewood, like my weight is nothing to him.

"Let her go!" Kile surges forward but is restrained by the guards. His face is red and pulsing with fury. "Eady! Don't do this!"

I don't really see that I have a choice. "How do I know you won't kill him when we leave?" I ask Hale.

"You'd hear about it, wouldn't you?" Hale says. "And I'm thinking I want your willing cooperation. I like the babies idea more and more." His arms tighten around me.

I shudder and he smirks.

"You were never getting out of here with him," he says, stalking quickly out of the factory. I try to look over his bicep at Kile but my vision is only of the dilapidated building.

"If I see any smoke..." I say, realizing what little leverage I have.

"Enough, sweetheart," Hale says not unkindly. He sets me in the back of the cart this time and pulls a rough patch covered blanket over me. "Rest," he says, and shackles me to the cart by the ankle. The cart starts moving and the first time my head hits the splintered wooden slats of the cart, I don't bother pulling it back up.

I wake up in the morning in Hale's arms again.

"Hey!" I splutter, poking him in the bare chest. He does not open his eyes, but he does smile. "Why am I here? Hale? I don't like it."

He licks his lips and with closed eyes, slurs, "You liked it mighty fine when I scooped you up in my arms and snuggled you into this bed. You moaned, Eady. With pleasure. And I didn't have to do anything."

"Nothing happened." I say, too adamantly. I'm declaring and also asking.

"You would never be so tired as to forget a real night with me. Don't you like being warm and having a soft bed?"

"The tradeoff is not worth it."

"Liar. People line up for this, tradeoff."

"Not. Me." I say, extracting myself from his arms. He lets me go, laughing lightly.

My back is a blanket of sharp stabs and the fiery pain is no longer just there, it seems to be running through my blood. I am not well. In a way, maybe it's good. I could never sit by Hale on the throne raising our kids and dismantling the monarchy as if I was never part of it. I'm surprised he suggested it since it was the people's lack of faith in me that seemed to fan the flames of the rebellion.

I look down and realize I am in a tank and panties.

"Darnit!"

He undressed me again. I spot my clothes on the box and race over and pull them on.

"Had to check your back," Hale says lightly. "I cleaned it but you need an antibiotic. I'm ... sorry it got that bad. I should have gotten one sooner. I'll go today. But you'll have to sit tight here."

I don't know what to do with his narrow apology. I stare out over the drop off where the loft ends. The church is a ruin but I still feel a serenity in its worn beams and broken stained glass. My body is screaming in pain. Deep down, I know it's too late for an antibiotic.

Before I write myself out of the picture just yet, I decide to try an idea I had after bargaining for Kile's life last night.

"Hale, I have a counter proposition for you."

"Counter? Proposition?" His face scrunches in confusion. I realize he really was asleep seconds ago. He fakes so much it's hard to take anything at face value with him.

"Ah," he finally says, comprehension settling his features back into the perfect unfeeling handsome mask I'm used to seeing. "Me and you. For Kile's life. You'll do anything for me, you said. Anything."

If I'm not mistaken, he gyrates his hips under the covers. I pretend not to notice.

Now clothed, I stand at the foot of the bed and glare at his relaxed pose, hands behind his head, biceps on show, mischievous smirk on his full lips.

"You've shown me a lot of things that I agree need to be changed in Illea. I want to make that happen. But how? You are convinced the monarchy must fall. Why do I have to be shackled to you for that to happen? Why not use leverage—me—to achieve this? Trade me. To my dad. Me for the monarchy."

"You really mean that, don't you?" Hale asks, obviously shocked. He sits up and doesn't even flex his pecs.

Scratching his head, he says, "He would never go for it. No offense."

"He would."

"You'd be crushed for nothing when he refused."

"He would do it."

"He'd die before giving up the crown. I'm counting on it."

"Nope. He's a father before King."

"Your mother, maybe. She'd maybe do it."

"Both would. Try it." My faith in my parents is the bedrock of my world.

"No, I'd lose face and you'd wallow and no one would gain anything. I'd show my hand before I have a royal flush, so to speak." Now he grins, back to his arrogance.

"Well, they know I'm gone now. The whole world does. I'm sure Kile told them."

"You know him so well? Maybe he'd agree with your dad that it was safer to look for you without alerting the masses."

"I know him. He doesn't keep secrets."

Hale looks annoyed. "You're mine now. Stop thinking of him. After the elections, you'll be my consort. It will seal my position and I actually don't mind the thought. Once we get you cleaned up, we can have some fun."

"I will always love Kile," I say.

"Really," Hale deadpans.

"Correct," I say.

"That would never happen. You know that, right? You betrayed his trust before and then again yesterday. You are no longer wanna be queen or even princess. Honestly? You're not the beautiful, pampered, gilded woman he grew up with. Face it. You're ruined."

I say nothing.

"He didn't say he loved you back. Did he?"

I am trying not to think about that fact.

"You have no choice. And I need you in case another country questions our right to power. If I have to, I'll force you to be my puppet—if only to legitimatize my standing."

He stands up and stretches. I look away.

"Enough chat. We have work to do. The people are ready. The castle is busy covering their search for you and placating the panic about your disappearance. The time is right. After today, the rebels will be fully in place to take down your dad. Permanently."

"Please don't hurt him."

"Won't if I don't have to. He's a reasonable man in the end, right? He'll step down rather than watch his family hurt."

I nod.

"I hope so. I grew up watching things die. I want a new way of life. I'll do anything to get it."

"She's your mom, isn't she?" I venture.

"Who?"

"You know who I mean. You grew up at the poultry factory, didn't you? Watching them slaughter the chickens."

His face changes, softens, grows vulnerable. "I don't know why you're saying that."

"Patel. She is your mom. And your sister—Mila?"

He is frozen to the spot.

"She acts like a little sister to you instead of an adoring fan. You grew up playing in the factory? Watching your mom work?"

His voice has a dazed quality. "I collected the heads."

I gag.

"My siblings tried to help. So many lost a digit to the hatchet. My mom grew up in smog, dim lights, forced to work all day just to feed us the scraps. She finally admitted she couldn't see to aim the hatchet and she got that job in the entrails unit. We lived in a hovel made of trash. And then Dad died and Jayel got pregnant for the first time. The rebels were unorganized and without direction. But full of hate. They recruited me easily and my anger found a channel. I rose quickly, a natural they said. I knew it was my only hope out of a life that killed everyone I knew, with misery first and then with death."

"You're the leader. Jayel is your sister."

He nods. "My command is broad but not as deep as I'd like. Many want to wipe you all clean, so there is no hope of a reprise."

"Wipe us clean means massacre us. The wording matters," I say. "Mass murder is no way to start a government."

Hale puts his palm over his heart. "I was supposed to murder you outright."

I blink, scared and shocked. To hear those words out loud...

"It was my call to keep you alive. You're mine. We want the monarchy gone, either by coup or revolution. You are never going back. Accept it, Eadlyn."

"What will you do to my family?"

"If you come willingly then I will let them leave to Ahren's with the understanding that there will be a kill order if they are ever sighted in Illea again."

He tilts his head and his brows go up. It's like he's listening to a sound I can't hear. Then he says, "Stay here," and charges through the door, locking it behind him.

I try to eavesdrop from the same spot I did before. I don't hear anything. In minutes, he is back.

"We'll get the meds on our way back."

"Back from where?" I ask, hoping that now news of my disappearance is out, someone will recognize me.

Hale frowns. "Stop looking hopeful. I've got this all orchestrated. You have one more job today. I have to put the icing on this rebellion, then I'm golden. Come on, it's a long ride and you look like death already."

I fade in and out during the cart ride, my head bobbing on his shoulder and off. My skin is prickly with shivers and then clammy with sweat. Hale puts his arm around my waist and I don't shove him off because without him I would tumble off the seat into the dusty road.

Today we drive a different direction, along a more maintained road. We pass throngs of people lined up in front of a building with a sign reading: Jobs. Then we pass a smaller marketplace full of bedraggled people trying to peddle this for that. Hale stops several times to speak to people but we do not get off the cart. I don't think he finds what he wants, which I presume is medicine for my back.

I see no money changing hands. It's a barter system. Nothing looks very new, healthy, or desirable. Your junk for mine, I suppose. We clear the cluster of activity and the road smooths out.

I tug his sleeve. "Hale?" I ask. He looks down at me and for an instant I see true kindness in his eyes. Almost as if he had tender feelings for me, but I have to be wrong. He's my captor. I probably have that syndrome, Stockholm, where you start to identify with your tormentor. Ew. I hope not.

"Hello? Eady! You were asking me something?" He has a look on his face that means he's repeated himself several times.

"How much does a person make doing one of the jobs I did? Like at the sewing factory."

He arches a brow and chews his lower lip until finally answering, "It's not regulated. So the owner of the factory decides. The textile factory is maybe the best at a dollar a day. The poultry factory usually lets the workers squat on the land but charges half their pay. They make a quarter a day maybe. The fields? You get food at the end of the day and access to sleep in the barn, so maybe a dime a day."

I stare at him hard and discern that he is not joking.

"School tax is five dollars a month?" I can't be right.

Hale gives me a curt nod. Five dollars a month seems like nothing. A pittance. A loaf of bread costs...I don't know. I ask Hale. He says twenty cents. No unions, no school, no jobs that pay livable wages, and no upward mobility. I'd riot, too.

I'm ashamed but I soon rally. I have new information and understanding. I can make change even from here. I let my mind scramble for solutions until Hale stops driving and parks the cart in front of a small, square hut. It is the only structure within view. It's all fields and woods in every direction.

Hale picks me up under the armpits and lifts me down from the cart without asking. I lean against him until I can stand, it takes minutes.

Hale gives me a worried frown and we walk around to the front of the cart. From here, I can see what the hut hid from my view at first. A large crowd of people in the distant field. A low part of the field surges toward us. No, not the field. Children. A wave of small people, kids, runs in our direction by the dozens.

"What is this? A fair?"

"Ah, we don't have fairs in Illea, my sweet. You should know that. Then you'd have to see the state your people are in. It'd be a planned event and like most religious holidays, you've banned those."

"I have not!" Children are gathering in throngs at the cart, reaching out to pinch my foot through my sock or to high five Hale.

He is like a celebrity to them.

"Your monarchy banned all holidays. To make it fair they said, and not show religious preference. So no one gets any days off. Ever. Not for the birth of their savior, the observance of penance, or the bacchanal."

I gape at him.

"I'm tired of seeing that shocked expression, princess."

"Princess! Let's play princess!" A little girl shrieks. I wince. I've never spent much time with kids except for Josie, and I had scant patience for her.

"And now I leave you. I'll be done in a couple hours tops. Consider this practice. I've always wanted a brood."

My head spins. "Pardon?"

"I don't need to shackle you with chains this time." He stalks off toward the group of adults still in the far field.

The kids swarm me. I say excuse me and pardon me, but they clamor: pulling and wiping and bumping me. Do they want to play on the cart? Most people do not own one. Maybe it's a novelty. I manage to slide away from the cart but several children cling to me. I try to follow Hale but the children hug my thighs and shins. It's incredible what willing anchors they are. They are my shackles?

"Hale!" I cry out, desperate now.

Hale stops about ten yards away. He turns and says, "I'll just be over there." He angles his head toward the crowd of adults in the field. It's a loud group. Their indecipherable shouts fizzle with angry energy.

"They're all rebels?" I ask in a small voice.

"Part of the rebellion ready to move on the castle. And sympathizers, yes. I told you we were growing."

I'm astounded.

"And you, dear Eadlyn, are providing the childcare."

"Oh, no."

"There are facilities inside. Make sure you keep a good count. You'd hate to lose a kid. I hear parents kind of get violent when that happens."

Hale addresses the kids in a booming, cheerful tone, "Children! This is your teacher for the day." A hush falls over the herd of kids and they all gape at me. I want to correct him but I am frozen in terror.

"Be good to her and I will have something special for all of you...from the rebellion!" he grins. His charisma works on the little ones. They grin and shyly duck their heads and I can tell they want to please this man.

I groan and roll my eyes. His looks get him everywhere.

As if to rub that very fact in, he blows me a kiss and strides off.

The kids make ewwww noises at his gesture and then get back to jumping on me. I watch the crowd cheer Hale as he joins them.

With him gone, the kids brew up. I stay in one spot, trying to make a plan to survive. Run off? Join Hale with the kids? Try to distract them? I don't see that as possible.

They become deafening with their requests:

Can I go pee?

Why are you scabby?

Can I hold your hand?

Will you swing me?

Are you Hale's girlfriend?

Are you his maid?

Are you my new mommy?

Can I hit you?

And soon their requests become demands:

He pushed me!

I have to poo!

Pick me up!

I'm hungry!

I'm tired- where's my binkie?

I want the doll/truck/ball!

No, I do!

I'm thirsty!

I want my mom!

The generalized crying and sobbing is making me hysterical. There are no other adults around. The oldest kid comes up to my shoulder, so maybe thirteen, tops.

"Excuse me!"

"May I have your attention?"

I clap twice.

I snap and then wave my arm over my head. I ask several individually to quiet down. One laughs. The other bursts into fresh tears. I get some eye rolls from the older ones. O-kay. Kids of the rebels. Maybe not the most obedient bunch.

The longer I stand in stupefied shock, the higher pitched the crying gets. It's a mob scene. I see a small kid run off toward the field.

"Get him!" I shout to an older boy, maybe eight. He gives me an insolent smirk.

Panic nips at my mind. Violent parents, lost kids, rebels...

I clear my throat and summon all my royal mannerisms.

"Attention!" I say in a loud voice, but not a shout. They quiet just a bit and some look at me. What can I offer them? What did I like when I was their age? What did I wish I could do more of instead of royal decorum lessons?

"There will be a story told in that building in five minutes," I announce. "All little ones should be rounded up. Personal needs should be taken care of. The story will be as exciting as you are well behaved..."

The kids seem surprised. They look from one to the other and then begin to scurry into the building.

I tap the same smirking boy on the shoulder and arch a brow. He hesitates, and then takes off after the kid who ran off. He's fast and I can see he will intercept him before he reaches the larger adult group.

I panic as I slowly head inside. I've never told a story in my life. I've made plenty of announcements. But recount an animated story? No. And I know it will have to be good to capture this crowd's attention.

I wonder what stories they already know. Books are so scarce and TV is all news and documentaries. The Selection is hardly age appropriate. I wish my mom was here. For so many reasons.

I manage to get the attention of an older girl to ask, "What stories do you learn in school? Dickens? Shakespeare? Homer?"

She seems confused. Okay, too old.

"Twain? Hans Christian Anderson?"

She shakes her head.

I clear my throat and risk offending her. "Three Bears?"

She finally says softly, "We don't go to school, ma'am. I've never heard any of those stories. If my folks had, they woulda told me."

"Why don't you go to school?"

"Taxes too high, plus I gotta watch Maggie and Porter," she nods at two little kids.

Taxes were put in place to make the schools better, not exclude the poorest. I wonder if there is an exclusionary clause for those too poor to pay it. I don't think I remember seeing it. It's a low tax, I thought it would be easy for anyone to pay. I never asked for any of the details about daily wage or vouchers.

I take in the hut's interior. The walls are bare and the floor is clean but there is nothing in here except one long table and a fireplace. I sit on the hearth and motion for them to gather in front of me.

The kids have some trouble picking spots and they keep getting in each other's space, arguing, and crying. One pees their pants and there is an awkward clean up. It's a long while before I have their attention again. By then I know just what story I will tell them.

In a clear, loud, public speaking voice, I begin the tale, "Once upon a time..."

Half the kids are sleeping when I finish. The younger ones had no attention span for such a story, but they were rapt while I told the start, enjoying the voices I made and the few scenes I half acted out. I called up an older kid to help with the sword play and some others to help with the magic carpet scenes. Aladdin seemed like an appropriate choice. The princess Jasmine being forced to pick a husband, an evil man Jafar posing as a friend. The boy who shouldn't have been in the running but ended up winning her heart. I only wish my own story would have such a happy ending.

They loved it. I entertained what felt like a million kids for an hour. I'm proud for a whole minute.

Until one says that she is hungry. The rest clamor to agree. I am informed that there is no food for the day.

"For the whole day?" I can't imagine being this age and not having a snack, lunch, and afternoon snack.

"Not til dinner," one pouts.

"It's the routine," another says warily.

"They know better than to say they're hungry. You're soft to them," an older girl explains, shaking her head.

I hold a wailing toddler as two girls help out and change diapers. Then they all look at me and I feel like I'm stuck in a nightmare, naked, about to deliver a speech on TV but when I look down, my notes are in another language.

I suggest a game of tag. They ask how to play. I teach them the basic game, wondering if they don't have the space to play or if no one knows it to teach them. I appoint myself the official judge and I rest on the ground outside, covered in no less than four sleeping toddlers. The older girls continue to hold the babies and I thank them profusely. How could any one person do this? I ask who is usually there. They say they fend for themselves during meetings or mandatory broadcasts.

"When was the last broadcast?" I ask

"Last night," a slim blonde girl answers. She is holding a baby and swaying from side to side to keep it asleep. "They announced the search for Princess Eadlyn. She's run away or something. Can you imagine? I'd never leave the castle. Never! Why would she run away?"

"She probably fell for a guard. Like Marlee, remember? It happens. My mum told me about it." A shorter red head says.

"But isn't she allowed to marry a commoner?" another asks.

They ponder while I worry over whether to reveal myself to them. I don't want to risk their safety by asking for help.

"Do I look like Princess Eadlyn?" I finally ask in a flat voice.

Just the initial two girls hear me. They eyeball me up and down and then laugh.

"Nope."

"Not hardly."

I give up that idea.

"It was a good Report," The blond one says with a secret type of smile. "The cute guy who isn't going to be the prince begged us to find her ladyship."

"It was cute."

"Romantic."

They sigh.

I change the topic and ask them to help me judge. I like them. They are sincere and treat me like an old school marm, but aren't too intimidated to be honest or funny.

When parents throng our building to collect their kids, a few say thank you. Some glare. Most are in a hurry and yank their kids up or call them like dogs.

Hale motions to me and I climb into the cart.

"You did it. Two hours and a half."

I arch a brow.

"I thought you'd be tied up in a corner crying."

"Turns out, I like kids." I say, smiling a bit. I'll miss them, actually.

"This is news?"

"I never been around many. Just my brothers and Josie."

"Huh." Hale chews his lip like something is bothering him. I doubt it's what I said, so I gather the meeting went poorly. There was a lot of hurrahing but I heard little else. I hope to eavesdrop when we get back to the church.

But instead of the church, Hale stops the cart in front of a scum covered lake. It's almost entirely surrounded by trees.

At first I think he's letting the horse get a drink.

"I don't think he should drink that," I say. "It might make her sick."

"If you want to get clean, I suggest you keep your mouth shut."

I blink.

"And not swallow any," he says, climbing down and stepping to the edge. He strips his shoes, shirt, and pants off in one fluid motion and then swan dives into the still water, causing a huge splash and a ripple effect to lap across the surface until it breaks at my toes.

He surfaces and laughs, shaking his hair so droplets plink around him.

I sigh and shake my head.

"Come on!" he shouts.

"Open wounds and algae seem like a bad mix," I say wistfully. I do long to be clean and cool. My hair is a nest of tangles and grease. My nails are caked and my sores and scrapes black and scabby.

"It's a good sign when a pond has this. Feeds all the critters in here, so they can clean the water."

"That makes no sense."

"I grew up swimming in here. Never saw a soul get sick from it. And we'd spit it like fountains. I think you need a rinse, no offense. Your back will thank you. I'd almost make a poultice of this algae." He dunks himself and remerges face up into the skim of bright green slick, letting it coat his face like a mask.

"Eww!" I say, but I peel off my socks. My feet couldn't get any worse.

He goes back under and comes up near me.

"Want me to turn around and not look?" he offers.

I frown.

"I've seen it all anyway," he smirks, letting his eyes roam over my body. Then he walks out. I avert my eyes to prevent myself from seeing the water running in rivulets down his muscled chest and tapered waist, drawing in like a V to his low slung boxers...

Nope. Not looking.

"I'm swimming in my clothes," I decide. I force myself to walk in. I tip my head back and scrub my fingers through my tresses, wishing desperately for soap.

And then Hale calls out from the edge, "Heads up!" He throws me a bar of dark yellow soap. It lands a foot from me and floats. It looks homemade. I know in this life it is priceless. It smells of curdled milk and lye but I lather up and wash my hair, then my body under my clothes, over my clothes, and my feet while floating on my back. I repeat the process and barely finish by the time Hale calls for me to get the heck out. I walk out, dripping, but the air dries me quickly during the rest of the cart ride to the church.

When we walk in, he turns me to the stairs to go into the cell where I was first kept.

"No," I murmur.

He drags me down the stairs. When he picks up the shackle connected to the stone wall, I draw back and ask, "Why?"

Without answering, he shackles me.

"Hale, why?" I grab his hand and he stares at the way our fingers interlock for a long moment before meeting my eyes. I dread the torment I see in his stormy pupils. I know he is doing something he doesn't want to do. I just don't know how far it will go.

"What happened at that meeting?" I demand.

"I have to go somewhere. I don't want anything happening to you."

"I'm helpless! Anyone could find me! Anything could happen!"

He falters.

I push it. "What if Burke comes back?" He bites his lip.

"He won't. He's busy."

"How do you know? Neena could come and murder me! I know she wants to."

"She—We—the movement thinks now is the time to strike while everyone in in chaos looking for you and admitting you are gone. The thing with Kile was a close call. It can't happen again."

"Don't, please. Don't hurt my family. Don't make anything explode." I almost let on that I know about the bombs. "Please, Hale, there are better ways. Consider my idea to trade me for my dad's resignation, or a seat for you on his cabinet, or a position among the people. I can think of something better, just don't rush this, think it through. Don't let them pressure you."

"Like you're trying to do? Don't overestimate your influence, sweetheart. It's your political views that make me want to slit your throat while you're sleeping. It's the worst thing you have going for you."

"Other things..." He leans in to kiss me and I draw back, bonking my head on the wall behind me.

"Other things can wait," Hale leans down and I begin to shake, backing up as much as the chains allow and shaking my head.

He unshackles me.

"No, please..." I whimper.

He huffs out a breath and says, "Come on. I'm not touching you." He then leads me to the loft. I think about thanking him but I can't bring myself to do it.

Once inside, he warns me, "Remember, jumping is suicide. Don't let anyone in. Except me."

"When will you be back?"

He hesitates, deciding to trust me or not. I win.

"Tomorrow night." He disappears for a second and returns to toss in a bag of bread.

"Be careful," I say.

He snorts and salutes me. Then he locks me in.

After pacing long enough for him to have left, I start moving furniture.