America
Feeling powerless was the worst thing about this job. In the three years that I had been queen, I had never felt more powerless than I did on the Report that Friday. The joy of the previous week's birth announcement where we had introduced Shalom, Celeste and Aspen to the world had vanished, and now we were frantically searching for one of our children.

The search was ongoing, but four days had passed without any sign of Celeste. I had described in all the detail I could remember what the guard who had taken her had looked like, and pictures of the image produced from that description had been plastered all over Illea. The man had been apprehended in Columbia yesterday, but before anyone could question him, he was found dead in his cell having hung himself with the bedsheets.

Maxon clutched the arm of his chair tightly as the hustle and bustle of preparations for the Report went on around us I longed to reach out and take his hand in mine. I saw Aspen standing behind the cameras a little hunched over and with dark rings around his eyes. He had hardly slept, devoting all his time to the search for my daughter. Aspen was unwaveringly loyal, I trusted him with my life and now with the life of my daughter, he would find her and bring her home to me. I knew in my heart that this was all my fault, I had all but handed Celeste to the rebels. I had let a stranger take her.

"Your Majesties." Gavil made his way over to us, the usual bounce in his step was gone. In contrast to his usual colourful suits, Gavil was wearing a black one. It suddenly struck me that everyone in the room was wearing black, even Maxon and I, although I had no say in my wardrobe for today. Everyone was mourning, which I found strange as Celeste wasn't dead.

"Gavril." Maxon greeted him with a small head nod.

"We will make this Report short," Gavil said, "all that we will be doing is appealing to the country for knowledge of Celeste's whereabouts, then you will be able to return to the search."

"Thank you." Maxon sounded tired, he sounded drained. And it was my fault for giving her away.

********

I stood on the threshold of the palace doors, which stood wide open, allowing me to see down the driveway to the massive golden gates which shut out the rest of the world.

People clung to the rails, shouting and pleading to be let in.

"I have her here!" cried one woman, holding a screaming baby aloft above the crowd. Several others were holding infants and I feared that the babies would be injured by the crowd, which was forever pressing people closer and closer to the gates.

"They're going to hurt themselves," Aspen sighed, he was stood by my side, following my gaze down the drive.

"What if one of those babies is really her?" I wondered aloud.

"I doubt it," Aspen said simply, he didn't elaborate but I heard what he left unsaid anyway. I didn't want to believe it, but Celeste was most likely dead.

There was a long silence as we both continued to stare down the driveway, watching as some guards began to try commanding the crowd back to no avail.

"Have you seen him?" Aspen asked.

"Only in the nursery," I said, "he won't even look at me."

"He blames himself," Aspen almost whispered this so that no one but me could hear it, as if it were some big secret.

"He shouldn't."

"Because it's my fault," he took my hands into his, "Mer, I'm so sorry, I promised that I'd always fight for you and I swore that I'd bring her back and I couldn't."

"Aspen it's not your fault." Because it's mine, I finished in my head.

Aspen looked down at his shoes, still clutching my hands in his.

"Aspen I believe that you will bring her home," I told him, causing him to look back up at me, "Celeste is out there somewhere, we just have to find her."

I could hear what Aspen wanted to tell me through the thick silence that followed. He wanted to tell me that she was gone, that it had been too long and there was no hope of finding her, that she would be anywhere in the world by now, that she was most likely dead; however, Aspen said none of these things.

"I know." Was all that he said to me. And it was enough, he would keep fighting for me, even after he had given up hope.

********

"Maxon," I knocked on the door to the nursery and entered. This was where Maxon had spent most of his time since the attack. He had papers sent up to him so that he could work here and he had been sleeping on the floor in between two of the cribs. No one was allowed in here apart from me and Marlee, who had become the unofficial nurse for the children, but Marlee was nowhere to be seen as I entered the room.

Maxon was holding Shalom, standing by one of the large windows staring out across the gardens. For once, Aspen was asleep in his crib. I remained as quiet as I could so not to wake the troublesome baby.

As I made my way across the room my eyes were drawn to the third crib. Each of the cribs was custom made (Maxon having insisted that there would be nothing but the best for our children) and each of the cribs had an intricate golden letter painted on the headboard. Aspen was sleeping in the crib with the letter 'S', clearly having been placed in the wrong crib by a tired Maxon, the crib with the letter 'A' had unmade sheets, waiting for Shalom to be placed back down in it, but the third crib with the letter 'C' on it looked cold and uncaring, a constant reminder of what was so clearly missing from this room.

"Maxon," I said again as I neared him.

"Mm." Was all that he replied.

I came to a stop beside him and made to take Shalom from his arms so I could place him back in the crib. As soon as my hands neared the baby, Maxon grew defensive, he held Shalom closer to his chest and took several steps away from me. He looked around to see where the threat came from. His eyes held so much fear and worry that it made me want to cry, I had hardly looked in his eyes once in the last week.

"America?" He sounded surprised to find that it was just me, visibly relaxing at this realisation.

"Maxon, what's wrong?" I asked.

He gave a bitter laugh, moving towards the crib and delicately placing Shalom down, tucking the blankets around his son. "Is that even a question?"

"Yes," I responded without missing a beat, "our daughter is gone, and it hurts so much that I can't sleep and it hurts even more because you won't even look at me!"

"America I can't," he continued adjusting Shalom's blankets.

"You can't look at me?" I demanded, "you can't touch me?"

"No, I can't." Maxon finished with the blankets but continued to stare at Shalom, balling his fists up at his sides.

"You can't leave this room?"

"No," Maxon finally turned to look at me, "no, I can't face going out there just to be told that she's dead because it's my fault. It's my fault that she's gone. What kind of father am I if I can't even protect my own daughter?" His voice was growing shrill, and I could see tears beginning to form in his eyes.

I started towards him, "Maxon it's not your-"

"It is my fault," Maxon held out a hand, silently telling me to keep my distance, "If I had been here rather than at that meeting then I could have carried her myself. If I'd come here rather than to the safe room when the alarm went off then I could have carried her myself. I put work above my family America, and for that, I will never forgive myself. Anyone who comes near me gets hurt-"

"Maxon Calix Schreave," I said sternly, "if you say it's your fault one more time I will batter you over the head with a violin."

Maxon looked shocked to be spoken to in such a way, his hands dropped to his sides and his lips parted. Everyone had been walking on eggshells around me for the last week, careful of what they were saying, and I was sure his experience was similar.

"I will not have you blaming yourself for this when it is so clearly my fault," I told him, "I handed Celeste to that man. Not you, me. It's my fault that she's not here, no one else's."

Maxon's lips parted more, and a thousand emotions seemed to cross his face in the span of a second.

"America I-"

This time it was my turn to hold up a hand and stop him from speaking, tears welled in my eyes, and I found myself crying for the first time since leaving the safe room, "she's gone for now Maxon. But we will find her, I don't care if all of the odds are against us, we are the King and Queen of Illea, and I swear to any god that there is that I will move mountains to find her."

Maxon was silent. He seemed to realise at that moment that I was going through the exact same thing he was. He made forwards, and pulled me into a tight hug, allowing me to cry into his shoulder. He stroked my hair lightly and lovingly.

"It's all going to be okay," he said, "I promise."

I knew that he meant it, he wanted everything to be okay just as much as I did. But as he spoke I heard my own words from years ago echoing through my head.

"Lots of times when girls cry, they don't want you to fix the problem, they just want to be consoled."