Our Life Together

Chapter Four

"King Maxon, do you have that report we discussed last week?" one of the chairmen on the royal board asks. Next to me, Flynn seems to flinch. He flips through several papers, quickly looking over some pages he typed last night. The typewriter keys clicked furiously all night. Flynn was trying to complete a report for my father. He was trying to perfect it even though everyone expects mistakes. In fact, my father even hopes he makes some mistakes.

"I actually had Prince Flynn do that for me," my father says. Several of the chairmen nod. Everyone's eyes turns to the figure on my right. I squeeze his hand in a, hopefully, comforting way. He squeezes it back and gives me a forced smile. 

"Um, okay. . . So, uh, in the northern states there has been a, uh, increase in crime and rebellion throughout the last two months, which was when the Selection ended. The south, where, um, I'm from, has had an unusual increase," he mumbles. Everyone's eyes stay on his as they wait for him to continue. He looks down at the report. On all three pages, about 75 percent of the writing has been scratched out or has some kind of scribbles that aren't legible.

"This occurrence is thought to be associated with you becoming king, correct, Flynn?" my father asks. Flynn nods and takes a deep breath. A chairman across from Flynn scribbles down something.

"That is correct, sir. The state that I'm from was one of the highest in the nation. And now it is the lowest," Flynn mumbles. He passes around a sheet with graphs. All three graphs have the amount of rebel attacks in each state. One graph has the amount of attacks prior to the selection. The second graph has the amount of attacks during the selection. The third graph has the attacks after our wedding.

"Actually, only three of the northern states have increases in rebel causes. All of the others have a slight increase, as well. They just aren't as dramatic as the decreases in the southern states," a chairman states. I look down at my notes. Very few have increase.

"Oh, um, that must be a mistake in my notes," Flynn says. I take his hand in mine underneath the table and rub circles on the back, something he did a few days ago when I was stressing over the fake reception my mother and Nicoletta wanted me to plan. My mother, who is sitting on my left, pokes my side to get my attention. She passes a pink sticky note over to me. In her regal script, the message Is he okay? is wrote out in black ink.

I take a quick peek at Flynn's face to study the details I might have missed. He has turned a slight shade of pink. He hazel eyes have a discouraged look in them in addition to the tiredness they already held. His lips are pressed together in a nervous line. I tear off a corner from a piece of paper I was given earlier about the country's economic situation. Do you need a break? I scribble down. I pass to Flynn and he gives a quick nod after reading it.

"Um, could we have a short break?" I ask, interrupting the discussion between several congressmen about how we should solve the rebel problem. My father nods. All of the congressmen's eyes move to my face, as if it took me saying these words for them to notice I was here.

"I think a break would be a good idea for all of us, Princess Celia. Thank you for the suggestion. We will take a break and everyone meet back here in about fifteen minutes," my father announces. All of the congressmen turn to each other and begin to chat with their neighbors. Flynn, on the other hand, is up and out of the room in a flash. I stand up and follow him out the door. When I make it there, I find the hallway empty except for a couple guards.

"Um, did any of you see where Prince Flynn went?" I ask. One of the guards points towards a set of double doors that lead out to the gardens. I walk outside and a surprisingly comfortable wind hits my face despite being late February. I see a figure pacing between two patches of flowering bushes. I can see that light pink blossoms are beginning to bloom as I approach.

"These is a beautiful spot for a break," I say. He turns to look at me. He runs a hand through his dark hair and sighs. I stand on the main stretch of paved gravel. Where he is at is a little branch off the side.

"I can't do this," he says. He begins to pace again. His head shakes as he does so. "This is all too much," he says. I step forward and stop him. I put my hands on his shoulders and stare into his eyes.

"Calm down. You can do this. It is your destiny," I say. Flynn shakes his head. I move my arms and guide myself over to a bench that I didn't notice earlier due to the fact that it is hidden behind the bushes. Flynn begins pacing back and forth again.

"This isn't my destiny. It is your destiny. It's your brother's destiny. If I was meant to be anything at the palace I would be the stable boy. I was raised on a farm, not a palace," he says. I watch quietly for several minutes as he walks back and forth.

"Flynn, destiny doesn't work that way. Destiny is what you make it. When you proposed, when you decided you were in love with me, you changed your fate's design. You make the choice for yourself, and soon, for this nation," I say. He stops and stares at me. His eyes aren't just tired now, he has a passion in them. A passion that fights for what he thinks. Something I've only seen several times like when I confronted him about Samantha or the times he tried to tell me Ethan was bad news.

"Well, I never asked for it! I fell in love with you. I don't want any of this," he says, motioning to the palace. I take a deep breath, trying to restrain myself from snapping at his unusual outburst.

"Flynn, calm down. You'll say something you'll regret," I say. He walks away towards the main stretch of the garden.

"You're right. Tell them I'm not returning to the meeting, that I'm not feeling the greatest," he says before making his way up the path to the palace doors.

Update! I'm sorry if his little outburst at the end seemed too fake or something. I really just wanted to show the sparks that could die quickly or cause a forest fire. *nudge nudge* Please comment and vote!

Disclaimer: Kierra Cass owns The Selection. I only own the things that are inside of my bedroom. (Not The Selection rights)