The Twist | ✓

nine.

Aline abandoned the pen, twirling a knife around her pale, slender fingers instead. Despite not being able to see her eyes, I know that she's watching me. I take a seat on the couch and spread my hands. "Okay. Go ahead."

She's silent for another minute. "We know that you want to rule without dealing with a wife, and that you hate the castes. If you were given room to form an opinion, perhaps you would have decided that America is a country you would rather rule over."

"And?"

She leans forward, stilling the dagger. "We want to make a deal, Highness. You get us inside info on life here and find some information for us, and you help bust us in from the inside, and we'll get you America back. Now, I'm not going to lie and say that it won't be a bloodbath in here. Your floors will be slick with blood, the walls painted with it. It will drip from the ceilings and bodies will be everywhere. This won't be pretty. But what comes from it, well. That will be beautiful." She smirks. "Your royal blood can't be taken from you, of course. But we were thinking about easing the people into an elected position over the course of generations. Your title will not be King Alexander Schreave or Prince Alexander Schreave, but it will be President Alexander Schreave. You'll still rule with advisors, but the Senate and House of Representatives will be brought back. You know, Congress, bills, and the like."

"Why?" I demand. "Why me?"

She leans back once more, her lips tugging into a smirk. "Because. Prince Mason is far too loyal, and your sister is far too young. She won't be around Illéa much longer anyway. And the young princess is far too much of a wild card, and we would really hate to put a bullet through her pretty little head because she betrayed us. But you. Nothing sways you. You are fiercely loyal to your family only, and no one else. We were not anticipating Lady Cassiana, of course, and if you want you can have her by your side during your rule. And if your brother objects..." She lets it hang, and I know what she means. If your brother objects, we can always shoot him for treason. That isn't what I want.

"How do I know this is for the greater good of my people?"

She stands up, pacing a little. Her knife nudges my curtains as she waves it, using her hands to make grand gestures as she speaks. "Your people are not free, Alexander. Not really. Their castes limit them too much. Did you know that anyone below a Three is starving most times? That's nearly the entire population. Did you know that there are perfectly sane Eights such as your darling Cassiana that live on the streets, placed in danger because the psychos out there want nothing more than to kill? Would you want that for your love, Alexander? Do you want to think about her sleeping in the streets, always with one eye open, waiting for some crazy man to grab her, drag her down an alley, do horrible things to her...and then kill her? Or sell her? Do you want that for your people?" She stops. "No. No you do not. That is how it is out there. If we rebuild America, we rebuild hope. We bring back safety. Your Cassiana will have a bed and food and she won't have to worry about those sick, twisted men."

I rub a hand over my face, my stomach twisting. Is that how it was, Cassiana? Is that how you lived? My chest aches. "I need time." I tell her. "I need to think this over, to look into it."

"A fortnight." She says. "That's all you get. Good evening, Prince Alexander. Sleep well, and remember what I told you. Perhaps thinking of your girl being in danger will help you make the right choice." She steps out onto my balcony and jumps, disappearing into the night.

Sick. Disgusted. Dirty. Exhausted. I change for bed and lie there for hours until the sun comes up, thinking and thinking. I imagine Cassiana, dirt smeared across her face, hiding behind a wall as someone calls to her, a knife in their hand. Someone grabbing her, gagging her, dragging her into a dark alley. Once the sun is up, I grab a pen and, unable to stand it any longer, write her a short note. I have one of Clara's maids deliver it and I skip breakfast, saying that I feel unwell. But no, unwell is not right. Unsettled is much better.

What should I do?