The One (SelectionFanfic)

~ • Chapter 3 • ~

credits go to the amazing Keira Cass

© 2014

NOT EDITED (July )

» Chapter 3 «

I woke up earlier than my usual time. The sun had not yet risen, but the sky was a spectacular view of pink, orange and light blue hues. I could sacrifice a few hours of sleep if it meant I would wake up to this scenery. Smiling I walked towards my balcony doors barefoot despite the cold floor.

The air was warm, signalling the approaching summer heat, something that excited me. And the view was much more magnificent as I looked closer. I leaned against the railing taking in the smell of the dewy grass and blossoming flowers below in the garden. Everything was so relaxing. Something I really needed. Something I really want.

For the past two days since my encounter with the Queen-mom-my maids and Aspen have been over there heads with ideas for The Plan. As much as I want to participate-my mind does not want to work. On the bright side I caught up with my sleep, a dreamless sleep with the very occasional tear drops.

Closing my eyes with a small smile still etched on my face I thought back to my encounter with mom. Mom, a word I will never get tired of saying. She visited my in my room yesterday, fortunately Aspen was on duty, and my maids were busy doing whatever-but it seemed of high importance because they almost never came to my room. I was on my bed reading though my thoughts were else, when the Queen came in. She knocked of course. She just asked me how I was doing and invited me to join her in the Womens room since no one has seen me in 2 weeks (a long time I know). I dont even come down to breakfast anymore. Not that anyone came and told me off. By anyone I mean Maxon...and Silva. I politely declined the invitation and thankfully she didnt ask why, though I'm pretty sure she knows. She knows me well after only 2 days. Amazing.

A sudden breeze made my frizzy bed hair sweep to the side a bit that made me reach up and tuck in stray strands that covered my face. Looking up at the horizon again I noticed the curved shape of the sun peeking in, bathing the world in light as I arched my face towards it, my eyes never leaving the breathtaking sight. And then as if a Maestro came in, birds started chirping- almost humming. I listened in and soon I was humming a tune with them. My piano. Oh how I missed making music. With all these drama, it strayed me from something that made me...me. And I didnt like it. I dont like the fact that I wasnt making music anymore when my I dreamed my life to be filled with it. I didnt like losing something and replacing it with another. That of course had a double meaning.

Without a seconds thought I reluctantly turned my back on the peaceful scene keeping a promise i mine to see it again.

But for now, I have some reaccquanting to do, the birds' early morning song still in my head

¤ Maxon's POV ¤

Walking back to his room after almost 2 weeks of his father's so-called mission was not the first thought that invaded Prince Maxon's sleep deprived head. No, it was a name. A name he has been dreaming of since he left the kingdom unannounced.

America Singer, America, America

Her name was his lullaby to sleep, and it was alwas a beautiful sleep. Prince Maxon continued his ascent to his room, and as much as he wants to see America he knew it was too early for her to be awake.

He could drop by and peek, you know just to check if she really was slepling alright.

Wasnt that the whole reason why his father sent him away on a useless mission?

Though his father didnt exactly say it was because of America, he was pretty sure that was the underlying message when he told Maxon to check the borders of Illea, which was at the very least a 5 day journey. By air of course, his father wouldnt have the Kingdom know he was ruthless. But even the comfortable airplane would get claustrophobic after 5 days.

Finally inside his room he found himself fuming with anger. His father intentionally made him miss his meeting with America, he didnt get to say his farewell's! He flopped on his bed hard, making his nose ache. Groaning to himself he made his way towards his bedside table, picking up his camera he looked up at his collage. The background itself was nothing spectacular, just a plain navy blue square with a few blood red lines intersecting here and there. The pictures were a whole different story. It wasnt the because of the way it was printed or how the light or angle of everything that made the pictures beautiful. No. It was because of the subject. There was nothing common in the pictures except the bright red hair and the occasional blue eyes.

Maxon dubbed himself an official stalker. But he couldnt stop himself. America was the most beautiful woman he ever captioned in camera, stll is. His eyes continued examining his pictures. He eyed the picture of America at the garden party, talking to his Aunt Adelle. Though she looked serious, her eyes had its usual twinkle of mischief but it wasnt clear since he took a side photo of her. There was also a picture of her in the Womens Room, alone, she was just sitting her eyes glued to a book, her hair though in a messy bun, was simply heavenly.

He walked towards his balcony, and welcomed the warm breeze. Summer was near. He took a few pictures of the magnificent horizon and then relaxed. Now this is an amazing thing to wake up to, if only a certain red head was here to join him. His ears perked up as he heard a small tune.

The birds? No it wasnt chirpy.

Turning his head to the heavenly sound he saw the only thing that made his day.

America Singer was many things and one of those was truly beautiful-and she doesnt know it. Today in particular she was magnificent. Her hair cascaded down her back in natural shiny waves that swayed in the soft breeze, her stance relax, her arms bare in her night gown. Her skin looked like she was glowing, and with the pink and orange hues in the sky-she looked like a goddess. Her eyes were closed but there was a small smile etched on her face-no teeth. He felt some wet thing on the corner of his mouth.

Drool.

Isnt he the most charming?

Wiping off the drool, he snapped a few pictures making sure the click wasnt heard.

She truly was something. Despite the many arguments they had, he knew he never really meant to leave her. He couldnt even fathom the idea of it.

And it hit him like a cold rainstorm. He couldnt part with America. The red head, blue eyed warrior.

He watched her open her eyes, just then he knew this moment was one he couldnt capture with a camera, because her face was already engraved in his head, mind, consciousness.

She started to move back to her room. And in a few minutes he heard the melodious notes of a piano playing. And then her voice. He hasnt heard her sing. He knew he could play the violin very well. But her voice...

It was as if the birds, and every musical instrument played were harmonising. He coudnt really make out the words but he could hear her melody It was as if her voice and the piano were one. No, they were one. He loved it. And then it was gone all too quickly. He heard a door shut, and then America's sweet laugh. Soon followed by another, an older yet more feminine sound. Was that his Mom? Then he heard the door close again. And silence.

He realised that he is a stalker. An obsessed being.

A whipped man, whipped for America. And he wasnt complaining.