Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I hide my red band that marks me as a Red under my sleeve as I slip into the crowd of Silvers. I slide my hand easily into a few deep pockets, each full of coins, taking just enough from each that no one will notice. 

My thin frame, shaped by years of restricted food, helps me blend into the bustling streets without drawing extra attention. That could be dangerous. 

Most Silvers believe their superiority, earned by their silver blood, is maintained by the poverty and unequal conditions Reds, those with red blood, live in. But not all Silvers are satisfied with that. Some, although it’s technically against the law, like to remind Reds of their inferiority further. 

It can be through something simple, like public ridicule. Or something worse. Silvers with powers– or who we usually call Abilities– might harm Reds, just to remind us of who we are. I can recall a few incidents of Reds being killed by Abilities. And who would stop them?  

It’s best to stay away from Silvers as a Red, but not everyone can afford that luxury. And it’s not as though Silvers never leave the fancy Capitol to come into the poor Districts.

“Catnip!” Gale calls out as I finally reach District 12’s border. I see him by the stone wall of the Hob, ushering me over. 

“What’s your haul?” I whisper under my breath as we enter the shadows of the Hob. 

I pull out the coins I collected. 12 bronze ones. It isn’t much, but a Red possessing too much as once might be suspicious. Plus risky. A Silver losing a few bronze coins would be forgettable… but losing coins worth more might lead to retaliation or investigation. 

Gale and I agreed to only steal bronze coins- silver ones are commonly used only by Silvers and gold coins… I’ve never even seen a gold coin before. Only the richest Silvers– usually Abilities– possess those. 

Gale extends his palm. He’s got 10 coins. I force one of mine into his hand and he scowls, trying to return it.

“You need it more. Plus this was our agreement,” I scowl back.

After my father passed away in a coal mining accident, leaving Prim, my mother and me in dire poverty, I was fortunate to meet Gale. He showed me the ropes of stealing from Silvers to survive. 

Since then, we've been a team, always looking out for each other and pooling our findings. If one of us has a rough day, we can still manage to bring home something, enough to put food on the table to survive another day.

Gale sighs and reluctantly takes the coin, “How’s Prim doing? I know she’s been really nervous about her first Reaping.”

It’s true. Just this morning, she woke up to a nightmare that she was reaped for the Blood Games. The Blood Games are when tributes selected during the Reaping are forced into an arena where Silvers have total control. 

Of course Reds always die, but it's worse than just a death sentence. The torture Silvers with abilities inflict before death, broadcasted to all as some cruel entertainment, truly reminds us of our powerlessness. Yes– Silvers make sure we never forget where we stand.

“She’s…” I sigh, “Prim will be fine. She’ll only have her name in there once. I didn’t let her take tesserae.”

“Prim will be okay,” Gale repeats like a promise. He then frowns and seems to be considering something.

“What?” I ask. 

Gale looks around the Hob almost suspiciously. I’d laugh if he weren’t being so cryptic. Everyone knows the Hob is full of thieves and… let’s just say sketchier Reds.

“Do you ever wish you could–,” Gale lowers his voice even more, “--change things?”

“Yeah of course. If it were an ideal world Prim would have enough to eat every day, we wouldn’t be bound to work in the mines eventually and there’d be no Games. But I’m not queen so…” I trail off. I can’t even let myself imagine what a world that would be. I’ve only ever known this.

Gale’s begins with a serious determination, “I met a woman in the mines–”

Huh! Is Gale about to tell me a love story? A stupid smirk pulls up my lips and a little snort escapes me.

Gale’s eyes widen as he realizes the implication, “No Catnip! Not like that! Not… ugh. No.”

He leans closer and says, “She’s part of the Scarlet Guard. I’m sure you’ve heard of them. They have a plan to free the Reds. To fix this messed up world… I’m joining them.”

I always knew Gale had a rebellious side. And yes... what Red wouldn’t want freedom? But he needs to be realistic. It will never happen.

“Gale,” I hiss, “You can’t join the Guard. If you were caught, they’d kill you! They’d kill your family.”

“Catnip,” he responds, “You have to have hope.”

“Hope is dangerous,” I retort.

“Yes and that’s why hope is the only thing stronger than fear. Without it nothing will change. It’s a weapon.” His eyes gleam with a passion, “I’m willing to take the risk. Aren’t you?”

I pause. But as I close my eyes to try to think clearer, I think of my sister, sweat-soaked and screaming out in fear this morning. I think of the way Abilities killed Reds during the last Blood Games. I think of my mother and sister. They couldn’t defend themselves against the wrath of an Ability… no Red could. It’s an impossible dream. No Red could ever win the battle, however much they wish it and however much they sacrifice. 

“I– I want to. I really do. But I can’t. Gale… you need to be realistic. Please don’t do anything dangerous.”

Gale scoffs at me, “I thought you had it in you. Look at all they’ve done to us. Those heartless Silvers need to be put in their place. There needs to be retaliation!”

I shake my head slowly, “I know. But I can’t take the risk. I’m sorry.”

Gale turns on his heel and storms out of the Hob. Part of me wants to follow him but it’s best to just let him cool off. I’ll talk to him after the Reaping and get him to see reason. 

Chapter Text

The sun blazes high in the sky, casting harsh shadows across the town square as I hold Prim’s trembling hand. She’s so scared that she’ll be reaped, regardless of any reassurances I’ve tried to give her. Her fear seeps into me, making my heart pound like a drum in my chest.

My sister’s straw-colored hair is tightly secured into two short braids. She’s dressed in her best clothes—a crisp cotton shirt and a blue skirt that matches her eyes and reaches to her knees, the fabric rustling softly as she moves. Her shoes, freshly cleaned, kick up small puffs of coal dust from the cracked pavement.

I guide Prim to the group of girls, and she walks toward her age group, looking back at me with wide eyes. The crowd is a sea of anxious faces, the tension feeling like a physical weight pressing down on us.

Everyone’s trepidation is palpable as Effie Trinket slowly ascends the stage, her high heels clicking sharply against the wooden planks. Her outfit is a garish explosion of color and glitter, each sequin catching the sunlight and blinding us. Her pale skin is powdered to an unnatural degree, giving her the appearance of a porcelain doll.

Here in District 12, with mostly Reds around, Effie looks so out of place. People like her, Silvers, belong in the unnatural environment of the Capitol. They are creatures of excess and privilege, just like the Peacekeepers. 

Most Peacekeepers are Strongarms, meaning their ability is their enhanced strength. In last year’s Blood Games, I watched a Strongarm woman bend a tribute, cracking every bone, until he died. I’ll never forget the 14-year-old boy’s dying screams of agony.

The Peacekeepers stand guard, ready to force the selected tributes into large silver cages, treating us like animals. Which is fitting because it’s how they see us.

Please don’t let it be Prim. Please don’t let it be Gale. Please don’t let it be me.

“Ladies first!” Effie’s voice trills with a blinding smile, her perfect teeth gleaming.

Please don’t let it be Prim. Please don’t let it be Prim. Please don’t let it be Prim. Please anyone but Prim.

Effie dips her perfectly manicured hand into the large glass bowl, the slips of paper inside rustling like dry leaves. She pulls out a name with a flourish, and unfolds it slowly, savoring the moment.

“Primrose Everdeen!”

The world seems to stop. The air leaves my lungs, and everything blurs as my vision narrows to Prim, her eyes wide with shock and fear. I hear nothing but the roaring in my ears, and my body moves on its own, pushing through the crowd to reach her.

“Prim!” I hear myself shriek. 

She turns to me, clearly in a daze. 

What do I do? What do I do?

“Take me instead! Please take me!” I shout desperately at Effie. 

Effie's smile vanishes and her mouth twists into a look of disdain. 

“That is not how it works,” Effie Trinket snaps. “Primrose Everdeen. You have been selected as District 12’s female tribute for the 74th Blood Games. You must ascend the stage at this moment, or I will instruct the Peacekeepers to escort you.”

Prim looks back at me, her eyes wide with terror but filled with a flicker of courage. “I love you, Katniss,” she whispers, barely audible over the whispers of the crowd.

My sister walks slowly, her small frame dwarfed by the imposing Peacekeepers on either side of her. Her legs are shaking as she walks away from me toward Effie. Toward her death.

I should be feeling helpless. Sad. Broken-hearted. That’s the purpose of the Blood Games. There’s nothing a person can do.

But I don’t. Instead, I feel a surge of fiery anger. They cannot take my sister. Little Primrose doesn’t deserve this, none of these children do. And for what? For Silvers to emphasize their power over us?

“No!” I shriek, holding my hands out as I feel a fire build up inside me. My rage bubbles until I feel my palms warm pleasantly and I feel… for the first time in my life… powerful.

I hear screams of fear, but my vision is tunneled in on the Peacekeepers grabbing Prim.

Out of nowhere, a blast of fire emerges, and I see the man to the left of Prim fall. Flames engulf him, his white uniform quickly turning to charred ash. Gasps and cries of shock ripple through the crowd, but my focus remains on my sister.

The Peacekeeper on the right releases Prim, backing away with wide eyes, his face a mask of fear and confusion. Prim stumbles, her bright eyes darting between me and the blazing figure on the ground.

“Let her go!” I shout, my voice reverberating with a strength I never knew I possessed. My hands are still warm, almost burning, and I feel the power coursing through me like a living entity.

Effie stares at me, her painted face slack with shock. The remaining Peacekeepers hesitate, their usual confidence shattered. They’ve never faced anything like this, a display of power from a Red. Because that fire… that fire is… mine . But it can't be- Reds don't have abilities.

“I said, let her go!” I repeat, my voice echoing across the silent square.

The Peacekeeper nearest to Prim finally steps back, raising his hands in surrender. Prim stands there, frozen, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe.

“Come here, Prim,” I urge, softening my tone. “Come to me.”

She stumbles forward, and I rush to meet her, pulling her into a tight embrace. My heart pounds in my chest, the fire within me still simmering but controlled. I feel the eyes of the entire district on me, a mix of fear, admiration, and hope.

But suddenly, I feel a coldness overtake me, as if all the heat and fire have been drained from my body. My vision starts to blur, the edges darkening. Panic seizes me as my legs give out. I reach for Prim, but the world tilts and spins.

I hear Prim's voice, faint and terrified, calling my name. “Katniss! Katniss!”

The last thing I see is the sky above, the harsh sun now seeming so distant, as darkness closes in around me. Then, everything fades to black.

Chapter Text

The first thing I notice is the freezing cold all over my body. I slide my hand around, searching for my thin, fraying blanket, but all I feel is cool metal underneath me. Metal? My bed isn’t metal.

I sit up with a jolt as the memory of yesterday floods back. Prim was reaped. And I… I made fire. Surely that was a dream. Only Silvers have abilities.

It’s bright, and my head is throbbing painfully. Still, I force my eyes open, squinting. I’m in a large, open room. Silver and gold embellishments cover every surface, from the ceiling to the tile. And I’m in a cage. The reaping cage.

My memories must be correct. Does this mean I was allowed to replace Prim? Or is the government punishing me? 

I wonder where I am for a moment but I realize regardless I need to escape. I can’t be safe here. And Prim. Is she here? Alone? In a cage?

Panic bubbles up as I try to understand. I made fire. I could control fire. I look down at my hands, half-expecting to see them charred or glowing, but they look normal. Still, I try to summon something to help me escape. I think hard to myself: Fire! Burn! Ignite!

I don’t feel a thing.

“The cell you are in,” a collected male voice begins, “is made of silent stone. Your ability will not work in its vicinity. Silent stone’s strength depends on its quantity. And we are in the palace in the Capitol. They have not spared any effort in ensuring you are rendered powerless.”

A figure steps a few feet from the cage trapping me, his eyes scanning me with a mask of indifference, almost boredom. It’s a boy who looks to be around my age, with glossy blond hair and piercing blue eyes. Eyes I recognize somehow.

“Where’s Primrose?” I demand from the boy.

With those two words, his eyes shift from their cold mask to a deep sadness. A look of pity. Maybe even regret. And with that, I suddenly know who this boy is.

I think of the last time I saw those eyes, years ago. The rainy day… the memory vivid in my mind:

—

It was a week after my father passed and the grief was still heavy in my heart. But my family needed coins, so I had to keep going. The rain fell hard that day, drenching me to the bone as I stood shivering on the muddy streets of District 12. I clutched a bundle of Prim’s old baby clothes in my arms, the fabric getting heavier as it became sodden with water.

Desperation gnawed at my stomach as I scanned the crowd for potential buyers, my heart sinking with each passing minute. No one spared me a second glance, their faces apologetic.

We are going to die , I realized. I would. Prim would. My mother would. But I couldn’t go back to my home. I couldn’t watch the hunger suck the life out of my little sister.

I let myself fall to the ground, exhausted and hopeless. I was certain I would die there.

But before I shut my eyes, I saw something across the street. A little boy, no older than eleven, his eyes filled with sadness. But he’s wearing rags, I thought to myself. He can’t help me.

I was surprised when a spark of determination lit up his eyes. And, without a word, the boy tossed something shiny in my direction before quickly disappearing into the crowd.

A silver coin. This could last us for more than a month.

—

"I know you," I say softly to this boy I’ve longed to thank- to meet- all these years. I search his guarded eyes for confirmation. "I remember that day."

But to my surprise, his expression remains impassive. As if he doesn’t recognize me at all. Although I’m certain this is that boy, he only frowns, his gaze shifting to the floor as if lost in thought.

I open my mouth to ask him why he is here of all places but I’m interrupted by the creak of the door. And I see the Queen. Queen Elara . 

She glides into the room with an air of effortless grace, her beauty striking and almost otherworldly. Her icy blue eyes scan the room and land on me, sending a shiver down my spine. As she approaches me, her long, dark hair shifts slightly, straight and smooth. She is both beautiful and terrifying.

I’ve only ever seen her on mandatory showings and I find myself afraid. However much I hate her, the fear of what she could do outweighs it. She is a Whisper- meaning she can read and manipulate minds. Whispers are some of the rarest Abilities. I haven’t heard of any aside from the Queen herself.

Following her is the King and the differences between himself and the Queen are striking. He looks tired and ill, and his dark blue eyes are weary. His dull yellow hair hangs messily over his forehead. And he moves with a slow, labored gait.

I can’t recall the last time I’ve seen him, but I’m almost certain he’s not an Ability. 

“Come here, Peeta,” the Queen orders and I watch as the boy walks toward the Queen. His face is closed off again and his head is held high. And I suddenly realize he’s dressed in an elegant, dark looking coat with golden buttons.

He must be a servant, I think to myself. Because he cannot be royalty. He cannot be that witch ’s son.

The Queen stares at me as if daring me to fidget or speak, but I only return her hard gaze.

Suddenly, her lips curve into a mocking smile. "So, you are who they call the Girl on Fire," she says with an air of superiority. “The girl meant to free the Reds from the oppressive Silvers. Their hope.”

“I cannot say I am not disappointed. You do not seem to live up to your reputation, as you are in your present state," she smirks.

Her eyes train on me with an unnatural sheen, and then a sharp, excruciating pain explodes in my head. It feels like a thousand needles piercing my brain, a searing agony that blots out everything else. I think I cry out, but I can’t be sure because all I can focus on is the relentless, stabbing pain. It’s as if sharp ice is being drilled into my skull, freezing and burning at the same time.

The agony intensifies, and suddenly, I see flashes of my memories: 

Running up to my coal-covered father after a long day of work. 

Holding my sister as she cried for his death. 

My mother’s lifeless gaze. 

Gale and I meeting up after stealing coins all afternoon.

Singing to the mockingbirds in the woods with my father.

Making Prim a gift from leaves we found.

Waiting for him to emerge after the coal mining accident.

No! I don’t want to remember this. I don’t want to. Please.

I think I hear someone mumble something but my attention is shifted to a feeling of relief. The stabbing pain is gone, and I slowly open my eyes.

“It seems we both are in quite the predicament, Miss Everdeen,” the Queen continues as if nothing had interrupted her. “Your sister Primrose was reaped for the Blood Games and you clearly care for her. You were to lose her. My predicament stems from the fact that you are a Red but have demonstrated to the entirety of Panem you possess abilities. Something only Silvers have been known to have.”

“Your feeble act of rebellion,” she sharply continues, “has inspired hope. If one Red can rebel without consequences, what is preventing others? What is preventing, say, an uprising by the hands of the Scarlet Guard?”

I take a moment to collect my breath and slow my beating heart, “Your Highness, I understand you need to punish me, but please. Please spare my sister. Please don’t harm her.”

“I admit, originally my plan was to erase the two of you. Your friends and family. Your existence. But that will not solve the root of the issue. My son, the Prince, has proposed an alternative. One quite favorable for the both of us.”

I look at the boy- Peeta. Still emotionless. How could it be that someone once so kind is the prince and a Silver? 

“He proposes, in exchange for your family’s promised safety, you marry him and claim the identity of a Silver. This way your actions are simply a Silver first discovering abilities with typical chaos. Oh the stories we hear of children’s disastrous first attempts.”

She smiles cruelly, “Your rebellion would become nothing more than a foolish school girl routine.”

Chapter Text

A pale Silver girl–I think she introduced herself as Delly–fusses around me, adjusting the fabric in various areas. I stand still as she makes the modifications, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. I never thought I'd wear something like this, and the sensation is both foreign and unnerving.

I would be lying to say the dress I am wearing isn’t the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, let alone worn. The fabric stretches down to the floor, a rich ruby red that compliments my skin gorgeously. Small gems sparkle red, yellow, and blue, giving the impression of a fire dancing whenever I move. Each gem catches the light in a mesmerizing way, making me feel like I’m the center of a grand spectacle. It’s a far cry from the simple, worn clothes I’m used to.

Gold bangles cover my wrists. They look like beautiful accessories, but I can feel the weight of silent stone embedded within them. I tried to remove them earlier, but they wouldn’t budge. The realization that they’ve stripped me of my newly discovered ability makes me feel even more trapped, as if my very essence has been caged.

But it doesn’t matter how much they dress me up; it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve dealt away my free will. I’ve dealt away my life.

When the Queen made her offer, I was repulsed. I’ve never been interested in marriage, thinking of my mother’s crippling dependency on my father. And marriage eventually leads to children who could be reaped for the Blood Games. The thought of bringing a child into this world, only for them to suffer, terrifies me.

But if I ever were to get married, it would need to be someone I loved. And I don’t love Peeta. I don’t even like him. He’s a horrible person. His being a Silver and the prince is bad enough, but the way he’s forcing me to marry him for my sister’s life is even worse. And how could I refuse? The stakes are too high, and my sister’s safety is my first priority.

Delly steps back, admiring her work. “You look stunning, Lady Everdeen,” she says with a soft smile.

I guess she expects me to respond, but I only scowl because she’s one of them. Even if she’s hiding it right now, pretending to be sweet, she’s still a Silver. A girl born with everything while Reds are struggling to survive. A girl surrounded by fancy dresses and expensive dishes. A girl who enjoys watching the Blood Games.

She bites her lip a little and begins polishing my red heels, “You know what’s so interesting? Cinna, one of the royal stylists, started making this dress months ago and it fits you almost perfectly!”

I think she sees interest in my expression and brightly continues, “I know! He’s incredible. And by the way, he wanted to meet you. To talk about the dress, of course.”

Delly puts away the cleaning cloth and says, “I’ll see you around, Katniss! Cinna will meet you in a moment.”

I think I force myself to smile a little, because there’s something about this girl that I can’t help but like. I haven’t spoken to many Silvers, but she seems kinder than I would expect. Still, this is probably because she thinks I’m one of them and I’m forbidden from telling anyone of my real identity.

After Delly leaves, I’m left alone with my thoughts. I look at myself in the mirror again, at the girl who looks so different from the one who used to steal from Silvers, who used to spend time in the woods all alone. Now I look like I belong here among Silvers. Layers of powder cover the blush in my cheeks and every other imperfection. It’s all fake, but a glimpse of the rest of my life.

A soft knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. I turn to see a man enter. I’m guessing this is Cinna. His clothes are simple yet elegant, and he has dark hair and warm, kind eyes. Instantly, I feel a surprising urge to trust him.

“You must be Katniss,” he says softly. “I’m Cinna.”

I nod, deciding to speak to him. “Delly mentioned you wanted to talk about the dress?”

He smiles, a genuine one that reaches his eyes. “Yes, but more than that. I wanted to meet you, girl on fire.” He gestures to the dress. “This dress is more than just fabric and gems. It’s a symbol. A statement.”

“A statement?” I echo, confused. What is he implying?

“Yes,” Cinna says, stepping closer. “A statement that even in the darkest times, a spark of hope can ignite a revolution.”

“Revolution?” I ask, shocked. I can’t imagine a Silver bringing this topic up. Especially inside the palace. “Are there Silvers who want that?”

He nods slowly. “Not all, but some. We don’t always choose our roles, but we can decide how to play them.” He takes a step back, assessing the dress on me. “You look perfect.”

A small smile forms on my lips and I decide to ask him the question I've been wondering. “This dress… It fits me perfectly. How did you know I’d need it?” 

“I’m a Seer,” he shrugs as if it’s nothing special. Seers can glimpse future events, though I’ve never understood how it works.

I look at him with renewed curiosity. “So, you saw this moment?”

“Bits and pieces,” he replies, his tone still casual. “It’s often like looking through a foggy lens. Sometimes, things are clear; other times, not so much. But I saw enough to know that making this dress for you was important.”

“Important how?” I ask, puzzled. 

Cinna meets my gaze, his expression turning serious. “Important because your very existence has the power to change things, no matter how trapped you feel right now. Do you want things to change?”

“Of course,” I say quietly. “It’s all I’ve ever wished for. But my sister…” I trail off. I'm responsible for her.

“I understand,” Cinna says gently. “What you did at the Reaping… it was so brave.” Cinna chuckles a little as he continues, “It was so incredible that even the Queen was intimidated by you.”

Intimidated? I doubt that's true.

“How do I help change things? What can I do without hurting my family?” I ask quietly, only a sliver of suspicion left. Every part of me wants to believe him, but I can’t afford to make a mistake.

Cinna smiles sadly, “It isn’t necessarily the time to act since there’s so much at stake. For now, you can try to gain the trust of the Silvers. Let yourself become one of them, on the outside. Find allies–there are more Silvers than you might expect who will help you. But the most important thing is for you to trust yourself. Let your instincts guide you.”

“Will I see you again?” I ask, trying to hide my desperation. Because I want to see Cinna again. I think I can trust him. And he’s the first person who’s made me feel like there’s hope, like I’m not completely alone.

“I 'll try, but I can’t let anyone know the side I’m on. Or what you are doing either,” Cinna says quickly. “I need to go now though, I can’t risk any extra suspicion.”

He gives me a final smile before leaving briskly.

I’m still considering the possibility of Silvers being on the side of rebellion when a few servants enter with a bulky camera. The bright lights and heavy equipment immediately pull me back to my harsh reality. They set up quickly and efficiently, the lens pointed directly at me. 

My heart sinks. The first assignment from the Queen is to film a propaganda clip, one that will be broadcast everywhere. Even Reds would see this. The thought of my mother and Prim– of Gale– watching this feels like a physical pain.

I stand rigid as a servant hands me a script filled with lies. According to this story, I’m not really a Red. I was supposedly raised mistakenly as one, but my real parents are General Caristona and Lady Enberia, both well-known, deceased Silvers. The absurdity of it all would almost be laughable if it weren’t so painful.

I glance at the camera, then back at the script. The Queen expects me to betray my identity, to deny everything I am and everything I’ve fought for. The thought makes my blood boil, but I know I have no choice. My sister’s life depends on my compliance.

As I start reading, I force myself to focus on the words. “I, Katniss Everdeen, have recently discovered my true heritage…” I can’t help but think about how many Reds will see this, how many will believe the lie, and how it will make them feel. Would this really hurt the rebellion? Could I ruin any potential progress I made?

Halfway through the script, I falter. My eyes sting with unshed tears, but I blink them away. I need to be strong. I need to finish this. For Prim. I try to remind myself that this is just a temporary lie, a necessary evil.

By the end, I’m holding a ceremonial sword, the golden ornate handle in my grip. The final part of the script requires a visual proof to convince even the most skeptical subjects. With a deep breath, I push the blade against skin. It’s just a trick, a fake piece of skin and fake blood, but it looks disturbingly real.

The moment the silver blood oozes out, I can’t help but stare. I’ve never seen Silver blood before. It sparkles under the bright lights, shimmering with an almost hypnotic beauty. For a second, I’m mesmerized. It’s almost beautiful.

As the camera captures every detail, I feel a surge of shame. I’m lying to everyone I care about, and it feels like betrayal. 

The director nods in satisfaction, and the camera is turned off. The servants begin to pack up their equipment, moving with the same mechanical efficiency they had when they arrived. I stand there, feeling a mixture of relief and despair. The performance is over, but it’s just the beginning.

I look down at the fake blood on my arm, feeling a wave of revulsion. How far will I have to go to protect my sister? How much of myself will I lose? I wipe away the silver, but I feel permanently tainted. 

Peeta enters the room, and my anger at myself is quickly redirected. This is all his fault to begin with. He proposed this.

"You did this," I accuse, angrily. "You planned this! You convinced the Queen to do this to me!"

Peeta's expression softens, regret and understanding in his blue eyes. "Katniss, you have to understand," he begins, gentle yet firm. "The Queen would have killed you if not for this arrangement."

“Understand? You’re threatening to kill my sister. You’re using me!" I yell, careless to who might hear or what repercussions I might suffer.

"I'm sorry, Katniss," he says softly, remorse heavy in his voice. "I never wanted any of this to happen."

My frustration boils over. "Of course you didn’t,” I say sarcastically, “No! Your only regret is that I’m a Red. You don’t want to marry a dirty, poor Red, do you?"

Peeta looks like he’s struggling to keep calm, breathing deeply. “I have nothing against you being a Red,” he declares.

“I don’t want to marry you!” I blurt out, “You're a heartless Silver. You aren't sorry! You're just lying!”

Hurt flashes across his features. His cold blue eyes widen and I almost think he might be about to cry, "Katniss, I- I.”

I cross my arms impatiently, trying to look angry. But I can’t stop thinking about his eyes– sad just like that all those years ago. He saved my life. Which makes me even angrier. How could that boy do this? How could he be the Prince? All the suffering of the Reds, all these years, is due to the royalty. All those killed in the Blood Games. The struggle for coins in the Districts. Everything wrong in Panem.

“I’m not lying,” he finally says with a cold detachment, “I really am sorry. But if you wish to… not speak to me right now, I will leave.”

I let myself take a few deep breaths and look back at the Prince, struggling to know how to feel about him. I know he ruined my future. But he saved me in the past. It makes no sense.

"Tell me the truth," I blurt out. "Tell me what really happened that day in the rain. You were there."

Peeta glances around warily before coming closer, his voice barely audible. "I fled the Capitol when I was eleven," he says quickly. "I came to District 12 to see how Reds lived. I needed to understand."

I feel a surge of surprise, quickly replacing my anger. "Why?" I ask curiously.

"I was raised to despise Reds," Peeta admits. "I’m sure you’d expect that. I was taught Reds were monsters for their actions during the Dark Days. They used to trap Silvers and Abilities in cages. Treated them like animals. Killed whoever resisted. I was raised to believe that Reds were less than human... But I didn’t believe it. I needed to see with my own eyes."

"And what did you see?" I inquire, my voice low.

"I saw people," he replies evenly. "Not monsters. People like me. I saw the way they struggle. I saw their strength. I saw you."

“You saved my life. Why?” I whisper.

“What do you mean why?” he asks genuinely looking lost, “I couldn’t let you die. It hurts me that you were in that situation to begin with.”

Is that why he did this? Does he think this fake life in the Capitol is an improvement to my life in 12?  

“It got better,” I admit.

“I know, but that’s only because of your strength. You risked your life for every coin you earned. That isn’t how it should be,” he says quietly with a hint of anger. 

The more I learn about this boy, the more confused I am.

Chapter Text

“Why did you propose this, Peeta? Please be honest with me,” I say desperately, still unsure if I can trust anything he says.

He fidgets with his hands and avoids my eyes, “It's best for everyone. You will be safe here, I promise I’ll make sure of it. Your family is taken care of. They’re back in 12 and safe, and we made sure they have enough coins that they can live comfortably. It helps cool down the unrest. Many were… excited by the prospect of your abilities as a Red, especially the Scarlet Guard. Others were afraid.”

I guess that partly explains it, “But why the marriage? What’s the point of that?”

“Katniss, just trust me-”

And when he says those words I can’t help but blurt out, “I can’t! That’s the problem. I don’t know anything about who you are or what your intentions are. I can’t understand you.”

On one hand, he’s the boy who saved my life. But at the same time, he’s imprisoning me. And who would voluntarily choose to marry someone they don’t even know? Why?

Peeta’s face expression turns cold again, “Okay. I do not mean to pressure you. You have the right to feel however you would like. But right now, we should sleep. It is getting late.”

I want to keep pressing, to demand answers until I understand everything. But I'm so tired and confused. I end up nodding and following the Prince out of the room.

The corridor is dimly lit by candles on the walls, casting shadows on the marble floors. Everything is so quiet tonight, unlike District 12.

We climb a grand staircase, each step muffled by a silk carpet, until we reach another hallway with tall windows. The moonlight outside casts a silver glow over a lush garden. The night air is cool and carries the sweet scent of blooming flowers.

Finally, we reach a bedroom. Peeta opens the door to a large room with high ceilings and walls decorated with tapestries. A crystal chandelier hangs in the center. The grand four-poster bed has rich, embroidered curtains, and the bedding looks incredibly soft. On each side of the bed is a large wooden nightstand. A large fireplace is already lit, filling the room with a familiar warmth. But there’s only one bed. Will I and Peeta have to sleep together ?

Tall windows let in the moonlight, and there’s a soft window seat by them with plush cushions. On the other side of the room is a wooden writing desk with many drawers, surrounded by huge bookshelves filled with multicolored books.

It’s beautiful, but too much. It’s too stiff, cold, and unfamiliar.

“You can have the bed and I’ll sleep on the window seat,” Peeta says, interrupting my thoughts. “I also asked Delly to bring us some supper. I believe you’ve met her.”

He then awkwardly continues, “Um, if you have anything to store, you can use the nightstand on the right. All my private belongings are in the one on the left. I won’t touch yours.”

We stand in silence for a moment longer before Delly arrives with a tray of food. The aroma of freshly baked bread and roasted vegetables fills the room, momentarily easing the tension.

“Thank you, Delly,” Peeta says, taking the tray from her. “That will be all for tonight.”

Delly nods and gives me a small, reassuring smile before leaving us alone again. Peeta sets the tray on the writing desk and gestures for me to sit.

“Eat something,” he offers gently.

I sit down and take a piece of warm bread, my mind still racing with thoughts and questions. The food is so plentiful and delicious, but I can’t think of that. I find myself staring at Peeta who sits across from me, eating silently, his eyes avoiding mine.

After a while, he speaks. “I know you have a lot of questions, Katniss. And I promise, in time, I will answer them. But for now, let’s just get through tonight.”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “All right.”

We finish our meal in complete silence and then Peeta speaks sounding almost as nervous as I feel, “If you’d like, you can change your clothes. There’s some options in the closet and the bathroom has a lock.”

I nod, grateful for the suggestion. This intricate dress wouldn’t be comfortable to sleep in at all. 

“Thanks,” I mumble, standing up and heading towards the closet. As I open it, I find a large selection of luxurious nightwear, all in soft, rich fabrics that seem too extravagant for me. I pick the simplest option, a soft cotton nightgown, and make my way to the bathroom.

Closing the door behind me, I take a deep breath and lean against it for a moment. The bathroom is just as opulent as the bedroom, with marble floors and golden fixtures. I quickly change into the nightgown, savoring the feeling of the soft fabric against my skin. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and hardly recognize the girl staring back. She looks weary and as out of place as I feel.

I splash some water on my face, hoping to wash away the makeup. It helps me look a little more like myself. With a sigh, I unlock the door and step back into the bedroom. Peeta is already lying on the windowsill, facing away from me.

I hesitate for a moment before climbing into the bed. It’s incredibly comfortable, but that doesn’t ease the tension knotting my stomach.

“Goodnight,” Peeta says softly, breaking the silence.

“Goodnight,” I reply, whispering.

As I lie there, staring at the ceiling, the events of the day play over in my mind. I think of my mother and Prim, all alone in 12. Are they sleeping right now? Are they worried about me? I think of Gale. Who could imagine just this morning I was with him by the Hob worried about the Reaping.

And then there’s the fact that I’m sleeping a few feet from the Prince of Panem. I still don’t know if I can trust Peeta, and the uncertainty gnaws at me. 

Minutes pass, and eventually, the comfort of the bed and my sheer exhaustion start to pull me towards sleep.

-

When I wake up, I immediately check the time. It’s 6 am. The early morning light filters softly through the curtains, casting a glow over the room. I turn to see Peeta on the window seat, his body curled up tightly. His face is tense, and he’s shaking, with small, distressed sounds escaping his lips.

He’s having a nightmare- a really bad one.

His movements are more pronounced now, almost thrashing, and I can see the fear etched deeply in his expression. But he’s near silent, so unlike my and Prim’s nightmares.

Without thinking, I get out of bed and walk over to him, gently placing my hand on his shoulder. “Peeta,” I whisper, trying to wake him without startling him. “Peeta, wake up. It’s just a dream.”

He doesn’t respond and I shake him a little harder. “Peeta, wake up!”

His eyes snap open, filled with panic. He jerks upright, breathing heavily, looking around wildly until his gaze finally lands on me. For a moment, he seems disoriented.

“Katniss,” he gasps, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“It’s okay,” I assure him, trying to sound soothing despite the awkwardness I feel. “Are you okay?”

He nods, running a hand through his golden hair. “Yeah, just... just a bad dream.”

I remove my hand from his shoulder, feeling uncomfortable. “Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, surprising myself with the question.

Peeta shakes his head, his demeanor quickly becoming closed off. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine. Thank you, though.”

We sit in silence for a few moments and I find myself wondering what a prince could be afraid of.

Peeta again breaks the silence, “We should probably get ready. We’ll need to see my father and the Queen for breakfast.”

Chapter Text

By the time I’m dressed and powdered by a crowd of bustling maids, every trace of my former self is wiped away. Peeta now looks every bit like the Prince, a stark contrast to the boy trembling from a nightmare earlier. In his dark clothes and with a cold expression, he radiates harsh authority. I hate it. Avoiding his gaze, I stare at the ground.

We walk into what I assume is the dining room, where crystal chandeliers illuminate the space, casting a glittering glow over a table covered with enough food to feed my family for weeks. The Prince strides in with his head held high and sits across from his mother. I expect her to greet him, but she merely examines him silently, seemingly satisfied with his appearance.

I don’t know why I’m here. I feel like an intruder at a very unpleasant occasion. Should I excuse myself? Or just leave? But without any instructions, I just stand, nervously shifting my feet. The last thing I need is more trouble for inviting myself to sit.

Finally, the King clears his throat, and the Queen looks sharply at me. 

“Sit down,” she orders.

I comply, seating myself on a plush chair. I’ve never felt more out of place, sitting defenseless among the most powerful people in Panem. I still feel like I’m just a Red girl from 12. If only I could get these bracelets off and use that fire.

Servants, dressed in identical uniforms, emerge from hidden doors in the walls, silently placing food on each crystal plate. I whisper a quiet thank you to the nearest one since it feels wrong not to acknowledge them.

We eat, if you could call it that. I mainly push the extravagant food around my plate. Delicate pastries, unnaturally vibrant fruit, and dark shells filled with a fluffy cream that looks like clouds. The unfamiliarity of all of it and the twist in my stomach allow me to only eat a few bites, which I can barely taste at all.

The King seems to be focused completely on the food, but every once in a while, I catch him watching Peeta. He looks just as ill as the first time I saw him in person. He has eye bags, but instead of dark ones like back at home, they are almost white, and his breathing is haggard.

The Queen and Peeta do not eat much at all. They seem to be waiting for something. Or thinking. I don’t know.

Then the silence is broken. “We have important matters to discuss,” the Queen addresses Peeta curtly. He nods, his jaw tightening slightly.

“First, you will begin your annual visits in preparation for the Blood Games today. Generals, government officials, and all the sponsors,” she continues.

Peeta replies evenly, “Understood.”

“Next,” the Queen says, glancing at me again, “you and Katelle are to attend a ball tonight and present yourselves as lovers ,” she spits out the last word with an air of disgust. “I believe you can prepare the girl and ensure her access to all the necessary information. Names, etiquette, the current political climate. We wouldn’t want your betrothed to be seen as ignorant, now would we?”

Peeta’s gaze flickers towards me briefly, his expression unreadable. “Of course not, Your Highness,” he responds with a hint of reluctance.

Summoning my courage, I look directly at the Queen. “My name is Katniss, not Katelle.”

“Not anymore,” the Queen smirks.

I scowl at her, feeling thoroughly frustrated. She seems determined to strip away everything that makes me who I am. Anger bubbles up inside me, and I open my mouth, unsure of what might come out when—

“Is that all, Your Highness?” Peeta interjects, drawing our attention back to him.

The Queen scrutinizes Peeta for a few moments, as if trying to read him, but he remains impassive under her gaze.

“Yes. You both are excused,” she finally says.

Peeta rises at a respectful pace, and I notice a fleeting smile directed at his father. It’s a smile of yearning, as if a wall separates them that he longs to break down. Then he turns and walks out, and I follow, my mind racing with a mix of anger and confusion.

I wait until we reach the room before I spin to face Peeta.

“What was that all about?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

“What do you mean?” he asks, looking confused.

“We’re going to a ball? You didn’t think that was important to tell me? And the Blood Games. Without sponsors, they can’t happen. And you’re the one getting sponsors? How could you say you care about Reds? They die every year in the Games!” My voice rises, but I try to keep my anger in check.

Peeta sighs wearily, “Katniss, I really don’t have as much power as you think.”

“So you’re just a piece in their games then?” I ask, frustration creeping into my voice.

“To an extent and for the time being, yes. And you’ll have to do the same,” he replies, his tone more pleading than commanding. It feels like he’s trying to help, not force me.

I still counter, “You were more than a pawn when you ran away from home, so why settle to be one now?”

Peeta runs his hands through his hair and averts his gaze. “Please Katniss. I’m doing the best I can. I didn’t lie to you when I told you I cared, but I can only do so much.”

I pause, noticing the genuine concern in his eyes. “That’s… that’s fair. I’m sorry, it’s just this is all so confusing.”

He steps closer, his voice softening. “I know. But I promise, I’m on your side. We’ll figure this out together.”

I huff, trying to sort out my conflicting feelings. Is Peeta really my ally?  

I slowly nod, still unsure but also tired of constantly being skeptical. I can try to give him a chance.

“I think you should go on a tour of the palace,” he says after a while, “Since I'm leaving I mean. Delly can show you around, and I’ll ask her to make sure you meet Haymitch. He’s not especially pleasant , but if you give him a chance, he’ll warm up a little.” 

Delly is waiting for us in the corridor with her typical cheerfulness. “Hi Katniss! Ready for a grand tour?” she asks with a smile.

I force a smile in return. “Sure, let’s go.”

As we walk, Delly chatters about the history and grandeur of the palace. I try to pay attention, but my mind keeps drifting back to Peeta. What do I really know about him?

We pass through several lavish rooms, and I focus on making a map in my head. Now that I think about it, this could be useful information. Who knows when I might get a chance to do something, maybe even escape. 

Delly shows me the library, the ballrooms, and various sitting rooms, all filled with expensive furnishings and artwork. It’s so overwhelming and I begin to wonder what it could be like growing up here. With everything at your disposal but so much formality and so little affection. I have happy family memories from before the accident, even as poor as we were. I wonder if Peeta has any at all.

I feel a huge relief when we enter the kitchen. It’s full, chaotic, and loud. Vastly different than the peace I feel in the woods, but such a contrast to breakfast this morning that it’s nice. 

“Delly!” a chubby boy, maybe 8, calls, waving enthusiastically from a table piled high with vegetables.

“What is it, Ollie?” Delly responds, her face lighting up as she walks toward the yellow-haired boy.

“Peeta came over and said you’d be here. So I got a break to talk with you!” he smiles, his round cheeks turning white with excitement. Then he sees me and his eyes widen in surprise. “OH WOW! Is that Katniss? That girl with the fire on the news?!”

I shift uncomfortably under his gaze, not used to the attention. “Uh, yeah, that’s me,” I say, trying my best to smile.

“My name’s Oliver. I’m Delly’s brother and Peeta’s best friend,” he introduces proudly, extending his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, laughing a little. 

But Delly admonishes him, “Oliver! Stop saying you’re Peeta’s best friend. I told you not to do that. You’ll get in trouble.”

He sighs and rolls his eyes, then looks back at me. “I thought what you did was super cool!” he exclaims.

“Thank you,” I say. “How do you know Peeta so well anyway?”

“Because Peeta’s super nice and he talks a lot with me. Almost every time he sees me. Oh and Delly told me when I was just a little baby, she met Peeta and they let us stay here! So she says she got a job and a home and we owe him a lot,” he says quickly with a big smile on his face.

Delly bites her lip, “I’ll be back in a little Oliver, but seriously, I need you to watch your mouth, okay?” 

“Okay Delly,” he says innocently and slides off the table. 

We walk for a little and then Delly apologizes, “I’m sorry. My brother tends to overshare a little.”

“It’s okay,” I respond, the smile coming easily, “Sometimes my sister was like that when she was younger. Saying everything that came to her mind.”

I decide to take advantage of it a little though, “Delly, what did he mean about owing Peeta.”

“Peeta saved our lives,” she smiles, “When we were little, I couldn’t have been more than 11 years old, our parents abandoned us. I don’t know why, but I guess they just didn’t want us anymore. It was really tough, because I had to take care of Oliver and he was so young. I ended up begging for money on the streets, and then I met Peeta. I knew who he was so I was worried. I could be in trouble, but instead he offered me a job and a home at the palace.”

It’s a heartwarming story, but it also makes me feel a surprising twinge of sadness. Peeta’s helped lots of people. Not just me. 

“When I got there, I remember Peeta telling me he had to talk to the Queen and King but that I should settle in. I think the Queen was angry. She used to glare at me every time she saw me, but Peeta started to keep me away from her. He’s just… a wonderful person,” she says lightly. 

As Delly speaks fondly of Peeta, I find myself wondering just how close they really are. But, I also resolve to be friendlier to him. He seems like a good person, or at least, he’s done some good things.

Eventually, we reach a less grand part of the palace. The corridors are narrower, the decorations simpler. Delly stops in front of a door and knocks. “This is Haymitch’s quarters,” she explains. “He’s... well, you’ll see.”

The door swings open to reveal a disheveled man with messy hair and gray eyes. He looks me up and down, a smirk forming on his lips. “So, you’re the girl on fire,” he says. “I guess I expected… more.”

I bristle at his tone, but keep silent. 

“Haymitch, this is Katniss. Or… well, we’re supposed to call her Katelle now. Peeta asked me to introduce her to you,” Delly explains.

Haymitch grunts and steps aside, letting me and Delly enter. His quarters are cluttered and chaotic, a stark contrast to the rest of the palace. Empty bottles and crumpled papers litter the floor, and the air smells faintly of alcohol.

“Sit down,” he says, motioning to a worn-out couch. We take a seat, and Haymitch slumps into an armchair across from me.

“So, what do you want?” he asks bluntly, taking a swig from a bottle.

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “Peeta thought you could help me understand what’s going on here.”

Haymitch laughs bitterly. “He did, didn’t he? Isn’t being his mentor enough? Well, here’s the short version: Congratulations. You’re officially a pawn in this game, just like the rest of us.”

“No. I’m not a pawn to anyone. I choose in what ways I allow them to use me and for how long. But the moment I choose not to…” I trail off.

Haymitch surprises me. I expect him to be angry or offended, but instead, he smiles, and this time it seems genuine. “Good. You’ll need that fire if you’re going to survive here.”

“Cinna believes you really could make an impact, but I think you aren’t good enough at strategy. You let your emotions control you too often instead of controlling yourself.”

That irritates me, but I try to stay open-minded. “So what’s your advice?” I ask genuinely.

“Everyone in the Capitol has their attention on you, and right now, they’re excited by you. They love you. Make them love you even more. Distract them from the fact that you were Red and convince them you understand them more than they think. Oh and be madly in love with Peeta, of course.”

“But why? I really don’t get why everyone’s pushing me to act in love with him.”

Haymitch huffs and takes a swig from his bottle, “It makes for good television. Silvers have gotten bored of the Blood Games and who would have guessed. They want romance and drama. And you need them to like you and Peeta. To accept you.”

“But why-”

“Sweetheart, you’re killing me. We need to get started on a whole list of things you need to learn,” he sighs.

So we do once Delly leaves. He introduces me to family after family who are influential and will be at the event tonight. Name after name after name. It’s such meaningless information, but I genuinely try to remember. Servants bring in some food halfway through, which I’m relieved to see looks familiar. He tells me how I’m supposed to introduce myself and basic– it really isn’t basic at all– rules. How to speak. How to walk. How to drink. How to eat. How to introduce myself. On and on and on. 

After a few hours, Delly returns. “It’s time for you to meet back with Peeta,” she says brightly. 

I nod and then reluctantly thank Haymitch.

“I’ll be seeing you again,” he says, “To help you practice your ability… but don’t mention that to anyone.”

“Okay, any other advice?” I ask, trying to hide my excitement at a chance to use my power again. Control my emotions.

“Stay alive,” he says seriously before taking another long swig of the bottle.

I don’t trust him like I do Cinna, but I feel like we’re similar in a way. The bluntness of us both, I guess.

Delly leads me back to my room. “Haymitch is rough around the edges, but he means well,” she says softly. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Once we reach there, a team of stylists are there to help dress me. This isn’t the first time, but I still feel a rush of embarrassment at the way I’m barely clothed in front of them all.

The dress is unsurprisingly beautiful– a cascade of blue silk that shimmered, adorned with delicate silver embroidery that traced intricate patterns along the bodice. It fit snugly around my waist before flowing out into a full skirt that swept the ground, pooling around my feet in gentle waves. I’m sure it’s Cinna’s.

People in the Capitol would love it. They would see the silver, the blue, and guess that symbolizes my moving on from my past. But I love it too. I don’t think the color was a mistake at all. It is the exact shade of blue from my sister’s skirt from the Reaping.

They weave in strands of silver with my dark strands to form a long braid. Then someone snaps on a dark choker necklace bedazzled with what looks to be sapphires. But the moment it is on, another person snaps off my golden bracelets. 

I feel a burst of excitement but then the woman whispers: “The necklace has the silent stone.” 

Then I hear a soft knock on the door.

“Come in,” I say a little reluctantly.

It’s Peeta. He’s dressed in a tailored suit of blue that complements the hue of my own gown, the fabric hugging his frame elegantly. His blond hair is styled neatly, framing his face in soft waves, and the light bounces off the rows of small medals he wears.

At this moment, I can’t help but notice Peeta is truly handsome. His eyes hold a unique intensity. They’re just so blue . It’s not that I haven’t seen his features before, but I’ve never truly looked . I can easily imagine that if he had attended school in District 12, he would have been the subject of endless gossip among the girls.

“You look beautiful,” he smiles.

I can’t stop myself from grinning back at him.

 “You look great too,” I say awkwardly. 

We walk out of the room and approach the ballroom, already filled with guests twirling and making conversation. Without thinking, Peeta and I simultaneously reach for each other's hands. The contact grounds me as I face the daunting task of pretending to be something I’m not in front of everyone.

Chapter Text

The sheer number of people in the ballroom overwhelms me, and I grasp onto Peeta’s hand tighter, afraid of getting separated.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s a gorgeous setting: the soft glow of chandeliers casts a warm, golden light over dozens of guests all dressed in expensive silks and jewels. But I end up fixating on the way everyone seems to turn to us as we walk in. And I mean everyone. Conversations stop, dances pause midway, and people freeze movements to carry glasses to their lips. 

I glance at Peeta to see how he reacts but he’s only smiling softly at the sea of rich Silvers. The only betrayal of any nerves are the slight tremors I feel in his hand.

“Would you care for a dance?” Peeta murmurs to me.

“I would be honored,” I say, trying to emulate a rich Capitol accent. That makes Peeta laugh under his breath. 

He gives me a smile, and it’s so warm and genuine, I can’t help but grin back.

“My lady, I am he who is honored. Nothing less than an exquisite privilege your presence provides me with,” he responds, mimicking my accent. And that makes me let out a very unlady-like snort. So much for proper etiquette .

Peeta begins spinning me in practiced slow movements to the sound of the music, and it’s like we’ve been separated from the world. And it’s just us two.

His steps are perfect, and I try to keep up with him. But I end up stepping on his feet. Again and again and again.

“Sorry,” I whisper. It’s becoming embarrassing how badly I dance, but I’ve never practiced before. I used to sing with my father, so I understand creating music. Not dancing to it. 

“My feet seem to be in disagreeance with the aforementioned privilege of this experience,” he sighs with a disdainful expression. I laugh again, and his face shifts to another beam.

“The trick is to recognize the dance is just a pattern. We go around in circles with only six moves.” He counts them out as he moves his feet, “See?” 

I do. I count them out in my head over and over until it becomes much simpler. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?” I scowl.

“A life of dance lessons should at least warrant a little showing off. What else are they good for?” he shrugs. 

The music ends with a flourish, and we each end with a customary bow. We’re both smiling contently, but then something- or someone- catches Peeta’s eye. 

“Katelle,” Peeta addresses me, “I need to speak with someone. May you wait here for a moment?”

I feel a sense of unease at being alone, but nod. I don’t know Peeta that well anyway. I have no reason to  be comforted by him. I don’t even trust him... I think.

As I watch Peeta charm his way through the crowd, I wonder how it took me so long to recognize how fake his practiced smiles really are. But then something else distracts me.

A young woman approaches me. She has a fierce look to her, in her metal gown and dark eyes. I try to force a polite smile, but I feel my heart race. I don’t recognize her from the faces I was supposed to learn. And I’ll have to make conversation.

"You're the talk of the evening," the woman says sweetly. "A Red girl masquerading as a Silver. Quite the scandal."

I feel my smile falter, but try to speak eloquently. "I assure you, you’ve misunderstood. I am a Silver. I was raised by Reds but my true parents are Silvers. I take it you’ve heard of General Caristona and his wife Lady Enberia.”

“Of course I have. Lady Enberia was my aunt,” she snaps.

Oh . This must be Lady Clove then.

The woman's smile widens, "I'm sure you’re their long lost daughter. It’s quite convenient- excuse me - I mean unfortunate they have both passed and cannot confirm nor deny your heritage," she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Since you’re family though, you should be aware I am Magnetron… you know… I can manipulate metal."

She glances down at her dress made of metal shards. Sharp enough to cut. Then her mouth twists into a smirk, “I could help confirm your heritage if you’d like… one little cut and we can see your silver blood? Show the Silvers here you truly are one of us?”

No! I feel my heart pound faster and I worry my fear is obvious. That everyone can see through me. I have a sudden and consuming urge to run or fight, but both options would cause a scene.

No one can know the truth. If they do, what will the Queen do to Prim? To my Mother?

“I don’t think that’s–” I stutter, but then I see Peeta watching us out of the corner of my eye.

He’s not smiling. Not even a fake smile. No. His expression is hard and cold and sends a shiver down my spine. It’s as if he’s someone else entirely. Like his mother.

 I realize his gaze is focused entirely on Clove beside me. I turn to see her reaction and watch as her smug smirk melts away, leaving behind a vacant expression. As if all the life had been drained from her, leaving nothing behind but an empty shell.

“Pleased to meet you, Lady Everdeen,” Clove says with a sickly smile, then she turns away purposefully heading in the opposite direction.

I look back to Peeta to see the coldness has vanished from his eyes, and is already replaced by their usual warmth. As if I had imagined the whole thing.

Chapter Text

We’re dancing again, my arm placed gently across Peeta’s broad shoulders, but now everything feels different. I struggle to look into Peeta’s eyes, afraid of what I might see and there’s a sick feeling in my stomach. Peeta’s a Whisper.

He can read people’s minds. Even worse, he can control them. As I picture Clove’s vacant expression, I’m certain that’s what he did to her. 

It’s almost like waking up from a dream. I had started to allow myself to feel comfortable in the Prince’s presence, of all places. But now I’m certain I can’t trust him. I never should have let my guard down.

I wonder if I’m the only one here who didn’t know, or if none of the Silvers know his ability. The Reds certainly don’t know. We didn’t even know who the Prince was– neither his name nor what he looked like. Why keep that information from the districts?

“I think we’re pulling this off,” Peeta declares softly, but I look for the subtle signs of his hidden emotion. He’s anxious, I think, noticing his eyes dart around. Does he know?

I nod, wondering how he decided that. Maybe he’s reading the guests’ minds to learn what they think of us.

 “You seem a little… off,” Peeta whispers hesitantly and I can’t help but look up at him, “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I respond neutrally watching his expression shift once again. Concern to… resolution. What’s he planning? Does he want to wipe my memory? Can Whispers even do that?

He looks at me for a few moments as if something in my expression will reveal everything and then continues in a cold tone, “The final part of the evening involves the announcement of our marriage. The contract is to be signed within the next few days, but the wedding will not take place until after the Blood Games to avoid overshadowing them. Is that all right?”

“Yes,” I agree without hesitation. My family’s safety depends on this agreement, and I will not jeopardize it.

“Before that, I would like you to meet two people. Are you willing to?” 

“Yes,” I repeat. Who? Why?

We walk through the crowd, hand in hand, until we reach two men. The first is a large figure in a dark purple suit with a high collar. He has light eyes and thin blond hair swept to the side. The second is an older man with unnaturally full lips and perfectly white hair. His black suit displays a white rose on the lapel, but its overpowering scent disgusts me.

Peeta straightens to his full height and puts on a dazzling but hollow smile, “What a pleasure this encounter has been.”

The men smile and agree, then shift their attention to me. Peeta introduces me with my full pretend name and I proceed to greet them pleasantly. At least I hope that’s how it comes off as.

The large man extends his hand, “I’m honored to meet you. My name is Plutarch Heavensbee– the Head Gamemaker for this year’s Games.”

My instinct is to pull away, but I force myself to remain composed. I’m holding the hand of the man who will be facilitating the death of twenty four children.

When our hands part, the second man steps forward, extending his hand with a slow, deliberate smile, “Coriolanus Snow—Chief Advisor to the crown.”

We shake, and then he requests, “May I have a dance?”

Peeta’s eyes flicker with surprise, “A dance? I apologize, but Katelle and I will need to prepare for our announcement.”

“Don’t be foolish,” the man, Snow, says. On the surface it sounds kind, but I get the feeling it is a reprimand. Could he have power over the Prince? “One dance will hurt nobody,” Snow adds.

“But-” Peeta begins, then he stops suddenly.

“Katelle?” Snow asks, extending his arm as the dance begins. His determination and Peeta’s resistance make me wonder if he could be my ally. Like Cinna or Haymitch.

So I accept.

After a few minutes, I begin to feel there is no way he is my ally. Everything about him screams danger and I quickly regret my decision. But then I realize I never had a decision to begin with. 

Maybe it’s the same for Peeta.

Stop feeling sympathy for Peeta!

Stop thinking about Peeta.

You can’t trust him.

Snow leans close to whisper something. There’s a smell on his breath more pungent than roses. Blood. 

There have been whispers of uprisings for years,” he murmurs, his voice smooth, “but since your actions at the reaping, they’ve grown louder, less restricted. They believe you are one of them. That you are on their side. You must convince them otherwise… or the consequences will be dire .” He smiles, his expression eerily serene, as though discussing something like the weather.

“I will,” I respond, struggling to keep my voice steady, my heart hammering painfully against my ribs. “I’ll convince them that I love Peeta and that what happened at the reaping was a mistake.”

He shakes his head slowly, “Aim higher. Convince me.”

“Have a wonderful evening,” he smiles as the dance finishes and then we separate. I find Peeta waiting for me, running a hand through his hair.

“How was the dance?” he asks, sounding almost concerned. 

He cares about me. 

He’s faking it.

He tried to stop me from dancing with Snow.

He introduced you to Snow.

“Good,” I respond, nonchalantly, hoping I don’t look as flustered as I feel.

I have no idea if he believes me, his expression entirely closed off, “Okay Katelle. Are you ready for the announcement? It’ll just be me saying we are planning on marrying and how I met you. You can always add something, but please just be careful.”

“That’s okay,” I say. I have no idea what to add but I know I need to say something. I need to convince everyone.

We walk up a flight of polished stairs to a large balcony overlooking the ballroom. In the center are the Queen and King on large golden thrones. 

There’s something off about the Queen. Her glare isn’t probing so much as angry. What’s changed from this morning? Have I done something?

“Attention!” a woman a few feet away calls and the ballroom falls silent.

Peeta’s demeanor exudes warmth and confidence as he reaches for my hand.

“Good evening, everyone,” Peeta begins, his voice carrying effortlessly across the room, a warm smile playing on his lips. “It is with immense joy that we stand before you tonight.”

He pauses, his blue eyes scanning the crowd, connecting with each person as if they were the only one in the room. “From the moment I first laid eyes on Katniss, I knew she was extraordinary. She may have been born in District 12, but her spirit was always meant to be among us. I know we were all taken by surprise during the Reaping, just as I was, when her powers revealed themselves in the most unexpected way.”

“Since then, she has been living in the palace with me, and in that short time, she has captured my heart completely. She is the bravest, strongest, most beautiful, and compassionate person I have ever met. She has inspired me, pushing me to be a better prince for you citizens and renewing my hope for a brighter future for Panem.”

“I can only see these events as fate. How else could I have found the love of my life, who not only completes me but also offers invaluable insight into the lives of those in the districts? An understanding to help us better utilize and maintain the districts.”

“On this momentous occasion, I am honored to announce my engagement to Katelle Caristona-Enberia. She is my other half, my joy, my strength, and my heart. I have no doubt that, should anything happen to me, she will rise magnificently as your Queen.”

He turns to me, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and determination. “Katniss, I promise to stand by your side, to protect you, and to cherish every moment we have together. Our love will fuel me until the day I die.”

His words are so genuine. I watch the reactions of the crowd and see many guests tearing up, overcome with emotion, and hear “awws” all around the ballroom. 

There’s a moment of hesitation while I try to compose myself. I feel real tears welling up and my smile isn’t forced. It’s so strange.

Almost like an instinct, I know what I must do to make this convincing without much thought at all.

I step closer to Peeta, placing my hands on either side of his face. His eyes widen slightly in surprise, but then soften. I lean in, pressing my lips to his with all the intensity and passion I can muster. My heart races, and for a moment, the world fades away, leaving only the sensation of our lips meeting, our breaths mingling.

And it feels… right. Real. 

It’s just an act.

It doesn’t feel like one.

The room falls silent again, until I finally pull back. Then everyone erupts into applause with large smiles all around.

“Our love is real,” I declare, my voice steady but filled with emotion. “And we will prove it, every day.”

Everyone is unbelievably giddy as Peeta and I walk as one figure off the balcony. Once we are out of the view of the guests, the Queen stops us.

“Peeta, you are to meet with me in a quarter of an hour. For now, you may return to your bedroom,” she commands.

“Yes, your Highness,” Peeta replies stiffly. 

We walk all through the hallways and up the stairs without a word. 

“Are you hungry?” Peeta asks me when we reach the door to his bedroom.

“No,” I answer honestly. I’ve had more food today than any day in 12.

“Would you mind if Delly brings up a platter regardless? In case you change your mind?” he says as he opens the door for me.

“I wouldn’t mind,” I answer.

He’s worrying about me.

That’s what he wants you to think.

“Then I’ll see you later. Don’t worry about waiting though. It might be a while,” he explains.

“Can I ask you a question?” I blurt out before he leaves.

He nods and closes the door behind us, “Yes?”

“Are you a Whisper? Did you do something to Clove?” I wonder if this will upset him or if he really would do something to me. But I need to take this risk. I need to know if he’s an ally.

“Yes,” he sighs, “But no one is supposed to know. I messed up.”

“You saved my life,” I counter, surprised by how true it is, “And my family’s lives too.”

It’s beginning to become concerning how much of a debt I owe this boy. That I need to love and struggle to trust.

Peeta only shrugs, “You probably would have handled it. I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

“It’s okay,” I say hesitantly, “And thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiles, warming my chest.

He turns away and leaves, shutting the door, securely. And I’m alone. It’s such a relief . 

In ten minutes, my dress has been removed, my makeup is finally off and I’m sitting in bed. There’s a soft knock on the door, “Can I come in, Katelle?” Delly asks.

“Yes,” I call back and Delly enters with a large tray of assorted foods. 

“Hi Delly,” I say, finding myself very comfortable with her after all the Silvers I met today. She’s… kind.

“How was the ball?” she asks curiously.

“Weird,” I reply, finding myself unable to elaborate.

“I bet! I think even Peeta doesn’t like them,” Delly giggles.

Now that I think about it, they really are close. It makes me wonder, again, if there’s something between the two of them.

I hesitate, unsure how to phrase the question. “Actually, Delly, can I ask you something?”

“Of course!” Delly leans in, excited.

“Are you and Peeta… a thing?” I ask, my cheeks warming with embarrassment.

Delly’s smile widens, a glint in her eyes. “Why do you want to know?”

“Well, we’re… supposed to be getting married,” I mutter, fighting to sound impartial.

Delly’s smirk softens into a fond smile. “Katniss, have you seen the way he looks at you?”

I shift around, suddenly self-conscious. “We’re just playing roles.”

Delly shook her head gently. “No, Katniss. Peeta loves you. Really.”

I blink, taken aback by her certainty. “But you and Peeta… you’re so close.”

Delly chuckled softly. “We’re like siblings, Katniss. Honestly.”

That gets my thinking going again. I can ask Delly my questions. And I feel like she’ll share the truth.

“Are you okay to answer another one?” I smile nervously.

“Of course!” she exclaims cheerfully.

“In District 12… I was raised there,” she nods, “I didn’t even know who the Prince was. No one did.”

Delly’s face falls, “And?” she says hesitantly.

“Why wouldn’t I know? It seems like no one in any of the districts knew,” I explain.

“Um,” Delly says uncomfortably, “It isn’t a pleasant story.”

“Please Delly. I just need to understand. I’m so lost,” I admit.

“Peeta wasn’t the first of the Queen’s children. She had another. His identity was revealed to all of Panem. His birth was broadcasted to the districts. When he was 12 and Peeta was 7, the Scarlet Guard broke into the palace. I don’t know how or who specifically. What I do know is the oldest child was killed. Rumor is that Peeta was in the room when it happened, but somehow he survived. Everyone in the Capitol knows this story, even little children. I guess to increase fear of the rebels.”

I sit there, stunned, as Delly's words sink in. Peeta had an older brother. The Scarlet Guard broke into the palace and killed him. I feel a chill run down my spine at the thought of a little boy witnessing something so traumatic. I imagine what it would be like to lose Prim, right in front of my eyes, and have to stop. It would break me.

“How… how did Peeta survive?” I whisper.

Delly shakes her head with a solemn expression. “No one knows. Some say he was hidden, others believe he used some sort of Ability. But he hasn’t gotten his Ability yet, so I find that doubtful. Either way, Peeta never talks about it, and the Queen has forbidden any discussion of the event.”

We sit in silent reflection, and then Delly excuses herself, “I really should be leaving. Oliver’s probably wondering where I am right now.”

“Okay, good night,” I respond, “And thank you for being honest with me. You’re a good person.”

Delly smiles at that, “Goodnight Katniss.”

I eat a little, especially intrigued by the dough balls filled with cheese. They’re delicious. Then I lay in bed, waiting for Peeta to come in.

Minutes tick by on the clock, and I find myself growing increasingly anxious. What could they be talking about for so long? I turn off the light, its glare irritating my eyes.

Countless times, I feel myself start to drift off, only to force myself awake again. Two hours pass before I finally hear the low creak of the door, followed by uneven footsteps and heavy breathing.

Peeta?” I call out softly.

“Katniss,” he responds, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “You’re awake?” There's no effort to hide the disappointment in his tone.

“Yeah,” I say, growing nervous about his demeanor, “Is something wrong?”

“No, I’m okay,” he responds rapidly, but his voice is hoarse and strained, raising my concern even further. I hear his footsteps heading toward the bathroom door.

Something’s definitely up, and I need to know what.

By the time he starts to close the bathroom door, I’ve reached him on silent feet, slipping my arm in and turning on the light.

I regret it immediately.

The first time I noticed a bruise at 4 years old, I remember the dark purple color blossoming on my leg. It frightened me, so I ran to my mother, who explained the science behind the color. I vaguely remember her explaining the red color of my blood led to the skin discoloration. 

What about people with silver blood? I asked curiously.

She smiled sadly and whispered, People with silver blood don’t bruise. They don’t get hurt.

She was wrong.

Peeta’s arms, which tremble uncontrollably, are covered in gray bruises that look horribly painful. They look like portions of his skin that have died– much more frightening than Red’s bruises. Jagged scars are scattered among the bruises, with silver blood slowly oozing out. A particularly severe bruise sprawls across his cheek, its edges creeping up toward his swollen eye. Dried trails of tears streak down his face.

Chapter Text

“Oh Peeta!” I gasp, feeling my heart race. “What happened?”

He frantically shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m okay. Damn it.” He tugs on a couple of long strands of hair, struggling to slow his hyperventilation.

I’m lost for words. Who did this? Why?

I hold his hand weakly, afraid to hurt him, and his eyes flash with surprise.

“Come on, let me help you,” I say gently, looking into his teary eyes.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I thought you’d be asleep. I’m sorry,” he blurts out, his breathing uneven.

“Breathe with me,” I urge him, exaggerating my breaths. “In… out… in… out.”

He follows my lead, and I’m relieved when he looks a little more at ease.

“Sit down,” I say, guiding him to the bed. He follows me by the hand, almost looking unaware of his surroundings.

“I’m going to wrap the cuts,” I say firmly.

“Katniss, I’m–” Peeta begins.

“No! You’re not okay,” I interrupt him. “Let me help you,” I repeat.

He runs his hand through his hair with a calculating look. “Okay,” he finally murmurs. “There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom.”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” I promise. “Lay down.”

I rush to the bathroom and hurriedly search through the drawers until I find the kit. I’m not good at medical care at all; that’s much more my mother and sister’s strength. But I know enough to be able to help Peeta right now.

When I come back, Peeta is lying down, and I think he’s starting to fall asleep, his eyes heavy-lidded.

I go through the kit, finding bandages, an ointment, and a few plant-based mixtures. Gently holding pressure on some of the largest cuts, I watch Peeta’s eyes shut. Once the bleeding stops, I clean the wounds with small amounts of water and then apply the antiseptic. Finally, I bandage his arms carefully.

There are the bruises too. I search for something here with Arnica. It’s a plant my mother used to crush to apply as a salve. I finally find a bottle with a similar salve and gently rub it on the graying skin. When I reach the large bruise on Peeta’s face, he startles awake.

“Just relax,” I whisper as I finish applying the salve.

“That feels better,” Peeta mumbles. “I really meant it when I said I was sorry.”

“For what?” I ask, bewildered.

“For everything,” he says with conviction.

“You should go back to sleep,” I say softly.

“I don’t want to sleep,” he protests.

“Why not?” I ask. My concern heightens when I realize his eyes look a little unfocused.

He seems to think for a moment and then answers, “I’m scared... What if they come here? They kill you? I can’t protect you.” If who comes?

“The door’s locked. We’re safe,” I say, but Peeta only shakes his head.

I look back at the first aid kit and notice a bottle of sleeping medication that promises results in a minute or less. He really needs to rest.

I get up and quietly walk over to the tray Delly left earlier. Then, I pour a small amount of the purple solution into a cup and offer it to Peeta.

“What is it?” he asks.

I say the first thing that comes to mind, “Berry juice. It’ll help you stay awake.” 

He smiles gratefully and swallows it all in one gulp. Immediately, a confused look appears on his face. “It tastes familiar. What is it?” he asks again.

“Berry juice,” I repeat, taking the glass from him and placing it on the nightstand.

He accepts my lie and closes his eyes. “I’m just resting… not sleeping… okay?”

“Don’t worry, Peeta. You’re safe.”

“I’ll stay with you. Okay, Katniss? Always,” 

“Always,” I whisper back as his breathing evens out and his body finally succumbs to exhaustion.

I watch him for a moment, ensuring he’s truly asleep, then quietly gather the first aid supplies and set them aside. I keep picturing his expression when I first turned on the lights and I’m convinced there was something else going on. Something more than just physical pain. He was confused and tired and unaware of his surroundings. And afraid.

I sit beside him on the bed, my thoughts racing. What could have happened to him? Why was he so scared? Could his witch mother have something to do with this? He was supposed to meet with her.

My hand trembles slightly as I reach out to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. He looks so peaceful now.

As the adrenaline fades away, my mind drifts to the countless times Peeta has helped me. He saved me that day in the rain. The Queen would have killed me without the deal he proposed. Clove would have exposed me if not for him. 

It was stupid of me to distrust him. He’s clearly my closest… ally here. I might not understand all his motives, but that doesn’t mean they’re wrong.

I feel the need to make up for all of it, as I pull the blanket over him to make him more comfortable. I find myself watching his face for any distress as I fall asleep. My final thought before falling asleep is how long his golden eyelashes are.

~

When I wake up, I feel a warm body in my arms. I snuggle closer to Prim… wait. No. 

I open my eyes to see Peeta asleep beside me. My head is on his chest and I’m relieved to see the swelling on his face has gone down. The bruise looks lighter, but still painful. 

I carefully lift my head off of him and slide my arms away. I hear a slow inhale and Peeta’s blue eyes blink open. He smiles when he sees me.

“Good morning,” he says, his voice sounding much clearer.

 “Good morning,” I reply, offering him a small smile. "How are you feeling?"

His face falls, and he looks to his arm, still bandaged from last night.

“You saw?” he asks.

“I did,” I admit, “You really needed help yesterday so I bandaged your arm.” Does he not remember?

“Oh. Thank you,” he says, his voice trailing off as he looks down, clearly lost in thought. “Did I… um… say anything strange?”

“No,” I shake my head, hoping to ease his fear. “You were just really out of it.”

Relief floods his features. But I’m not letting him off the hook too quickly, “What happened yesterday?”

Peeta hesitates, then forces a small, weary laugh. “After I met with the Queen, I went to our garden and I accidentally tripped into a bush. I’m so clumsy,” he grins.

I cross my arms, unconvinced. “Peeta, you don’t get injured like that from tripping into a bush. There has to be more to it.”

“Well there isn’t,” he shrugs, acting indifferent, “Believe me or not: it’s your choice.”

“I want to believe you, Peeta!” I burst out, “But you have to be open with me. You can’t be getting hurt like that and… scaring me,” I feel a few warm tears slide down my cheeks.

Peeta’s expression softens, “I’m sorry. I- I can’t tell you.”

“Okay, don’t. I’ll tell you : Your mother did something, didn’t she?”

He nods a little bit, breaking eye contact and staring at his hands instead.

“Has this happened before?”

“Yes,” he whispers.

“Why?” I press.

“It’s complicated,” he responds, still avoiding my gaze. “I’m sorry.”

I feel a surge of frustration, but I take a deep breath to steady myself. “Okay, I understand that you can’t tell me everything. But you need to let me help. We need to find a way to stop this.”

“It’ll all be over soon,” he mumbles. He then suddenly looks directly at me with his piercing blue eyes, “You can’t confront her about this.”

I open my mouth to object, but he interrupts me. “You can’t tell anyone. Please,” he looks at me desperately.

“Okay… I won’t say anything,” I agree reluctantly.

He exhales in relief, “Thank you.” Hurriedly changing the topic, he adds, “Okay, this morning, you’re going to meet with Haymitch to continue your studies.”

“And what about you?” I ask.

“I’m going to be attending some promotional events for the Games,” he sighs, “But we’ll also be signing our marriage contract this afternoon. So I’ll see you then. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” I shrug. I would expect to feel a lot worse about our impending marriage, but I’m surprised that I don’t. Of everyone in the Capitol, he’s the least I mind marrying.

“Will you be okay alone?” I whisper. I’m afraid something will happen again, so I feel the need to stay with Peeta. Or at least understand more to prevent it from happening again.

Peeta smirks, “I’ll be fine Katniss. I’ve survived a long time here.”

There’s a knock and Peeta gets off the bed and heads to open the door, “The prep teams are here.”

“Prep teams?” I repeat.

 “You know… for hair, dressing, makeup, and a daily dose of boredom and stiffness,” he deadpans as my laugh catches me off guard.

After 30 minutes of standing as still as possible, I’m finally ready, but Peeta still isn’t. I feel frustrated that none of the people helping him even question the bruises. They just cover them up professionally and let out a few tsk tsk s of disapproval. 

It makes me think it’s common. Which I just can’t comprehend. There are just so many questions: Did she use her Ability?  Did she mess with his mind? He seemed so out of it yesterday. How long has this happened? Is there a reason or is she just… sadistic? I mean, she does allow the Blood Games every year but this is her son . Her own flesh and blood.

Is it my place to pressure Peeta for answers? Especially when I can do so little to make an impact?

I wave goodbye to Peeta as I leave the room with Delly, feeling a little nervous. He’ll be okay. He’s been here a long time.

As we walk, I struggle to think of something to ask Delly that might help me better understand Peeta, but every question that comes to mind would expose what happened last night. So instead, we walk with long stretches of silence. 

Delly knocks politely on the Haymitch’s door and, looking less drunk than last time, he creaks it open suspiciously. When he sees us, he opens it fully and gestures for us to enter. Or me I guess, since Delly stays outside. He shuts the door firmly, and then locks it. Damn it. I feel my stomach drop.

“Why are you-”

“No one should walk in while you’re training,” Haymitch vaguely explains.

“Training?” I echo.

“Your powers, sweetheart . Didn’t the boy tell you? He’s the one who asked in the first place…” Haymitch murmurs.

“You mean Peeta? Peeta asked?” I blurt out. “Do you know him well?”

“We are not talking about boy problems now. But yes, I know the Prince of Panem,” Haymitch scoffs. “Follow me.”

Ugh. Haymitch. I follow him to a bookshelf against a wall. He drags the bookshelf by a hidden groove and it rolls along sliders, revealing a panel in the wall. He pushes against it and crawls inside a dark space. 

“Come on. It’s more pleasant on the other side,” he calls to me.

I pass through the small tube-like structure and enter a regularly-sized room. It has many wooden cabinets all along its walls and a worn out sofa in the corner. With its dimmed lighting and simple furniture, it feels comfortable.

Haymitch opens a cabinet and grabs a candle, then places it on a small table near the center of the room. He then approaches me since I’m still standing at the entrance. 

He gestures to my hands… to my bangles with the silent stone, “May I?”

I nod and he inserts a key into each and removes them gently. I watch him pocket the key with interest.

This is my opportunity. I could take Haymitch down and run out the room. I can’t exactly remember the nearest exit but if I’m careful and use my powers I could make it.

If I could get to 12 in time, my family and Gale could all make it. They couldn’t be punished. Maybe we could escape into the woods and hide there.

That’s a long shot though. And for some crazy reason, I think of Peeta. He shouldn’t be relevant, but he is. It feels… almost wrong to leave him behind. Still, he does belong here…

“Woah woah woah. Now don’t get excited,” Haymitch says gruffly, “I’m a Silencer, and you’re not leaving today.”

Damn it. A Silencer. That means he can stop other powers from functioning. He could stop me from producing a flame… but if a power is strong enough he could still be overpowered.

How did you-”

“Didn’t I say you needed to work on controlling your emotions? You’re too easy to read.”

Haymitch plops down on a cushion, “Now, light a candle.”

I expected when the bangles were removed I would feel something. The power, the heat I felt all those days ago. But I feel nothing.

Fire! Ignite! Flame! I think as I position my hands above the candle. I still feel nothing. My palms aren’t even warm.

“It’s not working,” I say, annoyed.

“Okay,” Haymitch drawls, “When you last used your powers… Can you explain your thoughts and feelings?”

“Prim was reaped. She’s my sister,” I begin.

“Okay. And you felt– what– Sad?” Haymitch guesses.

“Angry,” I correct, recalling the rage I felt that day. Now it feels like years have passed since.

“Just angry?” he checks and I nod slowly. That’s what I most remember feeling.

“Then that’s what you’re aiming for. You need to get to that mentality,” he says, seeming a little unconfident.

I think about that, trying to summon that anger again. It’s not hard to remember the helpless fury I felt when Prim’s name was called, and the need to protect her. To do something . I take a deep breath, focusing on that memory, trying to channel the emotion into my hands.

But nothing happens.

Frustration bubbles up inside me. “This is unbelievable,” I mutter, clenching my fists. “It’s not like I can just get angry on command.”

Haymitch raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “What’s unbelievable is the fact that Peeta is willingly marrying you. He could have any girl in the Capitol but chooses someone who can’t even light a candle? You could live a hundred lifetimes and never deserve that boy.”

I glare at him, feeling a spark of irritation. “I’m trying my best!”

“Oh you’re trying? Wow. Trying ,” he snarks, “And where will trying get you? How are you going to save your family, save yourself, and heck, people are saying you could save Panem, if this is your best.”

“Shut up, Haymitch,” I snap. What’s his problem?

“Or what?” He scoffs. “Face it, sweetheart, you’re weak. Nothing more than a little girl pretending to be brave.”

The words hit me like a slap. “You don’t know anything about me,” I snarl, my hands shaking. “I’m not a little girl.”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me,” he shrugs, “But sure, prove it. Light the candle.”

I’m angry. He has no right to speak to me like that. No right to expect all this of me. I’m frustrated. Somehow I need to convince everyone I love the prince, who just days ago, I wished dead. Or else they’ll hurt my family. Everything I’m doing to quell the rebellion is wrong. But I’m doing it. I’m being a pawn.

I feel heat building in my hands, a comfortable sting.

But underneath my anger for Haymitch’s words and my situation… I’m scared. Afraid I could fail and my family could be punished. Could die. Afraid I might become the reason for no change in Panem. Afraid to be betrayed, to be too gullible, to fall in love. Afraid to be weak.

I was so consumed by my emotions I didn’t realize my power worked. The candle is on fire... as well as the rest of the table.

Haymitch quickly grabs a large dark blanket and throws it over the flames, effectively smothering them. As the smoke dissipates, it becomes obvious he was intentionally provoking me. It was a strategy to trigger my powers. But also one to teach me to recognize my other emotions and their value.

Behind his gruff, drunken disguise, Haymitch is clearly intelligent. We exchange a look, both of us smiling with a newfound understanding.

“Just anger?” Haymitch smirks.

Chapter Text

With the bracelets back on, I realize the heavy weight it places on me. It feels almost suffocating and there’s a faint uncomfortable tingling in my fingertips. I wonder how I’ve lived my whole life without my powers… using them feels like being alive .

Munching on a cheese bun– I can’t seem to get enough of them – I listen to Delly as she explains that I still have some time to relax before the contract signing.

“So where are we going now?” I ask, confused.

“Your and Peeta’s room,” she replies easily.

“Is Peeta there?” I check. I hope he’s able to take a break too. I know he was supposed to be attending some events earlier.

“No. He’s in a,” she glances around suspiciously, “favorite spot of his to get away from everything.”

“Where?” I whisper curiously.

“Want me to show you?” Delly offers with a mischievous expression on her face.

I feel a rush of excitement. “Yeah! Please Delly,” I grin.

She guides me through a few hallways and I struggle to keep track. There’s one with the rose painting and the second with the large golden vase and then the third with the long shiny mirror across the wall… Eventually we reach a door leading to a narrow staircase.

“It’s a pretty long way up,” Delly warns, “You sure you’re up for it?”

“Of course,” I say confidently. Dashing up the flights of stairs easily, I feel a little more like myself. Being in the palace, paraded from spot to spot with little autonomy feels terrible.

Delly pants loudly behind me until we finally reach the top: a small platform with a rickety-looking ladder leading to a hatch in the ceiling. 

As I climb up the ladder, I check Delly over my shoulder.

“Aren’t you coming?” I frown when she turns to leave.

“I actually have to help serve the Queen and King’s lunch,” she explains with a smile. “But don’t worry, you’ll be fine up there.”

I nod and continue up the ladder, reaching the hatch at the top. As I push it open, a cool gust of air reaches me, carrying the faint scent of flowers. Instead of a pungent rose smell, like Snow’s, it’s a soft scent. I take a deep breath.

I’m in a lush rooftop garden. Soft moss covers the smooth stone tiles on the ground. Clusters of lavender, delicate white jasmine flowers, many bright marigolds and other flowers decorate the area. Vines curl onto trellises covering most of the view of the Capitol. It makes the space feel private. So do the loud wind chimes set up all over the garden. 

Prim would be so excited here. She loves flowers.

Near one corner of the garden, a small area is set up with gardening supplies: neatly arranged pots, a watering can, worn gardening gloves, and a few small spades and shears. My eyes linger on the shears for a moment, then I slip them into a pocket of my satin olive green pants. 

As I explore the rooftop, I notice a couple of broken branches in a bush near the edge. Curiosity piqued, I gently push the branches aside, revealing a hidden corner. There, in the space between the bushes, is Peeta. His eyebrows are drawn as he looks at his notebook thoughtfully. I wonder what’s in there.

"Hey," I call out softly, not wanting to startle him.

Peeta looks up, eyes wide with surprise, and slams the notebook closed. "Katniss! I didn't hear you coming."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you," I laugh. "Can I come in?” 

“Of course,” he smiles, moving over to make more room.

“This is a clever spot,” I comment as I sit. There’s enough room that it’s comfortable, but most people probably wouldn’t notice it’s here at first. There’s still a breeze too, so it isn’t stuffy like I expected. “Do you come up here often?”

Peeta’s grin slips, “Not as much as when I was younger.”

“What’s changed?”

I see it in his eyes, the way he’s struggling to open up, and wonder if there’s anyone he can really be himself around. Gently setting my hand on his shoulder, I whisper, “You can tell me.”

“I used to come up here with my dad when I was little. We planted everything in this garden together.” He fights to control his voice, “But he’s been getting sicker and sicker. Now he spends most of his day lying in bed.”

There were signs of the King’s illness– I’ve known about it. But I never even thought about how that might affect Peeta. I think about how sudden and quick my father’s death was. How unexpected. Would it hurt more if he died slowly? I think so.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe, feeling a pang in my heart, “I can’t imagine how difficult that is.”

He forces a tight smile, “It’s okay. I’ve… come to terms with it.” He’s clearly lying, but I resist the urge to call him out on it. Instead, I offer a little nudge, as I imagine Prim would.

“If you want to talk about it though, you can tell me,” I say.

A tear slips down his cheek and he hurriedly wipes it away, “It isn’t just that he’s dying physically. It would almost be better if he was just… gone. But he’s not himself anymore. He’s slipping away, and there’s nothing else I can do.” 

I don’t know how to help. Is there anything I can say to comfort him? 

He takes a shaky breath and looks downward at his notebook, “And now I’m making everything worse. I’m so stupid. I’m sorry I keep doing this to you. As if you don’t have enough problems in your life.”

“No, you’re not stupid. And there’s no reason to be sorry.” I say with conviction and then reach out and gently take his hand in mine. Peeta stiffens momentarily, but then he squeezes my hand a little, his fingers trembling.

“I’m not going to pretend I understand everything you’re going through,” I say quietly, my voice wavering. “But you don’t have to go through it alone. I want you to open up to me.” And I truly do. I know what it feels like to keep all my emotions inside and needing someone to talk to. 

He looks at me, and for a moment, I think he’s going to break down completely. But then he takes a deep breath, steadying himself, “Thank you,” he says under his breath, “For being here. For listening.”

“Always,” I smile softly.

We sit in silence, but it isn’t uncomfortable at all. It feels like… understanding. A turning point in whatever this is between us. It’s not just about needing comfort or our shared roles anymore. It’s about trust, about being there for each other in a way that no one else can.

“How was training with Haymitch?” Peeta asks after a while, his voice gentle, as if he doesn’t want to break the delicate moment between us.

I can’t help but smile, recalling my feeling of freedom when using my power. “It was great,” I reply suddenly realizing how much I’ve changed in these past few days: Befriending Delly, caring about the Prince, aching to use my power… I wonder what my family would think.

Peeta’s smiles slightly, then hesitates before asking, “And your powers… do you think you’re starting to be able to use them better?”

I pause, looking down at our intertwined hands, and reflect on the session. “It wasn’t perfect,” I admit, “But it’s getting better.”

Peeta seems content with that, “That’s good. Really good.”

“Do you know when the contract signing will be?” I ask, changing the subject. We can’t afford to be late. I don’t want to consider what the repercussions might be. For either of us.

Peeta reaches into his pocket and pulls out a fancy watch, “We still have more than an hour,” he says, reassuringly. 

Relief floods into me. It’s not that I’m not ready to legally marry Peeta, that’s inevitable at this point , but I don’t want to leave here. It’s so refreshing to be fully myself and see Peeta so relaxed.

He suddenly grins, an excited glint in his eyes that makes my heart skip a beat. “Probably enough time to do something fun,” he says before leaving the little spot.

He reaches down to help me out and I take his hand. Once I emerge, I’m slightly overwhelmed by the openness of the area around us… and the distance between us.

Peeta, on the other hand, seems at ease, as if he’s exactly where he wants to be. He walks over to a small apple tree that I hadn’t noticed earlier. Plucking a bright red apple from one of the lower branches, he holds it up towards me. “Care for an apple?” he asks with his fake Capitol accent.

“I am apologetic to say I cannot consume this… apple… you speak of,” I answer formally. Shifting back to my real voice, I explain with a laugh, “I ate way too many cheese buns.”

“Okay,” he shrugs and then without warning, throws the apple right in between two trellises and toward the edge of the roof.

I open my mouth, but before I can say anything, the apple changes direction mid-air and bounces back, a little to my right.

Instinctively, I reach out and catch it. My heart is racing, but not from fear– from surprise. I’m sure my eyes are hilariously wide. How?

Peeta chuckles at my reaction, clearly enjoying my confusion. “There’s a forcefield around the edge,” he explains. “I used to play this game sometime where I’d throw things at the edge and see if I could catch them on their way back.”

I look down at the apple for a moment considering this and when I glance back Peeta’s cheeks are pale. He’s embarrassed . 

“Sorry,” he says with a nervous laugh, “You probably thought that was immat-”

I throw back the apple as hard as I can toward the forcefield and it bounces back at him. I watch as his expression shifts from disappointment to surprise as he catches it with ease. 

“That was a good throw,” he grins, “You have good aim.”

I smile easily. “Surprised?”

Shaking his head, he says, “Nope. Just impressed. It isn’t that easy to get the right angle. Especially the first time.”

“I haven’t had this much fun in forever,” I admit quietly, surprising myself with my sudden confession. “It feels… normal.”

“It does,” Peeta agrees, his voice soft. “We could use more of it.”

I nod, but there’s a pang in my chest. Normalcy is something we can’t really afford. Not with everything that’s happening. But for now, here in this moment, it feels like we’ve finally found a little for ourselves.

“Ready for another round?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Bring it on,” I reply, a competitive edge in my voice.

He throws the apple again, a little harder this time, and it bounces off the forcefield with more force. I leap to catch it and feel my fingers barely reach it.

“Nice catch,” Peeta calls out.

I can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face. “You’re not making this easy.”

“Wouldn’t be fun if it was too easy,” he counters.

For a while, we continue the game, the apple bouncing back and forth between us as we try to outdo each other. Each catch is just a little harder so that the game stays challenging. And as we laugh and taunt each other,  the weight of everything else seems to lift.

Eventually, we tire. I’m out of breath, and my throwing arm aches just a little in a pleasant way. 

Peeta reaches into a small basket and pulls out a checkered blanket. He spreads it out carefully on the mossy ground and looks up at me with an inviting smile. “Want to sit down for a bit?”

I nod and join him. As we sit, I glance around at the garden again, taking in the colors and scents. Flowers sway gently in the breeze, reminding me of the meadow back home. The wind chimes tinkle pleasantly.

“It’s peaceful here. I can see why you like it,” I say.

Peeta leans back on his hands. “Yeah, it is. Sometimes it’s nice to just… get away from everything, you know?”

I know exactly what he means. “The palace is suffocating,” I sigh.

I find myself tracing patterns in the blanket with my fingers as my thoughts drift to the flowers around us. There’s just so many and they're so… neat. Back home they don’t grow in such straight lines or perfect clusters. 

“Do you have a favorite flower?” I ask, curious.

“Mmm. That’s tough,” Peeta replies, as he looks around thoughtfully. “I guess I like marigolds.”

I like them too. They're so common in 12.

“Why marigolds?” I ask, genuinely interested.

“They were the first flowers I planted with my dad. And the last,” he explains wistfully. “He’s always loved them.”

“What about you?” he asks, turning to me.

“Dandelions,” I blurt out, feeling a little self-conscious. “They’re resilient and… taste good.”

I expect him to judge me or at least be a little weirded out, but instead, he just nods, considering my words. "That makes sense. I’ve never actually eaten one, but I know first-hand their resilience."

I glance at him, surprised by his understanding. "Yeah… I used to forage them from a meadow when things were tough.” I choose to conveniently leave out that I hadn’t started doing that until he gave me the coin in the rain. That while I harvested them, I kept a look out for him since the meadow was so close to where we had met.

Is there a reason for that? Could he have been missing home?

Peeta's expression darkens slightly, a hint of frustration in his voice. "It's horrible. How few resources are in the districts. While here..." he trails off.

I nod in agreement. “But hungry people are easier to control.”

Peeta runs a hand through his hair, “It’ll change. It won’t always be like this.”

“How?” I ask, searching his face for answers, but Peeta turns his gaze away.

A long silence, now uncomfortable, follows, and I begin to worry that I’ve upset him somehow. But when he finally speaks, his tone is careful and voice quiet. I lean in closer to hear him over the wind chimes.

 “Let’s pretend you are Queen for a moment. Consider this: the Capitol is full of Silvers, but most of them aren’t Abilities. Most don’t care much, if at all, about the Blood Games or the conditions in the Districts. But there are powerful people here who could— and would— convince those ordinary civilians to turn against you if you ended the Games in the wrong way, or if they realized you were trying to improve things in the Districts. Then there’s the people in the Districts and the…” he hesitates, frowning, “the Scarlet Guard. If you do something too extreme, you’ll be removed as Queen. If you do too little, aside from the moral implications, you’ll face resistance.”

He pauses, letting me think for a moment, then asks, “So, what would you do?”

I’m silent. What would I do? My first instinct is to remove the whole system, to stop anything and anyone that allows Panem to be as it is. But I know that’s not the answer. I try to imagine having all that power, but only if I do what certain people want.

I think aloud, “So.. If the Capitol citizens feel too threatened, they’ll turn on me. But, hypothetically, I’d need them to ignore what I do to improve the system?”

“Yes. What might make them overlook your actions?” he asks. 

What do most Silvers want?   “Making them feel powerful?” I guess.

“Good, but think shallower.”

 I think back to what Haymitch once said: They want romance and drama. And you need them to like you and Peeta. To accept you.

“They’d overlook my actions… to an extent… if they like and accept me? Is it really that simple?”

“That’s it… but it isn’t simple.” Peeta says, his eyes finally meeting mine. “It’s about balance. Too much change too quickly, and the Capitol citizens see a threat. Too little, and the Districts will lose faith in you.”

I mull over his words, and it begins to make sense. I don’t like it, but I see his point and its validity.

“I think I get it,” I say slowly, more to myself than to him. “ If I were just likable enough that people here support me, I could calm the most powerful people by offering them money or improved status while still helping the Districts.”

Peeta releases tension in his body I hadn’t even noticed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Exactly.”

I feel the opposite of relief as I connect the dots, though. 

This isn’t hypothetical at all. This is where we’re heading right now. People in the Districts believe in me, and the Silvers in the Capitol love Peeta. Because of that, they’re starting to tolerate me—maybe even admire me. Peeta pushed for our marriage, positioning me to become Queen someday. His mother thinks it will calm the Districts, but she doesn’t see what’s really happening.

Is this what Haymitch and Cinna meant?

My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a loud creaking. Peeta flinches at the sound, but we’re both relieved to see it’s only Delly opening the hatch.

“Hey Peeta! Hi Katniss!” she waves as she comes over.

We smile and greet her and then she pulls out a folded paper.

“It’s from your sister,” she whispers and extends it to me.

That one sentence means the world to me. I hold the letter tightly as I recognize Prim’s neat handwriting.

Dear Katniss,

I can’t stop thinking about what happened two days ago at the Reaping. If I had just been braver and went up to the stage faster, I know this could’ve been avoided. I’m sorry.

I was so afraid when those Silencer guards took away your power. You fainted, but I didn’t know what would happen to you. I was so afraid they killed you… or that they would soon.

But you wouldn’t believe my relief when there was a mandatory showing of you. Mom and I couldn’t care less that you lied about being a Silver. We just felt like we could breathe again, knowing you’re okay.

We’ve heard rumors about you in the Capitol, even some about you getting married to the Prince. Gale says it’s definitely fake, but I don’t know. I have no idea how horrible things are over there or what they could be forcing you to do.

I need to keep this short… I don’t even know if you’ll get this, but I just wanted to let you know that everything here is okay. A few officials came and gave us some coins but otherwise, it’s all usual in 12. We all miss you. But mom and I (and Buttercup) are safe. Thanks to you.

I love you Katniss. Please take care of yourself. It should be your first priority.

Love,

Prim

Chapter Text

As Peeta and I sit at the table, cameras carefully trained to capture every expression on our faces, I struggle to fully focus on the binding marriage contract in front of me. With a tight twist of anxiety in my stomach, I try to decipher the blurring words. 

My mind easily wanders. I think of Prim’s letter. I was relieved that my family is okay, that they truly are in 12 and safe, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss them. Or worry constantly about them. Or suddenly think of their potential reactions to everything around me. And then there’s Peeta. Is he planning what I think he is?

There’s no way he believes I could be Queen someday. Is there? 

Forcing my smile back on my lips, I sign the document with the permanent ink punctuating the action with a small soft kiss to Peeta’s lips. It feels empty. Peeta shoots a happy look at the cameras as he hands the document off to our witnesses: The Queen and– not the King as I had expected– but that man Snow. What did he say he was again? An advisor or something.

The footage from today won’t be broadcast until after the Blood Games– of course– since no one wants to overshadow that event. But we still need to be convincing. I fix my gaze on Peeta, trying to mimic a look of deep love, the kind I remember seeing between my parents. 

But my eyes keep drifting to the almost indiscernible layers of powder covering the bruise on his cheek. Is he in pain?  

Something in Peeta’s eyes draws me to look back up. It’s that look of love, so genuine, that it catches me completely off guard. He can truly act. Almost as if I’m the only person in the room, the only one that matters, his gaze doesn’t leave my face. Gently, ever so gently, he brushes a dark lock of hair out of my face and tucks it behind my ear.

“And cut,” the director’s voice snaps me out of the moment. I tear my eyes away from Peeta, blinking as if waking from a dream, and find myself facing the Queen. She’s as elegant as ever, her posture perfect and relaxed… but something’s off. She looks… just the slightest bit tired.

“Peeta,” she addresses smoothly, “You will continue your visits to promote the Blood Games. Per our discussion, Katelle will be joining you.”

I frown but force my mouth shut. What if what happened to Peeta was because of me?  

The idea has been floating in my head all day, but I haven’t fully considered it until now. It makes sense—he had to use his power on Clove because of me, and he hasn’t told the public, not even Delly, about what he can do. Does the Queen know?

Peeta’s responding, but I’m so overwhelmed by my thoughts, by all the questions, that I start to tune his toneless voice out. I wish we were alone. Then he might sound more like himself.

There’s a soft touch on my shoulder. “Katelle?” Peeta asks, eyebrows slightly drawn. 

I look up, realizing that everyone in the room is watching me. The Queen’s gaze is particularly intense as if she’s longing to read my every thought. It’s unnerving.

“It’s time to go,” Peeta whispers to me. I nod, forcing myself to stand, though my legs feel shaky beneath me. We leave and I let Peeta guide me to wherever. I can’t exactly care at the moment, still occupied with my thoughts, but I do realize I’ve never been this way before. Everything is so unforgettably large, the ceiling so high and the hallway so wide that I would surely recognize it. It’s unnecessary how big everything is since it’s completely empty.

Peeta suddenly stops and turns to me, “Katniss, can you do this?”

“What is this ?” I ask bluntly.

“Before the Blood Games, there’s always a level of promotion in the Capitol,” he explains. “I usually give speeches about the purpose of the Games. But this year, the Queen wants to extend that to the Districts. And she wants you to come with me.”

I want to be with Peeta, I always feel safest with him, but the thought of promoting the Blood Games is repulsive. How could I stand before people like me, people who have suffered, and tell them there’s any justification for it? I just don’t know how to articulate all this, here, where someone might be able to overhear us.

As if sensing my discomfort, Peeta frowns, “You wouldn’t need to say much,” he begins, but then pauses, frustrated. He chews on his lip for a few moments, before meeting my gaze again. “If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to.”

I know he’s lying. And finally, I have the courage to say it. “That isn’t true. It isn’t in your control, is it?”

Peeta glances around before he carefully responds, “It’s in yours.”

I shake my head with a little smile. There’s no use lying to ourselves. “Come on. Let’s go,” I say with a sigh.

Peeta leads me through a pair of massive doors, revealing a small train station within the palace. The space is incredible, sleek and futuristic. We have a train station in 12 too, a small wooden platform that looked like it could fall apart at any time. 

“Your Highness! Prince Peeta!” a shrill voice I recognize calls.

Effie Trinket.

Just what I needed.

She’s dressed in a lavender dress with layers of ruffles everywhere that match her huge dark purple wig. Her outfit is so overwhelming that I find myself getting a headache just looking at her. 

“Effie!” Peeta smiles fondly as he approaches her. “What have we said about formalities? You can just call me Peeta.”

“Of course! Of course!” she chirps, then wraps Peeta in a hug. 

Peeta turns to me, his voice softening as he says, “You two know each other, I believe.”

Before I can say a word, Effie gushes, “I had the absolute pleasure of meeting Katelle!”

I roll my eyes recalling that horrible day, “You mean when you called my sister during the Reaping and then denied my volunteering?”

Her expression dampens, but she quickly recovers. “Rules are rules,” she says airily. 

I don’t bother replying, only glaring at her steadily. If she thinks I’ll ever see past her actions and her compliance, she’s wrong. I allow myself to take pleasure in the uncomfortable way Effie Trinket fidgets with her stupid lace gloves. 

“What are you doing here, Effie?” Peeta asks eventually.

“I’ll be accompanying the two of you, of course along with the servants and the guards, to make sure you stay right on schedule,” she answers as she guides us to the shiny train. 

So we’re stuck with her for this whole trip? Great.

As we step onto the train, I have to hold in a gasp when I see the interior. The floors gleam under the bright lighting and the plush seats look incredibly comfortable. Effie bustles ahead, her heels clicking against the floor, as Peeta and I follow silently.

The door slides shut with a soft hiss, sealing us in as the train starts. Effie flutters off to do who knows what, leaving us in an uneasy quiet. I glance at Peeta but then I see someone in my periphery. 

A man approaches us, bowing slightly before addressing Peeta. “Your Highness, we’ve received word to check the trackers before departure.”

Peeta frowns, “Of course, sure… wait did you say trackers ? As in plural?”

The servant hesitates before answering, “Yes, your Highness. I was instructed to verify both yours and Lady Katelle’s trackers are intact prior to your departing the Capitol.”

“ Katelle’s ,” he repeats in horror before turning to me, “You didn’t know about this, did you?”

I shake my head, trying to process what he’s saying. They’ve been tracking me? The realization sends a chill down my spine. And Peeta already has one? The Queen must not see him as her child at all. She’s treating him like property.

Peeta swears under his breath. He turns back to the servant with a strained voice, “Erevan, who gave this order?”

“I-I believe it was directly from the Chief Advisor to the crown, your Highness,” Erevan stammers, uncomfortably.

Peeta’s expression hardens and he runs a shaky hand through his hair before facing me, “I’m sorry. I swear, I didn’t know they put one in.”

“They put a tracker inside me?” I confirm, my voice catching as he nods, taking a steadying breath.

I feel a surge of anger, but it’s quickly smothered by a grim acceptance. Of course, they’d do this. It’s not like they’d trust me to roam freely. I’m a prisoner in every sense of the word. 

I place a hand on Peeta’s tense shoulder and look into his blue eyes, “It’s fine.”

Erevan clears his throat, clearly anxious to complete his task. “Your Highness, if you would allow us to proceed…”

Peeta’s jaw tightens. “I’ll go first,” he states, back to his emotionless voice. 

The servant steps forward, pulling out a small device. With practiced efficiency, he scans Peeta’s forearm, a soft beep confirming the presence of the tracker. He then turns to me, the scanner hovering near my arm.

I flinch involuntarily as the device passes over me with a quiet beep indicating the tracker’s presence. They can see my every move.

Erevan finishes and steps back, bowing slightly. “Thank you both. We’ll ensure everything is in order for your journey.”

“Thank you Erevan,” Peeta forces out as the man hurriedly leaves. 

“We’ll have separate compartments,” Peeta tells me quietly. “Do you want to go there now, or stay here for a while?”

“I think we could go now,” I respond, my hand instinctively reaching for his.

When we reach the door, Peeta opens it, revealing a cozy space. The large bed is neatly made, a small desk sits in the corner, and a full bookshelf lines one wall. But it’s the large window behind a small loveseat that catches my attention, offering a breathtaking view of the sun setting below the horizon.

Peeta hesitates at the doorway, his eyes scanning the room before turning back to me. “If you ever need anything, I’ll be right next door,” he says with a small smile.

“Wait!” The word leaves my mouth before I can stop it, a sudden surge of panic rising in my chest.

Peeta freezes, his hand on the doorframe, and searches my eyes. “Do you want me to stay for a bit?” he asks, his voice soft.

I nod, feeling a bit foolish but relieved that he understands. “Just for a little while,” I whisper.

He steps inside and closes the door behind him with a soft click. Peeta crosses the room to the window, staring out at the colors painting the sky before turning back to me. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he says.

“Yeah,” I reply. There’s something strange about the way the light catches his features from this angle. His eyelashes glow and skin is bathed in the warm glow of the sunlight.

We sit there for a little, just the two of us in the quiet, before Peeta finally speaks again. “I’m sorry about the tracker,” he says, guiltily. “They probably put it in when you first arrived but the Queen never told me. I didn’t think–”

“It’s not your fault,” I interrupt firmly. “And I’m not surprised they did it. It’s just another way to control me. But that doesn’t make it your fault.”

I think and then continue, locking my gaze with Peeta’s, “But why you ?”

He laughs hollowly, “It actually makes more sense than you’d expect. Everything has its consequences and the Queen never liked my little stunt when I left the Capitol.”

A brisk knock on the door interrupts us and Peeta gets up to look through the peephole.

“It’s Effie,” he says with a frown and then opens the door a little.

Effie doesn’t wait for an invitation, quickly coming inside. “Oh, I hope I’m not interrupting!” she says bubbly, though I expect she doesn’t really care if she is. Her eyes take in the room quickly, a hint of approval in her gaze. “Is everything to your liking, Lady Katelle?”

“It’s fine,” I say, fighting to keep my voice neutral.

She claps her hands together, oh so pleased with herself. “Wonderful! Now, I just wanted to go over the final itinerary changes with you both. We’ve adjusted our route to include District 12 first, as per your request, Your Highness,” she smiles to Peeta. “Though I must say, your mother was quite… surprised by the change.”

Peeta’s expression darkens slightly, but he only shrugs. “It was the right choice,” he says simply.

Effie’s smile becomes strained, “Of course, Your Highness. We’ll be arriving in 12 tomorrow morning, so I suggest you both get some rest tonight. By 11 on the dot preferably. Tomorrow will be a big, big, big day!”

She gives a small, polite bow before leaving.

“We’re going to 12?” I ask, unable to hide the excitement in my voice.

Peeta grins, “Yeah. And we can set some time for you to meet up with your family and Gale.”

I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously, “Wait, how do you know about Gale?”

Peeta’s smile falters, and he hesitates, carefully choosing his words. “Well… okay, please don’t get this wrong, but when we first met, I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were okay, so I kept in touch with a Peacekeeper in 12 named Darius. He mentioned you sometimes, just to let me know you were doing all right.” He pauses, his gaze dropping slightly as if he’s unsure how I’ll react. “He told me about your... friend.”

I try to process what he’s just said. “You had Darius watching me?” I know Darius, he was always kind to me. Still, the idea is unsettling. “But you didn’t even know me that well.”

Peeta, clearly uncomfortable, tries to explain. “I know it sounds bad, but I was young and I wasn’t close to anyone my age. And although I didn’t do much in your life, you made a world of difference in mine.”

Why is he acting like I’m special? He’s the one who saved my life.

“I would have died if you didn’t give me the coin,” I state, matter of fact.

“Me too,” he says seriously like he’s not just agreeing for the sake of it.

I tilt my head, trying to understand. "But why? I didn’t do anything."

Peeta hesitates as if trying to find the right way to express something personal. "Because you were brave. Strong in a way I could never be. You didn’t give up, even when things were at their worst. And it inspired me to be like that. I wanted to believe that if you could keep going, then maybe I could too."

“ I inspired you ?” I ask in disbelief. He has everything backward. He saved my life. He gave me the coin.

It makes me think about what everyone has been saying. I’ve inspired hope, the rebellion, and people to fight back.

Peeta’s fighting too, in the only way he can.

“You did more than that. You showed me that it’s worth having hope, even when things seem impossible. But, look, I know it was wrong, and I completely understand if–”

I don’t consciously plan to do it, but he’s worrying and I don’t know how to fix it with words, so I do the first thing that comes to mind.

I kiss him.

It’s easily the softest kiss between us, but it feels the most powerful. Once our lips touch, it’s like there’s electricity drawing us even closer. We don’t separate until we’re both breathless, my cheeks feeling hot and his paling.

“There aren’t any cameras here,” he murmurs in a daze.

“I know,” I exhale. 

It was right to kiss him, even if I don't understand why because the concern melts off his face instantly. We sit together, wordlessly watching the bright colors of the sky fade into a dark blue and then the glittering stars emerge above. 

Eventually, Peeta leaves to grab some stuff from his room, and I quickly hide my shears from this morning in an ugly pillow. Unzipping it, I force the shears all the way through its stuffing and then put the pillow under the bed. It’s the best I can do.

Once we're in more comfortable clothing, Peeta and I decide to sleep, both in this room. He sets his blanket and pillow on the loveseat.

Sleep isn’t coming easily. Every time I close my eyes, I imagine myself visiting my home looking like a Silver. What if my family or Gale, hates me?  They have every reason to.

And how do I give that speech without truly influencing the District or sending the wrong message? I can't give a speech. I'm too bad at expressing myself.

“Katniss, are you awake?” Peeta whispers.

“Mhm,” I say, playing with the edge of my thick, expensive blanket.

“I have a question. What’s your sister, Primrose, like? Can you tell me about her?”

“Yeah I can,” I say, my voice softening as I think of my little sister. “She’s… she’s everything good in this world. She’s gentle and kind, always thinking of others before herself. Prim loves to take care of people– animals too. There was this one time she found a scrawny kitten covered in fleas wandering around our house and Prim begged so hard, cried even to keep him. She cleaned the kitten up and eventually, we let him stay. And even though he’s hideous, she named him Buttercup after the flower. She loves him.”

I feel myself smiling at the memory, “Prim has a way of making everything better.”

Peeta listens intently and then says, “She sounds like an amazing person.”

“She is,” I agree. “She makes all of this worth it.”

“I know how that feels,” Peeta whispers. “Does Buttercup still live with Prim?”

“Mhm. That cat sticks around, even though he hates me. But don’t worry, the feeling’s mutual. We have an understanding.” I grin as Peeta lets out a quiet laugh.

I rack my brain for something to ask Peeta. Something to remind him of a happy memory. Like what?

“Do you think…” Peeta breaks the silence again, hesitantly. “Could you tell me more? How about your best day?”

“My best day?” I repeat thoughtfully, “It would probably be back when my father was still alive. He died in a coal mining accident 6 years ago,” I explain trying to keep my voice level, “There was this one day when we walked out to the woods. I remember him showing me all kinds of plants and teaching me their names and what they were useful for. And then we reached a clearing with a lake and he taught me to swim. Once we were too tired, we laid on the grass and sang to the Mockingjays. He had such an incredible voice that all the birds fell silent to listen to him.”

My eyes are watery, but it’s dark enough that I don’t need to force them away. It isn’t sadness exactly. I’m happy to be sharing this, remembering that day, but I miss him. I miss being young, being a child, being carefree. 

Peeta is quiet for a little, and I wonder if I’ve shared too much, but then he speaks gently. “That’s beautiful. I’m sorry you lost him. That must have been hard. Do you still sing?”

“Not much. Only for Prim sometimes. I think it reminds her of how father used to sing her to sleep,” I smile at the memory of Prim as a little girl, her eyes fluttering shut as our father’s voice lulled her to sleep. “It always worked, without fail. She’d try to stay awake, but the moment he started singing, it was like magic. She’d be out like a light.”

“It sounds like your father really cared about you both,” Peeta says softly, his tone filled with admiration. “Like you do for Prim.” He pauses a moment, then says, almost as if to himself, “I think it’s important to hold onto those memories. They keep us grounded and remind us of who we are and what truly matters.”

I hum in agreement. “What about you, do you have any favorite memories? Or maybe favorite things to do?”

“I like to draw,” he confesses like a secret.

“What do you draw?” I ask. Is that what he was doing earlier today in the garden?

“Everything,” he laughs, “Plants, landscapes, people, animals.”

“Can I see some?” I say hopefully. I wonder what his drawings look like, but I have a feeling they’ll be beautiful. 

“Um… they’re not very good,” Peeta stutters out nervously.

“That’s okay,” I say reassuringly, “I have no artistic ability.”

Pulling back the covers, I sit up in the bed and face him. “I won’t judge you,” I promise with certainty.

“Okay,” he whispers. There’s the sound of him shifting objects and then a little clicking sound. After turning on low lighting, Peeta walks over to me carrying a thick black sketchbook with an opened lock. He looks me right in the eye and says, “Are you sure you want to see?”

That makes me a little nervous. What’s in there that he’s so afraid for me to see? But my tone doesn’t reflect that as I reply, “I am.” I pat a spot next to me for him to sit down.

Peeta ruffles through the pages of his sketchbook, as if he's searching for something specific he’s willing to share. Finally, he stops at a page, gently sliding it out from the worn binding, and passes it to me.

It’s a vivid sunset, just like the one we saw earlier. Oranges, pinks, and purples blend beautifully above a bright setting sun. Fluffy clouds reflect the colors subtly. Dark silhouettes of tall trees frame the background. It’s like a photograph, except I can see thin strokes all over the work.

Although it’s beautiful, easily the most beautiful drawing I’ve ever seen, I can’t shake the feeling that it doesn’t reveal much about Peeta at all. He knows I like sunsets already.

“This is beautiful Peeta,” I say honestly, “It looks just like the real thing.”

“Thank you,” he replies, avoiding my gaze, “I’m glad you think so.”

Is it wrong that I have the sudden urge to yank the sketchbook from him and see what he’s hiding? Probably.

So I stay civil, “If you want to show me any others, now or later, I’d love to see them.”

Peeta smiles softly, “Sure, but it’s getting late. Maybe another time.”

“Actually you’re right, we should be sleeping,” I think aloud. I smirk once we’re both back in our respective beds and back in the dark. “What if,” I whisper, “Effie were to find us awake right now?”

Peeta chuckles, “She’d go off about how we aren’t following the schedule, and then, get this, she’d modify it, exasperated, to include ‘fooling around instead of sleeping’ from 11pm-1am.”

I laugh, adding on, “And then come in at 1 in the morning to check we’ve moved on to 'the next activity'.”

Chapter Text

The faint smell of burning coal mixed with damp leaves reaches me. Inhaling deeply, I feel myself relax slightly. I’m home.

My outfit today is light and airy, certainly Cinna’s work again. Long, flat feathers with a silver shimmer cover me, all various shades of blue and gray. The flowy style, the feathers, and the colors all come together to represent a Mockingjay, easily recognizable by anyone in District 12. A belt cinches in my waist, interrupting the loose style of the top and bottom. 

Cinna has created another message: I still belong to District 12, even after everything, but have been touched by the Silver world. I'm trapped, my freedom restricted. 

I walk with Peeta, dressed in a light blue suit and hair slightly tousled by the wind. Peacekeepers escort us through the crowd, forming a barrier between us and the people of 12. I wonder if they truly believe it’s only for our protection and not to stop us from connecting with the crowd. In more ways than just physically.

Peeta and I wear matching smiles, hyper-aware of the propo team filming our trip to the stage. How many times have I walked down this dirt path, dressed in my father’s worn hunting jacket heading to the Hob to meet with Gale after stealing coins from visiting Silvers? How can something so familiar be suddenly so different?

A part of me misses my past life. Fighting for every coin, the fear of the Reapings, and the reminder of inferiority embedded in everyday life was miserable; but, the little freedom I did have meant everything to me. And it is now gone, replaced with this chance to make things better. If only I can be strategic enough.

We reach the small wooden stage set up in the middle of the square, and I realize everything is so similar to the Reaping. There’s a tension in everyone’s faces, but also a hint of something else. Curious, they stare at me as if trying to figure out who I am: Katelle, the Silver I’ve been made out to be, or Katniss, the girl they all know. The daughter of two rich, dead Silvers, or that of an honorable, caring coal miner and a kind, intelligent healer. Enemy or family.

The Peacekeepers surround the stage and crowd, clearly sending the message to not even consider attacking.

“Let’s give a warm welcome to the Prince of Panem, Prince Peeta, and his fiancée, Lady Katelle,” a Silver woman says.

Fiancée. A ripple of shock passes over the faces in the crowd. Well, at least she wasn’t bold enough to tell them I’m technically his wife. At least until after the Games.

Peeta takes my hand gently, and begins his practiced speech, “We are honored to be here in District 12 today. Just days ago, two of your citizens were reaped for this year’s annual Blood Games: Bristel and Jessup.”

He pauses, his eyes scanning the crowd carefully. This is where he’s supposed to speak about the importance of the Games. But instead, he ignores his script and speaks freely, his voice soft.

“Bristel worked in your mines, bringing food to the table for her four younger siblings, who she loves dearly. Her favorite color is purple because of the Verbena flower. Bristel used to help prepare brides on the day of their Toasting, weaving flowers in their hair.”

“Jessup is the son of your town’s butchers. He was planning to continue helping his parents in their shop. Though an only child, he has many friends with whom he played some strategic games– his favorite being Marbles. He also enjoyed taking long walks around the district.”

Peeta exhales slowly and proceeds, “In a week, both will be entering the arena, where their deaths will be broadcast across Panem. The Blood Games began after the end of the Dark Days, a time when people with Silver blood were cruelly mistreated. It is a punishment to Reds. The importance of these children’s sacrifice for this stark reminder should not be downplayed.”

He turns to me, waiting for the short official lines that I’m supposed to deliver before he ends the speech. The words are neatly written on the cards in my hand, but I can’t bring myself to recite them.

I look out at the crowd, at the faces of people I’ve known my entire life. The baker holds his younger daughter’s hand who looks at me with wide green eyes. My classmate Madge stands watching while supporting her ill mother. Gale’s friend, Thom, is alone with a suspicious look at me. They’re waiting for me to speak. For my real self. For Katniss Everdeen.

“I’ve lived here in District 12 for nearly my whole life,” I begin, my voice steady. “And although I am Silver by blood, I will not forget my roots here. I carry this district with me in everything I do, and I will represent you in whatever way I can.”

Everyone is silent for a moment, stunned that I have said what I did, looking as I do. Then hands raise in a 3 finger salute. Respect, gratitude, unity… relief floods through me because they understand, but then I notice something shiny in the distance. Standing in the crowd is a man, face twisted with anger, holding a gun. 

And it’s aimed directly at Peeta.

My breath catches in my throat, time slowing as the realization hits me. Everything fades away. All that matters is the deadly intent in the man’s eyes and the fact that Peeta hasn’t noticed. As people put their hands down, he begins to speak again.

I hear his voice, far away, but I don’t listen. Instead, with all my strength, I lunge at his body just as the shot rings out, piercing through the air like a thunderclap.

We hit the ground hard, and I scramble to cover him. The sound of the gunshot is quickly drowned out by screams of terror, frantic shouts of Peacekeepers and the pounding of feet as people scatter in every direction. The world explodes into chaos.

My heart races as Peacekeepers swarm around us, their white uniforms a blur. They push and pull at us, hands rough as they force us to our feet. I reach for Peeta’s stable hand, my trembling fingers wrapped tightly around his. 

I try to catch a glimpse of the crowd, desperate to see what’s happening to my people, but the Peacekeepers are a solid wall as they usher us away from the square, toward safety.

What did I do?

The adrenaline keeps me legs moving. Until there’s nowhere else to go. Peeta and I are alone in a room, guards blocking the entrance of the Justice Building. Everything is silent, except for my racing heart. 

I drop into a seat, heels on the plush carpet, hands twirling the bottom of my braid, unrestrained. Nightmarish thoughts rush into my head. What if I wasn’t fast enough to save Peeta? What if he died? Did I cause this with my speech? What retaliation will there be? Will my family be okay? Where are they now? What about that man and his family? His friends? The rest of the district? What will the Queen do?

I failed.

My breathing comes in shallow gasps, and I can feel myself starting to spiral, panic consuming me. 

“Katniss,” Peeta says, his voice gentle. He kneels in front of me and his hands cover mine, stilling their frantic movement. “Look at me.”

I can’t. If I do, I’ll have to face the reality of how close I came to losing him. I’ll have to see the fear in his eyes. The fear I put there because I couldn’t keep my emotions in check, couldn’t play the part I was supposed to play.

“Katniss,” he says again, more urgently this time, and there’s something about it that makes me lift my head. His blue eyes meet mine, grounding me in a way that nothing else has since the moment that shot rang out. There’s no anger there, no blame. Only concern, and something that tells me he’s not thinking about what almost happened to him. He’s only thinking about… me.

“It’s okay,” he says softly. “Everything’s okay. Your family will be fine, I promise.”

“No!” I burst out, my voice shaky. “It’s not okay. You almost died! You could have died , Peeta!”

For a moment, confusion flickers across his face, but it quickly fades as he slips back into the role of comforting me. He takes my hands, stroking them gently. “I’m okay, Katniss,” he says steadily. “You saved my life.”

“But,” My voice wavers, and then the words spill out. “What if I didn’t? What if… What if it was my fault? If I just read the cards–”

“No.” Peeta cuts me off firmly, shaking his head. “This wasn’t your fault at all,” he says with conviction. “None of this is your fault.”

I want to let him convince me, but still… “Don’t you think… what I said might have made him want to kill you?”

Peeta frowns and thinks for a moment. “No,” he decides resolutely. “That man would have shot regardless. Most people in the districts hate me, and this was my first time in 12 officially. And he must have planned this earlier to have a weapon. It couldn’t have been about you.”

He has a point, but will everyone see it that way? 

“What about the Queen?” I ask in a whisper. “She’s probably upset we went off script and she could punish my family or–”

“Don’t worry about that,” he interrupts. “I’ll take care of it, I promise. You don’t have to worry.”

I sniffle as a tear rolls down my cheek. A voice in my head scolds me for being weak. Peeta’s the one who almost died– he should be the one breaking down, not me. But when he inches closer and wraps his arms around me in a small, comforting hug, I can’t help but cling to him tightly, as if my life depends on it. His embrace feels safe.

“Everything’s okay,” Peeta murmurs near my ear, his voice steady. “I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re going to be okay.”

I almost believe him.

–

The rest of the day passes in a haze. Effie bursts into the room at some point, her mascara running down her cheeks as she rushes to Peeta, asking if he’s okay. While she fusses over him, Peeta reassures her with a calmness that seems almost unnatural.

“Someone should have seen it!” Effie eventually says incredulously. “Each Peacekeeper had an assigned section to watch. Whoever was watching that spot should be fired!”

What if that peacekeeper wasn’t paying attention on purpose? Or by someone’s commands.

When Effie leaves, we eat. Again, there are warm cheese buns on the silver platter brought in, among more… vibrant things I avoid. 

As I chew on my second cheese bun, Peeta offers me a mug filled with a rich brown liquid, light steam coming out the top and smelling heavenly.

“What is that?” I ask curiously.

He widens his eyes in disbelief, “You’ve never tried hot chocolate?”

I shake my head.

“Well, it’s really good. You should try it.”

So I do, cautiously taking a sip, the sweet, creamy liquid warming my insides.

“Do you like it?” Peeta asks as he pours tea into his own mug. No sugar, I notice.

I feel myself smile, “It’s delicious.”

Soon, Peeta gets a call. And from the way he hesitates before answering, I think it’s from the Queen. My stomach twists uncomfortably.

“Your Highness,” Peeta addresses, his voice carefully neutral.

There’s a long pause as the Queen speaks, and I can imagine her voice– cold, sharp, demanding. Peeta’s face remains impassive, but he gets up from beside me to pace.

“Yes, I am fine,” he responds eventually. “That is correct, we are in the Justice Building.”

Another pause. More pacing.

“Katelle is with me,” he says. “The Peacekeepers responded immediately. What you watched is accurate.”

I watch Peeta frown. “He did escape, yes. I believe there was only one. There is no evidence to suggest any larger group planning this action.”

While he waits, Peeta chews on his lip nervously. “No, I did not follow the script, exactly . I requested the personalization of her speech and did not have the foresight to check it. It was my mistake and I apologize. Still, there were modifications made that were needed under the circumstances. The situation here is delicate.”

Again, Peeta’s taking responsibility for everything. He’s lying to make me seem blameless to protect me. But it must be dangerous to lie to a mind reader. Wouldn’t she be able to tell?

His mother’s response seems to be cutting, because I see frustration cross his features before he quickly suppresses it.

“Understood,” Peeta says. “There is no need for you to get involved directly. I will manage this.”

He listens for a few more seconds, then finally says, “Yes, Your Highness. Let us discuss this further when we arrive at the Palace.” He hesitates and then asks, “ Would you… inform Father? Or request a maid to?”

He takes a deep breath, “Understood.”

Peeta ends the call and lowers the phone slowly, his eyes distant for a moment as if he’s processing the conversation. 

“Are you okay?” I ask tentatively, watching him closely.

“Yeah,” he says, managing a tight smile. “What happened… um… the speeches were broadcast to all of Panem. And it seems like we won’t continue the trip. We’ll be heading back to the Capitol tonight.”

“Because it isn’t safe?” I guess.

“Exactly,” he replies, but his eyes flick away from mine, and I know him too well for that.

“Peeta! Don’t lie to me,” I scowl, stepping closer. “There’s no reason to lie.”

He shakes his head slightly, “My mother thinks we would be able to maintain the best… image if we were to stay in the Capitol.”

“So she can control us better?” I ask, my voice hardening.

He nods, almost imperceptibly.

“You apologized to her. Did she blame you?” I press. How much trouble did he put himself in?

Peeta hesitates. “Um… Katniss, I don’t know if it’s worth talking about this,” he answers, voice so quiet I have to strain to listen.

“So she does,” I say, feeling my hatred for that witch growing. What kind of mother would do this? Scratch that– what kind of human could do this?  

I continue, voice rising, “And you accepted it! You pretended like my changes were your fault. Why would you do that?”

“Katniss,” Peeta says, voice strained. “I just had to. Because I– Katniss I–”

He cuts himself off suddenly.

“What?” I ask, becoming desperate. “How will I help you if I don’t understand? Peeta, don’t you realize we’re linked now? We’re stuck together!”

My words hang in the air, and I immediately regret them. Peeta’s expression hardens and his body tenses. He’s closing off.

“I realize that,” he says flatly.

He won’t look at me anymore. And it feels like physical pain.

“Peeta, I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“It’s all right,” he sighs. “Look, I’ll see you on the train, okay? I need to go do something. Let’s talk later.”

“I’ll come with you,” I say, feeling desperate to make things right.

“No you can’t,” he responds firmly as he walks to the door, “It’s somewhere you can’t go.”

“Peeta,” I mumble, unsure of what could make this better. “I-”

“It’s okay,” he whispers and closes the door with a snap, leaving me all alone.

I stand there, staring at the wooden door. I partly expect it to reopen any second. And when I accept it won’t, I consider bursting out after him. An empty feeling hits me because of his absence. And again, I wonder how I’ve become so attached in such a short time. It feels like we’ve been connected since that day in the rain.

Forget Peeta.

That won’t work.

I end up searching for a distraction, walking around the outer edge of the room. Silent on the wooden floorboards, I make my way while running my hands along the smooth wall.

A soft knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts and I feel my heart leap. It’s Peeta, coming back to make things right.

“Come in!” I call out too eagerly.

The door creaks open slowly, and it isn’t Peeta… but I still feel a rush of relief. My mother and Prim step into the room, looking completely unharmed.

“Katniss!” Prim exclaims, her face lighting up with that wide grin I’ve missed so much. She rushes into my arms, and I pull her close, wrapping her in the tightest hug I can manage. I never want to let go.

“Prim,” I murmur. “Are you okay? What’s been happening?”

We’ve been safe,” Prim reassures me, pulling back slightly to look at me in disbelief. “Everything’s been normal. But we heard about a shooting, and we were so afraid you were hurt.”

“I’m fine,” I say. “But they’re taking us back to the Capitol tonight.”

Once we let go of each other, I turn to my mother, who’s watching us with a soft, concerned expression. “I missed you,” I tell her, stepping into her open arms.

“I missed you too,” she whispers as I melt into her embrace. “What’s been happening in the Capitol? We watched you talk about being a Silver, then there was the ball with the Prince, and all that promotional material… it seems like you’re always with him.”

“I made a deal,” I admit, my voice low. “The Prince and I had to be married and I have to pretend I’m a Silver.”

“Why would that fix anything?” Prim asks, brows furrowing.

“Because if I’m a Silver, it isn’t a Red who resisted the Reaping,” I explain. “I become one of them.”

“We heard of an engagement, but you’re… married?” my mother asks, eyes wide with shock.

I avoid her gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Yes,” I mumble.

An uncomfortable silence settles and then Prim whispers in a small voice, “This is all my fault.”

“No!” I say immediately, kneeling down to look her in the eyes. “It isn’t your fault, little duck. You did nothing wrong.”

“But Katniss-”

“No buts,” I shake my head firmly. “You didn’t do anything to cause this.”

“Are you safe?” my mother asks quietly, her voice trembling slightly. “And please, be honest.”

I look up to her. “I’m safe for now, but I need to follow specific rules,” I admit, trying to keep my tone light. “I live in the Palace, though. So there’s always a lot of food, the rooms are huge, and I’m always wearing amazing clothes.”

I’m rambling but I need to make them feel better; I need Prim to believe my life there is incredible.

“Like this one?” Prim asks, her gaze on my shiny dress. 

“Exactly like it,” I smile.

Prim nods, but then her expression grows serious. “We saw you save the Prince on television. We think everyone in Panem was watching. Why’d you do it?”

“Reflex,” I answer automatically, but the truth is I don’t know. Why did I risk my life for him? I mean, I care about Peeta, that much is obvious. And he’s a good person. Good people shouldn’t die.

But it feels like more than that.

Is it because I feel like I owe him a debt? Or because I like spending time with him? Was it because I believe he cares about Panem, even the districts? Or because I think he’ll make a difference?

And if not, why else do I care about him?

“But he’s a Silver ,” Prim whispers in confusion.

Her perception of Silvers is partly my fault. I used to make comments all the time about Silvers. Now that I’ve met Peeta, Cinna, Delly, even Haymitch, I know I was wrong.

“Just because he’s a Silver doesn’t mean he’s a bad person.”

“Well he’s still the Prince,” she insists.

I reach out, brushing my fingers through her hair to soothe her. “Prim, we can’t choose who we’re born as, right? This was the position he was born into. That doesn’t mean he can’t still be a good person. And I think he is.”

My mother relaxes a little and then smirks as she comments innocently, “The Prince seems smitten with you.”

I let out a little laugh at how impossible that is, but it ends up sounding nervous.

“Peeta’s just a convincing person,” I shrug.

“So you’re married, but neither of you love each other?” Prim says glumly. 

I sigh, and then caress her cheek gently, “We’re… friends. I don’t mind being around him. We’re like…”

Hm. What are we?

And then it hits me, “Like partners, like me and Gale, how we used to work together to get coins. It’s the same thing.”

I sound convinced, but what I’m saying doesn’t feel like enough. We’re partners? Is the work we do together the only thing that matters to me? Is that the only reason I care about Peeta?

No .

But it satisfies Prim. Her features relax and she smiles sweetly, “I’m so glad you’re doing okay there. Even if we miss you.”

There’s another knock on the door and a Peacekeeper I don’t recognize walks in, “There’s another visitor here for you, Lady Katelle.”

It must be Gale.

“Could you let him in?” I ask, feeling myself start to get anxious. Gale’s not… upset with me. Is he?

“I will, but Prince Peeta requested the two of you have complete privacy. Your other guests may return later.”

I don’t need privacy with Gale, but Prim and my mother each give me one last hug. 

“I’ll see you two soon,” I breathe, watching them walk away.

And then Gale storms in. 

“Gale—” I start, but he cuts me off, furious.

“How could you do it, Katniss?” he says harshly. “How could you save the Prince? After everything we’ve been through because of those Silvers ?”

I swallow hard, my heart racing. “Gale, you don’t understand. Peeta isn’t–”

“I understand plenty,” he snaps. “You’ve forgotten what they’ve done to us. What they’ve done to our people.”

He’s putting on a front, I realize. Gale’s hurt.

“No, I haven’t,” I respond, trying to keep my voice steady. “But Peeta isn’t a bad person. He’s different from what we expected.”

“Different?” Gale spits the word out like it’s poison. “He’s their Prince, Katniss! He’ll be King one day. He’s one of them.”

My patience snaps, “And I’ll be Queen!” I yell. 

Gale freezes for a heartbeat and his face twists as if he might cry. But then he lets his anger mask his emotions again.

“I heard about the engagement that they forced you into,” he says.

I hesitate, searching for the right words. “It’s more complicated than that.” I don’t have the heart to tell him we’re already married yet. He’s already this upset.

“They’re forcing you to do it. I understand that. But Katniss, why save him? The Scarlet Guard– we’re trying to brainstorm ways to kill him and you… you’re working against us,” he says, sounding betrayed.

“You have an opportunity,” he murmurs. 

I glare at him, “For?”

“To kill him yourself,” Gale’s voice drops to a whisper. “You’re close to him, Katniss. I’ve seen you two together on the television. When he’s least expecting it, when he’s sleeping, or when his guard is down, you could end this. You could strike a blow for the districts. You could hurt the Capitol.”

Outrage surges through me, and I take a step back, “Gale, are you out of your mind? I’m not going to kill him! I already told you! Peeta isn’t our enemy!”

“How can you say that?” Gale demands.

“He saved my life! Multiple times! He’s trying to help improve things in the districts and…”

“And what?” Gale scoffs. 

“I trust him, Gale! Why can’t you just listen to me?”

“You trust him,” Gale repeats quietly. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do,” I huff, watching his face relax slightly. What? Is he actually jealous I trust Peeta? 

“Fine. You won’t kill the Prince?” he says softly, “Then at least tell everyone the truth. Tell everyone you aren’t a Silver. Prove it to them. There’s many Reds who want to fight, but the fact that you’re pretending to be a Silver and that you’re following all the things they ask you to do scares them. If you aren’t a Red– if you aren’t fighting with us, they aren’t inspired.”

He’s thinking hard, “Show it to everyone and I’ll bet the Scarlet Guard will become twice the size. I’ll bet we could take down the Capitol.”

I hesitate. Could I do that? Should I?

What would that do to the balance that Peeta and I talked about? Could this be a better solution? It seems too brash and risky. I could lose all my leverage at once and my family.

And where would it leave Peeta?

“I don’t know,” I say, still considering the option.

“Come on, Catnip,” Gale says lightly with a hesitant smile.

“I’ll think about it,” I eventually respond, scowling at his face. I’m still upset with him. He has no right to speak to me like he did. And he should believe me.

We hear a soft knock on the door, and then: “Are you ready for your guests to return, Lady Katelle?”

Before I can say a word, Gale closes the distance between us, grabbing my arms and pulling me close.

And then he kisses me.

It isn’t gentle like when Peeta does it, but harsh, filled with raw emotion. Shock hits me, and then… nothing. Aren’t kisses supposed to feel like something?

I shove him away roughly, my breath coming in short gasps. His eyes look wild, almost desperate.

“I needed to do that. Just once because I’ve loved you forever. And I know you feel the same. And I don’t care about the Prince. I know it’s against your will. But our love… it’s stronger than that—”

“Stop!” I interrupt him, my voice trembling with anger. “Just stop.”

He falters, confusion across his face.

“Gale, this isn’t love. You don’t get to decide what I feel. You don’t get to kiss me like that and expect me to just go along with it,” I glare at him.

“But Katniss—”

“Get out,” I snap as my heart pounds in my chest.

He stares at me, hurt and disbelief all across his face.

“Now!” I command and then he finally leaves.

I’ve had a hell of a day. I don’t need this too.

As I feel another wave of frustration, a surprising thought pops into my head:

I wish Peeta were here.

Chapter Text

The time I spend with Mother and Prim is precious. Since I don’t know when we might see each other again, I try to make the best of what we have, forcing my frustration with Gale out of my mind. 

Our conversation isn’t as heavy as earlier. Prim tells me about school and her growing friendship with Rory. Mother shares some news she’s heard around 12. I talk about anything light that comes to mind, like the strangeness of Capitol foods. Still, I do eventually encourage Prim and Mother to eat something from the tray from earlier.

Prim bravely licks a vibrant blue substance off a delicate cookie. 

“Mmmm” she moans. “It’s delicious! Try one, Katniss!”

I make an exaggerated face as she holds a different treat to my tightly shut mouth and then, with an adorable giggle, smears the sparkly pink sauce onto my lips. 

I don’t let her get away with that. After licking off the sweet, surprisingly delicious mess, I pick up a neon green pudding in a strange, edible cone and take my revenge by smushing it into her wide open mouth. She chews carefully and then lets out another laugh before plotting her next attack.

When they leave the room, I feel the easy contentment drain out of me and am again hit by the pressure on me. Their safety depends completely on my actions. To make matters worse, instead of Peeta, Effie Trinket arrives to escort me away.

As we walk out of the Justice Building, Peacekeepers surround our path to the train. Mother told me about a curfew being issued after the incident this morning. So while usually at sundown there are still children playing and last-minute business in the town, 12 is now eerily empty. Quiet too, except for Effie’s sharp steps.

“You must have been ecstatic when you had this incredible opportunity to live in the Capitol,” Effie murmurs under her breath as she looks with disdain at a particularly gloomy looking house, its windows boarded up and its roof practically coming off.

I want to laugh at the absurdity that is Effie Trinket. Ecstatic? This woman really is as clueless as I assumed.

“Why would I be glad?” I ask, my voice cold. Effie turns to me, her eyebrows arching in surprise.

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” she replies, tone light. “You've discovered you are a Silver and left all of–” her nose turns up in disgust, “ this behind. Who wouldn’t want to escape?”

I face her, feeling myself anger. “And what about the people who can’t escape? Do they deserve to stay here? To live like this?”

Effie blinks, taken aback by the confrontation. “Of course they do. They’re Reds ,” she answers simply, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “They’re not like us Silvers, Katelle. I would expect that you, of all people, realize that.”

Rolling my eyes, I have to hold my tongue to not object and declare I really am a Red and maybe prove it for good measure. Instead, I try to reason with her, “Well I was raised here, and you used to think I belonged in 12, didn’t you? Yet, I’m still the same person. Whether you see me as a Red or a Silver, nothing has changed about me.”

“That isn’t true. Everything has changed!” Effie exclaims. She gestures at my intricate outfit, somehow still shimmering, and my painted face, “Look at yourself! Look at your clothes, your demeanor. Look at you alongside the prince! You’re nothing like the girl you were before all of this.”

Effie continues, addressing me like I’m a poor, confused child, “Katelle, you were living here unfairly. You should have grown up where you belong, in the Capitol. You aren’t some dirty, poor Red! And that is something to embrace.”

We’re so close to 12’s train station, just about to reach the train, but I take a few steps back. Then, to Effie’s bewilderment, stop.

I slowly kneel down and reach my hand into the cool earth alongside the path. The sensation of the mud sliding between my fingers is familiar and somehow satisfying.

But not as satisfying as scooping up a handful of it and, with a deliberate smirk on my face, flinging it at Effie. It lands squarely on her large wig and drips down her face and onto her obnoxiously large necklace. 

Effie gasps, recoiling in horror, composure completely abandoned as she looks at her tainted jewelry.

“Katelle,” she gasps, her voice coming out oddly high-pitched. “ That is ivory !”

I’m not finished.

I wipe the remaining mud in my hand across my face, relishing the coolness against skin. The ridiculousness of Effie’s expression almost makes me laugh, but I hold it in, keeping my eyes locked firmly on hers.

“Does this change who I am, Effie?” I ask, voice controlled even though a part of me is still simmering. “Does the mud make me any less of a person? Does it make me any less of a Silver, or more like a Red? Or does it only represent a condition I’ve been forced into that doesn’t reflect my worth?”

Effie only stares, her mouth opening and closing uselessly as she processes what I’ve done. She’s at a loss for words, unsure of how to react. 

Just as I’m about to huff and leave, frustrated that my point wasn’t made, I hear a voice just a few feet from us.

“Katelle!” Peeta says in mock alarm. “Whatever happened?” His eyes are sparkling with amusement, but he somehow manages a halfway convincing expression of concern.

That jolts Effie out of her thoughts and she turns to him in hysteria over her ruined look, “Prince Peeta! Your betrothed has done this to me! She has no manners!”

Peeta shakes his head slowly, lips curling up against his will. 

Effie, oblivious, continues, “It’s completely unacceptable of a lady of the Capitol!”

He takes a hard look at me, face and hand still muddy and I suddenly feel a little foolish, but then he turns back to Effie and frowns as if confused, “Effie? Is that really you? I didn’t recognize you at first underneath all that. At first I thought you were someone from 12, but… people here don’t usually cover themselves in mud.”

“You mean to say,” Effie whispers, horrified, “that I look like a Red ?”

Peeta pauses a moment, considering this, then says, “I don’t know. Maybe.” Sarcasm heavy, he continues, “I mean, how would a Silver ever look like that?”

Effie’s outraged, eyes becoming teary as words spill out of her without inhibition, “Just because I’m in mud, doesn’t make me any less than before! You cannot judge me; it is not my fault! I didn’t ask Katelle to–”

It seems like a wave of realization hits her and she quiets suddenly. She didn’t ask me to do this. Just like Reds didn’t ask to live in these conditions.

“Come on Effie,” Peeta smiles softly as he offers her a thick handkerchief from his pocket. “Let me help you get you cleaned up.”

Effie, in a daze of some kind, takes the cloth and mutters a small thank you before dabbing the mud off the jewelry. She then lets Peeta guide her up the stairs and onto the train.

I take a final look at 12. Breath in the fresh air. Think about the people I’m leaving behind. Feel a pang in my heart. Consider running for it, as far as possible, but then think of the tracker and… other reasons to stay. Board the train feeling strangely lonely. Peeta and Effie have disappeared, so I head to the bathroom.

Locking the door, I’m free to splash water on my face, a brown grainy mixture slipping down the drain. In the mirror, I watch a light blush reveal on my cheeks. I run my hand across the soft pink skin, wishing I could let it be for once. Then I pull out some powder from a drawer. Goodbye Katniss, hello Katelle . 

My work isn’t as tidy as my team’s– nothing like the perfect results of Venia, Flavius, and Octavia– but it’s good enough. I’m staying in the train anyway, and by morning, my prep team will be here to fix the mistakes.

I dab a bit more powder on my nose, trying to mimic Octavia’s gentle touch. And as I do, my thoughts drift back to Peeta. Again . Are we okay ? He acted normal around me just now, but something feels off. I think I hurt his feelings when I said we were stuck together. But he misunderstood what I meant. I like being around him. I appreciate him. How do I communicate that? 

I’ve always been better with actions, but this is important. I shut the makeup case with a snap, wishing I could close off my thoughts as easily.

I pull open the door to my room and my heart nearly jumps out of my chest. There's a figure hunched over my bed– Haymitch. He’s holding up a yellow pillow, pressing down on it carefully. He’s clearly searching for something.

Panic floods into me. Could he know about the shears? How?

“What the hell are you doing?” I exclaim.

Haymitch jerks upright, dropping the pillow in surprise. “Nothing,” he mutters gruffly, stepping toward the exit. I didn’t know he came along.

“Why are you even on the train?” I ask, blocking the doorway. “And why are you in my room, going through my stuff?”

“Sweetheart, get out of the way,” he grumbles, trying to brush past me.

“No!” I snap and then slam the door shut. “Just tell me what you’re doing.”

Haymitch lets out a long, weary sigh and sits down on a plush seat. “If you’re not gonna let me leave, can I ask you a question?”

“What?” I shrug, impatiently crossing my arms.

“I can’t make sense of you,” he says, his tone surprisingly vulnerable. “You save the kid’s life. He helps you. You look at him in this way ... and he’s obviously deep in it.”

Deep in what ? He’s making no sense. 

“So where’s the question?” I cut in, my irritation growing.

“I’m getting to it,” he says, jaw clenched. He pauses, as if weighing his next words carefully. “How much of it is real? Am I just seeing things, or... would you—would you ever do something to Peeta?”

“Do something?” I repeat, narrowing my eyes. There’s no way Haymitch believes that. “What are you talking about?”

Haymitch meets my gaze, his eyes guarded. “Would you hurt him?” he clarifies, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No!” I shake my head, feeling myself get defensive. “I like Peeta! He’s a good person and– I would never want anything bad to happen to him.”

Haymitch eyes me as if trying to gauge how honest I’m being, then he speaks, words rushing out in a tumble, “It’s just… Peeta’s been through a lot. He barely opens up to anyone, but he trusts you. And I’m worried about what’s going on in his head.”

Does Peeta really trust me? Why? How connected are Haymitch and Peeta? What’s going on between Peeta and the Queen?

Also, Haymitch can’t distract me this easily. Why is he here, searching through my stuff?

I open my mouth to ask one of the many questions weighing on me, but there’s a sudden light knock on the door. 

Typical . I’m interrupted again, just as I’m about to get answers.

Effie lets herself in, cleaned up and in a fresh salmon pink outfit and puffy matching wig. Her eyes widen as she spots Haymitch. 

“Oh! Haymitch, what are you doing here?” She fumbles with some papers, “I’m sure you aren’t approved to be coming with us. You are supposed to be in the palace.”

He isn’t allowed to leave when he wants to? Why?

And if he’s not supposed to be here, what reason did he have to break the rules? 

Haymitch shifts uncomfortably, looking slightly put out. “Yeah, I know, Effie. Please, can we just forget this? Just… talk to the Prince, okay?”

Effie presses her lips into a thin line, glancing nervously down the hallway. “That’s against protocol. I’m supposed to report this to the Queen,” she whispers.

I glance between them, trying to read something in Haymitch’s unusually anxious expression and Effie’s hesitant one.

After a moment of consideration, Effie finally nods stiffly. “I’ll let it go this once.”

“Thank you,” Haymitch breathes, avoiding eye contact with us both.

Effie turns away, her demeanor shifting back to its usual briskness. “Come along, Katelle. We’re going to be late for dinner. And the time was already pushed back.”

“Okay,” I respond, “But why–”

“If this is about him , I do not want to hear it,” Effie hisses, hastening her pace. She’s definitely still mad about the mud from the look she gives me.

I sigh. Just another question to add to the ever-growing list. 

We reach a table, laden with all kinds of dinner items: Whole roast animals, sauces of every color, thick stews, rices and noodles of shapes and sizes, and soft breads. It turns my stomach that people just outside the train have never even seen so much food in their lives.

Peeta’s sitting at one side of the table, staring down at his plate. He doesn’t look up as Effie and I take our seats and servants filter in, filling our plates. 

Effie, glancing at Peeta with the slightest look of concern, begins, “Tomorrow we have a busy schedule.” “We’ll be touring the Capitol in the morning as some promotional work for the Games. And Peeta…”

He raises his head, meeting Effie’s gaze as she continues, “you’ll be meeting the tributes again in the afternoon.”

Peeta nods stiffly, then asks, “And Katelle will be with Delly during that time, correct?”

“Yes,” Effie responds, and he visibly relaxes.

We eat in silence. For the first time, I actually try some of the food, despite its strange appearance, and I’m surprised by how delicious it is. There’s a hearty lamb stew with plums that I wish I could share with Prim and Mother. They’d love it.

I keep sneaking glances at Peeta. He doesn’t look visibly upset, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t. I finally find my voice and whisper, “I’m sorry about earlier.”

I can’t say too much because Effie’s here. She glances between us curiously, temporarily forgetting she’s upset with me over the mud.

“I told you, it’s fine. You didn’t say anything untrue,” he replies with a tight smile.

“No,” I shake my head. “I didn’t mean what I said. I just can’t–”

Ugh . My words evaporate. How do I say this?

“You can’t… what?” Peeta asks, looking into my eyes with those entrancing blue ones. Somehow, he relaxes me.

“I can’t lose you, Peeta,” I breathe. “What I did… It wasn’t an accident.”

His smile turns genuine, but there’s a flicker of concern in his gaze that I don’t quite understand.

“What you did– I can’t thank you enough for saving my life. But you shouldn’t risk your life for me.”

Peeta's eyes hold mine for a moment longer before he looks down at his plate and pushes the food around absentmindedly with his fork. 

I try to think of something to say, and quickly give up. I’m exhausted, and all the emotions and thoughts of today have caught up to me. Copying Peeta, I lift up a spoonful of the stew and slowly pour it back down, watching each drop fall and ripple the liquid.

Effie eventually clears her throat, breaking the silence. "Well, it's getting late, and we have an early start tomorrow. Perhaps we should all get some rest."

Peeta hums in agreement, and quickly stands up. “Good night,” he murmurs to no one in particular and walks away. I watch him leave without another word. There’s no way he can convince me he isn’t upset. He’s clearly trying to distance himself.

Fine! He can be like that. It’s not like I care.

When I’m finally in my compartment, adjusting my blankets in bed, I finally relent. I do care. And I hate him for that. Why would he make me care about him and then not be here? Why leave? Why stop talking to me? Just when I began to depend on him.

It was stupid of me. I hate Peeta Mellark. I hate that Prince. I hate his perfect golden curls and his terribly bright smile and his eyes . Who has the right to have that kind of eye color, anyway? I’m sure it’s fake. Almost everything here is.

My eyes close, my body relaxes and then a dream begins innocently. I'm in the woods of 12, looking up at a vast blue sky and mockingjays flying between the trees, singing sweet tunes.

In between the tunes, though, there’s a sound: a shrill scream that sends a chill down my spine. It’s unmistakably Prim.

 
“Prim!” I call out. Running in the lush thicket of trees toward the sound, the world gets darker and darker. Until I see a small girl in the distance.

For a moment, I'm convinced it's Prim. She's almost the same size. But as I get closer, I realize this girl has golden-brown skin and dark hair. She isn’t Prim, but that doesn't matter. My heart races with the need to protect her.

“Did you scream?” I ask her urgently.

Slowly, she turns toward me, her face blurry and indistinct, and when she opens her mouth, a beautiful, haunting four-note tune escapes her lips. It’s so enchanting that, for a split second, I feel myself relax. A small satisfied smile forms on her sweet face, but just as she takes a deep breath, a spear pierces her chest.

Red blood seeps into the ground as I rush to her fallen body. Her eyes are vacant, lifeless. I’m too late .

A shadow in the distance catches my attention: a man with graying hair and a proud smirk.

He killed her.  

Fury erupts inside me, and suddenly, flames burst from my hands, consuming him. His body becomes a blackened crisp, but I feel no remorse. That is until, in a blink of an eye, the fire spreads to the trees. The world becomes one of ash and death.

I struggle to breathe. I struggle to escape as I trip over bodies. Ones I recognize from 12. All dead.

Because of my fire. Because of me .

I collapse to the ground, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to block out the horror. But then the screams start– some familiar, but all filled with unbearable pain.

The Mockingjays above echo the screams, and I press my trembling hands over my ears, desperate to drown out the noise. But one sound cuts through it all, forcing me back to my feet.

It’s Peeta.

I stumble to his cries, and finally find him tied up. Gale’s beside him with a triumphant grin on his face.

“Come on Catnip,” he smiles, “He’s the last one.”

“I can’t kill him!” I yell, but the words come out wrong, distorted and Peeta’s face twists in anguish. What did I say? What did I say?

Gale’s looking at me in confusion, “Okay. Do it! This is it!”

I shake my head frantically, but before I can reach Peeta, a flaming branch crashes down onto his battered body. The fire creeps up to his face, but he doesn’t scream. He doesn’t react at all, as if everything is perfectly fine.

And then he’s gone. Lifeless.

I turn in a circle, watching more branches fall, listening to the screams. More blood. Always more blood. The ground is soaked– silver, red. There’s a scream in me, but it’s stuck in my throat. There’s fear consuming me, but there’s so much all around that mine is negligible.

This is all my fault.

I wake with a start, my body drenched in cold sweat and my heart pounding wildly in my chest. Peeta's beside me, shaking me, his eyes wide with fear.

"Katniss," he breathes as I look up at him. “It was just a nightmare. It’s over now. It’s over. You're okay .” 

Tears spring in my eyes, but I’m too spent to try to hide them, so I let the drops slip down my cheeks.

Peeta, as gentle as possible, wipes them away. “It was just a nightmare,” he repeats.

I don’t trust myself to speak, so I only nod a little, trying to control my breathing. 

Peeta’s thumb gently strokes my cheek, soothing me. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches me carefully, as if he’s afraid I might break apart right here in front of him.

“Please stay,” I murmur softly. I can’t be alone. I need him here.

“Sure Katniss. Always,” he whispers, sliding next to me. I wrap myself around him, and press my head to his chest. His heartbeat and his breathing, although rapid, calm me. 

For a while, he just holds me, letting me catch my breath, his hand drawing small, comforting circles on my back. The room is quiet, save for the sound of our breathing. When I feel the final effects of the nightmare wear off, I examine Peeta carefully. His hair’s all disheveled, his hands shaky as they run along my arm, his face paler than usual. 

“Are you feeling better?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” I respond. “Thank you for being here.”

“You’re welcome. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I can't right now,” I answer honestly, hoping to never think of what I saw again.

“I get that. Well I have some news,” he whispers in the dark. “We’re installing a phone in your family’s house so you can keep in touch with Prim and your Mother from the Capitol.” He hesitates, “And Gale.”

“That’s amazing. Thank you,” I smile. Except for talking to Gale.

“Of course,” he grins.

“I have a question,” I eventually build up the courage to say.

“Okay. What is it?” He asks after a moment.

“Why is Haymitch– I’m pretty sure you two know each other… why is he not allowed to leave the palace whenever he wants to?”

A heartbeat. Two. And then he responds.

"Oh. He hasn't told you?"

" Haymitch is a Red.”

Chapter Text

I sit up abruptly, “ What ?”

In the pale dawn light, I can just make out Peeta's confused frown as he props himself up beside me.

“I said he’s a Red. What’s so surprising about that?”

"He—" I hesitate, unsure if I should mention Haymitch once claimed he has an ability. It was probably just a bluff. But on the other hand, Haymitch could be just like me.

“Um… if he’s a Red, why does he live in the palace?” I finally ask.

Peeta shrugs, “I’ve wondered the same thing forever. All I know is he used to be friends with my dad. I mean, I have no idea how that could happen, but neither of them will talk about it.”

“Why would they hide the reason?”

Peeta rubs his eyes, “I don’t know. What do you think?”

I can see him a little more clearly now. He has light circles under his eyes that give me a feeling he’s barely slept tonight. Unexpected concern rises in me.

“I think you need rest,” I murmur softly.

Peeta glances toward the brightening window and lets out a sigh, “We’ll have to be up soon.”

“I’ll wake you,” I whisper, pausing only a second before reaching a hand toward his hair, smoothening a few loose strands down. It’s soft.

“You need rest too,” he replies, letting out a breath. “Effie will wake us.”

I picture Effie finding us side-by-side in this bed. Who knows what absurd theories she’ll come up with?

Trying to sound more annoyed than I feel, I scowl, “I’m not tired.”

Peeta’s lips curve into a small grin, and a stubborn look reaches his eyes. "Okay. Let’s both be sleep-deprived tomorrow.”

I raise my eyebrows in challenge, “Fine then.”

We sit in silence for what feels to be forever and no time at all, just gazing into each other's eyes. My smirk falters. Peeta’s grin disappears. There’s something between us, something I’ve never felt before. Not this strongly. Something that makes me want to lean closer and kiss him. His lips will feel soft and sweet, unlike Gale’s.

Stop it, I scold myself, This is stupid. 

No wait… there’s no this . 

“Forget it,” I say, lying back down. My voice comes out oddly airy. “I’m sleeping.”

“Exactly. I knew you’d crack,” Peeta smirks, relaxing beside me, his heartbeat rapid in his chest. He must have felt something too.

No. He’s just weirded out by me.  

I don’t plan on falling asleep, but as I rest on the soft, cool mattress I decide to close my eyes for just a moment. 

There are no more nightmares.

–

Bright lights hit me as we walk onto the neon-lighted stage. I tighten my grip and Peeta squeezes my hand reassuringly. There’s a crowd here, a huge one, of Capitol Silvers. More than I’ve ever seen before. Blinding sequins, thick furs, and poofy fabrics overtake my scenes. There’s a disgustingly sweet smell too. All of it feels like too much. Too much.

I start to feel a little dizzy, so it’s a relief when we reach the tiny sofa by Caesar Flickerman, a man with vibrant blue hair and too white teeth. 

A man who hosts the Blood Games. A man I have despised forever.

I can’t show that now. I have to prove how madly in love I am! This time I can’t make any mistakes.

“Everyone give a warm welcome for Prince Peeta and Lady Katelle! The engaged lovers everyone is dying for more information about!” Caesar beams.

Dying . Nice choice of words.

My smile suddenly hurts and I realize I’m panicking– my breaths coming out strangely, my face feeling hot. It’s too bright here and so I look out to the sea of colors in front of me for something to ground me.

I let out a deep exhale as I find Cinna. We lock eyes, his slightly concerned. 

You’ve got this , he mouths. Be yourself .

“Katelle! What are your thoughts?” Caesar suddenly says. I momentarily panic since I’ve missed the comment but then I repeat to myself: I can do this.

“I completely agree,” I smile, turning toward him for a moment. Although I have no idea what I’ve agreed to, it seems to satisfy Caesar.

“So Katelle, I wanted to talk a little bit about what happened during the Reaping in 12. Everyone here has seen what happened, your incredible realization of your powers. Bad timing of course, but what luck that you were able to finally be part of real society. Lucky for us of course! Am I right folks?”

Cheers erupts all around and I have to resist the urge to cover my ears. 

“How do you feel?” Caesar asks once the sound dies down.

I can do this. I turn to the crowd with a relieved look.

When in doubt, just redirect everything to the love story.

“I agree I’ve been very lucky to be able to come to the palace, especially since I’ve been able to meet the Prince here.”

Peeta lets out a comfortable laugh and then smirks, “You weren’t calling me Prince earlier.”

“Adorable! Isn’t that adorable!!” Caesar exclaims into his microphone. He has to raise his voice above the awws around the room.

Caesar suddenly pulls out a small paper, “I have some questions from the audience for you two. Would you all like to hear them?”

The crowd roars. Of course they do .

“Now, many of our viewers have been absolutely desperate to ask this one.” He leans forward with an exaggerated pause. “Prince Peeta, Lady Katelle, do you have any plans for the marriage to be soon? We all adore a royal wedding. Don’t we?”

Peeta glances at me and our eyes connect. I suddenly think about yesterday night.

Focus.

A smile creeps onto his face and he looks incredibly smitten. 

Holding his expression, Peeta looks out to the crowd shyly, “Well we have a little secret about that.”

“A secret? You can trust me to keep it between us,” Caesar winks as the crowd laughs.

He pauses dramatically and then announces, “We’re already married.” 

Gasps erupt from the crowd. Caesar blinks, his blue eyebrows arching dramatically as he processes Peeta’s words, “You’re married?!”

I thought we weren’t supposed to reveal this yet, but I try my best to act as if I expected this.

“We couldn’t wait,” I supply, inching closer to Peeta. He gently loops an arm around my waist.

“Well this is quite a surprise! Then what about the wedding?” Caesar leans in. 

Peeta sits back, allowing the tension to grow for a moment before grinning, “Oh Caesar, I’d never leave you hanging. We’re very excited for the wedding, we just need to…” Peeta frowns a little, “Be patient.”

“Patient?!” Caesar repeats loudly.

“Oh yes. Because of the Games , of course. We don’t want to… outshine them,” Peeta smiles tightly. 

“The Games! Oh yes! Everyone’s very excited for the Games!” Caesar grins out to the crowd.

There’s a shift though. Instead of everyone agreeing with Ceasar, I see some frowns. I hear one person call out that the Games are getting old. 

I focus on one conversation between an old-looking lady with giant gold earrings and a young green-skinned man.

“We need to stop wasting time and resources!”

“Then let’s just execute Reds!”

“What’s even the point of that?”

“Those in the districts are monsters! Don’t forget our history!”

“What about that little one though? From 12?”

“Prim? She’s an animal too!”

“But Katelle likes her!”

“Oh yeah… maybe all Reds except Prim are animals.”

“How?”

“I mean Prim was in contact with a Silver. It must have rubbed off.”

“We need the Games, anyway. Remember the babies?”

“The abducted babies by the Scarlet Guard?”

“Yes! They’re monsters!”

“But… there could be a better way…”

Conflicting voices– some defending the Games and others complaining– begin to fight to be heard and I lose track of their words. 

It seems impossible, but here it is before my very eyes. There are people here who don’t especially care for the Games. Even though most of them probably aren’t concerned about morality… they’re not in support of the Games.

Caesar’s eyes widen in alarm. “Quiet down, everyone,” he orders sharply. “We have more gripping questions to cover!”

The murmurs die down and Caesar exhales softly, “All right!” he forces back his tight smile. “We have a question about your favorite thing about one other. What about them made you unable to resist falling in love?”

Peeta and I lock eyes, and for a moment, I think he realizes I’m not prepared to answer. 

“Oh so many things, Caesar,” Peeta begins, adopting that in-love look again. “Katelle is…” 

He pauses, his confident grin fading as a softness fills his voice, “She’s the strongest person I’ve ever met. Katelle is just… she’s the light… radiant as the sun and her heart is so… pure. The moment I saw her risk her life to save someone she loved, that’s when I knew. Knew she’d be my one and only true love. Knew I trusted her with my life and to care for my citizens someday.”

The room seems to hold its breath as they look between us, waiting for my reaction, my response.

He’s such a good actor. It’s unexplainable, the way his words make my heart leap and my stomach twist. 

“Peeta finds the best in everything,” I respond surprisingly easily. “He has this… hope about him. An optimism that anything can become better. That every situation can be fixed. That everyone can be redeemable.”

The Capitol citizens… but also me.

“And he can always make me smile,” I end lamely. But it’s all true . It’s somehow all very true.

I initiate another kiss, lips on lips as the crowd cheers and sighs and exclaims. Just background noise. Ignore them and embrace this feeling.

–

“I’ve never seen anything so romantic in my life!” Delly says as she bounces alongside me.

I can’t stop myself from giggling a little. We did well! We actually did it! 

We made it through the interview, not forced to say anything necessarily wrong and perhaps even tipping the scales in our favor. For the first time in days, there’s a spring to my step. My family’s safe. Peeta’s safe. 

I wish we had the chance to talk after the interview, but once we got off the stage, Peeta was quickly whisked off to visit the tributes. I struggle to imagine that experience, having to speak with children who’ll be killed in mere days. Having no way to change their fate. It must be destroying him. 

Together, though, I know Peeta and I can stop the Games. It’ll take time and strategy, but we’re already seeing the shift in Capitol citizens’ perceptions. 

I believe in him. I believe in us.

“Ugh, your expressions ! The things you two said. I wish I could love someone like that!” she continues dreamily.

“Delly,” I grin, glancing to make sure no one will overhear. “You and I both know it’s fake,” I whisper under my breath.

“Again with this,” Delly rolls her eyes. “How many times do I need to tell you? I’ve known Peeta for years and I can tell. I can feel it. He loves you .”

I shrug, not feeling like arguing more as we round the corner to Haymitch’s room. Delly knocks firmly on the door. There’s no response.

“Haymitch?” she calls. “Are you in there?”

Still nothing.

He must be avoiding me after what happened in the train. Huffing loudly, I say, “Open up, Haymitch. We know you’re in there.”

“Maybe he isn’t, Katniss,” Delly says, turning away. “Maybe let’s just leave.”

I can’t explain how I know, but suddenly I know he’s in there. “How do we break in?” I think aloud.

Delly looks at me for a moment and then bursts into laughter, “You’re crazy, you know that?” 

She then pulls out something from her pocket and gasps. “Oh look! A key! What could this do?”

I chuckle as she unlocks the door but the sound quickly dies in my throat. 

Haymitch looks completely wasted on the floor of his room. Worse than I’ve ever seen. He reeks of alcohol, his clothes covered in puke and his eyes unfocused, tears trailing down his face.

“Haymitch!” Delly calls, running to him. “Why did you do this?”

It takes him a moment to recognize Delly. He squints at her, bleary-eyed, and slurs, “I shoulda died.”

Delly’s somehow found napkins to clean him off, trying to soothe him, but I’m frozen in place.

I watch as Haymitch groans and shifts away from her. “Outta my face,” he mumbles.

Haymitch stumbles toward me, his steps unsteady. “Go to the kid,” he orders, pointing a wobbly finger to the door.

“Haymitch–”

“Nuh-uh, no questions!” His voice grows louder, his words thick. “You… go… to Peeta.”

It takes me a moment, a deep breath. It isn’t like me to listen to someone’s drunk ramblings, but there’s something about his insistence. Something must be wrong. I need to see him.

Before I can second-guess myself, I nod, backing away from the scene. Delly gives me rapid directions and promises she’ll stay with Haymitch. My mind races as I rush through the hallways, trying to focus. One… two… past the vase. Door to the left.

Is he okay? Did the queen do something? What could have happened? 

I burst into a wide, gray room, the sound of my loud footsteps echoing in the space. The walls are cold, bare except for one screen and stretch out high on every side.

I quickly notice the tributes. A few are around my age– strong, tall, already hardened from life in their respective districts in ways no one should be. But others are younger. Much younger. One girl in particular catches my eye. She looks to be about Prim's age. 

That must be why she seems so familiar . Uncomfortably familiar. I feel my stomach drop as her eyes widen– but then I realize it’s not with fear. No, she's laughing. A sweet, musical sound fills my soul with relief and pushes the worry out of my mind.

Peeta’s beside her, crouched down to her height, his face soft, smiling as he speaks to her in a quiet, calming voice. I don’t know what he says, but whatever it is makes the little girl giggle again. Peeta then dips a paintbrush into sparkling blue paint and carefully traces it against her cheek. Slowly, a little flower blooms on her skin, vivid against the deep brown of her cheek. He repeats the process as she waits patiently. A lilac purple flower, small yellow ones, bright green vines and leaves along her chin. The girl beams at him as he paints her face into a colorful meadow. 

I feel a warmth inside me as I watch them both, but then the girl recognizes me. 

“Katelle?” She tilts her head.

Peeta turns around and looks up at me, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. For a moment, he looks between me and the little girl, and then frowns a little. “Katelle," he greets, quietly. But there’s something in his expression I don’t like.

“What are you doing here?” he asks after a heartbeat, sounding concerned.

“I… I had to come,” I murmur, my eyes flicking between him and the little girl who’s now watching us curiously. I feel a wave of embarrassment as I confess, “Haymitch sent me.”

The drunkard convinced me Peeta needed me. He clearly doesn’t. Maybe Haymitch and I really don’t have as much in common as I initially thought. Maybe he isn’t someone I should trust.

I hear the chatter in the room die down and begin to feel more and more eyes on me. I look away from Peeta and notice the children staring at me. Some in confusion and a few in interest. 

Peeta opens his mouth to respond, but before he can say anything, the adorable little girl tugs on his sleeve, pointing at her newly-painted face. “Is it done?” she asks, her voice sweet and soft.

Peeta glances at her carefully, “Almost. Just need a little more right here.” He adds a final orange swirl to complete the design, and hands her a mirror. The girl gasps, her small hands flying to her face in awe.

“It’s so pretty!” she squeals, bouncing on her toes. “Thank you-thank you-thank you!!” 

“My pleasure,” he laughs. Peeta turns back to me, “Could we take a quick walk?”

I agree and we step away from the group of children.

I search his face, finding nothing obviously distressing him, and eventually whisper, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. fine,” Peeta says quickly, “Look Katniss, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really think you should leave.”

“Why?” I ask, my voice tightening. Is something going to happen to him? What if there really is a reason I’m here?

Peeta glances back at the tributes and then sighs. “This isn’t a great place to be,” he mutters. “All these kids… you shouldn’t get attached.”

I frown, glancing around again, taking in the cold walls, the emptiness of it all. In their final days, the tributes spend time here . It’s depressing, but then again, so is the fact that we have the Games to begin with.

“What is this place anyway?”

“It’s called the Training Center,” Peeta supplies, keeping his voice low.

“But… There's no training happening. That’s a useless name,” I say bluntly.

Peeta hesitates, “It wasn’t always so unfitting. There used to be training here before the Games.”

“Training for what? And why did it stop?” I frown.

He bites the corner of the lip and glances around a little, then explains, “Up until the 50th Games, the tributes trained on how to survive because there was a victor. One tribute who could leave the arena.”

My surprise must show because Peeta sighs, “No one is supposed to speak of it, especially in the districts.”

“A victor? That would change everything. Why did that end?” I say.

“The Crown decided it was an unnecessary rule,” Peeta says stiffly, but it doesn’t feel genuine.

“Why did it really stop?” I press.

“The Queen. She… uh… was adverse to it.”

We’ve somehow reached the door, and gently Peeta says, “Katniss, you should leave. Maybe go to the room? I’ll come in a little.”

I exhale slowly and nod, turning to leave. But before I do, the door bursts open. A maid, breathless, eyes wide, rushes in.

“Your Highness. The King…”

I feel the shift in Peeta before I even see his face. But once I glance at him, I watch his expression tighten. He forces himself to stay composed. His voice, though controlled, holds the slightest tremor of fear.

“What about him? What’s wrong?”

“He’s deteriorating rapidly. You’ve been asked to see him before–” Her voice falters, and in the moment she takes to breathe, Peeta bolts past her and out the door.

Chapter Text

The moment he’s out of my sight, my legs move themselves. I run after him, those dainty shoes click-clacking against the polished floor. I kick those damn things away. 

Barefoot, I catch up to him by a huge door. I watch as Peeta fumbles with a golden ring, flicking through it for the right key and then struggling to open the lock. The problem is he can’t hold his hands still enough to fit the piece of metal in. Placing my hand on his shoulder, I take the ring from him and push the key in with ease. 

“Thank you,” he whispers and turns to enter. 

“I’ll be just outside if you need me,” I say.

Peeta faces me and struggles to express his thoughts, words tumbling out, “I– Could you– I just…”

He doesn’t even need to finish. Without a second thought, I grab his hand, watching his expression ease just a little, and we walk in together as one. He needs me right now, and I’m going to be here. However impartial I am toward the King, this is his father . 

The first thing I notice is the cameras. Many, many cameras. A whole crew is stationed here, lenses focused on the Queen. She’s dressed in a full mourning garb, black lace woven into her light strands, a dark, silky dress reaching the ground. Artificial candlelight streams onto her face, perfectly tilted to be in full view and filled with elegant tears. She then lets out a dramatic sob.

Just out of frame is that man Snow, he watches the entire scene with a slightly satisfied expression. 

“Where’s Father?” Peeta asks softly.

“The Queen glances toward a member of the crew, who gives her a curt nod. The Queen shifts her expression into annoyance.

“You interrupted me,” she hisses between her teeth. 

Peeta ignores her, turning to Snow with barely contained desperation, “Where is he?”

Snow and the Queen share a look, as if communicating secretly.

Peeta watches them carefully and exhales, “I need to see him.”

The Queen narrows her eyes then finally gestures to a door at the far corner. One of many.

Peeta doesn’t hesitate. He bursts in, myself following just a step behind. This room is such a contrast from the previous one that my eyes need to adjust to the lighting. There’s soft light streaming in from high stained-glass windows, but otherwise the room is completely dark.

There’s no denying the King is at death’s door. His hair is thin, nearly translucent. Drained of all color, his eyes struggle to stay open. His body is frail and his breaths unsteady.

Peeta rushes to his side, and I allow them a little space.

“Dad,” he whimpers, sounding so vulnerable I feel a pang in my chest. I look away as tears begin to form in his beautiful eyes.

It takes the King a moment, but he opens up his cracked lips and says, surprise evident in his voice, “Peeta?”

Peeta forces a smile, water now flowing freely down his cheeks. “I’m here. You’re going to be okay. We’ll talk to the doctor. You just– you need your medications adjusted.”

“Peeta, this is it,” he responds gently. “I’m leaving. But I can do that… I’m so proud of you. I…” he heaves in a deep breath. “Peeta. You’re twice the person I ever was. You will survive without me.”

Peeta shakes his head, eyes widening. “Dad no– I can’t just– you can’t die.” Then his expression shifts to resolve. “You won’t die. I… I’ll go get the doctor.”

“The doctor says I have limited time. Don’t waste it,” the King says softly, reaching his trembling hand to Peeta’s golden hair. “I love you.”

A heartbeat and then a shift happens, clear as day to night. One moment the King is himself, then he blinks and frowns at his son. He withdraws his hand and asks, “Who are you?”

It’s then that a nurse approaches the bed and tells Peeta, “Your Highness. This is the expected deterioration we told you of. Please remember our discussion of keeping him comfortable.”

That’s the final straw. Peeta suddenly becomes anguished, disregarding the nurse completely. 

“Dad,” he begs, holding the King’s hand like a lifeline. “You know me. You remember me. The garden, remember? That day in the throne room?” His voice breaks, “ Dad , you remember.”

The King grows agitated, flinching away from Peeta’s touch, “I don’t know you! Leave me alone.” He turns away from Peeta, suddenly laying eyes on me.

Then he freezes, staring at me as if I’ve just performed some sort of miracle by existing.

“Marigold,” the King finally breathes.

What?

“Katn– Katelle,” Peeta corrects quietly, but his father doesn’t spare him a look. 

“I need to speak with her,” the King says with a small smile. He finally turns to Peeta and instructs him to leave. 

“Dad–” Peeta whispers, voice shaky.

“I need a private moment with Marigold!” the King exclaims hoarsely, getting worked up. He presses a hand across his chest, “I– I can’t breathe.”

Peeta looks between us and takes a hesitant step back.

“Are you comfortable staying with him for a bit and coming to get me?” Peeta asks me, monotone and forcing the words out like poison.“This happens sometimes. He’ll be asking for me soon.”

I look at the dying man, still awestruck by my presence. Of course I’m not comfortable, but my confusion overrides that. What does the King want with me? And why’s he insisting I’m ‘Marigold’?  

I stiffly nod.

Once Peeta and the nurse are gone, the King smiles widely.

“Marigold,” he beams at me. I shuffle my feet awkwardly, unsure of what I should say. There’s a small part of me that pities him. And Peeta cares so much for him.

“Marigold,” the King repeats, his grin slipping. “I understand how you feel, my love.”

I feel myself flinch away as he calls me that, but he continues, not noticing, “You don’t want Haymitch to die. He’s your partner after all. But Marigold, I can’t live without you. I need you.”

“Haymitch?” I repeat. “What do you mean by my partner?”

The King gives me a strange look, “Your district partner,” He clarifies, eying me carefully. 

He hesitates, as if fighting within himself to say something, “There’s something different about you, Marigold. You have the same gray eyes. Your skin has the same olive tint. But… you… you-” He frowns, a rush of sadness coming over him, “You aren’t Marigold.”

“No,” I say with a sigh of relief. He has finally come back to his senses. “Your Highness– are you ready for Peeta to return? He wants to be with you.”

“Marigold…” he exhales unsteadily. “She’s dead?”

The color seems to drain out of his face. He’s dying! 

“Peeta!” I yell as the King’s eyes close. Damn it. No! Don’t die!

Peeta is there in a few strides, beside his motionless father. He freezes.

Denial all over his expression, he turns to me and whispers, “He’s only resting. Everything’s all right.”

“Peeta…” I begin, feeling my stomach twist uncomfortably. I watch the nurse frown deeply as she feels for a pulse. There is no pulse.

I want to run away– far, far away– from what will come. From witnessing Peeta’s pain. But I force my feet still. I force myself to be here. For Peeta. 

He doesn’t deserve this.

“Your Highness. The King has–” the nurse begins solemnly.

“ No ,” Peeta interrupts shakily. “No!” He repeats louder, more forcefully as if saying it will make it true.

Suddenly the Queen walks in, feigning grief as the stupid cameras follow her toward the bed. Snow is just behind her, whispering instructions to someone filming. Oh. It’s that man Plutarch.

Snow glances over the scene, finally laying his narrow eyes on Peeta, who’s now gripping his father’s hand tightly, afraid to let go. 

“Peeta. The King is dead. We’ll need to begin the formal announcement,” he says efficiently, watching us carefully. 

Peeta’s shaking his head, in disbelief. Eyes still fixated upon his father, he whispers, “No. Dad’s ok. He’s resting. You’re wrong.”

The Queen huffs, so irritated that she drops her act.

“Peeta! Come here this instant!” She orders coldly. “You’re acting like a child.” 

Peeta ignores her completely, not even bothering to respond.

She approaches him, suddenly losing any semblance of composure in her fury. I’m just about to open my mouth to defend him– to say something, anything– when her hand shoots out, curling around his neck, and yanking him firmly away from the body. 

Peeta gasps, startled, as she releases him, marks beginning to redden on his soft skin. 

“Don’t touch him!” I burst out, shoving her away from him. 

Everyone freezes. A silence falling over the room. Peeta looks startled and dazed. Plutarch looks… excited? No. That doesn’t make sense. Snow seems irritated. 

The witch is stunned into disbelief for a moment before growling, “ How dare you? You forget your place.”

“Maybe it’s time you remember yours!” I raise my voice, “You're his mother . Act like it!”

Her eyes flash dangerously, “Shut your mouth you—you–R–”

Snow’s hand is on her shoulder, “Elara,” he hisses. “Enough.”

She looks between us with wide eyes then removes his hand from his shoulder, glaring at him. 

“Tensions and emotions are high,” Snow declares diplomatically, “We have just lost our dear King. This does not mean we should lose our heads. Plutarch, we can film the propo at a later time. Katelle: You are excused. But speak like that again?” He frowns, “You will regret it. Peeta: Compose yourself.”

The Queen walks out with a huff. Plutarch and the crew disperse. Snow disappears. More servants enter. 

I barely notice all of it. Instead I watch as Peeta’s eyes remain fixed on his father’s body, his expression unseeing, limbs completely frozen.

“We need to take care of the body,” a whisper reaches me. I blink away from Peeta and see the servants watching him nervously. They need to… oh .

Carefully, I step closer to Peeta, hesitating just a moment before touching his arm. "Peeta,” I softly coax. His glassy eyes flicker to mine.

“Come on. Let’s go somewhere else.” I say quietly. Without waiting for an answer, I slip my arm around his back, guiding him as he numbly follows out of the room, his movements slow.

I take him to the rooftop, the cold night air hitting us suddenly. Something about being here makes Peeta wake up from his trance. Letting go of him, I feel a drop in my stomach as he walks to the very edge of the roof. There’s a forcefield, I remind myself. Still, I feel the need to trail behind. 

He places a hand to the forcefield, chest rising and falling unevenly. He avoids looking at me, but whispers, “Katniss, I-I’m… I’m okay.”

“Peeta,” I murmur, feeling my heart sink. Unable to figure out what to say, I just run a hand along his tight shoulder and that’s when the dam breaks. He leans onto the forcefield trembling, exhales a shaky breath. He fights against sob after another, his whole frame shaking uncontrollably. 

I have to do something so I envelop his body in my frame and he latches on me, starved for care, for comfort.

“I’m s-s-orry,” Peeta chokes out. He tries to say more, but he can’t get the words out.

“Don’t be,” I breathe, holding him steady. “I want to be here. Deep breaths, Peeta.”

After a few minutes, his breathing evens out, each breath a little steadier than the last. When he finally lifts his head, he doesn’t step back. His gaze meets mine, and for a heartbeat, I feel the weight of his pain, his gratitude, and something else behind his tear-streaked face.

I brush a thumb across his cheek, wiping away the last of his tears. My heart pounds at the sight of his eyes- a dark ocean of sadness. He just… he needs this. Peeta needs someone who will be here for him. And I need him. I need Peeta.