“This is an outrage!” one Senator (thin, probably no more than a hundred and forty pounds, with a gleaming bald head) barks, looking at me as if I’m responsible for the entire country’s downfall. “Surely we’re not taking direction from a little girl? And from Day? You must be joking. We’ll hand the country over based on the advice of some damn boy who should still be on our nation’s criminal list!”

Anden narrows his eyes. “Careful how you refer to Day, Senator, before the people turn their backs on you.”

The Senator sneers at Anden and raises himself up as high as he can. “Elector,” he says, his tone exaggerated and mocking. “You are the leader of the Republic of America. You have power over this entire country. And here you are, held hostage to the suggestions of someone who tried to have you killed.” My temper has begun to rise. I lower my head so that I don’t have to look at the Senator. “In my opinion, sir, you need to do something before your entire government—and your entire population—sees you as nothing but a cowardly, weak-willed, backroom-negotiating pushover bowing to the demands of a teenage girl and a criminal and a ragtag team of terrorists. Your father would have—”

Anden jumps to his feet and slams his hand down on the table. Instantly the chamber turns silent.

“Senator,” Anden says quietly. The man stares back, but with less conviction than he had two seconds ago. “You are correct about only one thing. As my father’s son, I am the Elector of the Republic. I am the law. Everything I decide directly affects who lives or dies.” I study Anden’s face with a growing sense of worry. His gentle, soft-voiced self is slowly disappearing behind the veil of darkness and violence inherited from his father. “You’d do well to remember what happened to those Senators who actually plotted my failed assassination.”

The chamber falls so quiet I feel like I can hear the beads of sweat rolling down the Senators’ faces. Even Mariana and Serge have turned pale. In the midst of them all stands Anden, his face a mask of fury, his jaw tense, and his eyes a deep, brooding storm. He turns to me—I feel an awful, electric shudder run through my body, but I keep my gaze steady. I am the only one in the chamber willing to look him in the eye.

Even if our surrender is a fake one, one that the Senators aren’t meant to understand, I wonder how Anden will deal with this group once it’s all over.

Maybe he won’t have to. Maybe we’ll belong to a different country, or maybe Anden and I will both be dead.

In this moment, sitting amongst a divided Senate and a young Elector struggling to hold them together, I finally see my path clearly. I don’t belong. I shouldn’t be here. The realization hits me so hard, I find it suddenly hard to breathe.

Anden and the Senators exchange a few more tense words, but then it’s all over, and we file out of the room, an uneasy crowd. I find Anden—his deep red uniform a bright marker against the Senators’ black—in the hall and pull him aside. “They’ll come around,” I say, trying to offer reassurance in a sea of hostility. “They don’t have a choice.”

He seems to relax, if only for a second. A few simple words from me are enough to dissipate his anger. “I know. But I don’t want them to have no choice. I want them solidly behind me of their own will.” He sighs. “Can we speak in private? I’ve something to discuss with you.”

I study his face, trying to guess at what he wants to say, dreading it. Finally, I nod. “My apartment’s closer.”

We head out to his jeep and drive in silence, all the way to my high-rise in Ruby sector. There, we make our way upstairs and enter my apartment without a word. Ollie greets us, as enthusiastic as ever. I close the door behind me.

Anden’s temper has long vanished. He looks around with a restless expression, then turns back to me. “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Please,” I reply, taking a seat myself at the dining table. The Elector Primo, asking for permission to sit?

Anden takes the seat beside me with all of his signature grace, and then rubs his temples with weary hands. “I have some good news,” he says. He tries to smile, but I can see how heavy it is. “I’ve made a deal with Antarctica.”

I swallow hard. “And?”

“They’ve confirmed that they will send military support—some air support for now, more ground support when we prove we’ve found a cure,” Anden replies. “And they will agree to treat Day.” He doesn’t look at me. “In exchange for Dakota. I had no choice. I’m giving them our largest territory.”

My heart jumps with an overwhelming sense of joy and relief—and at the same time, it sinks with sympathy for Anden. He’s been forced to fragment the country. Giving up our most precious resource; everybody in the world’s most precious resource. It was inevitable. Every win comes with a sacrifice. “Thank you,” I say.

“Don’t thank me yet.” His wry smile quickly turns into a grimace. “We are hanging by a thread. I don’t know if their help will come fast enough. The word from the warfront is that we’re losing ground in Vegas. If our plans with this phony surrender fail, if we don’t find a cure soon, this war will be over before Antarctica’s support ever arrives.”

“Do you think finding a cure will make the Colonies stop?” I ask quietly.

Anden shakes his head. “We don’t have many options,” he replies. “But we have to hang on until help arrives.” He falls silent for a moment. “I head to the warfront in Vegas tomorrow. Our troops need it.”

Right into the thick of war. I try to stay calm. “Are your Princeps-Elects going too?” I ask. “Your Senators?”

“Only my generals will join me,” Anden replies. “You’re not going to come, and neither are Mariana and Serge. Someone needs to hold firm in Los Angeles.”

And here’s the meat of what he wants to tell me. My mind spins over what I know he’ll say next.

Anden leans on the table and threads his gloved fingers together. “Someone needs to hold firm in Los Angeles,” he repeats, “which means one of my Princeps-Elects will need to take my place as an acting Elector. She would need to control the Senate, keep them in check while I’m away with the troops. I would select this person, of course, and the Senate would confirm it.” A small, sad smile plays at the edges of his lips, as if he already knows what my answer will be. “I’ve already spoken individually with Mariana and Serge about this, and they are both eager for my appointment. Now I need to know whether you are, as well.”

I turn my head away and look out the apartment window. The thought of becoming an acting Elector of the Republic—even though my chances of being chosen pale in comparison to that of Mariana and Serge—should excite me, but it doesn’t.

Anden watches me carefully. “You can tell me,” he finally says. “I realize what a turning point this decision is, and I’ve sensed your discomfort for quite some time.” He gives me a level stare. “Tell me the truth, June. Do you really want to be a Princeps-Elect?”

I feel a strange emptiness. I had been contemplating this for a long time, my disinterest and weariness with the politics of the Republic, the bickering in the Senate, the fighting among Senators and the Princeps-Elects. I’d thought this would be hard to say to him. But now that he’s here, waiting for my answer, the words come easily, calmly.

“Anden, you know that the role of a Princeps-Elect has been a huge honor for me. But as time goes on, I can tell that something’s missing, and now I know what it is. You get to head off and lead your army against our enemies, while Day and the Patriots are fighting back against the Colonies in their own guerilla way. I miss being out in the field, working as a junior agent and relying on myself. I miss the days when things were straightforward instead of political, when I could easily sense the right path and what I should do. I . . . miss doing what my brother helped train me to do.” I hold my gaze steady. “I’m sorry, Anden, but I don’t know whether I’m cut out to be a politician. I’m a soldier. I don’t think you should consider me as a temporary Elector in your absence, and I’m not sure whether I should continue on as your Princeps-Elect.”

Anden searches my eyes. “I see,” he finally says. Although there’s a twinge of sadness in his voice, he seems to agree. If there’s one thing Anden excels at, even more than Day, it’s understanding where I’m coming from.

A moment later, I see another emotion in his eyes—envy. He’s envious that I have the choice to step away from the world of politics, that I can turn to something else, when Anden will forever and always be our Elector, someone the country needs to lean on. He can never step away with a clean conscience.

He clears his throat. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to join the troops in the streets,” I reply. I’m so sure of my decision this time, so excited by the prospect, that I can hardly bear it. “Send me back out there. Let me fight.” I lower my voice. “If we lose, then none of the Princeps-Elects will matter anyway.”

“Of course,” Anden says, nodding. He looks around the room with an uncertain expression, and behind his brave front I can see the boy king in him struggling to hold on. Then he notices a rumpled coat hanging at the foot of my bed. He lingers on it.

I’d never bothered to put Day’s coat away.

Anden finally looks away from it. I don’t need to tell him that Day had spent the night—I can already see the realization on his face. I blush. I have always been good at hiding my emotions, but this time I’m embarrassed that something about that night—the heat of Day’s skin against mine, the touch of his hand smoothing my hair away from my face, the brush of his lips against my neck—will show up in my eyes.

“Well,” he says after a long pause. He gives me a small, sad smile, then rises. “You are a soldier, Ms. Iparis, through and through—but it has been an honor to see you as a Princeps-Elect.” The Elector of the Republic bows to me. “Whatever happens from here, I hope you remember that.”

“Anden,” I whisper. The memory of his dark, furious face in the Senate chamber comes back to me. “When you’re in Vegas, promise me that you’ll stay yourself. Don’t turn into someone you’re not. Okay?”

He may not have been surprised by my answer, or by Day’s coat. But this seems to catch him off guard. He blinks, confused for a second. Then he understands. He shakes his head. “I have to go. I have to lead my men, just like my father did.”

“That’s not what I mean,” I say carefully.

He struggles for a moment to find the next words. “It’s no secret how cruel my father was, or how many atrocities he committed. The Trials, the plagues . . .” Anden trails off a little, the light in his green eyes turning distant as he dwells on memories of someone few of us had ever come to know. “But he fought with his men. You understand this, perhaps more than anyone. He didn’t hang back in a Senate chamber while he sent his troops off to die. When he was young and brought the country from a lawless mess to strict martial law, he was out in the streets and in front of his squadrons. He fought at the warfront itself, shooting down Colonies jets.” Anden pauses to give me a quick look. “I’m not trying to defend anything he did. But if he was anything, he was unafraid. He won his military’s loyalty through action, however ruthless. . . . I want to boost our troops’ morale too, and I can’t do it while hiding out in LA. I’m—”