The picture of me just after I’d found out Aspen was saving up to marry me. I looked radiant, hopeful, beautiful. I looked like I was in love. And some idiot thought that love was for Prince Maxon.

Could it be that simple? Tell one story to one generation and repeat it until it was accepted as fact?

They'll kill you for doing this," I breathed in a brief moment when his lips traveled to my neck. "If I don't I'll die anyways.

Yeah, Mom, I’ll just keep telling the prince that he has absolutely no shot with me and offend him as often as I can. Great plan.

The Swendish queen— whose name I couldn’t pronounce to save my life.

He let you have the pants anyway?" she asked. I had started talking about Maxon as soon as I could, eager to know how their conversation had gone. "Yeah. He was very generous about it all." "I think it's charming that he's a good winner." "He is a good winner. He's even gracious when he's gotten the raw end of things." Like a knee to the royal jewels, for example.

No wonder I’d never had any friends. I was shockingly bad at it.