I wanted to be his dear, his darling.

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.

I thought about the cameras following me in the terminal and pictured my family watching my entrance on TV. I hoped they’d be proud.

He gave a dark chuckle. “But you’re not, so you had absolutely no qualms about kneeing me in the groin, right?” “I hit your thigh!” “Oh, please. A man doesn’t need that long to recover from a knee to the thigh,” he replied, his voice full of skepticism.

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

The best people all have some kind of scar.

That was my great ambition. Not to be Illea's princess. To be Aspen's.