“Then prove it.”
I raise my eyebrow, still pinned between him and the hedge. Despite his closeness and his heated emotions, I’m not scared. I know how to take him down if I need to, and I trust him more when he’s not so composed.
“How exactly would you suggest I prove it?”
His gaze flicks to my mouth. “Kiss me.”
My breath hitches. “I think you’ve confused passion with compassion.”
“No, I haven’t.” His eyes glitter, and I have to remind myself that he’s a sick human being, because right now all I’m noticing are his expressive eyes and sensual mouth. “Compassion is showing kindness towards the man who killed your mother.”
“You want to see compassion? Fine.” I take the hand pressed against my shoulders and kiss his knuckles. “I’ve now kissed the hand of my mother’s killer.”
Before he has time to react to my chaste kiss, I bring my other hand up and slap him.
His head whips to the side. “I’m also a vindictive bitch,” I say.
Slowly he moves his face back to where it was. There’s a dull pink handprint across his cheek. His eyes flash, and I’m already learning that this is when he’s at his most dangerous. “And I don’t play fair,” he admits.
The words are hardly out of his mouth when he closes the distance between us and his mouth captures mine.
There’s nothing sweet or diplomatic about this kiss. His lips move roughly against my own, and his hand runs down the length of my side, as if even a kiss isn’t enough to satiate him.
I will my mind to go blank before I kiss him back. I press my eyes tightly closed as I force myself to wind my arms around his neck and lean into him.
As soon as he feels me respond, the kiss deepens. His lips part my own and his tongue presses against mine.
Oh God, I don’t think I can do this. It’s too much. I turn my head to the side to break off the kiss.
I swallow down my bile. “Enough,” I say, my voice hoarse.
He steps away from me, and I pull in a deep breath of air. The king’s staring at my lips, as though looking at them long enough might cause them to resume their former activity.
I gaze at him, feeling like a cornered creature. This is when I’m my most dangerous. He must sense it as well because he steps aside. I brush past him, and he catches my wrist. “I want to see you tonight.” His meaning is clear.
“No,” I say.
“Yes.”
“Not until you offer full medical relief to the WUN with no strings attached.” It’s a ballsy move, manipulating him like this. But this is why the WUN sent me.
“I could simply have you killed if you don’t agree.”
“Then kill me,” I say, tugging on my wrist. I am more than ready to leave the king and his empty threats. Chances are, he will eventually kill me, but not like this.
He doesn’t let go of me. “I’ll think about it,” he finally says, and I know he’s referring to the medical relief and not having me killed.
“And all I’ll do is think about visiting you until you make your decision,” I say.
The king tugs my wrist hard enough for me to stumble into him. “Stop toying with me,” he growls against my ear, his voice low and lethal.
I pull away from him. “Unlike you, I don’t play games, Montes.”
His eyes trail down my face to my lips. “And I get what I want. Always.”
I yank my wrist out of his grip and back away from him. I can see the cold calculation in his eyes.
“There’s always time for firsts,” I say, and then I walk away.
“What were you thinking?” Unlike my father, General Kline yells when he’s angry.
Next to me, my father broods. When he returned an hour ago, he looked at me and shook his head. That’s all it took for me to break down and apologize. I wanted him to be proud of me, not disappointed.
General Kline, on the other hand, could kiss my ass.
I flash him a vicious smile and hold up my index finger, signaling him to give me a moment. Seizing a nearby pen and sheet of paper, I scrawl a note on it.
The king came to my room after that incident, we went for a walk, and he kissed me. I’ve promised to do more if he negotiates medical relief into the peace agreement.
My cheeks burn as I hold the paper up to the camera, and my father looks away.
I’ve already told my dad about my little walk in the gardens. I can’t imagine what he’s feeling. Of the two of us, his is the worse task. He has to pretend to negotiate with a dictator while allowing that same man to take advantage of his daughter. At least I have some agency in the matter. He has none.
I pull the sheet away from the screen and hand it to my father, who will have to burn it later. This is the securest way to communicate.
The conference room in the bunker is quiet. I’m sure the situation doesn’t sit well with anyone in there. I feel like a harlot, trading sex for promises.
The general bends over the table and scribbles something onto a sheet of paper before approaching the screen.
Good job, Serenity. Hold him to that and leave the rest to your father for now. If you try to leverage anything else, he’s going to figure out what’s going on.
As if the king hasn’t already. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to deduce what my role here was. I’m just surprised that it’s actually been working so far.
The general removes the note from the screen and returns to his seat a short distance away. “From now on, control yourself during negotiations,” he says gruffly.
I work my jaw, but nod.
Behind me, I hear a distant knock on the door. My dad and I glance at each other.
“I’ll get it,” I say.
I push out of my chair and leave my father’s room, making sure to close the door behind me. I pass through the apartment’s common area and open the front door.
Marco stands on the other side. “The king requests your presence at dinner,” he says, giving me a sullen look. The feeling’s mutual.