“What do think I’m doing?” he asks, carrying me to the shallow edge of the pool, where steps trail down into the water.
Alcohol swirls in my stomach, and I’m not sure whether I like the heady way it makes me feel. It’s causing me to notice the way the king’s dark hair curls at the base of his neck, and the golden skin that covers his strong muscles.
My body dips, and I hear the first splash of water as the king steps into the pool. He gazes down at me, and I catch my breath.
I’d never much cared for those epic love stories I’d heard growing up—Romeo and Juliet, Tristan and Isolde, Helen and Paris. All couples who’d placed love above all else; I thought the whole lot of them were idiots. But the way the king is looking at me … now I can see why so many loved those stories. There is something to forbidden passion. One heated look has me feeling like I’m on the edge of a precipice, waiting to jump.
My body dips again as we descend down the last two steps. The water kisses the bare skin of my back, but I’m still staring at the king, and he me.
I blink rapidly. I’m here to seduce the king, not to actually feel something for him. I need to remember that at all times.
To distract myself, I focus on my surroundings. The white walls dance with the strange patterns the water makes. “This place is beautiful.” I forget for a minute that this beauty represents everything I despise about the king. Right now I’m able to let go of some of my hate.
“If you think this is beautiful, you should see the pool at my official headquarters.”
“Is that an offer?” I joke, still staring at the beautiful light that dances above us.
“It is.”
My gaze snaps back to the king. “You should seriously leave the lying for the cameras,” I say.
We move into deeper water. “I’m not lying,” he says, his eyes trained on me.
I blink at him. He’s serious. “Why would you invite me?” I ask.
“Because I enjoy your company.” His statement is proof that he’s out of his mind. I’ve been nothing but mean and malicious to him.
“I hate you, remember?” With all the alcohol thrumming through my system, I can’t put emotion behind the words.
“I’m starting to think you don’t, though.” His eyes laugh at me.
I push myself out of his arms, enjoying the way the water ripples over my skin. I do hate the king, just not right now. In the morning I will.
I hope.
I swim over to where the wine bottle sits. “I think I need more alcohol for this conversation.” I’m actually feeling plenty buzzed as it is, but I do need to change the subject before the king corners me into agreeing to the visit.
Just as I reach for the bottle, I see movement out of the corner of my eye. I jolt at the sight of King Lazuli. I hadn’t heard him swim up next to me.
He grabs the wine bottle and moves it out of my reach. “I think you’ve had enough for now, Serenity.” I shiver at the way he says my name. “Me on the other hand …” He flashes me a wicked smile before he tips the bottle back and takes a drink from it.
My abs clench at the sight of him. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I was feeling lustful. He sets the bottle down, and when his eyes meet mine, heat pools low in my stomach.
“Let’s play a game,” I say quickly. He raises an eyebrow. “I’ll ask you a question, and you can choose to answer it, but if you decide not to, you’re going to have to take a sip of wine.” That’ll loosen his lips.
The grin he gives me is full of mischief. “I’ll play your little game, but only if I’m allowed to ask questions as well.”
I nod. “Okay.” I can live with that. “I’ll start you off with an easy one: what’s your favorite color?”
“Blue. What’s yours?” he asks.
“I’ll answer that only if it’s your official question.”
“It is.”
I watch the way the light from the water dances over his skin. I want to hold onto this moment, where we are no longer enemies. Merely a man and a woman discovering each other.
“Yellow.” The color of the sun and the stars, the color of happiness.
“Yellow?” The king’s eyebrows nudge up.
“What, you thought I’d like the color of spilled blood or something?”
He tips his head back as he weighs my words. “Yeah, I kind of did.”
“Next question: where are you from?” I ask, thinking about the roll of his words.
He pauses, watching me with an amused smile on his face. “I was born in the country formerly known as France.”
The water laps against us as I file away this new bit of information.
“Are you enjoying yourself at the moment?” the king asks.
I search Montes’s eyes. I could lie, make up an answer, or I could also pass. I do neither.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “Maybe.”
“Maybe,” King Lazuli repeats. “I’ll take it.”
I glance out the window, where I can make out the moon. “How old are you, really?” I ask.
The king grabs the bottle of wine and drinks rather than answering.
“How old were you the first time you killed someone?” he asks.
“Twelve. And I killed four someones that first time.”
“Four.” He’s looking at me like he’s having trouble believing me. “What—?”
I hold up a hand. “My turn, remember?”
His eyes drop to my lips and he nods.
“Have you ever personally killed anyone?” I ask.
“No.”
His answer doesn’t surprise me. The king strikes me as the kind of man who doesn’t care about other’s suffering so long as he doesn’t have to see it. He survives his cruelty only because he removes himself from it. I think in some ways I might be the more brutal of the two of us.
“Why did you kill those four men?” he asks me. I knew he was going to ask me this.
“They were going to rape me,” I say. I look away from him as I remember.
So much is left out of my statement. How brain and bone flecked the floor like confetti. How one of them took an agonizing ten minutes to die. The entire time he begged me with the ruin of his mouth to put him out of his misery.