My guard shrugs to the person standing in the hallway. “Sorry sir, orders are orders,” he says before closing the door.
Once it clicks shut, the guard shakes his head and glances at me, a twinkle of respect in his eye. “The king’s about to learn just what a ballbuster you are.”
“The king’s a fucking prick.”
The guard snorts. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
I’m staring out my window, bathed under the dwindling sunlight, when I hear my father enter the suite. As soon as I do, I rush out of my room, ignoring the faint pound of my fading headache.
My father rubs his eyes, his face weary.
“That bastard,” I say.
“Serenity, watch your language,” he says.
The irony is that I’ve been ruder to the king’s face than this.
“What happened?” I ask.
My father takes a seat on one of the couches in the common area and drops a package he came into the room carrying. “Other than the medical relief you managed to wrangle from him, King Lazuli’s not budging on most of his conditions—and they’re the important ones.”
“He kicked me out of the peace talks,” I say quietly.
My father meets my eyes. “I know,” he says, his voice resigned. Of course my father knows.
As we stare at each other, I feel another strange pang of sympathy for the man in front of me. The situation is unfolding how he feared it would.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“You shouldn’t be the one apologizing,” my dad says.
But that’s exactly why I’m apologizing—because he blames himself. My father has a whole lot of insight, yet none of it could prevent what’s happened. What a burden it must be to perceive the future yet be unable to change it.
His eyes shift to the package at his feet. “You have a present from the king.”
“He can take his present and shove it up—”
“Serenity.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble. I grab the package and walk it into my room. Once I’m alone, I rip open the cardboard box. Inside is a pale yellow dress, and resting on top of it is a necklace made of yellow diamonds. Yellow, because it’s my favorite color.
I work my jaw at the sight. How many stomachs could these items feed? How much medical relief could they afford? Everything that comes from the king is blood money.
My hands shake when I pick up the card resting on top of the pale fabric. The note is simple.
Forgive me, and feel better.
I crumple up his note. Forgive me my ass. The king is not sorry. But he will be.
Marco raps on our suite five separate times before I decide to meet the king. He has my father to thank for that.
The entire time my father sits in the corner of the room, peace treaty on his lap, his hands threaded through his hair. He hasn’t turned the page since the knocking began.
Marco bangs on the door once more, and my father stands suddenly. Throwing the document on a nearby table, he strides towards the door.
“Dad, what are you doing?” I say, standing up from my own seat.
“I’m going to tell Marco that you will not see the king.”
Crap. I hadn’t meant for this.
“Wait, no.” I cut him off, and stop him with a hand. “Dad, it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine, and I can’t watch this.”
If my father intercedes now, it could be game over. Scenarios dance through my mind, none of them good. The ripple effects could be disastrous. I can’t let that happen.
“Please, Dad. Sit down. I’ll answer the door.”
“I can’t ask this of you,” he says. “None of us can.”
My throat works at his admission. “It’s alright. This arrangement isn’t forever. Just please, go sit back down.”
My father stares at me for a long time, his nostrils flaring. For a man who’s good at masking his emotions, he’s not doing so well at the moment.
Finally he nods and walks back to his seat, his movements mechanical.
Hurrying to the door, I grab the handle and fling it open before I can reconsider my actions.
“Evening Marco,” I say when I step out into the hallway.
“The king requests—”
“I know,” I say, pushing past him.
“He wants you to wear your gift,” Marco says to my back.
“And I want to live in a world where I don’t have to worry about radiation poisoning, but neither is going to happen anytime soon.”
I can hear Marco’s huff, but he’s smart enough to realize a lost cause when he sees one.
This evening Marco leads me to a different area of the mansion. We stop in front of a solid wood door and Marco knocks twice.
“Come in Marco.” I can hear the king’s muffled voice on the other side of the door.
Marco twists the handle and ushers me inside. The king’s back is to me and he’s staring at the walls of the room.
I suck in a breath of air. The walls are covered with maps of every nation on earth. Strings crisscross the images, connecting one section of land to another. Pins hold the strings down, and beneath a few of these pins are images. Most are of people whose faces have been crossed out; only a precious few remain unscathed. My earlier nausea rises.
“Feeling better, Serenity?”
“Fuck off.”
The king turns to face me, his expression unreadable. “You’re not wearing my gift.”
“You can’t bribe me into liking you.”
The king’s eyes flick to Marco. “You can go.”
Behind me Marco’s footfalls fade, and a moment later the door clicks shut. There’s no one else in this room but the two of us. No guards, no servants. Like the pool last night, it’s just the two of us.
“I can’t have you clouding my judgment during negotiations,” he explains without me asking.
My hands fist. “Right. Because how awful would it be to compromise for once in your life?”
“I haven’t spent the last decade waging war with your country to finally compromise.”
“No,” I agree, “you haven’t.”
The king glances away from me at the maps that line the walls. “I’m not an idiot,” he says, not looking at me. “I know the WUN sent you here to seduce me.”