“My king,” a voice near me says, “should we administer the sedative?”
“I will never forgive you!” I shriek. “You hear me? Never!”
“I think that would be best.” The king’s voice glides over me like the smoothest silk. He’s not even listening.
Someone extends my arm, and I buck against them. They drop their hands, and I elbow the guard behind me. He makes an oomph noise, and his grip loosens. I use the opportunity to wrench my arm free, and I slug the guard closest to me.
That’s as far as I get. The rest of the king’s guards close in and grab me, lowering my body to the ground. I thrash against them, but it’s useless. They pin me down.
I’m sobbing horrible, heart-wrenching cries.
“Serenity, it’s going to be okay,” the king says from above me. I can feel his hands brushing my hair from my face.
I want to slap them away. I want to tell him to stop being nice when he’s so evil. Instead I continue to sob.
I feel cool wetness rub against the crook of my arm, and then a slight sting. It doesn’t take long for the numbness to overwhelm the pain.
I open my eyes. “Why?” I ask the king weakly.
But I never get my answer. The king’s form blurs and fades with the last of the pain.
When I wake up, I’m on a bed. I blink as I sit up, noticing the satiny comforter beneath me.
Where am I?
I glance around and jolt when my eyes land on the king. He sits in the chair next to my bed, pinching his lower lip in contemplation.
Looking at him hurts—he reminds me too much of all that’s broken within me—but I can’t tear my gaze from him.
“Hello Serenity,” he finally says.
“Montes.”
“Feeling better?”
I guffaw. “Like you care.”
“You’re right,” he says, “I don’t.” He says the words so cavalierly, but his face betrays him. He’s lying, and I really wish I couldn’t tell. It’s harder to despise him when he acts human.
“I want my gun,” I say.
“And why would I give you that gun? You’re difficult enough as it is.”
His condescension is barely tolerable. “It’s one of my only possessions. I want it.”
The king tilts his head. “That’s the gun that killed several of my men, isn’t it?”
I say nothing.
“I’ve gotten a good look at it,” he continues. “It’s old but well cared for. Obviously it’s important to you. Perhaps it was a gift from someone who once loved you?” He’s openly taunting me and coming dangerously close to the truth.
Without realizing it, I’ve fisted my hands. I want to hit him. It’s taking most of my self-control not to. I can see what he’s doing
“You’re a sociopath,” I whisper.
“And you’re a kindred spirit.”
He’s said that before. “I am nothing like you,” I snap.
“You’re right,” he says. “I’ve never killed over a dozen people and then worn their blood like a trophy for an entire day.”
I’m on my feet in an instant, and so is he. “I watched my father die that day, shot dead on your orders,” I hiss. “I held his body in my arms as he bled out on me. So yes, I took pleasure in killing those men that harmed him.”
The king steps closer to me. “I never ordered your father to be killed.”
His words are a slap in the face. Still, “It’s too little too late, Montes.”
“No, it’s not. The war is over.”
“Ours isn’t.”
He works his jaw. “The wedding is at the end of the week,” he says. “It’s happening whether you want it to or not.”
I slam my hand down on the bedside table next to me. “Goddamnit, Montes, you can’t control everything—that’s not how the world works.”
“It’s how my world works.”
“And that’s why you’re going to end up alone.” Preferably under six feet of soil.
“You need to learn about forgiveness.”
I flash him a vicious smile. “Or else what? You’ll kill me? Your threats hold no power over me. I’ve already lost everything I care about.”
“Or else you’ll never be happy,” he says.
“I wouldn’t recognize happiness if it stood right in front of me,” I say.
“Clearly,” the king says.
I narrow my eyes at him as he walks to the door. He pauses when he grabs the handle. “We’re announcing the end of the war and the wedding this evening,” he says. “A lot rests on how convincing you are. So if you don’t know what happy is, I’d suggest you learn to fake it fast.”
I don’t know what day it is, or what time it is, and I can’t decide if I am jet lagged, or if my tiredness stems from my emotional and physical exhaustion. I stay in the room the king left me in. For all I know, I’m on some sort of house arrest.
Not that I mind. A servant comes in several hours after the king left, bearing food. I try to eat some and vomit it back up. I’ve gone too long without eating.
It’s as I flush the toilet and clean myself up that I realize I want to live. In spite of the wedding, in spite of my father’s death, in spite of every other fucked-up part of my life, I’m not ready to fold my hand. So I walk back to my food and eat it agonizingly slow, taking long breaks between bites to let my stomach settle.
I take a shower, and for once I let myself enjoy the way the water pelts my skin and force myself not to feel guilty that so many others don’t have this luxury. I am in the unique position to change that—to change the entire world if I so desire. I am going to be the king’s wife. The queen. Now that I’ve stopped running from the idea, I realize the doors it opens.
Chapter 14
Serenity
Miserable. I am absolutely miserable.
“Emerald green or orchid pink?” my wardrobe manager—wardrobe manager—asks me, holding up each dress.
“Neither.”
She nods absently, as if that is the conclusion she’s come to as well. “Yes, these colors are too casual—we want something that’s hopeful yet regal.” She stares at me for a beat, and then her eyes widen and she snaps her fingers.
I’m in the ninth circle of hell.