The looming palace looks like my prison, and in some ways it is. Here I will always be watched, assessed, guarded. But I will stick to my decision. I’ll leverage my new status for my people, I’ll figure out the king’s secrets, and when the time is right, I will kill the Undying King.
We pass into the palace. In here it’s quiet, too quiet. The king and I ascend the stairs, and I follow him down the hall to a room I’ve never been in before. Our room.
He cracks the door open and turns back to me. “I think this calls for tradition.” He bends and wraps one arm behind my knees and another across my back, then lifts me.
I yelp, and before I can think about what I’m doing, I wrap my arms around his neck. “Put me down, Montes.”
Instead of putting me down, he pushes the door further open with his foot and carries me inside. The large canopy bed is the first thing that catches my eye. And we’re moving towards it. Next I notice a wall of windows that open up to a balcony. Beyond them I can see the starry sky and the dark ocean.
The king places me gently on the bed, and gazes at me like I’m his next meal. I scramble off the mattress.
“I-I need to use the restroom.” I bolt for the gleaming bathroom before he has a chance to respond.
I close the door behind me and lock it. Then I lean against the wall and let myself slide down. I rest my head between my knees.
This is no worse than death I try to tell myself. But in some ways it is. I’m protecting a nation by following through with this wedding, but I’m dishonoring my parents. What I despise most is that, beneath all that anger and hate, I actually feel something else for the king. Sometimes desire—he is beautiful, after all—sometimes camaraderie, sometimes amusement, and sometimes … compassion.
I get to my feet, my legs shaky, and lean over the counter. When I glance at my reflection I see a strong woman, one who’s had to skirt right and wrong her entire life. I can do this.
I leave the bathroom without pretending to flush the toilet or wash my hands—the king’s not a fool. He knows I’m scared as hell of what lies ahead.
When I enter the bedroom, Montes lounges on a side chair. His tie is loosened and his jacket has already been removed. He doesn’t move for a moment, just takes me in.
Then, ever so slowly he gets up and makes his way to me. “I’m not a nice man,” he says.
“I couldn’t agree more,” I say.
“This is happening tonight.”
My throat works. “I know.”
“Good.” Then he closes the remaining distance between us and kisses me. At first, all I do is stand there, unresponsive. But eventually, I give in and move my lips. I wonder if this is how royalty felt when they were forced to marry one another. The repulsion, the nervousness, the sense of duty—all of it. I wonder if any of them felt perversely excited, as I do. Perhaps in this I am well and truly alone.
The king backs us up until I fall against the bed. He kneels between my legs to remove my shoes. First one comes off, then the other. But he doesn’t remove his hands. Instead he slides them up my leg until they brush the lace of my panties.
I gasp, and struggle against the urge to rip his hands away. A second later his hands are gone, but only so that he can remove his tie. Once he’s discarded the garment, he begins unbuttoning his shirt.
I squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them, he’s shirtless. His body is all sculpted muscle. I appreciate the sight on a physical level, but it bothers me that he can care so much about his body and so little for entire nations.
Then again, perhaps he has to keep himself in shape in case he ever needs to use his physical strength. It’s not like he doesn’t have enemies. With that thought, I scour his body for bullet wounds. He’s been shot before.
I reach out to his chest and run a hand over the smooth skin that covers his heart. “Where is it?” There should be scar tissue where he’d been shot. It was filmed on live T.V. I’ve seen him bleed in front of my eyes.
He closes his eyes slowly, as though he’s relishing the feel of my skin on his. “Don’t you know, my queen?” he says, opening his eyes. “I can’t be killed.”
I frown. “Stop calling me that.”
“No.”
I drop my hand and the king resumes undressing himself. I scoot further back on the bed as I watch him remove his shoes, then his socks, and then his pants. I fist the comforter beneath me to give my hands something to do.
When he stands in just his boxer briefs, his stomach muscles rippling, he returns his attention to me. “Come here.”
I don’t move.
He sighs. “You need to take your dress off, Serenity, and you need my help to do so.” He says it like he’s the most reasonable person in the world. As though I’m being ridiculous by wanting to keep on the dress I despised so much earlier. What he doesn’t realize—or maybe he does—is that it’s my last defense before we get intimate.
Reluctantly I scoot myself off the bed and pad over to him. I feel like the world’s most wretched person that my eyes linger on all the sculpted lines of his body. He turns me around and begins unfastening the buttons that trail down my back. I can feel the brush of his fingers along my skin. They draw out goose bumps.
Slowly my dress peels away from me. Montes removes the last of the buttons, and the gown glides over my hips and pools at my feet. Instinctively I cover myself. I’m still wearing lingerie, but it hardly leaves anything to the imagination.
Montes pulls my arms down from where they hide my chest. He gives me a surprisingly gentle look, and I close my eyes.
“Open your eyes, Serenity.”
“Then stop looking at me like that.”
“I can’t.”
I press my eyelids shut harder. “You’re heartless.”
“Most of the time. But sometimes … sometimes I’m not when I’m around you.”