The Queen of Traitors (The Fallen World Book 2)

by Laura Thalassa

“Serenity, what are you doing?”

  I must seem insane, getting hurriedly dressed as I am for no apparent reason. Just another difference between soldiers and civilians. I’ve been programmed to expect an attack.

  Before I respond, I hear it. It’s just a distant, dull thump, like someone sinking a dart into a dart board, but silencers also make that noise. It’s so subtle that I almost discount it.

  Almost.

  “Get dressed,” I say. “Quickly. Something you can run in. And keep the lights off.”

  Montes doesn’t argue. As he’s pulling on his clothes, I grab my gun from beneath my pillow and shove all my spare bullets into my pockets.

  I recognize the sound of a jet in the distance. That’s what woke me up, I realize. Before I even recognized the purr of its engine, I heard enough of its whine to set me on edge.

  I cock my head as I listen to it. It’s getting closer.

  Shit.

  Heading to the nearest window, I peer out. Shadows still cloak most of the yard, but I can make out one of the king’s soldiers. He’s splayed out on his stomach, near the edge of the property, and as I watch, two dark forms grab his legs and drag him into the thick foliage.

  “Montes, your men are getting slaughtered. I think the enemy is approaching from all sides. Call whoever you need to.” But I fear we are alone.

  He swears. He’s just finishing lacing up his own shoes when he swipes his phone and places a call.

  War’s taught me to be paranoid. I’m maladaptive in the king’s decadent castle, but out here, out here I know how to survive.

  That familiar, rising excitement begins to flow through my veins. I think I am addicted to this sensation. My mortality never means so much as it does now, when it could be seconds away from snuffing out.

  Life and death are violent lovers, and today they do battle.

  Moving to the sliding glass door, I return to watching our surroundings. I can see figures below, but I’m afraid to shoot when it’s still so dark out. It won’t stay that way for long; the sun’s rising, and if we can survive the next few minutes, I’ll be able to tell friend from foe enough to shoot.

  “Montes, grab a gun if you have one,” I say.

  He nods, distracted. He’s already on the phone, but judging by his tone, assistance won’t be coming in time.

  He covers the receiver. “I wasn’t able to get ahold of my head of security.” Montes’s top guard, who’s stationed here with us, wouldn’t miss a call for anything short of death.

  I’m sure death is exactly what befell him.

  I hear another thump, and I turn my attention back to the sliding glass door. Two soldiers creep towards the house bearing guns; another man lays sprawled across the grass, a dark pool of blood widening around him.

  They’re closing in, and we’re running out of time.

  Opening the sliding glass door, I slip out onto the balcony and study the two approaching men. They wear helmets and Kevlar, which means I’ll have to hit their necks if I want a kill shot. And as soon as I shoot, they’re going to know my exact location.

  The jet I heard earlier is almost overhead. This isn’t some routine flight path. This is an orchestrated assassination.

  We’re dead if I do nothing.

  Breathing steadily in and out, I clear my mind and line up my sights.

  Aim. Fire. Aim. Fire.

  The shots pierce the silence. Blood sprays as one of the bullets finds its mark; the other buries itself into the second man’s vest.

  Several things happen all at once. Montes shouts for me, enemy soldiers hiding in the dense shrubs bordering the property now run forward, and the king’s men—what’s left of them—scramble to meet an enemy that’s snuck up on them.

  I duck and run for the bedroom. Behind me I hear shots ping against the house’s outer walls as that second soldier returns fire.

  I’ve barely made it around our four-poster bed when a violent wind blows my hair, and the jet’s purring engine shakes the house.

  I spin just in time to face down the aircraft lowering itself to hover outside our balcony. I stare at it, and for a single second the melee quiets.

  This is the moment I meet my maker.

  “Serenity!”

  Montes tackles me to the ground just as the glass sliding doors shatter, and the pilot opens fire on us. A barrage of bullets lights up the room. Furniture is shredded in seconds. Feathers and cloth dance in the air, and the wooden dresser splinters as the jet unloads its ammunition into the room. In seconds the walls are riddled with holes.

  Montes shields me with his body the entire time. I breathe in the king’s cologne as a familiar rush of adrenaline thrums through my veins.

  We might live, but we’ll probably die.

  We stare at each other the entire time, and I think he might be trying to memorize my face.

  He covered me; in that instant when he faced down death, he thought to protect me. I’d expected that from the men I fought alongside, but from the selfish, narcissistic king?

  Not in a thousand years.

  The firing cuts off all at once.

  “Time to go,” I say, even though I know he cannot hear me. I jerk my head towards the door, and Montes nods.

  Staying flush with the ground, we crawl through debris towards the door. Dust, plaster, and the odd feather float down on us as we move.

  “Are you hit?” I yell. The ringing in my ears is dying down, but it’s still hard to hear.

  He shakes his head. “You?”

  I shake my head. A fucking jet. Estes called in a jet to take us out on top of his ground troops. This is sloppy. Dramatic, but sloppy. Estes must’ve learned of our plans to leave and rushed the attack.

  Montes glances over at me. I see raw fear in them.

  “What?” I say, reloading my gun and keeping an eye on the doorway out. I haven’t heard anyone breach the building yet, but when they do, things will happen really fast.

  His gaze moves to my stomach. He licks his lips, and his eyes return to mine. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  I wait for him to speak. Now is not a great time to have a heart-to-heart, but if he feels he needs to confess while our lives are on the line, I’m not going to stop him.

  “You’re pregnant, Serenity.”

  I stare at him, uncomprehending. I don’t think I breathe for several seconds.

  “What?” I finally say.

  I’m aching to return my attention to the business at hand, but I can’t look away from him.

  “You’re pregnant.”

  I recoil from him.

  This conversation might be the one thing that can make me forget about the fight occurring right outside these walls.

  I don’t realize I’m shaking my head until the king says, “Yes, Serenity, you are.”

  Pregnant? With the king’s child? Horror and disbelief war for dominance.

  No. No.

  Impossible.

  He has to be wrong. How would he even know this?

  “You’re lying,” I say.

  Below us someone kicks at the front door. A second later, I hear a shot fired and the thump of a body hitting the outside wall.

  “Nire bihotza, I’m not.”

  There is not enough air for me to catch my breath.

  I still don’t believe him. But each second that he stares back at me unflinchingly, I lose a little more confidence. We’re about to die. He has no reason to lie.

  I’m going to be sick. The king’s child is inside of me. I’ve never thought of a baby as parasitic, but I do now.

  I’m carrying a monster’s child.

  “How would you know whether I was … ?” I can’t even say the word.

  “
It came up when you were in the Sleeper.”

  That was over a week ago.

  I grip my gun tighter, but I’m not angry—not yet. At the moment I’m … blindsided.

  I draw in a deep breath.

  It doesn’t matter. The situation, the deception, the horror of it all. None of this matters if we’re dead.

  I nod to the gun in Montes’s hand. “Know how to use that?”

  He looks affronted by the subject change. “Yes.”

  “Good. We’re going to survive this so that I can kill you myself. Until then, I need your help.” I nod to the window. “There are too many of them. I’ll need you to shoot incoming soldiers.”

  His eyes follow mine. I can’t read his expression, but I know where his mind lingers. I can’t afford to think about what he’s just confessed, and if he’s to do his part, he can’t think about it either.

  Montes has never personally killed before. It’s almost frightening that he’s never gotten his hands dirty with death, mostly because that needs to change today if we’re to live. Even the monster that is my husband has limits to his terror, and today I’m asking that he break one.

  “Montes.” I recapture his gaze. “This is target practice. Don’t see people. See heads and chests. If they’re wearing bulletproof vests and helmets, you’ll need to aim for the neck, groin, or thighs. And be careful, once you fire the first shot, they’re going to know your position.”

  That’s all I can give him. It doesn’t get past me how messed up the situation is—I’m giving the man responsible for the third world war tips on how to kill.

  The man responsible for knocking me up.

  I force down a wave of nausea and get up to leave.

  “Serenity—”

  I slip out of the room before he can finish whatever he’d been about to say. As far as I’m concerned, the time for talking is over.

  I head down the stairs, both hands on my weapon. I can hear the pad of several sets of boots. The enemy is still trying to be silent and stealthy, which means they will be keeping their bodies crouched as they approach. I adjust my aim, knowing they will also likely be wearing Kevlar and helmets. It makes them harder targets, but not impossible to get past.

  I peer around the corner.

  A shot goes off, and the plaster just above my head chips away. I pull back and lean against the wall, closing my eyes and drawing in a deep breath. From the glimpse I caught, there are at least a half a dozen of them and one of me.

  They’ve come outfitted for war while I have just a handful of bullets. This will take some creativity on my part if I want to survive the next several minutes.

  I exhale and an open my eyes. I may not be used to the ways of queenship and polite society, but I’m intimately acquainted with death.

  I push away from the stairs and sprint towards a nearby couch. As soon as I hear the first gunshot go off, I slide the last few feet behind the couch.

  They’re relentless. They must have a bottomless supply of ammunition to use it so carelessly.

  Above me, Montes’s gun goes off. He fires three separate shots.

  I don’t have time to wonder about what’s happening outside these walls. The couch I hide behind is getting shot up with bullets; stuffing and scraps of material flutter into the air. I have to flatten myself along the floor to avoid getting nicked.

  And then I hear a sound that makes my stomach bottom out.

  A grenade clinks against the ground next to my head. My eyes lock onto it. I don’t give myself time to think. I simply grab it and lob it back over the couch. The split second decision ranks as one of the stupidest, riskiest maneuvers I’ve made in battle.

  And this time it pays off.

  The grenade explodes seconds after I throw it. I hear shouts and the thud of large bodies as they hit the ground. The blast shoves the couch against me, and a wave of heat ripples through the room.

  I peer over the back of the couch and level my gun at my opponents. Some are getting up off the ground, some aren’t. I take advantage of their temporary disorientation and fire my gun. I aim for their necks.

  Five out of the eight shots find their mark. And then my gun clicks empty.

  Shit.

  While my opponents are shouting and scrambling to regroup, I duck again behind the couch and tuck my father’s gun into my waistband.

  This is the moment where my chances of survival are the slimmest. I’m out of weapons and the enemy hasn’t retreated.

  In fact, more vehicles are approaching; I can hear their engines in the distance.

  It hits me again: I’m pregnant. Whatever happens to me doesn’t just affect my life anymore. It makes me hesitate when I shouldn’t.

  Behind me, several of the windows have been shot out. It’s no honorable exit, but honor has nothing to do with this entire situation.

  I begin to crawl towards them, keeping my body as low to the ground as I can.

  Two successive shots pierce the air.

  There’s a moment, right after the shot is fired and before the pain sets in, where you actually don’t know whether or not you’re hit.

  But then the moment passes and the pain doesn’t come. I feel the ground vibrate as two bodies collapse.

  I cast a glance over my shoulder.

  Standing at the foot of the stairs, gun still raised, is the king.

  King Montes Lazuli killed for me. The evilest man on earth killed for me and probably saved my life by doing so.

  And, God, the look on his face. The vein in his temple throbs, and his eyes are cold and resolute. There’s no shell-shocked expression, and he doesn’t double over and vomit. He’s remorseless.

  I shouldn’t be surprised. This is the king we’re talking about. If anything, I should be worried that he’ll get a taste for it.

  I nod to him. “Thank you.”

  He takes his eyes off of his victims to nod back to me, finally dropping his aim.

  I stand and head to the bodies. Most of the dead are missing appendages. Grenades are a messy way to go. Ignoring the gore, I begin to take what weapons I can. Montes joins me, and together we strap on guns, grenades, and ammunition.

  When I begin to drape weaponry across my chest, he stops me.

  “Kevlar first,” he says. “To protect the baby.”

  My stomach drops at his words. It’s real, this is real. We’re in the middle of a shootout and I’m pregnant.

  This is some sick parody of real life, and Montes is some twisted version of my knight in shining armor as he removes the bulletproof vest from one of the dead men and slips it on me. The thing’s heavy, and the top left breast is soaked with blood.

  I don’t focus on that. Instead I string ammunition and guns across my chest while Montes dons a vest of his own. I check the men for keys, but come up empty-handed. They must’ve left them in the car.

  Meanwhile the sound of engines is getting closer.

  “We need to go, now,” he says, and his order actually makes me smile. I hadn’t imagined him to be an equal on the field, but it seems that’s just what he is.

  Together we sprint for the only car out in the driveway. In the early morning light, I make out several unmoving bodies sprawled across the yard. The jeep our attackers drove in is outfitted with a crate of explosives, semi-automatic assault rifles, and ammunition. The keys sit in the glove compartment.

  “You drive; I’ll shoot,” I say.

  Montes doesn’t argue, which I appreciate.

  While he cranks on the engine, I familiarize myself with my new weaponry. In addition to assault rifles, Montes and I lifted machine guns off of our attackers, the kind you can hold and fire continuously. They have a mean kickback, which means that if you’re not stationary or bracing yourself well, your accuracy will take
a hit. I’m neither of those things at the moment, but the sheer quantity of ammunition we’ve acquired makes up for it.

  Montes floors the gas and the car screeches around the circular drive before cutting down the dirt road off the property. Mud and pebbles shoot out from under the wheels as I make my way to the back of the jeep.

  Back here I can brace myself along the vehicle’s exposed metal frame as the jeep jumps and dips over the uneven terrain. I peer at the crate filled with explosives. It’s a dangerous thing to have in an automobile, especially when there’s going to be a shootout in the near future, but I can’t bear to dump them. Not when Montes and I are overwhelmed by the sheer volume of enemies.

  I flip the lid off another crate, one I haven’t yet looked into. Several grenades are nestled amongst wood shavings. I suck in a breath at the sight. This car is a moving bomb. One nicely placed gunshot and we’re all going up in flames.

  Ahead of us, two more military vehicles barrel down the dirt road towards the estate.

  I don’t wait for them to recognize us. Bracing myself against the top metal bar of the jeep, I begin to unload my round of ammunition, holding down the trigger as the bullets spray across the vehicles.

  The shots tear through metal and glass, but none of the cars slow. If the soldiers were confused about why one of their own vehicles was leaving the estate, they are no longer.

  The enemy begins to return fire, and bullets ping against the jeep’s metal frame.

  “Montes,” I call out, crouching down to grab a grenade. His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “Slow down when we pass them.”

  “What are you planning?” he says, his voice rising to be heard over the engine and the gunfire

  “You’ll see.”

  He doesn’t show any signs that he’ll do as I ask, but I have to trust that he will.

  I return to gunning down the vehicles. One enemy bullet whizzes to the left of my head. Another pings against the metal bar I’m holding onto.

  “Serenity!” Montes clearly sees who our enemies are trying to eliminate first.