“I know.” I’d assumed as much. The general is the mastermind behind this idiotic plan. It doesn’t matter how much my father disagrees with it, if General Kline ordered it, he’s duty bound to follow through. As am I.
He holds me for a long time, and I’m hesitant to pull away before he does. I’m afraid of what I’ll see on his face.
“You’ll never know how proud I am of you.”
I give a humorless laugh. “There’s nothing honorable about what I’m doing.”
My dad draws back to look at me. If he cried while he held me, all traces of his tears are gone. “Your life has never been easy, Serenity. The world has always demanded something from you—war is a series of hard choices—but you haven’t let it break you. Not even now, when this is being asked of you. No father could be prouder of his daughter.”
I blink back tears and swallow. “Thank you,” I say quietly.
This evening, when Marco knocks on our suite’s door, I’m armed for battle. I have a plan that will keep the monster at bay.
I open the door. “The king requests—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I say. “Let’s go.” I push past Marco. The guards won’t come with me tonight, not for this sort of thing.
Marco jogs up to me. “You’re going the wrong way Miss Freeman,” he says, catching my arm and spinning me around.
“Oh.” I let him lead me in the opposite direction, and I smooth down the fabric of the lacey plum colored dress I wear. For the millionth time I wish I was wearing my fatigues. The tight bodice and high heels limit my movement.
We tread down the halls, and I memorize every twist and turn Marco makes. I’ll need to since I doubt the king will escort me back to my room before he gets what he wants.
Every so often someone passes by me in the hallways. Their eyes dart to mine, then away. I sometimes receive this reaction from people who notice my scar. Tonight, however, I wonder if this has more to do with the filmed negotiations. I never considered the fact that people might recognize me once the footage hit the Internet, but they must.
Marco and I climb a set of stairs and turn down a hall. I can tell we’re nearing the king’s private rooms. There’s a stillness about my surroundings that the rest of the mansion lacks.
I follow Marco up to a door and wait while he knocks. A servant opens the door and ushers us in. A quick glance around the room tells me that this is a private dining room. The lights have been dimmed, and a small round table has been set for two.
Romantic. I believe that’s how one would describe the setting. Unease gathers in the pit of my stomach.
The king steps into the room from some side chamber, fiddling with a cufflink of his suit. When he catches my eye, I see him pause. His eyes move over me, his gaze searing. I can tell he doesn’t want to simply have his way with me, and that realization surprises me.
“Thank you, Marco,” the king says, “you may go now.”
Marco inclines his head and backs away. I watch him leave us. Only once the door clicks shut, do I turn to face the king.
He’s studying me. “Are you happy?”
“About what?” I ask.
“Your precious medical relief.”
“I’ll be happy once I see the finished peace agreement with the medical relief included. Until then, I remain skeptical.” The king could always withdraw that clause of the treaty once he gets what he wants from me. That’s why I’m going to have to make sure he doesn’t.
“You don’t trust me?”
I guffaw. “I don’t have the luxury. In my world trust will land you a knife in your back and an early grave.”
“So cynical,” the king says, tsk-ing. He approaches me. “Why didn’t you come to dinner last night?” he asks. His eyes gleam. He’s not a man to take rejection well.
“I thought we just went over my opinion on trust.”
King Lazuli cups my face and tilts my head up. His thumb strokes my jawline as his eyes dance over my lips. It takes most of my self-control to let him do this. Even this small touch feels extraordinarily intimate. “You don’t trust yourself with me?” he asks.
“Especially not with you,” I say, holding his gaze. My pulse is in my ears.
He drops his hand and moves away from me, a smile playing along his lips. “Hungry?” he asks, indicating the table.
I’m not, but pretending to eat is better than the alternative. I nod. “Starving.”
I make my way over to the table, where King Lazuli pulls out a chair for me. I give him a strange look as I take it.
“Are you not used to a man pulling out your chair for you?” he asks.
“Where I live, a man would sooner mug me than pull out a chair for me.” It’s not completely true. I wouldn’t get mugged in the bunker. But out on the streets where resources are scarce? Absolutely.
The king frowns at this. “Once this war is over, I will teach your country’s men how to treat women.”
I can’t help it, I laugh. There are so many things wrong with his statement. “One, King Lazuli—”
“Montes,” he corrects me, walking around the table and taking a seat across from me.
“—the men of my country aren’t savages by nature. Your war has made savages of us all, me included.” Of course the megalomaniac across from me would twist a problem he created into some form of cultural sexism. “And two, you are the last person on earth who should speak of how to treat women.”
I went too far. I can see it in the way the vein at the king’s temple throbs. We stare at each other for a few long seconds, and I can practically see the king’s internal debate. In the past he’s killed off everyone who speaks out against him, but clearly he’s hesitant to do that to me, now that he’s gotten me in his private rooms. But how to handle the situation?
The moment is interrupted by what appears to be the king’s personal chef. She sets a covered plate in front of each of us, and then removes the metal lids. “Filet mignon served with a red wine sauce, fried gnocchi, and caramelized shallots. Paired with a cabernet sauvignon.”
I stare at the plate in front of me. I don’t recognize any of the food items the chef just rattled off, and I can only identify the reddish-brown lump on my plate as meat. But from the smell wafting off the food, it will taste delicious.
The chef pours a small serving of wine into the king’s glass, and I watch, fascinated, as the king swirls the liquid, smells it, and tips a portion back into his mouth. After a moment, he nods, and the chef pours more wine into the king’s glass, and then mine.
“You make food look like an art form,” I say.
“That’s because it can be,” the king responds.
I shake my head and glance down at my meal. He will never understand how insulting this is to a girl who is always underfed.
“Go ahead,” he says, “try it.”
I lift my knife and fork and try a bite of the meat. I have to close my eyes as I eat it. I’m not sure I’ve ever tasted anything so delicious.
I hear the king chuckle across from me and my eyes snap open. “Now try the wine.” His voice lilts, reminding me that he’s just as exotic to me as his lifestyle is.
I reach for my glass. I’ve only had sips of alcohol up until now. Not too many people in the bunker bother with the stuff, but I’ve tasted it enough to expect the strange flavor that hits my taste buds. What I don’t expect is the warm richness of the liquid. It heats up my throat, and then my stomach. I didn’t know any substance could do such a thing.
“It’s good,” I say reluctantly, and then I take another drink. And another.
“Just good?” There’s a twinkle in the king’s eyes. “That’s the best you can do?”
“Yes.”
The room gets quiet, and I know that we’re both remembering my earlier
words. I wonder why he hasn’t brought them up again.
“Tell me about yourself,” I finally say, because I can’t think of a more open-ended question to distract us.
The king raises his eyebrows. “What is it you want to know?” he asks.
I shrug. “Whatever it is you want to tell me.”
“I’m an only child,” he starts.
“Me too,” I say, taking another swig of my wine.
He nods. “My mother passed away when I was eight, and my father passed away when I was twenty-two.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. Regardless of who the king is, I can empathize with the pain of losing a parent.
“Thank you,” he says, holding my gaze. In that second, my pulse speeds up. I’m a fly caught in a spider’s web, a moth drawn to flame. He’s pain and death, yet I’m falling into those dark eyes of his. Perhaps he truly is something supernatural if he can coax this response from me.
King Lazuli glances away. “I enjoy playing football—soccer—I sing in the shower—”
I raise my eyebrows. “You sing in the shower?”
The grin that spreads along his face is pure sin. “I can always give you a demonstration, but you’d be required to join me.”
“I think I’ll pass.” I reach for my full glass of wine and take another drink. I glance at it once I pull it away from my mouth. I could’ve sworn I’d almost finished the wine. Those servants of his should double as spies; they’re shadows, slipping in and out of the room, refilling drinks, removing silverware—essentially seeing to our every need.
“How about you?” the king asks, tipping his own glass back.
I chew the inside of my cheek and stare at my wine. “I live in a room with seven other women. This trip is the first time I’ve seen natural light in months, but what I miss the most about the sky are the stars—oh, and I love to swim, even though I haven’t been able to for several years.”
The king holds my gaze. “Would you like to?”
“Like to what?” I ask, drinking more wine.
“Go for a swim. I have a pool.”
My eyes widen, though I shouldn’t be surprised to learn about this. “I don’t have a swimsuit,” I say. What I don’t mention is that it seems wrong to enjoy myself when so many others can’t.
He waves away my concern. “That’s not an issue. Marco can get you one.” The king stands up. “Give me a moment.” He walks out of the room, presumably to talk to one of his servants.
As soon as he’s gone, I eye the door. I could slip out now and return to my room. Where would that leave me, though? No, I need to stick around a little longer.
At least my plan is unfolding as I wanted it to. So long as I keep the king talking I don’t have to do anything physical with him. But more importantly, if the king sees me as more than just a pretty face with an attitude, I’ll have more leverage.
The king comes back in the room. “Grab your glass of wine,” he says, seizing his own glass and the wine bottle that sits next to it.
I glance at our half-eaten plates. “What about the food?”
“It’ll be here when we come back.”
I know he says that for my benefit. I doubt the king would eat a reheated meal. But he’s probably learned enough about me to know that I’d balk at wasting it.
He takes my hand and leads me to the door. I stare at our joined hands. The backside of his is tan, and I don’t know why that particular detail makes me wistful, but it does.
Ashamedly, I savor the warm press of his palm. I can tell that he’s used to being touched by the way his focus is on other things. And now, horror of horrors, it sinks in that I actually like skin contact with the king.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“Nothing.” I respond too fast, and the king’s lips twitch. “Why do you ask?”
“You had a small smile on your face for a minute there. It was nice.”
I look away, mortified that the king caught me smiling while I was thinking about him. Scratch that, I was embarrassed that the king caused me to smile in the first place.
“And the lady shuts down yet again. I should add smiles and compliments to the growing list of things that make you uneasy,” King Lazuli says.
“You are what makes me uneasy,” I say.
His grip on my hand tightens. “I know.” He looks down at me, and I see the desire in his eyes.
I swallow. Tonight is going to be long.
I hold my towel tightly to myself when I leave the bathroom. It’s a good thing the alcohol is really starting to hit my system and lower my inhibitions. Otherwise there’s no way I’d have the courage to do what I’m doing now.
King Lazuli waits for me in the room that houses his pool, wearing a swimsuit that leaves little to the imagination. I suck in my cheeks. I’d expected the king to have thin, doughy arms and a shapeless stomach under all those suits of his. I hadn’t expected him to be toned like a soldier.
Our eyes meet across the room. “Are you going to take off your towel?” he asks.
“As soon as I get more wine.” I probably shouldn’t drink more. I’m already starting to feel a little queasy from the alcohol and overly rich food.
The king grabs my glass from where it rests on the edge of the pool next to the wine bottle, and he brings it over to me. “How about a trade: your glass of wine for the towel.”
Instead of answering him, I take the wine in his hand, down it in two long gulps, and then let go of my towel.
It drops to the ground, and I’m left standing in only a black bikini. The king takes a step back, his expressive eyes brighter than usual. I know what he sees—a lean body toned by war. He might even see some of my fainter scars.
I never thought there was anything particularly beautiful about my body. It is useful, and in my war-torn country, that’s the best I can ask for.
Only now, as Montes’s gaze drinks me in, I realize he’s savoring me like he does his wine. Like I am something rare and refined and he wants to take his time enjoying me. The thought makes me aware of every inch of exposed skin.
He takes my empty glass and sets it on a nearby ledge, his eyes serious. I sway a little on my feet as I watch him; the alcohol is already affecting me.
When the king turns back to me, he bends and scoops my feet out from beneath me.
“What are you doing?” I gasp out.
“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 no
w 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 Queen of All that Dies (The Fallen World Book 1) Page 6