The Queen of All that Dies (The Fallen World Book 1)

by Laura Thalassa

  Up until now, all anyone knows about the king and me are rumors—if that. I’m about to blow those rumors open.

  I can hear the uncertain shuffle of my guards keeping formation around me and the eager clamor of camera crews. They’re like carrion circling a wounded creature—they can practically sense a story about to happen.

  I’m gathering stares; I can feel the way they crawl along my skin. The king looks amused—no, transfixed—as I make a beeline for him. He too knows something is about to happen.

  The crowd parts for me, and the buzzing chatter in the room dies down. I close the remaining distance between the two of us until I’m standing in front of him.

  “Miss me?” I ask.

  King Lazuli’s face is serious, but his eyes smile. He’s definitely enjoying the show.

  “I haven’t missed anything more,” he responds smoothly, like the slick politician he is.

  “Then why haven’t you kissed me yet?” Now the room goes quiet.

  This, this is a gamble. On the one hand, the king might reject me in front of a crowded room—scratch that, in front of the entire world. That I can handle; I haven’t believed he’s been sincere about his feelings for me since the day we met. And if he does reject me, the WUN will have definitive proof that the king’s just toying with all of us.

  On the other hand, if he goes along with this, the world will anticipate favorable negotiations with the WUN—if he’s openly friendly with the emissary’s daughter, he’s surely friendly with the nations she represents. My hope is that it will increase the odds of an advantageous peace treaty for us.

  This possibility scares the crap out of me. It means more contact with the king. Intimate contact.

  Montes raises his eyebrows, his eyes twinkling like mad. This whole exchange delights him. He takes the final step that removes all the distance between the two of us, and I feel the press of his tux against my chest.

  A roguish grin lights up his face. He slides a hand along my jaw and cups the back of my head. My heart speeds up, and I can’t tell whether fear or a thread of desire is responsible for it.

  His cool breath fans across my face. “Just remember tomorrow that you started this,” he says quietly.

  I don’t know what to make of his words, but then I don’t need to. His lips are on mine, and they move softly, sweetly against my mouth. I kiss him back, parting my lips and running my tongue over his.

  The murmurs around us quiet, and in the silence that follows I can hear the frantic shuffling of camera crews that want to capture what could be a pivotal moment in the negotiations.

  But even that is background noise compared to being completely and totally enveloped by the king. His fingertips touch my cheeks with the lightest of pressure. There’s a kindness to the touch, and I have the oddest urge to weep that someone can be this gentle to another human being. That it’s the king who caresses me like this … I can’t rectify my conflicted emotions.

  One of King Lazuli’s hands moves to the small of my back, holding me close, his thumb stroking the bare skin there. I move my own hand so that it cups his jaw, and I’m shocked by its roughness. Shocked perhaps because he feels more like a man than a nightmare.

  Our poolside evening together bubbles to the surface of my thoughts. He was a different person then, and right now, while his lips move against mine, he’s that same person. The thought makes me forget that I’m in the arms of the enemy, and that my country might consider me a traitor for my current actions—actions I make on its behalf.

  The kiss ends, and the king draws away slowly, his eyes lingering on my lips. Desire and a trace of something else flare up in his eyes.

  Around us the room is silent. I can feel half a dozen cameras focused on me and the king. I’m sure several are capturing my father’s expression as well, but I’m too busy staring down Montes to care much about that.

  Whatever this is, it’s no deception on the king’s part. It’s something far, far worse.

  Someone whistles on the other side of the room, and then I hear the tinkling of silverware on glass. More join in; some people even tap the side of their glasses with a knife.

  I look from them to the king, my brow furrowed.

  “They want us to kiss again.”

  I feel my cheeks heat. My courage is all used up. King Lazuli dips down and brushes his lips against mine. My mouth responds, moving languidly over his, even though the entire situation freaks me out. At least we’ve definitely given the world a show.

  This time when the king pulls away, his lips skim over my cheek to my ear. “You’re cute when you blush.”

  My nostrils flare in annoyance, but I compose my face before anyone takes notice. The king’s hands linger, one in particular gets comfortable around my waist.

  His eyes drop to my gown. “You look gorgeous—the dress fits you perfectly.”

  The mention of this hateful gown reminds me that the king is more than just silky words and soft caresses. He’s the enemy.

  I give him a tight smile since I can’t be openly rude to him while so much attention is on us.

  King Lazuli seems to understand this, and a sly grin spreads across his face. “Like the color?”

  “Uh huh.” I clench my jaw so much it hurts.

  The people who cluster around the king have focused their attention on me, and I know my pleasant exterior is cracking. I entwine my fingers around the king’s, and pry his hand from my waist.

  “Mind if I steal the king for a moment?” I ask the crowd.

  The group shakes their heads and shrugs. “Thanks—I promise I’ll only be a moment.” I drag the king away from the crowd, not that he seems to mind it in the least. The camera crews start to follow us, so I turn and give them all a death glare. It’s enough for them to keep their distance. For now. I know I’ve caused too much of a scene for them to stay away long.

  Once I get the king a safe distance away from the crowd, I drop the act. “I’ll do it.”

  “Oh? And what exactly is it that you’ll do?” the king asks.

  I narrow my eyes. “Whatever it is you want with me.”

  I can see the king’s breath catch. He’s getting exactly what he wants, just like he promised me he would.

  “But—” I say, “I have a condition.”

  The king raises his eyebrows and waits for me to continue.

  “You need to compromise with the WUN—don’t cripple their economy, don’t withhold needed funds. Give my homeland enough benefits to get them back on their feet.”

  “You do realize that’s incredibly vague,” the king says. What he doesn’t say is that in his world, ambiguity is an exploitable weakness.

  I touch his arm; I’m going to have to get used to his touch if I go through with this. He glances down at where my hand rests, then back to my face. His eyes are vulnerable.

  “I’m asking you to be honorable,” I say. I give him a long look, and I see some of his humanity seep into those bright eyes. “Please, you don’t need to blackmail me or the western hemisphere to get what you want. I’m coming to you freely.”

  The king cups my chin, and I see real tenderness there. “I’ll come up with a final agreement, but your father will have to approve of it for us to have a deal.”

  A deal. That’s what this is. I nod.

  He bows his head and steals a kiss from me. “Good. Then I look forward to a long and prosperous future for all parties involved.”

  I did it. I just sacrificed myself for my nation.

  Chapter 9

  Serenity

  Two years ago I became my father’s apprentice.

  He hadn’t always been our land’s only emissary. I hear we used to have many. Men and women appointed by the government to engage in diplomacy with foreign nations.

&nb
sp; When the Western United Nations was formed, this branch of the government was refashioned. A single position—that of WUN emissary—was created. It proved to be a fatal one. Half a dozen men and women died before my father, who’d once served as the Secretary of State, had been elected into the role.

  He managed to hold onto the position and his life, mostly because he hadn’t set foot onto the Eastern Hemisphere.

  There should’ve been another round of elections since my father took the title of emissary. He should’ve abdicated the role to another official, along with all the other representatives that lived in the bunker. But once the western hemisphere went dark, our electoral system disintegrated almost overnight. In it’s absence we had to revert to an archaic system of power: bequeathing titles from parent to child. And now my father was passing the position onto me.

  I knew all of this the evening he called me into his office. I’d seen and lived so much that this shouldn’t have scared me. But it did.

  Once I shut the door behind me, my father glanced up from his papers. “Do you know why you’re here?”

  I gave him a sharp nod. “You want to teach me how to be an emissary.”

  My father scrubbed his face. “I don’t want to do this—that you’ve got wrong. But neither of us have much of a choice.”

  “Dad, I’m no good at diplomacy.”

  He cracked a smile. “You’re my daughter. You’re good at everything.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re a little biased.”

  “And you’re a little humble.”

  His words were proof I’d never have his sharp tongue. He always knew the right thing to say to diffuse a situation. I was more likely to punch someone in the face than I was reasoning with them.

  That first lesson was brief, unlike the hundreds to come. By the end of it, my father left me with one final bit of information. “Serenity?”

  My hand was already on the door. I turned back to face him.

  The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth deepened. “As an emissary, if an accord is ever to be reached between us and the Eastern Empire, you will likely be a key player in it.”

  I swallowed and nodded. I now carried a heavy responsibility.

  “Do you know what that means?”

  I waited for him to finish.

  His gaze lingered on me a long time before he finally answered his own question. “One day you’ll meet the king.”

  That day had come.

  The room is quiet as my father contacts the representatives. I barely made eye contact with him after my kiss with the king. I couldn’t. The whole situation still gives me the heebie jeebies.

  My dad, for his part, seems to be at a loss for words. So we wait in silence, until the representatives flash onto the screen. We do the usual greeting, and then there’s a pause.

  “Serenity,” General Kline says, “you gave the world quite the show. The Internet’s blowing up with it.”

  What he doesn’t say is that everyone’s calling me a traitor, a whore—whatever unoriginal names they can come up with. There will be no honor to my sacrifice. Women who have filled the role of temptress have always been looked down upon.

  “I got King Lazuli to make another agreement,” I snap, my voice bitter.

  My father turns to me, surprised.

  “Tomorrow,” I say to the general, “if there’s a semi-decent bone in the king’s body, the WUN should have a fair and equitable peace treaty.”

  All’s quiet for a moment, and then my father speaks. “What did you agree to, Serenity?” he asks, worry tingeing his voice. The rest of the representatives wait for my answer.

  I glance down at my hands. “I don’t exactly know.”

  I’m not surprised when I hear knocking on the suite door. I glance at my father’s closed off room. He’s locked himself away in there since our talk with the representatives. His excuse is that he’s relaying updates to those nations who couldn’t send their own emissaries. I know better. I heard his muffled weeps. He can’t stand the situation, so he’s hiding from it.

  Now the room’s ominously quiet. My father knows what waits for me in the hallway, just as I do, and he’s decided to ignore it.

  If only I had that luxury.

  Be brave, Serenity, I tell myself, because no one else is here to comfort me in this moment.

  I rise from my seat, setting aside the WUN’s proposal, and answer the door.

  Marco stands outside. “The king requests—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I could go the rest of my life without hearing these official missives. Particularly when they involve illicit business. I step out of my room and follow Marco through the palace. We pass the king’s private dining room and continue on, eventually stopping in front of an ornately carved door.

  Marco opens it. “This is where I leave you.”

  If I speak, he’ll surely hear my fright, so I nod instead and step inside the room. I glance behind me in time to see the door close and Marco’s form vanish from sight. It might as well have been the iron bars of a cell slamming shut.

  I am trapped.

  I turn my attention to my surroundings. I’m inside the king’s richly decorated sitting room. It’s beautiful and lacks for nothing, save the king.

  I step up to a window. Below me, lamps cast the king’s estate in shades of amber and orange. The city beyond lies in darkness. My hands slide along the windowsill. The greatest irony here is that the king lives in the light, the innocents in the dark. The king belongs to those shadows that lurk outside the light. As do I.

  “You’re still in my dress.”

  I swivel around, startled to find the man himself leaning against an open doorway, hands tucked in his pockets. He still wears his dinner attire, only now his suit jacket is gone, and the cuffs of his sleeves have been rolled up past his elbows. Aside from his swimsuit, this is the most casual I’ve ever seen him.

  “I knew you’d come for me,” I respond, touching my sternum in a poorly masked attempt to hide my cleavage. It only serves to draw the king’s attention to my chest.

  There they linger. Seconds tick by, and neither of us moves. I don’t know what’s passing through his mind, but terror and excitement consume mine. I’m incapable of moving, even if I tried.

  The king’s gaze flicks back up to mine, his dark eyes intense in the low lighting. Pushing away from the wall, he prowls forward. The trance is broken. Something’s changed, and things I know nothing of are about to happen. With each step the king takes, I can see a little more of that fire burning in his eyes.

  What have I agreed to?

  Taking my hand, Montes leads me to a fainting couch. I allow him to guide my body onto it. The entire time I watch him like he might tear my throat out if I look away or move too quickly.

  The king kneels next to me, a hand dropping to one of my ankles. It slips under the silky seam of my skirt and glides up my calf. Over my knee.

  My heart’s in my throat; I can feel it pounding there, cutting off my breath.

  Up his hand delves, over my thigh. Then stops.

  “You’re shaking.”

  I close my eyes. His words carry no inflection, so I can’t tell whether he considers this a good or bad thing. I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to be doing either, but chances are, if I take an active role in whatever’s going on, I will end up attacking him, the Undying King. That can’t happen.

  That won’t happen.

  I lick my dry lips. “I’ve never … done this.”

  “This?” the king repeats like he’s confused. His fingers brush between my legs.

  The small burst of pleasure tightens my stomach, and I glare at him. “Yes, that.”

  His hands slide out from under my skirt. “What have you done?” Curiosity smolders in h
is eyes.

  “I’ve been kissed.”

  “That’s it?” Again, his words are inflectionless. He lays a hand on my hipbone

  “That’s it.”

  He swears under his breath, his grip tightening. I can tell conflicting desires war within him because he’s looking through me more than at me. I also know the moment they resolve themselves.

  He hesitates, then rises to his feet. “Leave.”

  I don’t move. This is not how it’s supposed to play out.

  “Move, Serenity, before I change my mind.”

  Slowly I stand. The fear is fading, replaced by confusion. I consider the man in front of me. Logic is telling me that he’s letting me go because of some moral compass he carries. My emotions are telling me any moral compass he possesses is so warped and eroded he wouldn’t know a good deed from a bad one.

  “I’m giving you tonight,” he says, not looking at me. “Enjoy the company of your father. Tomorrow, you’ll be at my side, not his.”

  Chapter 10

  Serenity

  A year ago I discovered I was dying.

  First my appetite diminished. I’d skip breakfast because in the morning I couldn’t keep even the tasteless oatmeal down. Better to leave the food for people whose bodies wouldn’t reject it.

  Life continued that way for a couple months—long enough for people to notice. Long enough for them to assume I was pregnant despite the fact that I’d never even been kissed. Will took a lot of heat for that. But when months passed and no baby came, people forgot.

  All save for me.

  The nausea fled as quickly as it came. For a while I could pretend my health issues away, until one morning when my nausea returned. I made it to the bathroom in time, only what I retched up wasn’t simply food and bile. Blood tinted my vomit red.

  I breathed heavily as I stared down at the irrefutable evidence that I was sick. I never told my father. I never told Will.