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

by Laura Thalassa

  I raise my eyebrows. “Really?” Excitement creeps into my voice.

  His smile is sly. He knows I’ve taken his bait. “As soon as we’re married and you’ve proven that you’re not planning on killing me or yourself, then absolutely.”

  And there’s the catch.

  I scowl at him. “I already told you, I’m not going to do anything.”

  He touches a finger to my lips, and I pretend his touch does nothing to me. “I need more than just your word,” he says. “I need proof.”

  I don’t see the king again until the next evening. He’s been busy all day with ruling the world, and I imagine that he will be especially busy for many months—hell, many years—to come.

  When he knocks on my door, I just about bound out to meet him. Sure he’s a slimy bastard, but men and women have been in and out of my room all day taking my measurements, asking questions about my personal preferences, and abusing my skin, nails, and hair in the name of beauty. There are forms of torture less painful than that.

  “Someone seems happy to see me,” he says.

  “You are a sadistic bastard.” I brush past him and out the door, glancing both ways just to make sure no one else is about to ambush me into picking out a color scheme for God-knows-what.

  Somehow the king knows exactly what I’m referring to. I can see the laughter in his eyes. “I thought all women liked getting pampered?”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Do I look like the kind of woman who enjoys that?”

  The king places a hand on my back and leans down to whisper in my ear. “You look like the kind of woman who shoots and asks questions later, and it’s a turn-on.”

  My head whips back to look at King Lazuli. He’s gazing at me hungrily. “You are a twisted son of a gun.”

  “Look who’s talking.”

  I open my mouth to retort when the king cuts me off. “I want to show you something.” He takes my hand and pulls me down the hall.

  “Where’s your little henchman, Marco?”

  The king’s hand tightens on mine. “He’s around, but I’ve asked him to keep his distance.”

  “So, he’s still working for you?”

  “Yes.” King Montes doesn’t look at me when he says it.

  I pull my hand out of his. “That’s it? He kills my father and he goes unpunished?”

  “Watch your words.” Now the king turns to face me, and his eyes flash. “You and your men killed and injured some of my best men, and you got a peace treaty and a promotion out of it.”

  I stop in my tracks. “A promotion?” My voice only gets quiet like this before I do terrible things. “You consider this a promotion?”

  My hands clench and unclench. The king eyes them before he speaks. “From emissary of a dying nation to queen of the entire world? Of course it is.”

  I pull my fist back and slam it into his face. My knuckles split as they connect with the king’s cheek. It’s the most pleasant sting I’ve ever endured.

  His head whips to the side, and I hear the click of his teeth as his jaw snaps together. Montes staggers, but only for a moment. I hear the pounding of several footsteps as some of the nearby palace guards run to help the king. He waves them off and rubs his jaw while he watches me, his eyes sparkling dangerously. Blood trickles out the side of his mouth. He must’ve cut himself with his teeth.

  “So the king bleeds—I wasn’t sure,” I say.

  He smiles. That’s all the warning I get. Then he’s on me. He swipes my feet out from under me, and I slam to the ground. The king follows, straddling me. He grabs my hands and holds them over my head. “Are you finished with your tantrum?”

  “Not even close,” I growl.

  I try to buck him off my body, but it only serves to tighten his grip on me. The king’s legs press into my sides, and he squeezes my hands. It takes me a few seconds and a couple deep breaths to realize that we’re in a compromising position.

  As if reading my mind, the king’s eyes flick to my lips, a wicked grin forming along his own. I want to scream, but instead I force my strained muscles to relax. It’s even harder to swallow my pride.

  “Are you going to get off of me and show me this surprise of yours?” I ask, trying to sound exasperated. It’s not very convincing, considering the series of events that led up to now.

  “Hmm, I’m not sure,” King Lazuli says, pretending to ponder my words. “It’s not very often that I get my bloodthirsty wife-to-be on her back.”

  My face heats both with anger and embarrassment. He removes one of his hands from where they grip mine to brush his thumb over my lower lip. Heat ripples through my stomach. I don’t want to react this way, not in the middle of some hall in the king’s palace in front of palace guards. Not with him, and not after he’s just tackled me to the ground.

  I lie there, watching, waiting for what he’ll do next. He gazes at my lips, and then he leans in.

  He’s a hair’s breadth away from my mouth when I speak. “Don’t,” I say.

  “Why not?” The king’s breath fans against my lips. He’s smiling down at me rapaciously.

  I don’t speak. There are a hundred reasons why this shouldn’t happen right now, but my mouth can’t form a single one.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he says, his voice low. “I won’t kiss you if you can offer me something better.”

  “I’m not your fucking employee, and this is not a business transaction,” I snap.

  His grin deepens. “You’re right, it isn’t.” His mouth presses against mine, and my stomach clenches. His tongue strokes my lips, encouraging them to part. Caught up in the moment, I let them. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed kissing and how good the king’s, in particular, are.

  His tongue brushes against mine, and I relish the heady taste of him. With Will, my mind had loved him while my body had remained unmoved. In this situation, it’s the exact opposite. I hate the king, yet I crave him. I want him to suffer, but I also want this.

  Love and hate really aren’t so very different.

  He bites my lower lip, sucks on it, and I all but moan at the sensation. The king pulls away from me, and I lazily open my eyes, not realizing I’d closed them to begin with.

  I just got owned, and the king knows it. I can tell by the way he bites his lip. He releases me and stands up.

  I push myself up on my forearms and watch him. He reaches out a hand to help me up.

  When I don’t take it, he says, “Do you want to see my surprise, or would you rather I get back on top of you?” he asks.

  I run my tongue along my teeth and take his hand, giving it a hard yank as I get up. He doesn’t flinch.

  I follow the king out of the palace. The cool night air raises goose bumps along my skin, but it’s the sound of crashing waves that captures my attention. This is the first time I’ve been outside the palace since I arrived, and it’s ecstasy.

  I take a deep breath, relishing the smell of the salty sea breeze and let myself forget my past. The sea and the sky can do that—make me feel like an ageless thing.

  This is the surprise, I realize. I’d like to be snarky about it, since it’s so simple, but instead I feel a little unnerved. This is the best thing he could’ve surprised me with: escape.

  I lift the skirt of the dress I’m wearing and run towards the waves, kicking my shoes off in the process. Behind me I can hear the king jogging, and I wonder if he’s worried that I’m going to throw myself into the water like some tragic Greek maiden. ’Cause he should be. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.

  I yip as my feet hit the water and then I dive in, ruining my outfit and my hair and my makeup. Good riddance.

  When I come up for air, I’m laughing. A moment later I feel hands wrap around me and haul me to my feet. It takes the king a moment to realize I�
��m fine.

  He swipes the wet strands of my hair away from my face. “Jesus,” he says, “you scared the shit out of me!”

  I can’t see him in the dark, but if I could, I bet I’d see that vein in his temple throbbing. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were concerned.”

  “Why would you think otherwise?”

  Water laps around us, swirling with the tide. My dress tangles itself around the king as he holds me to him. I taste saltwater on my lips and try to ignore the way Montes’s dress shirt clings to his chest.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I say, “maybe because you killed my parents, destroyed my homeland, and are now forcing me into marrying you.” My voice comes out flinty.

  Rather than responding, the king releases me. He walks out of the water and back onto the beach, leaving me staring after him.

  “Oh, now you walk away!” I yell at his back, mostly just to rile him up.

  It works.

  He comes stalking back into the water. “What do I have to do to prove myself? I’ve already moved mountains—an entire half of the world will prosper because you wanted it to be so. What more do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to leave me the hell alone.”

  He grasps my jaw and holds it firmly, and in the dim moonlight I can just barely make out the shine of his eyes. “That is the one thing I cannot do.”

  He lets me go and leaves, this time for good.

  Chapter 16

  Serenity

  The day of the wedding I sleep in. Normally I’m loathe to waste away the first hours of the morning, but not today. Today I want to forget that I have to get married. To the king. I make a face in my pillow.

  People have been knocking on my door for the last two hours, and up until now I’ve done a pretty good job of ignoring them. But the pounding on my door right now is louder and more insistent than the others.

  When I don’t answer, the pounding stops. I smile into my pillow until I hear the click of my lock being thrown back. The door opens and footsteps cross the room.

  My bed dips as someone sits down on it, and then I feel the feathery touch of fingertips on the bare skin of my shoulder. “You need to get up now.”

  My eyes snap open at that voice. “I thought you were ignoring me?” I say to King Montes. He’s leaning over me, and his nearness is doing strange things to my body. I haven’t seen him since that night in the ocean.

  “When it comes to you, that’s impossible.”

  I bury my face in my pillow. “I want to sleep in.”

  “We’re getting married in two hours.”

  “Don’t care,” I say, my voice muffled.

  “Fine. We’ll skip the wedding part and go straight to the honeymoon.” He pulls back the covers and begins to slide in next to me. I yelp and jump out of bed.

  The king steps away and sticks his hands into his pockets. He’s wearing a uniform with a sash, and it takes me a minute to realize that’s what he’ll be wearing today when we get married.

  I rub the sleep from my eyes and give him my best glare.

  “Just so you know, you’re not frightening at all in the morning,” he says, smirking. “You look like a pissed-off kitten.”

  “Say that again, and I’ll castrate you with a butter knife.”

  His lips quirk. “Ah, lucky me to have such a blushing bride.”

  “Isn’t it bad luck to see me before the wedding?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest.

  “What, you think our luck can get any worse?” the king says, raising an eyebrow. He has a point.

  Before I can formulate a response, he walks to the door and ushers in a group of women who carry bags of makeup and hair supplies. I grimace at the sight.

  “I’ll see you in a couple of hours, Serenity,” the king says, and then he’s gone.

  By the time I’m sitting in a small room waiting to be ushered down the aisle, a cold emptiness has settled in me. I’m wearing a dress I didn’t pick out, holding flowers I don’t care for, wearing makeup and hair someone else has styled, and I’m waiting to be married to a man I don’t love because of orders someone else gave.

  There’s a rap on the door, and it opens after a moment. A young guard sticks his head in. “We’re ready for you.”

  I shake out my arms and crack my neck. I’m supposed to be gathering my courage, not falling apart. I nod and follow him out, bringing the bouquet up to my chest.

  Flashes go off, and cameras pan in on me. The photographers press against the velvet rope they’re prohibited from crossing.

  All I need to do is march down this hallway, then the aisle.

  Easy, I tell myself.

  I’m a horrible liar. I might as well be walking the plank. I’m just as frightened as I would be if my life were on the line. I have no one to hold my arm, and even though I don’t believe in giving someone away (my current situation case in point), it’d be nice to not face this alone. That thought makes me think of my father and how unhappy he’d be if he could see me now.

  Time’s up, regardless. I turn the corner and stare at two large oak doors guarded by two of the king’s men. Inside is the royal chapel, where hundreds of guests and dozens of camera crews eagerly wait. I can hear music softly playing from inside.

  When the tune abruptly changes, the guard at my side nods to the two men in front of me, and they grasp the door handles. “Congratulations,” he says, stepping aside as the doors swing open.

  I stand there blinking as I take in the foreign faces that watch me from the pews. I’m too terrified to smile, so I simply stare straight ahead. My eyes meet the king’s, and strangely, in this moment, the sight of him grounds me.

  He stands with his hands clasped, smiling at me. I can’t help it, between my nerves and his smile, my mouth curves up. I don’t look away as I walk towards him; ironically, he’s the only thing that’s keeping me from running out of here screaming. And I don’t want that—not if this is somehow supposed to symbolize future peace and unity.

  It seems like an eternity before I get to him. Once I do, relief washes over me that I’m no longer doing this alone. I pass my flowers to someone standing nearby, and the king takes my hands. I know he can feel them shaking by the way he squeezes them reassuringly.

  The priest officiating drones on in Latin, and my pulse calms down a bit. At some point he reverts to English and asks King Lazuli to present me with the token of his commitment.

  Montes reaches into his breast pocket and procures a ring. Giving me a soft smile, he slides it onto the finger where the engagement band already rests.

  The stone of this new ring is dark blue, and flecks of gold are caught in its matrix. It looks for all the world like I’m wearing the night sky on my finger. Because what I love most about the sky are the stars.

  He remembered.

  It’s also not lost on me that the stone is lapis lazuli; I’m wearing the king’s namesake on my finger.

  Someone passes me a ring, and with trembling hands I slip it onto the king’s finger.

  I gaze into his eyes as the priest speaks. They shine, and right then I feel beloved—by the man in front of me and the world that’s looking to me.

  Then I remember my father, and why it is that I’m up here. The lives the king has taken because of his selfishness. The façade is gone just as the priest says, “You may now kiss the bride.”

  My movements are jerky and automated. I kiss the king, but I’m not really present. My skin crawls as his lips caress mine. When he pulls away he smiles, but I can see something like uncertainty there. I want to laugh that I can make someone like the king feel vulnerable, but I’m too consumed by my own personal pain.

  The priest announces us to the chapel, and I feel a tear drip down my cheek. I just married the monster under the bed
.

  The king and I stand outside the palace, on the grassy lawn that overlooks the water. From the ice sculptures to the overabundance of flowers, it’s clear the king’s spared no expense on our reception. It had to cost a fortune of money better spent elsewhere.

  A constant stream of people approaches us and congratulates the king and me on our union. I give most of them flinty looks. I know it’s not fair of me to be hostile to people I don’t know, but I’m insulted that anyone could assume I’m happy about what’s happening to me.

  “Congratulations my friend. You deserve all the happiness in the world,” says the politician in front of us. He looks frighteningly similar to a walrus, and he eyes me like the object I’m supposed to be.

  Montes nods and shakes his hand, “Thank you,” he murmurs.

  When the man reaches for my hand, I level a glare at him. He gets it.

  Bowing, he says, “Congratulations again,” and backs away.

  The king watches him as he leaves. “I don’t like the way he looked at you,” he says quietly.

  “That makes two of us.”

  The king nods to himself. “Then I’ll take care of the situation.”

  I blink a few times. “Are you psychotic?” I hiss at him under my breath. “You can’t just punish everyone who slights you.”

  “Of course I can,” he says.

  Before I can respond, the next guest approaches, this one a crusty old man who spews praise at the king. Once he moves along, I lean into the king. “Brownnoser, that one.”

  The king snickers, and I cringe that, at the moment, we are coconspirators. For the king, this seems to elicit the opposite reaction. He wraps a hand around my waist and rubs my side affectionately. I think I’m going to be sick.

  A couple approaches us, and thankfully King Lazuli has to drop his hand from my side in order to greet them.

  “We are so happy for you,” the woman says, “and we hope that this union brings prosperity to your home—and lots of children,” she throws in, flashing me a sly smile. Like what every woman wants is a snotty baby.