Chapter 25
Serenity
“Serenity,” the king says, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet, “I wasn’t informed you were awake.”
I can hear the surprise—and happiness—in his voice. That’s where the two of us are now. Caught between hate and love, between our grim reality and what might be.
Montes comes to my side while someone else clicks the recording off. He runs a hand through my hair, tilting my head to get a better look at me. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Don’t baby me, Montes.” I hear several of the king’s men suck in air at that. I want to laugh. I’ve said so much worse to this man.
Montes’s mouth curves at my words. He likes me best with my claws out.
I lift my chin a little as my gaze flicks beyond him to the other people in the room. Amongst them is Marco; guess he survived the hospital melee. Shame.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“The Resistance is blackmailing you,” the king says.
My throat catches. “How bad is the situation?”
Montes lets out a breath. “People’s opinion of you was already shaky since we were still at war with you only months ago. But you also participated in this terrorist group.”
I don’t deny it. I don’t even try to.
“The Resistance is capitalizing on that. Over the last week they’ve begun a smear campaign, and they’re targeting you.”
I’m preoccupied with another portion of his statement. “A week?” I say. “Is that how long I’ve been unconscious?” I can’t keep the accusation out of my voice.
“Yes.” He’s remorseless. Seems neither of us feel the need to defend our actions. I can respect that.
I turn my attention back to the situation at hand. The Resistance followed through with their threat; they’d already begun to disclose the incriminating files they had on me.
“How are people reacting?” I ask.
“Exactly how you’d think they might—they’re getting worked up. Our statistics suggest that there’s been a surge of new recruits in the Resistance.”
All because of some audio files from when the king and I stood on opposite ends of the war. It’s the ugly elephant in the room, this volatile history of ours. When we were more likely to kill than kiss. There will always be that looming shadow, and now it might mean more battles and more violence on the horizon.
I saunter towards the conference table. The rest of the room’s been quietly watching the king and me up until now. I can tell by the glares of some of the king’s men—and they’re all men—that my presence isn’t welcome. They could go screw themselves for all I care.
“I’m going to need to make a statement,” I say, swiveling back to face the king.
He shakes his head, following me to the table. “They’re waiting for that. As soon as you do so, they’ll release the footage of your bloody arrival into the WUN. It’ll undermine your credibility.”
“We could release the footage first,” I say. It would still be a shitshow, but at least we’d control the chaos somewhat.
Again the king shakes his head. “Better to let my team attempt to delete it from the Internet before it catches on.”
I press my fingertips onto the conference table and nod. “Well, now you all know I’ve worked with the Resistance.” When I look up, I give each one of the men in the room a piercing look, then turn back to the king. He’s scrutinizing me, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. I’m giving him a show, one that he seems to greatly enjoy.
“That means you might want to actually utilize me. I’m good for more than just staring at.”
Next to me, the king’s mouth tilts further up. “Yes, why don’t we?” He places a hand on the small of my back and leads me to his seat while someone fetches him another chair. Finally, for the first time since we’ve met, I can tell the king doesn’t just see me as a distraction.
He sees me as an equal.
“The Resistance has moles everywhere,” I say to the men in the room. “And I do mean everywhere. When I was with them, they’d infiltrated many of your research labs. Now, however, they seem to have focused their attention on King Lazuli and me, which means they’ll focus on the king’s homes as well as those places we visit.”
A muscle in Montes’s jaw jumps. “You mean you believe there are Resistance members here right now?”
“Absolutely.”
The king slams his fist into the table. “That should be impossible. We do intensive screening.”
“Montes, tens of millions of people have died fighting this war. There are plenty of identities one can take on, and the Resistance excels at scrubbing them down. You’d never know.”
This causes the king to pace, his hands clasped behind his back. He pauses and scrutinizes the men in the room. Suspicion flares in his eyes.
“Usually Resistance fighters take on positions that allow them to disappear,” I say. “Maids, drivers, cooks, and so on. It’s unlikely that any of the men in this room are in the Resistance’s pocket … though not impossible.”
One of the king’s advisors, who’s been staring at me with intense vitriol, now speaks. “Your Majesty, how do we know the queen’s not still working with them?”
The king stops pacing.
I tense, and not from the accusation itself. I couldn’t care less what the king or his men think of my loyalties. I owe no one an explanation.
No, my muscles coil up the moment the king’s shoes stop clicking against the floor because something bad is about to happen.
My eyes move over the men at the table. Like me, everyone’s frozen in their seats.
I hear the squeak of the king’s shoe soles as he swivels to face the man who spoke. “Are you questioning your queen’s loyalty?” I can hear the dangerous edge in his voice.
Don’t speak, I want to tell him.
I can see the man’s body shaking. “N-no, merely—”
“You said ‘how do we know the queen’s not still working with them?’ didn’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“How do we, indeed?” the king says. “Perhaps, you know something I don’t about the queen’s loyalties? I’m sure she’s had plenty of time to deceive us between getting shot and fighting cancer.”
The man’s gone pale. The officers sitting at his sides are scooting away from him, like being too close might make them guilty by association.
When I glance at Montes, a smile is playing on his lips. He’s a cat that’s caught a mouse and is now toying with his food. “Or maybe it was when the Resistance kidnapped your queen and threatened her with torture?” Montes snaps his fingers. “Oh wait, she never gave into their demands.”
My breath catches when I realize that my interrogation must’ve been recorded. Somehow the king got his hands on it.
Montes’s voice goes cold. “How do we know you’re not working with the Resistance, Ronaldo?”
The man, Ronaldo, shakes his head furiously, a sheen of sweat coating his forehead. “I’d never do such a thing. Please, Your Majesty, forgive me.”
I and every other person in this room—including Ronaldo—know there’s nothing he can say that will save him. This is a witch-hunt, and guilty or innocent, Montes has found his first suspect.
The king nods to Marco, who’s seated to my right. I’d managed to ignore the asshole so far, but now my eyes move to him. Marco pushes out of his chair and approaches the man who spoke, the king’s guards leaving their stations to flank him.
Now I understand why these men have kept so quiet. Speaking means catching the king’s attention. Defeated nations everywhere can testify that garnering his attention is never a good thing. Hell, I can testify to that.
Montes has murder in his eyes. I stand abruptly, my chair scraping back. When his gaze meets mine, I shake my head. “I will not sit by and watch this.”
The room’s fallen silent, save for Ronaldo’s quiet sobs as Marco and the guards drag him out. The king’s just proved how he responds to challenges of any kind.
I, however, don’t give two shits.
The king’s arms are folded and he pinches his lower lip as he studies me. “You don’t get a choice.”
“I do if you want my help.”
The king takes two ominous steps towards me, until he towers over me. “You might be my queen, but I am the leader, Serenity, and I make the decisions. And fuck it if I’ll let you make demands of me.”
So much for being equals.
I push past him, and he grabs my wrist. “I haven’t dismissed you,” he growls.
I laugh. “I don’t answer to you, Montes. You better fucking remember who you married.” There are millions of demure ladies who would’ve done his bidding in a heartbeat, who would’ve carved out their own identities to become whoever they thought he wanted. And yet he chose me, the one woman who won’t do that, the one woman who’s as likely to explode as he is.
Yanking my wrist out of his grip, I stalk out of the room, and no one stops me.
I don’t know where I’m going, but it’s a good thing I’m unarmed or else someone might get hurt. As it is, I’m eyeing the coat of arms that’s on display ahead of me, and I’m seriously considering maiming the thing.
Behind me the door opens.
“Serenity.”
I rotate and see Montes headed towards me, his eyes angry. When he gets to me he wraps a hand around my throat and pushes me up against the wall. A knee slides between mine.
“You really shouldn’t have left the room.”
I should be pissing my pants at the look in his eye and the way he presses himself against me, but I’m not. I’m no longer frightened of this man. I don’t know when that happened. The king has always been my nightmare. But he’s not anymore. It’s just further proof that I’m maladaptive.
I lift my chin. “Are you going to cart me away like you did Ronaldo?”
“I’m considering it.”
I don’t get the chance to reply.
Montes captures my mouth with his. Fear, anger, lust—they must all function on the same wavelength because one moment I’m pissed at the king, and the next I’m twining my tongue with his, my breaths coming in short, heavy pants.
His free hand grabs my hip and pulls me even closer to him. Close enough that I can tell he wants me. I find it curious that insubordination—and the resulting anger—could turn him on. Do people get intimate when they really just want to throttle each other? If so, I believe I’d excel at it.
“I think I will cart you away after all,” Montes murmurs. He bends to pick me up. I’m slammed back into reality.
I rip my mouth from his. “We can’t do this right now.”
The king’s eyebrows rise, and he smirks like I’m funny. “We’re the rulers of the entire world; we can do whatever it is we want.”
“But I still want to punch you in the face.”
The king clucks his tongue. “My queen has never heard of angry sex. I think a woman like you would enjoy it.”
The door we exited from opens. “Your Majesty, the Resistance just raided one of the warehouses of our weapons supplier. They took most of the armaments stored inside, including technology that hasn’t officially hit the market.”
Montes curses. His hold tightens on me before he releases me—though not completely. His hand slides down my arm and clasps my hand. He begins walking, tugging me along behind him.
I halt in my tracks, causing Montes to glance back at me. “I don’t want you to hurt Ronaldo.”
If I’m conceding something by returning to the king’s conference room, then he’s going to have to concede something, his earlier words be damned.
Montes narrows his eyes. “That man was the one who coordinated the atomic blasts that destroyed your nation all those years ago.”
The news is a slap in the face.
“Still want to save him?” the king presses.
My throat constricts, but I force my words out. “Killing him will not resurrect my people.”
The king tilts his head, like he has all the time in the world to ponder my request. “I know what you’re doing, Serenity,” he says, finally. “He’ll return unharmed if you come with me and assist us with intel on the Resistance. If you don’t, I can promise you that you’ll never see Ronaldo again.” I can see it in his eyes too; he’ll end that man’s life.
Bastard. Now look who’s blackmailing whom.
“Deal?” He smiles like the devil he is.
I run my tongue over my teeth and nod. “Deal.”
I spend the rest of the day and well into the evening discussing what I know of the inner workings of the Resistance. My words will jeopardize hundreds of Resistance members, people I once worked with. The thought leaves a bad taste at the back of my mouth, but it doesn’t stop me from telling Montes and his men everything they need to know.
The war’s over. We should be focusing on healing communities, not more violence. Yet we can’t. Not when stolen military weapons are in the hands of a terrorist organization. Because that’s what the Resistance is and what it’s always been, a terrorist organization. Vigilantes that use intimidation and coercion to fight for a cause they believe in.
When I stood with the WUN, I never minded their activities. It was enough that we were fighting a common enemy. Now that the war is over, the violence is no longer excusable. No matter where my allegiance once lay, I can’t risk more innocent lives lost by staying quiet.
By the time Montes and I head back to our room, the mansion has a stillness to it that only comes with the deep night.
The king’s hands are shoved into his pockets, and there’s a vertical crease between his brows.
Once again my opinion of the king subtly shifts. Worries plague him. Another weakness. Another sign that he has a conscience.
He catches me looking, and the edge of his mouth tips up. He reaches for my hand.
We are the epitome of dysfunction. Our marriage won’t work—it shouldn’t. We are miserable human beings. And yet, when he laces his fingers through mine and I feel the thrill of contact, that tiny flame of hope I carry around flares up.
Anything’s possible. From darkness to light, war to peace—hate to love.
The king brings the back of my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to it. The entire time he stares at me like we’re sharing a secret. We are. We’re two monsters that might not be quite so monstrous after all.
Anything’s possible.