Chapter 5
Serenity
Six years ago Washington D.C. was leveled. It was sheer dumb luck that on that particular day, at that particular time, my father and I had driven to a shooting range on the outskirts of the city.
We stood outside, taking turns firing from one of the stalls. I steadied my stance and focused my aim when my peripherals caught sight of something they shouldn’t have.
The blast rose into the sky, unfurling like some fiery flower. The sight was incomprehensible—too bright, too big, too breathtaking.
Too dreadful.
I tore my eyes away, and looked to my father. He was already yelling commands at me, but we both wore earmuffs, so they fell onto deaf ears. When he jerked his head towards the building that housed the indoor shooting range, however, I understood.
Flicking on my gun’s safety, I shoved my weapon back into its holster just as my father grabbed my arm. Together we sprinted for the building; the few other people outside followed our lead.
I chanced a glance back. The explosion had expanded, and a thin white cloud haloed it. I knew in the pit of my stomach that we had until that cloud reached us to find safety.
My father and I ducked inside. He whipped off his headpiece and began shouting orders to the people loitering on the first floor. I didn’t hear his words, but judging from the way men and women made for the stairs down to the basement, he’d said enough for them to seek shelter belowground.
He hadn’t let go of me since we’d entered, and now he steered us to the same destination.
In the muffled silence I noticed all the little things that made the moment real: The way one man’s jowls shook as he pushed his way past us. The coolness of the earth as we descended further into it. The controlled panic in my father’s eyes, like fear sharpened his logical reasoning skills. It had. It’s one of the many traits we share.
When we reached the basement, the stairway opened into a hallway. Tugging my arm, my father led me away from the crowd to the end of the corridor. We hooked a right, and my father pulled us into an empty office that had been left open.
He locked the door and overturned a nearby filing cabinet, further blockading it. Next, he flipped the desk. I began to tremble as my father directed me to a corner of the room, dragging the now sideways desk towards us until we were barricaded in.
Atomic bomb.
That was the first time I’d really put a name to what I saw. And it was all because of that damn desk, which looked so similar to the overturned coffee table I’d once read under all those years ago.
My father fit his earmuffs back on his head then wrapped his arms around me, and it was exactly the physical comfort I needed.
It didn’t take much longer for the blast to hit us, though hit is the wrong word. It passed over us, tore through us. I threw my hands over my head as the blast slammed us into the desk. The explosion roared so loud that I heard it over my earmuffs. It was a monstrous symphony to the end of the world.
And then it was over—if you could say such a thing. The land we returned to hours later was not the same one we’d fled from. Gone was D.C., gone was the White House and every great monument I’d gazed upon with wondrous eyes. Gone was our home. Gone was my former life.
Later we discovered that all big cities across the western hemisphere had been hit. That day the nations that once were lay decimated.
No, the blast wasn’t over. Far from it. If anything, it was just the beginning.
My eyes lock with the king’s, and I suppress a shudder. He’s even more handsome than the pictures I’ve seen of him. Black, wavy hair, olive skin, dark eyes, sensual lips. But it’s more than just his features; it’s how he wears them. Like he is something regal, something you want to draw closer to. It’s not fair that evil can wear such an alluring mask.
His eyes move over me like a predator sizing up prey.
I make a noise at the back of my throat, and my father places a hand over mine. We can’t talk here, not when the cameras are rolling.
I breathe in, then out. I can do this. For my country, I can. I step forward, and we descend down the staircase. I know my father can feel my trembling hands. It’s a miracle that my legs are holding me up at all. The entire time the king stares at me. Not my father. Me.
It takes all my energy to keep moving and look calm. In reality, I can’t hear anything over the pounding of my pulse and the ringing inside my head. Not until we reach the bottom, until I stare into the king’s deep brown eyes. Then the moment comes into hyper focus.
The king peels his eyes away from me to greet my father. “Ambassador Freeman,” he says, “it is my pleasure to host you here for the peace talks.” It’s frightening to see that the king shares my father’s talent for camouflaging himself to fit his audience. The king doesn’t need peace talks to get what he wants, but he plays along, lying effortlessly through his teeth.
I drop my hold on my father’s arm, and he takes the king’s outstretched hand as cameras go off. “King Lazuli, it’s an honor to finally meet you,” my father says. “I hope that our two great hemispheres can come together to foster future peace.” My father lies just as effortlessly as he stares the monster in the eyes and shakes his hand.
Now it’s my turn.
The king turns his attention away from my father, and my stomach contracts painfully. This is the man who killed my mom. The man who leveled my city and all my friends living in it. He’s the man who I’ve seen shot on national television, yet still he lives.
Unlike his response to my father, I can see the king’s genuine interest in me. His eyes look lit from behind. “Ambassador Freeman, I presume that this is your daughter, Serenity Freeman?” the king asks.
Next to me my father’s body goes rigid, and I know he senses the king’s interest in me. “She is,” my father says.
The king gives me a slow, sly grin and grabs my hand. I fight the overwhelming impulse to yank it free, cock my fist, and smash it into his face. Instead I bare my teeth as the cameras go off. I know it looks more like a snarl than a smile, but it’s the best I can do at the moment.
King Lazuli brings my hand up to his lips, and I close my eyes to block out the sight of his mouth against my skin. I only open them once he pulls my hand away from his lips. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Serenity.”
He means it. Heaven help me, I’ve caught the attention of the king.
“King Lazuli,” I choke out. I can feel tears burning my eyes, blurring my vision. I can’t cry, not on television.
“Montes,” he corrects me quietly. His eyes flick to my father’s. “I believe the negotiations in the upcoming days will go quite well. I have a feeling for these things.” The king is still holding my hand, and I feel him squeeze it.
None of this gets past my father, who nods once, his mouth a grim line.
The king’s eyes move to mine and drink me in before returning to my father. “Mind if I whisk your daughter away for a dance?” the king asks.
My eyes widen. No. No, no, no. I don’t know how to dance, but that’s not even the issue here. The thought of spending any more time in the king’s presence has me nauseous. I’m either going to get sick, or, more likely, I’m going to try to kill him.
“Not at all,” my father says, his words clipped.
“Fantastic.” The king flashes him a smile, and his attention returns to me. He raises an eyebrow. “Shall we?” he asks, as though I’ve already agreed to it.
“Only if you ask nicely.” The words are out before I can attempt to censor myself. I shut my mouth before I can say more.
Those around us fall quiet. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the camera crew, my guards, and the king’s retinue shifting nervously, their eyes darting between us. I don’t know what reaction they’re waiting for, but it’s not this.
The king cocks his head, a small smile growing across his face. He raises an eyebrow. “Would you like to dance with me, Serenity?”
“I’d love to.” I bite the words out because I have to say them.
Once I accept, the budding tension releases.
“So would I,” he says, and again I can see he’s being genuine. He gives the hand he’s still holding a tug, and I’m gently whisked away.
I can tell everyone there is already aware of us—or him, more precisely, though I can feel curious eyes on me. As soon as we walk onto the dance floor, the king tugs me close. Too close. I can see the rough skin of his jaw, the gentle wave of his hair, the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.
His hand presses into the small of my back, and we begin to move. After glancing at other couples, I move my free hand to his shoulder like the other women do. The footwork, however, completely confuses me.
“I don’t know how to dance,” I say.
“Then it’s a good thing I’m leading,” the king responds, his expression amused. He glances down at my chest. “Beautiful necklace,” he says, though I know it’s just an excuse to stare at my chest.
“It was my mother’s.”
“Mmm,” he says, and that’s the end of that.
“She’s dead.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“No you’re not.” I can’t get my mouth to shut up. Not right now when I’m caught in the arms of my mother’s killer. “She died when your army dropped a bomb near our home.”
Now I’ve caught his attention. His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t look angry. More like I intrigue him.
“It was the same day that I received the scar on my face,” I continue.
The king’s gaze moves to my scar. “It seems I’ve caused you a lot of pain. I’m sorry for that.”
I smile sardonically. “Save your lies for someone who will believe them.”
The king’s grip on my hand tightens. I’m in dangerous waters. “What makes you think I’m lying?”
“A man who was truly sorry would never have dropped the bomb to begin with.” My breath catches as soon as the words leave my mouth. Have I gone too far?
The king scrutinizes me, and then ever so slowly, a smile appears. “I could have you killed for what you’ve said to me.”
Fear grips my heart, but I call his bluff. “You won’t.”
He spins me. “Oh, and why is that?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Because I amuse you.” It’s hard to admit that all I’m good for here is his entertainment.
His gaze drinks me in, and he presses me closer to him. “You do. Keep it up and the WUN might not face total annihilation.”
I raise my eyebrows. “The truth suits you well.” Even if it is psychotic. But I’d prefer hearing the ugly truth than a pretty lie.
My dress swishes around me as we twirl. It’s not lost on me that that’s what I am right now—a pretty lie, a soldier disguised as a lady.
“You suit me well,” he says, his gaze sweeping over me. It sickens me that he seems to approve of what he sees.
My fingers dig into the muscles of his shoulder. “Sorry, but I don’t mix business and pleasure.”
“There’s always time for firsts,” he responds.
I’d gut him before that ever happened. I thin my eyes as I study him. “And why would I do that? I’ve considered you my enemy all my life.”
The king smiles at me, thoroughly enjoying himself. “I don’t really care about your personal problems.” He’s clearly warmed up to telling the truth.
“I can’t imagine why you’ve been single this whole time,” I say sarcastically. The song we’re dancing to ends and a new one starts up.
His lips quirk. “Why get married when there are so many beautiful women who already want to be with me?”
I close my eyes and breathe through my nose. “Maybe you should go back to lying.”
“Hmm,” he muses, eyeing me, “the lady doesn’t mind talking about destruction and death, but throw in a little sex and she gets demure.”
My face flushes before I can help it, and the king chuckles. “My, my, have you never … ?” He gazes at me curiously. “How old are you?”
Even through my burning cheeks I give him a nasty look. “Nineteen.”
“Nineteen? And you’ve never been romantic? Did you just get out of an ugly phase?”
Despite his offensive words, I flash him my first real smile of the evening. “I was too busy killing your men to bother with love.”
Now he looks mad. It’s nice to know that the king might actually care about the death of his soldiers. “Watch your words,” he snaps.
I decide to back off. If I anger King Lazuli too much, my father and I could easily find ourselves on the wrong end of a gun.
He watches me, and I can practically see the anger flow away from his face, replaced with that predatory look I saw when I first locked eyes with him. “You were a soldier?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“But not anymore?”
“I will always be a soldier,” I say, “but right now I fight with my tongue rather than my fists.”
He gives me a slow smile. “Perhaps we can put that tongue to other uses.”
“Then perhaps I will resort to fighting with my fists.”
“I welcome the challenge.” In his eyes is a promise that he’ll make good on.
Tonight I’m sleeping with my gun.
I rip my dress off and run my tongue over my teeth as soon as I enter my bedroom. The representatives knew. They knew there would be a chance that dolled up I might catch the king’s attention. Of course. All other tactics hadn’t worked with him. Everyone else came back in a body bag. Why not give it a shot and tempt the king with flesh? It was the oldest trick in the fucking book. And it worked.
I tear the rest of the clothes off of my body and change into a pair of pajamas.
“Serenity?” my father calls from the sitting room.
“What?” I ask as I untuck my hair from my shirt. My voice is angry.
He fills up the doorway to my room and takes me in. Neither of us needs to say anything—and we wouldn’t dare anyway, the room had to be bugged. But he doesn’t need to. His anguished expression tells me how he feels about our current situation.
“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head.
“Why did no one tell me?” Even as I say this, I wonder if that’s what had my father tense around the general when we left. He might’ve known then what I’d only just figured out.
I can’t bring myself to be mad at him. We were all just pawns at this point.
My father pinches the bridge of his nose. “It was never official. You’re a soldier and a future emissary. We wanted you to do what you do best—represent the WUN.”
I read into what he can’t say under the king’s roof: acting was never my strength. I can barely hold my tongue; pretending to like the vilest man I know is beyond my abilities.
“We should check in with General Kline right now,” he says.
I nod, my hands balling into fists. “I’d love to talk with him.”
“Serenity.” My father’s voice carries a warning.
I sigh. “Let’s just get this over with.” I had a bad case of jetlag, and I wanted to get some sleep before tomorrow’s peace talks.
I follow my father into his room, where his laptop rests on a side desk. I grab a nearby chair and pull it alongside my father’s.
Once we’re situated in front of the computer, my father calls up the representatives. They answer almost immediately.
“Ambassador Freeman and Serenity Freeman checking in,” my father says.
On the other side of the screen I can see the bunker’s conference room and the representatives sitting around the table. Now that I’m here inside the king’s house, in this place filled with glittery objects and natural light, the conference room looks especially bleak.
“Good to hear from you Carl,” the general says. “How’s it going?”
My father’s eyes slide to mine. “Fine so far. Have you been watching the footage?”
“Yes. Is Serenity there?”
My father turns the laptop so that my face takes up the screen. “General Kline.” I nod to him.
“Serenity, aside from that comment you made during your introductions, you seem to be doing well making the king’s acquaintance.”
There are so many things that I want to shout at the general, none of which I can voice, one because he’s still the leader of my country, and two, because I have to assume we’re being recorded.
So instead I say, “Surprised? I was too.” I lower my voice. “You’ve thrown me to the wolves, General.” That’s the closest thing I can come to the truth, that I’m here to persuade the king through more carnal means.
“Serenity, nations rely on your actions. Now is not the time for weakness.” General Kline’s practically chastising me.
My throat works. “He killed her.” My father reaches over and squeezes my shoulder, his subtle way of telling me to shut up, that I’ve said too much. But the king already knows what I’ve just spoken out loud—that I blame him for my mother’s death.
“And you’ve killed mothers, fathers, sons and daughters. War has taken something from everyone, Serenity. We can end that. You can end that.”
His words sober me up. He’s right, of course. The only difference between the king and I is that the king’s body count is much higher, and for most of his kills he never had to dirty his hands.
My gaze moves from the general to his son who sits further down the table. “I’m sorry, Will,” I say. His face is too grainy to make out, but I’m sure the expression he wears is not a pleasant one.
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he says. “Negotiate an agreement and make it back here safely. That’s all I want.”
My throat constricts and I nod. Now that the cat’s out of the bag, I know what I must do.
I’m going to have to charm the king into giving the WUN what it needs.