The Queen of All that Dies
Page 32

The sensation of falling wakes me up. I look out my window and see the rosy light of dawn as the jet makes its descent. When I look down at the scenery, I suppress a gasp. Small islands dot the blue expanse of ocean.
“Where are we?”
No one answers me. Big surprise.
As the aircraft descends and we draw closer to the small islands, the scenery comes into focus. It’s not quite arid, but not quite tropical either.
A larger landmass looms in the horizon. I know in my gut this is my destination. The jet passes over it and circles back. I can see a small airstrip ahead of us. And then we’re landing.
Once the aircraft coasts to a stop, I stand, ignoring the way the guards tense as they fall into form around me. The sick part of me enjoys how skittish they are.
The engine dies, and the jet’s stairway is lowered. The guards ahead of me begin to move, and I follow them out. This is the second time I’ve arrived on enemy soil. And it is still that. To everyone else, the war might’ve ended, but it never will for me. Not so long as I live with the king.
This moment reminds me of a story my dad told me a long time ago. There was once an ancient battle, fought for ten years. The Trojan War. At the close of it, the Greeks, on the edge of defeat, surrendered and left in their place a huge wooden horse—a gift to their victorious enemies, the Trojans. Little did the Trojans know that waiting inside the wooden beast were Greek soldiers.
The Trojans brought the horse into their walls and celebrated their victory long into the night. Once the Trojan citizens had all drunk themselves into a stupor and gone to bed, the Greek soldiers left the horse and slaughtered the enemy. They won the war this way.
The king has only demonstrated his excellent talent for destroying things, but scant few at rebuilding the world. And now that the war is over, he’s let the enemy into his house.
Perhaps Will is right and the king needs to be destroyed once and for all. I smile grimly. Perhaps I will be his Trojan horse.
Chapter 13
Serenity
A small group of people wait for my arrival off to the left of the jet. Judging by how small the crowd is, I’m guessing the king has kept quiet about my bloody escape. I wouldn’t be surprised if the world thought I’d never left the king’s side.
The guards lead me towards a limo. As they do, my eyes drift back to the small gathering that watches me. The crowd shifts, and my steps falter. The king stands in the middle of them, dressed impeccably in a suit. Our eyes lock, and a small sound escapes from me. The sight of him splits open the wound I’ve been carrying inside myself.
I veer towards him. My guards are on me in an instant. Their hands wrap around my arms and pull me back. I push against them, my legs buckling.
The king approaches me slowly, his face unreadable.
“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” I scream.
The king stares unwaveringly at me, but I could’ve sworn for a moment something like shame passed through those dark eyes of his.
“You killed him!” His face blurs as tears form. Emotionally, I’ve regressed back to the day I escaped. “You can’t have me Montes! Not ever!”
“My king,” a voice near me says, “should we administer the sedative?”
“I will never forgive you!” I shriek. “You hear me? Never!”
“I think that would be best.” The king’s voice glides over me like the smoothest silk. He’s not even listening.
Someone extends my arm, and I buck against them. They drop their hands, and I elbow the guard behind me. He makes an oomph noise, and his grip loosens. I use the opportunity to wrench my arm free, and I slug the guard closest to me.
That’s as far as I get. The rest of the king’s guards close in and grab me, lowering my body to the ground. I thrash against them, but it’s useless. They pin me down.
I’m sobbing horrible, heart-wrenching cries.
“Serenity, it’s going to be okay,” the king says from above me. I can feel his hands brushing my hair from my face.
I want to slap them away. I want to tell him to stop being nice when he’s so evil. Instead I continue to sob.
I feel cool wetness rub against the crook of my arm, and then a slight sting. It doesn’t take long for the numbness to overwhelm the pain.
I open my eyes. “Why?” I ask the king weakly.
But I never get my answer. The king’s form blurs and fades with the last of the pain.
When I wake up, I’m on a bed. I blink as I sit up, noticing the satiny comforter beneath me.
Where am I?
I glance around and jolt when my eyes land on the king. He sits in the chair next to my bed, pinching his lower lip in contemplation.
Looking at him hurts—he reminds me too much of all that’s broken within me—but I can’t tear my gaze from him.
“Hello Serenity,” he finally says.
“Montes.”
“Feeling better?”
I guffaw. “Like you care.”
“You’re right,” he says, “I don’t.” He says the words so cavalierly, but his face betrays him. He’s lying, and I really wish I couldn’t tell. It’s harder to despise him when he acts human.
“I want my gun,” I say.
“And why would I give you that gun? You’re difficult enough as it is.”
His condescension is barely tolerable. “It’s one of my only possessions. I want it.”
The king tilts his head. “That’s the gun that killed several of my men, isn’t it?”
I say nothing.
“I’ve gotten a good look at it,” he continues. “It’s old but well cared for. Obviously it’s important to you. Perhaps it was a gift from someone who once loved you?” He’s openly taunting me and coming dangerously close to the truth.
Without realizing it, I’ve fisted my hands. I want to hit him. It’s taking most of my self-control not to. I can see what he’s doing
“You’re a sociopath,” I whisper.
“And you’re a kindred spirit.”
He’s said that before. “I am nothing like you,” I snap.
“You’re right,” he says. “I’ve never killed over a dozen people and then worn their blood like a trophy for an entire day.”
I’m on my feet in an instant, and so is he. “I watched my father die that day, shot dead on your orders,” I hiss. “I held his body in my arms as he bled out on me. So yes, I took pleasure in killing those men that harmed him.”