The Queen of All that Lives
Page 31

Neither of us has moved.
“I can’t,” I whisper quietly, divulging this weakness of mine. It might’ve been a century since he lost his child, but it’s still fresh in my mind.
Montes searches my eyes, and something like realization, or wonder, subtly changes his expression. I can only imagine the strangeness of the situation from his perspective—his long lost wife’s mind still lives in a past he’s nearly forgotten.
“You don’t want to carry our child, or you don’t want to lose another one?” he asks.
My throat works. I look away.
I am no longer fearful of having the king’s child.
I’m fearful for it.
Montes must see it in my expression, my mannerisms.
He lets go of one of my hips, relaxing his hold so that he can tilt my jaw until I meet his gaze.
“Nire bihotza.”
Those two words carry a world of meaning. It’s a strange mixture of love, and hope, and all other sorts of beautifully heart-wrenching emotions. “This time would not be like the last,” he says, and I can tell he means it.
“It can’t be.” My voice breaks as I speak.
It really can’t be. I am becoming Montes, paranoid of losing everything that I love. Because I’ve lost so much.
His hand brushes my hair back. “It won’t be.”
I draw in a shuddering breath and shake off somberness that comes with remembering.
And then I’m the one that pulls him to me, pushing this forward.
I’ve always wanted my pound of flesh, and now I’m taking it.
Chapter 18
Serenity
We’re back in the Great Room, the king’s mad walls hidden once more by large screens. And once more the space is filled with military officers. I intend to get to know each one, eventually. For now I have to hope that Montes’s subjects respect him a whole lot more than the ones that filled his conference room a century ago.
In addition to the U-shaped table that takes over much of the space, there’s now a smaller one that faces it, where the king and I sit.
I spend the first several hours of the day listening to officers discuss updates on the war and strategies they’re implementing.
This world is strange. The moment I believe it’s identical to the one I left, some tidbit filters in that has me second-guessing everything.
Eventually, however, a picture begins to stitch itself together. The world’s population has been decimated by war and sickness. Efforts to clean radiation from the water and soil are ongoing. Not as many people are suffering from famine, but that’s only because there are so few people left. Even the small annual outputs in the farming industry can sustain them. Aside from outright killing, cancer is the leading cause of death, though every once in a while the plague sweeps through and takes its place.
From what I understand, there are cures for many of the world’s health issues, but there isn’t enough money to make these cures widespread. The end result is a huge economic gap between the haves and have-nots. People are discontent. They know nothing but war and living on the edge.
I drum my fingers on the table as we hear yet another report from some lieutenant of some battalion on the state of his troops and the intel they’ve gathered on the enemy. I don’t pretend to be the authority on anything, but if I had to guess, I’d say that these officers have been running in circles for as long as anyone can remember, discussing the same strategies, the same concerns, and applying the same answers they always have. And this entire time no one’s realized that they need to derail themselves.
I stand, my chair scraping back as I do so. The sound echoes throughout the room, interrupting the speaker. The officer’s voice dies away as dozens upon dozens of gazes move to me.
“Is war all we plan on talking about?”
These people don’t understand. I can see it in their confused gazes. In a war council you talk about war.
I make eye contact with many of them. “War doesn’t end war,” I say. “Peace does.”
I’m sure they think me an idiot. I’m saying nothing they don’t already understand. But knowing something and framing the world through that lens are two very different things.
“You won’t win this war by plotting ways to destroy the enemy—necessary though that might be,” I say. “You’ll win it by forging peace.”
Again, I’m saying nothing new.
“Your Majesty, how do you suggest we forge peace?” One of the female officers asks this.
I glance down at the king. “You promised to give me whatever I asked for,” I breathe.
His face wipes clean of all expression. He knows he’s been had before I speak.
“I will campaign for it and break bread with whomever I must,” I say to the room, though my eyes stay trained on the king. “And I will end this, once and for all.”
This is what intimacy cost the king.
Power. Control.
He might have allowed me onto his war council, but I know with certainty Montes was never going to place me in a position of true power. Not when I’m so iconic. Not when a position like this often means capture or death.
So I’m carving the position out for myself.
That vein begins to pound in the king’s temple as I hijack the meeting. It’s not just anger I see rising to the surface. It’s panic. The man who controls nearly everything is realizing he just bargained away something he shouldn’t have.
I tear my gaze away from Montes to look out at the room. I can feel that wildness stirring beneath my veins, the same excitement that comes before battle. Only this time, it’s so much sweeter because I’m solving a problem, not exacerbating it.