The Queen of All that Lives
Page 51
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I don’t want to concede, I don’t want to give this man anything. But the truth is, he might be right. I really don’t know this world and the people in it. Perhaps a queen is what they want to see. Their lives and their pasts are so very different from mine. I can’t presume to know their hearts.
While I hesitate, Montes places the crown on my head, his hands lingering.
“Does getting your way all the time really make you feel good?” I ask.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Not nearly as much as your charming personality does.”
His hands drift down, towards the low neckline of my dress. Maybe I hear his breath catch, or maybe the action itself is enough.
Does this man’s passion ever wane?
“I look forward to your speech,” he says. “And I look forward to after.”
Chapter 30
Serenity
I am a fool.
That’s all I can think as I climb the steps of the dilapidated stadium, the king at my side, his men fanned around us.
I am a soldier, not a public speaker. At times like these, I’d rather lay my life on the line than stand in front of an audience. And that’s just what I will have to do.
Over two dozen times. A speech for every city I visit.
Like I said, I am a fool.
I can hear all those lines I memorized, each one jumbling with the next. The words lodge themselves in my throat.
As we near the top of the stairs, my gaze moves to the horizon.
My heart pounds as I get my first glimpse of the pyramids of Giza.
Or what’s left of them.
They’re mostly rubble. The ancient blocks that were painstakingly placed one on top of the other thousands of years ago now look like anthills someone’s kicked over.
I run my tongue over my teeth, remembering the footage I watched yesterday. And now a renewed sense of purpose drives away my anxiety.
As we summit the steps, the event’s coordinators descend on us from all sides, boxing us and our guards in. Most wear headsets and carry fancy equipment.
“My king,” one of the women says, “you will go up first, and my queen, he will introduce you shortly thereafter.”
Our entire group is shuffled to a small waiting room, where couches and platters of food wait for us.
Montes takes a seat at one of the couches, lounging back against it, his legs splayed wide. He looks completely at ease.
Oh, how I envy him.
Relaxing is the last thing I’ll be able to do. I’m already amped up; my body doesn’t know the difference between this and going into battle.
We don’t wait long. Not five minutes later a woman raps on the door, then opens it a crack. “Your Majesties,” she says, “it’s time.”
We head out of the waiting room, towards the stage. More technicians and event planners crowd our group. The farther we walk, the more king’s men break away from our cluster.
I do a double take of the hallway wall when we pass a poster with my face on it. Without realizing it, I’ve stopped.
It’s almost identical to the one the First Free Men showed me. The sight of it is a shock to my system.
I approach the faded image and touch the worn paper. I keep forgetting what I am to these people, perhaps to the entire world.
“Serenity.” I feel the king’s eyes on me.
“It’s old.” I state the obvious.
The colors are muted, the paper has yellowed; the poster has obviously been here for months at the very least.
“People have believed in you for a very long time,” he says.
I drop my hand, and reluctantly I resume walking, keenly aware of the crown on my head. I can’t even fathom how strange this must be for the rest of the world. To find out the woman who symbolized freedom was not just alive after all this time, but also unchanged.
We stop in the wings of the stage. All that’s left of our group is now Montes, me, Marco, and two guards that stand some distance away from us.
There we wait, the noise of the crowd drifting in. It sounds big.
I crack my knuckles, then my neck, shaking them out.
Montes leans in, about to make a comment, when a man with an earpiece approaches us.
“Your Majesties,” he says, bowing to each of us in turn. “They’re ready for you.”
The king bends down and brushes a lingering kiss across my lips. It’s soft and gentle—sweet. These moments always come as a shock to me.
His crown catches the light as he straightens, and he gives Marco a penetrating look. “Keep her safe.”
It’s all I can do not throw up my hands. I’m not some simpering damsel needing saving.
As though he knows what I’m thinking, Montes winks at me, and then he’s gone.
After the king leaves, I’m left alone with Marco. The king’s right-hand stands to my side, far too close for my comfort. Despite choosing to ignore him, I know he won’t ignore me. He’s taken a keen interest in me since we met in the palace’s secret passageways.
I wait for him to break the silence, counting off the seconds.
“Nervous?” he asks, as soon as it stretches on for a smidgen too long.
I clench my jaw, but don’t respond.
Beyond the stage, I hear the audience roar; it sounds like something infernal and ferocious.
“Why do you despise me?” This time, Marco doesn’t pretend to be jovial. His voice sounds sad, dejected.
I close my eyes. I should be thinking about my speech, about an entire hemisphere whose needs I now must represent. Instead my own emotions bubble up.
While I hesitate, Montes places the crown on my head, his hands lingering.
“Does getting your way all the time really make you feel good?” I ask.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Not nearly as much as your charming personality does.”
His hands drift down, towards the low neckline of my dress. Maybe I hear his breath catch, or maybe the action itself is enough.
Does this man’s passion ever wane?
“I look forward to your speech,” he says. “And I look forward to after.”
Chapter 30
Serenity
I am a fool.
That’s all I can think as I climb the steps of the dilapidated stadium, the king at my side, his men fanned around us.
I am a soldier, not a public speaker. At times like these, I’d rather lay my life on the line than stand in front of an audience. And that’s just what I will have to do.
Over two dozen times. A speech for every city I visit.
Like I said, I am a fool.
I can hear all those lines I memorized, each one jumbling with the next. The words lodge themselves in my throat.
As we near the top of the stairs, my gaze moves to the horizon.
My heart pounds as I get my first glimpse of the pyramids of Giza.
Or what’s left of them.
They’re mostly rubble. The ancient blocks that were painstakingly placed one on top of the other thousands of years ago now look like anthills someone’s kicked over.
I run my tongue over my teeth, remembering the footage I watched yesterday. And now a renewed sense of purpose drives away my anxiety.
As we summit the steps, the event’s coordinators descend on us from all sides, boxing us and our guards in. Most wear headsets and carry fancy equipment.
“My king,” one of the women says, “you will go up first, and my queen, he will introduce you shortly thereafter.”
Our entire group is shuffled to a small waiting room, where couches and platters of food wait for us.
Montes takes a seat at one of the couches, lounging back against it, his legs splayed wide. He looks completely at ease.
Oh, how I envy him.
Relaxing is the last thing I’ll be able to do. I’m already amped up; my body doesn’t know the difference between this and going into battle.
We don’t wait long. Not five minutes later a woman raps on the door, then opens it a crack. “Your Majesties,” she says, “it’s time.”
We head out of the waiting room, towards the stage. More technicians and event planners crowd our group. The farther we walk, the more king’s men break away from our cluster.
I do a double take of the hallway wall when we pass a poster with my face on it. Without realizing it, I’ve stopped.
It’s almost identical to the one the First Free Men showed me. The sight of it is a shock to my system.
I approach the faded image and touch the worn paper. I keep forgetting what I am to these people, perhaps to the entire world.
“Serenity.” I feel the king’s eyes on me.
“It’s old.” I state the obvious.
The colors are muted, the paper has yellowed; the poster has obviously been here for months at the very least.
“People have believed in you for a very long time,” he says.
I drop my hand, and reluctantly I resume walking, keenly aware of the crown on my head. I can’t even fathom how strange this must be for the rest of the world. To find out the woman who symbolized freedom was not just alive after all this time, but also unchanged.
We stop in the wings of the stage. All that’s left of our group is now Montes, me, Marco, and two guards that stand some distance away from us.
There we wait, the noise of the crowd drifting in. It sounds big.
I crack my knuckles, then my neck, shaking them out.
Montes leans in, about to make a comment, when a man with an earpiece approaches us.
“Your Majesties,” he says, bowing to each of us in turn. “They’re ready for you.”
The king bends down and brushes a lingering kiss across my lips. It’s soft and gentle—sweet. These moments always come as a shock to me.
His crown catches the light as he straightens, and he gives Marco a penetrating look. “Keep her safe.”
It’s all I can do not throw up my hands. I’m not some simpering damsel needing saving.
As though he knows what I’m thinking, Montes winks at me, and then he’s gone.
After the king leaves, I’m left alone with Marco. The king’s right-hand stands to my side, far too close for my comfort. Despite choosing to ignore him, I know he won’t ignore me. He’s taken a keen interest in me since we met in the palace’s secret passageways.
I wait for him to break the silence, counting off the seconds.
“Nervous?” he asks, as soon as it stretches on for a smidgen too long.
I clench my jaw, but don’t respond.
Beyond the stage, I hear the audience roar; it sounds like something infernal and ferocious.
“Why do you despise me?” This time, Marco doesn’t pretend to be jovial. His voice sounds sad, dejected.
I close my eyes. I should be thinking about my speech, about an entire hemisphere whose needs I now must represent. Instead my own emotions bubble up.
