The Queen of All that Lives
Page 61

The walls around us are gilded in gold, and the columns bracing the ceiling are a vibrant red. It’s beautiful and foreign, and it makes me feel like an interloper.
As soon as the two of us catch the attention of the guests already inside, they begin pounding their chests, just like the men and women earlier. I press my lips together.
I never meant to become some sort of celebrity, and I’m unused to the positive attention I’ve been receiving. In the past, a good portion of the king’s subjects didn’t like me. I find it’s much easier to deal with hate than love.
I dip my head. Even that doesn’t stop the strange salutes they’re all giving me. Not for several minutes. And once they do stop, it’s not over. Not really, because everyone there wants to talk to me.
A waiter passes by, carrying several glasses of wine. I snatch one up, earning me a raised eyebrow from Montes. But for perhaps the first time since we’ve been together, he doesn’t actively try to prevent me from drinking.
An hour goes by like this. Drinking and talking. The king is by my side the entire time, smoothly managing the conversations without letting on that he’s doing so.
At some point, we come across Shanghai’s regional leader, Zhi Wei, his wife, and several dignitaries he works with. All of them look a little spooked.
They’re smart to be afraid. We’ve marked them for death by coming to their land. I still can’t think of that house in Kabul without feeling nauseous.
Zhi bows, his entourage following his lead.
“It’s an honor to have you here,” he says when he straightens.
It’s a curse.
I swallow down the bad taste I have at the back of my throat. I’m cursing these people by coming here.
“Thank you for hosting us,” I reply.
He gives a solemn nod.
“We are eager to end the war.” Zhi glances briefly at his wife. “We’ve lost two sons to it.”
This part hurts. It always hurts. I think most soldiers don’t fear death nearly so much as they fear this—their family’s grief. Soldiers know better than most the mind games the dead can play with you.
“I will do everything in my power to make that happen,” I say.
We chat with Zhi and his wife a little longer, then we move on to greet more people. I drink and greet, drink and greet. On and on it goes until the alcohol makes my smiles a little more genuine and my body a little less stiff.
I don’t notice I’ve drawn closer to Montes until he brushes a kiss on my temple, a kiss I lean into. I realize then how much of my side is pressed against his, and that my arm is wrapped just as tightly around his waist as his is mine.
A glass clinks at the far end of the room, and for one brief instant, I fear it’s another one of those embarrassing kiss requests meant for me and the king.
Instead, the waiter holding the glass clears his throat. “I’d ask all the guests to move into the dining room.” He gestures to a room to my left. “Dinner will commence shortly.”
Guests begin to meander towards the room, many throwing eager glances in my direction. Each one makes my heart stutter a little. Surely there are types of people that would like this attention, I’m just not one of them.
The king sticks closely to my side. If I had to guess, I’d say that he doesn’t like the attention on me any more than I do.
We enter a small, overly ornate room dominated by a large rectangular table and dozens of place settings. Just like the main room, the walls here are gold. It feels like something out of a dream, something I will wake up from.
I scan the room for our seats. It’s then that the back of my neck prickles.
I stiffen.
Even with the alcohol dulling my senses, there are some things I can’t shake. I’ve been a soldier too long. Self-preservation and paranoia are two sides of the same coin.
So I covertly place my foot in front of the king, and then I push him. I exert just enough force to have him stumble forward and trip over my leg. He begins to fall, and I go down with him.
The sound of the bullet is explosive. I hear a ping as it hits a silver serving bowl just to the left of Montes.
That’s all the time it takes for me to realize—
“They’re trying to kill the king!” I shout, grabbing Montes’s shoulder and shoving him the rest of the way to the ground. He forces me down along with him.
Distantly, I’m aware of others diving to the ground, but at the moment my attention is limited to the king.
When I try to cover his body with my own, he simply gives me a look and flips us.
He’s looking at me with wild eyes as more shots fill the air. It’s apparent from the agonized screams that the king was not the only target.
Wood and plaster dance in the air as the bullets tear through walls and furniture. I hear glass shatter as one of the shots rips apart a window. From my vantage point beneath the table I see people tumble to the ground.
My hands slide between me and the king and I grab my gun from the inner thigh holster I wear. All the while the sound of bullets and screams is a dark cadence in my ears.
I try to get up, but Montes isn’t budging. I can see the warning in his eyes. Don’t you dare.
“We need to take out the shooters,” I say. I can’t hear my own voice above the noise, but Montes must because he gives a slow shake of his head.
“Stay down.” I read his lips.
The air is filled with a hazy red mist. I taste it on my lips, and I feel it brush against my face. This isn’t a simple execution, this is a butchering.