The Queen of Traitors (The Fallen World Book 2) (11 page)

Chapter 16

Serenity

The world we
descend into is rapturous. There’s no other word to describe it. From the sky, the world is a blanket of lush green. I know this place was hit hard by the king, but it’s hard to appreciate the destruction from my vantage point.

The king’s eyes are trained on mine as we step out of the plane. I’ve come across photos of jungles and the tropics, and long ago, before the war, my parents had taken me on vacations, but faded memories and two-dimensional images are nothing compared to this.

The air is a hot breath against my face; the humidity sticks to my skin. Beyond the tarmac, shrubs and trees press in, their stalks and leaves swaying in the light breeze. I can smell brine in the air. It’s like war and corruption never touched this place. I know that’s not true, but nature paints a pretty picture.

A small contingent waits for us. I scan the group for Estes or anyone else I might recognize, but these are just more of the king’s aides and soldiers stationed here to guard us. They shuffle us into a sleek black car, and then as quickly as we arrive, we leave.

The damage to this place becomes apparent on our drive. It’s not so much the broken buildings that tell the story of war. No, it’s more subtle and insidious than that. It’s the vines that grow between the skeletal remains of houses, the side streets that have been all but smothered by the plants.

Goosebumps prickle along my skin. Mother Nature is the apex predator here.

We crest a hill, and I see the deep blue ocean spread out before us. The king’s managed to find one of the few places on the western hemisphere whose beauty is unsullied by war.

But it’s like overripe fruit. To the eyes, everything’s fine, but there’s a sickness that’s settled just beneath the surface.

It’s no surprise when the car pulls up in front of a seaside mansion. What is surprising is the place’s seclusion. We have no neighbors, and I already know we will be hosting no meetings here. It’s not the kind of home that demands an audience, it’s the kind made for secret rendezvous—or so I assume. I have no other point of reference save for my imagination.

“This seems a little underwhelming for your taste,” I say, stepping out of the car.

He gets up behind me, and his lips press against my ear. “I’m not doing this for me.”

I don’t bother keeping the skepticism from my voice. “You thought I would appreciate the seaside getaway?”

“I thought you’d appreciate not having to worry about assassination attempts—and banal conversations with politicians and their wives.”

I study Montes as he passes me.
Thoughtful
is not a word I would use to describe him—nor is
caring
—and yet both seem to motivate him when it comes to me.

“You and I both know we’ll still have to participate in banal conversations, seaside getaway or no,” I say, following him inside. Politics really only gets exciting when people are stirring up trouble. Otherwise the legislation can put you to sleep.

“Yes, but this way I won’t have to constantly worry about you shooting those that piss you off.”

“Do their lives really matter that much to you?” I ask.

He pauses in the living room. This may be no palace, but each lavish detail—from the painted tile to the carved mantle to the marbled archways—indicates just how expensive this place is.

“Not in the least. But I prefer to burn bridges on my terms, not yours.”

I shake my head and wander through the kitchen. I head over to the stovetop and flick a burner on, watching the flames bloom in a ring. Instant fire. Does the king have any idea just how precious this one thing is? Turf wars have been started over less.

Stirring utensils hang along the wall. Jars of oils and seasonings sit on display in fancy glass containers. The line between food and art is blurry here.

For years now, meals are a morbid occasion for me. Everyone must eat to live, but when the food and water are in short supply and what’s left is riddled with radiation, it feels a bit like Russian roulette. Will today’s meal be the one that poisons your system? It’s the reminder that while we stave off death for the day, we’re always beckoning it closer.

But here in this place, food appears to be a joyous occasion. One that celebrates life and gluttony. I envy the lifestyle even as I reject it.

I head over to a faucet and turn it on. Clear water pours from it.

“The radiation … ?”

“Reverse osmosis filters it out. It’s simple enough technology.”

I run my fingers under the stream. “Not if you don’t have running water to begin with.”

I turn off the faucet. If this house is supposed to be inviting, it has the opposite effect on me. I don’t belong amongst plush carpets and polished surfaces and crystal goblets made for delicate drinks that are to be sipped.

I belong around gunmetal and smoke, around the weak and the violent, the broken and battered.

But not here, not here.

I head up the stairs to the second story. An expansive bedroom takes up most of the space. A wall of glass doors line one wall, facing the water. They’re already propped open, and a cool sea breeze blows through the room. I head out to the balcony beyond them.

Places like this make you yearn for things you can’t put your finger on. I always imagined myself too hardened for something like whimsy, but even I feel a deep stirring in my heart.

I can’t take it. Hope is a dangerous thing when you’re in the business of loss. Better to expect the worst.

In this world, that’s often what you receive.

The next morning,
I wake to fingertips on my back.

They trail down my spine and I arch beneath them. I sigh, stretching out my body. I feel a kiss at my temple, then another where my jaw meets my neck.

This is Montes’s wake up call, and each morning it happens, I enjoy it a little more. Unfortunately.

I flip onto my back and he continues to trail kisses down my throat, between my breasts, all the way to my stomach. There he stops. His hands move over the skin there, like he’s cradling it. I’ve gained weight, not enough to lose my waist, but enough to fill me out.

He must notice.

I begin to move, about to slip out from under him, but he holds me in place.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, his gaze trailing up the length of me to meet my eyes. I can tell from his expression how much he means this. And he’s looking at me like it should mean something to me as well.

“I already told you what I think of beauty,” I say, fighting my own impulse to touch him. It’s a losing battle, and I end up running my fingers over his jaw.

“Yes, you have very little regard for it.” His hands are still on the swell of my stomach. “It doesn’t change that you are.”

His grip tightens on me. “You’re also brave, fierce, reasonable, and despite all your violence, you have a good heart.”

I trace his lips. “Compliments won’t save you from my gun,” I say. It’s not a threat, not like my others which are said in anger. I don’t know when that shift happened, when this easy camaraderie became a part of our relationship.

“Serenity, I’m serious.”

I know he is, and he’s forcing me to be as well. I don’t want that.

I cover his mouth with my fingertips. “Don’t,” I say.

He removes my hand from his lips. “Don’t what? Make you face this?”

“Caring for me doesn’t change anything,” I say.

Did my voice sound a tad distressed?

“It changes
everything
,” he says.

I push my way out of bed and angrily begin dressing. He follows me.

“Serenity.”

I try to ignore him. I can’t. He’s everywhere. On my skin, in my mind, inside my heart. I wear his ring, share his name and his empire.

He turns me. “Serenity.”

“
Stop
.” I’m shaking.

“
No
.” His voice resonates.

We stare each other down.

“I don’t care what you think of me,” he says. “I don’t care that you think I’m evil. We’re both guilty of horrific things. Why do you think I wanted you in the first place? Death in a dress. That’s what you were when you descended down those stairs in Geneva. I knew you’d either redeem me or you’d kill me.”

“You and I both know there’s only one way this ends,” I say.

Six feet under.

He shakes his head. “No, Serenity. You want to believe that, but you and I both know this doesn’t end in death.”

He’s apparently the keeper of wisdom, on top of everything else.

“Then how does it end?”

“In love. And life.”

Chapter 17

Serenity

I’m in a
foul mood when we arrive at some swanky hotel for the morning’s first meetings. For one thing, the king cornered me into facing emotions I’d rather ignore.

For another, the people who packed my bags sent me away with a suitcase full of dresses. They look similar in style and cut to the gowns I wore during the peace talks. I hate them all. It’s just my luck that I now have a style, one I didn’t choose, and it’s getting perpetuated.

To top it all off, we’re going to a morning soiree before our first meeting so that the traitors of the southern WUN can rub elbows with the king and his newest acquisition—me.

Montes’s hand falls to my back. His other waves to the audience gathered on either side of the roped-off aisle made for us. They scream when they see us, like we’re celebrities.

The beads of my dress shiver as I walk down the pathway. I feel the brush of Velcro and metal as my leg rubs against my thigh holster. This was my compromise—I’d wear these ridiculous outfits and attend the king’s stupid gatherings so long as I could carry my gun. It doesn’t inspire much faith when political leaders walk into meetings armed, but considering that I’m now the queen of the not-so-free world, exceptions are made.

As soon as we enter the building, it’s to more applause.

“Who did you pay off to make them all clap?” I ask.

“Mmm, no one, my queen. Here before you are the people who respect power and money above all else.”

I stare out at the room. We might as well be back at the king’s palace. The crowd’s coloring may be slightly different, but they wear the same expensive clothing. These people, however, I take note of. They are the ones who ended up siding with the king before, during, or immediately after the WUN fell.

The room watches us while I watch them. I’d imagine they don’t much care for me. Or worse, they think we’re alike—westerners that turned their backs on their former allegiances.

I would sooner die than willingly become a traitor. The king and the general forced my hand on this matter.

The conference hall is more a resort than anything else. I can see the ocean out the back windows, and between us and it lounge chairs and umbrellas line the sand.

Waiters carrying delicate silver trays move throughout the room, offering hors d’oeuvres to guests. It’s strange to not see them descending upon the food like their very lives depend on it. That’s the kind of reaction I’m used to in the WUN.

A man steps into my line of sight, bowing low to the king before taking my hand and kissing it. “Your Majesties, it’s an honor.”

The hairs at the nape of my neck rise at that voice. I sat in on a lot of calls my father had with that smooth baritone. I snatch my hand away as he straightens.

Luca Estes wears middle age well. His salt and pepper hair is trimmed close to his head, as is his goatee, and he sports the same lean build that many active military members do.

His dark eyes glitter as he takes me in. “It’s been too long since we last spoke.”

My skin crawls, and I stop my hand from groping towards my holster.

“I saw the peace talks,” he continues, “apologies for not joining. I hadn’t realized until then just how much you’ve grown up, Serenity,” he says, his accent barely there.

He rests a hand on my shoulder and turns to the king. “I’ve known your wife since she was a child.”

That is stretching the truth quite a bit. He’s known my father since I was a child; he’s only known me since I began to train for my role as emissary.

I flash Luca a dark look. “Yes, we’re practically family.”

You sellout.

My father had all sorts of advice for dealing with political figures you didn’t like. I was never very good at following any of it, and now, married to my archenemy and facing down another, I’m having a hard time controlling my emotions.

Montes studies Estes, his mask firmly in place. “I hadn’t realized how close you and my wife were.”

Tread carefully.

Montes’s subtle threat sends a thrill through me. I find I don’t mind them when they’re lobbed at other bad men.

Estes turns to me, a smile plastered on his face. I can see just a touch of panic in the corners of his eyes. We’re all having two conversations at the moment—one spoken, the other implied. He’s only now realizing how treacherous knowing the traitor queen can be.

“Yes,” he pats Montes’s shoulder; the fatherly gesture is made all the more ridiculous by the fact that he has to reach up to do so, “well, congratulations on stealing Serenity’s heart.”

“He didn’t steal my heart, Luca,” I interject. “He just stole me.”

That temporarily silences the corrupt politician.

“She’s kidding,” Montes says, giving me a look.

I raise an eyebrow. He knows I’m not going to muzzle my mouth.

Estes barks out a laugh. The whole thing is wooden and awkward, because the three of us know just how wicked both men are, and it’s not something you’re supposed to bring up.

So naturally, I’m going to bring it up.

“All those conversations, Serenity,” Estes continues, “and I had no idea how quick tongued you were.”

“She can do many things with that tongue of hers,” Montes says.

That’s it.

I’m reaching for my gun when the king grabs my wrist.

“Let me the fuck go,” I hiss.

“She hasn’t had her coffee yet,” Montes explains calmly.

I’m seeing red.

“Apologies, you both must be hungry.” Luca waves down a waiter.

“Whatever you give me is ending up on your shirt,” I say while Estes is distracted.

Montes leans into my ear. “You keep this up and we won’t make it through the first hour of meetings before I have you pressed up against one of these walls.”

I think he’s threatening me until I see the heat in his eyes. It’s still a warning, but this one’s of a wholly different nature.

His arousal only pisses me off more, as does my response to it. He told me once that I’d be good at angry sex. I think he’s right.

“This is all just a game to you, isn’t it?” I say.

“Of course.” His face is only inches from mine. “But you already knew that.”

I straighten and speak low enough so that only he hears. “One day you’re going to underestimate the wrong person, and then your pretty empire is going to come crashing down.”

“I’m still debating
shooting you,” I say an hour later.

“I know,” Montes says next to me. “My pants have been tight all morning because of it.”

“You are a sick, sick man.”

We’re back to greeting people, just like we had at our wedding. The line of men and women eager to meet the king winds through the room and out one of the exits. This is not how I imagined changing the world—giving the privileged my time in a few empty lines of greetings.

“Perhaps I should just pull down your pants,” I say after the next round of guests leave our side.

That gets Montes’s attention.

“That way it’ll be easier to bend you over and let everyone here kiss your ass.”

King Lazuli stares at me for several seconds, then he lets loose a deep laugh, the sound carrying throughout the room.

He reels me in for a kiss. “Life is infinitely more interesting with you in it.”

It takes another hour to meet with everyone, and then we’re being shuffled down the hall to a conference room.

The entire time at least two cameras stay trained on us. They hover like flies, orbiting us, drawing in as close as they dare, then backing off before I get a chance to break their lenses. I’ve come close.

“They’re fascinated with you,” the king says as we walk. His silken voice raises my gooseflesh. “They’ve always been.”

I give a cameraman a hard look, and he quickly retreats.

Montes is right, but he’s also wrong. They’re not fascinated with me so much as they are our relationship. I’m the blood-soaked soldier that defended the WUN, and he’s the bloodthirsty king that captured my land. We’re enemies that became lovers. Two terrible people that rule the world together.

Montes’s hand skims down my back, and it’s a far more intimate gesture than it has any right to be. He’s undressing me with his fingers and his eyes, and even after all we’ve seen and done together, I still feel like a bug caught in a spider’s web.

Estes is already in the conference room when we enter, along with a handful of other faces I recognize from my time spent as an emissary. Several of them my father communicated with directly or indirectly. Back then they’d worked for the WUN—when they weren’t challenging and usurping each other’s territories. Now, only months after the war ended, they’re here fawning over the king.

For once I would like to meet with leaders who weren’t completely unfit for the job.

They eye me as I enter the room. Like Estes, they’re trying to figure out whether knowing me benefits them or not.

I decide to help them out.

I stop at the table and take them in. “Corruption looks good on you all.”

I render the room speechless—for a moment. Then, all at once, half a dozen people are speaking in Spanish, Portuguese and English.

Ah, southern WUN. They were always very vocal when they disagreed. It’s nice to see they’re consistent about at least something.

Montes cuts through the noise. “We’re not here to talk about prior alliances. The war has ended. South America now needs some stability; let’s focus our attentions on that.”

Only the king has the balls to make me look like a bad guy and him the martyr.

I take a seat at the table, hyperaware of the tension I’ve stirred up.

Their anger revitalizes me. People are easier to read when they take their masks off.

The chair next to me scrapes back, and the king sits heavily down. He picks up the papers his aides have set in front of his seat and spends a good minute flipping through them while everyone else waits.

Finally he sets them back down. “Thank you all for being here. I figure we might as well just dive right in: what are the main issues standing in the way of a unified South America?”

And thus begins the first hour of meetings.

“You have managed,
yet again, to get an entire room of people to hate you in record time,” the king says as he closes our front door behind us. We’re back from the conference after four nearly unbearable hours. The only people the South American representatives hate worse than me are each other. Everyone wants a piece of the pie that Montes is giving to Estes.

That was the main theme of the meetings—who was going to get what. The only time anyone brought up the region’s general health and welfare was when they wanted to use it as a talking point for why they deserved something or why someone else didn’t.

I almost pistol-whipped the lot of them.

If that wasn’t bad enough, I have to see them again this evening at another one of those needless dinner parties.

I pass through the foyer, kicking off my shoes. This damn dress is a cage. It’s too tight around my stomach and thighs, and if someone attacked, I couldn’t run in it. I need it off.

“It’s probably the first genuine emotion they’ve displayed since we arrived,” I say, groping for my zipper.

Montes comes up behind me and drags the zipper down. Material peels away from my skin, and now those hands of his are coaxing the rest of the fabric off me.

“Perhaps if they weren’t turncoats,” I continue, “I’d be a little nicer—”

Montes pushes me up against the wall. He captures my hands in his own, “You know what I think upsets you?” he asks, his nose skimming my jaw as he breathes me in. “I think you see yourself in them, and you hate it.” He pitches his voice low, and it drips with all sorts of dark intentions.

They and I are nothing alike. But Montes’s words dig under my skin. Am I not for all outer appearances a traitor just like them? Perhaps, like me, they were cornered into this. And perhaps, like me, they too have lost themselves somewhere along the way.

The king captures my lips, his hand sliding up my thigh. I feel the remnants of my lipstick smear as our mouths move against each other.

He doesn’t bother undressing. He simply unbuckles his belt, unzips his pants, and pushes aside my lingerie.

With one hard thrust, he’s inside of me.

I gasp at the sensation. It’s just on this side of pain, and that’s when I love sex best. I could never indulge in something wholly sweet with the king. Not without at least a little grappling.

He lets my wrists go to grip my hips, kissing my neck as he does so. I feel his hot breath fan down the column of my throat. His pace increases, and each rock of his hips causes my back to pound against the wall.

I cradle him in my arms and arch my neck back. What I can’t possibly understand is why anyone wastes time with war when they could be doing this instead.

Montes pulls us away from the wall. We don’t break apart as he carries me to our room. We fall in a tangle of limbs on the mattress. The pins holding my hair in place are coming loose, and as I tug on the king’s dark locks, his fancy gel disintegrates beneath my fingertips. Civilization is giving way to our primal savagery.

He thrusts into me, and dear God, I’m willing to admit that right about now, I love the king. It’s fucked up, and if ever there was proof of my twisted nature, this would be it.

I don’t give a damn.

I slide my feet along the back of the king’s legs.

“Tell me you love me,” the king says next to my ear.

His thoughts are clearly moving in the same direction as mine.

I grip his hair tighter and tilt his ear to my mouth. “
No
.”

He moves harder against me, the friction causing a moan to slip out. I’m far beyond caring that the king’s torn down most of my walls and my modesty along with them.

“Say it,” he breathes.

I don’t.

As a result, he stops.

We’re both panting like animals, and when he stares down at me, I see sweat beaded along his brow.

“Say it,” he repeats.

Staring at him, our bodies joined and our limbs entangled, I almost do.

He moves against me, just a little. Enough to remind me that he controls the strings.

I shake my head. “I’m not giving that to you.”

He flashes me his wickedest grin. “Has my queen forgotten who she’s married?” he whispers, his nose dipping down to nuzzle my hair.

He cups a breast through the fabric of my dress. “I’ll get you to say those words just as I have everything else.”

I’m too far gone to give into his witty rapport. “Just shut up and fuck me.”

And he does, but not before he says his final piece. “I will, Serenity. And when I do, you’ll mean them, too.”