The Queen of Traitors (The Fallen World Book 2) (7 page)

“Can’t I touch my wife?”

It’s so unlike him to ask.

There’s nothing left for me to hang onto when he’s like this. My hate’s too ephemeral, my heart too hopeful.

I close my eyes and nod.

A second later the smooth skin of his fingers brush my cheeks, my mouth. They leave, and then his lips are caressing mine.

He tastes like a taboo. He’s mine.

“It was better when I simply hated you,” I murmur against him. My head and my heart are at war, and the fallout’s ripping me in two.

“I know,” he says, his lips still pressed to mine. “That won’t stop me from trying to win you over, but I know.”

I open my eyes. The king’s dark, unfathomable ones stare back at me. My pulse quickens a little more. I’m not supposed to want to know what he’s thinking or be pulled in by the same allure that’s won over countries and officials.

But I do and I am. His life frightens me, but he’s also a kindred spirit. His darkness complements my own.

“Sit back down,” he murmurs against my lips.

I let him lead me back; I have nowhere else to go. He takes his own seat and reaches for his cutlery.

I lift my own fork and spear a pasta noodle. They used to serve us spaghetti in the bunker, but as soon as the flavor hits my taste buds, I realize this is a different beast entirely. If what I was used to was water then this would be wine.

Montes watches me the entire time.

I swallow. “Stop that.”

“Then stop making that expression when you eat.”

“What expression?” I ask.

“Like you’re being sweetly fucked.”

I shouldn’t have asked. And I definitely need more alcohol for this conversation. Montes refills my glass right before I reach for it.

“I’m surprised by you,” I say, eyeing my topped-off drink.

His eyes noticeably brighten. “Oh, really?”

This man and his ego.

“Feeding wine to the woman with stomach cancer.” Last time I overdrank, I vomited blood up.

The luster in his gaze dies out a little. “The Sleeper’s controlling the cancer.”

That’s good enough for me. I take a healthy drink.

“But I still have it.” I place the glass back down.

“You do. But you won’t for long.”

I really want to kick my legs up on the table and settle into my chair. Instead, I take another bite of the pasta. It’s heavenly.

Damnit, I think I
am
making a face while I eat it.

“We haven’t discovered a cure yet,” he continues, “but my researchers are close.”

I take another drink of my wine. “I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.” Sure, there are experts galore, but Montes has only been funding those that furthered his war.

“What are you saying?” That vein begins pulsing again.

“I don’t think you can save me.”

Montes lets my words sink in, and for a split second he looks so reasonable. Then the bubble pops.

He stands swiftly, shaking the table as he does so. I stare up at him as he rounds it, his eyes sparking with emotion.

We’re fire and gunpowder. Something’s about to explode, and I lit the match.

He kicks my chair out and leans in, resting his hand along the back of it. “I can save you, and I
will
.”

I meet his gaze. God save me, the man means it.

I swallow. “Montes, it’s always going to be this way.” I feel like a soothsayer as I speak. “Whether it’s the cancer or the Resistance, something’s going to get me.”

My number’s already been drawn. It’s simply a matter of time. Montes is the only one besides me that’s fighting it at all.

“Haven’t you heard?” he says. “Death doesn’t come to this house.”

Chapter 10

Serenity

It’s late by
the time we return to the palace. Before I can think twice about it, I take off my shoes. I can’t remember the last time I walked barefoot outside, and I shouldn’t be taken by something as simple as my naked feet touching the ground, but I am. In times of peace, people probably don’t have to think about wearing shoes, but I’ve always had to. You never know when you’re going to have to run.

It’s a little thing, this freedom, but I enjoy it. I steer us off the stone path to feel the sensation of grass between my toes. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling as I feel the spongy, moist earth beneath my feet and the itchy prick of the lawn. Right now I don’t care that a dozen lights are still on in the palace windows, or that we’re in view of several guards. Nothing can come between me and this small pleasure.

Montes must notice my fascination with the textures of the earth because he maneuvers us towards an area where the soil is free of grass and plant life. Neither of us acknowledges that I’m interested in walking through the mud and dirt.

He subtly steers me to another section of the palace grounds. Sharp pebbles bite into the pads of my feet. I curse, and suddenly, Montes’s hand is trembling in mine.

When I glance over at him, he’s laughing.

I push him. “You did that on purpose.”

Now he’s not bothering to curb his laughter. “I did.”

“That’s what I get for trusting you.” The usual venom is gone from my words. I find I enjoy Montes’s teasing at the moment.

“C’mon,” he says. “I promise no more nasty surprises.”

He leads me to a hose. Like many things here, this mundane piece of equipment is something of a novelty. I’ve seen and, on a couple occasions, used hoses before, and the WUN still had some running water when I left it, but no one waters their lawns anymore.

Montes turns it on and angles the spray at my toes.

“Lift your foot.” I do so. He grabs my ankle and rinses the dirt off. I have to brace myself against his shoulder to keep my balance. It’s oddly intimate. He lets go of my right foot and beckons for the other.

I study his features as he rinses me off. He’s caring for me, I realize. This is what friends do, what family and lovers do. I must indeed be a strange, strange girl to covet these moments with the king more than the fancy dinners he arranges.

He releases my foot, and then we’re moving again.

The king’s palaces have always looked ominous to me, and tonight’s no different. Beneath the stars, we have no ranking, no responsibilities, no civilization, but inside this building that all changes.

We cross the threshold, and I bid goodbye to the few threads of freedom I found outside. I let myself lose count of all the twists and turns that take us to Montes’s room.

Our room
, I correct as we step inside.

I hover near the door. A big four-poster bed looms in front of me. I have to get in it with the king. I sober up instantly.

Most of my memory has returned. I know what we do in beds like this one, but I still feel like a stranger in my own body. And after our dinner in the greenhouse and our walk through the gardens, I’m feeling strangely vulnerable.

The slick sounds of material sliding off jolts me. I glance over at Montes just as he removes his last article of clothing. His deeply tan body is fully on display, and I’m having trouble fighting my own impulses. It takes most of my energy just to pretend he’s not every bit as lovely as he knows he is.

He pads over to me. His hands brush my hair off my shoulders. “Scared?”

How have I ended up here? With no family save for Montes, the very person that took them all away from me.

“Of you? No.”

It’s my conflicted emotions that scare me. They’re sucking me under, and I’m afraid that once they do, I won’t like the woman they fashion me into.

“Then come to bed.”

It’s not a request, it’s a dare, and he punctuates it by pulling loose the tie around my dress. The fabric parts with a little encouragement from the king, and then my outfit slides off.

Montes circles me, his hand trailing across my flesh. With a flick of his wrist he undoes my bra. His fingers move to my panties, and he hooks them around the thin bands of material and yanks them down before returning once more to face me.

I blink, startled, as we stand naked across from one another.

Montes’s eyes dip down and then he’s backing up towards the bed. “Come, Serenity.”

I hesitate, but even this is a lost cause. He’s my husband. This is a part of the package.

Following him to bed, I slip beneath the sheets and keep my back to Montes. My muscles tense. I’m not going to fall asleep anytime soon.

An arm snakes around my waist and Montes pulls me against his chest. I can feel every naked inch of him pressed along my back.

He breathes in my hair, nuzzling the shell of my ear. “I will never let you go, and I will never let you die. You will be mine, always.”

Hands glide over
my legs. Am I in a dream or out of one? I can’t tell.

I crack my eyes open. Early morning light filters into the room, and my lips crack into a smile. As long as I live, the sight of it will never grow old.

Montes’s lips brush against mine, stealing my smile. The kiss is quick, gentle, and his mouth’s gone before I can react at all.

He moves down my body, his hair tickling the skin of my chest as he drops lower.

I push myself up onto my elbows. “What are you doing?”

Montes skims a kiss along my ribcage, his rough cheek scraping my flesh. “Waking my wife up.”

This isn’t terribly out of character for him, but I’m still not used to it.

He presses my torso back to the mattress. His hand stays against my sternum until I stop resisting. His other slides lower. And lower.

I catch his wrist.

I’m so, so terribly conflicted, mostly because I enjoy doing this with the king.

“Let go, Serenity,” he says, gazing down at me. His eyes are too dark, his skin too tan, his teeth too white. His features are unnatural, just like the rest of him.

“You first,” I say.

Ever so slowly, he lifts his hand from my skin and holds it up in surrender. I don’t trust him to play by any sort of rules when it comes to being physical.

A knock on the door interrupts us.

He sighs. “Grab a robe.”

“Why?” I ask, but I’m already pushing myself out of bed and heading towards what looks to be a closet. The sheer quantity of clothing inside it has me reeling back. I’m not seeing a robe. This really would be easier if someone thinned out the clothes in here by a factor of ten.

I grab the first item I do see and don it. Too late I realize I’ve slipped on one of Montes’s button-downs, and now the door’s opening.

The king flashes me a heated look at my outfit. I want to knock the expression off his face. For his part, he’s managed to slide on a pair of lounge pants.

A group of women enter the room, and—oh God. No, please, no.

They’re carrying canvas bags in colors ranging from pink to black. I’ve seen those bags before. This doesn’t bode well.

“What’s going on?” I take a step back.

“Press conference in … ” he strides over to a dresser and picks up a watch resting on it, “three hours.”

“You’re telling me this now?”

“Someone has to keep you on your toes.” He flashes me a grin, like this is all good fun.

As soon as I reestablish myself here, I’m getting my own schedule.

The women bustle over to me, and my earlier fears are confirmed. They’re here to primp me up.

“I can do this myself.” I speak to the room in general, but it’s Montes who answers.

“I didn’t ask if you could.”

They usher me over to a chair and get to work, touching my face, running their hands through my hair, brandishing sets of jewelry for me to try on.

The only things I tend to accessorize are my weapons.

Montes pulls up a chair next to me.

“Oh, staying this time are you?” I try to turn my head to him, but that earns me a firm tug on my scalp and a gentle admonishment from the hairstylist hovering over me.

I give myself fifteen minutes before the last of my patience runs out and I turn violent.

“I need to prep you on your speech.” I can hear mirth in his voice. My trigger finger itches.

“What speech? Wait,
my
speech?” Just when I thought all of the morning’s nasty surprises were over.

“The video of you returning to the WUN has been leaked. The world’s seen the footage of you.” The footage of me drenched with my enemy’s blood.

And my father’s.

“They also know that the Resistance captured you—albeit, briefly. The terrorist organization released video and a statement on the event, and I spoke about it shortly after you were taken.”

For a girl who’s lived underground for the last five years, there’s an awful lot of media attention on me—and most of it bad.

“What do you want me to say?” I ask. I’m legitimately curious how the king handles affairs like this.

“What would you say if you were still an emissary for the WUN?”

“I’d tell them that you were the devil.”

Above me I hear at least one woman suck in a breath.

“That’s not what I meant,” the king says.

“I know.” And I do. “You want me to debrief them on my experience?”

“You don’t actually have to worry. We have a speech already written for you. All you’re going to do is read from the teleprompter.”

“You’re seriously trusting me with a microphone and your subjects?” I badly want to look over at Montes just to read his face.

“
Our
subjects. You’ve been practicing for this for the better part of your life, Serenity. This isn’t just my world; it’s your world and it’s their world. Do right by it.”

Do right.

Montes’s words linger with me even as we slide into the car that will take us to the press conference.

What is right?

I don’t know anymore.

I glance over at the king, who’s flipping through a stack of papers one of his aides gave him.

He is so sure of everything, and I am sure of nothing. I can’t tell which is the worse fate—to question everything, to be paralyzed by indecision, or to question nothing and move through the world blind to any other way of existing save for your own.

My thoughts are whisked from me as we leave the palace grounds. This is the first time since the king retrieved me that I see the world outside.

I place my hand against the window. Fields of weeds and wild grass float by. Wherever we are, it’s far from any broken city. A morning mist clings to the ground, but with each passing minute it dissipates a little more.

“Where are we?”

I don’t expect Montes to answer. He didn’t last time. So I’m surprised when he does.

“We’re in what used to be known as England.”

I remember England from the history books. It was one of the first countries to fall. By the time my father and I flew to Geneva for the peace talks, the Northern Isles were one of King Montes Lazuli’s most secure regions. The Resistance didn’t have a great foothold there, which might be one of the reasons why the king and I are currently here.

It strikes me all over again how intent Montes is on keeping me safe. It’s been this way since he learned of my cancer. The thought leaves my throat dry.

I grab a water bottle nestled in the center console of the car and take a drink of it before going back to staring out the window.

Nearly an hour goes by in that car. Sometimes we pass through villages that look completely unaffected by the king’s war, and twice we pass through bigger towns that show only the barest hints of repair—scaffolding along the sides of some buildings and a temporary wall erected around a block. This might just be general maintenance. It’s been so long since I’ve seen how normal cities function that I can’t be sure.

When we reach the city, everything gleams. If there was once war here, the evidence has been painted and rebuilt away. People here stand by the side of the road, waving as we go by. They actually appear … excited to see the king’s procession of vehicles.

That’s a first.

The car slows to a stop in front of what appears to be an enormous coliseum. We’re shuffled past the waiting throngs of people, down a series of halls, and out to an outdoor stage.

“This is all you now,” the king says. He peels away from me while the organizers direct me from the wings of the stage towards the podium.

I almost stagger back when I catch a glimpse of the crowd. There are thousands of them. The seats are all full. It’s a far cry from the last speech I gave.

Covered in blood, my body shaking. My father was dead and I had to inform the WUN.

The crowd roars as they catch sight of me.

These aren’t the same people who waited for me to disembark all that time ago. These people are foreigners with entirely separate histories. This new world of mine has been theirs for far longer. What could they possibly want from me? What would I want from me?

A leader. A real one. The world doesn’t trust Montes.

They continue to cheer as I approach the dais. Their applause is a terrible, terrible sound because it’s a lie. I’ve killed their comrades, their sons and daughters, their friends and neighbors.

I draw in a shuddering breath at the podium, and it echoes from the speakers. Montes stands only a handful of feet away, back in the shadows hidden off to the side of the stage, but we might as well be separated by oceans.

My eyes find the teleprompter. Just as quickly, they leave it. If I’m going to give a speech, the words will be my own.

I clear my throat.
“I’m honored that you’ve cheered for me, given that most of you have seen the footage of me stepping onto former WUN soil.”

Any remaining noise dies out at that, and I can see PR people gesturing wildly to cut off my mike.

I curl my hands over the edge of the podium and bow my head. The pain is right there. All I have to do is give it a little attention and I’ll fall apart. Luckily for me, I have no interest in indulging it. I’ve spent the better part of a decade too busy surviving to afford the luxury of living inside my sadness. I won’t start today.

“Several months ago, you were my enemy and my husband, the king, was the one man I most wanted to see dead.”

More wild gesturing comes from the wings of the stage, but Montes must be refusing their requests because no one comes to drag me off.

“I was born in Washington D.C., the daughter of an American congressman. When I was ten, I watched my mother die. The aerial attack came from the sky. A few years later, a nuclear blast wiped out my city. Aside from my father, everyone I’d known and loved was gone in an instant.”

My words are met with utter silence.

“I’m telling you this because many of you have similar stories. They might be older, but they’re no less painful.”