The Queen of All that Dies (The Fallen World Book 1) Page 4

  Now it’s my turn.

  The king turns his attention away from my father, and my stomach contracts painfully. This is the man who killed my mom. The man who leveled my city and all my friends living in it. He’s the man who I’ve seen shot on national television, yet still he lives.

  Unlike his response to my father, I can see the king’s genuine interest in me. His eyes look lit from behind. “Ambassador Freeman, I presume that this is your daughter, Serenity Freeman?” the king asks.

  Next to me my father’s body goes rigid, and I know he senses the king’s interest in me. “She is,” my father says.

  The king gives me a slow, sly grin and grabs my hand. I fight the overwhelming impulse to yank it free, cock my fist, and smash it into his face. Instead I bare my teeth as the cameras go off. I know it looks more like a snarl than a smile, but it’s the best I can do at the moment.

  King Lazuli brings my hand up to his lips, and I close my eyes to block out the sight of his mouth against my skin. I only open them once he pulls my hand away from his lips. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Serenity.”

  He means it. Heaven help me, I’ve caught the attention of the king.

  “King Lazuli,” I choke out. I can feel tears burning my eyes, blurring my vision. I can’t cry, not on television.

  “Montes,” he corrects me quietly. His eyes flick to my father’s. “I believe the negotiations in the upcoming days will go quite well. I have a feeling for these things.” The king is still holding my hand, and I feel him squeeze it.

  None of this gets past my father, who nods once, his mouth a grim line.

  The king’s eyes move to mine and drink me in before returning to my father. “Mind if I whisk your daughter away for a dance?” the king asks.

  My eyes widen. No. No, no, no. I don’t know how to dance, but that’s not even the issue here. The thought of spending any more time in the king’s presence has me nauseous. I’m either going to get sick, or, more likely, I’m going to try to kill him.

  “Not at all,” my father says, his words clipped.

  “Fantastic.” The king flashes him a smile, and his attention returns to me. He raises an eyebrow. “Shall we?” he asks, as though I’ve already agreed to it.

  “Only if you ask nicely.” The words are out before I can attempt to censor myself. I shut my mouth before I can say more.

  Those around us fall quiet. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the camera crew, my guards, and the king’s retinue shifting nervously, their eyes darting between us. I don’t know what reaction they’re waiting for, but it’s not this.

  The king cocks his head, a small smile growing across his face. He raises an eyebrow. “Would you like to dance with me, Serenity?”

  “I’d love to.” I bite the words out because I have to say them.

  Once I accept, the budding tension releases.

  “So would I,” he says, and again I can see he’s being genuine. He gives the hand he’s still holding a tug, and I’m gently whisked away.

  I can tell everyone there is already aware of us—or him, more precisely, though I can feel curious eyes on me. As soon as we walk onto the dance floor, the king tugs me close. Too close. I can see the rough skin of his jaw, the gentle wave of his hair, the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.

  His hand presses into the small of my back, and we begin to move. After glancing at other couples, I move my free hand to his shoulder like the other women do. The footwork, however, completely confuses me.

  “I don’t know how to dance,” I say.

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m leading,” the king responds, his expression amused. He glances down at my chest. “Beautiful necklace,” he says, though I know it’s just an excuse to stare at my chest.

  “It was my mother’s.”

  “Mmm,” he says, and that’s the end of that.

  “She’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “No you’re not.” I can’t get my mouth to shut up. Not right now when I’m caught in the arms of my mother’s killer. “She died when your army dropped a bomb near our home.”

  Now I’ve caught his attention. His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t look angry. More like I intrigue him.

  “It was the same day that I received the scar on my face,” I continue.

  The king’s gaze moves to my scar. “It seems I’ve caused you a lot of pain. I’m sorry for that.”

  I smile sardonically. “Save your lies for someone who will believe them.”

  The king’s grip on my hand tightens. I’m in dangerous waters. “What makes you think I’m lying?”

  “A man who was truly sorry would never have dropped the bomb to begin with.” My breath catches as soon as the words leave my mouth. Have I gone too far?

  The king scrutinizes me, and then ever so slowly, a smile appears. “I could have you killed for what you’ve said to me.”

  Fear grips my heart, but I call his bluff. “You won’t.”

  He spins me. “Oh, and why is that?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

  “Because I amuse you.” It’s hard to admit that all I’m good for here is his entertainment.

  His gaze drinks me in, and he presses me closer to him. “You do. Keep it up and the WUN might not face total annihilation.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “The truth suits you well.” Even if it is psychotic. But I’d prefer hearing the ugly truth than a pretty lie.

  My dress swishes around me as we twirl. It’s not lost on me that that’s what I am right now—a pretty lie, a soldier disguised as a lady.

  “You suit me well,” he says, his gaze sweeping over me. It sickens me that he seems to approve of what he sees.

  My fingers dig into the muscles of his shoulder. “Sorry, but I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

  “There’s always time for firsts,” he responds.

  I’d gut him before that ever happened. I thin my eyes as I study him. “And why would I do that? I’ve considered you my enemy all my life.”

  The king smiles at me, thoroughly enjoying himself. “I don’t really care about your personal problems.” He’s clearly warmed up to telling the truth.

  “I can’t imagine why you’ve been single this whole time,” I say sarcastically. The song we’re dancing to ends and a new one starts up.

  His lips quirk. “Why get married when there are so many beautiful women who already want to be with me?”

  I close my eyes and breathe through my nose. “Maybe you should go back to lying.”

  “Hmm,” he muses, eyeing me, “the lady doesn’t mind talking about destruction and death, but throw in a little sex and she gets demure.”

  My face flushes before I can help it, and the king chuckles. “My, my, have you never … ?” He gazes at me curiously. “How old are you?”

  Even through my burning cheeks I give him a nasty look. “Nineteen.”

  “Nineteen? And you’ve never been romantic? Did you just get out of an ugly phase?”

  Despite his offensive words, I flash him my first real smile of the evening. “I was too busy killing your men to bother with love.”

  Now he looks mad. It’s nice to know that the king might actually care about the death of his soldiers. “Watch your words,” he snaps.

  I decide to back off. If I anger King Lazuli too much, my father and I could easily find ourselves on the wrong end of a gun.

  He watches me, and I can practically see the anger flow away from his face, replaced with that predatory look I saw when I first locked eyes with him. “You were a soldier?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “But not anymore?”

  “I will always be a soldier,” I say, “but right now I fight with my tongue rather than my fists.”
/>
  He gives me a slow smile. “Perhaps we can put that tongue to other uses.”

  “Then perhaps I will resort to fighting with my fists.”

  “I welcome the challenge.” In his eyes is a promise that he’ll make good on.

  Tonight I’m sleeping with my gun.

  I rip my dress off and run my tongue over my teeth as soon as I enter my bedroom. The representatives knew. They knew there would be a chance that dolled up I might catch the king’s attention. Of course. All other tactics hadn’t worked with him. Everyone else came back in a body bag. Why not give it a shot and tempt the king with flesh? It was the oldest trick in the fucking book. And it worked.

  I tear the rest of the clothes off of my body and change into a pair of pajamas.

  “Serenity?” my father calls from the sitting room.

  “What?” I ask as I untuck my hair from my shirt. My voice is angry.

  He fills up the doorway to my room and takes me in. Neither of us needs to say anything—and we wouldn’t dare anyway, the room had to be bugged. But he doesn’t need to. His anguished expression tells me how he feels about our current situation.

  “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head.

  “Why did no one tell me?” Even as I say this, I wonder if that’s what had my father tense around the general when we left. He might’ve known then what I’d only just figured out.

  I can’t bring myself to be mad at him. We were all just pawns at this point.

  My father pinches the bridge of his nose. “It was never official. You’re a soldier and a future emissary. We wanted you to do what you do best—represent the WUN.”

  I read into what he can’t say under the king’s roof: acting was never my strength. I can barely hold my tongue; pretending to like the vilest man I know is beyond my abilities.

  “We should check in with General Kline right now,” he says.

  I nod, my hands balling into fists. “I’d love to talk with him.”

  “Serenity.” My father’s voice carries a warning.

  I sigh. “Let’s just get this over with.” I had a bad case of jetlag, and I wanted to get some sleep before tomorrow’s peace talks.

  I follow my father into his room, where his laptop rests on a side desk. I grab a nearby chair and pull it alongside my father’s.

  Once we’re situated in front of the computer, my father calls up the representatives. They answer almost immediately.

  “Ambassador Freeman and Serenity Freeman checking in,” my father says.

  On the other side of the screen I can see the bunker’s conference room and the representatives sitting around the table. Now that I’m here inside the king’s house, in this place filled with glittery objects and natural light, the conference room looks especially bleak.

  “Good to hear from you Carl,” the general says. “How’s it going?”

  My father’s eyes slide to mine. “Fine so far. Have you been watching the footage?”

  “Yes. Is Serenity there?”

  My father turns the laptop so that my face takes up the screen. “General Kline.” I nod to him.

  “Serenity, aside from that comment you made during your introductions, you seem to be doing well making the king’s acquaintance.”

  There are so many things that I want to shout at the general, none of which I can voice, one because he’s still the leader of my country, and two, because I have to assume we’re being recorded.

  So instead I say, “Surprised? I was too.” I lower my voice. “You’ve thrown me to the wolves, General.” That’s the closest thing I can come to the truth, that I’m here to persuade the king through more carnal means.

  “Serenity, nations rely on your actions. Now is not the time for weakness.” General Kline’s practically chastising me.

  My throat works. “He killed her.” My father reaches over and squeezes my shoulder, his subtle way of telling me to shut up, that I’ve said too much. But the king already knows what I’ve just spoken out loud—that I blame him for my mother’s death.

  “And you’ve killed mothers, fathers, sons and daughters. War has taken something from everyone, Serenity. We can end that. You can end that.”

  His words sober me up. He’s right, of course. The only difference between the king and I is that the king’s body count is much higher, and for most of his kills he never had to dirty his hands.

  My gaze moves from the general to his son who sits further down the table. “I’m sorry, Will,” I say. His face is too grainy to make out, but I’m sure the expression he wears is not a pleasant one.

  “There’s nothing to apologize for,” he says. “Negotiate an agreement and make it back here safely. That’s all I want.”

  My throat constricts and I nod. Now that the cat’s out of the bag, I know what I must do.

  I’m going to have to charm the king into giving the WUN what it needs.

  Chapter 6

  Serenity

  Five years ago my father and I moved into the bunker. By that time we were in a full-scale war with the eastern hemisphere, and the king had started picking off those political leaders not already dead. Located several miles outside of D.C., the bunker was an asylum for what was left of our government officials and their families.

  It also offered some measureable protection against the high radiation levels caused by the nuclear blasts. Not that it mattered. The radiation was in the water, in the earth and the food supply. We’d lived with it long enough; the damage was already done.

  The day my father and I moved in, when I first saw the beds that lined a single room, my chest tightened. I realized that the world I thought I knew had been gone for a while now and somewhere along the way people had become synonymous with threat.

  My wariness eventually wore off, and my next reaction was excitement. I might make friends. I had to dust that word off; I’d shelved it from my vocabulary for so long.

  The bunker, however, came with its own sacrifices. No natural light filtered into our new home, and I had once been a self-proclaimed child of the sun. An unpleasant schedule came to rule my days. And social interactions were difficult to maneuver; I found I was way more skilled at making enemies than I was friends.

  Still, I was safe, surrounded by people that didn’t antagonize me, and I had reliable food and shelter. For the first time in a long time, I felt hopeful.

  “I hate dresses,” I mumble as one of my guards zips me up.

  He snickers.

  “Shut up. It’s not funny.” I can’t breathe in this thing.

  “Freeman in a dress? Hell yeah it is,” my guard says.

  I throw him a look just as Marco knocks on the door to our suite.

  The guard squeezes my shoulder. “Own those negotiations,” he whispers.

  I leave my room as my father opens the door. “Morning Marco,” he says, grabbing his briefcase.

  Marco nods to him. “Ready to go?”

  My father looks over to where I stand.

  “I’m ready,” I say, now that my wispy dress is on. I glance back at my room. My gun lies underneath the pillows on my bed. It’s hard to walk into the peace talks in my flimsy outfit without my usual protection.

  “’Kay, then let’s do this,” my father says.

  We follow Marco out into the hall, our guards shadowing us. At least they are allowed to carry holstered weapons. I’ve seen most of them in action, so I trust their skills.

  We move to the other end of the king’s mansion, where the negotiations are to take place. I fist my hands in the black folds of my dress. I’ve learned a lot about diplomacy from my father, but I’ve never been able to apply any of my lessons. I know how negotiations with an enemy state work in theory, but not in practice, and I fear that something I say or do might cause irreversible d
amage.

  I can identify the conference room from all the way down the hall. Cameramen and film crews cluster around the door. Flashes of light are already going off, which makes me think that the king must have arrived before us.

  My heart pounds a little faster at the thought. Last night felt like we danced on the edge of a knife. One wrong move and I’d cut myself.

  Despite the obvious danger that comes from dealing with the king, yesterday he hadn’t struck me as particularly … evil. Nor, for that matter, did he seem immortal, though he did appear to be younger than his true age. If I had to guess, I’d say the king is in his mid thirties. King Lazuli, however, has been conquering countries for nearly thirty years.

  My thoughts are interrupted by a flash of light, and then the camera crews are on us, snapping shots and filming our entrance.

  Unlike the conference room back in the bunker, this one is full of light and gilded surfaces. It is a room that a king does business in, and the sight of it reminds me all over again just why I despise the man who rules over half the world.

  King Lazuli waits for us inside the room. His eyes find mine almost immediately. Once they do, they don’t bother looking away.

  In that moment I can feel in my bones that my father and I are merely toys here for the king’s entertainment. Nothing more. We have no real power, so the king is allowed the luxury of gazing at the emissary’s daughter and ignoring everyone else in the room.

  I can still see flashes of light from my peripherals, but my attention focuses on the table. Someone’s set placards in front of each seat. I look for my name, not surprised to find it placed next to the king’s chair.

  “How … convenient,” I murmur quietly as I pass him.

  King Lazuli pulls out my chair and leans in. “Convenient—yes, I do believe that word sums up our relationship.”

  I didn’t notice it last night, but there’s a subtle lilt to his words. English is not his first language. I wonder what is.