I sob harder into the soldier’s chest as the events replay over and over through my mind. I feel anger, pain, regret, and pity. Gruesome images play alongside sweet memories. I’m being torn apart and restitched into something awful.

“Shhh, it’s going to be alright,” he says.

But it won’t be. Not ever.

Chapter 11

Serenity

I stand in front of the jet’s staircase. The engines are still slowing down, and the pilot won’t let me exit the aircraft until they come to a complete stop. It’s a comical precaution in light of all I’ve been through in the last twenty-four hours.

Outside I can hear the crowd of WUN citizens waiting. Whereas my send off had been rushed and private, my arrival looks to be a bit more public and celebratory. The crowd sounds excited, but it’s unclear what they know. Do they think a peace agreement has been reached? Do they know one was never signed? Do they know my father is dead?

I glance down at my blood-soaked body. The men I was with wouldn’t let me and the other soldiers change or wash off. The world would need proof of what occurred in Geneva for the story to be as believable as possible.

And what then? Even if the image of me covered in blood sparked one last great push to fight against the king, we are doomed to lose the war.

The pilot’s attendant shoos me away from the door so she can lower the staircase. My heart pounds in my chest. I know I’m about to cause a riot, and I’ll be expected to talk. After all, I am now the WUN’s emissary. The thought has me choking back a sob.

The attendant clears her throat to get my attention. I can tell she doesn’t want to touch me—not that I blame her. “Whenever you’re ready, you can go.”

I look behind me at the three WUN soldiers, all that’s left of our original entourage. Just like me, they are still covered with gore.

The soldier who comforted me hours ago now nods to me. I take a breath and walk out of the jet.

I screamed and cried my last tears several hours ago. I’ve got a good hour or two of respite before the grief swallows me up all over again.

Now is not the time for weakness. Now is the time to show my strength. So I square my shoulders; I need to send the message that I am not scared. If the king is my country’s worst nightmare, I’ll be his.

I step into the doorway and stare out at the crowd that waits. Once people catch a glimpse of me, they go quiet. The posters some hold wilt in their hands. Whatever their expectations were, it’s clear that this is not it.

I descend down the stairs and touch my country’s soil for the first time since I left. It’s the first time I’ve ever set foot in my homeland without my father.

People holding cameras rush at me. I already knew this would happen. The woman locking lips with the king two nights ago is now covered in dried blood; this is as sensational as it gets.

My eyes find the representatives. They’re all here, along with Will. They’ve decided to temporarily lift their safety precautions and leave the bunker all to welcome my father and me back.

I breathe heavily through my nose and walk to them, ignoring the WUN soldiers holding the crowd at bay and the ancient-looking cameras that follow my every movement.

I’m not a part of this moment; I’m seeing this all through a long, dark tunnel. The representatives’ stoic expressions, the horrified screams of the crowd, which are now mixing with the increasing cheers by those who thirst for enemy blood.

Will looks shell-shocked. I can’t get over how strange the sight is when he’s usually so unruffled.

The general pushes his way to me. “What happened?” His brows are furrowed, and his nostrils flare. He can smell the death on me.

I lean in to him. “I’m only going to retell the story once,” I say. “If you want this to go down in WUN history, you’re going to have to give me a microphone and make a show of it.”

He looks me over, his face grim, and he nods to the side. “We already have a makeshift stage ready.” I glance to where he indicates. Sure enough, there’s a small podium set up, probably meant for my father. But now it’s there for me.

“Are you sure you want to record this?” the general asks. “It could be used against you once the war is over.”

“I will be killed for my crimes, regardless,” I say. This is the sick truth I’ve known since I could think properly on the flight over. There’s no other alternative for what I’ve done.

The general stares at me for a long moment; I can see the morbid curiosity behind his eyes. “This footage is not going to appear to the public until we’ve okay-ed it—if we okay it,” the general says.

“I understand.” I approach the stage with the general at my side. Will appears on my other side, hovering but not touching me. I can see his concern etched into his crinkled brow. Underneath it I see fear, but I can’t tell if it’s fear for me or fear of me.

When the crowd sees what I’m doing, they creep closer to the stage.

I stop when I reach the podium. The microphone—probably one of the few still in existence on this side of the world—is angled for someone much taller than me—my father. That’s why the king’s men shot him in the head—because he was that much taller than everyone else.

I try to blink away the memory of my father cradled in my arms, but when I look down, I see his blood—now dried—still discoloring the skin of my forearms.

The crowd is staring; everyone’s waiting for me. Time to get this over with.

I take the microphone from where it rests. “Over a dozen men and women of the WUN left for Geneva—only four of us have returned.” I pause to collect myself. “This blood,” I hold out my arm, “is the blood of my father, who was shot before my eyes because he would not agree to the king’s peace treaty. We know this is how the king deals with dissension.

“This is also the blood of our fallen soldiers, who died trying to help me escape.” I pace the stage. “And it is the blood of my enemies, whom I killed when they tried to capture me.”

The crowd roars. Without meaning to, I’ve worked them up into some kind of frenzy.

Fatigue sets in. I haven’t eaten or slept since we fled. “I want peace, and I was willing to pay the highest price—my own freedom.” The crowd quiets. “If you watched the negotiations, then you saw me with the king. You saw me kiss the king. You saw a traitorous woman doing what traitorous women always do, right?” There are uncomfortable murmurs in the crowd.