The king steps closer to me. “I never ordered your father to be killed.”

His words are a slap in the face. Still, “It’s too little too late, Montes.”

“No, it’s not. The war is over.”

“Ours isn’t.”

He works his jaw. “The wedding is at the end of the week,” he says. “It’s happening whether you want it to or not.”

I slam my hand down on the bedside table next to me. “Goddamnit, Montes, you can’t control everything—that’s not how the world works.”

“It’s how my world works.”

“And that’s why you’re going to end up alone.” Preferably under six feet of soil.

“You need to learn about forgiveness.”

I flash him a vicious smile. “Or else what? You’ll kill me? Your threats hold no power over me. I’ve already lost everything I care about.”

“Or else you’ll never be happy,” he says.

“I wouldn’t recognize happiness if it stood right in front of me,” I say.

“Clearly,” the king says.

I narrow my eyes at him as he walks to the door. He pauses when he grabs the handle. “We’re announcing the end of the war and the wedding this evening,” he says. “A lot rests on how convincing you are. So if you don’t know what happy is, I’d suggest you learn to fake it fast.”

I don’t know what day it is, or what time it is, and I can’t decide if I am jet lagged, or if my tiredness stems from my emotional and physical exhaustion. I stay in the room the king left me in. For all I know, I’m on some sort of house arrest.

Not that I mind. A servant comes in several hours after the king left, bearing food. I try to eat some and vomit it back up. I’ve gone too long without eating.

It’s as I flush the toilet and clean myself up that I realize I want to live. In spite of the wedding, in spite of my father’s death, in spite of every other fucked-up part of my life, I’m not ready to fold my hand. So I walk back to my food and eat it agonizingly slow, taking long breaks between bites to let my stomach settle.

I take a shower, and for once I let myself enjoy the way the water pelts my skin and force myself not to feel guilty that so many others don’t have this luxury. I am in the unique position to change that—to change the entire world if I so desire. I am going to be the king’s wife. The queen. Now that I’ve stopped running from the idea, I realize the doors it opens.

Chapter 14

Serenity

Miserable. I am absolutely miserable.

“Emerald green or orchid pink?” my wardrobe manager—wardrobe manager—asks me, holding up each dress.

“Neither.”

She nods absently, as if that is the conclusion she’s come to as well. “Yes, these colors are too casual—we want something that’s hopeful yet regal.” She stares at me for a beat, and then her eyes widen and she snaps her fingers.

I’m in the ninth circle of hell.

“I just had a thought. I’ll be right back!”

“Can’t wait,” I mutter.

The hairstylist standing behind me yanks my hair, and my head snaps back. “Ow!”

“S-sorry, My Lady,” the woman stammers. She sounds frightened, and she has good reason to be. I’m already rethinking this whole will-to-live bit if it includes being manhandled.

“Don’t call me that,” I growl out.

She nods her head and bites the inside of her cheek.

I’m being too abrasive, as usual. This is why friendship never came easily to me.

I reach up and place a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry,” I say, gentler this time, “I’m just not used to people touching me.” Or caring about my appearance at all.

In fact, over the last few hours I’ve repeatedly fantasized about grabbing my father’s gun and ending all our lives. And then I’d remember that my gun was confiscated. Probably for the best.

My wardrobe manager comes waddling back into the bathroom with a shimmery golden dress draped over her arms. “Is it not perfect?” she says, holding the thing up so I can get a good look at it.

The thing is absolutely hideous; all that gold is giving me a headache. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t be caught dead in the garment, but the same could be said for any dress I’ve crossed paths with. At this point, the sooner I agree to wear a dress, the sooner this will be over.

“There are no words,” I say.

The wardrobe manager flashes me an eager smile. “I was hoping you’d say that. The king’s going to have a hard time keeping his hands off you once he sees you in this.”

I manage a weak smile. “Lucky me.”

Shortly after I’ve finished getting ready and my stylists have slipped out the door, I hear a knock. I grab the handle and open the door. On the other side King Lazuli waits.

His eyes widen when he sees me, and I watch as they slowly drink me in. When his gaze makes its way to my face, his eyes change from something hungry to something regretful. I recoil at the sight, and he pretends he didn’t notice my reaction. We just managed to have an entire conversation solely based on body language.

“What, no guards?” I ask, noticing that he came to my room alone. It isn’t the first time either. Earlier this morning he came alone as well, which means despite all he’s done to me, there’s a level of trust there. That, or he really can’t be killed.

He takes my hand and kisses it. When he returns it to my side he says, “I hope you’ve been practicing how to pretend to be happy.”

“Your beloved empire will be fine. I can be convincing when I want to be.”

The king’s eyes search mine. “I know.”

He places his hand on my lower back, and I suppress a shiver. I’m not supposed to feel like this. I’m not supposed to react to his touch after everything.

“Ready?”

I take a breath and nod. “Let’s do this.”

The king leads me through his palace. This place is different from his mansion in Geneva. Both are grand and feel like stuffy royalty, but the king’s palace here is larger and it seems more lived in than his other house. But like the mansion in Geneva, the floor plan here is hopelessly confusing.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“In the hallway,” the king says.