I don’t get a chance to ask what retroreflective material is before the side of the skyscraper explodes into flame, rows of windows and debris scattered to the four winds. Plumes of dark smoke bloom almost immediately.

The footage is time lapsed, and the next frame shows the building still smoldering, a dark halo of ash and dust enveloping it. We watch this for about thirty seconds.

And then, somewhere in the middle of it, the building begins to fall.

I don’t breathe as I watch the world’s tallest building collapse onto itself. It happens in a matter of seconds, one story after the next swallowed up by gravity and rubble-filled smoke. Somewhere in the middle of it all, I feel a tear slip out of my eye. It’s the atomic bomb all over again. Destruction so vast and so terrible that my very bones ache for humanity.

And then it’s over, and I know that within those few seconds, thousands upon thousands of people died. I can hear the observers’ screams through the speakers. And though their language is different, and though I’ve never set foot onto their land and never walked the earth during their lifetimes, I ache for them.

At some point, we are all the same.

“That’s enough,” Montes says.

The screen shuts off.

I feel my dark king at my back.

“Are you ready?” he asks me.

I turn and take him in. His eyes aren’t giving away his mood. But he must feel it, this smoldering anger that burns at the sight of so much carnage.

Behind him the officers wear grim expressions.

I nod to all of them. “Let’s end this.”

The plane we board has all the accoutrements I remember. Plush central seating, a bedroom, and a conference table, each sectioned off into separate segments of the cabin.

A dozen men board along with us, one of them Marco. He catches my eye and gives me a tiny, playful wave.

I thin my eyes in response. Divine intervention better strike this plane. That’s the only way Marco will leave it unscathed.

“Play nice,” Montes whispers in my ear.

“I’m not nice, my king,” I say disparagingly.

“Well, you’re going to have to learn how to be. Marco is my right-hand.”

“He can just get used to me.” I am, after all, the queen. The title has got to be good for something.

Montes flashes the man in question a penetrating look. “I think he’s all too ready to do that,” he says, his lips thinning.

Before I’m able to respond, he begins to herd me to the back room. I catch sight of Marco once again, and he watches us, his eyes filled with some emotion I cannot place.

“What are you doing?” I say, reluctantly moving towards the small bedroom.

As soon as we both cross the threshold, Montes slams the door shut. “Getting you alone.”

I bump into the bed, and now I think I have an idea of where the king’s mind is at. I can still hear the muffled conversations of Montes’s men as they get settled.

“If you think—”

He cuts me off with a kiss, holding my face hostage as he does so. It’s long and drawn out, and I know he’s making a point, especially when he backs us up until we both collapse onto the mattress, my body pinned beneath his.

Only then does he release my mouth. “That is not why I brought you in here, though I would enjoy fucking you senseless …”

“Montes.” I’m still so pissed off at him after last night. Kissing me only serves to make my anger burn hotter.

“Do you trust me?” he asks. He has me trapped beneath him.

How does he expect me to answer?

“No, not with most things.”

“And should I trust you?” he asks, his face just inches from my own.

“Not with most things,” I repeat softly.

“Can you trust that I want to keep you alive?” he asks.

If there is ever one thing I can be sure of, it’s Montes’s obsession with my life.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he says. “We’re going to dangerous places, and there will be people who want you dead. So you understand my concern.” He doesn’t release me. Instead he threads his fingers through my own. “You are not going in there unarmed.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You’re giving me a gun?”

“Can I trust you not to shoot me with it?”

“No.” I need some target practice anyway.

He sighs, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes. “If you shoot me, there will be very severe repercussions.”

“I’m quaking,” I say, but I’m excited. I feel naked walking around without my weapons. Being raised on violence has taught me to always be prepared.

Montes releases me and pushes off the bed. He heads to an overhead compartment. Opening it, he pulls out a box. I hear something heavy slide inside it.

A gun.

I stand, my hands itching to touch the heavy metal.

He turns, cradling the box. “Don’t make me regret this, Serenity.”

I meet his eyes. “You won’t.” You will.

When he hands me the flimsy packaging, I sit down on the edge of the mattress, opening the lid carefully.

Nestled inside is not one gun, but two, each tucked into a belted holster. I recognize one of them immediately.

“It’s over a hundred years old, Serenity. The thing jams fairly often.”

I run my fingers over my father’s gun. So it’s not reliable. But Montes would only know that if …

When I look up at him questioningly, he watches me, arms folded.