The Queen of Traitors (The Fallen World Book 2) Page 5

  In the halls, men and women pass by, and they’re just as ridiculous as the rest of this place. The people here wear fabrics with fine names I doubt, even if I could remember, I’d know.

  Their outfits are intricate things that come in colors brighter than I knew existed, and each one is paired with decorative medals and sabers or ropes of jewels wrapped around necks and wrists. Their hair’s too coiffed, their teeth too white, their skin too stretched, their bodies too soft.

  It all looks so luxurious and impossibly fake.

  I don’t belong here.

  The king must see my lingering attention on the people who side-eye me. He leans in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “None of them are as beautiful as you, nire bihotza.”

  I scowl at him. “I don’t care about your standards of beauty.”

  If anything, it annoys me. These men and women bask in the opulence of it. But how many lives has this lifestyle cost?

  The king’s gaze tracks my movements, and I wonder if I’m one of the lives it’s claimed.

  I suspect I am.

  In the brief silence between us, a dizzying number of questions bloom. It’s amazing how many a girl with only a few days of memory can have. I want to know more about who the king is, who I am, who my enemies are, why wrong seems right and right seems wrong. Most of all, I want to know how I’ve been bent and twisted into this person that seems to hate and be hated so fiercely by everyone, save the king.

  “Why did you marry me?” I ask as we leave the king’s grand ballroom. I won’t even touch on the ridiculousness of a room dedicated to nothing but dancing.

  “Ssssh. I’ll answer your questions soon enough. Let me enjoy the last few minutes before you hate me again.”

  I know his words are meant to grate, but I doubt he realizes how ominous I find them. What would it take for a woman like me to hate him?

  “When I was a prisoner, they told me you killed my family,” I say.

  “They told you that?”

  “They told me many things. Is it true?”

  His features are guarded. “You’ll know soon enough.”

  And I do.

  We’re in the palace gardens when it hits.

  I stumble, reaching out for the king—Montes. After the bits and pieces I received inside the palace, I assumed the rest of my memories would subtly surface. I didn’t imagine this.

  This is a barrage of enemy fire. It rips through me suddenly and violently.

  Montes’s arms lock around my torso as I gasp, my messy golden hair dangling around me.

  Every memory feels like an epiphany, and I can’t possibly describe the euphoria that comes with each. Life is a series of experiences that stack, one on top of the other.

  I see my mother and my father—the man from my first recalled memory now has an identity! I see bikes with training wheels. Suburbia. My parents hold my hands and, on the count of three, they swing me. There are candles and birthdays and mentions of war breaking out in Europe.

  There are chalk drawings and games of tag with the kids on my street—some I’ve known for ages, some who are part of the recent influx of immigrants. Nail polish and days out with my mother while my father buries himself in work. My childhood crush that lives down the street.

  The act of remembering is magic; I get to live a little of my life all over again.

  And then …

  And then, somewhere along the way, they turn.

  For every ray of light each happy memory casts, there is a much darker shadow.

  I moan as I hear phantom explosions. I see blood spray. This dark past is sucking me under.

  I step out of the king’s embrace and hold my head. “No, no, no.”

  One bad memory follows the last. My mom’s broken neck, soldiers with glassy eyes. The first four men I killed—my friends watch me with wary eyes after that. A bomb that takes over the sky and hides the sun. My city, my home, my childhood crush and everyone else is obliterated in a single blast.

  Then, radiation, everywhere. In the food, the water, our bodies. Civilizations swiftly fell into depravity when the last pillar of humanity gave out.

  My father’s body cradled in my arms.

  I feel the loss all over again. Fresh. New. As though in this moment I lose my mother, my father, my land, my freedom all at once.

  Through it all is a single face, the answer to all my anger and anguish.

  Montes Lazuli.

  The king did this. I blink back tears. He did this and now I’m his. Bound to the root of the evil I tried so hard to stop. It’s almost unfathomable. There is no fairness in the world. There is no kindness.

  A sick feeling twists my gut. I’ve laid with the king. I’ve let him into my body. Worse, I’ve let him into my heart.

  I only have a moment to register that I’m going to be sick before I begin to heave. But there’s nothing left in my empty stomach to purge. The queasiness doesn’t abate.

  “Serenity!” Montes’s voice cuts through, and it’s so concerned. I jerk myself away from the monster.

  More memories force their way through and I press my palms into my eyes. I scream as bloody, broken bodies flood my mind. And behind it all, the kind’s white, white smile. I want to smash it in and not stop until those teeth rip up my knuckles and fall out of his mouth. I let out a sob because I like the very smile I also detest.

  It’s the face behind every nightmare I’ve ever had, and the face that awakened my heart. It’s ripping, bleeding. This shouldn’t be the way of things, hating and loving something at the same time.

  But it’s not enough for my mind to end there. I feel the squeeze of my heart as a memory of the king holding me sneaks its way in. Another of his fearful expression when he learned of my cancer. The unguarded face he wore when nothing separated us. And through it all I see his eyes, filled with a bottomless reservoir of emotions reserved for me.

  The heartless king has found his heart after all. It rests beneath my ribcage. God save me, he swapped mine for his when I wasn’t looking. And now we’re stuck—me with the weight of his death count, him with the guilt of my suffering.

  Flesh and bone aren’t meant to contain all this. The mind shouldn’t stay sane when the world’s fallen to chaos, and love shouldn’t be able to grow in the wastelands of our consciences.

  But, God save us all, it does.

  It does.

  Chapter 7

  Serenity

  It’s over. For now.

  But it isn’t, because I have to live with a past I might’ve been better off forgetting. My memories are horrifying. I’m a woman remade—but into this thing.

  I’d asked myself what kind of person married the king. Now I know. Now, I know.

  I straighten, drawing in a ragged breath, my hand just above my stomach.

  The world around me sharpens. The green hedges that rise up all around us, the cyan sky beyond, the marble statue of a woman holding her loose robes against her body.

  “Serenity.”

  I focus on the voice. Montes stands in front of me, his brows pinched together. For once he doesn’t appear overconfident. He reaches out for me, but lets his hand drop.

  What feral expression must I be wearing to scare him off?

  “What do you remember?” he asks.

  “That I hate you.” A hate so deep and vast that it’s blackened my soul. Even now I fight the urge to lunge at him and make good my age-old vendetta.

  “Ah, yes,” he says, sliding his hands into his slacks, unaware of how close I am to snapping. “I’m well acquainted with your hate.” He’s not even fazed.

  We’ve done this before. Traded words like we’ve traded wounds. That puts me at a disadvantage because I have more memories to unearth, and he knows how to handle me. />
  I don’t like to be handled.

  Montes doesn’t remove his hands from his pockets, but he does extend the crook of his arm towards me, like I’m some kind of lady.

  I dropped that ruse the moment my father died in my arms.

  I’m about to reject him when I notice our audience. People have planted themselves everywhere—at windows, on benches, strolling by. They act as though they’re not transfixed by us.

  I have a duty to uphold. I married the king to save my land. My hate is a vulnerability, one the Resistance preyed upon when they took me. I can’t let these people see it. The king and I have many, many battles ahead of us, and our relationship is the least of them.

  The world’s still in turmoil and the king—the ruler of it all—has used fear to win his subjects over. I know quite a bit about fear. It pulls people into line, but it also draws in the predators. The moment he shows weakness, they’ll attack.

  I can’t let that happen, even now when I’d like to see him suffer. So I take his arm and let him lead me away like I’m a frail, dainty thing. All the while, I flash hard looks at those that catch my eye.

  For I, too, am something to fear.

  “Do I finally have my Serenity back?” the king asks, leaning his head towards mine.

  “I am not yours.”

  “You are.”

  “No.”

  He stops us in front of a bubbling fountain, our audience still pretending not to watch.

  His hand glides out of his pocket and captures my arm, reeling me in. “Yes, you are,” he breathes. He brushes a lock of hair from my face. “Hello, Serenity.”

  “Let me go.” I give his hold the barest of tugs, aware of the eyes on us.

  “I’m glad to have you back.” He smiles at me, and it’s almost too much. “I missed you and your anger.”

  I narrow my eyes on him. “I never left.”

  “You did, and now you’re back, and I want a kiss.”

  I look at him like he’s mad—he is mad. I’m still trying to get over the fact that I have to kiss him at all, and now he wants me to freely give him affection amongst an audience?

  Up until now, I’ve been careful dolling out my affection. That won’t change today.

  He must see that I’m not going to give in because before I have a chance to respond, his lips descend on mine and he takes matters into his own hands.

  This is something else that the king does—he seizes what’s not freely given. You could say it’s a strength of his.

  And now it’s a kiss.

  None of my memories could’ve prepared me for the sensation of being enveloped by the king. I taste him and breathe him in through my nose. How I’d forgotten his scent. It’s unnamable, but I enjoy it nearly as much as the glide of his lips. Lips that took something that wasn’t his.

  I bite his lower lip. That only serves to ratchet up his hunger. His hands secure me closer to him, and he unleashes more passion, his tongue sliding over mine.

  Montes’s hands knead into my skin, coaxing me to give in further. If he had it his way, he’d probably strip me bare, ravish me here in the gardens, and then order everyone who saw us killed.

  Like I said, he’s good at instilling fear.

  Someone whistles, and then I hear clapping. I break away from him at the sound, and he flashes me a triumphant grin.

  The crowd continues to cheer, praising the king for what? His vigor? The ease with which he commands everyone, even his wife? That he’s human enough to enjoy a kiss?

  My money’s on that last one.

  Montes tucks me under his arm, and with a parting wave to the crowd, leads me back inside his palace.

  We’re still not alone here, but I’ve burned up the last of my patience. There’s appearing weak to the outside world and then there’s appearing weak to yourself.

  I push his arm off of me and stride away. I’ve only taken a few steps when I realize this is yet another palace of his that I don’t recognize. I know that I still have some memories left to remember, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never been here before, regardless.

  “Where, exactly, are you planning on going?” Montes asks. I can hear the smirk in his voice.

  “It doesn’t matter so long as it’s away from you.” I can’t do this with Montes right now. Not with all those memories so fresh. Even now they crowd my mind. The dead want vindication, and I can’t deliver it.

  “You have to kill him, Serenity.” It’s just an echo of a memory, but the voice and the vehemence of the words has me placing a shaky hand on a side table.

  “You work for the king; you can’t say things like that anymore,” I whispered.

  “No one man should have that much power,” Will said.

  “And what happens once he’s dead, huh?” I asked. “They’ll kill me too.”

  I finally remember Will, General Kline’s son. We’d been friends, but something happened … something I still haven’t recalled. Now having had a taste of my memories, I dread that one.

  The last remnant of memory echoes through me.

  Perhaps I will be the WUN’s Trojan horse. Perhaps I will kill the king.

  I rotate to face Montes. I’d planned on killing him. Me, the dying girl, thought she could execute the immortal king.

  “I wanted to see you die,” I murmur. I don’t know why I say it.

  Montes flicks a glance at the people that linger in this area of the palace. “Leave us.”

  The servants and an aging couple vacate the room. The guards hesitate.

  “Unless you’d like to be relieved of your duties,” the king says, “I’d suggest you do as I say—and tell the men we are not to be disturbed under any circumstances.”

  Reluctantly, the guards leave. I see them eye me as they do so.

  Once the room’s emptied out, the king returns his attention to me. “You were saying?”

  Not for the first time, I’m taken aback by this man. If his goal was to unsettle me, he’s accomplished that.

  “You’ve already forgotten? And here I thought I was the one with the memory loss.”

  “You wanted to watch me die,” he says.

  “Yes.” Admitting this is high treason. Should he feel so inclined, the king could have me killed. It doesn’t stop me from continuing on. “I wanted to be the one who killed you.”

  “And would you?”

  My skin’s crawling. I remember the horror of my situation as though it befell me yesterday. “Yes.”

  Montes strides forward much faster than I back up. I hate it that I can’t help but flee this man. Maybe once all my memories return, I will wear them like armor so that he cannot get under my skin. But right now my emotions are raw, and I feel everything—my intense hatred for him, my budding feelings.

  He corners me against the wall, and then there’s no escaping him.

  “You can’t kill me,” he says, and in this moment he looks every bit as unnatural as he claims to be.

  “Can’t I though?” I say, peering up at him. “You bleed the same as every other man.”

  He slides a leg between mine. “This isn’t about my immortality. It never was. See,” he tips my chin up, “I don’t think you would kill me. I think you like me too much.”

  “Ask me that again when I’m armed, Montes.”

  “That won’t change anything, lonely girl.” He rubs my lower lip with his thumb. I swat his hand away, and he smiles.

  “I’m all you have left,” he says. “Your family is gone. The last of your people gave you up.”

  My hand strikes him before I even think twice about it. The slap snaps his head to the side. Already I can see the beginnings of my handprint forming.

  It’s not enough.

  “You are the reason my fam
ily is gone,” I say. “You are the reason I’m here. You forced everyone’s hand and I will never, ever let you forget it.”

  He rubs his jaw and his cheek. “And you think that bothers me?”

  His mouth lies, but his eyes don’t. I’m starting to think that some of the things he’s done do in fact weigh on his conscience.

  The king leans in close. “If you wanted to scare me off, you went about it the wrong way.” His breath brushes against my cheek and chin. “I love your anger and your hate, and I have many regrets, but marrying you is not one of them.”

  I’m glaring at him. I try to move, but his body pins mine to the wall. His lips skim my jaw, heading for my mouth. I turn my head away from him.

  He places a kiss at the corner of my lips. “And if you think your reluctance will stop me, then you’ve read me wrong.”

  I have read him wrong, but not in the way he thinks. My mind needs him to be wholly evil, and he’s not, and my spirit does not have the iron will that it should to keep him at bay. Even now, I react to his nearness. I want more of him, and that shames me. It is one thing to enjoy the mechanics of sex, another to enjoy this—our power plays, our magnetism.

  He steps away. “I have something for you.”

  I straighten. “I don’t want anything from you, Montes.”

  “Not true. You want many things from me; my body, my power—”

  “Your head.”

  “Between your thighs,” he finishes.

  A flush crawls up my neck. It would help not to get embarrassed about this.

  “On a stake,” I amend.

  He clucks his tongue. “I thought you said you didn’t want anything from me.”

  I’m at a momentary loss for words, and that’s precisely when he strikes. He takes my hand and drags me out of the room.

  I would fight him, but a million different memories crowd my mind. I haven’t had time to process the multitude of them, but now I do.