The Queen of All that Dies
Page 14
I lean in close to the screen. “You want me to use my womanly wiles to secure a favorable peace agreement? That’s exactly what I’m doing,” I say. “Let me do my job.” The truth is that I’m not trying to play hard to get—I don’t know the first thing about attraction. I simply can’t stand the thought of being close to the king right now.
The following morning I’m back in the conference room, sitting across from my father while we wait for the king.
The king pushes open the conference room doors. He holds onto two documents; one he drops in front of my father, the other he drops in front of me.
He leans in next to my ear. “I expect to see you in my room, tonight,” he whispers.
I stiffen, watching him as he takes a seat next to me. His leg brushes against mine, and I flinch from the contact. Across from me my father’s eyes move between the two of us.
“Here is a revised peace treaty that has been adjusted based on yesterday’s discussions,” the king says.
My father and I flip through the document, and I can’t help the way my hands shake, crinkling the paper. I already know what I’m going to find before I read it.
“Medical relief?” My father says, looking up from the document in front of him. His voice carries both confusion and hope.
“Serenity happens to be very persuasive,” the king says, glancing at me. My stomach clenches at his heated look. I try to tell myself that I’m merely nauseous at the thought of what’s coming tonight. But it’s more than just that. It’s that in some dark corner of my mind, the thought of being alone with the king excites me.
I close my eyes and breathe in and out. When I open them, my father’s gaze rests on mine for a moment. Just long enough for me to read the sheer panic in his own.
“You don’t have to do it, Serenity,” my father says. He’s sitting on a side chair in my room, his hands clasped so tightly together that his knuckles are a bluish white color. I’m flipping through the dresses I temporarily own.
“Dad,” I throw him a glance, “you and I both know that’s not an option.” There’s no telling what the king would do if I backed out after he’d held up his end.
My father scrubs his face and pushes himself out of the chair. “Come here,” he says, opening his arms.
I stop rifling through my clothes to look at him. His face is weary—old. And as he stands there with open arms, I realize that he might need my comfort more than I need his.
I walk into his embrace and he envelops me in a hug. He speaks into my hair. “I’m not okay with this.” His hold on me tightens. “I’ve been ordered—” My father’s voice catches. “I’ve been ordered to let this happen.”
“I know.” I’d assumed as much. The general is the mastermind behind this idiotic plan. It doesn’t matter how much my father disagrees with it, if General Kline ordered it, he’s duty bound to follow through. As am I.
He holds me for a long time, and I’m hesitant to pull away before he does. I’m afraid of what I’ll see on his face.
“You’ll never know how proud I am of you.”
I give a humorless laugh. “There’s nothing honorable about what I’m doing.”
My dad draws back to look at me. If he cried while he held me, all traces of his tears are gone. “Your life has never been easy, Serenity. The world has always demanded something from you—war is a series of hard choices—but you haven’t let it break you. Not even now, when this is being asked of you. No father could be prouder of his daughter.”
I blink back tears and swallow. “Thank you,” I say quietly.
This evening, when Marco knocks on our suite’s door, I’m armed for battle. I have a plan that will keep the monster at bay.
I open the door. “The king requests—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I say. “Let’s go.” I push past Marco. The guards won’t come with me tonight, not for this sort of thing.
Marco jogs up to me. “You’re going the wrong way Miss Freeman,” he says, catching my arm and spinning me around.
“Oh.” I let him lead me in the opposite direction, and I smooth down the fabric of the lacey plum colored dress I wear. For the millionth time I wish I was wearing my fatigues. The tight bodice and high heels limit my movement.
We tread down the halls, and I memorize every twist and turn Marco makes. I’ll need to since I doubt the king will escort me back to my room before he gets what he wants.
Every so often someone passes by me in the hallways. Their eyes dart to mine, then away. I sometimes receive this reaction from people who notice my scar. Tonight, however, I wonder if this has more to do with the filmed negotiations. I never considered the fact that people might recognize me once the footage hit the Internet, but they must.
Marco and I climb a set of stairs and turn down a hall. I can tell we’re nearing the king’s private rooms. There’s a stillness about my surroundings that the rest of the mansion lacks.
I follow Marco up to a door and wait while he knocks. A servant opens the door and ushers us in. A quick glance around the room tells me that this is a private dining room. The lights have been dimmed, and a small round table has been set for two.
Romantic. I believe that’s how one would describe the setting. Unease gathers in the pit of my stomach.
The king steps into the room from some side chamber, fiddling with a cufflink of his suit. When he catches my eye, I see him pause. His eyes move over me, his gaze searing. I can tell he doesn’t want to simply have his way with me, and that realization surprises me.
“Thank you, Marco,” the king says, “you may go now.”
Marco inclines his head and backs away. I watch him leave us. Only once the door clicks shut, do I turn to face the king.
He’s studying me. “Are you happy?”
“About what?” I ask.
“Your precious medical relief.”
“I’ll be happy once I see the finished peace agreement with the medical relief included. Until then, I remain skeptical.” The king could always withdraw that clause of the treaty once he gets what he wants from me. That’s why I’m going to have to make sure he doesn’t.
“You don’t trust me?”
I guffaw. “I don’t have the luxury. In my world trust will land you a knife in your back and an early grave.”
The following morning I’m back in the conference room, sitting across from my father while we wait for the king.
The king pushes open the conference room doors. He holds onto two documents; one he drops in front of my father, the other he drops in front of me.
He leans in next to my ear. “I expect to see you in my room, tonight,” he whispers.
I stiffen, watching him as he takes a seat next to me. His leg brushes against mine, and I flinch from the contact. Across from me my father’s eyes move between the two of us.
“Here is a revised peace treaty that has been adjusted based on yesterday’s discussions,” the king says.
My father and I flip through the document, and I can’t help the way my hands shake, crinkling the paper. I already know what I’m going to find before I read it.
“Medical relief?” My father says, looking up from the document in front of him. His voice carries both confusion and hope.
“Serenity happens to be very persuasive,” the king says, glancing at me. My stomach clenches at his heated look. I try to tell myself that I’m merely nauseous at the thought of what’s coming tonight. But it’s more than just that. It’s that in some dark corner of my mind, the thought of being alone with the king excites me.
I close my eyes and breathe in and out. When I open them, my father’s gaze rests on mine for a moment. Just long enough for me to read the sheer panic in his own.
“You don’t have to do it, Serenity,” my father says. He’s sitting on a side chair in my room, his hands clasped so tightly together that his knuckles are a bluish white color. I’m flipping through the dresses I temporarily own.
“Dad,” I throw him a glance, “you and I both know that’s not an option.” There’s no telling what the king would do if I backed out after he’d held up his end.
My father scrubs his face and pushes himself out of the chair. “Come here,” he says, opening his arms.
I stop rifling through my clothes to look at him. His face is weary—old. And as he stands there with open arms, I realize that he might need my comfort more than I need his.
I walk into his embrace and he envelops me in a hug. He speaks into my hair. “I’m not okay with this.” His hold on me tightens. “I’ve been ordered—” My father’s voice catches. “I’ve been ordered to let this happen.”
“I know.” I’d assumed as much. The general is the mastermind behind this idiotic plan. It doesn’t matter how much my father disagrees with it, if General Kline ordered it, he’s duty bound to follow through. As am I.
He holds me for a long time, and I’m hesitant to pull away before he does. I’m afraid of what I’ll see on his face.
“You’ll never know how proud I am of you.”
I give a humorless laugh. “There’s nothing honorable about what I’m doing.”
My dad draws back to look at me. If he cried while he held me, all traces of his tears are gone. “Your life has never been easy, Serenity. The world has always demanded something from you—war is a series of hard choices—but you haven’t let it break you. Not even now, when this is being asked of you. No father could be prouder of his daughter.”
I blink back tears and swallow. “Thank you,” I say quietly.
This evening, when Marco knocks on our suite’s door, I’m armed for battle. I have a plan that will keep the monster at bay.
I open the door. “The king requests—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I say. “Let’s go.” I push past Marco. The guards won’t come with me tonight, not for this sort of thing.
Marco jogs up to me. “You’re going the wrong way Miss Freeman,” he says, catching my arm and spinning me around.
“Oh.” I let him lead me in the opposite direction, and I smooth down the fabric of the lacey plum colored dress I wear. For the millionth time I wish I was wearing my fatigues. The tight bodice and high heels limit my movement.
We tread down the halls, and I memorize every twist and turn Marco makes. I’ll need to since I doubt the king will escort me back to my room before he gets what he wants.
Every so often someone passes by me in the hallways. Their eyes dart to mine, then away. I sometimes receive this reaction from people who notice my scar. Tonight, however, I wonder if this has more to do with the filmed negotiations. I never considered the fact that people might recognize me once the footage hit the Internet, but they must.
Marco and I climb a set of stairs and turn down a hall. I can tell we’re nearing the king’s private rooms. There’s a stillness about my surroundings that the rest of the mansion lacks.
I follow Marco up to a door and wait while he knocks. A servant opens the door and ushers us in. A quick glance around the room tells me that this is a private dining room. The lights have been dimmed, and a small round table has been set for two.
Romantic. I believe that’s how one would describe the setting. Unease gathers in the pit of my stomach.
The king steps into the room from some side chamber, fiddling with a cufflink of his suit. When he catches my eye, I see him pause. His eyes move over me, his gaze searing. I can tell he doesn’t want to simply have his way with me, and that realization surprises me.
“Thank you, Marco,” the king says, “you may go now.”
Marco inclines his head and backs away. I watch him leave us. Only once the door clicks shut, do I turn to face the king.
He’s studying me. “Are you happy?”
“About what?” I ask.
“Your precious medical relief.”
“I’ll be happy once I see the finished peace agreement with the medical relief included. Until then, I remain skeptical.” The king could always withdraw that clause of the treaty once he gets what he wants from me. That’s why I’m going to have to make sure he doesn’t.
“You don’t trust me?”
I guffaw. “I don’t have the luxury. In my world trust will land you a knife in your back and an early grave.”
