The Queen of All that Dies
Page 39
I sway on my feet at the thought. “That won’t ever happen,” I say before I can help it. The idea of carrying the king’s child is just too much for me to process at the moment.
The woman glances at me sharply, and the king stiffens at my side. “Er … I can’t have children.” It’s not even necessarily a lie, considering all the radiation I’ve been exposed to.
“You poor thing,” the woman says.
“The queen doesn’t know what she’s saying,” King Lazuli says. “She can have children.”
I try to hide my swallow at the way the king looks at me, like my reproductive system is now at the forefront of his mind.
“Oh.” Now the woman glances back and forth between us in confusion.
“Great to see you Claudette—Roger.” The king nods to both of them and they take the cue to move on.
I watch their retreating forms. “Do you even have any real friends?” I say. “These people make me want to blow my brains out.”
“What the hell was that about, Serenity?” King Lazuli says.
“Nothing,” I say quickly.
The king studies me. “This discussion isn’t over.”
An older, regal woman greets us next.
“I’m so glad to see you settle down,” she says to King Lazuli.
The king smiles back at her. “Thank you, Margot.”
She squeezes his hand with her wrinkled one. I eye her withered beauty. She wears strings of pearls and gaudy gold jewelry. My upper lip curls. It changes into a grimace of a smile when she focuses on me.
Her eyes widen when she sees the scar that trails down the side of my face. I’ve gotten this reaction all day. And just like the others, I get the feeling that the woman in front of me has never seen violence firsthand. She’s never killed a man, never watched his blood slowly seep out of him and the light fade from his eyes. I’d wager that she came from a nation that either allied with the king, or surrendered before war broke out.
She recovers from her shock and pats the side of my face. “My, my, what a pretty thing you are.” My smile slips at her words, and she must see the killer in me because she recoils.
The woman clears her throat. “Congratulations again you two,” she says, nodding at the king and trying hard not to look at me. I watch her as she walks away, and just as I suspected, she throws a final, spooked glance over her shoulder, like she can’t help herself.
I narrow my eyes and give her a slow, predatory smile. Her eyes widen and she hurries away from us.
“Stop scaring our guests,” King Lazuli says next to me.
“You mean your guests,” I retort.
The king’s eyes drift to my bare arm and move down. The sight is possessive, hungry, and it makes my stomach churn.
I won’t think about later tonight. I won’t.
“They are our guests now, my queen,” King Lazuli says.
“Don’t call me that.” I rub my shoulder against my neck, as if to wipe off the stain of his words from my skin.
“You better get used to it. That’s what you’ll be known as from now on.” The king seems satisfied by the thought.
I snag a champagne flute from a passing waiter. The waiter looks between me and the king, mortified. The caterers are controlling the amount of alcohol I’m consuming, probably on behalf of the king’s orders. It’s a clever move too, since if I had it my way, I’d already be twelve drinks deep and unwilling to stop until the liquor killed me.
Before the king can take the glass from me, I throw it back. It’s only my third drink of the night, but I can already feel the warm, tingly sensation of the alcohol sliding through my veins. King Lazuli scowls at me as I remove the now empty glass from my lips and flash him a triumphant smile.
The waiter snatches the champagne flute from my hands the first chance he gets, as though his attentiveness now can make up for the fact that he blew it.
The boy stutters apologies at the king, who waves him off. I watch longingly as the tray carrying champagne is whisked away.
I can feel the king’s eyes on me, and I’m strangely interested in what he’s thinking—not because I care about him, but because I want to know what his motives are for marrying me, a woman who loathes him.
The only answer that comes to mind is the obvious one: that this is some archaic form of a political alliance—marrying into power. Not that I have any power in my own right. But ideology is the most powerful currency in the world—it can start wars, and it can end them—and to the citizens of the nation, the king of the eastern empire and the emissary of the WUN symbolize two hemispheres tonight made whole.
However, feeling the king’s eyes on me, I can’t help but wonder if the marriage might be more than just a power play. I know the king finds me attractive and that he enjoys verbally sparring with me, but could something more be there?
The king waves Marco over. Marco, who’s just as responsible for my father’s death as the king is. Perhaps more so, if the king really didn’t order my father killed.
This is the first time I’ve seen him, and I give him my most lethal look. The fact that Marco is not rotting in a jail cell or a coffin, but instead attending my wedding, has me seeing red.
He flinches, but that doesn’t stop him from approaching King Lazuli.
“The queen is tired,” the king says to Marco.
“No, I’m not.”
Marco flicks me an annoyed look. I get perverse satisfaction knowing that it bothers him that I undermine the king.
The king ignores me. “We’re going to head to our suite now. Think you can handle the rest of the wedding without us?”
“Absolutely. Go enjoy your wedding night,” Marco says, smiling at me as he does so. It’s his underhanded form of payback.
I work my jaw, then let my gaze flick back to the king. “I’m not tired. Please.” I’ve resorted to begging. Anything to put off the inevitable for a little longer.
The king’s eyes move over my face. “You want to stay now? I could’ve sworn that you said you wanted to blow your brains out at the thought of being around our guests.”
I slit my eyes at him and he smiles. He places his hand at the small of my back and leads me towards the palace. I can feel the mounting stares of smiling guests. Why are they so happy? Why is anyone happy? They still have a tyrant ruler who’s now married to a strange girl from the last conquered land.
The woman glances at me sharply, and the king stiffens at my side. “Er … I can’t have children.” It’s not even necessarily a lie, considering all the radiation I’ve been exposed to.
“You poor thing,” the woman says.
“The queen doesn’t know what she’s saying,” King Lazuli says. “She can have children.”
I try to hide my swallow at the way the king looks at me, like my reproductive system is now at the forefront of his mind.
“Oh.” Now the woman glances back and forth between us in confusion.
“Great to see you Claudette—Roger.” The king nods to both of them and they take the cue to move on.
I watch their retreating forms. “Do you even have any real friends?” I say. “These people make me want to blow my brains out.”
“What the hell was that about, Serenity?” King Lazuli says.
“Nothing,” I say quickly.
The king studies me. “This discussion isn’t over.”
An older, regal woman greets us next.
“I’m so glad to see you settle down,” she says to King Lazuli.
The king smiles back at her. “Thank you, Margot.”
She squeezes his hand with her wrinkled one. I eye her withered beauty. She wears strings of pearls and gaudy gold jewelry. My upper lip curls. It changes into a grimace of a smile when she focuses on me.
Her eyes widen when she sees the scar that trails down the side of my face. I’ve gotten this reaction all day. And just like the others, I get the feeling that the woman in front of me has never seen violence firsthand. She’s never killed a man, never watched his blood slowly seep out of him and the light fade from his eyes. I’d wager that she came from a nation that either allied with the king, or surrendered before war broke out.
She recovers from her shock and pats the side of my face. “My, my, what a pretty thing you are.” My smile slips at her words, and she must see the killer in me because she recoils.
The woman clears her throat. “Congratulations again you two,” she says, nodding at the king and trying hard not to look at me. I watch her as she walks away, and just as I suspected, she throws a final, spooked glance over her shoulder, like she can’t help herself.
I narrow my eyes and give her a slow, predatory smile. Her eyes widen and she hurries away from us.
“Stop scaring our guests,” King Lazuli says next to me.
“You mean your guests,” I retort.
The king’s eyes drift to my bare arm and move down. The sight is possessive, hungry, and it makes my stomach churn.
I won’t think about later tonight. I won’t.
“They are our guests now, my queen,” King Lazuli says.
“Don’t call me that.” I rub my shoulder against my neck, as if to wipe off the stain of his words from my skin.
“You better get used to it. That’s what you’ll be known as from now on.” The king seems satisfied by the thought.
I snag a champagne flute from a passing waiter. The waiter looks between me and the king, mortified. The caterers are controlling the amount of alcohol I’m consuming, probably on behalf of the king’s orders. It’s a clever move too, since if I had it my way, I’d already be twelve drinks deep and unwilling to stop until the liquor killed me.
Before the king can take the glass from me, I throw it back. It’s only my third drink of the night, but I can already feel the warm, tingly sensation of the alcohol sliding through my veins. King Lazuli scowls at me as I remove the now empty glass from my lips and flash him a triumphant smile.
The waiter snatches the champagne flute from my hands the first chance he gets, as though his attentiveness now can make up for the fact that he blew it.
The boy stutters apologies at the king, who waves him off. I watch longingly as the tray carrying champagne is whisked away.
I can feel the king’s eyes on me, and I’m strangely interested in what he’s thinking—not because I care about him, but because I want to know what his motives are for marrying me, a woman who loathes him.
The only answer that comes to mind is the obvious one: that this is some archaic form of a political alliance—marrying into power. Not that I have any power in my own right. But ideology is the most powerful currency in the world—it can start wars, and it can end them—and to the citizens of the nation, the king of the eastern empire and the emissary of the WUN symbolize two hemispheres tonight made whole.
However, feeling the king’s eyes on me, I can’t help but wonder if the marriage might be more than just a power play. I know the king finds me attractive and that he enjoys verbally sparring with me, but could something more be there?
The king waves Marco over. Marco, who’s just as responsible for my father’s death as the king is. Perhaps more so, if the king really didn’t order my father killed.
This is the first time I’ve seen him, and I give him my most lethal look. The fact that Marco is not rotting in a jail cell or a coffin, but instead attending my wedding, has me seeing red.
He flinches, but that doesn’t stop him from approaching King Lazuli.
“The queen is tired,” the king says to Marco.
“No, I’m not.”
Marco flicks me an annoyed look. I get perverse satisfaction knowing that it bothers him that I undermine the king.
The king ignores me. “We’re going to head to our suite now. Think you can handle the rest of the wedding without us?”
“Absolutely. Go enjoy your wedding night,” Marco says, smiling at me as he does so. It’s his underhanded form of payback.
I work my jaw, then let my gaze flick back to the king. “I’m not tired. Please.” I’ve resorted to begging. Anything to put off the inevitable for a little longer.
The king’s eyes move over my face. “You want to stay now? I could’ve sworn that you said you wanted to blow your brains out at the thought of being around our guests.”
I slit my eyes at him and he smiles. He places his hand at the small of my back and leads me towards the palace. I can feel the mounting stares of smiling guests. Why are they so happy? Why is anyone happy? They still have a tyrant ruler who’s now married to a strange girl from the last conquered land.
