The Queen of All that Dies (The Fallen World Book 1)

  After I killed the king’s men, I’d assumed that if he ever got his hands on me, he’d execute me, regardless of his feelings. In the end, that’s what war is, a string of revenge killings.

  But his men hadn’t tried to kill me, and they’d had many opportunities during my escape. He always wanted me alive.

  I wonder if the peace agreement the representatives agreed to was the same one the king presented my father. If it was, then the man that raised me would’ve died in vain. I suppress my shudder.

  The general clears his throat. “The king has a jet here waiting for you.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Why didn’t anyone wake me?”

  “He gave us orders to leave you be until you were ready.”

  I’m struck by two things the general has said. One, the general is taking orders from the king. For as long as I’ve known the general, he’s been the de facto leader of the WUN. It’s strange to see him abdicate his leadership role.

  And two, I’m stunned that the king gave those particular orders. Had circumstances been different, I’d say it was kind of him. But I’ve come to learn that this is the king’s style—to cut you up then kiss the wounds he inflicted.

  “Now that you’re here,” the general continues, “we will contact the king’s retinue and let them know you’re awake. They’ll probably have you board the flight as soon as possible once this happens; they are going to assume you’re unwilling and dangerous.”

  I nod.

  “Once you arrive at the king’s palace, he’s planning on announcing the end of the war and your engagement.”

  I scowl at this; the thought of being engaged to him causes me physical discomfort.

  “It sounds like there are already wedding preparations in the works,” the general says. “It’ll be filmed and aired over the Internet—the thought is that the wedding will symbolize the marriage of two hemispheres. It’s quite brilliant, actually—it should go a long way to encourage peace.”

  “Don’t,” I say. My breaths are coming out quick and ragged. I can’t bear to hear more on the subject.

  The general puts a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll be okay, Serenity. The asshole actually seems to care about you.”

  My eyes flick to the king. “Don’t lie to yourself, General. I’m marrying a monster.”

  Will and the general lead me up to the surface. They’re the only ones I allow to accompany me. We reach the top of the final set of stairs, and I stare at the door to the garage. On the other side of it, the king’s men wait for me. These are my last moments with the people I know.

  I reach for the door and pause. “What will happen once I’m gone?” I ask the general. I’ve wanted to know the answer to this question since I left my bed. I knew my fate, but I knew nothing about what would happen to the WUN and its former political leaders.

  The general gives me a sidelong glance. “The western hemisphere, under the governance of the king, will begin to receive medical relief in those areas that need it the most. There will also be additional efforts to cleanse the land of the radiation that’s gotten into the soil. After that, the king’s focus will then be rebuilding our economy.”

  I fidget. “What will happen to you and Will and the rest of the representatives?” I ask.

  “The king has granted us amnesty and allowed us to continue to govern these territories under the supervision of his men.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “That’s … really good news.” We’d always planned on being executed if we lost the war. I’m still not convinced that won’t happen. After all, there are no checks on the king’s power.

  The general nods. “It is. The peace agreement is better than we’d ever anticipated—or hoped for.”

  I shift my weight. We’ve come back to the elephant in the room—that I’m leaving because of the agreement.

  The general must realize how callous his words sound—spoken to the one person who will lose everything—since he takes a step back. He looks between Will and me. “I should let you two have your own goodbye.” The general salutes me. An unbidden tear drips from my eye as I give him a small smile and salute him back.

  Will and I watch him leave, neither of us willing to speak until his footsteps completely fade.

  Will steps in close to me and cups my cheek. “It was never supposed to be like this,” he says.

  I wrap my hand around his wrist and lean into his hand. “A lot of things were never supposed to happen like they did.” I close my eyes. I might never see Will again. That thought constricts my heart, and I have to force the thought from my mind. My body can’t take much more emotional pain.

  He leans his head against mine; I can tell by his ragged breathing that he’s trying to keep it together for my sake.

  “If this is the last moment we get, I want to make the most of it,” I say. One final memory of the man and the life that will never be mine.

  Will nods against me, his hand sliding to the back of my head. He presses his lips to mine, and our mouths move urgently. I’m memorizing the taste of him even as I’m saying goodbye.

  When his lips finally leave mine, they move to my ear. “You have to kill him, Serenity.”

  My body goes rigid against him. “You work for the king; you can’t say things like that anymore,” I whisper.

  “The Resistance—those people who saved you—they will spread to the western hemisphere. Once they do, I’m planning on joining,” he says.

  “And what do you hope to accomplish?” I ask. The war is over; we lost. The best any of us can do now is make the situation as bearable as possible. I’m not sure that killing the king would actually make the world better, or if it would just open the position to all the other power-hungry people out there.

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

  Silently, I agree with him, but it doesn’t change the fact that the king might be the world’s best chance at getting back on its feet. More fighting will only prolong our suffering.

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

  Will shakes his head. “No, they won’t. We have the footage of your arrival still, remember?”

  My skin prickles. I don’t know whether this discussion fills me with fear or excitement, but I do feel my mortality in that moment. I’m certain I’ll die before my time—not that I’d ever believed otherwise.

  I back away from him and grab the handle of the door. “I’ll think about what you’ve said.”

  “Do.”

  “Bye Will.”

  He tips his head. “Goodbye my future queen.”

  As soon as the aircraft leaves the ground, the king’s men relax. Not completely, but they’re not encircling me the same way they had been when they picked me up in the bunker’s garage.

  One of them has my gun; he took it off of me when they patted me down for weapons. I keep my eye on him. I will kill for that gun. It’s the last piece of my father I have.

  I glance out my window and watch my homeland get smaller and smaller. This high in the sky, the land looks beautiful. You wouldn’t know that the earth is poisoned with radiation, and its people are desperate, scavenging things.

  I don’t know when I’ll be back here, if ever. It feels like a final goodbye. There’s nothing much that I’m leaving—a few final friends, my past, my old way of life.

  I can feel the wary stares of the king’s men. Their animosity practically rolls off of them; I meet their gazes and give them each a slow, predatory smile. It pleases me to see the lines on their faces deepen. They’ve either seen me kill their comrades, or they’ve been warned.

  It takes me a few minutes to realize that I’m causing them pain to feel better about my own. Once I do, I close my eyes and lean my head against the window and let myself nod o
ff to sleep.

  The sensation of falling wakes me up. I look out my window and see the rosy light of dawn as the jet makes its descent. When I look down at the scenery, I suppress a gasp. Small islands dot the blue expanse of ocean.

  “Where are we?”

  No one answers me. Big surprise.

  As the aircraft descends and we draw closer to the small islands, the scenery comes into focus. It’s not quite arid, but not quite tropical either.

  A larger landmass looms in the horizon. I know in my gut this is my destination. The jet passes over it and circles back. I can see a small airstrip ahead of us. And then we’re landing.

  Once the aircraft coasts to a stop, I stand, ignoring the way the guards tense as they fall into form around me. The sick part of me enjoys how skittish they are.

  The engine dies, and the jet’s stairway is lowered. The guards ahead of me begin to move, and I follow them out. This is the second time I’ve arrived on enemy soil. And it is still that. To everyone else, the war might’ve ended, but it never will for me. Not so long as I live with the king.

  This moment reminds me of a story my dad told me a long time ago. There was once an ancient battle, fought for ten years. The Trojan War. At the close of it, the Greeks, on the edge of defeat, surrendered and left in their place a huge wooden horse—a gift to their victorious enemies, the Trojans. Little did the Trojans know that waiting inside the wooden beast were Greek soldiers.

  The Trojans brought the horse into their walls and celebrated their victory long into the night. Once the Trojan citizens had all drunk themselves into a stupor and gone to bed, the Greek soldiers left the horse and slaughtered the enemy. They won the war this way.

  The king has only demonstrated his excellent talent for destroying things, but scant few at rebuilding the world. And now that the war is over, he’s let the enemy into his house.

  Perhaps Will is right and the king needs to be destroyed once and for all. I smile grimly. Perhaps I will be his Trojan horse.

  Chapter 13

  Serenity

  A small group of people wait for my arrival off to the left of the jet. Judging by how small the crowd is, I’m guessing the king has kept quiet about my bloody escape. I wouldn’t be surprised if the world thought I’d never left the king’s side.

  The guards lead me towards a limo. As they do, my eyes drift back to the small gathering that watches me. The crowd shifts, and my steps falter. The king stands in the middle of them, dressed impeccably in a suit. Our eyes lock, and a small sound escapes from me. The sight of him splits open the wound I’ve been carrying inside myself.

  I veer towards him. My guards are on me in an instant. Their hands wrap around my arms and pull me back. I push against them, my legs buckling.

  The king approaches me slowly, his face unreadable.

  “Why can’t you just leave me alone?” I scream.

  The king stares unwaveringly at me, but I could’ve sworn for a moment something like shame passed through those dark eyes of his.

  “You killed him!” His face blurs as tears form. Emotionally, I’ve regressed back to the day I escaped. “You can’t have me Montes! Not ever!”

  “My king,” a voice near me says, “should we administer the sedative?”

  “I will never forgive you!” I shriek. “You hear me? Never!”

  “I think that would be best.” The king’s voice glides over me like the smoothest silk. He’s not even listening.

  Someone extends my arm, and I buck against them. They drop their hands, and I elbow the guard behind me. He makes an oomph noise, and his grip loosens. I use the opportunity to wrench my arm free, and I slug the guard closest to me.

  That’s as far as I get. The rest of the king’s guards close in and grab me, lowering my body to the ground. I thrash against them, but it’s useless. They pin me down.

  I’m sobbing horrible, heart-wrenching cries.

  “Serenity, it’s going to be okay,” the king says from above me. I can feel his hands brushing my hair from my face.

  I want to slap them away. I want to tell him to stop being nice when he’s so evil. Instead I continue to sob.

  I feel cool wetness rub against the crook of my arm, and then a slight sting. It doesn’t take long for the numbness to overwhelm the pain.

  I open my eyes. “Why?” I ask the king weakly.

  But I never get my answer. The king’s form blurs and fades with the last of the pain.

  When I wake up, I’m on a bed. I blink as I sit up, noticing the satiny comforter beneath me.

  Where am I?

  I glance around and jolt when my eyes land on the king. He sits in the chair next to my bed, pinching his lower lip in contemplation.

  Looking at him hurts—he reminds me too much of all that’s broken within me—but I can’t tear my gaze from him.

  “Hello Serenity,” he finally says.

  “Montes.”

  “Feeling better?”

  I guffaw. “Like you care.”

  “You’re right,” he says, “I don’t.” He says the words so cavalierly, but his face betrays him. He’s lying, and I really wish I couldn’t tell. It’s harder to despise him when he acts human.

  “I want my gun,” I say.

  “And why would I give you that gun? You’re difficult enough as it is.”

  His condescension is barely tolerable. “It’s one of my only possessions. I want it.”

  The king tilts his head. “That’s the gun that killed several of my men, isn’t it?”

  I say nothing.

  “I’ve gotten a good look at it,” he continues. “It’s old but well cared for. Obviously it’s important to you. Perhaps it was a gift from someone who once loved you?” He’s openly taunting me and coming dangerously close to the truth.

  Without realizing it, I’ve fisted my hands. I want to hit him. It’s taking most of my self-control not to. I can see what he’s doing

  “You’re a sociopath,” I whisper.

  “And you’re a kindred spirit.”

  He’s said that before. “I am nothing like you,” I snap.

  “You’re right,” he says. “I’ve never killed over a dozen people and then worn their blood like a trophy for an entire day.”

  I’m on my feet in an instant, and so is he. “I watched my father die that day, shot dead on your orders,” I hiss. “I held his body in my arms as he bled out on me. So yes, I took pleasure in killing those men that harmed him.”

  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.