“Yes, he is,” Marco agrees. “And speaking of the king, he’s waiting to meet you in the grand ballroom.”
My heart slams in my chest. The king who can’t be killed. The king who’s caused the death of millions. He’s more legend than man. And he’s one of the few things that scare me. Because I can’t understand how someone can be that evil.
“Well then, what are we waiting for?” I ask, smiling amicably, as though I’m not screaming inside.
Marco assesses me. “What indeed?” he says. I don’t like the way he looks at me, as though he’s trying to understand my motives.
Marco leads us out of the room. Luckily no cameras wait for us here. Tomorrow I won’t be so lucky; the estate will be crawling with them.
As soon as we’re in the hallway, I thread my arm through my father’s, and our guards fan out around us.
“You clean up well,” I say to my father. He’s wearing a suit, and it brings out his fine features—high brows, sharp cheekbones, tan skin, wavy hair the color of dusty wheat, bright blue eyes. The fatigues I’m so used to seeing him in wash out his features and make him look his age.
He glances at me. “Thanks—that’ll be the only compliment I’ll get all evening standing next to you.” His eyes light with humor, and I flash him a genuine smile.
“Tell me that again when you’re fighting off all the cougars later tonight.”
My father chuckles, and for a moment I can pretend that we are not in our enemy’s house.
The faint sound of music, conversation, and tinkling glass drifts from down the hall behind two large, closed doors. In front of them stand two of the king’s guards. As soon as we approach the doors, the guards open them, and we enter the ballroom.
I blink, just to make sure I’m not seeing things. The room spread out below me is full of warm light, crystal chandeliers, and walls of mirrors. Everything else is covered in gold. People twirl on the dance floor while others talk off to the sides. Here it’s as though the war never happened. Here violence, dirt, and death don’t exist.
We must be as exotic to the people in this room as they are to me, because it takes mere seconds for the room to quiet. The momentousness of this situation slams into me then. The two of us represent an entire hemisphere of the world. We are the figureheads of the final territories still free of the king. Free, that is, until we leave—if we leave.
The cameras that I thought would be absent tonight are waiting for us. A film crew off to our left captures our entrance. At the bottom of the stairs before us another crew waits.
Next to me, Marco announces to the room, “The emissary of the Western United Nations, Ambassador Carl Freeman, and his daughter, Serenity Freeman.”
My hand tightens around my father’s arm as I stare out at the crowd spread out before me.
And then someone steps up to the base of the staircase. Someone who’s haunted my nightmares since I was little. The face I saw when I killed.
King Montes Lazuli.
The King
Just when I thought the evening was going to be another dull meet and greet, the WUN emissary walks in, and on his arm I see her.
The emissary’s daughter. Serenity Freeman.
The world doesn’t stop moving, the room doesn’t go quiet, but I swear something inside me just broke and reformed the moment she turned her devlish eyes on me—and that’s the only way to describe those eyes of hers. Devilish. She’s a wicked soul, through and through.
Just like me.
She’s unlike the women I’m used to. Her arms are sculpted, and her body is lean beneath her dress. It’s an almost laughable contrast to the soft women that fill the rest of the room. I’m dying to lift her skirt, run my hands up those legs, and get to know just how toned the rest of her is.
As pretty as her body might be, it’s not what’s captivated me. I can’t look away from her face. In another life it might’ve been sweet. But not in this one. A wicked scar slices down the side of it. It’s the most obvious warning that she’s a dangerous creature.
I wish I got off on fear and hate, because both are burning in her eyes the closer she gets to me. I’ve killed others for less than the expression I see in them, but this woman, she is someone who knows violence intimately. I’m almost positive that death doesn’t scare her. But apparently I do.
And the strangest thought yet pops into my mind: I don’t want this intriguing woman to fear me.
I know she’s a trap. I know the WUN sent her here with her father because they’re desperate, and they’re hoping to bait me with a woman. Those clever fools probably never thought that what would attract me to her was everything that lay beneath that pretty skin of hers—the viscous, hardened soul that looks so similar to my own. She’s the best challenge I’ve seen yet.
I need to get to know her. She might’ve just changed everything.
Chapter 5
Serenity
Six years ago Washington D.C. was leveled. It was sheer dumb luck that on that particular day, at that particular time, my father and I had driven to a shooting range on the outskirts of the city.
We stood outside, taking turns firing from one of the stalls. I steadied my stance and focused my aim when my peripherals caught sight of something they shouldn’t have.
The blast rose into the sky, unfurling like some fiery flower. The sight was incomprehensible—too bright, too big, too breathtaking.
Too dreadful.
I tore my eyes away, and looked to my father. He was already yelling commands at me, but we both wore earmuffs, so they fell onto deaf ears. When he jerked his head towards the building that housed the indoor shooting range, however, I understood.
Flicking on my gun’s safety, I shoved my weapon back into its holster just as my father grabbed my arm. Together we sprinted for the building; the few other people outside followed our lead.