The Queen of All that Dies (The Fallen World Book 1) (6 page)

I reach for my glass. I’ve only had sips of alcohol up until now. Not too many people in the bunker bother with the stuff, but I’ve tasted it enough to expect the strange flavor that hits my taste buds. What I don’t expect is the warm richness of the liquid. It heats up my throat, and then my stomach. I didn’t know any substance could do such a thing.

“It’s good,” I say reluctantly, and then I take another drink. And another.

“Just good?” There’s a twinkle in the king’s eyes. “That’s the best you can do?”

“Yes.”

The room gets quiet, and I know that we’re both remembering my earlier words. I wonder why he hasn’t brought them up again.

“Tell me about yourself,” I finally say, because I can’t think of a more open-ended question to distract us.

The king raises his eyebrows. “What is it you want to know?” he asks.

I shrug. “Whatever it is you want to tell me.”

“I’m an only child,” he starts.

“Me too,” I say, taking another swig of my wine.

He nods. “My mother passed away when I was eight, and my father passed away when I was twenty-two.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. Regardless of who the king is, I can empathize with the pain of losing a parent.

“Thank you,” he says, holding my gaze. In that second, my pulse speeds up. I’m a fly caught in a spider’s web, a moth drawn to flame. He’s pain and death, yet I’m falling into those dark eyes of his. Perhaps he truly is something supernatural if he can coax this response from me.

King Lazuli glances away. “I enjoy playing football—soccer—I sing in the shower—”

I raise my eyebrows. “You sing in the shower?”

The grin that spreads along his face is pure sin. “I can always give you a demonstration, but you’d be required to join me.”

“I think I’ll pass.” I reach for my full glass of wine and take another drink. I glance at it once I pull it away from my mouth. I could’ve sworn I’d almost finished the wine. Those servants of his should double as spies; they’re shadows, slipping in and out of the room, refilling drinks, removing silverware—essentially seeing to our every need.

“How about you?” the king asks, tipping his own glass back.

I chew the inside of my cheek and stare at my wine. “I live in a room with seven other women. This trip is the first time I’ve seen natural light in months, but what I miss the most about the sky are the stars—oh, and I love to swim, even though I haven’t been able to for several years.”

The king holds my gaze. “Would you like to?”

“Like to what?” I ask, drinking more wine.

“Go for a swim. I have a pool.”

My eyes widen, though I shouldn’t be surprised to learn about this. “I don’t have a swimsuit,” I say. What I don’t mention is that it seems wrong to enjoy myself when so many others can’t.

He waves away my concern. “That’s not an issue. Marco can get you one.” The king stands up. “Give me a moment.” He walks out of the room, presumably to talk to one of his servants.

As soon as he’s gone, I eye the door. I could slip out now and return to my room. Where would that leave me, though? No, I need to stick around a little longer.

At least my plan is unfolding as I wanted it to. So long as I keep the king talking I don’t have to do anything physical with him. But more importantly, if the king sees me as more than just a pretty face with an attitude, I’ll have more leverage.

The king comes back in the room. “Grab your glass of wine,” he says, seizing his own glass and the wine bottle that sits next to it.

I glance at our half-eaten plates. “What about the food?”

“It’ll be here when we come back.”

I know he says that for my benefit. I doubt the king would eat a reheated meal. But he’s probably learned enough about me to know that I’d balk at wasting it.

He takes my hand and leads me to the door. I stare at our joined hands. The backside of his is tan, and I don’t know why that particular detail makes me wistful, but it does.

Ashamedly, I savor the warm press of his palm. I can tell that he’s used to being touched by the way his focus is on other things. And now, horror of horrors, it sinks in that I actually like skin contact with the king.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

“Nothing.” I respond too fast, and the king’s lips twitch. “Why do you ask?”

“You had a small smile on your face for a minute there. It was nice.”

I look away, mortified that the king caught me smiling while I was thinking about him. Scratch that, I was embarrassed that the king caused me to smile in the first place.

“And the lady shuts down yet again. I should add smiles and compliments to the growing list of things that make you uneasy,” King Lazuli says.

“You are what makes me uneasy,” I say.

His grip on my hand tightens. “I know.” He looks down at me, and I see the desire in his eyes.

I swallow. Tonight is going to be long.

I hold my
towel tightly to myself when I leave the bathroom. It’s a good thing the alcohol is really starting to hit my system and lower my inhibitions. Otherwise there’s no way I’d have the courage to do what I’m doing now.

King Lazuli waits for me in the room that houses his pool, wearing a swimsuit that leaves little to the imagination. I suck in my cheeks. I’d expected the king to have thin, doughy arms and a shapeless stomach under all those suits of his. I hadn’t expected him to be toned like a soldier.

Our eyes meet across the room. “Are you going to take off your towel?” he asks.

“As soon as I get more wine.” I probably shouldn’t drink more. I’m already starting to feel a little queasy from the alcohol and overly rich food.

The king grabs my glass from where it rests on the edge of the pool next to the wine bottle, and he brings it over to me. “How about a trade: your glass of wine for the towel.”

Instead of answering him, I take the wine in his hand, down it in two long gulps, and then let go of my towel.

It drops to the ground, and I’m left standing in only a black bikini. The king takes a step back, his expressive eyes brighter than usual. I know what he sees—a lean body toned by war. He might even see some of my fainter scars.

I never thought there was anything particularly beautiful about my body. It is useful, and in my war-torn country, that’s the best I can ask for.

Only now, as Montes’s gaze drinks me in, I realize he’s savoring me like he does his wine. Like I am something rare and refined and he wants to take his time enjoying me. The thought makes me aware of every inch of exposed skin.

He takes my empty glass and sets it on a nearby ledge, his eyes serious. I sway a little on my feet as I watch him; the alcohol is already affecting me.

When the king turns back to me, he bends and scoops my feet out from beneath me.

“What are you doing?” I gasp out.

“What do think I’m doing?” he asks, carrying me to the shallow edge of the pool, where steps trail down into the water.

Alcohol swirls in my stomach, and I’m not sure whether I like the heady way it makes me feel. It’s causing me to notice the way the king’s dark hair curls at the base of his neck, and the golden skin that covers his strong muscles.

My body dips, and I hear the first splash of water as the king steps into the pool. He gazes down at me, and I catch my breath.

I’d never much cared for those epic love stories I’d heard growing up—Romeo and Juliet, Tristan and Isolde, Helen and Paris. All couples who’d placed love above all else; I thought the whole lot of them were idiots. But the way the king is looking at me … now I can see why so many loved those stories. There is something to forbidden passion. One heated look has me feeling like I’m on the edge of a precipice, waiting to jump.

My body dips again as we descend down the last two steps. The water kisses the bare skin of my back, but I’m still staring at the king, and he me.

I blink rapidly. I’m here to seduce the king, not to actually feel something for him. I need to remember that at all times.

To distract myself, I focus on my surroundings. The white walls dance with the strange patterns the water makes. “This place is beautiful.” I forget for a minute that this beauty represents everything I despise about the king. Right now I’m able to let go of some of my hate.

“If you think this is beautiful, you should see the pool at my official headquarters.”

“Is that an offer?” I joke, still staring at the beautiful light that dances above us.

“It is.”

My gaze snaps back to the king. “You should seriously leave the lying for the cameras,” I say.

We move into deeper water. “I’m not lying,” he says, his eyes trained on me.

I blink at him. He’s serious. “Why would you invite me?” I ask.

“Because I enjoy your company.” His statement is proof that he’s out of his mind. I’ve been nothing but mean and malicious to him.

“I hate you, remember?” With all the alcohol thrumming through my system, I can’t put emotion behind the words.

“I’m starting to think you don’t, though.” His eyes laugh at me.

I push myself out of his arms, enjoying the way the water ripples over my skin. I do hate the king, just not right now. In the morning I will.

I hope.

I swim over to where the wine bottle sits. “I think I need more alcohol for this conversation.” I’m actually feeling plenty buzzed as it is, but I do need to change the subject before the king corners me into agreeing to the visit.

Just as I reach for the bottle, I see movement out of the corner of my eye. I jolt at the sight of King Lazuli. I hadn’t heard him swim up next to me.

He grabs the wine bottle and moves it out of my reach. “I think you’ve had enough for now, Serenity.” I shiver at the way he says my name. “Me on the other hand …” He flashes me a wicked smile before he tips the bottle back and takes a drink from it.

My abs clench at the sight of him. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I was feeling lustful. He sets the bottle down, and when his eyes meet mine, heat pools low in my stomach.

“Let’s play a game,” I say quickly. He raises an eyebrow. “I’ll ask you a question, and you can choose to answer it, but if you decide not to, you’re going to have to take a sip of wine.” That’ll loosen his lips.

The grin he gives me is full of mischief. “I’ll play your little game, but only if I’m allowed to ask questions as well.”

I nod. “Okay.” I can live with that. “I’ll start you off with an easy one: what’s your favorite color?”

“Blue. What’s yours?” he asks.

“I’ll answer that only if it’s your official question.”

“It is.”

I watch the way the light from the water dances over his skin. I want to hold onto this moment, where we are no longer enemies. Merely a man and a woman discovering each other.

“Yellow.” The color of the sun and the stars, the color of happiness.

“
Yellow
?” The king’s eyebrows nudge up.

“What, you thought I’d like the color of spilled blood or something?”

He tips his head back as he weighs my words. “Yeah, I kind of did.”

“Next question: where are you from?” I ask, thinking about the roll of his words.

He pauses, watching me with an amused smile on his face. “I was born in the country formerly known as France.”

The water laps against us as I file away this new bit of information.

“Are you enjoying yourself at the moment?” the king asks.

I search Montes’s eyes. I could lie, make up an answer, or I could also pass. I do neither.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “Maybe.”

“Maybe,” King Lazuli repeats. “I’ll take it.”

I glance out the window, where I can make out the moon. “How old are you, really?” I ask.

The king grabs the bottle of wine and drinks rather than answering.

“How old were you the first time you killed someone?” he asks.

“Twelve. And I killed four someones that first time.”

“Four.” He’s looking at me like he’s having trouble believing me. “What—?”

I hold up a hand. “My turn, remember?”

His eyes drop to my lips and he nods.

“Have you ever personally killed anyone?” I ask.

“No.”

His answer doesn’t surprise me. The king strikes me as the kind of man who doesn’t care about other’s suffering so long as he doesn’t have to see it. He survives his cruelty only because he removes himself from it. I think in some ways I might be the more brutal of the two of us.

“Why did you kill those four men?” he asks me. I knew he was going to ask me this.

“They were going to rape me,” I say. I look away from him as I remember.

So much is left out of my statement. How brain and bone flecked the floor like confetti. How one of them took an agonizing ten minutes to die. The entire time he begged me with the ruin of his mouth to put him out of his misery.

When I look at Montes again, his face is studiously blank, like he’s trying to hide his reaction. I realize then that my life might shock the king as much as his life has shocked me. I still can’t comprehend the sheer quantity of lives he’s taken through his wars, but maybe he is also having a hard time believing that I can kill so easily.

“Tell me how a decent man can be okay with leading a war,” I say.

“That’s not a question, and I’m not a decent man,” he says.

“You’re right, I forgot for a moment.”

The king presses in close to me so that my back is up against the wall of the pool. His hands rest against the tiled edge, trapping me between them. “Told you,” he says, his voice gravelly.

“Told me what?”

“I don’t think you really hate me.”

“That’s just wishful thinking on your part,” I say, but silently I worry that he’s right, that a few hours with him have weakened my long-held beliefs.

“Okay,” I say, changing the topic, “if you don’t answer the question I just asked you—”

“Statement,” King Lazuli corrects.

“—then you can at least answer this one: why do you like me?”

A sinful smile spreads along the king’s lips, and he shifts his body so that his slick skin rubs against mine. “You’re clearly new at this,” he says. I bristle at his words. “Attraction and chemistry don’t follow any logical rules. You’re not the prettiest girl I’ve ever met, nor the smartest, nor the funniest.”