The Queen of Traitors (The Fallen World Book 2) (14 page)

He leans forward. “I intend to find out.”

Chapter 21

Serenity

Several hours later,
after reading a stack of reports on the South American territories, I head into the bathroom to change for dinner.

Another day, another dinner party. This one will be hosted back at the hotel where we’re holding the discussions.

I give the black lace dress hanging on the bathroom door the evil eye.

I unbutton my shirt in front of the mirror. As I slip it off, I notice—really notice—what a difference a few months of living with the king have made. My hips and waist are fuller and my stomach slopes gently out. I run a hand over it. The skin feels taut. I’m still not as soft as I would’ve imagined.

I could still be getting worse. The king believes in the Sleeper the same way some people believe in religion. I, on the other hand, only have misgivings about the machine. To me the only thing it does is remove scars and kill time.

I slide the dress on, along with a pair of heels. I run my fingers through the loose waves of my hair and paint my lips a dark red. I still haven’t gotten used to the type of grooming the upper echelons of society expect.

My hands move from the makeup set out on the counter to the neat case of pills I’ve been packed with. I hold one up to the light. This little thing is what keeps the king permanently young, and it’s partly what started his war.

I swallow it, despite my compulsive desire to flush it down the toilet. After all the killing and dying, it seems too precious to waste.

The king knocks on the door. Giving my reflection one final look, I leave.

He waits for me on the other side clad in a tux. Montes leans back as I walk out, his gaze approving. He opens his mouth.

“Don’t say it,” I say.

“Can’t I give my wife a compliment?”

“I don’t want the compliment you’re about to give me.”

Montes comes to my side as we head downstairs. “Has anyone ever told you that you are a strange girl?”

“Because I don’t like being called pretty? You all can take your stereotypes and shove them where the sun don’t shine.”

“Mmm, I’d prefer to shove something else there.”

I glance sharply at him.

He looks unrepentant.

His hand falls to the small of my back. “You look lovely. I don’t care that you don’t want to hear it. I’m going to tell you over and over again.”

“You don’t get it,” I say to Montes as I fold myself into the car waiting for us outside. “I don’t want to be valued for my looks. That belongs to your world.”

He follows me in. “You now belong to that world.”

I think Montes enjoys having the attention on us. Not because he’s a narcissist—though he is—but because it gives him an excuse to exercise his chivalry on me. He knows I won’t fight him while we’re being filmed.

But I don’t. I belong to neither the old world nor the new one. I’m no longer one of the impoverished, but I’ll never be one of the rich.

I’m a woman with nothing to her name but a few memories and a few more dreams.

“Are you going
to deprive me of alcohol again tonight?” I ask as we step out of the car. Immediately camera crews close in on us. I squint against the flashing lights. The king’s guards step in and keep the media at bay.

“Yes,” the king says, guiding me forward.

So the king’s serious about preventing me from drinking. That’s unfortunate. Talking to these people sober is its own kind of torture. I’ll just have to snatch a drink or two when the king’s head is turned.

He keeps his body slightly in front of mine, and he angles himself protectively towards me, as if the cameramen might suddenly pull out guns and start shooting us all.

“Tell me again why this dinner is important?” I take in the jewels dripping from one woman’s neck as we enter the hotel’s lobby.

These people and their beauty.

“Despite what you might think, not all my victories are won on the battlefield. If you charm the right people, you can get just as far without the bloodshed.”

“Oh, so now you’re a pacifist?” A waiter passes by, and I make a grab for one of the glasses of wine.

Montes catches my wrist. “Threatening works well too,” he says, his eyes glittering. “No drinking, Serenity. I mean it.”

I yank my hand away.

It wasn’t the best strategy to go for it right in front of him, but I’m being slowly stifled to death by him and his rules.

“Or else what, Montes? All I hear from you are empty threats.”

He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting. I think he’s crafting some unusually painful punishment for me.

“So good seeing you both this evening,” an older couple interrupts us. “How are you enjoying your stay?”

This inanity begins again. I think I’d prefer the king’s punishment to it.

The couple eventually leaves, but not a minute later another couple takes their place, and then another. And so the evening goes.

My eyes drift away from one portly man’s account of his last big game hunt. They move aimlessly over the crowd. I notice Estes is chatting with some of the other political figureheads that were in session with me and the king today.

Scheming, scheming, scheming. These men are always scheming. Sometimes I miss the battlefield for this very reason. The enemy is pretty obvious when they’re shooting at you, and you have permission to shoot them back. Here the lines between friend and enemy blur.

I drag my gaze away from Estes. I’m about to check back into the conversation when I catch sight of a ghost.

I have to be mistaken. There is no logical reason why General Kline should be here in South America. And yet I swear it’s him across the room bearing a tray of hors d’oeuvres.

He wears the same attire as the rest of the waiters—a white shirt and suit jacket and a bow tie at his neck. He looks thinner than he has in the past, but maybe I’m just getting used to the curves of the people here.

His head swivels, and I blanche as, for a moment, our gazes lock.

It
is
him.

The last time I saw the general, I was in a cell, my memory wiped. That feels like a lifetime ago.

My breathing picks up, something the king notices.

“Serenity, are you alright?” He follows my line of sight, but General Kline has already disappeared back into the crowd.

“Fine. I just need some air,” I say, distracted.

I leave Montes’s side before he can respond, though I feel his eyes on me the whole time.

I head towards where I last saw the general. It’s slow going because, surprisingly, people want to talk to me. I nod to them, exchange a few words here and there, and push my way through the crowd. The entire time my eyes sweep the room.

I catch sight of the back of the general’s head as he enters the kitchens.

I pick up my pace, no longer attempting niceties. If I don’t want the general to slip through my grasp, I’ll have to move a little faster.

My palms slap against the doors to the kitchen as I barge in. Inside, steam fills the air, and the staff shouts out orders. Once they see me, they bow their heads and their shouts turn to murmurs of “Your Majesty.”

I stride past them, down the narrow kitchen aisle, following the retreating form of General Kline.

“General!” I shout.

Rather than slowing, he begins to jog deeper into the kitchens.

Damnit, this is why combat boots are far superior to heels. I pick up my skirts and run after him, accidentally elbowing some of the kitchen staff in the process. I don’t care that I’ve probably committed half a dozen faux pas, or that a multitude of people have heard and seen me pass through. My former leader, now a high up Resistance officer, is posing as a waiter at a party I’m attending. I’m not going to wait for shit to hit the fan.

The general leaves through one of the kitchen’s back doors. I can’t see anything beyond it.

Adrenaline gathers in my veins, and I prepare myself for an ambush. Mistake number one was not telling the king that I saw the general. Mistake number two was pursuing him alone.

I don’t much care, however, that I might be endangering my life. It’s been up for forfeit a while now.

Reaching inside my skirts, I unholster my gun and click the safety off. I push through the back doors, my weapon ready, only to find myself in an empty staff parking lot.

“You always did have a fondness for that gun.” The hard as nails voice wakes all sorts of memories of a time when I knew right from wrong and good from evil.

The general steps out of the shadows. “I see you got your memory back,” he says.

How can he tell? Is it the gun? Or something I’ve said while cameras are rolling?

I lower the weapon. “Why are you here?”

He glances at the door I exited. We both hear muffled commotion coming from the kitchens.

The king will be coming for me soon.

General Kline returns his gaze to mine. “You need to leave South America—tonight if possible.”

It’s all I can do to bite back a “yes, sir.” Old habits die hard.

“What’ve you heard?” I ask instead.

The general looks to my stomach. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

He opens his mouth, but he can’t get the words out.

I furrow my brows. I’ve never known the general to be short of words. Not even when he delivered the news of my impending marriage to the king.

“What?”

The general grunts, squinting past me. He shakes his head. “The Resistance hears a lot of things—some true, some nothing more than rumors.”

I already know this.

“Estes isn’t planning on letting either of you leave here alive,” he says.

I raise my brows.

“There are those in the Resistance that support him and his efforts, and I’ve heard whispers that they’re just waiting for his call to take you out. That could be any day now.”

Montes and I are scheduled to be here for another five days. If what the general says is true, then the attack will happen by the week’s end.

If
being the key word here.

“Where and how?” I ask.

“The men are getting the location when they get Estes’s call. It’s going to be messy, from what I hear. They won’t just bomb you—they want proof of the kills.”

They want our bodies, he means. It’s easy to convince the world someone’s dead when you show them evidence of it.

I rub the trigger of my lowered weapon. “Why are you telling me this?”

He slides his hands into his pockets. “You’re the world’s best chance at survival.”

“If you really believe that, then why join the Resistance?” The king had let him keep his position as general.

“I’m not a betting man.”

And I was a dying girl. Once I died, he’d need a backup plan.

The two of us have a strange relationship. I blame him for the ring on my finger and he blames me for his son in a casket. And yet here we are, working together.

“Now that really doesn’t explain why you’re telling me this—or why you’re in South America for that matter.”

“I’m a top operative for the Resistance, Serenity. I’m never far from you or the king.”

Operative is a nice euphemism for an assassin. I’m sure the Resistance is also using the general for strategy as well, but in the Resistance’s ranks, operatives are the ones that take out important figures.

“Why haven’t you killed me?” I open my arms; I’m still holding the gun in one of them, but it’s no longer pointed at the general. “You have your chance—but you better make it quick.”

I can hear the king’s men in the kitchen.

“You stupid girl,” he says taking me by the shoulders and pulling me into a tight hug. “I
love
you. That’s why I’m telling you this, that’s why I’m not shooting you.” He backs away as the soldiers’ footsteps begin moving towards the door. “You were always the daughter I never had. Now do me and your father proud and right the king’s wrongs.”

My throat closes. How can just a few words undo me?

His hands slip away and he turns from me. I watch his form fade into the darkness.

He’s almost disappeared entirely when I remember.

“Wait!”

I can barely make him out. He’s already blended back into the shadows, but I think he pauses.

“Will’s dead.” I say quietly, but the night carries my words to him.

I’m not sure whether I’m relieved that I can’t see the general’s expression, or desperate for it.

“He captured me in the hospital where I was being treated for my cancer,” I continue. “His men shot me, patched me up, then proceeded to interrogate me.” It’s hauntingly similar to my experience with the general. I suppose this is how the Resistance does things.

“The king ransacked the warehouse we were in and took Will.” This last part’s still hard. “The king had him tortured.”

General Kline’s quiet, but I hear a thousand things in that silence. We’re talking about Kline’s beloved son, the man set to take over the general’s job.

War takes many things from people, but unfortunately, pain is not one of them. In some quiet, dark corner, when no one’s around, General Kline will break down.

“I stopped the torture,” I say. “That’s why they killed Will.”

The general steps back into the light, and his eyes meet mine one last time. He nods, and for that instant, we understand each other completely. The two of us have lived through a nightmare; we’ve both seen our worst fears realized, and we’ve been forced to make decisions no human should have to. We’ve lived more, done more, and stained our souls more.

The general disappears into the night, and the last of my past walks away with him. It’s both liberating and crushing, being freed of your last ties. Once more I am the lonely girl that has everything and nothing.

Chapter 22

Serenity

The king and
his men descend on me not a minute later.

“Serenity, what the hell are you doing out here?” the king says, jogging up to me.

Half of me wants to say, “Getting air.” That was the excuse I parted with, after all. But I’m in no mood to taunt the king. Not when my body aches from wounds that leave no trace.

However, I can’t tell him about the general, either. Not here at least. If the general’s bending loyalties to save my life, then I can do the same.

“I thought I saw someone I knew …”

It’s the only explanation I can think of. I’m a fairly terrible liar, and the king has a built-in bullshit detector.

Montes cups my face, frowning. “If you think you see someone worth tracking, you tell me, you don’t go chasing them yourself.”

I run my tongue over my teeth. I’ve always been independent; I don’t plan on stopping that now. And I certainly don’t plan on trapping myself in the king’s gilded cage so that he feels better.

He catches sight of my gun. Up until now he’s been concerned, but not panicked over my departure from the party. I can see the moment he begins to take the situation seriously.

His hands slide down my cheeks to the base of my neck. “Who did you see?”

Shaking the king’s grip off me, I slide the weapon back into its holster, uncaring that his soldiers are seeing a lot of leg in the process.

“A ghost from my past,” I say as Montes steps in front of me, shielding even this exposure from his men.

It’s too dark to be sure, but I believe that vein in Montes’s temple is throbbing.

“Do I look like an idiot to you?” he says sharply. “Tell me who you saw, or my men will quarantine the area and start interrogating everyone. I promise you, you don’t want that.”

I’ve seen the king’s interrogation techniques. They involve pliers.

“You are insane.”

“No, but you are if you think to keep information from me.”

There is no dealing with a man who’s willing to hurt innocents for my compliance.

Several people from the party are drifting outside, drawn by us. Now’s not the time to share secrets.

“I’ll tell you, but not here.”

The King

She doesn’t tell
me until we’re back at our villa lying in bed. I think she only admits it then because I begin to stroke the soft skin of her stomach. She assumes it’s an advance—not that I’m ever opposed to sex—but at the moment I only want to revel in the fact that she’s carrying our child.

“General Kline was at the party,” she says, staring at the ceiling. “That’s who I saw, and who I ran after.”

My hand stills. “You chased after the same man who held you hostage—who nearly let you die—only weeks ago?”

My earlier rage is returning with a vengeance. I don’t know whether to be angrier at the general, who thinks he can come between me and my wife, or Serenity, who ran out to meet him with no regard to her life. She could’ve died, along with my child, for all her stupid heroism.

Worse, she covered for the man. That’s why she’s only telling me this now; she gave him time to get away.

I know my eyes are icy when they meet hers. “If you were anyone else—if I cared for you any less—I’d have you strung up by your thumbs and beaten.”

She’s right to think I’m full of empty threats. For all my violent promises, I wouldn’t dare hurt her, and I’d turn my wrath on anyone who’d try.

“Am I supposed to be frightened?”

“Goddamnit, Serenity.” I pull back and look at her. “I’m serious. I will put you on house arrest—I’ll take away your gun, strip you of your duties, and keep you secluded to a single room if I have to.”

She pushes me back into the mattress and leans over me. “Kline warned me that Estes is planning an ambush. The man you want to spearhead the leadership of this territory is going to try to kill us both at some point within the next week.”

I stare up at her. My mind’s primed for a fight; I expected her to lash out, not to divulge. If it were any other time, I’d turn Serenity’s reaction over and over in my mind and find all the ways that she’s changed since I first met her. All the ways she’s begun to give into me.

Her words sink in. An attack. The former general sought my wife out to warn her of an attack.

My reaction is instant—
I will take out any who try
.

All that is evil in me rouses at the possibility.

However, plots to end my life are a dime a dozen. And considering where this warning came from, I have serious concerns over its validity.

There are a hundred and one reasons the Resistance would want us to leave this place early. The one that tops the list—sabotaging the discussions. Weeds like the Resistance thrive in the wild. There is no room for them in the civilized world. South America is still largely in chaos, but as soon as I place certain figureheads into—limited—power, the territory will come to heel.

“Is there any basis for this accusation?” I ask. I’m glad she confided in me, but a warning from the WUN’s former-general-turned-Resistance-officer is not a reliable source.

“Does there need to be?” Her eyes are wild. She thinks
me
crazy for not taking this seriously.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, I roll us so that now she is the one laying prone on the bed, and I am the one hovering over her.

“Of course,” I say. “Serenity, this is the same man who nearly let you die when the Resistance held you hostage. This is the same man whose son arranged for you to be shot. And this is the same man who willingly gave you to his enemy.” I hold her in my arms, completely unashamed that
I
am that enemy. “How do you know he’s not trying to force you into some plot of the Resistance’s own making?”

“The same way you know I won’t kill you,” she says.

I don’t bother to hide my surprise that she admitted this. I’m not the only one who doles out empty threats, but this one in particular she wraps around her like a safety blanket. To acknowledge that she’ll never have her revenge … this is another turn of events I have to mull over once the time is right.

However, the only reason she would admit this now is because she wants to be taken seriously.

I can give her that.

“Alright,” I say, already groping along the nightstand for my phone. “I’ll inform my men of the threat, and I’ll arrange a morning flight for us.”

And I do.

Perhaps that’s why we never make it out as scheduled.