The Queen of All That Lives (The Fallen World Book 3) (18 page)

Chapter 35

Serenity

I watch the
unfamiliar scenery pass me by. Montes and I sit in the back of the armored vehicle that arrived on scene shortly after we crashed.

Two of the king’s men didn’t survive the crash landing. One’s neck snapped and the other was crushed under the section of ceiling that ripped away from the airplane’s frame.

I’m so numb. At some point, you see too many people die. It becomes just one more ache in your heart. Another person taken too soon.

It takes several hours to reach Shanghai. When we do, I can only stare. Many of the buildings are in ruins, but what remains is in use. And the structures are from
before
. They’ve been kept up for over a century.

We eventually pull up to a high-rise that faces the East China Sea.

I should be taken with the sparkling ocean. I never imagined I’d see an ocean this far east. And it’s beautiful. But I can’t seem to tear my gaze away from the goliath we’ve stopped in front of.

We step out of the car, some combo of sewage and ocean air carried along the breeze.

“Have you ever been to the top of a skyscraper?” Montes asks, steering me towards it.

I shake my head. Montes had cornered me inside an abandoned skyscraper once, when I lost my memory, but I never made it close to the top.

“We’re going to the top?”

Montes gives me just the barest hint of a smile. Some uncomfortable combination of excitement and trepidation fills me at the possibility, especially so soon after we were shot out of the sky.

The rest of our brigade exits their cars, and we all enter the lobby. The people inside stare and stare. It’s probably a shock in itself to see the king of half the world. But their eyes linger the longest on me. And then out of the blue, one of them begins to thump their chest slowly.

Several more join in. Within seconds the whole room is doing it, the tempo increasing to a frantic pace.

This is becoming a habit, I notice.

I nod to them, and I’m sure I look more demure than I am. Montes waves, his other hand pressed against the small of my back.

“You were right,” he says, his voice low. “This campaign will help end the war. Look at them. They will die for you.”

“I don’t want anyone to die for me,” I whisper furiously back to him.

“That, my queen, is no longer for you to decide.”

The King

The sour taste
at the back of my throat hasn’t disappeared since my enemies tried to shoot us from the sky. It’s been decades since the West has pulled such a risky maneuver.

They will pay for it.

Already I’ve ordered attacks on several Western outposts they thought I didn’t know about. I feel the familiar blood hunger. I want the sort of intimate revenge I swore off a long time ago.

It was easy enough to swear it off back then. For a long time I was deadened to most things. And then Serenity woke, and my heart awoke with her. Now it doesn’t know how to remove itself from cold strategy.

My eyes fall on my queen as she moves about our quarters, taking in each furnishing and every detail.

No, my heart is no longer cold.

Christ, I want to hide this woman.

If I thought she’d forgive me for it, I would lock her away someplace where my enemies could never find her. But I think that would just about push the last of my luck with Serenity, and I don’t want to give her another reason to despise me. She has too many of those already.

She stops in front of one of the windows, placing her fingertips against it.

“I’m used to seeing these without the glass still intact,” she says.

“War hasn’t destroyed everything,” I say.

“No,” she agrees, dropping her hand. She casts me an enigmatic look. “Not everything.”

She begins removing her weapons and setting them on the small nightstand next to our bed.

Savage woman.

I watch her as she peels off one soiled clothing item after the next, dropping them where she stands. It’s obvious her mind is in other places; she’s oblivious to my eyes on her.

There’s a smudge of dirt just behind her ear—a place she’d never notice or think to clean. I have the oddest desire to wipe it away.

Instead my eyes travel from it to the delicate line of her neck, then down her back. Her body is so small for such a force of nature. Sometimes I forget that. She takes up such a big part of my world.

Bruises speckle her skin. I frown at the sight. She’s received each one in the short time since she’s woken.

She turns her head in my direction, doing a double take when she realizes I’ve been watching her. Belatedly she covers herself.

I begin to walk towards her, unbuttoning my shirt as I do so. I decide then and there that whatever she’s planning on doing naked, I’ll be joining her.

“Don’t you think it’s a little too late to be shy?” I say.

“Not with you, no.”

I can tell she wants to back up as I close the space between us. But she won’t. Her pride and her nerves will prevent her from showing weakness. I love this about her, and I take advantage of it, stepping up to her until my chest brushes against her arms.

I pull them away from her body, exposing her. “I’m your husband.”

She lifts her chin, staring up at me defiantly. “You haven’t been for the last hundred years.”

I grab her jaw and tilt her head to the side, so that I see the back of her ear. With my other hand I rub away the smudge I saw earlier.

I turn her head back to face me. “Save your anger for our enemies.”

Our gazes hold, and I think I’ve gotten through to her.

She pulls away, slipping through my fingers once more. She wanders to the bathroom, closing the door behind her—but not all the way. It hangs open several inches.

An invitation.

Several seconds after the faucet turns on, the shower door bangs closed and I hear her suck in a breath, presumably at the temperature.

“You know, you could wait a minute for it to warm,” I say, removing the last of my clothes.

“That’s a minute’s worth of water wasted,” she calls back to me.

I close my eyes and savor the moment. Everything’s changed—everything except for her. It’s almost unbearable. Like a memory come back to life.

With a shuddering exhale, I open my eyes and head into the bathroom.

Her back is to me. She doesn’t turn, even when I open the shower door and step inside. I know she knows I’m there, but she doesn’t object.

I don’t think she hates me nearly as much she wants to.

I push her mane of hair over one of her shoulders and kiss the back of her neck. This is how it was always meant to be between us.

I run my hands over her bruises.

She leans her head back into me, and I wrap an arm around her torso, pulling her even closer. This is the woman I never deserved, and this is the life I always craved.

Letting my eyes drift shut, I brush my mouth against one of her shoulder blades, leaning my forehead against her neck.

I would inhale her in if I could.

“Montes—”

I squeeze her even tighter. Just my name on her lips undoes me.

“Why do you love me?” she asks.

My lungs still and my eyes open. Serenity has turned her head halfway towards me.

Back on the plane I sensed she came close to uttering those very words. And now she wants to explore my feelings for her.

Because she’s trying to figure out her own.

My heart will burst, I’m sure of it.

But I let on none of this.

Instead I press a kiss to Serenity’s cheek.

“Why does anything happen the way it does?” I ask, resting my chin just above her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know why that first night in Geneva, when you entered my ballroom with your father, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. Or why, in a hundred years I haven’t been able to banish you from my mind.” Now I turn her to face me. “Or why, even after all the ways I’ve changed, I can love you the same way I always have.

“But I do.”

God, I do.

Chapter 36

The King

Because of the
attacks, and our quick exits from each territory, we have an extra day built into our schedule and nothing planned to fill it.

If we weren’t at war, and if my enemies weren’t actively trying to attack us, I would show her all around Shanghai. One day, once this is all over, I will take her to every distant corner of our world and show her sights she’s never seen.

But that won’t be today.

I let her sleep until noon comes and goes. When she still doesn’t wake, the old worries begin to fester. That the cancer has come back. That the Sleeper never fixed her. That her exhaustion comes from within.

So, only hours after I’ve dressed for the day, I undress and slip back under the covers. I settle between her thighs, my hands snaking around her legs. And then I wake her up with a kiss.

There is no slow rise to consciousness with my wife. One moment she’s asleep, the next she’s trying to jerk away. I hold her hips in place, enjoying her surprise.

“
Montes.
” She squirms under me.

My lips return to her. Almost unwillingly, she moves against me, like she can’t help it.

I groan against her core. I’m not going to last much longer like this.

Before she has a chance to protest, I flip her onto her stomach and move up her torso, my chest pressed to her back.

“Mon—”

With one swift thrust, I’m inside her.

Whatever she was about to say turns into a breathy sigh.

“Morning, my queen,” I say against her ear.

My earlier fears concerning her health vanish now that I’m near her.

She relaxes against me, her body pliant beneath mine.

I thread my fingers between hers.

“Say it,” I whisper.

It’s been a demon riding me, the need to hear those words. I sense she loves me, but I want to hear the words from her.

I
must
hear them from her.

She stiffens beneath me. “No.”

I swear I hear true worry in her voice.

She’s close to cracking.

I nip the shell of her ear.

I will get her to say it.

And soon.

Serenity

Creature comforts still
make me feel guilty. I’m not sure that part of me will ever go away. I spent all my formative years as one of the have-nots. I don’t know what to do when everything I ever wished for is in the palm of my hand.

So I only reluctantly spend the day in bed with Montes, who appears to have no problem enjoying his creature comforts.

And oh, how he enjoys them. He hasn’t even let me out to eat, instead bringing our meals to bed. And when we’re not eating …

Like I said, Montes enjoys his creature comforts.

It’s only as the sun begins to set that he lets me slip from his arms.

He watches me as I dress. I feel those eyes, those thirsty, thirsty eyes drink me in.

When I go to grab a shirt, Montes says, “Ah, ah.”

I give him a look over my shoulder. “Unless you’d chain me naked that bed, I’m going to have to dress at some point.”

Give this man an inch, and he will take miles and miles.

He throws the covers off himself and leaves the bed to stride towards me. “Much as that would please me,” he takes the shirt out of my hands and tosses it aside, “I’ll have to save the chains for later.”

Montes heads to our closet and pulls out a dress with black and gold feathers along the shoulders and what looks like armored scales along the bodice. “We have dinner tonight.”

Between the relentless traveling and the attacks, I’d almost forgotten about the hateful dinners sprinkled liberally throughout the tour. We canceled all of the previous ones because they’d been contingent upon the officials of each territory.

“Shanghai’s leaders?” Now I feel doubly guilty for spending a day in bed.

“They’re fine,” Montes says.

My attention returns to the dress.

“What
is
that?” I say, eyeing the gown with equal bits curiosity and revulsion.

“Armor for a queen.”

Our dinner is
being held in an extravagant building with architecture even older than the skyscrapers, the roofs slanted, the colors deep and vivid.

I walk into the enormous main hall on the king’s arm. My dress shivers as I move, the result of all those metal scales rubbing against one another.

The walls around us are gilded in gold, and the columns bracing the ceiling are a vibrant red. It’s beautiful and foreign, and it makes me feel like an interloper.

As soon as the two of us catch the attention of the guests already inside, they begin pounding their chests, just like the men and women earlier. I press my lips together.

I never meant to become some sort of celebrity, and I’m unused to the positive attention I’ve been receiving. In the past, a good portion of the king’s subjects didn’t like me. I find it’s much easier to deal with hate than love.

I dip my head. Even that doesn’t stop the strange salutes they’re all giving me. Not for several minutes. And once they do stop, it’s not over. Not really, because everyone there wants to talk to me.

A waiter passes by, carrying several glasses of wine. I snatch one up, earning me a raised eyebrow from Montes. But for perhaps the first time since we’ve been together, he doesn’t actively try to prevent me from drinking.

An hour goes by like this. Drinking and talking. The king is by my side the entire time, smoothly managing the conversations without letting on that he’s doing so.

At some point, we come across Shanghai’s regional leader, Zhi Wei, his wife, and several dignitaries he works with. All of them look a little spooked.

They’re smart to be afraid. We’ve marked them for death by coming to their land. I still can’t think of that house in Kabul without feeling nauseous.

Zhi bows, his entourage following his lead.

“It’s an honor to have you here,” he says when he straightens.

It’s a curse.

I swallow down the bad taste I have at the back of my throat. I’m cursing these people by coming here.

“Thank you for hosting us,” I reply.

He gives a solemn nod.

“We are eager to end the war.” Zhi glances briefly at his wife. “We’ve lost two sons to it.”

This part hurts. It always hurts. I think most soldiers don’t fear death nearly so much as they fear this—their family’s grief. Soldiers know better than most the mind games the dead can play with you.

“I will do everything in my power to make that happen,” I say.

We chat with Zhi and his wife a little longer, then we move on to greet more people. I drink and greet, drink and greet. On and on it goes until the alcohol makes my smiles a little more genuine and my body a little less stiff.

I don’t notice I’ve drawn closer to Montes until he brushes a kiss on my temple, a kiss I lean into. I realize then how much of my side is pressed against his, and that my arm is wrapped just as tightly around his waist as his is mine.

A glass clinks at the far end of the room, and for one brief instant, I fear it’s another one of those embarrassing kiss requests meant for me and the king.

Instead, the waiter holding the glass clears his throat. “I’d ask all the guests to move into the dining room.” He gestures to a room to my left. “Dinner will commence shortly.”

Guests begin to meander towards the room, many throwing eager glances in my direction. Each one makes my heart stutter a little. Surely there are types of people that would like this attention, I’m just not one of them.

The king sticks closely to my side. If I had to guess, I’d say that he doesn’t like the attention on me any more than I do.

We enter a small, overly ornate room dominated by a large rectangular table and dozens of place settings. Just like the main room, the walls here are gold. It feels like something out of a dream, something I will wake up from.

I scan the room for our seats. It’s then that the back of my neck prickles.

I stiffen.

Even with the alcohol dulling my senses, there are some things I can’t shake. I’ve been a soldier too long. Self-preservation and paranoia are two sides of the same coin.

So I covertly place my foot in front of the king, and then I push him. I exert just enough force to have him stumble forward and trip over my leg. He begins to fall, and I go down with him.

The sound of the bullet is explosive. I hear a ping as it hits a silver serving bowl just to the left of Montes.

That’s all the time it takes for me to realize—

“They’re trying to kill the king!” I shout, grabbing Montes’s shoulder and shoving him the rest of the way to the ground. He forces me down along with him.

Distantly, I’m aware of others diving to the ground, but at the moment my attention is limited to the king.

When I try to cover his body with my own, he simply gives me a look and flips us.

He’s looking at me with wild eyes as more shots fill the air. It’s apparent from the agonized screams that the king was not the only target.

Wood and plaster dance in the air as the bullets tear through walls and furniture. I hear glass shatter as one of the shots rips apart a window. From my vantage point beneath the table I see people tumble to the ground.

My hands slide between me and the king and I grab my gun from the inner thigh holster I wear. All the while the sound of bullets and screams is a dark cadence in my ears.

I try to get up, but Montes isn’t budging. I can see the warning in his eyes.
Don’t you dare.

“We need to take out the shooters,” I say. I can’t hear my own voice above the noise, but Montes must because he gives a slow shake of his head.

“
Stay down
.” I read his lips.

The air is filled with a hazy red mist. I taste it on my lips, and I feel it brush against my face. This isn’t a simple execution, this is a butchering.

Montes won’t let me up, but I can still see legs beneath the table. I look for pairs that are stationary. Panicked people run or hide. Attackers don’t.

I see three separate sets of legs. I’m pulling the trigger before I can think twice about it. They go down, one after the next. When I see their heads and chests come into my line of sight, I shoot those too.

For a moment, I’m not positive I hit the perpetrators. There’s the terrible possibility that these were innocents I took out. But the shots cut off abruptly.

An eerie silence follows.

Dust, plaster, and misted blood hang heavy in the air. Around us, scattered bodies lay. The woman closest to me is missing an eye, and across from me the wife of Shanghai’s regional leader slumps against the wall, clutching her heart, her blood seeping between her fingers. Her eyes meet mine, and I see her surprise as she gasps in a breath.

Zhi crawls towards her, his body trembling with the effort as he drags his limp lower body across the floor.

The king’s face is awash with horror as he takes in the pair as well.

That could’ve been us.
I can tell that thought is running on repeat in his head.

“Montes,” I say, gently pushing at him. He still pins me down.

His nostrils flare when his attention returns to me. I push against him again, signaling that I want to get up. I think he’s going to refuse, but then, reluctantly, he rolls off of me.

I rise to my feet, Montes joining me a moment later.

Most of our guards have sustained some sort of injury. Those that haven’t now move over to our attackers. I begin to follow.

Montes catches my forearm.

“
Not yet
,” he says. At least, that’s what I think he says. My ears are still ringing.

I don’t bother arguing with him, I simply yank my arm from his grasp and head towards the rest of the men.

I can feel the king at my back, bearing down on me, and I sense his frustration. He’s having trouble controlling an uncontrollable thing.

I reach the king’s soldiers just as they’re checking the shooters’ vitals. I kick away our attacker’s weapons, though I’m almost positive all three are dead.

I study our attackers. Two men, one woman. All dressed as waiters. One of them was the very man that ushered us into the dining room.

He’d timed the attack.

As I stare down the three gunmen, I notice several strange lumps around the woman’s midsection. Now I crouch down, my hand going to the edge of the woman’s shirt. I untuck the fabric and peel it back.

Beneath …

It’s been a hundred years since I last saw an explosive, but unless this is an elaborate hoax, they haven’t changed much.

“Bomb,” I whisper.

“What was that?” Montes says from behind me.

I stand and began to back away, one of my hands aimlessly groping for the king’s.

“Bomb,” I say much louder. “The woman is rigged.”

The king’s guards peer beneath the shirts of the other two shooters. I don’t have the same view that they do, but I still see enough. And when their grim gazes meet my own, I have all the confirmation I need.

My eyes move across the room where half a dozen of the survivors stare at me with frightened eyes. Several more moan from the ground. “Everyone needs to evacuate,” I say. “
Now
.”