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

Chapter 4

Serenity

“
Come out with
your hands up!
”

Even the orders of the future remain the same. Has nothing changed at all?

Pressing my back against one of the vehicle’s doors, I use my hand to throw open the other. Instead of the gunfire I expect, a dozen different soldiers yell orders to exit the car. Those orders die away when they catch sight of the bodies.

Finally, fearfully, one calls out, “Serenity?”

I close my eyes. “I’m here,” I say.

“Is there anyone with you?”

“No one living.”

There’s a pause as the king’s men process that. Whatever they were told about me, I’m guessing that it hasn’t prepared them for who I really am.

“You can come out, Your Majesty. We won’t shoot.”

I open my eyes and push away from the wall and into the open doorway. Sunlight touches my skin for the first time in a very long time. I soak it in. The day is full of firsts.

I step down from the car and onto the dirt road.

A hush falls over my audience as they catch sight of me. Then slowly, one by one, they kneel.

I stop and take them in. I had prepared for their horror, dressed in blood as I am, not their veneration.

There are dozens of soldiers circled around the car I exited. Behind their ranks, several armored vehicles are parked, lights flashing. Above us, a chopper circles.

It’s all the same. The machinery might look slightly different, but it doesn’t appear to have advanced in all this time. Prosperity breeds progress, and this, this isn’t progress.

I fear for the world I have woken to.

Beyond the cars, scraggly rolling hills stretch out as far as the eye can see. I can feel the solitude of this place. The whistle of the wind seems to exacerbate it.

I haven’t dropped my gun, but the soldiers don’t seem to mind. As soon as they rise, I catch sight of their expressions.

I’m a ghost. A myth. That’s the only explanation for the spooked ardor in their eyes.

All the while, rivulets of blood snake down my calves. They’re right to be spooked of me.

I scour their ranks, looking for Montes. My eyes pass over dozens of men and a few women. I look them over once, twice. I didn’t realize I held onto some sick hope until I feel it vanish.

The king isn’t among these soldiers.

Even in the middle of my bloodlust, my heart aches. Last time I was captured, he was there to retrieve me.

A hundred years to change into whatever he wanted to become. A hundred years to fall out of love. A hundred years to forget about the broken, deadly girl he forced into marriage.

The king that rules these people isn’t the same king I knew. All my anger and pain are wasted on a man who, in all probability, no longer cares for me. The world’s still at war, after all. If I can really end it, the king should have taken me out of the Sleeper long ago.

Reflexively, my hand tightens on my gun.

Behind me is open road, in front of me is vengeance. My twisted heart is breaking, but I’m tempted to leave my heartbreak and revenge to the past and walk away from it all.

I take a step back. The soldiers tense.

“Your Majesty,” one of them says, “we’re the king’s royal guard. You can trust us.”

Normally, when people tell you that you can trust them, it means exactly the opposite.

I look around; the soldiers encircle me completely. If I ran, how far would I get before they caught me? How many more men would I have to kill? I don’t want to spill more blood. And even if I did, I couldn’t possibly take them all out before the king’s guard immobilized me. I’d lose whatever precious power I had to wield.

I’m still not free.

“I need your word,” I say to the man who spoke.

He pauses. “Anything, Your Majesty.”

“Don’t let the king put me back in the Sleeper.” My voice breaks as I speak. “Kill me first.”

“I’ll vow to you anything but that.”

“Then I can’t go with you,” I say.

“Your Majesty,” he says, all but pleading with me, “what you’re asking of me is treason. The king would—”

I press the barrel of the gun to my temple. The soldiers tense once more.

“I need your word,” I say. “I need
everyone’s
word, or I will pull the trigger,” I say.

I hear murmuring from all around me. It takes a minute to make out what they’re saying, but eventually I do.

“
Freedom or death
.”

Even out here in the midday heat, my skin prickles.

What have you made of me, Montes?

As my gaze sweeps over all of them, I begin to see them nod. Then, one by one, they take a knee and put their fists over their hearts.

“You have my word,” the first soldier says.

“And mine,” someone says from behind me.

“And mine.”

“And mine.”

This lonely space fills with the sound of dozens of oaths.

Slowly, I lower my gun. They don’t know me, but now they show me allegiance.

I slip my weapon into the bodice of my dress and approach the king’s guards, leaving bloody footprints in my wake.

Time to meet the man of my nightmares.

The future is
no place for civilization.

I stare out the window of the chopper that circled high above me only hours ago. Even this far away from the surface of the earth I can see the destruction.

What does a century and a half of war look like? It looks like ghost towns, like rust and wreckage.

Here and there I see evidence of small towns where people must live. Nothing about these settlements follow any sort of city planning. There are no straight lines, and they have none of the symmetry I recall from the time before the war.

The king appears to have left more than just me to rot.

Over the course of the flight, I notice the settlements change. They get bigger, nicer, and they seem to have some of the symmetry that the other ones lacked. Perhaps not everyone is suffering in this new world.

Once we begin to descend, I have an idea of where we’re headed. A swath of deep blue ocean stretches below me, broken up by islands every so often.

The king rebuilt his Mediterranean palace.

An unnatural dread settles into my bones. It’s going to feel like nothing’s changed. I just know it.

As soon as we land, I stand, and the king’s guards step into formation.

Dried blood flakes off me. I suppress a grimace. I’m a mess.

The back of the chopper opens, and I follow the soldiers out, the metal floor cool against my bare feet. My hair kicks up around me as I exit the aircraft.

No cameramen wait for me, nor any eager civilians. Instead, an armored car idles off to the side of the runway, and other than the few soldiers that stand in front of it, we are alone.

Still no king.

And now my mind skips back to the first time the king retrieved me, back when I thought he ordered my father to be killed. Even knowing that he was last person I wanted to see, he’d come for me.

Perhaps that’s why he didn’t show up today.

Because it if there is one person I do want to see, it’s Montes.

I was right.

The king’s world is all so eerily familiar.

The palace is just as abominably beautiful as his palaces have always been. Just as big, just as grand, just as oppressive. I stare up at it as the armored car I ride in comes to a stop. Exotic, flowering vines grow up the sides of its walls. Beyond the walls, the ocean stretches on and on.

Just as before, no one waits for us.

I slide out of the vehicle before anyone can try to help me out.

My entourage of guards fans out around me.

I can’t look away from those tall walls.

“The king’s inside?” I ask.

“He is,” one of the men says. “He’s ordered us to take you to your chambers, where you’re to shower and dress.”

I feel my upper lip curl. Of course he would want me to wash away all my sins like they never happened.

I follow the soldiers up the marble steps. Before I can cross the threshold, one of the men guarding the door clears his throat. “Your Majesty, your gun.”

The cold metal rests between my breasts. “What about it?” I ask.

“You can’t bring it inside.”

“Says who?” I ask.

“It’s the king’s policy.”

Reluctantly, I reach down my bodice and hand the gun over. I stole that one; I can always steal another.

Walking into the king’s palaces always felt like entering someone else’s dream. But now, more than ever, it feels surreal as I pass the colossal columns that line the great entryway. I’m in a time and a place that I don’t belong. There is a bone deep wrongness to the situation, and I can do nothing about it.

So I settle for getting perverse pleasure dragging my bloodied skirts and dirty feet across the king’s pristine floors.

As we wind our way through the halls of this place, I keep my muscles tense. The guards may have promised to keep me safe from the Sleeper, but their allegiance ultimately belongs to the king.

Our footsteps echo through the lonely, abandoned halls. When I was newly married to the king, his corridors bustled with politicians and aides, servants and guards. Now they’re eerily empty, the artwork that lines them covered with drop cloths.

Has my terrible king grown eccentric in his old age?

The few posted guards I pass stand stoically. If they’re shocked by my presence, they show no sign of it.

Eventually my retinue stops in front of a set of double doors.

“Your chambers, Your Majesty,” one of the soldiers says. “Make yourself comfortable. We’ll be right outside.”

I nod to them and enter the room.

I could still be an emissary and this my suite for all the similarities I see.

My eyes move over a large, gilded mirror, a canopy bed, and elaborately carved table and chairs to match.

I run a hand over and intricately carved piece of furniture. This is too similar to the time I left. It’s destabilizing. Confusing.

On the far side of the room, two French doors lead out to a balcony. They have already been thrown open, and a sea breeze rushes over me. I’m sure that if I walked out there right now, I’d see the ocean in all its glory.

Instead I pace.

I’m right back to where I started, here where the tragedies of the world can never touch me. Everything about this place mocks my existence.

He should’ve just left me to die.

I press my palms to my eyes.

I don’t want any of this.

And then there’s what I do want. Answers, revenge, repentance.

I have a sick feeling I won’t get any of them.

Chapter 5

The King

She’s here, in
the palace. Awake.

Even if I didn’t hear the cars pull up or receive updates from my soldiers, I would know it.

Every square inch my skin is buzzing in a way it hasn’t done for decades. Not since those beautiful eyes of hers closed a hundred years ago. I’m mortified to admit that I’ve long since forgotten their exact color.

I can’t escape her face. It’s everywhere—printed onto posters, mounted on billboards, tagged across the sides of walls—but I can escape all those details about Serenity that used to haunt me. I’ve avoided the footage of her I’d once so liberally dispersed.

Up until now, my feelings for her had moved from a fresh wound, to an old one, to a dull ache, to a fond memory. A perfect memory.

That all ends today.

From the reports coming in, my men say they found her covered in blood. That the vehicle she was pulled from was full of dead men.

I put a fist to my mouth.

My wife’s awake.

Awake and on a warpath.

And I’m her target.

Serenity

Once I’m in
the shower, I begin to assess myself.

Other than a few absent freckles, my skin looks the same. And from the brief glimpse I caught of myself in the mirror, I still retain the scar on my face, as well as the thin white ones that crisscross my knuckles.

I might be heartsick, but physically, I feel great. If I’m still riddled with cancer, then my health will change soon enough. For now, I count my blessings. I have few enough of them.

It’s only once I leave the shower that I encounter disappointment.

I frown at the lone gown and heels that sit inside the closet. It’s the furthest thing to combat gear I can imagine. The lacy lingerie that accompanies them is little better.

It takes me almost five minutes to dress, due largely to the number of holes and straps the deep crimson gown has. I ignore the heels altogether.

A thud at my back has me spinning around. My eyes lock on the gilded mirror that takes up a good portion of one of the walls. The surface of it trembles ever so slightly.

I walk up to the mirror and press my palm against its surface. The tremors die down, and eventually vanish altogether.

This eerie place.

Someone raps on the door. “
Your Majesty
,” they say, “
The king will see you now
.”

More cavernous halls,
more empty corridors. Everything is pristine, but there are no signs of life.

For the first time since I woke, I feel the stirrings of trepidation. I’ve been angry at the man who put me in the Sleeper, not the one who refused to let me out.

I don’t know
this
man.

The guards that surround me carry no weapons. I was so confident that I could steal one off of them, but there are none to steal.

They take me to a room I assume is used for extravagant parties, judging by how large the double doors are.

We stop in front of it, and one of my guards knocks.

No one answers the door and no one responds.

I cast a side glance at the soldiers. They don’t appear surprised about this.

What is waiting for me on the other side?

They pause for several more seconds, then reach for the doors.

As soon as they swing open, my breath catches.

If parties were once held in this room, they are no longer. A world map covers the far wall. The same hated strings and blacked out faces are pinned to it. But the two adjacent walls, those are filled from floor to ceiling with photographs and reports.

Conquering has become Montes’s obsession, though
obsession
is not nearly a strong enough word for this.

A century to transform a man into whatever thing he wishes to become …

Right in the middle of the room, staring up at his enormous map, his hands clasped behind him, is the one man I hate more than any other.

My tormentor. My lover.

The king.

Tha-thump.

Tha-thump.

Tha-thump.

My pulse pounds in my ears as my eyes land on his back.

There is no word for what I feel. It’s too big, the pain too acute. It burns up my throat and pricks my eyes.

In my mind, I held this man yesterday, felt him move inside me yesterday, heard him whisper that he loved me yesterday.

But my yesterday was 104 years ago.

“Your Majesty, the queen.”

The king’s body is just as still as ever; he gives no signs that he even heard the guard.

The moment stretches on.

Finally, “Leave us.”

That same smooth as Scotch voice echoes through the room, and it sounds grander than I’ve ever heard it.

Now,
now
I feel the weight of all the lost years. It might’ve seemed as though I went to sleep yesterday, but my ears know they haven’t heard that voice in an eternity.

Montes doesn’t turn around as the guards retreat. The door closes with a resounding thud behind them, and then it’s just me and the undying king.

I don’t move. I barely even breathe.

I’m falling apart.

From hate to love to hate once more. My hardened heart was not made to withstand such vast and ever-changing emotions. It’s cleaving me to pieces.

Why did he do this?

Why?

WHY?

“You
bastard
,” I whisper.

The king’s entire body flinches at the sound of my voice.

“Are you even going to face me?”
You fucking coward.

I hear the scrape of his heel, and then he’s turning.

I thought I’d be ready to face him, I thought that this pain-laced fury churning inside me would obliterate any other feelings the sight of him would bring.

God, was I wrong.

Our gazes lock, and it’s all right there—the love, the hate, the sorrow and happiness we hold for one another. All that time can go by, yet everything between us is just as raw and intense as it’s always been.

My monster. My husband. He’s utterly unchanged. He still has the same olive skin, the same dark hair, the same seductive lips and dark, dying eyes. And judging by the way he stares at me, that obsessive love he once harbored might not be completely gone.

He takes a step forward and nearly goes down to one knee, his legs are so unstable. At first I think something’s wrong with him. It takes a moment to realize it’s the sight of me.

“Serenity,” he says, straightening.

Tha-thump.

Tha-thump.

My chest rises and falls faster and faster.

He takes another step towards me. And then another. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from me. Not for a second. His face is impassive—all but his eyes. Those depthless eyes that have witnessed so many of his terrible deeds, they devour me. They move over my outfit, and then my face.

Here they linger, touching each one of my features. But it’s my scar they finally rest on.

I swore I wouldn’t shed another tear for this man, and yet I feel one slip out anyway.

Damn my heart. Even after everything, I love him, and it’s ripping me apart.

“You came here to kill me.” There’s such resignation his voice.

“You motherfucker,” I say. “You left me to
rot
.” My entire body trembles. Had I once thought I was the colder of the two of us? I’ve gotten no reaction out of him, and here I am breaking apart in his midst.

The king blinks several times, his eyes a bit too bright. “Your hate—I’d … forgotten.”

He’s still coming towards me, and I can tell he wants to touch me. I begin to move, one of my legs crossing behind the other as I circle the king.

“I was your wife,” I accuse.

“You still are my wife.” That voice of his—so sure, so commanding.

“No, Montes, you forfeited that right a long time ago.”

Suddenly, he’s no longer casually strolling. He strides forward. “You will
always
be mine, and you will never—”

As soon as he is within range, I cock my arm back and I slam my fist into his face.

He staggers, his hand reaching up to his cheekbone.

I stalk forward, and then I sock him again. And again. Pain radiates out from my knuckles, and I relish it.

Montes falls, and I follow him to the ground. My fists have a mind of their own. They land wherever they can, and the meaty slap of skin meeting skin echoes throughout the room. My tears fall along with them. I didn’t realize I could feel like this—angry and desolate—all at once. And with every blow, I wait for that flood of relief to come. I’m meting out my revenge.

But this doesn’t feel like revenge. The king keeps taking the hits, and he doesn’t raise a hand against them, not even to protect himself.

“Fight back, you bastard,” I growl.

He laughs, and those white, white teeth of his are now stained red with his blood.

My husband is insane.

We both are.

Finally, his arms come up, but only so they can encircle me. He pulls my body flush against his. “God, I fucking missed you, Serenity.”

And then he kisses me.