I look from them to the king, my brow furrowed.

“They want us to kiss again.”

I feel my cheeks heat. My courage is all used up. King Lazuli dips down and brushes his lips against mine. My mouth responds, moving languidly over his, even though the entire situation freaks me out. At least we’ve definitely given the world a show.

This time when the king pulls away, his lips skim over my cheek to my ear. “You’re cute when you blush.”

My nostrils flare in annoyance, but I compose my face before anyone takes notice. The king’s hands linger, one in particular gets comfortable around my waist.

His eyes drop to my gown. “You look gorgeous—the dress fits you perfectly.”

The mention of this hateful gown reminds me that the king is more than just silky words and soft caresses. He’s the enemy.

I give him a tight smile since I can’t be openly rude to him while so much attention is on us.

King Lazuli seems to understand this, and a sly grin spreads across his face. “Like the color?”

“Uh huh.” I clench my jaw so much it hurts.

The people who cluster around the king have focused their attention on me, and I know my pleasant exterior is cracking. I entwine my fingers around the king’s, and pry his hand from my waist.

“Mind if I steal the king for a moment?” I ask the crowd.

The group shakes their heads and shrugs. “Thanks—I promise I’ll only be a moment.” I drag the king away from the crowd, not that he seems to mind it in the least. The camera crews start to follow us, so I turn and give them all a death glare. It’s enough for them to keep their distance. For now. I know I’ve caused too much of a scene for them to stay away long.

Once I get the king a safe distance away from the crowd, I drop the act. “I’ll do it.”

“Oh? And what exactly is it that you’ll do?” the king asks.

I narrow my eyes. “Whatever it is you want with me.”

I can see the king’s breath catch. He’s getting exactly what he wants, just like he promised me he would.

“But—” I say, “I have a condition.”

The king raises his eyebrows and waits for me to continue.

“You need to compromise with the WUN—don’t cripple their economy, don’t withhold needed funds. Give my homeland enough benefits to get them back on their feet.”

“You do realize that’s incredibly vague,” the king says. What he doesn’t say is that in his world, ambiguity is an exploitable weakness.

I touch his arm; I’m going to have to get used to his touch if I go through with this. He glances down at where my hand rests, then back to my face. His eyes are vulnerable.

“I’m asking you to be honorable,” I say. I give him a long look, and I see some of his humanity seep into those bright eyes. “Please, you don’t need to blackmail me or the western hemisphere to get what you want. I’m coming to you freely.”

The king cups my chin, and I see real tenderness there. “I’ll come up with a final agreement, but your father will have to approve of it for us to have a deal.”

A deal. That’s what this is. I nod.

He bows his head and steals a kiss from me. “Good. Then I look forward to a long and prosperous future for all parties involved.”

I did it. I just sacrificed myself for my nation.

Chapter 9

Serenity

Two years ago I became my father’s apprentice.

He hadn’t always been our land’s only emissary. I hear we used to have many. Men and women appointed by the government to engage in diplomacy with foreign nations.

When the Western United Nations was formed, this branch of the government was refashioned. A single position—that of WUN emissary—was created. It proved to be a fatal one. Half a dozen men and women died before my father, who’d once served as the Secretary of State, had been elected into the role.

He managed to hold onto the position and his life, mostly because he hadn’t set foot onto the Eastern Hemisphere.

There should’ve been another round of elections since my father took the title of emissary. He should’ve abdicated the role to another official, along with all the other representatives that lived in the bunker. But once the western hemisphere went dark, our electoral system disintegrated almost overnight. In it’s absence we had to revert to an archaic system of power: bequeathing titles from parent to child. And now my father was passing the position onto me.

I knew all of this the evening he called me into his office. I’d seen and lived so much that this shouldn’t have scared me. But it did.

Once I shut the door behind me, my father glanced up from his papers. “Do you know why you’re here?”

I gave him a sharp nod. “You want to teach me how to be an emissary.”

My father scrubbed his face. “I don’t want to do this—that you’ve got wrong. But neither of us have much of a choice.”

“Dad, I’m no good at diplomacy.”

He cracked a smile. “You’re my daughter. You’re good at everything.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re a little biased.”

“And you’re a little humble.”

His words were proof I’d never have his sharp tongue. He always knew the right thing to say to diffuse a situation. I was more likely to punch someone in the face than I was reasoning with them.

That first lesson was brief, unlike the hundreds to come. By the end of it, my father left me with one final bit of information. “Serenity?”