His hand moves on. “Gregory sanctioned human trafficking, and he personally has close to a hundred slaves—”

“Enough,” I say, pulling my hand from the king’s.

I’m going to be sick. How does evil get concentrated like this?

Bombed hospitals, slavery, concentration camps—this is ghastly even by my standards.

Beyond my horror is that roaring monster inside me. The one that loves the taste of blood and vengeance.

Already I can feel my hands aching for necks to squeeze and my knuckles for skin to split. I will get my day, I vow it to myself.

Montes turns me in his arms so that we’re staring at each other. “You asked me why the thirteenth representative doesn’t show himself. The truth is, I don’t know. But if I had to guess, I’d say it’s because he’s either hiding from his enemies—or lying amongst them.”

I take that in.

“How haven’t you managed to kill them yet?” I ask. That’s what the king was good at, after all. Slaughter. And he had so many decades to eliminate these men.

Montes absently plays with a strand of my hair. “You kill one, they elect another.” He smooths my hair back in place. “This wouldn’t be a problem if all thirteen representatives gathered together—I could wipe them out all at once. But they don’t. And if you can’t kill them simultaneously, it’s not worth the effort.”

I return my attention to the photos.

“What would cause them all to gather?” I muse aloud, my fingers tilting one of the images to better see the representative.

My hand stills as the answer comes to me.

Slowly my eyes return to the king.

He already knows, I can tell. I say it anyway.

“Victory.”

Chapter 26

Serenity

That evening, the officers gather in the large dining room for a goodbye dinner. The atmosphere feels celebratory, like they already know I’ll accomplish what I set out to do.

I’m not so certain.

I lean back in my chair and finger the velvet tablecloth. It’s worn. I don’t know how long it takes to age material, but I would guess years, maybe decades if it’s well cared for. It makes me wonder about that dress I wore when I so carelessly ran into the sea. It makes me wonder about every grand detail of the king’s lifestyle.

I’ve made a lot of assumptions, about Montes and everyone else. In the past, they’ve been founded, but I no longer know whether they are or not.

My eyes move across the table I sit at. It’s round, which means I get a good view of everyone. And they are all watching me, though some are more discrete than others. There’s an energy to the room, and excitement, and I know I’m responsible for it. The dead queen’s come back to end war once and for all.

They believe in me far more than I do.

There’s no magic to this. In fact, chances are, someone will bury a knife in my back before I’m even halfway through visiting countries. That’s what happens to powerful, dangerous people. They lead very short lives.

A heavy arm brushes my back. I glance first at the hand draped over my seatback, then its owner.

Montes is casually talking to Marco, who’s seated on his other side.

The soft lighting gentles the king’s features. I find my breath catches as I look at him.

He breaks conversation to turn to me. “My queen is quiet,” he says softly so that only I hear. “Never a good thing.”

“I have nothing to say.”

Montes contemplates me. Beyond him I feel Marco’s eyes on me as well.

The king stands, his chair scraping behind him. He reaches a hand to me.

I inhale sharply as I stare at Montes’s hand.

I am a stranger to this world, this future I must live in. I don’t know what to talk about, because I know nothing of this world. And I want to save it, I do, but I don’t know how to be a part of it.

Montes figured that out all with a single look, and he’s giving me an out.

The entire room’s attention focuses on us.

I take the king’s hand and I stand.

I can leave. Montes is willing to cut this dinner short. I can see as much in his expression. But I’m not going to run from these people just because I find these types of gatherings uncomfortable and I feel a little lost.

So instead I squeeze the king’s hand and then turn to the officers seated around the table. “Tomorrow we begin what will hopefully be the end of this war.” That earns a few claps and a couple of whoops from the dinner guests.

I can feel the king’s assessing eyes on me; I sense his curiosity. He likes my spontaneity.

“Many of you are used to fighting,” I say. “I know that I am.”

The king squeezes the hand he still holds.

“But I don’t want to spend the rest of my days watching young men die.”

The evening’s lightness dries up in the room.

“I want to see them grow old, and fat—I want to see men fat because there is so much food to go around.”

Several officers nod at that. As I gaze out at their somber faces, I realize that these are my people. A hundred years ago I couldn’t relate to the men and women the king surrounded himself with. These men and women I can.

Change is possible.

I pick up my wine glass. “A toast to peace.”

I meet the king’s mesmerized gaze. A small smile creeps along his face.

People raise their glasses. “To peace!”

After dinner, while people are moving into the adjoining room to drink and chat, I slip away. I’m sure my exit gains some attention. Once I made my toast and sat back down, I had more interested guests eager to talk to me than I knew what to do with.