CHAPTER 15

The King

THE NEWS DOESN’T immediately take. I stare at the tiled floor as the doctor’s words sink in.

Serenity is … pregnant?

With my child?

My gaze moves up slowly to the doctor. “She is?”

He nods.

She’s carrying my child.

Serenity’s carrying our child.

I draw in a lungful of air.

Now it takes.

Fierce joy surges through my system, followed on its heels by possessive, masculine pride. I can’t stop my reaction. Now my heart’s pounding for an entirely different reason.

A child.

We hadn’t planned on this. I wasn’t trying to get her pregnant, despite my eventual plans for an heir. I’d never considered kids, and now I don’t know what to do with this strange elation I feel. If I’d have known I’d have this reaction, I’d have pushed the issue sooner.

I want to grab my wife and hold her. My eyes move to the Sleeper. Instead she’s unconscious, hurt once again.

She and our child.

A burst of anger punches through my joy. Someone needs to die, and Serenity and I need to leave the palace. It’s clear that if we remain, this will continue to happen. It grates me to flee my own home, but I’ll do it for her and the baby.

I’m going to be a father.

Had I once worried that no one who knows me will love me? Already my wife’s long-standing hatred is toppling. And my child—I rub my mouth. I’ll make damn sure they love me.

“How far along is she?” I ask.

“Just shy of eight weeks—Your Majesty, I need to caution you, the child might not survive. Women like Serenity who have been exposed to high levels of radiation often have fertility issues. And if the child does survive, it might have problems of its own.”

These words, too, don’t immediately sink in. But when they do—and they eventually do—they slaughter me.

This is karma, giving me everything I want only to steal it away.

I’m shaking my head. I won’t believe it.

Usually I’m a reasonable man. But reasonableness has nothing to do with this. Not now that I have a future to look forward to and something to hope for.

“The Sleeper can fix this.” Serenity is a survivor. Maybe our child will be as well.

“The Sleeper, as we’ve previously discussed, has limits.”

“Then fucking enhance it! Goddamnit, I will not sit here and listen to you tell me all the ways this won’t work.” I rise to my feet and get in Goldstein’s face. “You’re the royal physician. Consider your life now tied to my child’s.” I mean every word.

He blanches.

Good. Perhaps the threat will be enough to prompt him into usefulness.

Once he recovers, the doctor bows his head. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

“Leave—and tell no one of this.” If my enemies knew of the pregnancy, they’d redouble their efforts to kill Serenity.

Goldstein exits the room, leaving me with my sick, pregnant wife.

I stare at the Sleeper, my excitement offset by Goldstein’swarnings. I place a hand on the machine.

Deadly, savage woman.

Now that I’m alone with her, I realize Serenity won’t react to the news like I have. I don’t know quite how she’ll take it, but I doubt joy will top her list. I remember her barely masked revulsion on our wedding day when the subject came up. It burns me raw to remember. She still hates me; I haven’t won her over enough for her to forget the bad blood between us. And when she finds out she’s pregnant with my child … it will set off all sorts of her triggers.

I’m a wise enough man to know telling her will earn me her famous wrath. I might not survive an angry, hormonal Serenity. Better she figure it out on her own.

I smile at the prospect of a pregnant Serenity stomping around.

I’ve only gotten the barest taste of this future, but already I know I want no other.

Serenity

WHEN I WAKE up, it’s in the king’s bed.

I push myself up and rest my back against the headboard.

How did I get here?

I have to jog my memory to recall the knife wound.

The Sleeper. Of course.

Now I wear a dress someone else slid onto my body while I slept. I try not to think about that too hard. Same goes for the underwear I see when I lift the hem of the dress up. There really isn’t anyone who I’d want to see me naked.

I continue to raise the material until I see the smooth expanse of my stomach. I touch the skin that had been split open last time I’d seen it. Nothing remains of that wound, not even a scar.

How many days did I lose this time?

I pull my dress back down and lean my head against the headboard. A glint of metal catches my eye, and I turn to the bedside table.

A row of bullets are lined up along the polished wood. Next to them are a giftwrapped box and a card with my name scrawled across the front. I reach for the card.

I thought you’d prefer this to flowers.

I run my thumb over the king’s handwriting.

A reluctant smile spreads across my face. I do prefer bullets to flowers.

I pick one of them up and study it.

My smile falls away. This ammunition is familiar.

I turn my attention to the gift wrapped box. When I lift it onto my lap the weight, too, is familiar.

I tear away at the ribbons and paper that cover it. I’m breathing faster than I should be. And then, when I open the lid of the box, I stop breathing altogether.

Inside, resting on tissue paper, is a gift I have already been given once before. I pick up the piece of cold, hard metal. It fits in my hand like it was born there.