Montes comes up behind me and drags the zipper down. Material peels away from my skin, and now those hands of his are coaxing the rest of the fabric off me.

“Perhaps if they weren’t turncoats,” I continue, “I’d be a little nicer—”

Montes pushes me up against the wall. He captures my hands in his own, “You know what I think upsets you?” he asks, his nose skimming my jaw as he breathes me in. “I think you see yourself in them, and you hate it.” He pitches his voice low, and it drips with all sorts of dark intentions.

They and I are nothing alike. But Montes’s words dig under my skin. Am I not for all outer appearances a traitor just like them? Perhaps, like me, they were cornered into this. And perhaps, like me, they too have lost themselves somewhere along the way.

The king captures my lips, his hand sliding up my thigh. I feel the remnants of my lipstick smear as our mouths move against each other.

He doesn’t bother undressing. He simply unbuckles his belt, unzips his pants, and pushes aside my lingerie.

With one hard thrust, he’s inside of me.

I gasp at the sensation. It’s just on this side of pain, and that’s when I love sex best. I could never indulge in something wholly sweet with the king. Not without at least a little grappling.

He lets my wrists go to grip my hips, kissing my neck as he does so. I feel his hot breath fan down the column of my throat. His pace increases, and each rock of his hips causes my back to pound against the wall.

I cradle him in my arms and arch my neck back. What I can’t possibly understand is why anyone wastes time with war when they could be doing this instead.

Montes pulls us away from the wall. We don’t break apart as he carries me to our room. We fall in a tangle of limbs on the mattress. The pins holding my hair in place are coming loose, and as I tug on the king’s dark locks, his fancy gel disintegrates beneath my fingertips. Civilization is giving way to our primal savagery.

He thrusts into me, and dear God, I’m willing to admit that right about now, I love the king. It’s fucked up, and if ever there was proof of my twisted nature, this would be it.

I don’t give a damn.

I slide my feet along the back of the king’s legs.

“Tell me you love me,” the king says next to my ear.

His thoughts are clearly moving in the same direction as mine.

I grip his hair tighter and tilt his ear to my mouth. “No.”

He moves harder against me, the friction causing a moan to slip out. I’m far beyond caring that the king’s torn down most of my walls and my modesty along with them.

“Say it,” he breathes.

I don’t.

As a result, he stops.

We’re both panting like animals, and when he stares down at me, I see sweat beaded along his brow.

“Say it,” he repeats.

Staring at him, our bodies joined and our limbs entangled, I almost do.

He moves against me, just a little. Enough to remind me that he controls the strings.

I shake my head. “I’m not giving that to you.”

He flashes me his wickedest grin. “Has my queen forgotten who she’s married?” he whispers, his nose dipping down to nuzzle my hair.

He cups a breast through the fabric of my dress. “I’ll get you to say those words just as I have everything else.”

I’m too far gone to give into his witty rapport. “Just shut up and fuck me.”

And he does, but not before he says his final piece. “I will, Serenity. And when I do, you’ll mean them, too.”

CHAPTER 18

Serenity

AN AFFECTIONATE KING. It should be impossible, but it isn’t.

He hasn’t stopped touching me in some way since we were intimate. And now that we’re at Estes’s estate for a dinner party, he’s being affectionate in public.

To be honest, I’m not entirely opposed to it. The ballbuster in me wants to slap his hands away, but each touch regrettably also draws up memories of heavy breathing and slick skin, and when I meet his eyes, they’re heated, as though he’s ready to repeat the afternoon’s activities at any given minute.

Like the one I wore earlier, this dress is far too constricting. That’s the only reason why I can’t catch my breath.

My eyes move around Este’s extravagant home, and they latch on to each piece of wealth the man’s accumulated. To think this was all acquired while his people starved—while we starved.

I see the guards posted at the four corners of the room. There are more outside, and even more stationed in the watchtowers that border the entrance to the estate. Everything here has been acquired through bloodshed and lies.

This will all come to an end. I vow it then and there.

A waiter passes by carrying a tray of various drinks. I snatch one of the champagne flutes. Just as my fingers wrap around the stem, Montes intercepts it.

I give him a disbelieving look.

“You really shouldn’t be drinking this with your cancer,” he says.

He can’t be serious.

“Give the alcohol back to me,” I demand.

“No.”

“I thought it didn’t matter to you whether I drank or not.”

“I lied,” he says. “It does. Now,” Montes looks around, “Let’s find you some sparkling cider.”

I breathe through my nose. “Give me the fucking drink.” The promise of alcohol was all that was keeping me from open mutiny.

He smiles at me and downs it.