“Do you really think they’ll pull something together by tomorrow?” he asks.

I drum my fingers on my arm rest. “They better. Maybe for once they’ll stop throwing parties and put their mind and their money towards something that actually matters.”

“And what will you do if they don’t?”

I give the king a piercing look. “Exactly what you would do—I’ll make good on my threat.”

He stands. “And you wonder why I give you a portion of my power. You know how to rule.” He extends a hand out to me. “Enough plotting for a day. Come, my queen.”

Together we leave the hotel. People who see us bow like I’m not just some dying soldier from a conquered nation and the king our tyrant ruler.

I am Montes’s captive queen. I may have agreed to this fate for the sake of my people, but I’m a prisoner nonetheless.

It’s my heart and the king’s that have betrayed us both.

Our car pulls up, but I hesitate to get inside. I may be a prisoner, but I’m a powerful one.

“Serenity?” Montes says when I don’t make a move towards the vehicle.

“I want to see the people here,” I say, my gaze flicking to the king.

Montes glances around like that’s a trick question. “You have.”

I know enough about this region to know I’m seeing what powerful people want me to see. “Take me to the nearest settlement. I want to see how the impoverished live.”

Montes studies me. “I don’t need to warn you about the radiation.”

He’s actually entertaining this request. And here I thought I’d have to fight him.

“You don’t,” I say. I know better than most exactly what exposure can do to a person’s body.

He squints and works his lower jaw as he considers it.

Finally, he says, “Ten minutes. Make them count because that’s all you get.”

IT’S EVEN WORSE than I thought.

Our caravan of vehicles pulls up to the edge of a shantytown. The houses are nothing more than bits and pieces of cinderblock, tin, tattered cloth, plastic, and palm fronds. The whole thing looks like it could be swept away by the first big storm of the season.

People stop what they’re doing and watch us. It’s not every day that shiny, fancy cars bearing the king’s insignia stop at your doorstep. In my opinion, a day like that would be terrifying beyond belief.

As soon as our engine is idling, I step out of the car, uncaring that I’ve left Montes behind or that the king’s men haven’t cleared the area. The latter shout at me to stop, but I don’t. What are these people going to do to me that hasn’t already been done before?

My boots sink into the mud as I head towards the edge of the village, and I’m thankful that I decided today to wear boots and pants instead of another frilly dress. The place is muddy and it smells like open sewage.

In my peripherals, I can see the king’s guards begin to flank me, but they keep their distance, and I can almost pretend that it’s just me walking down the main road.

I don’t get very far. Dirty, mostly naked kids run up to greet me.

“La reina! La reina!” Some of them call.

Even out here they know of me.

Their exuberance pulls a smile from my lips. “Hola—hola,” I say to each of them in turn.

Already I can see signs of malnourishment and ill health. Some have distended bellies, others discolored skin from radiation burns. I’m almost afraid to touch them for fear that I’ll somehow hurt them.

“Someone take pictures of this,” I call to the guards. I want to show those contentious politicians what really matters.

“Tiene comida para nosotros?” one asks.

“Comida?” Other kids echo.

“Do you speak the common tongue?” I ask. “La lengua común?”

“Yes!” I hear some kids shout enthusiastically.

Despite all they must’ve endured at the hands of their government, they’re still happy to see me. The resilience of children.

“Do you have food for us?” asks a girl with stringy hair. Her eyes are far too aged.

Food. Water. I’m used to hearing these requests. They came up many times during my tour as a soldier. No one wants money. Currency means little in these areas when a single meal might be the difference between life and death.

“I will get you and your families some food,” I promise. For once I feel like my position as queen allows me to do what I’ve always wanted to—to save lives instead of taking them.

She jumps up and down at my words and translates for the kids that don’t understand English. Little squeals erupt from the small crowd.

Behind me, I hear the car door close. I don’t look back, but many of the children do. I can tell by their widening eyes who they see.

“It’s okay,” I reassure them, “he’s not here to hurt anyone.”

I can tell they don’t believe me, and why should they? We’ve all been spooked by tales of the undying king.

“Manuel!” “Esteban!” “Maria!”

I look up. The adults, who have been lingering outside their houses, now call their kids back.

It strikes me as odd—they’re obviously frightened of the king but not of me. I’d assumed that people hated me worse than Montes, but out here it appears they trust a former WUN citizen a great deal more than King Lazuli.

Some of the kids peel away. Others hesitate.