I’m tired of evil, immortal people telling me this. Like they’re recovering psychopaths. Time can change a person, but it cannot erase their past.

“You will always be the person that took the first man I ever loved.”

I swear in Marco’s eyes I see some mixture of surprise and devastation. “Montes never told me Marco did that.”

I rear back, some sick combination of confusion and disgust filling my veins.

He continues on before I can get a word in edgewise. “I’m sorry for you and your father, Serenity, but I am not that man.

“You see,” he says carefully, “I am his clone.”

The revelation is enough to make me pause.

“You’re a … ?”

I can’t even say it.

Back in the time I left, clones were the things of science fiction, along with flying cars and humanoid robots.

“I am a copy of him,” Marco says. “Same DNA. It’s no different than twins, except that we never shared a womb and we weren’t born at the same time—obviously.”

He says this all as if his existence is somehow normal.

“You’re not Marco?” I say.

It’s still not registering

“I am Marco,” he says, “just not the one you knew. I was named after him.”

Suddenly all the pieces come crashing together. No technology could revive the king’s brain-dead friend. So instead Montes made a copy of Marco to keep him company through the years.

That is the saddest thing I might’ve heard yet.

Marco must sense that I’m no longer a threat. His hold loosens on me.

I stagger away from him.

A clone. I’m still wrapping my mind around it.

I look everywhere but Marco, and that’s when I remember where exactly we are.

“You were the one watching me,” I say as the realization dawns on me. The noises I heard. I’d been in lingerie one of those instances.

My hands clench. “You saw me,” I accuse, my face flushing. I’m ready to throttle him, the pervert.

He doesn’t bother denying it. “I wasn’t trying to watch you undress.”

I narrow my eyes at him.

That voice. I can’t help but hate it. I recognize that this is not the same man who crossed me years ago. That doesn’t change the fact that everything about him reminds me of the pain his twin put me through.

“I just wanted to see you, and the king forbid me from meeting you until he’d broken the news. So I came here,” he continues. “He doesn’t know that I can access these passageways.”

“Why did he hide you from me?” I ask. I’m still angry and more than a little spooked, but I also feel an unbidden wave of pity. Pity for this creature who will always live in his predecessor’s shadow, and pity for a king who must create his own friends because no decent human would truly and willingly become that man’s companion.

Marco glances at my hands, which are still balled into fists. “I imagine he was trying to prevent this from happening.”

The strangeness of the situation is beginning to wear off. I glance beyond Marco’s shoulder.

“The king’s room is at the end of this hall,” Marco says.

I return my attention to him.

“That’s what you’re looking for, right?” he adds. “You came from the king’s study.”

It’s not good that he knows that. The whole point of being in Montes’s office was to draw as few eyes as possible. And now Marco’s dangling that piece of information in my face. And I don’t know whether he intends to blackmail me with it, but I’ve had enough of men trying to play me.

I lean forward, momentarily setting aside my disgust for the face this man wears. “I don’t know who you are, but I will tell you this: if you threaten me in any way, you will regret it.”

I’ve scared a lot of people in my time. Marco does not appear to be one such person.

He inclines his head. “I won’t tell the king you were in here if you don’t tell him I was.”

I stare at Marco for a long moment, then I turn on my heel and leave.

“I’ll be seeing you around, Serenity,” he calls to my back.

“For your sake,” I say, not bothering to face him, “you better hope not.”

Chapter 23

Serenity

I push the framed painting softly open. Beyond it, the king’s bedroom is dark. As quietly as I can, I slip through the doorway and close the door and painting behind me. They shut silently.

I tiptoe across the room, removing my clothing as I go.

It’s still odd, sleeping skin on skin with the king. I enjoy it, much to my shame. Too many years spent without touching of any kind has left me famished for it. And Montes is all too ready to provide the contact I desire.

I pull back the sheets and slide into bed.

Several seconds later, the king’s arm drapes around my waist and he pulls my back to his front.

“I am king for a reason,” he whispers into my hair.

Immediately, I stiffen in his arms. He doesn’t sound sleepy. Not even a little bit.

He brushes my hair away from my ear, his touch proprietary. “I will let you have your secrets,” he says, “so long as they serve me.” His hand skims down my arm, then lays flat against my stomach. Idly, his thumb begins rubbing circles into my skin. “The moment they no longer do, my queen, bargain or no, I’ll strip you of your power.” His hand continues down my outer thigh. “And I will enjoy it.”