The military aircraft we sit in is a far cry from the king’s royal plane. I can see the structure’s exposed metal framework as well as the insulated wires that run along the walls and ceiling, and we sway in our seats with every subtle movement the aircraft makes.

This new king. I assess him while he’s not watching me. His head dips towards the sheet of papers he reads, one of his legs jiggling like he can’t possibly sit still.

He’s still a workaholic. Still vain. Still controlling. Still scarily powerful.

Montes glances up, and his eyes heat instantly.

Still in love with me.

“What is my vicious little queen thinking about?” he asks over the drone of the engines.

A hundred years for a man to become whatever it is he wants.

I cock my head. “I think you’re afraid of getting everything you ever wanted,” I say. “I think you know that once you do, you’ll be forced to realize how empty it all was in the end.”

He lowers the papers in his hands. I have his full attention now. His eyes are alight with an emotion I can’t quite put my finger on. I don’t know if it’s just his usual intensity or something else.

“My queen came back to me a psychoanalyst.”

“You wanted to know my thoughts,” I counter.

He watches me for a beat longer, then unbuckles his harness.

“Your Majesty,” one of his guards is quick to intervene, “you need to—”

The king raises a hand and quiets his officer. Now we do have some attention drawn our way. And among those eyes are Marco’s. I meet his gaze briefly, just long enough for him to look away. And then my attention returns to the king.

Montes crosses over to my seat and kneels before me, his hands resting on my thighs. The gesture is casual, but like anything that has to do with Montes, my mind moves to more intimate things. Stripping off clothes, hot breath against my skin, and more caresses from those hands.

“I don’t know,” he says softly.

I furrow my brows. “You don’t know what?”

His thumb absently strokes my leg. “Whether you are right or not. I’ve wondered the same thing myself. Whether I could’ve stopped the war from being drawn out this long.”

I search his face.

“But I’m not sure I could have,” he adds, “not without staying the same man I was.”

It’s still there; I see a flash in the back of his eyes even now. The urge to be cruel.

Montes leans forward, and I get to see that face of his up close and personal. If I thought he was intense far away, it’s nothing to this—having this man’s complete and utter attention.

And then he kisses me, his captive queen.

The entire production draws out. Montes won’t release my lips, not even when I try to move away. We have an audience, after all, an audience that only moments ago I was all too willing to entertain. The king has manipulated me yet again.

It’s only once he feels me give into the kiss that it sweetens. Eventually I manage to rip my face away from his.

I’m breathing heavily. This man that lays waste to all sorts of things, his head is still close to mine. At some point during our kiss, his hold on my legs tightened. It’s almost bruising, but I only now notice it.

My voice is low when I speak. “It doesn’t matter what you say, or what you do now, Montes. You’re still always going to be the man that ruined the world in the first place.”

He draws away, his eyes lingering on my mouth. “I am. And if it meant getting more time with you, I would’ve ruined it sooner.”

As soon as we arrive in Seoul, I sense it. The day feels ominous, like a storm about to break.

My new gun is holstered at my hip. No one’s asked me to remove it, but I wouldn’t anyway. The West’s violence has only increased throughout this trip.

We’re taken straight from the airfield to the stadium where I’ll be giving my speech. By the end of the day I will be back on that aircraft, heading towards the next location. Trying to stay one move ahead of the West.

Like the other cities I visited, Seoul show signs of the toils of war. Half the buildings are nothing more than rubble. And on many of them I see more posters and wall art depicting my image with the words Freedom or Death scrawled beneath. In one instance, I even see two assault rifles crossed beneath my image, like a skull and cross bones.

I’ve become a freedom fighter.

As our vehicle pulls up to our destination, I catch sight of the stage I’ll be speaking from. It’s nothing more than a temporary construction set up at the end of one of Seoul’s city streets. Some stadium seating appears to have been brought in, but other than that, the people use the topography itself to get a view of the stage.

And the people! I expected a low turnout. We had to change the time of the speech to fit into our rushed itinerary. But, if anything, the place looks overcrowded.

The street in front of the stage is packed with hundreds, if not thousands of bodies. Large skyscrapers border the road on either side, and judging from the people camped out just inside the broken windows of many of them, I can tell that this is the city’s improvised seating plan.

The armored vehicle comes to a stop at the fenced-off back of the stage.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Montes asks, casting a speculative look at our surroundings. He doesn’t let on, but I know he’s worried. Maybe even downright panicked.

He still hasn’t insisted I leave. And now he wants my input.