The gun had originally been a gift from my father, and ever since he’d given it to me, it had been the most constant of comrades.

Montes had held onto it this entire time. I can’t stop the anger that rises at the thought. He’d taken away one of the few possessions I’d coveted.

But he had given it back. With bullets.

What a trusting, stupid man.

I’M LOADING BULLETS into the chamber of my father’s gun when Montes storms in. His eyes capture mine, and he stalks towards me.

My anger is no match for the emotion pouring off him.

He doesn’t bother removing the gun from my hand before he cups my face the same way he had the last time we’d been intimate. The same intensity burns through him now as it did then.

He takes my mouth savagely. When the kiss doesn’t let up after a few seconds, I set aside the gun to better return it.

I can tell without asking that Montes’s emotions simmer just beneath his skin. Usually I doubt his motives and intentions, but there is no confusion here: I’m no passing fancy of his.

He threads his fingers through my hair and his tongue invades my mouth.

It’s not enough.

I can practically hear the thought running on repeat in his head. The man who owns the world has finally found something he can never have enough of, and he’s trying to figure out a way to remedy that.

He breaks off the kiss and leans his forehead against mine. “How do you feel?”

“You gave me back my father’s gun.” Even as I speak, I reach for it.

“Thinking of using it on me?” His eyes are full of mirth, and any anger I was planning on directing his way now dissipates. He enjoys the vicious side of me; it’s hard to threaten someone when they relish it.

I turn my attention from the king to the weapon. I flip it over and over in my hand. I miss my war-torn country and my father. I miss knowing right from wrong and friends from enemies. I miss knowing my place in the world.

I can feel the king watching me. The bed dips as he sits at my side. “Your gun had me thinking.”

That train of thought can’t end well.

His fingertips touch the scar on my face. “I have a serious question for you: Now that you’re the unofficial representative of the western hemisphere, how would you feel about returning to the WUN?”

NOT TWO DAYS later Montes and I are on the plane heading to the last land to fall to the king.

Up here, the sky is bluer than I’ve ever seen it, and the clouds are whiter than even the king’s smile. It hurts my chest that a day can be this beautiful.

We’re not headed to the continent formerly known as North America. It’s an odd mix of relief and disappointment to not be returning to the place I called home. It’s all I’ve ever known, but there’s nothing there left for me.

Instead, we’re heading to the land on the other side of the equator. The king’s having trouble pulling together the fractured nations of Southern WUN, and now, as the self-appointed representative of the western hemisphere, I’m to help him fashion some sort of cohesive government. I smile to myself as I stare out the window. What he wants to do is damn near impossible, and it may be petty of me, but I look forward to seeing the king struggle.

I steal a glance at Montes, who sits across from me, his legs pressed against my own. He’s pinching his lower lip as he scrolls through a document on his tablet. Without warning, Montes looks up and our eyes meet. I squeeze my chair’s armrests.

A wry smile spreads across his face. “Still plotting my death?”

I frown. I don’t want this casual familiarity with him, no matter that it’s inevitable.

Absently I touch my holstered gun. “You shouldn’t remind me. The prospect is too tempting.”

“So you weren’t plotting my death while you were staring at me? Hmmm, I wonder what my queen was thinking.” He leaves the thought hanging there.

More bait for me to rise to.

“This is where all your delusions of grandeur come from,” I say.

“They’re not delusions, Serenity, if they come true.”

He has a point.

“Who are we meeting with first?” I ask, purposefully changing the subject.

We land in Morro de São Paulo, a city along the continent’s eastern coast, in another several hours. The discussions don’t begin until tomorrow, but I want to be ready. Not only is this a chance to establish my own abilities, I know many of these people either directly or indirectly from my time with the WUN.

“Luca Estes,” Montes says.

I groan. “Don’t tell me you’re giving him a government seat.”

“Not just a government seat, the government seat. He’ll spearhead the South American region of my rule. You have an issue with this?”

“Yes.” A huge one. “He’s a sellout.”

My eyes flick over the luxurious cabin we sit in. Greed, in the end, got to Estes. It’s as corrosive to the soul as outright violence. After all, if not for greed, there would be no King Lazuli.

I click my tongue. “He’s not a good person to have working for you. Before he was a politician, he was a thug. He only came to power once he killed enough people.”

Something you two have in common.

“I dare you to find me a single person in office that hasn’t gotten his or her hands dirty—including you.”

I can’t say anything to that. Our world is one of hard choices and bloodshed.

“After you detonated the nukes across the WUN,” I say, “Estes began destabilizing many of the neighboring regions.”