People are watching, cameras are rolling. Our explosive interactions are on display. I can’t just brawl it out like I might’ve back in the bunker. Here it’s all about posturing.

I breathe in and out of my nose, and settle on glaring at him. “I hope you don’t expect me to be nice tonight.”

“You? Nice? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Bastard.

I leave him as soon as the first group of politicians approaches. My violent tendencies are bubbling to the surface, and if I don’t take them out on Montes, I’ll surely take them out on the fuckers in this room.

I feel the king’s eyes burning into my back as I walk away from him. He doesn’t like parting from me. I’d written this particular detail off as an aspect of his controlling nature—and it is—but it’s gotten worse as the attempts on my life have increased.

The most powerful man in the world has a single weakness, and that’s me. And I’m not above using it against him.

“LA REINA DEL mundo. It’s an impressive title.” Luca Estes steps up to my side, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.

“Mmm,” I manage, watching the room as the evening toils on. A warm breeze blows in from the open windows at my back.

At the moment, I’m mourning the fact that I left Montes to fend for myself among these people. Had I swallowed a bit of my pride, I might not have to bear Luca’s company alone. Estes is one of those men that doesn’t have a good side. He’s corrupt, violent, greedy, lecherous. The only question is which side of him I’ll see tonight.

“From what I hear, your father was against the match.”

Apparently he’s chosen asshole. At least he’s no longer trying to be nice.

“My father’s dead.” I take a sip of my drink. I need something stronger than the glass of water in my hand.

“Yes, my condolences,” he says, leaning in. I can smell the strong spirits on his breath.

“Fuck your condolences, Estes.” I don’t bother looking at him. “I know you didn’t like him.”

“I like him better than your new husband.”

Now I glance over at South America’s premier dictator. “That’s because my father couldn’t control you.” Montes can.

He grunts in agreement and takes a swallow of his drink. When he glances over at me again he levels his gaze at my cleavage.

“Last time I saw you, you wore a shapeless uniform. This is a much better look on you.”

Now he’s being a lecherous asshole.

“You and I both know the last time you saw me, it was the leaked footage of my return to the WUN. I believe I was wearing a dress then.”

“There was a dress under all that blood? Forgive me for not noticing.”

I don’t say anything.

The king throws a glance in our direction, which Estes notices. “He keeps you on a pretty short leash, doesn’t he? If I didn’t know better I’d say that he was obsessed.” He swirls his drink, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. “Tell me, does the infatuation go both ways?” He looks over at me. “I suppose it wouldn’t, considering what he did to your family—and your country.”

Even before Estes approached me, I knew what kind of man he was. So his words shouldn’t get a rise out of me, but they do. It’s taking every last ounce of restraint not to smash my glass across his face.

“I’ve been wondering what sort of bed play comes out of that union …” he muses.

Enough.

“In case you needed the reminder, I am ‘la reina del mundo’, and I won’t hesitate to use my position to remove you from power if I feel the desire. I am not half as decent as my father, so keep your sick perversions to yourself, Luca, and don’t fucking cross me.”

I stalk away from him. People give me wide berth, and I’m sure it has something to do with the harsh set of my face. The cameras begin panning in on me. I set my drink down on a sideboard and make a beeline for Montes. He’s in the middle of a flock of admirers. They too give me wide berth the moment I cut into their circle.

Montes watches me, a dark gleam in his eyes. He always did like my flare for the dramatic.

I wrap my arm around the back of his head before I kiss him. I’m angry, and I’m sure he can feel it in the harsh movements of my lips. This is no passionate kiss. All my usual rage and violence is wrapped into it.

“I’m done,” I say against his mouth. I’ve had enough fake smiles and false endearments for one evening. I should have had enough of the king as well, but instead, he feels like my one ally in a sea of enemies. It’s an illusion, but I can’t reason it away.

My father was right when he said appearances are everything. Let the world believe the king and I are some odd love match. Better that than the messy truth—that I hate him every bit as much as I care for him.

When I break away from the kiss, I take the king’s hand. He’s all too willing to follow me away from the quickly dissolving circle of admirers. But not five seconds later, he tugs my hand and reels me back into him until my chest is pressed against his.

He gazes down at me with amusement. “My vicious little queen,” he says low enough so that only I can hear him, “you should know by now not to test me in public.” His voice becomes husky. “And you should definitely know by now how to give your husband a real kiss.”

I warn him with my eyes that I’m in no mood, but it does nothing to stop him from bending me backwards and taking my mouth with his own. In this position, nearly parallel to the ground, I’m at his mercy.