Montes shields me with his body the entire time. I breathe in the king’s cologne as a familiar rush of adrenaline thrums through my veins.

We might live, but we’ll probably die.

We stare at each other the entire time, and I think he might be trying to memorize my face.

He covered me; in that instant when he faced down death, he thought to protect me. I’d expected that from the men I fought alongside, but from the selfish, narcissistic king?

Not in a thousand years.

The firing cuts off all at once.

“Time to go,” I say, even though I know he cannot hear me. I jerk my head towards the door, and Montes nods.

Staying flush with the ground, we crawl through debris towards the door. Dust, plaster, and the odd feather float down on us as we move.

“Are you hit?” I yell. The ringing in my ears is dying down, but it’s still hard to hear.

He shakes his head. “You?”

I shake my head. A fucking jet. Estes called in a jet to take us out on top of his ground troops. This is sloppy. Dramatic, but sloppy. Estes must’ve learned of our plans to leave and rushed the attack.

Montes glances over at me. I see raw fear in them.

“What?” I say, reloading my gun and keeping an eye on the doorway out. I haven’t heard anyone breach the building yet, but when they do, things will happen really fast.

His gaze moves to my stomach. He licks his lips, and his eyes return to mine. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

I wait for him to speak. Now is not a great time to have a heart-to-heart, but if he feels he needs to confess while our lives are on the line, I’m not going to stop him.

“You’re pregnant, Serenity.”

I stare at him, uncomprehending. I don’t think I breathe for several seconds.

“What?” I finally say.

I’m aching to return my attention to the business at hand, but I can’t look away from him.

“You’re pregnant.”

I recoil from him.

This conversation might be the one thing that can make me forget about the fight occurring right outside these walls.

I don’t realize I’m shaking my head until the king says, “Yes, Serenity, you are.”

Pregnant? With the king’s child? Horror and disbelief war for dominance.

No. No.

Impossible.

He has to be wrong. How would he even know this?

“You’re lying,” I say.

Below us someone kicks at the front door. A second later, I hear a shot fired and the thump of a body hitting the outside wall.

“Nire bihotza, I’m not.”

There is not enough air for me to catch my breath.

I still don’t believe him. But each second that he stares back at me unflinchingly, I lose a little more confidence. We’re about to die. He has no reason to lie.

I’m going to be sick. The king’s child is inside of me. I’ve never thought of a baby as parasitic, but I do now.

I’m carrying a monster’s child.

“How would you know whether I was … ?” I can’t even say the word.

“It came up when you were in the Sleeper.”

That was over a week ago.

I grip my gun tighter, but I’m not angry—not yet. At the moment I’m … blindsided.

I draw in a deep breath.

It doesn’t matter. The situation, the deception, the horror of it all. None of this matters if we’re dead.

I nod to the gun in Montes’s hand. “Know how to use that?”

He looks affronted by the subject change. “Yes.”

“Good. We’re going to survive this so that I can kill you myself. Until then, I need your help.” I nod to the window. “There are too many of them. I’ll need you to shoot incoming soldiers.”

His eyes follow mine. I can’t read his expression, but I know where his mind lingers. I can’t afford to think about what he’s just confessed, and if he’s to do his part, he can’t think about it either.

Montes has never personally killed before. It’s almost frightening that he’s never gotten his hands dirty with death, mostly because that needs to change today if we’re to live. Even the monster that is my husband has limits to his terror, and today I’m asking that he break one.

“Montes.” I recapture his gaze. “This is target practice. Don’t see people. See heads and chests. If they’re wearing bulletproof vests and helmets, you’ll need to aim for the neck, groin, or thighs. And be careful, once you fire the first shot, they’re going to know your position.”

That’s all I can give him. It doesn’t get past me how messed up the situation is—I’m giving the man responsible for the third world war tips on how to kill.

The man responsible for knocking me up.

I force down a wave of nausea and get up to leave.

“Serenity—”

I slip out of the room before he can finish whatever he’d been about to say. As far as I’m concerned, the time for talking is over.

I head down the stairs, both hands on my weapon. I can hear the pad of several sets of boots. The enemy is still trying to be silent and stealthy, which means they will be keeping their bodies crouched as they approach. I adjust my aim, knowing they will also likely be wearing Kevlar and helmets. It makes them harder targets, but not impossible to get past.

I peer around the corner.

A shot goes off, and the plaster just above my head chips away. I pull back and lean against the wall, closing my eyes and drawing in a deep breath. From the glimpse I caught, there are at least a half a dozen of them and one of me.