I think of the grenades tossed at Estes’s estate. The smell of charred humans that drifted in the air. The sight of those bodies ripped open, their innards exposed.

My nausea is climbing up my throat. I press the back of my hand to my mouth. I thought morning sickness behaved its damn self and stuck to mornings.

“Are you alright?” the Beast asks.

I ignore him while Montes drapes his arm over the back of my chair and rubs my neck. He leans in. “Do you want me to send back the food?” he asks quietly, reading my reaction.

I look over at him. Is he seriously considering wasting every single plate of food all because of me? It’s horrifying, this power I wield, this power the king seems happy to bestow upon me.

I rear back as I assess him.

The psycho is serious.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Very well.” Montes still flags down a waiter and discusses something with him. The waiter’s eyes focus on the Beast as he listens. Finally, he nods to Montes and leaves. A short while later a bowl of soup and a basket of bread are set in front of me.

I glance over at the king. He goes on talking to the men on his left, but the hand still resting on my neck gives a light squeeze.

He ordered me soup so I wouldn’t have to eat the meat. It’s just one more considerate thing the king’s done on my behalf.

I break the bread and dip it into the soup. This I can palate.

I’m halfway through it when the king’s lips brush against my ear. “Better?” he asks.

I turn into him, my lips brushing his. “Much.”

This might be the first time I’ve been genuinely affectionate with the king in public.

“Good,” he says, his voice roughening.

Someone begins clinking a knife against their glass.

When Montes smiles, I feel it low in my belly.

“Do you remember what that means?” he asks.

I do. They want us to kiss.

I lean in the remaining distance and press my lips against his. I can feel his surprise in the way he returns the kiss and the slow smile that gets incorporated into it. Our audience begins to clap, and though my skin prickles uncomfortably from the attention, I don’t pull away until the kiss is done.

We break apart slowly. Montes is gazing at me, his brows slightly pinched, his mouth curved with amusement. He leans in and steals another brief kiss. Then he lounges back in his chair and reaches for his wine glass. Lifting it, he surveys the room, but it’s me he looks at when he takes a lazy sip from it.

I grab my glass of water with a shaky hand. Either it’s all the eyes on us, or my own actions, but I’m not nearly as composed as the king.

“How does it feel to be the queen regent?” the Beast asks, drawing my attention to him. He cuts into his steak as he speaks. Blood seeps out of the nearly raw interior.

My eyes drift from his plate to my own. I take a sip of my soup and pretend he doesn’t exist.

Only he won’t let me.

“I mean,” he continues, “technically you were queen since you married our king, but today he handed over part of his empire to you.” He shakes his head. “I never thought I’d see the day he shared his power with anyone. You must be something.” His knife scrapes against the porcelain as he cuts into the meat again.

I can’t take it anymore. The smell of the meat, the sight of this abomination, the stifling civility of these people. We’re all barbarians here, and we know it.

I’m done pretending.

I lean forward. Somewhere along the way, I released the soup spoon and exchanged it for something a little sharper. I’m now gripping the steak knife in my hand and not wholly sure how it got there.

“I’m going to tell you this just once,” I say. “If you so much as look at me wrong, I will castrate you with the nearest object.” My voice is low and angry. “Then I will throw you into the worst prison I can think of. One of the ones where they’ll have fun with you—and I’ll make sure they do. And if I ever catch wind that you’ve raped”—I hear a gasp from one of our nearest guests, and feel Montes’s eyes immediately on me—“anyone else, I will do all that and worse.”

Other than looking a little pale, the Beast appears unruffled. Either he’s schooling his features well, or he can’t bother to be intimidated by me. It’s probably some mixture of both.

He stares at me for a long second then inclines his head. “Understood.”

“Good.” I release the knife and return to my soup.

Conversation, which had quieted for a moment, picks back up.

My left hand rests on the table, and I feel the king cover it with his own. He leans in close. “I’d been almost positive I’d have to dig a knife out of Gorev’s skull,” he says quietly, eyeing the Beast, who is now in a conversation with the person to his left.

“This isn’t funny.”

The king’s hand tightens around mine. “No, it isn’t. Save the killing for when the cameras aren’t around.”

I give him an exasperated look, but I relent. The Beast is safe.

For now.

I WAKE UP in the middle of the night to terrible, throbbing pain. At first it simply stirred me from sleep. I’d roll, reposition myself, and go back to bed.

But now my eyes snap open as the pain rips through my abdomen like a knife wound to the gut. My skin is slick with sweat, and the sheets stick to it.

My hand drops my lower stomach, where it hurts the worst. Several seconds later another wave hits. I let out a groan and fist the comforter as it cramps up my muscles.