He’s the one that made me the monster I am.

I’m already studying the exits. We’re on the third floor, which is probably intentional on the king’s part. If I try to leave through the windows, I will surely break my legs. That leaves the door behind Montes.

I don’t have a gun, and by now, there are probably over a dozen guards on the other side of the door, all waiting for me to try to escape.

If I want to leave through that door, I’m going to have to get past the king and many more armed guards who I can hear positioning themselves in the hallway. They’re outside too, and they’re getting closer.

Montes must see the realization in my eyes. He takes a step forward, then another. “Serenity, look at me.”

That was why he called so many guards into such a futile situation, to smother any wild ideas I might get. He’s the leader of the world; he knows a thing or two about strategy.

“You led me in here like a lamb to slaughter.” I’m moving around the room. Resting on one of the side tables is a vase. On another is a lamp. Both are potential weapons.

He folds his arms, tracking me. “Are you seriously considering smashing that lamp over my head?”

“It doesn’t have to be this way, Montes,” I say. “Everything can go back to the way it was.”

He takes a step towards me. “It will,” he says. “Eventually.”

Adrenaline buzzes just beneath the surface of my skin. “I will hurt you,” I say. “I don’t want to, but I will.”

It’s that, or hurt myself, and nothing in this room would kill me faster than the king could save me. Not even falling through those windows, I realize.

That’s why the soldiers are outside. Not to prevent escape, to prevent a potential suicide.

The king turns away from me and glances at the door. “Guards!”

I begin to move before the words are fully out of his mouth.

I grab the lamp, but rather than throwing it at the king, who would surely duck, I lob it at the window.

Glass and porcelain shatter as the lamp obliterates it. Behind me, the door is thrown open.

I sprint away from the king, towards the broken window.

“Serenity, don’t!” the king yells.

He thinks I’m trying to kill myself; he still doesn’t really know who I am or else he’d know that this is my last desperate chance at survival. Then again, I can’t blame him. Even after all we’ve been through, I don’t really know who he is either.

I leap over furniture, ignoring the shouts coming from the guards.

I can hear them behind me, flooding into the room now that the charade of civility is up.

I reach the window and kick the last jagged bits of glass out before throwing one foot over the side. I swing the other leg over, and then I push off the sill.

“Serenity!” the king yells.

This is the second time I’ve exited the king’s palace through one of his windows. And there’s a moment after each leap of faith where I feel blissfully free. My hair whips around my face, my shirt flaps manically, and the ground rises up swiftly.

This time, like the last, there is someone here to catch me. Several someones. I land hard in their arms. I grip their starched uniforms as I try to right myself.

Brushing my hair from my eyes, I glance up. More soldiers peer from the room I exited. Distantly I can hear shouting, and people are running towards me.

A half dozen hands hold me in place; more join in as I struggle.

I bite my lip hard enough for it to bleed. The odds are now stacked far against me. I’m not getting out of whatever twisted plan the king has in store. There isn’t a car waiting, nor are there Resistance fighters to protect me.

The normally stoic soldiers are yelling, trying to contain my struggles. Eventually they do, leaving me gasping out of anger and incredulity.

Servants are watching, the ladies of the court are watching, the men who might be politicians or just more elite individuals are watching. I have captured all their attention. And they look horrified. The queen who jumped three stories only to fall into the arms of her husband’s waiting army.

I have a clear line of sight to the palace’s rear doors. It only takes a minute for them to open and the king to come storming out.

This man who I have come to know intimately looks larger than life as he strides towards me, a doctor in a white lab coat at his heels.

He’s really going to do it.

I renew my struggles. A handful of wild, animalistic cries slip from my lips as I vainly try to get away. The entire time my eyes stay locked on the king’s.

His rove over my body. I can only imagine what he must see—the tangled locks of my hair, the whites of my eyes, the angry set of my jaw.

I grit my teeth as he steps up to me. This is it.

“What were you thinking, Serenity?” The vein at his temple pounds, and God does he sound angry. Angry and desperate.

“Montes, don’t. Please.” I have desperation in my voice to match the king’s.

He tips my chin up. “I love you, Serenity. I’m not doing this to hurt you. I’m doing it to save you.”

After all this time, he still doesn’t understand. “This was never about me,” I say as he steps back so the man in the lab coat can get closer. “You’re not saving me, you’re saving your own chicken-shit heart—”

The man in the lab coat presses a damp cloth against my nose and mouth, and a sweet, chemical smell wafts from it. I buck against my captors and try to shake the hand. It grips my face harder.