I can’t bring myself to be mad at him. We were all just pawns at this point.

My father pinches the bridge of his nose. “It was never official. You’re a soldier and a future emissary. We wanted you to do what you do best—represent the WUN.”

I read into what he can’t say under the king’s roof: acting was never my strength. I can barely hold my tongue; pretending to like the vilest man I know is beyond my abilities.

“We should check in with General Kline right now,” he says.

I nod, my hands balling into fists. “I’d love to talk with him.”

“Serenity.” My father’s voice carries a warning.

I sigh. “Let’s just get this over with.” I had a bad case of jetlag, and I wanted to get some sleep before tomorrow’s peace talks.

I follow my father into his room, where his laptop rests on a side desk. I grab a nearby chair and pull it alongside my father’s.

Once we’re situated in front of the computer, my father calls up the representatives. They answer almost immediately.

“Ambassador Freeman and Serenity Freeman checking in,” my father says.

On the other side of the screen I can see the bunker’s conference room and the representatives sitting around the table. Now that I’m here inside the king’s house, in this place filled with glittery objects and natural light, the conference room looks especially bleak.

“Good to hear from you Carl,” the general says. “How’s it going?”

My father’s eyes slide to mine. “Fine so far. Have you been watching the footage?”

“Yes. Is Serenity there?”

My father turns the laptop so that my face takes up the screen. “General Kline.” I nod to him.

“Serenity, aside from that comment you made during your introductions, you seem to be doing well making the king’s acquaintance.”

There are so many things that I want to shout at the general, none of which I can voice, one because he’s still the leader of my country, and two, because I have to assume we’re being recorded.

So instead I say, “Surprised? I was too.” I lower my voice. “You’ve thrown me to the wolves, General.” That’s the closest thing I can come to the truth, that I’m here to persuade the king through more carnal means.

“Serenity, nations rely on your actions. Now is not the time for weakness.” General Kline’s practically chastising me.

My throat works. “He killed her.” My father reaches over and squeezes my shoulder, his subtle way of telling me to shut up, that I’ve said too much. But the king already knows what I’ve just spoken out loud—that I blame him for my mother’s death.

“And you’ve killed mothers, fathers, sons and daughters. War has taken something from everyone, Serenity. We can end that. You can end that.”

His words sober me up. He’s right, of course. The only difference between the king and I is that the king’s body count is much higher, and for most of his kills he never had to dirty his hands.

My gaze moves from the general to his son who sits further down the table. “I’m sorry, Will,” I say. His face is too grainy to make out, but I’m sure the expression he wears is not a pleasant one.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he says. “Negotiate an agreement and make it back here safely. That’s all I want.”

My throat constricts and I nod. Now that the cat’s out of the bag, I know what I must do.

I’m going to have to charm the king into giving the WUN what it needs.

Chapter 6

Serenity

Five years ago my father and I moved into the bunker. By that time we were in a full-scale war with the eastern hemisphere, and the king had started picking off those political leaders not already dead. Located several miles outside of D.C., the bunker was an asylum for what was left of our government officials and their families.

It also offered some measureable protection against the high radiation levels caused by the nuclear blasts. Not that it mattered. The radiation was in the water, in the earth and the food supply. We’d lived with it long enough; the damage was already done.

The day my father and I moved in, when I first saw the beds that lined a single room, my chest tightened. I realized that the world I thought I knew had been gone for a while now and somewhere along the way people had become synonymous with threat.

My wariness eventually wore off, and my next reaction was excitement. I might make friends. I had to dust that word off; I’d shelved it from my vocabulary for so long.

The bunker, however, came with its own sacrifices. No natural light filtered into our new home, and I had once been a self-proclaimed child of the sun. An unpleasant schedule came to rule my days. And social interactions were difficult to maneuver; I found I was way more skilled at making enemies than I was friends.

Still, I was safe, surrounded by people that didn’t antagonize me, and I had reliable food and shelter. For the first time in a long time, I felt hopeful.

“I hate dresses,” I mumble as one of my guards zips me up.

He snickers.

“Shut up. It’s not funny.” I can’t breathe in this thing.

“Freeman in a dress? Hell yeah it is,” my guard says.

I throw him a look just as Marco knocks on the door to our suite.

The guard squeezes my shoulder. “Own those negotiations,” he whispers.

I leave my room as my father opens the door. “Morning Marco,” he says, grabbing his briefcase.