My movements are jerky and automated. I kiss the king, but I’m not really present. My skin crawls as his lips caress mine. When he pulls away he smiles, but I can see something like uncertainty there. I want to laugh that I can make someone like the king feel vulnerable, but I’m too consumed by my own personal pain.

The priest announces us to the chapel, and I feel a tear drip down my cheek. I just married the monster under the bed.

The king and I stand outside the palace, on the grassy lawn that overlooks the water. From the ice sculptures to the overabundance of flowers, it’s clear the king’s spared no expense on our reception. It had to cost a fortune of money better spent elsewhere.

A constant stream of people approaches us and congratulates the king and me on our union. I give most of them flinty looks. I know it’s not fair of me to be hostile to people I don’t know, but I’m insulted that anyone could assume I’m happy about what’s happening to me.

“Congratulations my friend. You deserve all the happiness in the world,” says the politician in front of us. He looks frighteningly similar to a walrus, and he eyes me like the object I’m supposed to be.

Montes nods and shakes his hand, “Thank you,” he murmurs.

When the man reaches for my hand, I level a glare at him. He gets it.

Bowing, he says, “Congratulations again,” and backs away.

The king watches him as he leaves. “I don’t like the way he looked at you,” he says quietly.

“That makes two of us.”

The king nods to himself. “Then I’ll take care of the situation.”

I blink a few times. “Are you psychotic?” I hiss at him under my breath. “You can’t just punish everyone who slights you.”

“Of course I can,” he says.

Before I can respond, the next guest approaches, this one a crusty old man who spews praise at the king. Once he moves along, I lean into the king. “Brownnoser, that one.”

The king snickers, and I cringe that, at the moment, we are coconspirators. For the king, this seems to elicit the opposite reaction. He wraps a hand around my waist and rubs my side affectionately. I think I’m going to be sick.

A couple approaches us, and thankfully King Lazuli has to drop his hand from my side in order to greet them.

“We are so happy for you,” the woman says, “and we hope that this union brings prosperity to your home—and lots of children,” she throws in, flashing me a sly smile. Like what every woman wants is a snotty baby.

I sway on my feet at the thought. “That won’t ever happen,” I say before I can help it. The idea of carrying the king’s child is just too much for me to process at the moment.

The woman glances at me sharply, and the king stiffens at my side. “Er … I can’t have children.” It’s not even necessarily a lie, considering all the radiation I’ve been exposed to.

“You poor thing,” the woman says.

“The queen doesn’t know what she’s saying,” King Lazuli says. “She can have children.”

I try to hide my swallow at the way the king looks at me, like my reproductive system is now at the forefront of his mind.

“Oh.” Now the woman glances back and forth between us in confusion.

“Great to see you Claudette—Roger.” The king nods to both of them and they take the cue to move on.

I watch their retreating forms. “Do you even have any real friends?” I say. “These people make me want to blow my brains out.”

“What the hell was that about, Serenity?” King Lazuli says.

“Nothing,” I say quickly.

The king studies me. “This discussion isn’t over.”

An older, regal woman greets us next.

“I’m so glad to see you settle down,” she says to King Lazuli.

The king smiles back at her. “Thank you, Margot.”

She squeezes his hand with her wrinkled one. I eye her withered beauty. She wears strings of pearls and gaudy gold jewelry. My upper lip curls. It changes into a grimace of a smile when she focuses on me.

Her eyes widen when she sees the scar that trails down the side of my face. I’ve gotten this reaction all day. And just like the others, I get the feeling that the woman in front of me has never seen violence firsthand. She’s never killed a man, never watched his blood slowly seep out of him and the light fade from his eyes. I’d wager that she came from a nation that either allied with the king, or surrendered before war broke out.

She recovers from her shock and pats the side of my face. “My, my, what a pretty thing you are.” My smile slips at her words, and she must see the killer in me because she recoils.

The woman clears her throat. “Congratulations again you two,” she says, nodding at the king and trying hard not to look at me. I watch her as she walks away, and just as I suspected, she throws a final, spooked glance over her shoulder, like she can’t help herself.

I narrow my eyes and give her a slow, predatory smile. Her eyes widen and she hurries away from us.

“Stop scaring our guests,” King Lazuli says next to me.

“You mean your guests,” I retort.

The king’s eyes drift to my bare arm and move down. The sight is possessive, hungry, and it makes my stomach churn.

I won’t think about later tonight. I won’t.

“They are our guests now, my queen,” King Lazuli says.

“Don’t call me that.” I rub my shoulder against my neck, as if to wipe off the stain of his words from my skin.