So much for being equals.

I push past him, and he grabs my wrist. “I haven’t dismissed you,” he growls.

I laugh. “I don’t answer to you, Montes. You better fucking remember who you married.” There are millions of demure ladies who would’ve done his bidding in a heartbeat, who would’ve carved out their own identities to become whoever they thought he wanted. And yet he chose me, the one woman who won’t do that, the one woman who’s as likely to explode as he is.

Yanking my wrist out of his grip, I stalk out of the room, and no one stops me.

I don’t know where I’m going, but it’s a good thing I’m unarmed or else someone might get hurt. As it is, I’m eyeing the coat of arms that’s on display ahead of me, and I’m seriously considering maiming the thing.

Behind me the door opens.

“Serenity.”

I rotate and see Montes headed towards me, his eyes angry. When he gets to me he wraps a hand around my throat and pushes me up against the wall. A knee slides between mine.

“You really shouldn’t have left the room.”

I should be pissing my pants at the look in his eye and the way he presses himself against me, but I’m not. I’m no longer frightened of this man. I don’t know when that happened. The king has always been my nightmare. But he’s not anymore. It’s just further proof that I’m maladaptive.

I lift my chin. “Are you going to cart me away like you did Ronaldo?”

“I’m considering it.”

I don’t get the chance to reply.

Montes captures my mouth with his. Fear, anger, lust—they must all function on the same wavelength because one moment I’m pissed at the king, and the next I’m twining my tongue with his, my breaths coming in short, heavy pants.

His free hand grabs my hip and pulls me even closer to him. Close enough that I can tell he wants me. I find it curious that insubordination—and the resulting anger—could turn him on. Do people get intimate when they really just want to throttle each other? If so, I believe I’d excel at it.

“I think I will cart you away after all,” Montes murmurs. He bends to pick me up. I’m slammed back into reality.

I rip my mouth from his. “We can’t do this right now.”

The king’s eyebrows rise, and he smirks like I’m funny. “We’re the rulers of the entire world; we can do whatever it is we want.”

“But I still want to punch you in the face.”

The king clucks his tongue. “My queen has never heard of angry sex. I think a woman like you would enjoy it.”

The door we exited from opens. “Your Majesty, the Resistance just raided one of the warehouses of our weapons supplier. They took most of the armaments stored inside, including technology that hasn’t officially hit the market.”

Montes curses. His hold tightens on me before he releases me—though not completely. His hand slides down my arm and clasps my hand. He begins walking, tugging me along behind him.

I halt in my tracks, causing Montes to glance back at me. “I don’t want you to hurt Ronaldo.”

If I’m conceding something by returning to the king’s conference room, then he’s going to have to concede something, his earlier words be damned.

Montes narrows his eyes. “That man was the one who coordinated the atomic blasts that destroyed your nation all those years ago.”

The news is a slap in the face.

“Still want to save him?” the king presses.

My throat constricts, but I force my words out. “Killing him will not resurrect my people.”

The king tilts his head, like he has all the time in the world to ponder my request. “I know what you’re doing, Serenity,” he says, finally. “He’ll return unharmed if you come with me and assist us with intel on the Resistance. If you don’t, I can promise you that you’ll never see Ronaldo again.” I can see it in his eyes too; he’ll end that man’s life.

Bastard. Now look who’s blackmailing whom.

“Deal?” He smiles like the devil he is.

I run my tongue over my teeth and nod. “Deal.”

I spend the rest of the day and well into the evening discussing what I know of the inner workings of the Resistance. My words will jeopardize hundreds of Resistance members, people I once worked with. The thought leaves a bad taste at the back of my mouth, but it doesn’t stop me from telling Montes and his men everything they need to know.

The war’s over. We should be focusing on healing communities, not more violence. Yet we can’t. Not when stolen military weapons are in the hands of a terrorist organization. Because that’s what the Resistance is and what it’s always been, a terrorist organization. Vigilantes that use intimidation and coercion to fight for a cause they believe in.

When I stood with the WUN, I never minded their activities. It was enough that we were fighting a common enemy. Now that the war is over, the violence is no longer excusable. No matter where my allegiance once lay, I can’t risk more innocent lives lost by staying quiet.

By the time Montes and I head back to our room, the mansion has a stillness to it that only comes with the deep night.

The king’s hands are shoved into his pockets, and there’s a vertical crease between his brows.

Once again my opinion of the king subtly shifts. Worries plague him. Another weakness. Another sign that he has a conscience.

He catches me looking, and the edge of his mouth tips up. He reaches for my hand.