Then again, perhaps he has to keep himself in shape in case he ever needs to use his physical strength. It’s not like he doesn’t have enemies. With that thought, I scour his body for bullet wounds. He’s been shot before.

I reach out to his chest and run a hand over the smooth skin that covers his heart. “Where is it?” There should be scar tissue where he’d been shot. It was filmed on live T.V. I’ve seen him bleed in front of my eyes.

He closes his eyes slowly, as though he’s relishing the feel of my skin on his. “Don’t you know, my queen?” he says, opening his eyes. “I can’t be killed.”

I frown. “Stop calling me that.”

“No.”

I drop my hand and the king resumes undressing himself. I scoot further back on the bed as I watch him remove his shoes, then his socks, and then his pants. I fist the comforter beneath me to give my hands something to do.

When he stands in just his boxer briefs, his stomach muscles rippling, he returns his attention to me. “Come here.”

I don’t move.

He sighs. “You need to take your dress off, Serenity, and you need my help to do so.” He says it like he’s the most reasonable person in the world. As though I’m being ridiculous by wanting to keep on the dress I despised so much earlier. What he doesn’t realize—or maybe he does—is that it’s my last defense before we get intimate.

Reluctantly I scoot myself off the bed and pad over to him. I feel like the world’s most wretched person that my eyes linger on all the sculpted lines of his body. He turns me around and begins unfastening the buttons that trail down my back. I can feel the brush of his fingers along my skin. They draw out goose bumps.

Slowly my dress peels away from me. Montes removes the last of the buttons, and the gown glides over my hips and pools at my feet. Instinctively I cover myself. I’m still wearing lingerie, but it hardly leaves anything to the imagination.

Montes pulls my arms down from where they hide my chest. He gives me a surprisingly gentle look, and I close my eyes.

“Open your eyes, Serenity.”

“Then stop looking at me like that.”

“I can’t.”

I press my eyelids shut harder. “You’re heartless.”

“Most of the time. But sometimes … sometimes I’m not when I’m around you.”

I open my eyes at that. He’s being genuine. And this is the worst. A bad guy with a change of heart. I’m not his redemption; I’m going to be his executioner.