Natural light streams in, the first I’ve seen in months, and the sight of it takes my breath away. The washed out sky beyond is not the same blue that haunts my memories, but it’s still one of the most beautiful sights I’ve seen in a long time.

Once the ceiling slides back far enough, our caravan pulls out. My eyes drink in the war-scorched earth. Out here in the middle of nowhere, the damage isn’t as apparent as it is in the heart of our once big cities, but if you stare long enough, you’ll see it.

It’s a five-minute drive to the hangar that houses our jet. Short enough that if the representatives ever needed to make a quick escape they could, but long enough that if the hangar were ever to be attacked, the bunker would remain unharmed.

We pull into it, and inside several aircraft wait. One sits in front of the rest, and several men and women already swarm around it, loading the jet, and checking up on its general maintenance.

“Ambassador Freeman,” the general turns to my father, “this will work.”

I see a muscle in my father’s cheek flex, and something unspoken passes between the two of them. Whatever it is, it has my father angry.

Beyond us, the rest of our group is beginning to load themselves onboard the aircraft. I grab my bag, clenching my jaw at the airy way my dress swishes around my legs—as if I am some delicate thing that requires only the lightest of caresses and the softest material.

I stare at the jet that will take me away from this miserable land to one that’s already fallen to the king. The same king that’s taken everything from me. I’ll come face to face with him. I take a deep breath.

Time to dance with the devil.

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Serenity

Eight years ago my father put a gun in my hand for the first time.

That morning when I walked into the kitchen, he sat at our table sipping a cup of coffee, a wrapped box in front of him.

I halted at the sight of it.

“Thought I’d forgotten your birthday?” he asked, glancing up from his laptop.

I had. He hadn’t mentioned it, and I hadn’t bothered reminding him. He’d been so busy. So weary. It made me feel guilty any time I thought of mentioning it to him.

I continued to stare at the gift.

“Well?” He closed the computer screen and pushed it aside. “Are you going to open it?”

Tentatively I approached the kitchen table. “You didn’t have to get me a present,” I said, even as I reached for the box.

He gave me a gentle smile, but something in his eyes warned me to curb my enthusiasm.