I swallow. A pill that could effectively make you immortal. And I was now taking it. “Are there any side effects?” I ask.

“Don’t know. However, this is the kicker: we found medical journals on this drug from almost thirty years ago.”

I purse my lips. That was more than a little odd.

“Want to know who funded the bulk of the research?” Will asks.

I raise my eyebrows and nod for him to continue.

Will smiles grimly. “Your husband, Montes Lazuli.”

I’m reeling from this revelation, though I shouldn’t be too surprised, given the king’s nature. Sometime in the shadowy bowels of history, Montes had come across this wonder pill. He could’ve been taking it that entire time—no, not could’ve, he must’ve.

I marvel at the thought that his real age might be close to sixty. Montes always struck me as ageless—not twenty, not sixty, not a hundred. There simply wasn’t a number I could ascribe to him. I find that even now, even knowing he’s as old as he is, my opinion of him doesn’t change.

I’m still pondering this discovery when Will turns my chin to face him. “The king is not immortal.” He enunciates each word.

“If he’s mortal,” I say, playing devil’s advocate, “then how do you explain him surviving getting shot? Or the explosion?”

Will shakes his head. “Another one of his medical discoveries—that must be at least part of the reason why he took over the hospitals first.”

I admit, it makes sense, especially after being healed by the Sleeper. I’ve seen firsthand what the king’s medical devices can accomplish. And it makes more sense than the king actually being immortal.

Strange, I preferred him an unnatural thing. It made who he was and what we had more okay in my mind.

“You can find out the rest.” Will still holds my chin in his hand, and his eyes move to my lips. “Find out what makes the king supposedly indestructible and kill him.”

“No.”

“What?” Wills looks genuinely surprised.

“What makes you think I’m willing to work with you and the Resistance?”

He drops his grip on my jaw. “Why wouldn’t you? Serenity, I’m trying to make things right.”

I laugh at that. “This is you making things right? Wow.”

He crowds me. “I’m not giving you a choice. We can torture you until you agree to this, if you want to be difficult. We also have enough damning material to blackmail you into following through should you get cold feet.”

His words are a slap in the face, and at first I think he’s joking, being hotheaded and speaking before he’s thought through his words. But one glance at his eyes tells me that he’s serious.

“You’d do that?” I ask, incredulous. “Blackmail me? Torture me? All just to get what you want?”