I can see the man’s body shaking. “N-no, merely—”

“You said ‘how do we know the queen’s not still working with them?’ didn’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“How do we, indeed?” the king says. “Perhaps, you know something I don’t about the queen’s loyalties? I’m sure she’s had plenty of time to deceive us between getting shot and fighting cancer.”

The man’s gone pale. The officers sitting at his sides are scooting away from him, like being too close might make them guilty by association.

When I glance at Montes, a smile is playing on his lips. He’s a cat that’s caught a mouse and is now toying with his food. “Or maybe it was when the Resistance kidnapped your queen and threatened her with torture?” Montes snaps his fingers. “Oh wait, she never gave into their demands.”

My breath catches when I realize that my interrogation must’ve been recorded. Somehow the king got his hands on it.

Montes’s voice goes cold. “How do we know you’re not working with the Resistance, Ronaldo?”

The man, Ronaldo, shakes his head furiously, a sheen of sweat coating his forehead. “I’d never do such a thing. Please, Your Majesty, forgive me.”

I and every other person in this room—including Ronaldo—know there’s nothing he can say that will save him. This is a witch-hunt, and guilty or innocent, Montes has found his first suspect.

The king nods to Marco, who’s seated to my right. I’d managed to ignore the asshole so far, but now my eyes move to him. Marco pushes out of his chair and approaches the man who spoke, the king’s guards leaving their stations to flank him.

Now I understand why these men have kept so quiet. Speaking means catching the king’s attention. Defeated nations everywhere can testify that garnering his attention is never a good thing. Hell, I can testify to that.

Montes has murder in his eyes. I stand abruptly, my chair scraping back. When his gaze meets mine, I shake my head. “I will not sit by and watch this.”

The room’s fallen silent, save for Ronaldo’s quiet sobs as Marco and the guards drag him out. The king’s just proved how he responds to challenges of any kind.

I, however, don’t give two shits.

The king’s arms are folded and he pinches his lower lip as he studies me. “You don’t get a choice.”

“I do if you want my help.”

The king takes two ominous steps towards me, until he towers over me. “You might be my queen, but I am the leader, Serenity, and I make the decisions. And fuck it if I’ll let you make demands of me.”

So much for being equals.

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