We must be as exotic to the people in this room as they are to me, because it takes mere seconds for the room to quiet. The momentousness of this situation slams into me then. The two of us represent an entire hemisphere of the world. We are the figureheads of the final territories still free of the king. Free, that is, until we leave—if we leave.

The cameras that I thought would be absent tonight are waiting for us. A film crew off to our left captures our entrance. At the bottom of the stairs before us another crew waits.

Next to me, Marco announces to the room, “The emissary of the Western United Nations, Ambassador Carl Freeman, and his daughter, Serenity Freeman.”

My hand tightens around my father’s arm as I stare out at the crowd spread out before me.

And then someone steps up to the base of the staircase. Someone who’s haunted my nightmares since I was little. The face I saw when I killed.

King Montes Lazuli.

The King

Just when I thought the evening was going to be another dull meet and greet, the WUN emissary walks in, and on his arm I see her.

The emissary’s daughter. Serenity Freeman.

The world doesn’t stop moving, the room doesn’t go quiet, but I swear something inside me just broke and reformed the moment she turned her devlish eyes on me—and that’s the only way to describe those eyes of hers. Devilish. She’s a wicked soul, through and through.

Just like me.

She’s unlike the women I’m used to. Her arms are sculpted, and her body is lean beneath her dress. It’s an almost laughable contrast to the soft women that fill the rest of the room. I’m dying to lift her skirt, run my hands up those legs, and get to know just how toned the rest of her is.

As pretty as her body might be, it’s not what’s captivated me. I can’t look away from her face. In another life it might’ve been sweet. But not in this one. A wicked scar slices down the side of it. It’s the most obvious warning that she’s a dangerous creature.

I wish I got off on fear and hate, because both are burning in her eyes the closer she gets to me. I’ve killed others for less than the expression I see in them, but this woman, she is someone who knows violence intimately. I’m almost positive that death doesn’t scare her. But apparently I do.

And the strangest thought yet pops into my mind: I don’t want this intriguing woman to fear me.