He locked the door and overturned a nearby filing cabinet, further blockading it. Next, he flipped the desk. I began to tremble as my father directed me to a corner of the room, dragging the now sideways desk towards us until we were barricaded in.

Atomic bomb.

That was the first time I’d really put a name to what I saw. And it was all because of that damn desk, which looked so similar to the overturned coffee table I’d once read under all those years ago.

My father fit his earmuffs back on his head then wrapped his arms around me, and it was exactly the physical comfort I needed.

It didn’t take much longer for the blast to hit us, though hit is the wrong word. It passed over us, tore through us. I threw my hands over my head as the blast slammed us into the desk. The explosion roared so loud that I heard it over my earmuffs. It was a monstrous symphony to the end of the world.

And then it was over—if you could say such a thing. The land we returned to hours later was not the same one we’d fled from. Gone was D.C., gone was the White House and every great monument I’d gazed upon with wondrous eyes. Gone was our home. Gone was my former life.

Later we discovered that all big cities across the western hemisphere had been hit. That day the nations that once were lay decimated.

No, the blast wasn’t over. Far from it. If anything, it was just the beginning.

My eyes lock with the king’s, and I suppress a shudder. He’s even more handsome than the pictures I’ve seen of him. Black, wavy hair, olive skin, dark eyes, sensual lips. But it’s more than just his features; it’s how he wears them. Like he is something regal, something you want to draw closer to. It’s not fair that evil can wear such an alluring mask.

His eyes move over me like a predator sizing up prey.

I make a noise at the back of my throat, and my father places a hand over mine. We can’t talk here, not when the cameras are rolling.

I breathe in, then out. I can do this. For my country, I can. I step forward, and we descend down the staircase. I know my father can feel my trembling hands. It’s a miracle that my legs are holding me up at all. The entire time the king stares at me. Not my father. Me.

It takes all my energy to keep moving and look calm. In reality, I can’t hear anything over the pounding of my pulse and the ringing inside my head. Not until we reach the bottom, until I stare into the king’s deep brown eyes. Then the moment comes into hyper focus.