“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he says. “Negotiate an agreement and make it back here safely. That’s all I want.”

My throat constricts and I nod. Now that the cat’s out of the bag, I know what I must do.

I’m going to have to charm the king into giving the WUN what it needs.

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Serenity

Five years ago my father and I moved into the bunker. By that time we were in a full-scale war with the eastern hemisphere, and the king had started picking off those political leaders not already dead. Located several miles outside of D.C., the bunker was an asylum for what was left of our government officials and their families.

It also offered some measureable protection against the high radiation levels caused by the nuclear blasts. Not that it mattered. The radiation was in the water, in the earth and the food supply. We’d lived with it long enough; the damage was already done.

The day my father and I moved in, when I first saw the beds that lined a single room, my chest tightened. I realized that the world I thought I knew had been gone for a while now and somewhere along the way people had become synonymous with threat.

My wariness eventually wore off, and my next reaction was excitement. I might make friends. I had to dust that word off; I’d shelved it from my vocabulary for so long.

The bunker, however, came with its own sacrifices. No natural light filtered into our new home, and I had once been a self-proclaimed child of the sun. An unpleasant schedule came to rule my days. And social interactions were difficult to maneuver; I found I was way more skilled at making enemies than I was friends.

Still, I was safe, surrounded by people that didn’t antagonize me, and I had reliable food and shelter. For the first time in a long time, I felt hopeful.

“I hate dresses,” I mumble as one of my guards zips me up.

He snickers.

“Shut up. It’s not funny.” I can’t breathe in this thing.

“Freeman in a dress? Hell yeah it is,” my guard says.

I throw him a look just as Marco knocks on the door to our suite.

The guard squeezes my shoulder. “Own those negotiations,” he whispers.

I leave my room as my father opens the door. “Morning Marco,” he says, grabbing his briefcase.

Marco nods to him. “Ready to go?”

My father looks over to where I stand.

“I’m ready,” I say, now that my wispy dress is on. I glance back at my room. My gun lies underneath the pillows on my bed. It’s hard to walk into the peace talks in my flimsy outfit without my usual protection.

“’Kay, then let’s do this,” my father says.