My dad draws back to look at me. If he cried while he held me, all traces of his tears are gone. “Your life has never been easy, Serenity. The world has always demanded something from you—war is a series of hard choices—but you haven’t let it break you. Not even now, when this is being asked of you. No father could be prouder of his daughter.”

I blink back tears and swallow. “Thank you,” I say quietly.

This evening, when Marco knocks on our suite’s door, I’m armed for battle. I have a plan that will keep the monster at bay.

I open the door. “The king requests—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I say. “Let’s go.” I push past Marco. The guards won’t come with me tonight, not for this sort of thing.

Marco jogs up to me. “You’re going the wrong way Miss Freeman,” he says, catching my arm and spinning me around.

“Oh.” I let him lead me in the opposite direction, and I smooth down the fabric of the lacey plum colored dress I wear. For the millionth time I wish I was wearing my fatigues. The tight bodice and high heels limit my movement.

We tread down the halls, and I memorize every twist and turn Marco makes. I’ll need to since I doubt the king will escort me back to my room before he gets what he wants.

Every so often someone passes by me in the hallways. Their eyes dart to mine, then away. I sometimes receive this reaction from people who notice my scar. Tonight, however, I wonder if this has more to do with the filmed negotiations. I never considered the fact that people might recognize me once the footage hit the Internet, but they must.

Marco and I climb a set of stairs and turn down a hall. I can tell we’re nearing the king’s private rooms. There’s a stillness about my surroundings that the rest of the mansion lacks.

I follow Marco up to a door and wait while he knocks. A servant opens the door and ushers us in. A quick glance around the room tells me that this is a private dining room. The lights have been dimmed, and a small round table has been set for two.

Romantic. I believe that’s how one would describe the setting. Unease gathers in the pit of my stomach.

The king steps into the room from some side chamber, fiddling with a cufflink of his suit. When he catches my eye, I see him pause. His eyes move over me, his gaze searing. I can tell he doesn’t want to simply have his way with me, and that realization surprises me.

“Thank you, Marco,” the king says, “you may go now.”

Marco inclines his head and backs away. I watch him leave us. Only once the door clicks shut, do I turn to face the king.