A small group of people wait for my arrival off to the left of the jet. Judging by how small the crowd is, I’m guessing the king has kept quiet about my bloody escape. I wouldn’t be surprised if the world thought I’d never left the king’s side.

The guards lead me towards a limo. As they do, my eyes drift back to the small gathering that watches me. The crowd shifts, and my steps falter. The king stands in the middle of them, dressed impeccably in a suit. Our eyes lock, and a small sound escapes from me. The sight of him splits open the wound I’ve been carrying inside myself.

I veer towards him. My guards are on me in an instant. Their hands wrap around my arms and pull me back. I push against them, my legs buckling.

The king approaches me slowly, his face unreadable.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” I scream.

The king stares unwaveringly at me, but I could’ve sworn for a moment something like shame passed through those dark eyes of his.

“You killed him!” His face blurs as tears form. Emotionally, I’ve regressed back to the day I escaped. “You can’t have me Montes! Not ever!”

“My king,” a voice near me says, “should we administer the sedative?”

“I will never forgive you!” I shriek. “You hear me? Never!”

“I think that would be best.” The king’s voice glides over me like the smoothest silk. He’s not even listening.

Someone extends my arm, and I buck against them. They drop their hands, and I elbow the guard behind me. He makes an oomph noise, and his grip loosens. I use the opportunity to wrench my arm free, and I slug the guard closest to me.

That’s as far as I get. The rest of the king’s guards close in and grab me, lowering my body to the ground. I thrash against them, but it’s useless. They pin me down.

I’m sobbing horrible, heart-wrenching cries.

“Serenity, it’s going to be okay,” the king says from above me. I can feel his hands brushing my hair from my face.

I want to slap them away. I want to tell him to stop being nice when he’s so evil. Instead I continue to sob.

I feel cool wetness rub against the crook of my arm, and then a slight sting. It doesn’t take long for the numbness to overwhelm the pain.

I open my eyes. “Why?” I ask the king weakly.

But I never get my answer. The king’s form blurs and fades with the last of the pain.

When I wake up, I’m on a bed. I blink as I sit up, noticing the satiny comforter beneath me.

Where am I?