I glance around and jolt when my eyes land on the king. He sits in the chair next to my bed, pinching his lower lip in contemplation.

Looking at him hurts—he reminds me too much of all that’s broken within me—but I can’t tear my gaze from him.

“Hello Serenity,” he finally says.

“Montes.”

“Feeling better?”

I guffaw. “Like you care.”

“You’re right,” he says, “I don’t.” He says the words so cavalierly, but his face betrays him. He’s lying, and I really wish I couldn’t tell. It’s harder to despise him when he acts human.

“I want my gun,” I say.

“And why would I give you that gun? You’re difficult enough as it is.”

His condescension is barely tolerable. “It’s one of my only possessions. I want it.”

The king tilts his head. “That’s the gun that killed several of my men, isn’t it?”

I say nothing.

“I’ve gotten a good look at it,” he continues. “It’s old but well cared for. Obviously it’s important to you. Perhaps it was a gift from someone who once loved you?” He’s openly taunting me and coming dangerously close to the truth.

Without realizing it, I’ve fisted my hands. I want to hit him. It’s taking most of my self-control not to. I can see what he’s doing

“You’re a sociopath,” I whisper.

“And you’re a kindred spirit.”

He’s said that before. “I am nothing like you,” I snap.

“You’re right,” he says. “I’ve never killed over a dozen people and then worn their blood like a trophy for an entire day.”

I’m on my feet in an instant, and so is he. “I watched my father die that day, shot dead on your orders,” I hiss. “I held his body in my arms as he bled out on me. So yes, I took pleasure in killing those men that harmed him.”

The king steps closer to me. “I never ordered your father to be killed.”

His words are a slap in the face. Still, “It’s too little too late, Montes.”

“No, it’s not. The war is over.”

“Ours isn’t.”

He works his jaw. “The wedding is at the end of the week,” he says. “It’s happening whether you want it to or not.”

I slam my hand down on the bedside table next to me. “Goddamnit, Montes, you can’t control everything—that’s not how the world works.”

“It’s how my world works.”

“And that’s why you’re going to end up alone.” Preferably under six feet of soil.

“You need to learn about forgiveness.”

I flash him a vicious smile. “Or else what? You’ll kill me? Your threats hold no power over me. I’ve already lost everything I care about.”

“Or else you’ll never be happy,” he says.