“I wouldn’t recognize happiness if it stood right in front of me,” I say.

“Clearly,” the king says.

I narrow my eyes at him as he walks to the door. He pauses when he grabs the handle. “We’re announcing the end of the war and the wedding this evening,” he says. “A lot rests on how convincing you are. So if you don’t know what happy is, I’d suggest you learn to fake it fast.”

I don’t know what day it is, or what time it is, and I can’t decide if I am jet lagged, or if my tiredness stems from my emotional and physical exhaustion. I stay in the room the king left me in. For all I know, I’m on some sort of house arrest.

Not that I mind. A servant comes in several hours after the king left, bearing food. I try to eat some and vomit it back up. I’ve gone too long without eating.

It’s as I flush the toilet and clean myself up that I realize I want to live. In spite of the wedding, in spite of my father’s death, in spite of every other fucked-up part of my life, I’m not ready to fold my hand. So I walk back to my food and eat it agonizingly slow, taking long breaks between bites to let my stomach settle.

I take a shower, and for once I let myself enjoy the way the water pelts my skin and force myself not to feel guilty that so many others don’t have this luxury. I am in the unique position to change that—to change the entire world if I so desire. I am going to be the king’s wife. The queen. Now that I’ve stopped running from the idea, I realize the doors it opens.

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Serenity

Miserable. I am absolutely miserable.

“Emerald green or orchid pink?” my wardrobe manager—wardrobe manager—asks me, holding up each dress.

“Neither.”

She nods absently, as if that is the conclusion she’s come to as well. “Yes, these colors are too casual—we want something that’s hopeful yet regal.” She stares at me for a beat, and then her eyes widen and she snaps her fingers.

I’m in the ninth circle of hell.

“I just had a thought. I’ll be right back!”

“Can’t wait,” I mutter.

The hairstylist standing behind me yanks my hair, and my head snaps back. “Ow!”

“S-sorry, My Lady,” the woman stammers. She sounds frightened, and she has good reason to be. I’m already rethinking this whole will-to-live bit if it includes being manhandled.

“Don’t call me that,” I growl out.

She nods her head and bites the inside of her cheek.

I’m being too abrasive, as usual. This is why friendship never came easily to me.