The king follows me into the car, I’m sure taking in my wide eyes. “I hope this is not you being convincing, because you’re horrible at it,” he says.

“Shut up.”

Again, the king smirks, and I want to throttle him. Even if there wasn’t this terrible baggage between us, there’d still be something about him that gets under my skin.

As soon as we pull away from the palace, I roll down the window. I can feel the king’s eyes on me, but I ignore him. Once the window’s all the way down, I stick my head out, then the rest of my torso.

For a single blissful second the air sings in my ears and streams through my hair. Then I feel a firm pair of hands wrap around my waist and yank me inside. I yelp and tumble into the king’s arms.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” the king asks, raising his voice. I can see that vein in his temple begin to throb.

“You caught me,” I say sarcastically, “I was trying for death by moving vehicle.”

“Be serious,” he commands.

I raise my eyebrows. “Is that the tone you use on all your subjects? Because frankly, it—” My voice cuts off when the king leans forward and runs a hand through my hair.

He’s fixing my hair. I don’t know why this action of his catches me so completely off guard, but it does. Maybe because the gesture is affectionate, especially when I notice the slight quiver of his hands.

“Did you really think I was trying to kill myself?” I ask.

His hands pause, and they loosely cup my hair and my chin. “What do you think?” He stares at me, and I see concern in them.

“I’m thinking that there are far more effective ways of killing myself than jumping out of a moving car through the window.” Seriously. I’d just use the door.

“Your father died a week ago.”

I flinch at his words. Why would he bring that up?

“You had to be sedated when you arrived,” King Lazuli continues. “I’m going to assume the worst until you prove otherwise.”

I frown at him and push his hands away. “Well, I’m not planning on killing myself, so your concern is not needed.”

The king doesn’t leave my side. Instead he reaches around me and rolls up the window, and I feel my skin sear in every place his body presses against mine. The window seals shut, yet he doesn’t move away. My eyes crawl over his arm to his shoulder, to his square jaw, to his mouth. There they pause, and then I meet his gaze.

My breath catches as we stare at each other.

He’s the enemy.

It’s too bad my body doesn’t think so. It’s ready to say que sera sera and forget the past.