The king’s eyes drift to my bare arm and move down. The sight is possessive, hungry, and it makes my stomach churn.

I won’t think about later tonight. I won’t.

“They are our guests now, my queen,” King Lazuli says.

“Don’t call me that.” I rub my shoulder against my neck, as if to wipe off the stain of his words from my skin.

“You better get used to it. That’s what you’ll be known as from now on.” The king seems satisfied by the thought.

I snag a champagne flute from a passing waiter. The waiter looks between me and the king, mortified. The caterers are controlling the amount of alcohol I’m consuming, probably on behalf of the king’s orders. It’s a clever move too, since if I had it my way, I’d already be twelve drinks deep and unwilling to stop until the liquor killed me.

Before the king can take the glass from me, I throw it back. It’s only my third drink of the night, but I can already feel the warm, tingly sensation of the alcohol sliding through my veins. King Lazuli scowls at me as I remove the now empty glass from my lips and flash him a triumphant smile.

The waiter snatches the champagne flute from my hands the first chance he gets, as though his attentiveness now can make up for the fact that he blew it.

The boy stutters apologies at the king, who waves him off. I watch longingly as the tray carrying champagne is whisked away.

I can feel the king’s eyes on me, and I’m strangely interested in what he’s thinking—not because I care about him, but because I want to know what his motives are for marrying me, a woman who loathes him.

The only answer that comes to mind is the obvious one: that this is some archaic form of a political alliance—marrying into power. Not that I have any power in my own right. But ideology is the most powerful currency in the world—it can start wars, and it can end them—and to the citizens of the nation, the king of the eastern empire and the emissary of the WUN symbolize two hemispheres tonight made whole.

However, feeling the king’s eyes on me, I can’t help but wonder if the marriage might be more than just a power play. I know the king finds me attractive and that he enjoys verbally sparring with me, but could something more be there?

The king waves Marco over. Marco, who’s just as responsible for my father’s death as the king is. Perhaps more so, if the king really didn’t order my father killed.