The Queen of All That Lives (The Fallen World Book 3)

by Laura Thalassa

  We talk for an hour. Unfortunately even by the time I end the call, that sickening shine in Garcia’s eyes still hasn’t waned.

  Working with him might be a mistake.

  I shut everything down and return it where I found it.

  I sit back in the king’s chair and bring my folded hands my lips, musing on the situation I’m creating for myself.

  I run my hands through my hair. If the king finds out everything I intend … he might very well change his mind and shove me back in that Sleeper. I don’t fear that nearly as much as I fear my plan will fail and the world will bear the fallout from it.

  I stand and push the chair in.

  I’m halfway to the door when a thought catches me off guard. I pause mid-step.

  Slowly, I turn. My eyes land on the large gilded frame that hangs on the back wall of the king’s study. I remember something Montes told me, something about a second entrance to my crypt.

  I might very well be staring at that second entrance right now.

  Hesitantly, I head towards the back of the room and touch the expansive painting. My fingertips run over the brushstrokes before wrapping around the edges of the frame.

  I give it a swift tug, but the added force isn’t necessary. It swings open with ease.

  Just like the other painting, a door and a thumbprint scanner rest behind this one.

  This is the second entrance to my crypt, the one the First Free Men came through.

  Out of curiosity, I press my thumb to the fingerprint scanner. It’s worked once before. I wait an agonizing several seconds, and then …

  A green light blinks, and the door hisses as it unlocks, swinging inwards.

  The king authorized me to enter his secret passages. It makes sense; if the palace is ever under fire, this might be our best chance at escape. The king and I have already lived through one instance where I was locked out from such a passage.

  Still, to give me access to areas where I cannot be watched … my obsessive husband has surprised me.

  I step through, shutting the door behind me.

  I look down the corridor. The hall stretches out on either side, descending into the darkness beyond the motion activated lights. I begin heading back towards our room.

  My footsteps falter as I pass by the first one-way mirror. It’s unnerving to think that the king could just stand here and watch someone go about their business without them knowing. I understand his motives, but it’s eerie and invasive nonetheless.

  I begin to move again, passing several more rooms, each one dark. Eventually, I pass a room whose lights are still on. Without meaning to, I pause and survey it. What I see has me stepping up to the window.

  A gun rests on the bed. That alone is eye-catching enough for me to give this room a second look. If only there were a way in. I could use a gun. Any weapon, really. I don’t trust Montes, or this place, or these people. It’s nothing personal—well, excepting Montes, of course. I was raised to mistrust my surroundings.

  I force myself to step away from the window and resume walking. I can’t shake my unease. It’s this place. The king’s madness and depravity is all concentrated here. It’s messing with my mind.

  My eyes drift down the hall, towards the lights that continue on into the distance.

  Lights in the distance … that’s not right. The only time they come on is when they’re motion activated. And then it hits me.

  Shit.

  I’m not alone.

  I head towards the illumination. Even if I were the type to hide, it would be pointless. The lights are convenient breadcrumbs for either Montes or myself to follow.

  Ahead of me, the hallway is abandoned. But it veers sharply to the right, where the light appears to continue on. That’s where the king will be—if, of course, he’s still in the passageway.

  I pass the double doors that lead to the crypt I was kept in, and I have to steel myself against the warm burn of anger it evokes. My shoes click loudly against the stone. Montes must hear me.

  Once I round the corner, I see a figure peering into one of the rooms, his back to me.

  I halt in my tracks.

  His hair’s too short to be Montes.

  The king was wrong. He’s not the only one who can access these passageways. And now I’m facing a stranger unarmed.

  Beyond the man, the overhead lights trail off into darkness.

  “Serenity.”

  A chill runs down my spine.

  I know that voice. I’d know it from anywhere.

  But … it’s impossible. The man last drew breath a hundred years ago.

  The figure swivels around.

  My eyes take in the slight build, the brown eyes, the skin that’s every bit as tan as Montes’s. The dark hair that’s shorter than I remember it. And finally, that face I hated so much.

  My ears didn’t deceive me.

  Marco, the king’s oldest friend and advisor, is alive.

  Chapter 22

  Serenity

  The king brought him back to life while he let me waste away.

  The anger churning through me sharpens.

  My hands fist, and I begin stalking towards him.

  Sensing my violent intentions, Marco puts a hand up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa.”

  I don’t let that stop me. As soon as I’m within swinging range, I lunge for him.

  He catches me around the midsection before I can land a blow, pinning my arms to my sides.

  I thrash against him. “You fucking murderer! Why did he let you live?”

  Gone is the composed leader I’ve been for the last hour. I’m back to being an angry, lost girl.

  “Stop. Serenity,” Marco says. “Please. Stop.”

  To hear that asshole’s voice … I’m seeing red.

  What I really need is a gun. Any gun—

  Something about Marco’s tone has me redirecting my thoughts. Something … not right.

  I seek out his eyes. He’s not looking at me the way he used to, like I was just a thorn in his side.

  And the way he said my name a few seconds ago … it’s too familiar.

  “Let me go,” I say.

  “Not if you’re going to hit me again.”

  I struggle futilely against him. He’s still staring at me, and it’s setting off all sorts of unwelcome reactions.

  The worst thing the king could do was immortalize me. I’m quickly finding I don’t react well to the attention and the adoration.

  And that’s what I see in Marco’s eyes. Adoration.

  It shouldn’t be there. We hate each other, and unlike the king, there is nothing else to our relationship beyond that.

  Marco adjusts his hold on me. He pulls me in close, until our chests are flush against each other.

  I bring my knee up, and he only just manages to pivot out of the way. “Jesus. Stop.” He shakes me a little. “Serenity, I am not going to hurt you.”

  It’s almost laughable that he thinks I’m the one worried about getting hurt.

  “You killed my father, you bastard.” I’m shaking I’m so angry.

  It had been justice enough to know that Marco had taken his own life with the same hand and the same gun that killed my father.

  But now that he’s so obviously cheated death and lived while I slept … the anger resurges.

  “I am not the same man,” Marco says.

  This again.

  “Screw you and Montes and all of your fucking excuses!” I spit out, jerking against the hands hold me captive.

  I’m tired of evil, immortal people telling me this. Like they’re recovering psychopaths. Time can change a person, but it cannot erase their past.

  “You will always be the person that took the first man I eve
r loved.”

  I swear in Marco’s eyes I see some mixture of surprise and devastation. “Montes never told me Marco did that.”

  I rear back, some sick combination of confusion and disgust filling my veins.

  He continues on before I can get a word in edgewise. “I’m sorry for you and your father, Serenity, but I am not that man.

  “You see,” he says carefully, “I am his clone.”

  The revelation is enough to make me pause.

  “You’re a … ?”

  I can’t even say it.

  Back in the time I left, clones were the things of science fiction, along with flying cars and humanoid robots.

  “I am a copy of him,” Marco says. “Same DNA. It’s no different than twins, except that we never shared a womb and we weren’t born at the same time—obviously.”

  He says this all as if his existence is somehow normal.

  “You’re not Marco?” I say.

  It’s still not registering

  “I am Marco,” he says, “just not the one you knew. I was named after him.”

  Suddenly all the pieces come crashing together. No technology could revive the king’s brain-dead friend. So instead Montes made a copy of Marco to keep him company through the years.

  That is the saddest thing I might’ve heard yet.

  Marco must sense that I’m no longer a threat. His hold loosens on me.

  I stagger away from him.

  A clone. I’m still wrapping my mind around it.

  I look everywhere but Marco, and that’s when I remember where exactly we are.

  “You were the one watching me,” I say as the realization dawns on me. The noises I heard. I’d been in lingerie one of those instances.

  My hands clench. “You saw me,” I accuse, my face flushing. I’m ready to throttle him, the pervert.

  He doesn’t bother denying it. “I wasn’t trying to watch you undress.”

  I narrow my eyes at him.

  That voice. I can’t help but hate it. I recognize that this is not the same man who crossed me years ago. That doesn’t change the fact that everything about him reminds me of the pain his twin put me through.

  “I just wanted to see you, and the king forbid me from meeting you until he’d broken the news. So I came here,” he continues. “He doesn’t know that I can access these passageways.”

  “Why did he hide you from me?” I ask. I’m still angry and more than a little spooked, but I also feel an unbidden wave of pity. Pity for this creature who will always live in his predecessor’s shadow, and pity for a king who must create his own friends because no decent human would truly and willingly become that man’s companion.

  Marco glances at my hands, which are still balled into fists. “I imagine he was trying to prevent this from happening.”

  The strangeness of the situation is beginning to wear off. I glance beyond Marco’s shoulder.

  “The king’s room is at the end of this hall,” Marco says.

  I return my attention to him.

  “That’s what you’re looking for, right?” he adds. “You came from the king’s study.”

  It’s not good that he knows that. The whole point of being in Montes’s office was to draw as few eyes as possible. And now Marco’s dangling that piece of information in my face. And I don’t know whether he intends to blackmail me with it, but I’ve had enough of men trying to play me.

  I lean forward, momentarily setting aside my disgust for the face this man wears. “I don’t know who you are, but I will tell you this: if you threaten me in any way, you will regret it.”

  I’ve scared a lot of people in my time. Marco does not appear to be one such person.

  He inclines his head. “I won’t tell the king you were in here if you don’t tell him I was.”

  I stare at Marco for a long moment, then I turn on my heel and leave.

  “I’ll be seeing you around, Serenity,” he calls to my back.

  “For your sake,” I say, not bothering to face him, “you better hope not.”

  Chapter 23

  Serenity

  I push the framed painting softly open. Beyond it, the king’s bedroom is dark. As quietly as I can, I slip through the doorway and close the door and painting behind me. They shut silently.

  I tiptoe across the room, removing my clothing as I go.

  It’s still odd, sleeping skin on skin with the king. I enjoy it, much to my shame. Too many years spent without touching of any kind has left me famished for it. And Montes is all too ready to provide the contact I desire.

  I pull back the sheets and slide into bed.

  Several seconds later, the king’s arm drapes around my waist and he pulls my back to his front.

  “I am king for a reason,” he whispers into my hair.

  Immediately, I stiffen in his arms. He doesn’t sound sleepy. Not even a little bit.

  He brushes my hair away from my ear, his touch proprietary. “I will let you have your secrets,” he says, “so long as they serve me.” His hand skims down my arm, then lays flat against my stomach. Idly, his thumb begins rubbing circles into my skin. “The moment they no longer do, my queen, bargain or no, I’ll strip you of your power.” His hand continues down my outer thigh. “And I will enjoy it.”

  “And how will you know when my secrets no longer serve you?” I ask.

  He presses me even tighter into him, until his body feels like a cage and I am his prisoner.

  He’s quiet for several seconds, but not because he’s at a loss for words. He’s toying with me again. I can tell by the way he’s still calmly stroking my skin, building up the tension between us.

  “You are not the only one with secrets, my queen.”

  “Secrets like Marco?”

  The king falls silent again, and now I do get the impression he’s at a loss for words.

  “You met Marco?” His tone changes from threatening to shocked.

  “Unfortunately,” I say.

  He rolls me onto my back so that he can study me. The moon’s bright enough to cast him in shades of blue.

  “I was going to tell you,” he says.

  “Just as you were going to wake me from the Sleeper?” I say, the comment biting.

  He moves a wisp of my hair from my face. “I felt it better to wait until you had adjusted. You hate me enough as it is. Marco was supposed to make himself scarce.”

  “Well, Marco has his own ideas.”

  Now that neither of us is pretending to be asleep, Montes strokes his finger down my nose and across my lips. “What, I wonder, did my vicious queen do to him?”

  His hand finds my own and he rubs his thumb over my knuckles. Even in the dim light of the room I can see the smile he cracks when he feels the scabbed skin. “I’m disappointed, Serenity. Here I was hoping someone else might get a taste of your wrath for once.”

  “I thought you had brought him back to life,” I whisper.

  He stares at me for a long time. “You thought I had woken him and left you asleep,” he clarifies.

  It’s times like this that I seriously question whether Montes was ever human. It’s not just his lifespan that’s unnatural. It’s the way he sees right through people.

  “And you thought I’d be mad when I found out,” I say.

  “You’re not,” he says it like a realization.

  “I was. And then Marco explained it all to me.” Now I’m just disturbed.

  The king brushes a kiss along my knuckles. “Your reactions always were so refreshing. How I’ve forgotten.” He presses my hand to his face. “How I wish to remember.”

  Now I look away. Even though fighting this magnetism we have is futile, I won’t go quietly into it.

  “Give me your
eyes, Serenity.” The pitch of his voice his lower, more intimate.

  Reluctantly, I do so.

  His gaze holds a million things. He was never one to unburden himself with his feelings, but his eyes rarely lie.

  Endless want. Hope. Grief. Love. Regret. Disbelief. I see it all.

  I could resist him when he had no weaknesses, when I thought he was pure evil.

  But this strange, time-wearied Montes who has lived a lonely existence for lifetimes and lifetimes, I can’t fight him. I can’t fight this. Us.

  “I love you,” he says.

  “Montes,” I say. It sounds more like a plea.

  He lowers himself to his forearms, his bare skin meeting mine. “I love you,” he repeats. “I know that makes you uncomfortable. It’s made me uncomfortable for longer than I care to admit. But now I’ve gone a hundred years without saying those three words, and I’ve nearly lost the only person I want to say them to. So you’re just going to have to listen to them.”

  He’s now petting my hair, combing it back with his fingers. Now all I can see of his face are the sharp slashes of his jaw and the shadows that caress his high cheekbones.

  He’s terrible and magnificent. My monster. We are the two loneliest people in the universe, but we have each other.

  “Tell me you love me,” he whispers.

  I shake my head. “Never.”

  “Liar,” he says softly, a small smile playing on his lips.

  “I told you a long time ago you’d never get all of me,” I say.

  He reaches over to the side of the bed and clicks on a side lamp. “And I have always told you that you’re mine,” he says, returning his attention to me. “Every bit of you. Even your love.”

  He bends down, and I think he’s going to kiss me. Instead, he murmurs, “We’re going to play a little game.

  His lips skim my jaw. “I’ll ask you a question, and you’ll either answer it honestly, or you’ll touch me where I tell you to.”

  It’s an iteration of the drinking game we used to play. Only this one has managed to incorporate our deal into the mix.