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September 2 - September 4, 2023
With Will, my mind had loved him while my body had remained unmoved. In this situation, it’s the exact opposite. I hate the king, yet I crave him. I want him to suffer, but I also want this. Love and hate really aren’t so very different.
Behind me I can hear the king jogging, and I wonder if he’s worried that I’m going to throw myself into the water like some tragic Greek maiden. ’Cause he should be. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.
“Jesus,” he says, “you scared the shit out of me!” I can’t see him in the dark, but if I could, I bet I’d see that vein in his temple throbbing. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were concerned.” “Why would you think otherwise?” Water laps around us, swirling with the tide. My dress tangles itself around the king as he holds me to him. I taste saltwater on my lips and try to ignore the way Montes’s dress shirt clings to his chest. “Oh, I don’t know,” I say, “maybe because you killed my parents, destroyed my homeland, and are now forcing me into marrying you.” My voice comes out flinty.
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I’m wearing a dress I didn’t pick out, holding flowers I don’t care for, wearing makeup and hair someone else has styled, and I’m waiting to be married to a man I don’t love because of orders someone else gave.
I gaze into his eyes as the priest speaks. They shine, and right then I feel beloved—by the man in front of me and the world that’s looking to me.
The priest announces us to the chapel, and I feel a tear drip down my cheek. I just married the monster under the bed.
“We are so happy for you,” the woman says, “and we hope that this union brings prosperity to your home—and lots of children,” she throws in, flashing me a sly smile. Like what every woman wants is a snotty baby.
“You’re heartless.” “Most of the time. But sometimes … sometimes I’m not when I’m around you.” I open my eyes at that. He’s being genuine. And this is the worst. A bad guy with a change of heart. I’m not his redemption; I’m going to be his executioner.
A stray tear streaks down my cheek. “I hate you,” I say to him. “You won’t always feel that way,” he says, thrusting into me. “I will. I swear it.” “Give it up,” he growls, pushing into me harder. “The war is over.” “Not for me. It won’t ever be over for me.”
Now that no one is watching, I bow my head and allow myself to weep. Weep for my life, for all those who’ve killed or died because of the war, and for the uncertain future of the world. When I’ve cried myself out, I lie down on the cool floor of the balcony and stare at the stars. I make out the Pleiades, a constellation my mother taught me years ago. Make a wish upon the seven sisters, she’d whisper to me when we’d catch sight of them. And I do so now. I wish I could be up there with you. I gaze at them until my eyes drift closed.
Who knew that beneath my tough exterior was a sex-starved woman?
He’s human. It’s the stupid freckle that reminds me. He may be broken and wicked and narcissistic, but he’s human. He bleeds, he feels. Thinking like this is risky, particularly when I still plan on killing him. I don’t want to grow close to this man, but I can’t seem to help myself, even after all he’s done. Maybe he doesn’t need to die. Maybe he can be changed.
“Sore?” he finally asks. I feel my cheeks flush. I hate that this subject still makes me uncomfortable. “I’m fine.” His fingers brush across my face. “Hmm. I thought we were past the lies.” Lying and discussing this with the king seem like two very different things. My eyes move between his. “Are you happy now that you finally have me?” The king shakes his head. “I don’t have you—yet. But I will.”
“What, exactly, do you think I’ve been doing for the last twelve hours?” “Punishing me,” I say without missing a beat. He sighs. “You keep lying. Hasn’t anyone told you the key to a healthy marriage is trust and honesty?”
I fear that just when I decided I had the will to live, my body decided it didn’t.
He must have figured out what I already know: if he leaves me alone, I’m going to get myself in more trouble than if he simply drags me along. “Aw,” I give him a fake pout, “is someone having buyer’s remorse?” The king’s finally realizing just what a handful I can be.
I think of my dwindling health. I’ve never coughed up blood before, but I’ve known people who have. This is the moment of truth, the one I’ve ignored for so long. It’s starting. The beginning of the end.
I will say this for Montes, his methods may be inhumane, but they are effective.
Right when I assumed I was the loneliest creature in the world, I find out I might matter to someone.
“What is it?” King Lazuli asks the doctor. The doctor pauses. “The queen has cancer.”
The Pleiades granted me my wish. I’m going to join them soon.
War tears down everything. Morals, loyalties, lives. Its aftershocks can ripple long after it ends. This is merely one more way that it’s ripped my life apart. And now, maybe for the first time, it’s affecting the king’s life on a personal level. “We will fix this,” the king says in that commanding voice of his, like this is just another minor obstacle. Suddenly, I pity him, because some things simply cannot be conquered, and this might be one of them.
“Cancer,” he murmurs. He’s said that word several times today. Stomach cancer, to be precise. It’s one of several types of cancer caused by radiation. I can’t help my next words. “Ironic that you caused the cancer you’re now trying to stop from killing me.” There’s poetic justice in that, though only the king gets the luxury of justice. The rest of us just pointlessly suffer.
“How did you manage to hide this from everyone?” he asks, his voice soft. I’m still too nauseous to answer. I curl up into him and bury my face in his shirt. “Don’t leave me,” I whisper. I don’t know why I say it; I don’t know why I’m giving or receiving compassion from this man. But I do know this: only compassion can redeem someone. Even the king. Even me.
Since finding out that I have cancer, Montes has revealed this other side of him, one that’s inexplicably compassionate. It’s made me realize something else: the king is lonelier than even me, and he desperately doesn’t want to be.
“My father killed himself,” the king finally says. “Died at the hand of his own gun. And like you, he was the last family I had.” I stiffen in the king’s arms. “Why are you telling me this?” The king touches my temple. “You have that same look in your eyes he had. It’s been there from the first moment I saw you. And I fear both he and you know a secret I don’t.” I watch the king for a long time, my throat working. “We do.” Never had I imagined my life leading me here, to this moment. Yet now that I’m here, I wonder if there is a beautiful design to things. “Then tell me what it is,” the king
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When I wake up, the king is at the side of my bed. He’s smiling and holding my hand. Almost reflexively I smile back at him. It’s strange to feel this way about anyone. The fact that the king is the one who’s opened my heart is just proof that fate is a cruel bitch.
It’s frightening how right he feels pressed this close to me. He has the same dark soul I do; he knows and embraces my sins, and I’m learning to accept his. I know he is dangerous to be around—dangerous to love—but my heart doesn’t seem to care.
“Promise me you won’t shoot anyone until I get back,” he says. My lips waver before they tug up at the corners. “I won’t make a promise I can’t keep.”
I’d wanted Serenity’s affection, her fire, even her love—I just hadn’t realized I’d give anything back in the process.
Death and health were the stick and carrot the king regularly used to gain control of a new land on the eastern hemisphere. He still doesn’t seem to understand that repairing that which he broke doesn’t make it new again. It makes it scarred.
He sits on my bed and cups the side of my face. In his eyes I see something I hoped not to. I don’t know what love is, and I doubt the king does either, but the expression he wears seems awfully near the mark.
“Let’s get you fixed up.” This must be Nadia. They shot me only to stitch me back together. “This is why I hate doctors,” I whisper. “I’m a nurse,” Nadia says, snapping on gloves. And then she touches the wound. I scream. What she is, is a sadist.
Voicing this only throws the absurdity of the whole situation in sharp relief: Will allowed Resistance members to shoot me even though he knew I might be sick. Right now his heartlessness is giving the king a run for his money.
A little piece of me dies; it’s been dying since the moment I realized my friend allowed me to get shot. I’m surrounded by bad men.
“Goddamnit Serenity, stop being an idiot!” I watch him. “Is that supposed to scare me?” His chest heaves. “You will be imprisoned, tortured, killed if you don’t agree to do this. Do you care so little for your life?” “I live with the devil. I’ve already died and gone to hell. So no, I don’t care.” The truth is, I don’t want to die, and torture scares the shit out of me. But I’ve already bent to the will of too many men. I’m done compromising.
I stare into the king’s eyes. I am Isolde, I am Juliet, I am Guinevere. I am every one of those idiots because I’ve fallen for the king.
My anger spikes; there is nothing so infuriating as being physically helpless against another human being.
“This needs to stop.” I’m no longer just talking about Will’s interrogation. I’m talking about war—about being a woman raised on a diet of pain and punishment. Where evil is avenged with more evil. It will never be enough to remedy the world.
If I didn’t understand her, I might’ve worried that she was some sort of double agent. But Serenity doesn’t hide her violence and anger. No, she puts the worst parts of herself out on display and hides the best aspects of herself. Even that she’s not so good at because she’s risking torture and death by defending me. She’s the most fearless person I know. My opinion of her only increases when she slugs Will, and again when she pulls his own gun on him. It doesn’t take a genius to know I married up.
I can hear the surprise—and happiness—in his voice. That’s where the two of us are now. Caught between hate and love, between our grim reality and what might be.
“You might be my queen, but I am the leader, Serenity, and I make the decisions. And fuck it if I’ll let you make demands of me.” So much for being equals. I push past him, and he grabs my wrist. “I haven’t dismissed you,” he growls. I laugh. “I don’t answer to you, Montes. You better fucking remember who you married.”
“Serenity.” I rotate and see Montes headed towards me, his eyes angry. When he gets to me he wraps a hand around my throat and pushes me up against the wall. A knee slides between mine.
Do people get intimate when they really just want to throttle each other? If so, I believe I’d excel at it.
We are the epitome of dysfunction. Our marriage won’t work—it shouldn’t. We are miserable human beings. And yet, when he laces his fingers through mine and I feel the thrill of contact, that tiny flame of hope I carry around flares up. Anything’s possible. From darkness to light, war to peace—hate to love. The king brings the back of my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to it. The entire time he stares at me like we’re sharing a secret. We are. We’re two monsters that might not be quite so monstrous after all. Anything’s possible.
A tear drips onto the metal table beside my father’s head. “I was supposed to die with you,” I whisper to him. The loneliness of my situation slams into me. How am I supposed to live if the one person who mattered most to me is now dead?
“Do you know why your mother and I named you ‘Serenity’?” he’d asked me. I shook my head; I had no idea where he was going with this. “Serenity means to be at peace,” he explained. “When your mother was pregnant, she said the thought of you gave her that—peace.” Ironic that my life had known so very little of it. “You’ll never live up to your namesake if you don’t forgive, Serenity.” “Dad—” He managed to use my one weakness, my mother, against me. “No,” he shook his head, “this is not an argument. What you choose to do with all that anger is your business. But you can’t control the world;
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If not war, then love. I don’t know the first thing about it—love. I don’t know if I’m even capable of it. But I also know that I have a limited time to learn.
“What do you fear above all else, Serenity?” he asks quietly. It’s a strange question, given our circumstances. “You,” I say automatically. I glance up at him, but he’s not looking at me. He’s staring at the ceiling, a faraway expression on his face. His thumb strokes my shoulder. “Is this another one of your ‘facts’?” Now his eyes do travel to mine. I give him a shove, even as my lips curve up. He has me there. One doesn’t make love with one’s fears. Not willingly. Then again … perhaps I am the poster child for immersion therapy.
“You wanted to know what I fear most? Here it is: I fear I will always be alone. That no one who truly knows me will love me. Not even my wife.” I balk at this. “You’ve made piss poor life choices, and you want me to love you in spite of it? You’re insane.” I swivel to grab my robe and get the fuck out of here when Montes catches me around the waist. He tugs me to him, pulling me in close. “I’m not insane, Serenity,” he whispers into my ear. “And you and I both know why you saved my life. It doesn’t matter that you think I’m an evil bastard. You love me.”
