The Queen of All that Dies (The Fallen World, #1)

by Laura Thalassa

We once knew casual compassion—politeness even. People smiled for the sake of smiling. Laughed because they couldn’t contain their joy. One positive emotion begat another, and it spread like the most decadent disease.

Somewhere along the way, my people lost the most precious thing of all. Hope.

But I’d prefer hearing the ugly truth than a pretty lie.

“You were a soldier?” he asks. “Yes.” “But not anymore?” “I will always be a soldier,” I say, “but right now I fight with my tongue rather than my fists.” He gives me a slow smile. “Perhaps we can put that tongue to other uses.” “Then perhaps I will resort to fighting with my fists.” “I welcome the challenge.” In his eyes is a promise that he’ll make good on. Tonight I’m sleeping with my gun.

“You want to see compassion? Fine.” I take the hand pressed against my shoulders and kiss his knuckles. “I’ve now kissed the hand of my mother’s killer.” Before he has time to react to my chaste kiss, I bring my other hand up and slap him. His head whips to the side. “I’m also a vindictive bitch,” I say.

Will finally lowered his gun. “I froze up.” I could hear the embarrassment in his voice. “Nothing to be ashamed of.” I pushed down my nausea. By now I’d learned that it wasn’t physical. It was more of a soul-sickness. Another piece of my humanity chipped away. “You were able to kill him,” Will said. You, a girl. That’s what he meant. Like owning a vagina made me inferior in some fundamental way.

What he doesn’t say is that everyone’s calling me a traitor, a whore—whatever unoriginal names they can come up with. There will be no honor to my sacrifice. Women who have filled the role of temptress have always been looked down upon.

The king leans in so that he can peer into my eyes. “Are you alright?” I hold up a finger, and he patiently waits. The nausea passes, and I begin walking again. “What was that?” he asks. “It’s my body’s reaction to you.” “I’m glad I leave you short of breath.” “Don’t flatter yourself; I was trying not to barf.”

I lift the skirt of the dress I’m wearing and run towards the waves, kicking my shoes off in the process. 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.

I bury my face in my pillow. “I want to sleep in.” “We’re getting married in two hours.” “Don’t care,” I say, my voice muffled. “Fine. We’ll skip the wedding part and go straight to the honeymoon.” He pulls back the covers and begins to slide in next to me. I yelp and jump out of bed.

“Just so you know, you’re not frightening at all in the morning,” he says, smirking. “You look like a pissed-off kitten.” “Say that again, and I’ll castrate you with a butter knife.” His lips quirk. “Ah, lucky me to have such a blushing bride.” “Isn’t it bad luck to see me before the wedding?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest. “What, you think our luck can get any worse?” the king says, raising an eyebrow. He has a point.

The priest announces us to the chapel, and I feel a tear drip down my cheek. I just married the monster under the bed.

War tears down everything. Morals, loyalties, lives. Its aftershocks can ripple long after it ends.

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.

Where evil is avenged with more evil. It will never be enough to remedy the world.

I rip my mouth from his. “We can’t do this right now.” The king’s eyebrows rise, and he smirks like I’m funny. “We’re the rulers of the entire world; we can do whatever it is we want.” “But I still want to punch you in the face.” The king clucks his tongue. “My queen has never heard of angry sex. I think a woman like you would enjoy it.”

Right and wrong are lovers; I can’t have one without the other.