Across the table, my father relaxes into his seat, looking at ease when I’m sure that’s the last thing he feels. “The WUN is not suggesting that. We merely wish to get our economy back on its feet.”

The king’s eyes flash. “Your hemisphere will never be where it once was.”

The negotiations draw on for a long time even after the king makes it known that he wants to cripple our economy. I shiver at the thought. Though pretty much anything would be an improvement from the current state of the western hemisphere, I know from history that there’d be long-term problems if the king decided to purposefully weaken our economy.

I page through the king’s document in front of me. Most passages are long-winded discussions of the terms of the agreement. I keep looking for the medical relief the king would provide for our people, but I can’t find any mention of it.

“Where can I find the terms of medical relief you’ll provide the WUN?” I finally ask, turning to the king.

He swivels his body to face me. “There are none,” he says.

I blink at him a few times. “None?”

“None.”

I stand suddenly. “You’d leave our people to suffer? To die?” I don’t know what I’m doing. It feels as though someone’s squeezing my lungs because I can’t seem to get enough air.

The king leans back in his seat. “Only some of them.” He gives me a challenging look.

My anger obscures my vision. I ball my hands into fists. “This isn’t a game!”

Silence.

No one moves.

And then a whole lot of things happen at once. The king stands, and judging by the vein throbbing at his temple, he’s pissed. Behind me several people push forward, and my guards press in close.

King Lazuli leans in, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Yes, Serenity, this is a game. One you’ve already lost.”

I’m escorted from the negotiations for the rest of the day. The king’s guards take me back to my room. They linger outside it, standing guard in case I try to leave.

Now that the anger has dulled somewhat, embarrassment and guilt quickly follow. I can’t act like that, even if I think I’m defending the WUN. No one’s going to thank me if the negotiations dissolve because of my emotional outbursts.

I hear the door to our suite open and, a few seconds later, a knock on my door. My heart hammers away in my chest. I stand, and my muscles tense. Knowing my father, he’s not going to yell, and his quiet disappointment is so much worse to bear.

The door opens, but instead of my father, King Lazuli stands in the doorway.

My eyes widen. “What are you doing here?” My earlier anger hasn’t simmered back to the surface yet. I’m too surprised.

He closes the door behind him and strolls into my room, taking a look around. “How are you liking the palace so far?” he asks.

I raise my eyebrows. “It’s fine.”

“Fine?” It’s his turn to raise his eyebrows. “Surely it’s more than just fine.”

Now my anger’s returning, like a dear old friend. “Okay, it’s more than fine. It’s absolutely repulsive that you can live around such opulence when the rest of this city is so broken. I’m sickened to hear you deny my people basic medical relief while you host dinner parties inside your palace.”

The king approaches me. “There it is. The truth: you hate everything about me.”

I suck in a sharp breath of air. “Yes,” I breathe.

King Lazuli holds the crook of his arm out. “Walk with me.”

I take a step back, eyeing his arm like it’s poisonous. I just admitted to the king of the eastern hemisphere that I hated him.

When he sees my hesitation, he says, “I don’t bite.”

“No,” I say, “you kill.”

“So do you, soldier.”

We stare at each other a moment. Not one fiber of my being wants to touch him, but I remember General Kline’s words yesterday. I need to play my part.

Reluctantly I slide my fingers through the crook of King Lazuli’s arm, and he leads me out of my room.

“Where’s my father?” I ask as soon as we pass his empty room.

“He’s still in discussions with my aides.”

“And you’re skipping out to what—give me a tour of your mansion?”

The king glances down at me, a small smile playing on his lips. “Something like that.”

I frown at his expression and a sick sensation coils through my stomach. I can practically smell the desire wafting off of him.

The thought makes me want to puke. I’ve been rude to him since we met. I stood up to him; I admitted that I hated him. He must truly be psychotic if that excites rather than angers him.

He leads me outside to the gardens. “How lovely,” I say, “you pay someone to cut your hedges into cute little animals. I’m so impressed.”

His lips twitch. “I’m pleased to hear you like them so much. I’ll have the gardeners shape another just for you. Perhaps a gun? Or are you more of a hand grenade lady?”

“How about you simply uproot the hedge you plan on shaping and watch it slowly die? That would be a more accurate representation of me and my people.”

The king sighs. “You do not know the first thing about power.”

“And you don’t know the first thing about compassion,” I bite out.

To our right, a large alcove has been cut into the hedge that borders the gardens. Inside it sits a marble sculpture. The king pushes me into the alcove.

My back bumps into the nearly solid surface of the hedge as the king presses his body against mine. “You think you know something about compassion? A soldier trained to kill?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Then prove it.”

I raise my eyebrow, still pinned between him and the hedge. Despite his closeness and his heated emotions, I’m not scared. I know how to take him down if I need to, and I trust him more when he’s not so composed.

“How exactly would you suggest I prove it?”

His gaze flicks to my mouth. “Kiss me.”

My breath hitches. “I think you’ve confused passion with compassion.”

“No, I haven’t.” His eyes glitter, and I have to remind myself that he’s a sick human being, because right now all I’m noticing are his expressive eyes and sensual mouth. “Compassion is showing kindness towards the man who killed your mother.”