Now we’ve gone from decades to fifty years? This is like one of those stories that gets bigger every time it’s retold.

“What do you want?” I ask, sitting up a little straighter and eyeing the back doors of the vehicle.

“Jace, she needs proof,” one of the other men says.

Jace squeezes the back of his neck. “I don’t have proof.”

“Wait,” another soldier says. He reaches into the back pocket of his fatigues and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He tosses it onto my lap.

I raise an eyebrow as I stare down at it.

Nothing about the situation is going as it should. My kidnappers are not demanding things of me; they’re beseeching me to understand what they’re telling me. To be fair, what they are telling me is insane.

“A piece of paper is supposed to convince me I’ve been gone for fifty years?” I say.

“Not gone,” Jace corrects. “Asleep. We found you in one of the king’s fabled Sleepers.”

My attention snaps to Jace. The Sleeper. I’d almost forgotten about the machine. The last time I had gotten in one of those was right after the king and I lost our child.

The memory has me tightening my lips and squeezing the sheets beneath my fingers. At least I can rule out memory suppressant. I remember that moment in vivid detail, and oh how I would like to forget.

“Open the paper, Serenity,” Jace says.

I grab it, mostly because I’m curious. That, and I’m still unarmed and surrounded by six soldiers who have taken a keen interest in me.

I open the crumpled sheet.

Staring back at me … is me.

It’s more of a sketch, really. My face is outlined in black and shaded in yellow and navy. The king’s colors. I stare directly at the viewer, my face resolute.

I touch my scar as I notice the one on paper. It starts at the corner of my eye and drags down my cheek, making me look dangerous, wicked even. Beneath my image is the phrase, Freedom or Death.

I don’t know what to make of this. Their proof hasn’t convinced me of anything, except that maybe a few of my subjects don’t hate me as much as I assumed they did.

“That poster has been in circulation for almost a century.”

I fold the paper. “And now it’s a century. By the time we arrive to whatever destination you have in mind, you’ll tell me I’ve been gone for a millennia.”

“Jace, you’re doing great man,” one of the other soldiers says. It’s a jibe, and it only confuses me more.

“If you want to fucking jump in, be my guest,” Jace says.

He returns his attention to me. He rubs his cheek, studying my face. “How am I going to get you to believe me?”

“You’re not,” I say. I’m not a big fan of trusting strangers, especially ones that kidnap me.

And there it is again. These men took me. Perhaps if it had been the first time, or even the second that this had happened to me, I’d be more interested in escape than revenge. But it isn’t. When I get the chance, and I will get the chance, I will mow these men down.

My eyes flick to Jace’s gun.

His gaze follows mine to his weapon. He covers it with his hand. “My queen, I understand you are confused, but if you get violent, we will have to as well. And I really don’t want that.”

I meet his eyes, and the corner of my mouth curls slowly. I’m made of violence and pain. He might as well have welcomed me home.

The atmosphere in the vehicle changes subtly. The men are on guard.

“What do you want?” I say.

Jace looks at me square in the eye, and I notice that, just like his comrades, he stares at me like I’m the answer to his problems. “We want you to end the war.”

Chapter 2

Serenity

The last I remembered, the war was over.

No—war had broken out again. The king’s council had turned on him. I had been working with the king to suppress the insurgents in South America.

“You do realize I have been doing exactly that since war broke out.”

The soldiers exchange another look.

“Goddamnit,” I say, “stop acting like I’m crazy.”

The vehicle falls silent for several seconds, the only sound the jiggle of the bed’s rickety frame and the men’s weapons.

“No one believes you’re crazy,” Jace finally says.

He sounds so reasonable. That in and of itself is infuriating.

He leans forward. “Look at what you’re wearing.”

I narrow my eyes at him.

“This isn’t a trick. Look at your outfit.”

Hesitantly, I do.

I wear a fitted bodice of pale gold silk. A layer of delicate lace flowers overlays it.

I pull the blanket covering my legs aside. The material drips down my body, all the way to my feet. I hadn’t noticed it earlier, but now that Jace has forced my eyes to take in my clothing, I realize how unusual my outfit is.

“Do you remember when you put that dress on?” he asks.

I run my fingers over the material. The honest truth is I’ve never seen this dress in my life.

“Do you?” Jace pushes.

I look up. All six of them are watching me with baited breath. They’re waiting for … something.

“No.” Without meaning to, I’ve fisted the soft material.

Jace rubs his hands together. “What is the last thing you remember?”

It’s a good question, one I hadn’t seriously pondered since I woke up here.