“Where are we going?” I ask. My voice echoes in the cavernous space.

“Dinner.”

I haven’t thought about food in hours and hours, full as I was on this new world and all of its revelations.

I catch more glimpses of abandoned halls and closed doors as we wind our way through the palace. The door we eventually stop at looks like every other, but a faint smell of smoke clings to the area.

He opens it, and I catch a glimpse of the room beyond. A series of antlers decorate the walls. A billiard table sits in front of us, and farther into the room couches surround a grand fireplace. That same smoky smell lingers like a haze in the air.

“What is the name of this room?” I ask, taking it all in.

“The game room.”

I smile at the name. “The king and his games,” I muse, stepping inside. “I’m surprised the game room and the map room aren’t the same.” Lord knows the man finds war and strategy vastly entertaining.

Montes whispers in my hair, “Now’s a good time to remember that you promised me intimacy. Keep talking as you are, and I will put that mouth to other uses.”

Hand it to the king to think of the most creative way to shut me up.

“I see you’re still fluent in threats,” I say because I can’t help myself.

“My queen,” he says, stepping away, “it’s only a threat if you don’t want it to happen.”

A part of me does in fact want it to happen. My heart’s deepest wishes contradict all logic.

I move farther into the room. The space is an ode to highbrow masculinity.

“This place looks nothing like you,” I say, taking in the antler chandelier high above us.

Montes heads towards a round table that looks like it was made for card games. He pulls out a chair and leans his hands heavily over the back of it. “I’m glad you think so,” he says, his voice genuine. “It was made more for the men I host than for myself.”

I run my hand over the green felt of the billiards table I pass as I drift towards him. “Why bring me here?”

“Why not?” he counters.

“I thought we were having dinner.”

“We are.” He indicates the seat he’s pulled out. “Please.”

Chivalry—it’s just another one of the king’s games.

I take a seat across from him because that’s just what we do. Montes tries to seduce me with his usual bag of tricks, and I turn him down over and over again. The king’s masochistic enough to enjoy the rejection, and I’m petty enough to enjoy dealing it out.

I look around me. This place might not be the worst room in the palace, but it leaves me feeling cold. I wonder what kind of man enjoys a room like this. I imagine he has thick fingers and a large gut. And he’d probably despise a woman like me.

The king takes the seat opposite me and leans back in it, taking in our surroundings just as I’m doing.

“My advisors used to love meeting in rooms like this,” he says. “I believe all men want the best of both worlds—to be ruthless savages as well as cultivated thinkers. And that’s what this room is, a place where those opposing desires meet.”

My eyes move to the king. “Is that what you want?”

“Nire bihotza, that’s what I am.”

I suppress a shiver as I take in his dark beauty.

“And what do all women want?” I ask.

Montes appraises me from his seat. Abruptly, he stands and heads over to what looks like a wet bar. He extracts two tumblers and a bottle of amber liquid from beneath it, and sets them on the counter. Uncorking the lid, he begins to pour us drinks.

“It doesn’t matter what all women want,” he says, “because you are not all women.”

“Then what am I?”

His eyes flick up to me. Mine, they seem to say.

He returns his attention to his work. “You’re right,” he says, moving the bottle of liquor from one glass to the other, “I do play games.

He corks the bottle. “That’s all life really is—an elaborate game of luck and strategy.”

This—life—doesn’t feel like a game. This feels real and terrible.

He grabs the tumblers and bottle of spirits and heads back to our table. Coming to my side, he hands me one of the glasses.

I wrap my hand around it, feeling the warm brush of his fingers. He doesn’t let go.

My gaze rises to meet his. I don’t want to look at him, this man that takes up way too much space—in this room, in my head, in my heart.

Montes stares down at me like the universe begins and ends in my eyes.

Nothing can be simple with this man. Not even a drink. I feel that thick, cloying chemistry rise up out of the ether and wrap around us. It doesn’t matter that the cancer is gone. With Montes it will always feel like my life has come right up to the edge of death.

He still hasn’t given me the drink, and I look pointedly at it.

“You really have no idea what I’m capable of,” he says.

The hairs on the nape of my neck stand. I would’ve said that if anyone knew what the king was capable of, it would be me. But I’m not going to contradict a bad man saying he’s worse than I remember.

“And that has you worried,” he continues. “It shouldn’t. You know of my depravity, but I’m not talking about my evil side.”

“Are you going to give me the drink?” I ask, exasperated.

“My lap,” he says. He backs up, forcing me to release my hold on the tumbler. He settles back into his seat, his legs splayed out.