They know of me.

What had I been expecting? I am the king’s wife. Likely a public figure.

We stop in front of a door, and on the other side I can hear murmurs.

An execution, then. Torture doesn’t require so many people, I think.

Only, when they open the door, my presumptions melt away. In front of me rests a camera and a chair, the latter currently occupied by a soldier.

But that is not what captures my attention.

At the back of the room is a large screen. My breath catches when my eyes land on it, and suddenly my pulse is in my ears.

The soldier sitting in front of the camera turns, then stands when he sees us. My guards march me forward and force me into the relinquished seat.

The entire time I stare at the man whose face takes up the screen.

I expected an abomination.

Not this.

Evil is supposed to be ugly, but he isn’t ugly. In fact, this man—my husband, if my assumption’s correct—is more than just a little pleasing to stare at.

Unlined, olive skin, dark hair brushed back from his face, a strong, straight nose, eyes that draw you in, and a mouth that promises secrets and slow seduction. Was that why I married him? God, I hope not. I don’t want to know who I was if that were the reason.

My heart thumps faster. He is gorgeous, but it’s not his looks that have moved me.

I recognize myself in his eyes. Even as fogged as my mind is, even as unaware of my past as I am, something about him resonates deep within me. I don’t know what it is I feel or what it means, but already I can no longer think of him objectively.

“Serenity.” He doesn’t say my name the same way my captors do, like I’m the scourge of the earth. He says it like we’re lovers.

We are lovers.

He wants me back. I can read it plainly on his face, in the way his pupils dilate. This is the man they all fear and hate. A man, if they’re to be believed, that I fear and hate.

“King Lazuli,” I return.

Why would he want me back, this man who’s so willing to ruin my life?

“Montes,” he corrects. I get the impression he’s done that before—corrected me.

His gaze scours my face, and I realize his cool exterior is hiding a well of emotions. A vein in his temple pulses. “What’ve they done to you?”

This abomination of a human being cares about me. It doesn’t add up with what I’ve learned of him.

And now, one wrong word and this house of cards will tumble. That’s the kind of power I sense I wield, being the king’s wife. He’ll kill them all, and unlike me, he’ll enjoy it thoroughly.

“I’m okay.”

His jaw clenches ever so slightly. That and the throbbing vein are the only signs he feels. The king’s tells are subtle, but I’m still shocked at how genuine his emotions towards me are. Whoever Montes Lazuli is, at the moment he’s more man than nightmare.

Odd that right now, of the two of us, I am the colder one. My heart is made of steel and ice and I cannot muster emotion to match his.

“I’m going to get you out of there,” he says. “You need to stay alive for me.”

I can’t go back to him. I can’t. He has power over me, power that has nothing to do with pain and punishment. I’m enthralled by him, and considering the way he tracks my every movement through the screen, the feeling seems mutual.

“Time’s up,” someone calls. “We’ve proven she’s alive.”

“Alive and injured,” the king says. A dozen threats lace his voice. I fear that if I live long enough, I’ll see each one of them carried out.

At my back, several soldiers approach. I take in the handsome man on the other side of the screen a final time. “Whoever you are, I hope you were worth it.” After all, torture and death are still on the table for me. I hope the Serenity who had a past was satisfied with it.

They drag me away after that.

“Serenity! Wait—” I can hear him at my back, his voice rising as he shouts at whoever will listen that he isn’t finished talking with me.

Yes, my husband wants me back, and he’ll guard me like a dragon does its treasure. I doubt very much that I’ll enjoy that kind of protection.

An ache starts up in my chest as I stride back to my cell. I’m trapped between the king’s wishes and this organization’s, and there’s no room for my own. As the ache grows, I realize it isn’t fear or sadness.

It’s rage.

Other people got me into this mess; they’re not going to get me out of it. I will.

And I will get myself out of it, or I’ll die trying.

CHAPTER 4

Serenity

INFECTION’S BEGINNING TO set in.

My hands shake as I unravel the gauze over my arm. A shiver racks my body. I need to see just how bad it is, but I don’t want to. My skin’s already swollen above and below the bandages. It won’t be pretty.

I hear nothing from outside the walls of my prison. If soldiers are watching, they’ve decided not to interfere.

My eyes burn, and as I remove layer after layer, I can tell I’m worse off than I thought I was. A foul smell emanates from my bandages, and it gets stronger the more I unwind.

The last layer of gauze is the worst. The material’s fused to the wound. I clench my jaw as I peel it away. The pain blazes so brightly my vision clouds. I can’t stop the agonized cry that slips out. My breath comes out in pants. Sweat beads along my forehead. With a final tug, I remove the last of the bandages.

I’d prepared myself for the savage sight of my injury, but it’s still hard to look at. Blood and puss cover the wound. The dirty skin around it is so swollen it looks ready to burst.

Reaching over to the untouched tray of food I received a short while ago, I grab the cup of water. Taking a fortifying breath, I pour it over the wound.

As soon as the first drop hits my skin, the pain explodes. My teeth are tightly clenched, so my cry escapes as a hiss of air. My vision clouds again, and I’m blind for a couple seconds as I fight to stay conscious.

The empty cup slips from my hand, and I spend the next several minutes shivering and clutching my arm to my chest.

In the hallway outside my cell, I hear raised voices. They sound panicked, and they’re getting closer.

Don’t let the enemy see your weaknesses.

I need to rewrap my arm. The thought tightens my stomach.

Reluctantly I crawl over to the discarded bandages. Using my teeth, I rip off the soiled section of cloth. The agony’s even worse this time around, so bad that I have to pause twice to vomit. The wound doesn’t want to be bound, and my cheeks are wet by the time I’m tying the knot.