The Queen of All that Dies (The Fallen World Book 1) by Laura Thalassa

look,” he says. “Almost.”
    “What ruins it? My scar?” I ask. I grin back at him.
    “Nope—it’s all in the eyes and the jaw. And that smile doesn’t help. You look like you want to gut someone.” Now my dad’s grinning.
    “You can dress up a pig, but it’s still a pig.”
    My dad comes over to me and grasps my hand. “Not a pig,” he says, staring me in the eye, “a soldier.”
    My father and I follow Marcus to the banquet hall, our guards shadowing our procession. Inside, people haven’t yet sat down to eat. Instead they mill about the room, sipping on champagne and chatting with one another.
    The room stirs as we enter. You’d think that the king’s stuck-up friends would get used to the sight of us, but they haven’t. Nor have the camera crews. I notice that most of their lenses zoom in on me. I guess their audiences are more interested in my (lack of) involvement in the peace talks than they are of my father’s or the king’s.
    My father leans into me. “You need to interact with these people tonight. Talk, be friendly, and try not to scare anyone too much. I’m leaving you to mingle.”
    He must see the fear in my eyes as he pulls away because he pats my shoulder. “Make me proud.”
    I give him a look that tells him what I think about that statement. He grins at me and winks before moving away from me to talk with an elderly man—the former prime minister of what used to be England.
    My skin prickles; I can sense the king watching me. I turn and lock eyes with him. He swirls the wine in his glass as he assesses me. His eyes meander down my body and back up, and as he does so, an approving smile spreads across his face.
    I suppress a shiver at his gaze. I imagine this is how he looks at unconquered territories.
    The camera crews crowd me, despite the WUN soldiers standing guard. I keep my expression bland so the world doesn’t see the terror coursing through me. The king has always been my boogeyman, but boogeymen aren’t supposed to be real. They’re the things of nightmares, the things your parents kiss away.
    But he’s real. And he wants me. And the entire western hemisphere might benefit if I simply face my fears.
    The plan I’ve toyed with for the last several days comes to fruition. I will do this, even if it’s as scary as running headlong into battle.
    I roll my neck like I do before I work out and push my shoulders back. I’m going to give the cameramen one hell of a show.
    I stride towards the king, who stands on the other side of the room. I let my body sway a little more than usual, just to pull eyes to me.
    Up until now, all anyone knows about the king and me are rumors—if that. I’m about to blow those rumors open.
    I can hear the uncertain shuffle of my guards keeping formation around me and the eager clamor of camera crews. They’re like carrion circling a wounded creature—they can practically sense a story about to happen.
    I’m gathering stares; I can feel the way they crawl along my skin. The king looks amused—no, transfixed—as I make a beeline for him. He too knows something is about to happen.
    The crowd parts for me, and the buzzing chatter in the room dies down. I close the remaining distance between the two of us until I’m standing in front of him.
    “Miss me?” I ask.
    King Lazuli’s face is serious, but his eyes smile. He’s definitely enjoying the show.
    “I haven’t missed anything more,” he responds smoothly, like the slick politician he is.
    “Then why haven’t you kissed me yet?” Now the room goes quiet.
    This, this is a gamble. On the one hand, the king might reject me in front of a crowded room—scratch that, in front of the entire world. That I can handle; I haven’t believed he’s been sincere about his feelings for me since the day we met. And if he does reject me, the WUN will have definitive proof that the king’s just toying with all of us.
    On the other hand, if he goes along with this, the world will anticipate