Our Fatal Failings (Twisted book two)

Chapter Eleven

"Breathe."

When he says it, I remember that I've been holding my breath the hold time. I exhale.

"Relax."

"I can't These people are...they're-"

"Your subjects. And you stand above them. Look how they're bowing."

Like a wave, the crowd dips. He's right, they are bowing. "That doesn't change the fact that I'm not their queen."

"You are."

"No," I whisper, shaking my head. "This whole thing is a sham. You can't just topple the government of America and name yourself king. Someone is going to stop you."

His clear blue eyes burn with intensity as he stares at me. "You're their Luna. Look at them." I swallow, wetting my dry throat. I won't. He squeezes my hand and hard. "Look at them."

I turn and run my eyes over them. All their gazes are pinned towards us. They're still on their knees. "So what?"

"Tell them to stand and they will. These are your subjects, our subjects." His gaze stays pinned to me and I'm suffering under the weight of it. "Tell them."

"You may rise."

"Louder."

"You may rise!" I watch as the wave moves in reverse, as men and women stand back up and brush themselves off.

His smile is brilliant as he addresses the crowd. "As you know already, we've won a great victory. It will only be a matter of time now before the president signs my terms and our armies finish off the last remaining rebels. This land is ours. We finally have a place to call home--a place for all were to be free from persecution." He takes my hand and holds it up. "So we will celebrate. Celebrate and celebrate this monumental accomplishment for days and days. So let it begin now."

He kisses my palm as the room breaks out into chatter and music. Men and women in black uniforms move around the room, handing out glasses of champagne. Jonah grabs two and hands one to me. He takes a large gulp, draining his glass in a few seconds.

I watch the bubbles in my glass rise to the surface and pop. "You don't drink."

"No."

"So you do?"

"No, I meant yes." I hand him my glass. "I don't drink."

"Not even in celebration."

"I have nothing to celebrate."

I look around me, feeling out of place in all this happiness. Why can't I see what they see? Everything around me is glitz, and glitter, laughter, and joy. Everyone here swings from the chandelier and I'm standing under it wonder why.

"Try it, you might like it."

"You sound like my mother."

Mentioning her doesn't help at all. It makes my mood worse. I haven't spoken to my mother in weeks. I don't even know where she is.

"Be adventurous."

I stare at the glass until my eyes blur. It can't hurt me. Actually, it might make the night pass faster. I take it from his hands and sip it. It's sweeter than I expected it to, but it burns the back of my throat slightly.

"Good?"

I nod and finish the rest of my glass. It's almost as if the bubbles went to my brains instead of down into my stomach like the rest of the drink. "It tastes like peaches."

"So you like it."

I feel giddy, yet somehow it's not a bad thing. I enjoy the lightheadedness that comes with it. For days I have been all nervousness and paranoia. It feels good to float like a cloud. Somehow a second glass ends up in my hands and when I'm done with that, I'm reaching for a third. Halfway done with it, it gets taken out of my hands.