I lift the gun in my hand and fire in the vague direction of our attackers, but it’s no use when I can’t see them.

I hear the van’s engine turn over. The king will make it. My sight blurs, but I can still see Montes struggling to leave the vehicle, and Jose’s hand pushing him down so that he’s not in the shooter’s line of sight.

The pounding footsteps get closer and I glance behind me. A man and a woman wearing black fatigues jog towards us, their guns raised.

I aim my weapon and fire off three more shots—all misses due to my trembling hand—then the gun clicks empty.

Tires screech and the van peels out. Several more shots ring out, and bullet holes puncture the side of the van. The last thing I see before rough hands grab me is Montes’s face.

It’s a mask of despair, and that, more than anything frightens me. If the king is already in mourning, then I am as good as dead.

“We got the queen,” the man radios to his accomplices. I guess I know which side survived the gunfire. “We’re going to load her and take her back to the warehouse.”

That can’t be good.

Rough hands lift me from where I’m crumpled against the ground. I scream at the sensation. The woman grabs my arms and the man grabs my legs.

I shriek as they lift me, and salty tears sting my eyes. My wound feels like it’s ripping me in two; warm liquid exits it and slides across my skin.

They carry me to a nearby ambulance and load me on a stretcher. I’m already starting to shiver.

“She’s losing a lot of blood. Think she’ll survive the ride?” the man asks the woman.

“Nadia will make sure she does.”

I groan from the pain and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to forget just how my life led me here. Given the situation, I hope the wound takes me. Chances are good that if I live through it, I’m going to die a much more painful death.

The door to the ambulance opens, and I see the nurse I talked to earlier. “So you’re the traitor?” I wheeze.

“I’d say the same thing to you.” She glances at the man hovering over me. “Get the car started. The rest of the team is leaving.”

She turns her attention back to me. “Let’s get you fixed up.” This must be Nadia.

They shot me only to stitch me back together. “This is why I hate doctors,” I whisper.

“I’m a nurse,” Nadia says, snapping on gloves. And then she touches the wound.

I scream. What she is, is a sadist.

I blink open my eyes, confused about where I am. I twist my body to look around, and pain lacerates me everywhere. I yelp and still. My side throbs long after I stop moving, and I quickly fill in the gaps of my memory.

The king and I were ambushed. He escaped. I didn’t. I’d been operated on and passed out at some point, either from the pain or the blood loss. And now I’m here.

I no longer side with the Resistance. That realization leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. They’d been my allies for so long. But I’d made the choice to defend the king—my husband—when I could’ve let him die. I find I don’t regret it, either. And now the Resistance and I are enemies.

I’m still wearing the hospital gown, and crusted blood and bits of tissue cake it. I run my hands over my ribcage and waist and feel layers of gauze encircling the bullet wound. They’ve done a good job dressing my injury.

I sit up slowly, careful not to jostle anything. The glimpse of my room isn’t promising. Cement walls and floor, a cot—which I’m resting on—a table and two chairs, a T.V. mounted near the ceiling. But my absolute favorite two details are the one-way mirror and the stainless steel toilet. If I need to go to the bathroom, I’ll have an audience.

Someone must be watching me because the knob to my room twists and the door opens. I watch it, my face carefully arranged to look disinterested.

But the mask slips when I see exactly who steps through the door.

Chapter 22

Serenity

“Will?” I’m not sure whether to be horrified or elated that he’s the one entering my cell. I do know that I’m shocked.

He’s wearing the same black fatigues as everyone else, and I notice that he’s carrying his weapons on him. Either he’s planning to use force, or he hopes to intimidate me.

He crosses the room in three long strides and then I’m gathered in his arms. I wince from the pain.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, standing. “What’s going on?”

“I’m now the head of the western chapter of the Resistance. And I’m here to help you kill the king.” He lets me go long enough to cup my face. I swear for a moment he considers leaning in and kissing me, and I can’t help but rear back. His hands drop, looking confused at my reaction.

“Will, you’re still a part of the Resistance? What were you thinking? If the king finds out, he’ll kill you.” My heart pounds at the thought. Then the implications of Will’s new position sink in. My eyes widen. “You ordered your men to shoot me?”

He cocks his head, like he doesn’t understand me. “It needed to be believable.”

“Believable for what?”

He leans in, his voice hushed. “Everyone thinks you’re with the king except for me.”

I give him a disbelieving look. “Will, I am with the king.” That was why the representatives made me marry Montes—to glue together two warring hemispheres.

Will stares at me long and hard, like I might really be the traitor everyone else claims I am.

Surprise morphs to anger. I sacrificed so much for the good of my friends and my nation, and Will still wants to play soldier, to gamble with lives like this is a game.

“Does your father know of your actions?” I ask.

“Leave him out of this.”

“He doesn’t,” I state.

Will shakes his head. “That’s not the point, and that’s not why we dragged you here.” He grips my upper arms. “The king can be killed,” he says, shaking me slightly.

His words catch my attention, temporarily distracting me from my current situation.

“How?” I ask.

Will releases me. “He hasn’t told you?” He actually sounds surprised.

I hesitate. “The king was going to tell me once I recovered,” I finally say.

Will’s head tilted. “Is it true then? Do you have cancer?”