“Grenade!” I shout.

My men shove me to the ground. I split my lip at the impact, but I don’t register the pain before the grenade goes off. I feel the heat on my back, hear the yells and groans of the men who’ve taken the hit, breathe in the smoldering air.

My leg burns, but that’s it.

The Resistance soldiers are already moving—I can hear their footfalls—and most of the soldiers that surround me are still.

I can tell the men above me are dead. I roll their bloodied bodies off me. Something sharp lodges itself in my throat at their instantaneous decision to cover me; they surely knew they were sacrificing themselves.

“Anyone alive?” I shout.

“Aye,” comes a pained voice beside me. Someone else grunts.

The survivors—two currently—are working their way out of the dog pile. None of us have any hope of escape unless we can get to that launch pad.

Pulling a gun out of one of the unquestionably dead men, I rise to a knee.

The Resistance fighters are already closing in on me, but all I see are targets—heads, hearts. I aim, fire, and move on to the next target. Rinse and repeat.

I’m in my element. Anger and aggression flood through my veins. I hit four soldiers before they get wise to my ways, and one shoots my arm. I scream as the bullet rips through skin and muscle.

Fuck that hurts.

I fire back before the shooter can clip me again. My aim’s off, and the slug buries itself into the wall instead of his heart. Behind me I hear another gun go off and a Resistance soldier falls.

I can’t turn, but I know it’s one of my surviving guards. I rise to my feet and back up towards him. Before I reach him, his head whips back. I see blood and bone spray onto the walls and floor around him. He’s gone.

I empty my gun and two of the three remaining men go down. The final man left standing reaches for his radio as I grope around for another weapon.

I feel like a grave robber as I lift a gun off a dead body. People who’ve never seen action think there’s something honorable in this—giving your life for a higher cause. This moment is proof that the human spirit is capable of nothing baser than war. The indignity of death. The desperation and apathy. I’ve been raised on it, but even I grasp the horror of it all.

I swivel and point the gun, but the Resistance member is gone, likely getting backup before he comes at me again. I push myself to my feet, hissing in a breath as I put weight on my scorched leg.

“Anyone alive?” I call out.

No one answers back. The second soldier who’d called out to me earlier must’ve died during the shootout.

I waste several seconds grabbing another gun and shoving it down the small of my back.

Move, I command my broken body. I have no idea where the king’s map room is in this palace of his. I only saw the one in Geneva. And without a clear destination, I’m essentially a fly caught in the spider’s web.

I limp down the hall, towards the first door I see. I doubt it leads to some promising destination, but I open it anyway and peek inside. Guest room. Not promising. I continue on.

I can hear shouting in the distance and those damn footfalls that herald another wave of Resistance fighters.

Hitting the end of the hall, I glance to my left and to my right. The walls have caved in one direction. I’ve hit the edge of the destruction. In the other direction dust is still settling from the blast.

One of the soldiers had said we were close, and this hall looks vaguely familiar. I might be able to find the exit on my own.

A moment later as I move down the remaining corridor, I spot the door to the king’s conference room. The king’s map room must be close by. Hope flares up in me. I hurry down the hall until I come across a door that looks like it leads to an important room. I try the door. Locked.

The footsteps are getting closer. No time to waste at this point. This is my only option. As soon as I step back to gun down the door, I hear voices on the other side.

I think I’ve found the map room. And here I thought I had the world’s worst luck.

“Help!” I scream and begin to pound on the door. “It’s the queen!”

I’ve got seconds left to get inside; otherwise, I’m as good as dead.

The door opens just as Resistance fighters turn down onto the hall. I level my gun and begin firing at them.

“Your Majesty!”

“Serenity!” The king’s voice rises above the fray. What is he still doing in the palace? He should be gone by now.

Someone grabs me around the waist and drags me inside the room, and I suck in air through my teeth as my injured arm is jostled. The door slams shut, and I’m surrounded by the king’s soldiers.

“Can you walk?” one asks.

I groan. “Yeah, but not quickly.”

The king pushes through his men and comes to my side. His hands don’t know where to touch me, so he settles on my face.

No words are exchanged. They’re not needed. I can see relief mingling with panic. And then he kisses me.

It’s cut short by banging on the door. The door shudders. Several of the king’s soldiers hang back to watch the room’s entrance. It won’t hold for long now that the Resistance saw me enter.

I’m assisted to a blast door propped open at the back of the room. I’ve seen these before, I know that once this door closes, there will be no getting it back open. Beyond it I can see a sleek passageway; I’m sure this is the escape route the soldier mentioned earlier.

Outside the room, the muffled pounding of footsteps lessens. Not a good sign.

The king’s men lead him through the escape passage first. Marco stands to the side, waiting to follow us in. I notice something in his hand, but I never get a good look at it. Behind me I hear a muffled clink of a heavy object out in the hallway.

“Grena—!” My words are cut off by the explosion.

My body’s thrown forward, right into Marco. The two of us fall in a tangle of limbs just outside the passage entrance. A plume of ash and dust obscures the room, but I can hear the tread of feet.

“Close the door!” Marco shouts.

The king roars something in response, but it’s cut off by the slam of the blast door. The sound is a death knell; there will be no escaping now. Once again, the king’s been shuffled away while I remain in the fray, this time with Marco, one of the men I revile most in the world.

I scramble to get up when Marco’s hand presses me back down into the floor.