We make eye contact and I can see the relief soften the expression on his face and loosen his taut muscles. I drop the gun in my hand and kick it away.

The guard grabs a radio from his belt and calls in. “The queen is alive and secure. Repeat, the queen is alive and secure.”

Will moans on the floor at my feet, and the guard’s eyes snap to him. The guard glances down at my bloodied hospital gown and sucks in a breath. He cocks his gun and points it at Will.

“It wasn’t him,” I say. “This wound was from when I was shot outside the hospital.”

The guard radios in a second time. “The queen is injured. Repeat, the queen is injured. Requesting a stretcher.”

“I am not leaving this building on a stretcher,” I growl out.

Over my dead body would that happen.

I glare up at the hallway’s florescent bulbs as I’m wheeled out. Around me several guards push the gurney, and I swear they’re suppressing smiles. Pricks.

Somewhere ahead of me, one of the king’s soldiers leads a handcuffed Will. But most of them surround me.

From the brief glimpses I get as I’m rolled out, I see bodies littering the floor, most lying in pools of their own blood. One of them is Nadia, the nurse that stitched up my gunshot wound, her eyes glazed and empty. The Resistance members here have been massacred.

My throat works. I shouldn’t feel anything for them—not after they were so willing to hurt me. But these were once people I worked with. People whose courage I admired. Sorrow wells within me. Wrong is right, and right is wrong.

Somewhere ahead of me doors open, and early morning light pours in. I squint at the sunlight shining down on me.

Above me several helicopters circle the warehouse. I can’t see my surroundings well, but by the looks of it, the king has brought most of his army here.

I hear a cheer rise through the air, but I can’t tell who’s watching.

Suddenly a head eclipses the light, and I make out the dark eyes of the king. My stretcher stops as the guards halt. The king cups my face and bends over me.

I feel a drop of water against my cheek. A tear—the king is crying. Over me.

He presses his lips to mine, and I feel the brush of his wet eyelashes against me. I’ve never seen the king cry—no footage has ever captured this side of him.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he says, his voice choked.