The words are barely out of my mouth when one of my guards lays a hand on my shoulder. “We need to get you out of here. Now.”

Perhaps if I’d grown up in a world without violence, I would’ve readily agreed to this. Instead I duck under the guard’s arms and begin running for the front gate. I pump my arms; I can hear the king’s men behind me.

I fall to one knee and line up the gun’s sights, and then I fire, aiming at the leading car’s front window.

A miss.

I correct my aim and try again.

Another miss.

I can see the line of vehicles a little better. Someone’s reloading the rocket launcher in the bed of that truck. I bite my lip and pull the trigger. I miss my target—I am too far away for much accuracy—but my bullet punctures the driver’s side window.

That’s all it takes for the car to swerve, sending some of the men in the back over the tailgate.

A pair of arms wrap around my midsection, and I’m lifted off my feet. One of the king’s vehicles cuts across the expansive lawn and lurches to a stop behind us. More of Montes’s soldiers grab me and throw me into the car.

Fighting my guards’ orders any longer will only get more people killed. This isn’t a battle I’m equipped to fight in.

I right myself and glance out the window. Behind us I can see the Resistance’s vehicles still barreling full speed ahead towards the gate. Other palace guards stationed near the palace entrance are already firing their weapons, but it’s making no difference.

The gate lets out a sickening groan as the first car rams into it, and it’s torn from its hinges. The palace has now been breached.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“There’s an escape route inside the palace that leads to a launch pad. The king’s already on his way there.”

Our car slams to a stop at the fancy courtyard in front of the palace’s front doors.

“Move, move, move!” one of the soldiers shouts as we exit the vehicle. And now I understand; wherever this exit is, we’re not nearly close enough to it.

A black cloud of smoke rises to my left, where a third of the palace lies in smoldering ruins.

I sprint towards the entrance of the palace, shielded by a cluster of guards. Behind us I can hear gunfire. The soldier next to me grunts and grabs his arm. A man to my left goes down.

This all has an eerie sense of déjà vu to it. There’s even a good possibility that those shooting at us will avoid hitting me. Political figures tend to have higher currency alive rather than dead.