The quiet is eerie, and I know not to be deceived by it. The king’s guards are regrouping, setting something up. I pray to any god willing to listen that our ride will still be waiting for us, that we’ll get past the king’s people, and that we can get the hell off this godforsaken land.

The gardens taper off, and beyond them is open grass. The trees and hedges have hidden us from view until now, but that’s about to change.

I don’t need to tell the soldiers this; they’ve noticed. Our collective speed picks up. We exit the gardens, and I spot the wrought iron fence running along the back of the king’s estate.

A shot rings out and blood sprays as a soldier ahead of me takes a bullet to the head. What remains of his body collapses, and I have to jump over him to keep from tripping. There’s nothing we can do for him at this point.

“Sniper!” I shout. The remaining soldiers and I scatter, running wildly left and right. I’ve trained with these people; we work soundlessly as a unit. Only now I’m their commander. Because my father …

My eyes move over the fence, until I spot a car waiting about a hundred yards down to my left. I whistle and point to my men. Their movements are still wild, but they’re moving towards it. I hear the sound of another gunshot, and the soldier running ahead of me falls.

I snarl and glance over at the mansion. It’s impossible to see a sniper from here, so I can’t do anything about it. But someone does catch my eye.

The king, standing on his back balcony. He’s too far away to shoot as well, otherwise I would. He’s also too far away for me to make out his expression. I hope he’s hurting, I hope he knows I slaughtered his men, and I hope today causes him unending grief, like it will for me.

I know it won’t.

I turn away from him and focus on the fence and the car, some heavy SUV with tinted windows. Another shot rings out, and I hear it ping against the car’s armor. At this point, I can only hope it didn’t destroy anything vital, or else we’re out of an escape.

Ahead of me, someone—probably our ride—has cut away two of the wrought iron fence posts, leaving an opening wide enough for a person to slip through. The soldiers exit through it and jump into the car.

I’m the last out, and I follow my soldiers into the back of the SUV.

Our driver, a burly, bearded man, guns the engine and peels down the road, constantly checking his rearview and side view mirrors.