The underside of the vehicle bumps against something large, making us all jolt. And a flash of light explodes outside our window.
My heart jumps into my throat, and I turn to stare outside, but Berta leans forward and takes up all the space. “What’s out there?”
She leans back, her face grim. “Take a look.”
Dark figures in open-top jeeps ride alongside us. Bursts of light explode from their machine guns, and I clench my teeth and remind myself that this vehicle is designed to protect the Royals and won’t fail.
“Trucking hell,” Berta moans.
My stomach tightens with dread. “What?”
“They’ve attached some sort of computerized bomb to the side.”
“To make another explosion?” I squeak.
“They’re overriding the security programming with nanobots, aren’t they?” she snaps.
I feel too sick to get offended. Even if this getaway vehicle isn’t of Amstraadi construction, our enemies are more technologically advanced than I can imagine.
Lady Circi revs the engine, and we lurch forward in a burst of speed. I hold my breath, waiting for the explosion. Waiting for the Amstraadi to board the vehicle and slaughter us.
There’s no bang—only the hiss of the doors as they open. A man wearing the same black bodysuit as the palace intruder boards.
“Now,” snarls Lady Circi.
Queen Damascena twists and sprays bullets at the intruder. He falls, and another emerges, holding a perspex shield. Behind him, another person crouching low points the gun at the queen, but she’s too busy attacking the man in front to notice.
“Watch out,” I yell, but it’s too late.
The queen falls, and everybody screams. Her gun slides down the aisle, and Prince Kevon traps it with his foot.
The man in front lowers his shield and points a gun at Lady Circi’s head. “Stop driving.”
Keeping a hand on the steering wheel, the lady-at-arms shoots him in the gut, and he falls back. Lady Circi swerves the vehicle left and right. I jerk sideways into Berta, then she falls onto me. The intruders topple back, but in the confusion, one crawls down the aisle and holds a gun to Prince Kevon’s head.
“Stop driving and drop your weapon, or the Royal line ends with this boy.”
Lady Circi slams on the breaks, and everyone lurches forward. Prince Kevon shoots the intruder in the gut in a spray of gunfire, and he crumples into the floor. He steps into the aisle with his gun pointed at the entrance, but a man snatches Ingrid from the front and points a gun to her head.
“You.” The man beckons at Prince Kevon with the gun. “Come quietly with us, or your little harem dies.”
Prince Kevon’s shoulders rise. “These girls have done nothing—”
“Except volunteer to be part of an oppressive regime,” says the gunman with a sneer.
Lady Circi rises from the driver’s seat. “Go with them.”
Prince Kevon turns, and our eyes meet. Terror wars with confusion across his features, but he nods and steps toward the attackers.
Chapter 26
My pulse flutters in my throat. It’s the only other part of me that’s moving right now except my eyes, and an ache forms in my heart because I can’t let Prince Kevon leave with those people. It’s hard to explain why.
Ever since Mr. Wintergreen lost his life for protecting a Harvester girl from that border guard, I have wanted those who rule us destroyed. But Harvesters were supposed to take over the country—not the Amstraadi—and I planned on sparing Prince Kevon.
I gaze down the aisle at Prince Kevon’s retreating back. He continues down toward the front, where Queen Damascena lies face-down on the floor among the dead soldiers. Lady Circi edges out from the driver’s seat and reaches for her holster.
Prince Kevon’s shoulders stiffen, his hands curl into fists, but the man with the gun points his weapon into the prince’s face.
“Wait here with your hands up,” he snarls.
Prince Kevon pauses a moment before raising his hands.
“You.” The man holding the gun turns to Lady Circi. “Place your hands out front.”
Hatred burns in the older woman’s eyes, but she doesn’t move. I lean forward in my seat and gulp. The lady-at-arms might have dropped one of her guns but likely has more weapons hidden in her outfit. If she doesn’t want to become a captive, she needs to make a move now.
“We’ll do this the hard way, then.” The man in black turns his gun to the front seat, where Ingrid shrieks.
“Do it,” Prince Kevon says to Lady Circi. “We can’t let them hurt the girls.”
Her features harden, and she tightens her lips. I would bet my entire collection of blowguns that she wants to do the opposite. Her priority is protecting the Royals, even at the cost of our lives. My gaze flickers to Prince Kevon, whose chest rises and falls with rapid breaths.
“Please,” he says, his voice imploring. “For me.”
Lady Circi gives him a sharp nod and stretches out her arms but steps back into what looks like a fighting stance. Her gaze darts toward the aisles, and I draw in a sharp breath. If she attacks, Ingrid Strab will die. The man lowers his gun, pulls out a thick pair of cuffs, and steps into kicking distance.
Thin, silver wires shoot out from the cuffs, attach themselves around Lady Circi’s heart, and send bolts of electricity into the lady-at-arms. Her teeth clench, her body stiffens, and she drops like a ripe persimmon in a faint breeze.
A gasp tears from my lips, and the girls’ screams ring through my ears. Is she dead, too?
Prince Kevon lurches forward. “Don’t hurt—”
The man grabs the prince’s throat. Prince Kevon slams his fists down on the man’s forearm and breaks the hold, then he grabs the back of his attacker’s
