The shots were quick, and we each took out two rebels before the two others turned, running toward us, not away. Remembering orders to keep rebels alive for questioning, I aimed at their legs, but with them moving so frantically, my shots all missed.

Tanner and I watched as a hulking man lumbered down Tanner’s side of the hall, while an older guy, wiry and wild-eyed, came toward me. I holstered my gun, preparing myself for a fight.

“Damn. You got the good one,” Tanner commented before launching himself over the chair and running full speed at his opponent.

I was a split second behind him. The older rebel came at me, yelling with his hands stretched out like claws. I grabbed one of his arms while using my makeshift knife to cut at his chest.

He wasn’t the strongest thing, and part of me actually pitied him. When I latched on to his arm, I could feel his bones far too easily.

He whimpered and fell to his knees, and I pulled his arms behind him, securing both those and his legs with restraining bands. As I was tying them together, someone grabbed me from behind and slammed me into a nearby portrait, cutting my forehead on the glass.

I was dizzy and the blood was already leaking into my eyes, making it harder for me to face my enemy. I felt a thrill of panic before my training came back to me. I crouched as he held on to me from behind, and used my leverage to flip him over my shoulder.

Though he was much bigger than me, he crashed onto the debris-covered floor. I reached for more restraining bands only to collapse as another rebel barged into me.

I was pinned to the floor, my arms held down by a large man straddling my stomach.

His breath was swampy and foul as he spoke into my face.

“Take me to the king,” he ordered, his voice like gravel.

I shook my head.

He released my arms, grabbing fistfuls of my jacket, and I reached up to push at his face. But he pulled me up by my clothes and slammed my head into the floor, making me drop my hands to the ground instantly. My head swam and my breathing felt off. The rebel palmed my skull, forcing me to face him.

“Where. Is. The. King?”

“Don’t know,” I gasped, fighting the ache in my head.

“Come on, pretty boy,” he teased. “Give me the king, and I might let you live.”

I couldn’t mention the safe room. Even if I hated the things the king did, giving him away meant giving America away, and that was not an option.

I could lie. Maybe buy myself enough time to get out of this.

Or I could die.

“Fourth floor,” I lied. “Hidden room in the east wing. Maxon’s there, too.”

He smiled, his disgusting breath coming out with his short laugh. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

I stayed silent.

“Maybe if you’d told me the first time I asked, I wouldn’t have to do this.”

He laced his hands gruffly around my throat, squeezing. On top of my already cloudy head, this was torture. My legs flailed, and I bucked my hips, trying to throw him off. It was pointless. He was simply too big.

I felt my limbs stop working, all oxygen escaping my system.

Who would tell my mother?

Who would take care of my family?

. . . at least I kissed America one last time.

. . . one last time.

. . . time.

Through the haze, I heard the gun go off and felt the massive rebel go limp and fall to the side. My throat made bizarre noises as it pulled air into my body again.

“Leger? You okay?”

My eyes were going black, so I couldn’t make out Avery’s face. But I heard him. And that was enough.

CHAPTER 11

THE DEBRIEFING WAS HELD IN the hospital wing, since so many officers had ended up there.

“We feel it’s a success that we lost only two men tonight,” our commander said. “Considering their forces, it’s a testament to your training and personal skill that more of you weren’t killed.”

He paused, like maybe we should applaud, but we were too worn down for that.

“We have twenty-three rebels contained for sentencing after being interrogated, which is fantastic. However, I’m disappointed at the body count.” He stared us down. “Seventeen. Seventeen rebels dead.”

Avery ducked his head. He’d already confessed that two of those were his.

“You are not to kill unless you or another officer is being directly threatened, or if you see a rebel attacking a member of the royal family. We need this scum alive for questioning.”

I heard a few quiet huffs throughout the wing. This was one order I didn’t like. We could end things so much faster if we simply eliminated the rebels that came into the palace. But the king wanted his answers, and rumor had it there were particular ways he tortured information out of rebels. I hoped never to learn what those ways were.

“That said, you all did an excellent job protecting the palace and subduing the threat against it. Unless you are one of the few with serious injuries, your posts for the day are the same as originally scheduled. Get sleep if you can, and get ready. It’s going to be a long day with the state the palace is in.”

The head butler thought it would be best to have the royal family and the Elite do their work outside while the staff worked to get the palace back into a presentable shape. The women of the German Federation and the Italian monarchy were coming in a handful of days and the maids were already overwhelmed with preparations.

Between the glaring sun, exhaustion, and my starched uniform, I was already uncomfortable. Add the searing pain from the gash in my head, hidden bruises from being strangled, and some damage I couldn’t even remember getting in my leg, and I was just plain miserable.

The only good thing about this day was that the setup allowed me to be near America. I watched as she sat with Kriss, planning their upcoming event. Besides Celeste, I’d never seen America upset at one of the other girls, but everything about her body language today suggested that she was unhappy with Kriss. Kriss, however, looked completely oblivious as she chatted to America and peeked over at Maxon time and again. It bothered me a little that America followed Kriss’s gaze, but I doubted her feelings were changing. How could she ever look at him and not see Marlee screaming?

The tents and tables around the lawn almost made it look like the royal family was hosting a garden party. Had I not seen it myself, I wouldn’t have guessed that the palace had been ransacked. Everyone here tended to forget about the attacks and move on.

I couldn’t figure out if that was because dwelling on the attacks only made them that much more terrifying or if there was simply no time. It occurred to me that if the royal family really stopped and thought about the attacks, maybe they’d find a better way of preventing them.