“If anything goes wrong—anything—I won’t be repeating this, and nothing you say or do will stop me.”

By the time we arrive at the home of the woman who ran Kabul’s government, all that’s left are bodies and blood.

I step over one of the king’s fallen soldiers just inside the entrance of the home. His throat has been sliced open. I can still hear the slow drip of his blood as it leaves his body.

The king’s men who were on the scene first have secured the perimeter of the house and the surrounding neighborhood, but aside from them, we’ll be the first ones inside the home of Nadia and Malik Khan, the regional leader and her husband.

I have my gun out. Even though there are plenty of guards, some who were here before us and some who came with our brigade, it never hurts to be ready.

We move through the residence, our footsteps nearly silent. I take in the sparse furnishings. Even regional leaders live fairly humble lives, if this home is anything to go by. The furniture and decorations are faded, and the wooden tables have lost their polish.

Montes walks slightly ahead of me, his broad shoulders largely obscuring the hall ahead of us.

We head to the back of the house, where the bedrooms are.

More fallen soldiers lay outside the doors, their eyes glassy. These ones have gunshot wounds.

My eyes drift back to the door. Hesitantly, I step inside.

The reports never mentioned that Malik and Nadia had kids, but they very obviously do. Two beds rest against the far wall of the children’s room, both empty. The sight of those ruffled sheets is harder to look at than the dead soldiers. I grip my gun tighter.

Someone will die for this.

Once we scan the room, our group moves back out into the hall. We make quick work of the other rooms, until there is just the master bedroom left.

I don’t particularly want to go in there. For one thing, the closer I get the stronger the smell of raw meat and death is. The reason for that is obvious—four dead guards line the hall leading up to it.

But there’s also the less obvious reason for my reluctance. My intuition is now kicking in. Maybe it’s just the partially open door and the darkness beyond it, but my heart rate’s picking up.

We enter, and my eyes land on the empty master bed. There are several drops of blood on the sheets, but I have no idea what sort of injury caused them.

My gaze doesn’t linger on the bed for long, though.

Not when I catch sight of a crib.

My knees go weak.

Not a baby. Please, not that.

My chest tightens. I really don’t want to get any closer.

But, in spite of myself, I creep towards the crib with the rest of the soldiers. There’s a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth. The room is too silent.

In front of me, Montes stiffens. “Nire bihotza—”

He tries to block my view, but it’s too late.

I catch sight of a tiny, unmoving body.

I barely have time to push away from my guards before I vomit.

I’m not the only one either. Grown men and women join me, people who I know have seen horrible things.

My stomach spasms over and over. I try to catch my breath, but I can’t.

Montes was right. We might be monsters, but we’re not evil.

Not like this.

My crown sits heavy on my head as I stare out at the crowds the next day.

The first day I wore a crown, my child died. And that’s what it will always represent to me. Innocents dying for causes evil people uphold.

As heavy as my crown is, my heart is heavier.

“How badly do you want peace?” I open.

The people of Kabul roar in response.

This city has no official stadium, so I’m giving my speech on an open expanse of land, one where several old buildings once stood. Now all that remains are ruins.

There are cameramen both offstage and on, and I see them move closer as I began to speak. At my back I know there’s a large screen magnifying me. I wonder just how much they can see of my expression.

“Good,” I say, “because there are people out there that will make you fight for it. They will make you die for it.”

My eyes flick only briefly to the side of the stage, where Montes watches me.

“What I’m about to tell you—I was advised not to say. But you have a right to know.”

I see at least one officer begin to rub his temples.

“The leaders of each of the cities I’ve been visiting are being taken, one by one.”

Already we’ve begun to notify the other cities and put their leaders on high alert that the West is targeting them. Many have pulled out of the tour altogether. Others have gone into hiding.

Murmurs run through the audience. Up until now, the king has kept quiet on this. His greatest fear was that the news would spark aimless violence among the citizens of the East.

And it might. They still have a right to know. And if I’m to be some great savior of theirs, then I should be the one to deliver the news.

“Someone doesn’t want peace. Someone is afraid of what I am doing.”

I turn my attention to the cameras because what I’m about to say is for the representatives. “To our enemies, listen carefully: Pray I don’t find you. If I do, I will make you pay.”

My gaze moves back to my audience; the crowd is roaring with outrage and excitement. “If you are angry, you have a right to be. No one should live in a world where they must fear for their life. But I will also tell you this: death cannot avenge death, and bloodshed cannot avenge bloodshed. Justice must be served, but it shouldn’t turn good men into wicked ones.”