The car rumbled along. the grim-faced driver refused to even look in the backseat. Henry gazed out the windows at his country. Not his country anymore, he supposed, hut his home. He was being transferred from the Palace to a prison cell. The city rose around him like some sort of beast. His wrists chafed at the handcuffs. He felt empty, hollow, like his organs had been ripped from his chest and replaced by vacuum.
He wondered how long before he would be executed. Wessich was right, it was an inevitability. Eventually, he would be spun into a villain. Somehow, evidence would be piled against him. It was just a matter of time.
The driver grunted. "Thought the road was supposed to be cleared."
The cavalcade stopped at the turned over truck. A few guards popped out of cars and moved forward to check it out. There was a sudden patter of gunfire and the troops fell. There was a crack, and the driver's head rolled over. Henry jumped and looked around. He couldn't see any shooters, but the guards of his cavalcade were in a panic, falling in droves. Henry dropped his head down and bit his lip. He looked at the handcuffs and breathed deeply.
With a twist and a pop, his hand came free. He groaned. He had scraped a good amount of flesh from his hand. They had been tighter than when he practised his escapes. His blood dripped to the floor. The gunfire stopped. He slipped over and opened the door. Keeping his head down, he rolled out of the car. He glanced around. In the chaos, no one seemed to notice him.
He dashed towards a dirty alley and dove behind a dumpster. He composed his wits, then ran down the alley. As he whipped around a corner, he slammed into the chest of a jackbooted thug. He tried to spin and run away, but a hand clamped down on his shoulder.
"My Prince," said a familiar voice. The thug pulled off his goggles and keffiyeh, revealing the face of Arthur Colt. "We're getting you out of here."
"Arthur? What's going on?"
"An escape," said Arthur. "We worked it out with the Dashgrinaari. She's still above suspicion. There's a plane waiting, we'll get you out of here."
The series of cars, vans and trucks took four times as long to get him to the airport as normal, but Henry was grateful for it. They bandaged his hand, changed his clothes and prepped him.
They arrived at the private terminal and he was secreted aboard a plane. Waiting on board was Helen. He struggled for a moment with the right words, then collapsed into a seat.
"Thank you," he said.
The plane took off, beginning its departure to Dashgrinaar...and Henry's new life as the Prince-in-Exile.
