Insurrection [On Hold]

18 Things Can't Get Worse

I push open the doors of the viewing chamber. "Am I late?"

"Ah, Raksana, how nice of you to join us? We're just about to start." My father motions with his hand to the glass wall in front of the rows of chairs and thrones.

I turn my head stiffly, holding my breath. Nate's hands are chained to the table by blue rings. He's seated, and I'm sure his ankles are handcuffed. His hair hangs loosely, shielding his face. His back is hunched over. Jet, one of my father's best interrogators, walks behind him from one side of the table to the other.

Nate looks up and for a moment my heart stops, thinking about what he'll think when he sees me. But he can't see through the glass. All he sees is his reflection staring back at him. But he's not stupid. He knows people are watching him. Does he know I am?

He looks so different. Dark crescents hang below his eyes. His face is sunken, and his lips are cracked with dry blood in the corner.

I sink into the throne next to my father, never taking my eyes off Nate.

"Are you Nate Griffith?" Jet asks, his voice drifting through a speaker.

"Might as well own up to my own name."

"And is it true you lead a group of insurrectionists?"

Nate looks up, amused. "Will me not speaking make it any less true?"

I close my eyes. How he manages to keep his cockiness under interrogation, I don't know.

"And what do you find so vile about your rulers?"

Nate swallows, staring straight ahead. Inhaling, exhaling.

"Answer the question."

Inhale.

Jet grabs Nate's hand. "One last chance. What is so vile about those set to rule over you?"

Exhale.

"Fine." Jet starts tilting Nate's wrist back. I grip onto the edge of my throne.

Nate's face contorts. "Their youngest daughter."

Jet drops his hand and crouches down, tilting his head to the side. "What?"

"Their youngest daughter— she disgusts me."

My eyes widen and my stomach tightens feeling like I've been punched. He's lying.

"And what is so wrong with Princess Raksana that she makes you despise the Royal Family?"

"Because she's weak. Pathetic."

How can he say that? Is that what he truly thinks—what he thought of me the whole time? My father is looking at me, but I can't meet his gaze. I know I am a fool, I mean, tool for him, but I don't believe him.

Jet grabs the collar of Nate's shirt and pushes him back. "What makes you so brave to think I won't punish you for saying that?"

"You dislike her just as much as I do. She's what the Royal Family is breeding these days. The possibility for runts like her is there in future nieces and nephews of hers. Or her own children if anyone is like to marry her. But I don't know who would want her."

I'm a runt? You got one thing right, Nate. No one has or ever will want me.

"But why rebel?"

"For one, I don't want people like her on the throne. But it's more than that." Nate looks up at Jet. "The king's made us all slaves. He doesn't pay us for our work. He doesn't even protect us from his own soldiers. People more worthy than Princess Raksana are living in crumbling houses, going to sleep on empty stomachs, while she sleeps in comfort, breakfast delivered to her in bed."

That's a lie. People may assume I may be fed in bed, but he knows a little bit of how my father treats me. Even without knowing the extent, he knows enough that he wouldn't think the king would permit such a luxury as that.

Jet takes a seat across from Nate. "You don't seem very scared of me."

"Well I finally have an audience to listen to my complaints." He sighs. "I'm already going to die."

Jet folds his hands and lays them on the table. "Why don't you tell me what happened two nights ago?"

"I'd rather not."

Jet's fist flies, connecting with the side of Nate's face. I flinch.

"What happened to those five soldiers who were with Princess Raksana? Why is she alive but they aren't?"

Nate spits blood to the ground and shrugs.

"You see that bed over there?"

His eyes move to the side and he nods.

"We can strap you to that and have the computers agonizingly pull you apart."

Nate swallows.

What if he isn't lying? What if that's how he really feels about who I am? What if he really does want me to rot in hell? I got him what he wanted: and audience with my father.

"Why do you want to know?"

"We already have one confession, and we want to see if yours lines up."

Nate shakes his head. "What does it prove? It doesn't bring them back to life."

Standing up, Jet walks behind Nate and grabs his hair. He tilts Nate's head back, baring his neck. "You will not ask the questions. That is my job." He leans toward Nate's ear. "Tell me what happened the other night."

His jaw trembles at the strain. "The Princess and the five men tried breaking into my base but were caught. I killed the men."

"Really? All by yourself? These were some of the best trained men in Lumiere."

"It's the truth."

"And the Princess? Why is she alive?"

The most devious smile spreads across his face. "I was going to take her as hostage but the little—" I bury my face in my hand at the foul word he just used to describe me. I was right not to trust him "—escaped. I ran after her, and I regret to say my shot missed."

"You tried to kill royalty. You know the punishment for that."

"I know."

"You'll die, accomplishing nothing."

Nate inhales "Maybe not." He looks at the mirror, seeing his own reflection but to me his eyes bore into mine. "She'll live," he says it ever so softly, and with those words I know what I have to do.

I stand from my throne. "He's lying. I lied too. We had him hostage and were leading him back when due to my own fault, my men died. When I was missing his rebels found me. Father, he took a bullet for me. In a way this whole mess is my fault. I'm a traitor because I've been trying to pay him back. A life for a life."

"Raksana?" Nate must hear me. "She's mad, you hear me?" he yells at the mirror. "Your daughter is mad."

After this, I'll have repaid him. "Your men died because of my carelessness. Not Nate's. I'm the one you want. You'd love it if. . . if I died." My lip trembles. I've signed my own death warrant.

Breathing deeply, almost calmly, my father walks up to me. He towers over me, peering down with cold eyes. "Ten lashes to Princess Raksana after we are done here. In the morning, Griffith hangs."