Queen (The Blackcoat Rebellion #3)(73)

“You’re not that good of a shot. Besides, he was already minutes from dying,” said Knox. “Look at how much blood he’d lost. There was no saving him.”

“He should have had to stand trial for his crimes. He should have—he should have had to look his victims’ families in the eye and lived to face the consequences. Death was too easy. I had him. I should have—”

“Lila.” Despite his injuries, Knox hunched down in front of me, staring me straight in the eye. “You did exactly what you should have done.”

I threw my arms around him, hugging him as tightly as I dared without causing him more pain. He embraced me in return, rubbing slow circles on my back.

“Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s get out of here.”

Knox hadn’t been bluffing. The Blackcoats had once again hijacked the broadcast system, and the entire country had seen the showdown in the safe room between me and Victor Mercer. Before Knox and I even made it to the atrium, a team of paramedics ran down the steps directly toward us. I stepped aside, expecting them to race to the safe room to see if there was any hope to save their Prime Minister, but instead they stopped.

“Miss Hart—Mr. Creed—please sit and let us examine you,” said a woman. I glanced at Knox, and he nodded. Together we sank down, and the paramedics got to work inspecting my throat and the bullet wounds in Knox’s shoulder.

I insisted on walking to the ambulance, but much to his chagrin, Knox was forced onto a stretcher and carried out, the paramedics threatening to withhold painkillers if he didn’t stay put. Greyson waited for us outside with Rivers at his side, and as soon as I stumbled out, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders and a paramedic holding my elbow to make sure I didn’t fall, they both raced toward us.

“Lila—are you—what happened?” Greyson skidded to a stop on the gravel drive.

“Victor’s dead,” I croaked. The more I spoke, the harder it became. “Knox—”

“I’m fine,” he called as the stretcher appeared. “Did the whole thing get on air?”

“The whole thing,” said Rivers with a grin.

I refused to be split up from Knox, so we rode to the nearest hospital together in the same ambulance, with Rivers driving Greyson behind us. Through the back windows, I spotted hundreds, if not thousands of people gathered atthe gates of Somerset, watching us drive off. A cheer rose up, loud enough for us to hear through the ambulance walls, and the sob I’d been holding in all morning finally escaped. We’d done it. We’d actually done it.

“It’s really over, isn’t it?” I whispered. Knox, who’d so far spent the ride arguing with the paramedic, nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, his expression softening for a moment. “It’s over. You did it. Hey.” He caught the paramedic’s hand. “What did I say about shots?”

A team of doctors waited at the entrance to St. George Hospital, and as soon as the ambulance doors opened, they rushed to help us. Knox was immediately carted away, but just as I began to panic, Greyson appeared.

“I’m right here,” he said, taking my hand as they loaded me onto a stretcher. “I’m not going anywhere.”

True to his word, Greyson stuck by my side for the rest of the day, even as reporters descended on the hospital, begging to speak to him. Benjy somehow managed to find us, and he brought with him a protection detail for Greyson and me—all Blackcoats, he promised. And all immeasurably loyal to us.

Doctor after doctor inspected my face and throat, and though it didn’t seem like much of a big deal to me, they insisted strangulation had dangerous lingering effects, and they couldn’t be too careful. Every time I started to protest, Greyson shushed me and told me to let the doctors do their jobs, and reluctantly I did so. After kicking him in the stairwell and abandoning him, I owed him this.

“We’ve done everything we can to prevent severe scarring to your cheek,” said a doctor with a thick black braid hanging over her shoulder. “But I’m afraid without more—advanced measures, there will always be scars.”

I’d had enough advanced measures done to my body to last me a lifetime. “It’s okay,” I said tiredly. “They’re fine the way they are.”

“You’re sure?” said Greyson, and I nodded.

“I earned those scars. I’m keeping them.”

He touched my chin and examined the stitched-up lines running down my face. “They suit you,” he said. “Make your outsides match your insides.”

“What, damaged?” I teased. He blushed.

“No, I mean—tough. Strong. Fierce. A fighter.”

“A regular badass,” said Benjy, who lingered nearby, and I gave him an amused look. I could live with that.

At last the chaos of the day subsided, and night set in. As soon as Knox was out of surgery, we were given private hospital rooms side by side. With Greyson’s help, I snuck out of bed and into Knox’s room, pulling my IV along with me. Together Greyson and I sat on the sofa while Knox slept off whatever they’d given him, and I couldn’t help but notice a little trail of drool running from his mouth to the pillow. It would have been cute if he wasn’t snoring so loudly.

“So,” I whispered. “You’re Prime Minister now.”