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In the space of five minutes, her whole reality had shifted.
The situation was serious, and one question plagued her.
How did I not know this?
Then again, the palace was a bubble. Outside news was censored, if it got to them at all. She suspected it was like that all over the country. The Palace controlled the flow of information. The few e-mails from college friends that had made it through the firewall had urged caution, but nothing had hinted at this.
Anger at the brutal crackdown suggested in the memo coursed through her. Surely the Prince wouldn’t condone this? He prided himself on being a forward-thinking, liberal and modern ruler.
Doubt clogged her brain. Hakeem was popular abroad but divisive at home. He talked big reforms but didn’t follow through. Still, the economy boomed. Skyscrapers, malls, andresorts lifted living standards across the island. Surely he couldn’t be all bad.
Hannah pursed her lips at her reflection. What should she do?
Could there really be a civil war?
Was she in danger?
The letter included an evacuation plan for the royal family, should the compound fall to opposing forces. Did that include her?
No way. They wouldn’t take a westerner with them, and certainly not an employee at that.
Tension radiated through her as she thought about Abdul Anwar. She’d never liked the creepy Head of State Security, and one of the prince’s closest allies. He went out of his way to make her feel uncomfortable. She shivered thinking about the way his dark eyes crept over her, filled with loathing, like he had some unspoken grudge against her.
Of course, on the surface he was painstakingly polite but underneath, he simmered with pent-up aggression. To think he was the architect of this… this unimaginable horror made her realize how evil he was.
Suddenly, Hannah knew what she had to do.
In just a few months, she’d grown to love Syman’s stark beauty and the quiet dignity of its people. The thought of the principality reduced to rubble—families uprooted, jobs wiped out, civilians caught in the crossfire—turned her stomach. If the regime went ahead with a full-scale assault, innocents would pay the price.
No, she’d walk away and find another way to fund her PR dream.
Decision made, she went back to her office to write her letter of resignation. She buried the folder under a pile of briefingdocuments. She was not going to be responsible for passing it on to the prince. There would be no blood on her hands.
A shout from across the open-plan office made her look up. Ahmed, the rake-thin receptionist with nervous hands and wide eyes, was pointing at the television mounted high on the far wall. The screen was muted, but the images playing on the local news channel needed no sound to deliver their message.
A wide boulevard filled the frame, choked with protesters. Men in street clothes raised rifles and fired into a saffron-tinted sky, while women clutched their children, dragging them through thick, swirling clouds of tear gas.
She felt her stomach tighten as she turned to Ahmed. “Can we turn it up?”
He did so, curiosity and shock overriding his fear of being reprimanded. Shouts and screams filled the air, along with the sound of bullets being fired.
“Where is that?” she asked, already fearing the answer.
“Hamabad,” he whispered, his face paler than hers had been only moments before.
The fine hair on her arms stood on end. Hamabad was the principality’s second-largest city after the capital, where she was based.
The memo seemed to smolder in her inbox as she reached the inevitable conclusion. Civil war was breaking out.
Hannah stared at the TV screen. It was really happening, just like Abdul Anwar had said. That’s why he’d taken early action, that’s why he’d formulated an escape plan.
She let out a long, slow breath, trying to still her thumping heart. None of the palace staff were aware of the danger. They’d been insulated, living behind high walls and wrought-iron gates.
“How are we watching this?” she rasped.
“It’s a dissident broadcast. My friend messaged me to turn it on.”
Somehow, this had got through the Palace censors. It would only be a matter of time before they were shut down—yet she’d seen enough.