The next day, Mason, Valerie, and I stood outside the Hut—a large cabin dedicated to indoor events, assemblies, council meetings, and the storage of winter rations. Wooden tables and chairs filled the single-story building, each piece of mismatched furniture constructed with the limited forest materials available to the refugees.

Inside, Will inspected one of the chairs with his crutch, scowling at the way it rocked on uneven legs. The poor carpenter couldn't tear his eyes away from the shoddy craftsmanship, and I knew his fingers ached for a handsaw.

After our conversation last night, Will and I had meandered back to Reese's cabin, only to be sentenced to different sleeping quarters. The matriarch had separated her adopted kids by gender, and she'd paired me with Valerie and the Rhean girls on the west end of the house while Mason and Tori bunked with the boys. Beckett took the kitted hammock in the living room, and as royalty, Will got his own private bedroom. The prince objected, but Reese refused to condemn the Rhean heir to a shared living space.

I thought I'd struggle to sleep without Will there to fend off the nightmares, but he'd found me in my dreams—almost like our souls hadn't finished mending for the night and still yearned for each other's frequency. He met me in negative space, and between sweet, ethereal kisses and gentle smiles, he'd repeated what he said to me at the hot springs, soothing my anxious heart and gifting me the best night of sleep I'd experienced in days.

I'd felt the change in us this morning. We'd officially moved past the rocky stage, ridding our relationship of persistent doubts and uncertainties. I'd said goodbye to the fear of rejection, the fear of desertion. We'd crossed that bridge yesterday, and now we were simply two teenagers chasing love while we still could.

And Patrons, it was refreshing to feel my age.

"We'll be back before lunch," Cillian informed us, swinging his daypack over his shoulders. The redhead had been voluntold to retrieve our horses from the other side of the mountain before the beasts wandered off or starved to death. Thankfully, a hidden trail wound up and around the eastern summit, which meant the Rhean wouldn't have to traverse the bat-infested cavern—or kill himself trying to drag a mustang underground.

Without the threat of flying, fanged demons on the trek, Jackson and Torian both agreed to accompany Cillian over the pass, and the trio had met up at the Hut to retrieve a few handfuls of dried berries to bribe their equine companions with.

As the medic tied his headscarf over his nest of curls, his gaze found Mason. "Don't let the girls get into too much trouble while I'm gone, yeah?"

Mason rolled his eyes. "I've learned that bossing Alex around only encourages misbehavior. She does what she wants, and I don't claim any responsibility for it." He shifted his weight to his other foot, and he spared a quick glance at the mountain behind us. "You sure you don't need another hand?"

"I think we've got it covered. The clans will benefit from your insights on military happenings anyway. You're needed here."

They stared at each other for a few seconds, and Valerie and I exchanged enthusiastic looks, hoping they might hug goodbye or share a groundbreaking sentiment. But then Tori offered up a feeble grin, grabbing tight to the strap of the backpack like he didn't trust his own appendage, like he feared he might scare Mason away if he tried to close the distance. "Well. I'll see you later, Price."

"Yeah. See you."

Mason watched him leave with the other young men, his gaze lingering on the Rhean's broad shoulders, and when he finally turned around, I wiggled my eyebrows.

"Don't even start," he said.

"Mason, you like him."

Blood rose to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. "I..." He recognized the knowing look in my eye and chose to abandon the charade. "Whatever. You have no right to say anything. You've been drooling over Sterling this whole trip."

I looked over my shoulder, struggling to contain my laughter as the royal crawled under a table to fix a joint, his crutch forgotten. "Are you saying that if I confess my feelings to Will right now and clear the air, you'll do the same for Tori?"

Mason walked past me into the Hut, huffing through his nose. "You're all talk."

I stuck out my hand, and he slowed to a halt, glaring down at my leather glove with skepticism pooling his eyes. Then he shook my hand—limply, like he'd already realized his mistake.

So gullible...

With the welt's astonished gaze on my spine, I marched through the doors of the Hut and tapped Will on the shoulder. He shimmied out from under the table and sat on his knees, tilting his head back to look at me. "Hey. Where do you think they keep the—"

Cupping both sides of his face, I bent at my waist to kiss him flat on the mouth, killing the question at its source.

Nose to chin, I couldn't see his expression, but I knew he'd never been fond of attracting attention—he'd always struggled with public displays of affection—so I kept it brief. But as I began to peel away, he placed his hand against the side of my neck to hold me still, and he kissed me back, his lips warm and pliant against my own.

The gesture caught me off guard. But then again, if I thought about it long enough, it really shouldn't have. As reserved as he was, Will didn't care what people thought about our relationship. He'd never agonized over the assumptions they made about our sleeping arrangements, and the pregnancy jokes and boyfriend comments never seemed to penetrate his skin. Freemont hadn't changed that about him, despite the criticisms he faced as royalty, and I cherished that consistency.

When I straightened, he shot me a lazy grin. "Hi..."

"Hi," I echoed, swiping a few loose bangs from his forehead. "I love you. Just in case you forgot."

It felt good to say it again. The word was light on my tongue today. Natural, confident, and strangely instinctual.

He let out a breath, but it wasn't his usual exasperated sigh. It was a breathy laugh—a relieved sound—as if he'd feared I might recede into the depths again after a night apart. "I love you too."

His grin widened, forming one of the happiest expressions I'd ever seen on his face, and I gazed down at him with a toothy smile.

"Ahh!" Valerie screamed, making us both flinch. She pointed at us from the doorway, her mouth agape. Then she let out the most outrageous groan I'd ever witnessed. "Finally! I thought I was gonna die of old age before that happened. Thank the skies above!"

Mason pushed past her to glare at me. "You rat. How long has that been going on?"

I ignored the question, mainly because it was embarrassing how long it had taken me to get here. "A deal's a deal. Make it happen, Price."

He tutted, walking away to claim a seat, but I could detect the panic in his eyes, and I suddenly understood why Valerie had pushed me so hard to confess. The archer had only ever wanted what was best for me, and she'd seen the simplicity of our union when I hadn't. She might have shoved her advice down my throat, but she'd saved me from atrophy.

My gaze trailed back to the young woman and the leafy manzanita twigs in her hair. We hadn't spoken much since I snapped at her, and I made a mental note to get to work repairing that friendship as soon as possible. I owed her one. 

As Will finished mending the crooked table, more and more clan members arrived at the meeting, eager to hash out the details of the referendum.  Once the seats were all filled with chief leaders, veterans, and yesterday's nominated fighters, Laughlin called the meeting to order.

Over the next hour and a half, our group brought the attendees up to date on the war effort and the revelations we'd uncovered over the past six months—along with the inevitable disclosure of Will's possession.

Predictably, the story derailed our agenda completely. We were bombarded with questions, and most of the hang-up revolved around Will's recovery.

"So if I'm understanding you correctly," said the female swordsman from Cel Tradat, holding her hand to her head like we'd triggered a migraine, "you stole the memories from the demon, returned them to the prince, and then brought him...back?"

I glanced at Will, wondering how many times we'd have to share this story before the whole human population had heard at least one rendition. "Pretty much. I also did the same for another soldier in our ranks. Sol was lucky enough to have his memory wiped, though, so he doesn't remember his time as a demon. Will wasn't as fortunate."

I'd expected skepticism and disbelief—just as the High Court had received me—but the men and women in this room just stared at me in awe. These refugees and war heroes were intrigued, fascinated, bewildered. But not at all cynical.

"And you used this power of yours to knock an entire legion of demons unconscious?" Laughlin clarified from the table opposite us. Last night's vote, combined with Will's speech and reassurances, had sanded down his sharpest corners, but the crotchety mannerisms and dissatisfied facial features remained intact.

"Over 2,000 men," Will tacked on, and the pride in his voice warmed my blood.

"2,000 Pans and the highest officials in our nation," Mason muttered. "Nearly got herself hanged for that one."

"Yeah, but they would have hanged her anyway," Valerie pointed out. "At least she shut them up for a while."

The clan chiefs traded looks—some amused, others incredulous. They hadn't realized who I was before now, and Beckett's account of my military success barely scratched the surface. Only the newest arrivals had heard of a mysterious Ikelos fleeing the palace and destroying access points across the Gorge. The rest were completely blindsided by my abilities and my private encounter with Regulas.

"So, can I ask what we're all thinking?" Jeremy inquired. The chief of the Campbell Clan had released his crimson hair from its bun, and the thick, frizzy curls fell around his shoulders like a burning bush. The hairstyle made him appear less daunting and angry this morning, and I suspected I had another Grismond on my hands: boorish and thorny through and through, save for the soft and squishy bits he reserved for his inner circle.

"Would it stop you if I said no?" Reese murmured.

He threw the woman an irritated look. "How exactly did this," he gestured to me and my white hair, "happen? It's not like she had connections to the Seventh Order, right?"

"No. I inherited this ability the day the portal opened," I said, although I yearned for a more comprehensive explanation. There was so much about my power's origin I still didn't understand. And far too many secrets to unearth.

"Initially, when the Order released a wave of spiritual and demonic energy into the world, we think they unleashed the spirit that fused with her soul," Will explained, purposely glossing over the very important detail of who that spirit was. "According to Havard Scott and his family, Alex is likely the result of intentional meddling on Trevor's part."

Laughlin leaned forward in his chair. "You've met with Havard of the Seventh Order?"

"He's the one who trusted us with the knowledge of this refuge."

"Tt. Barely. His directions couldn't have been more vague," Mason complained, and I kicked at him under the table.

"His son found our party in the Northern Pass and brought us back to their bunker," Will continued. His eyes flicked to me and away again. "We learned a lot that day."

Indeed. One interaction had eradicated our misconceptions of a pagan cult, inspired us to seek out the Rhean refuge, and paved the way for forgiveness and redemption—in more ways than one.

Reese frowned at us from Laughlin's side. "Havard doesn't have a son, Asa."

My brow creased. "Wait, Eagan's not his son?"

"Eagan's his nephew," she said. "The young boy you met is the son of Trevor and Divya, both of whom died at Godric's hand."

My stomach crashed to the floor, and my puzzled gaze slid to Will, then Mason.

Eagan was the son of two mages? Did that mean he'd inherited his parents' power? Could he be the ticket to closing the portal?

And if he was the last gene-bearer, why would Havard hide that from us? Did he think we'd take his son away if we knew the truth?

Will sent me a we'll-discuss-it-later look, and I held my tongue. "Our priority is destroying the mother portal," he decided, slipping the topic of Eagan's ancestry under the rug. "Do you have any resources at all on the Seventh Order? Does anyone here possess the same abilities as the members who died?"

Laughlin shook his head. "Sadly, there are no mages among us. We'd have stormed the palace years ago with their assistance."

Disappointment encased my heart, weighing on my chest and drowning the meager hope I'd fostered this past week. Peace treaty aside, discovering more about the Order had been my ultimate goal for this voyage. But even a hundred miles from home, my answers were still beyond reach.

"Our relatives died with their gifts," the chief went on. "However, my wife left behind a journal full of incantations and meeting notes. We can share it with you if you'd like, but it's written in the language of the Order. It's undecipherable."

My shoulders slumped. Of course the only primary source available to us was written in another language; the Fates wouldn't allow for anything else.

Mason lifted his brow. "The Order has their own written language?"

"Auxpauri," Reese supplied. "They developed the language during their time in the bunker. I only ever heard it spoken aloud several times, but it's tragic to see it die."

My eyes traveled to the open windows of the Hut, and my mind wandered back to the snowy mountains up north. Perhaps Havard and the others would be willing to translate the notebook's contents for us—they were likely the only people alive capable of doing so. Although, if they didn't trust us with Eagan's identity, they probably wouldn't hand us the key to weaponizing the netherworld either.

"Taking down the portal is the end goal, but we may not have a solution by the time Regulas attacks," Will reasoned. "We need to stop my brother's army at the Rim, either by killing them—human souls included—or by following Kingsley's example and taking them prisoner."

The proposal sent a dozen brows to the ceiling, and multiple clansmen turned to their peers in shock, whispering in hushed, incredulous tones. No one had anticipated this when we'd asked them to fight the crown. Slaughtering their own to reclaim their broken nation was a hard sell, but now we'd given them an alternative to the bloodshed. A preposterous one, surely, but a less gruesome one too.

"A war without a body count?" Jeremy muttered. "Now that's different."

A few men grunted, unsure how else to respond, and I didn't fault them for it. What could you say to someone asking you to wage war with your weapons sheathed?

"It definitely feels lighter on the spine, the prospect of saving our own, especially if they stand a chance of recovery," Reese mused, tapping her nails on the table as she battled her whirling thoughts. "But what on earth would that battle look like? We can't rely on Alex to put an entire nation's worth of demons to sleep, not on a scale so large. And containing that many victims at once...it's just not feasible."

"I know. It's nothing but a dream right now, and  that's why we need your help," Will admitted. "We need creative solutions to stun, immobilize, and capture our enemies. We'll need fighting techniques that injure a demon but don't pulverize it. We'll need to reevaluate our weaponry and our relationship with the terrain." He sensed the unease in the room,  the hesitancy, but he propelled forward anyway. "We've already started looking at alternatives. One soldier developed eggshell bombs packed with vanadium powder. And another designed a series of contraptions that weaponize fire and artificial light—we even brought his blueprints with us for you to review."

Mason held up Fudge's notes. "You might have to do some deciphering yourselves. His handwriting is downright abysmal."

Our audience frowned, struggling to digest the proposal. Failing to envision the practical application of our request. 

"I know it's a big ask," Will acknowledged before Laughlin could shoot it dead. "When Alex first announced her intention to save every demon in that valley, I thought she'd lost her mind."

The corners of my mouth lifted. Will wasn't the only one. Rover nearly threw me off the curtain wall when I'd suggested letting the criminals out of the Ground.

"But it worked, and that was an unplanned, largely uncoordinated effort. Imagine what we could do if we had months to prepare. Months to figure out a way to reassume our homeland without spilling the blood of our people upon it."

I blinked at him, amazed by his remarkable delivery. I wasn't sure when Will had become such an amazing speaker, but it felt like he'd aged several years in the past few days, and his metamorphosis rendered me speechless.  

Handsy narrowed her aquiline eyes at the prince. "So you want us to spare the lives of demonic soldiers, even when they're attempting to slay us?"

"Every soldier should carry vanadium and use it when necessary. No one should lose his life out of hesitation," Will said calmly, unaffected by her accusatory tone. "But...why not exhaust our other options first? Why not attempt to save the people we left behind before we kill them for it?" His voice softened. "These are children we're talking about. Mothers. Elders. If we can spare their lives, shouldn't we?" His gaze swept the room and landed on Laughlin again, recognizing the chief's power and influence over the clans. "How can we call ourselves heroes if we slaughter our own people getting to the finish line? That makes us no better than Regulas."

I swallowed the emotions stuck in my throat. It was hard to describe how much it meant to me to hear those words pour from his lips. For months now, I'd felt like the only person truly pushing for the Pans' protection and recovery. And although Will had stood by me the whole time—and done what he could to avoid killing the demons since his own exorcism—hearing him passionately advocate for the disenfranchised was something else entirely.

And gritz. I really, really wanted to kiss him for it.

"We wouldn't propose this if we hadn't succeeded already," I added after a beat of heavy silence. "Every one of those innocents deserves a chance at life again, and I know we can bring them back and reunite them with their families. I won't rest until I do," I vowed, and I pretended not to see Will's concerned side-eye, fully aware that I wouldn't survive a promise that large. But that was a problem for another day. "All we're asking is for you to explore other fighting methods before you kill everyone on Rhean soil."

It was quiet for a few moments as the attendees thought it over. The pitch was ludicrous—even to my own ears, it sounded naïve and idealistic—but something in my bones told me this was the right path forward. And deep down in my marrow, I knew there was a way to undo Godric's spell and free my brother and his comrades from their imprisonment, either by my hand or the Order's. I knew there was another solution besides setting a new cycle of death and warfare in motion.

There had to be.

"Will Ells subscribe to the same no-kill policy?" Laughlin asked me, and the blow was so powerful, it split our proposal in half.

I bit my cheek. "...We're working on it."

He huffed, nodding to himself like he'd expected as much.

"After the trial and the rehabilitation of a fellow soldier, I think more and more federates are willing to consider it," I said. "We just need the resources and the leadership to make it happen. But until I can paint a detailed picture for the Command, I don't think they'll actively change their approach." I scanned the contemplative faces staring back at me. "Which I'm sure is the case for many of you in this room."

"...It's certainly not the battle we envisioned," said the chieftess of the Miyamoto clan. She looked no older than fifty, but her gray hair and dark, hooded eyes told a different story. She swiveled in her seat to face Laughlin. "But perhaps that's a good thing?"

The chief gave a noncommittal grunt, and the other clan leaders murmured to each other, sharing their thoughts and criticisms. Their response was the furthest thing from fervent enthusiasm, but it also wasn't the wall of protests I'd anticipated. If anything, they seemed to respect us for not wanting to kill every Rhean in sight, even if we demanded a brand new combat strategy from them.

"We have a lot to discuss," Laughlin concluded, leaning back in his creaky chair. "Why don't we first take a look at these blueprints you've acquired and see if the designs hold any merit? Then we'll put a task force together to begin brainstorming battle tactics—both lethal and nonlethal." He glanced at Will. "Given a solid restoration plan, I can back the idea of taking war prisoners, but we'll still need procedures in place when push comes to shove. No man of mine will die trying to spare a demon soldier."

Will dipped his chin in agreement.

"After that, we'll form another task force among civilians. They can begin compiling an inventory on our military equipment, seeing as we don't have much of an arsenal here in Freemont. We may need to send a party into Rhea to collect supplies." The chief licked his lips, thumbing through tasks and deliverables in his head. Then he turned to me. "Regarding the Order, Mol has Aila's journal. She'd be more than happy to pull it out for you."

I offered him a small, appreciative smile. It couldn't have been easy to share something so private and personal with an outsider, and I respected him for it. "Thank you. We'll look through it together."

After setting a time for the task force to meet in the afternoon, Laughlin officially ended the meeting, and Will and I moved to the edge of the room to speak privately.

"That went surprisingly well," I whispered as the clansmen slowly trickled out of the building. I looked my companion over. "Where'd you learn to speak like that?"

Will pressed his back to the wall. "My father, as cruel and manipulative as he was, made an excellent speaker. He could always captivate an audience...for better or for worse. But I also learned from Siren." His dark eyes found my face. "And you."

My mouth fell open. "Me?"

"You speak from the heart. I've always found it inspiring." His lips curved upward at the denial on my tongue. "You're the one who first convinced me to stay and fight, remember?"

"Yeah, after getting you locked up in the stables because I jumped to conclusions."

He nodded. "And again after getting us sentenced to a week in the Ground."

"...I get you incarcerated a lot, don't I?"

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you do it on purpose."

I thought back to our conversations in the prison cell that day, his defeatism, his negativity, his instincts screaming at him to run away. He could have fled right then and there if he'd wanted to—and skipped out on a month of house arrest, an emotionally-draining trial, and a face tattoo—but in the end, he'd dug his heels in the mud and endured the tempest.

"Your words have power, Alex. I know it feels like you're shouting at a wall sometimes, especially when you're up against the Command and the fools on the High Court, but your voice carries." He shrugged. "I think you were born to lead."

I stared at him, baffled and charmed by his comments. Will never complimented me for the sake of boosting my ego. I could always count on him to be honest—brutally so—which made his flattery even more impactful and gratifying.

"You too, you know," I said. "King or not, you thrive in the spotlight."

"If only I didn't hate it so much," he joked.

I winked, remembering the advice he'd given me at the cusp of my first military operation. "Hate is undervalued."

He snorted, and I stood on my toes and kissed him again before we followed Mason and Valerie to the pavilion. But as I stepped through the giant wooden doors, I saw Laughlin watching us peculiarly, almost nostalgically, and I felt a twinge in my ribcage.

Seven years ago, that man had lost his own partner with supernatural gifts. Godric had taken her from him—his wife, his lover, and the mother to his child. She was imprisoned for her knowledge, then killed for her loyalty.

And for seven years now, he'd had to lead alone.

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Finally getting some answers!

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