The Kral ensured his offspring was at the one least likely to be breached by the Angels, along with his nephew, to protect the line of House Vrak.

The young males crept into their shared space like silent wraiths. Just as the future Kral pulled back his blanket, the one with tattoos twisting up his neck cursed. “We don’t have time to sleep now. Our journey back took too long.”

He proffered the clock to his companions, who released a collective groan. “Don’t have to go,” the next Kral slurred. “I am above reproach.”

The tattooed one shook his head. Out of all of them, he’d consumed the least drink. This was his first mission as the sole leader, and he didn’t want to fuck it up. He knew it was a bad idea to go out, but his friends had dragged him anyway. He strode to the small basin in the corner of their room and filled it with icy water. Then he snatched his cousin’s arm and forced his face into its cold depths.

“What are you doing?” the third burgundy-eyed one exclaimed, leaping forward.

But the tattooed one released his cousin, who came up gasping for air. “Sobering him up. Don’t you feel better now, Xannirin?”

Xannirin glared at his cousin. “Fuck you, Rokath.”

“Anyone else need a turn?” he asked, stepping back and sweeping a hand toward the basin.

The fourth, whose eyes were the color of freshly picked cherries, shouldered past them and dunked his head. He came up dripping, his shoulder-length hair soaked on the ends.

“Ready, Vezető,” he saluted Rokath.

Rokath rolled his eyes. “Come on, Thast, get dressed now. We need to go.”

Thast half-stumbled into Xannirin, and the two used each other to navigate the few feet to where their armor rested. The third burgundy-eyed Demon was already dressed for their patrol. Within minutes, they were ready to depart.

“No one speaks a word to the others,” Rokath hissed, attention settling heavily on one in particular. “Especially you, Rapp.”

“Me? I wouldn’t dare,” he quipped, a mischievous grin stretching across his face.

Rokath rolled his eyes. “After Xannirin, you’re the most social.”

“Then why didn’t Xannirin get a warning?” Rapp teased, though his words slipped over one another as they left his mouth.

The two glanced at the future Kral, whose head lolled to the side as he leaned against the wall. Rokath merely gestured at his intoxicated cousin as if to emphasize his current drunken stupor.

“Let’s move,” Rokath barked, gripping Xannirin’s upper arm and dragging him from the room. Rapp assisted Thast as they entered the long halls of the barracks, silent with the early hour.

The walk to the stables was a long one, and relief swept through Rokath when he realized they were the first to arrive. He stowed Xannirin and Thast in an empty stall, tossing some stale bread in their direction. “Eat that and try to regain your composure before we need to leave.”

Mindlessly, they tore into it as their Vezető walked away.

Rapp and Rokath saddled all four horses, finishing when the first of the others entered the stables. More and more trickled in, until their squad of twenty was ready to depart. Most sported heavy bags beneath their eyes, and the stench of alcohol was unmistakable.

At least it wasn’t only us, Rokath thought as he called for the group to mount. Though something twisted in his stomach. He knew it was a risk to attend to their duty with this many soldiers in a stupor. He also knew his instincts were solid. Yet the pressure of perfection pushed him to continue anyway. His father wouldn’t appreciate the consideration for their lives if Rokath should request another unit patrol instead.

Dawn broke as they rode toward the border, casting long shadows with the tall trees surrounding them. Higher they climbed into the Skala Mountains, reaching the ramp that led to the wall as the sun started the new day. Rokath leaped from his mount and exchanged information with the departing Vezető.

Then, his squad set out to patrol their assigned length. Yawned unhinged jaw after jaw, and one male even bent over his horse and retched. Rokath knew most were in no shape to scan the distant trees for the telltale flash of white, or for the designated Suppressor to open his awareness to the world and search for magical signatures.

An hour passed, the sun continuing to flit through the trees and highlight bits of stone ahead. A scrape sounded, and Rokath paused. Was it the wind in the trees? he thought.

Holding his breath, he listened for the sound again. The creak was faint, enough that he questioned whether the drink he’d consumed was playing tricks on him. With this being his first rotation as Vezető, he was paranoid, and the alcohol was only making it worse, he decided. Shaking the feeling off, he continued their ride.

Xannirin, Rapp, and Thast rode immediately behind him, and as he checked on their status over his shoulder, a flash of something other than the sun caught his attention.

Before he had the chance to react, a scream sliced the air. The three males at the rear of their party were torn down from their mounts by a group of Angels.

“Fuck!” he cursed, yanking his horse’s reins to turn him.

Heavy with drink, all of his squad was slow to react to the assault from the Angels. Four more perished before Rokath vaulted off his mount and onto the balustrade. From his thigh, he drew a dagger and hurled it at the closest Angel. The blade sank into his neck, sending him crashing to the ground. The rider he’d been moments away from attacking turned, sending his horse stumbling over the body.

“Run!” Rokath shouted at Xannirin. Their advantage was quickly shrinking. Rapp slapped Xannirin’s horse’s rear, sending him galloping, and chased after them. Thast slid to the ground and raced into the fray.

Dragging in a breath and trying to calm his racing heart, Rokath sank into the shadows in his chest and called on his mighty power. With a thunderous crash, he collided with the ground, then wasted no time in punching his fist into the hard stone. Adrenaline flowed fast and hard through his veins, blocking the pain. Shadows exploded from the impact, twisting over the fallen bodies and yanking them upright again.

He rose and flung his hands straight forward, directing them toward the handful of Angels still remaining. Sweat dripped from his forehead immediately. Fifteen bodies was more than he’d controlled at once before, yet he knew he needed every one of them to assist his remaining squad.

Thast yelled encouragement at the others as they pressed the Angels back, and with the aid of the dead, they felled the remainder within minutes. The moment the last hit the ground, Rokath dropped his magic, fatigue sweeping through him.

He slid against the stone wall until his rear was firmly planted on the ground. Air heaved in and out of his lungs. My first mission as a Vezető, and I failed, wildly, and miserably, he thought. The harsh, judgmental voice of his father rang in his ears, making him grit his teeth.

Xannirin and Rapp returned, the former racing directly to Rokath. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Rokath refused to look at him, to look at anyone. He could only stare blankly ahead as he weighed his options. With trepidation solidifying in his bones, he rose and counted who remained of his squad.

Six.

Through clenched teeth, he barked, “Let’s finish our patrol and report back. The officers need to know what happened.”

His cousin tried to grab his arm, but Rokath shook him off and found his horse. The moment everyone was seated again, Rokath dug his heels into his mount’s side and took off, leaving the bodies spilling blood for the Fates.

The Kral and Rokath’s father stared down at their offspring, who knelt, heads drooping, on the packed dirt. With them were the other two who both shared a room with them and were on the disastrous patrol, and the two other survivors.