“Fuck,” I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose.

He shifted his weight, glancing around us to ensure we were alone. “They will support you publicly, of course, but a group of them were in the command center yesterday expressing their desire to use their audience with you to be heard.” Though his tone was steady, an undercurrent of agitation remained.

“They can express whatever they want, but that won’t alter my plans.” I rolled my shoulders, trying to loosen the knot of tension in my neck.

“I know. Just hear them out, though. Make them feel like you are taking what they’re saying under advisement,” Rapp sighed. He’d been around them while I retreated the previous day. He’d led his faction alone for weeks, chasing down a third of the Angel army. Trol too. They knew the sentiment of our soldiers better than I did.

Rapp was one of the only people I trusted in this world. He was also one of the only people who could call me out on my shit and not face dire consequences.

Gripping the rim of my armor and yanking it off my body, I made some space to breathe. This part of the transformation wasn’t going to be easy. Fuck, it was so much better when fear was my method of rule. Though I’d always allowed others to speak because I wasn’t stupid enough to believe I could foresee everything, I didn’t like the idea of those so far beneath me thinking they held a modicum of influence. Not when these next few moves in this complex game of war held the difference between life and death.

“Fine, let’s go,” I grumbled. Together, we entered through the rolled-back rear flaps, first passing through a storage section before delving deeper into the space. I stopped short when I beheld my throne. The red coating of dust that had clung to it was gone, and the white bones now gleamed.

“Had it cleaned yesterday since everyone knew you were back,” Rapp shrugged, shouldering past me. A seed of appreciation bloomed inside me. I’d left it dirty since having someone polish it was akin to admitting I was present. That Rapp had seen to it while I was exhausted from my speech made my heart twist in a way that was still becoming familiar.

Voices whispered through the canvas dividing us from the adjacent space. Trol’s gruff voice was among them.

I went to my chair of bones and took a seat, arranging myself so I appeared to be lounging and bored. If I’d learned anything from Xannirin, it was that these types of appearances were important and provided strategic advantages. In our centuries of friendship, Rapp had learned that too.

Once I was settled, I dipped my chin in his direction. “Bring them in.”

He pulled back the curtain separating the two sections, revealing me. Every Parancsok and Százados in the camp was present—a number that had shrunk significantly with the deaths of my battalions. They fell to one knee, resting their foreheads on their arms in deference to their leader. Only Trol remained standing, and he dipped his chin in subtle acknowledgement of what I was about to do.

“Halálhívó,” they said in unison.

At least they still held that level of respect.

“Rise,” I told them, tone cold and emotionless.

The first did, taking a few tentative steps forward. “Halálhívó,” he began, pausing to glance at his companions.

“Do you speak for yourself, or do you need a fucking chorus?” I snapped, fingers tightening.

He whipped his attention back to me. “No, Halálhívó.”

“So say your piece.” Each word bit out of me.

His throat bobbed, and then he launched into a long-winded explanation of why he was struggling to trust that we’d actually win the war. More added onto it, some with open animosity. Most of their turmoil stemmed from the massive loss on the salt flats.

The last one, though, voiced his vehement disagreement to my proposal. Though calling it a proposal was generous. It was happening whether those under my command liked it or not.

“...and that’s why females have no place with us. You’ve said so yourself countless times, Halálhívó.” The male—a Százados from one of Rapp’s winged divisions—finished his explanation with a bowed head.

My patience frayed thinner than the Reaper’s thread just before she snipped.

I scanned each officer, letting the weight of my judgment linger, ensuring they understood the finality in my words. “I have made all those points before. Now, I have changed my mind. That is what a good leader does.” The ice in my tone was clear as the glaciers atop the Skala Mountains. Bracing my hands on the arms of the throne, I shoved to standing, then crossed my arms. “I have heard enough opinions on the matter. My decision stands. The Százados are dismissed. Parancsok, remain for a debriefing.”

Muscles ticked in jaws as the lesser officers departed. At least they had the sense to grumble only when they’d departed the black tent, though their grievances still reached my ears.

“They will come around, Halálhívó,” one of the Parancsok said as I stepped off the platform. Ignoring him, I strode into the strategy room.

I didn’t need his reassurance. These soldiers would alter their opinions or taste leather again. Insubordination was punishable by fifty lashes. I’d been generous yesterday with less for each of the loudmouths.

The Parancsok ringed the table, and Rapp and Trol settled into their respective places at either end. I braced my knuckles against the knotted wood and surveyed the pieces. Looking at the map alone was enough to make my blood boil, let alone after facing another wave of self-righteous soldiers. Some of it cooled as I dragged in a breath and took stock of the room.

The table felt larger with the missing Parancsok. We’d need to promote some new ones to take the place of the ones killed.

Definitely not from those fucking Százados, though.

The Angels—in two fucking weeks—had somehow managed to eliminate a large chunk of Rapp and Trol’s forces. As I learned upon my return, Zaph’s squads had taken Trol by surprise and killed thousands of Demons before his battalions could regroup. It was then he had known something had gone horribly wrong with my advance.

In a private moment on my second night hidden in the camp, Rapp had confessed their terror upon reuniting. Neither had heard from me. Both thought I might have died. They tasked a few trusted scouts with scouring the desert for any sign of me or our forces. Days into the search, one of Rapp’s winged Vezető had spotted Assyria and me, and per his orders, returned to find his Hadvezér.

Rapp had rushed to our aid before the Vezető had finished speaking.

That we’d been in a rough state when he found us was framing it mildly. Lower-level soldiers seeing me half-dead would have taken some of the shine and allure away from my carefully crafted persona.

Returning my attention to the map, I surveyed the stones centered around Lutsk, where we faced off with the Angels. From my quick survey from the skies, the city was all but gone. Homes crumbled into the dusty earth, half-erected walls had been blasted to pieces, and bones were everywhere. The carrion birds had quite the feast in the time the Angels had passed through and then been forced back.

Now, they hid among the rubble and spilled into the churned grasses beyond.

Taking the city—if it could even be called that anymore—would be the most difficult part of our next advance. With plenty of places to hide and support on either side, we’d have to split our forces and face off on three fronts again. News of Zaph’s victory and the discovery of my new mating bond had surely spread through the Angel’s army too.

The pressure of forcing them to retreat further while sourcing females for the army—not to mention integrating them—was enormous. Sighing, I straightened and rubbed my temples. So many paths opened before me, all of which had costs and benefits. Keeping Assyria out of the Angel’s hands again was also a challenge. We couldn’t afford another loss of twenty thousand, let alone fifty thousand soldiers.