And though Darling condemned their actions, he wasn’t officially in control of the CA. Only the CDS was. He could ask his citizens to lay down their arms and return home, but at the end of the day, the only way to force them to stop was to call out his guard and arrest every member of the Citizen Army. Something he wasn’t ready to do… yet.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, the CDS kept begging the League to step in and quell the rebels. To throw Darling off the throne and replace him with one of his distant cousins. Nylan, Giran, and crew had promised Kyr that if the League declared martial law here, they would take power and make the CDS fall in line with all League laws and objectives.

May the gods help them all if the League came in.

Poor Darling had tried to placate both groups without the League’s interference, but neither the gerents nor the Resistance would cooperate. The only allies he had currently were the workers who were unable to convince the other two groups that Darling was a leader worth following.

At this point, it was only a matter of time before the League came in and enslaved them all. But Darling would be the one most hurt. Once they slaughtered all the Resistance, the League’s next course of action would be to imprison Darling for the rest of his life.

Or execute him.

I’m the only shot he has.

“Z?”

She jumped at the sound of a familiar voice cutting through her thoughts. Ready to fight, she turned to find Ture there. “Oh thank the gods. You scared me to death.”

He checked the time. “Isn’t this when you told me to meet you?”

Trying to calm her racing heart, she placed her hand over her chest. “It is. I was just lost in thought for a minute.”

So glad to see him again, she walked into his arms and gave him a tight hug. “It’s so good to see you, Ture. I’ve missed you so much! Thank you for coming. I owe you one giant whopping favor for this.”

He squeezed her back. “You know I’d do anything in the world for you, doll.”

She kissed his cheek, then stepped back to make sure he was wearing the uniform correctly. May the gods love him, a cook by trade, he wasn’t up on military protocol or dress.

A little over six feet in height, Ture had short brown hair that he’d put reddish highlights in. His vivid gray eyes were a stark contrast to his deeply tanned skin. But as always, he was breathtakingly gorgeous.

Today however, he wasn’t impeccably dressed. Standing up the collar of his battlesuit and then rearranging the order of his “rank,” she tsked at him. “You look so uncomfortable right now.”

He patted at the collar she’d fussed at. “Well, this would be like you in a sequined pageant dress and five-inch heels.” He stepped back, showing off his battlesuit with a macho swagger. “But I do look smashing in it, don’t I?”