Fredrick’s body is found discarded down by the lake. His head is nowhere to be found. The guards go into lockdown mode, searching for any signs of Moab or how he, or one of his spies, entered the castle.

None are found.

Within twenty-four hours, there are another hundred Born outside the city. Our spies report there still have been no signs of Lorenzo, or Moab. Wherever they are, they’re hiding well. They’re being careful.

And one week since this all started, the world goes to a new level of insanity.

“Come again?” Cyrus says, raising an eyebrow at Brynn.

“They’re all fighting,” she says. “So far there are only a few that have actually been killed, but there’s definitely a rift. A division. Lorenzo’s children and those who rallied with Moab, they don’t exactly seem to like each other.”

Neither of us can believe it. So together, Cyrus and I once more carefully sneak our way to the settlement, watching from our lookout point.

She was right. Down below, the masses argue in the streets. Fists fly. Guns and swords are drawn.

I can physically see a split happening. It’s easy to pick out Lorenzo’s children. They all have the same eyes as me, that same bright, golden-jade. Apparently, it’s a heavily dominant trait. And the others, they are pushed to the edges of the small town. They take up residence on the airport side.

It’s advantageous. They continue to have more Born arriving almost hourly.

Not daring to speak here where we may be overheard, where there are likely scouts and spies circling their encampment, Cyrus and I head back to Roter Himmel.

“There can only be one reason why they’re waiting to attack,” I say as we walk up the road back to the castle. “They know they’re outnumbered right now with Matthias’ army. They’re waiting for more reinforcements to arrive.”

We step through the castle gates and head back toward Cyrus’ office.

“The time has arrived,” Cyrus says. “We must strike now. We must put this to bed before they grow stronger. We will attack in one hour.”

Stepping through the doors, we both falter, finding four individuals inside, waiting for us.

Dorian, Malachi, Mina, and Matthias.

Gravely, they look at us, and my heart instantly sinks.

“What is it?” Cyrus demands, his expression full of dread.

Matthias steps forward, his face grave and fallen. “My soldiers are sick.”

“Sick?” I repeat. “Like, they’ve all got colds or something?”

Slowly, Matthias’ expression shifts into anger. “No, as in they’ve been poisoned. The water supply to this town comes from that canyon, from a lake up above where that mutiny is forming. I’m saying that us humans are dependent on water. And while none of you vampires might have even noticed that there’s something wrong with the water, we humans have been drinking it, and now we have failing livers and kidneys. We are literally dying out there.”

I feel my face blanch. My fingers feel cold. “How many of them have been affected?”

Matthias steps forward, eye to eye with me, his hands on his hips. I didn’t notice the sweat on his brow until now, the bloodshot look in his eyes. “Every single one of us, to some degree. Some are still standing, at least. Aren’t puking their guts up. But seventy percent can’t even walk right now.”

I swear.

Looking over at Cyrus, my eyes widen, and I know he’s thinking what I am: how did we not anticipate this? Those humans were our greatest defense because of their numbers. They were our back up. Our safety net.

And I didn’t even once think to protect them.

“I’m so sorry,” I breathe, looking back at Matthias. “I…”

“You should take a good look at yourself, Queen Sevan,” Matthias spits. “You say you’re fighting this war to protect the humans, to keep the world from being destroyed. But are you really that different from Lorenzo? From Moab? Do you really care about the human population that founded this earth? Because right now, your actions speak louder than your words.”

With a disgusted look on his face, he turns and heads toward the doors. He pauses there, and looks back at Dorian and Malachi. “Our deal is done,” he says gravely. “If I can, I’m taking my men and we’re leaving. Don’t come calling again.”

My stomach sinks all the further.

Dorian and Malachi called in huge favors to help me. They did this because I asked them to.

And now they’ve both lost major allies.

“I don’t know what you’re waiting for,” Mina speaks through the weighted silence at Matthias’ departure. “There is a very quick, very easy way to end this.”

All remaining eyes flick to her.

“Roter Himmel may be old in most ways,” she says, fishing into her pocket. She produces something that looks like a small remote control. “But we have certainly kept up on modern weaponry.”

I know what she’s holding now. It’s a detonator for a bomb.

“You drop it over the center of that encampment,” she says, twirling it between her fingers. “You take every one of them out all at once. No lives even lost.”

“Do you know what bombs do, Mina?” Cyrus asks, fixing her with a cold, hard stare.

This is a woman who has served her king for some time. I can tell when her eyes drop and she shifts half a step back from him.

Cyrus suddenly darts forward, snatching the detonator from her fingers with one hand, and fisting his hand in her jacket with the other. He shoves her back, smacking her head against the wall.

“They make noise,” Cyrus says. “They shake the ground. They set off Richter scales.” His face is in hers, seething through his teeth. “They draw a lot of attention.”

“Cyrus,” I snap. My fingers curl into fists. “That’s enough.”

Instantly, he releases her. Mina tries to hold her expression steady, but I see in her eyes, the fear and the shock. She straightens her jacket, and awkwardly, without a word, she turns and leaves the office.

“She was only trying to help,” I chide Cyrus.

Cyrus lets out a long breath through his nostrils as he turns from me, facing the map that spreads out on the wall. But he does not apologize.

I follow his line of sight. It’s a map of the entire world. And marked with small knives buried into the wall behind the map, are all the Houses.

“We cannot rely on the human army now,” Malachi says. I’d forgotten my grandsons were still in the room. “We’re outnumbered by far without them.”

“I’m afraid it’s time,” Dorian chimes in. “We need to call on the Houses for aid.”

I step forward, picking up the phone resting on Cyrus’ desk. I consider for a moment.

Who first?

Who do I drag into this mess?

Who do I dare risk in this war?

I’m a terrible person. Because the first House I call isn’t the House of Marshalls. It isn’t the House of Conrath.

After five rings, the line connects.

“How may I be of service?” Edmond Valdez’ voice comes through from across the world.

---

When we should be marching across the valley, through the canyon, and slaughtering the mutiny army, we’re on the phone, making dozens of calls.

It takes us more than five hours to get in touch with every single House in the world. With all four of us making the phone calls.

In the end, I let Dorian make the call to the House of Conrath and Cyrus calls the House of Marshalls.

We explain everything. The situation with Lorenzo. The legend of Moab and his dedication to the Blood Father. How they’ve rallied and are preparing to attack at any moment.

We ask for them to come. To help defend Roter Himmel.

We ask them to make a stand for their way of life.

We’re met with hesitation. While they all live comfortable lives because the Crown supports them, we’re asking them to uproot their lives and come join a war. A war. Most of them have never had to fight a war. Sure, they’ve all settled small skirmishes, or fought small battles to keep their region in check.

But this will be a war.

They know what will happen if they do not come to the aid of the crown.

Cyrus will strip them of their titles. He’ll exile them. They’ll never hold the title of Royal again.

That is, if we come out on top of this the victors.

I hang up from my last phone call, to the House in Brazil.

I look over at Cyrus, and then Dorian and Malachi.

I have no idea what to expect. With our phone calls, the entire world now knows that our way of life is in upheaval. That there’s a revolution attempting to start. Now they all have the idea planted in their heads that maybe there is another way, different from the way it’s been done for thousands of years.

In the end, we may have just hurried along our demise.

Why are you fighting this battle? a little voice asks in the back of my brain. No matter what, things will never be the same. Your world is forever changed. Why are you fighting? What are you fighting for?

My jaw hardens as I look at the map of the Houses.

I’m fighting because I’m not a damn coward. I won’t go running.

I’m fighting because this is the world I helped create. This is what I worked tirelessly for in creating Roter Himmel.

I’ll fight for peace. I’ll fight for safety. I’ll fight for my family.

---

I feel this ticking in the back of my brain. Every single second feels critical. We’re just waiting here, sitting ducks. Every second we wait, the forces outside our borders grow bigger and stronger.

The last count we received was 509 total Born and Royal outside the borders.

Here we sit with only 352 of us.

There are only 108 more Royals in the entire world.

Even if every one of them comes, we are still outnumbered.

Some of them will bring their Born House members with them to fight. But we can’t count on that. Because they are Born. And this is a war to change the division between the Born and the Royals.

Even more than the desire to come out of hiding, to go into the public light, that will be our downfall. That we have oppressed the Born for all this time. That they are less-than in this world we created.

That will be what ends us.

We make arrangements for travelers. With the Born and Lorenzo’s children having overrun our airport, we’re forced to make arrangements with another, which is an hour away. We have two helicopters here at the castle. Our pilots make non-stop runs back and forth transporting the arriving Royals.

Those close by arrive within hours of our phone calls. The House of Badillo, O’Rorque, and Emile are the first to arrive. Located closely in Spain, Scotland, and France, they add fifteen to our numbers.

One of the most experienced in warfare, the House of Badillo, from Spain, takes over making sure that our numbers are armed at all times. They begin battle regimens. Training.

I can hardly breathe. I keep looking out the windows, waiting to see a flood of half-siblings and Born wash down into the valley. They could strike at any moment. My hands hardly leave the sword slung at my side.

Just as evening begins to descend, one of Dorian’s Houses in Russia arrives, soon followed by Malachi’s in Egypt.

With the castle getting fuller by the moment, I go to Cyrus’ office and stare at the map on the wall.

Who hasn’t arrived that should have?

The House in Brazil could have been here by now. The House of Nnamani in Guinea, Africa could have been here.

I try not to think about what that means. If it means they just aren’t coming. If it means they’re really here, but joining Lorenzo or Moab. Or if it really is just taking some time to arrive.

I can’t do anything to change that right now. The damage that might turn them against us was done long, long ago.

But right now, there is something I can do.

There is one place help is needed and I can grant it.

Leaving the office, I head down a hall. Spotting Mina, I call to her and she turns to me, waiting for orders.

“I need your help,” I simply say. “Go find four others who can be spared and meet me in the garage.”

She’s gone in an instant.

Five minutes later, the six of us sweep through the garage, evaluating the vehicles available to us.

We have four trucks and a Hummer.

None of us say much. Mina climbs into the Hummer with me, and carefully, we spiral our way down through the tunnel that climbs out of the belly of the castle. We’re spit out into the dark, on a quiet side road. We aim for the encampment only a mile from the mouth of the canyon.

My stomach is roiling with guilt as we drive out across the valley.

I’m taking a risk by coming out here, but I put that army in this situation. I have to do what I can to help.

Throughout this entire day, Matthias has been moving his army out of the valley. They’re taking a treacherous route over the mountain, through a narrow valley, into a town thirty minutes away with a small hospital.

As we roll up to the camp, I take a mental count. There were once 6,000 soldiers here. Now before me, I see a meager few hundred.

They’re dying, but they’ve been taking care of themselves.

We park the vehicle close to the tents and I climb out.

I see Matthias, another man’s arm slung over his shoulders. He eyes me warily as he helps the man over to a vehicle, putting him in the backseat. All of his body language screams trepidation as he walks over to me.

“We’re here to help,” I say.

Inside, I’m screaming. Because I don’t have time to do this. At any second our world could be ripped apart as the battle begins.

But I have to make this right. Or Matthias will be right. I’ll be no better than Lorenzo or Moab.

Matthias only nods once and points in the direction of the sick soldiers.

I tell him we need to pick up the pace, that we must transport as many soldiers as we can with each load. So when we set off over the mountain the first time, every vehicle has at least ten soldiers crammed in it. The army had dozens of their own vehicles, and every able-bodied soldier has been doing transport.

I assist for six hours. Carrying men from their cots, some of them smelling like vomit. Some of them so pale white their skin is nearly translucent. I put them in vehicles. And then I drive precariously over the mountain and through the pass.

We arrive at the overwhelmed hospital bearing more and more men and women. They’re already transporting them to another three hospitals, just trying to keep up.

We’re being exposed already.

The doctors have questions.

The local authorities have questions.

And we don’t have answers.

In all, I make six round trips before I help load the last twenty men into the vehicles. But another vehicle comes bouncing over the terrain and parks just a few yards away.

Out of the vehicle, steps Edmond Valdez.

“The King needs you,” he says, eying the strange scene before him.

I nod and then turn, catching Matthias’ eye. Wiping my hands on my pants, I cross the distance between us. “The others will stay,” I say. “They’ll help until the job is done.”

He nods, and I can see there are words on the tip of his tongue that he just can’t quite say.

“You did what I asked you to come here and do,” I say. “I know it evolved into something none of us expected, but without you and your soldiers, the chaos would have come more quickly. There would have been more bloodshed. The ripples would have been felt throughout the world a lot faster.”

He looks over at me, but only for a moment. He still can’t find his words.

“We’re really trying, you know,” I say. “All of this, it’s for your kind. We’re trying to keep ourselves under wraps. I know it got a lot more intense than it should have. But I don’t want you walking out of here filled with resentment. I don’t want you to hate me.”

Matthias’ eyes flick to mine. “I don’t hate you, Sevan,” he says. He straightens, folding his arms across his chest. “I think all of this has gotten too much for you to handle, for Cyrus to handle. I think it’s a miracle you’ve kept all of this so steady and level for as long as you have. The times are shifting and changing, and I don’t know what’s going to come. But I don’t hate you, Sevan. I think in a bizarre way, I admire you.”

The weight on my chest gets just a little lighter at his granted words. I offer him a small smile, and extend a hand.

He takes it, shaking mine.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done,” I say.

“Good luck,” he offers, and I can tell he means it, but is doubtful.

I’m doubtful, too. But I turn, and walk back to Edmond and his vehicle. Together, we drive back to the castle.