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“An admiral requires a naval fleet, and we don’t even have access to a significant body of water let alone a single boat,” Orpheus snapped, not actually wanting to be a part of this hells-forsaken conversation, but unable to resist. “And what is this? A military dictatorship?”

“No, Sparks, we’re a democracy,” Red said it like he hadn’t been the one to drag that American History and the Failure of the Great Experiment tome all the way home from the Keep. “So, President, yeah? Honestly, it sounds a little weak after Empress. We could just keep with the theme and call you Fenrir the Conqueror.”

Fenrir flipped his hair. “How about Fenrir the Beautiful?”

Red rolled her eyes. “Fenrir the Obnoxious, more like it.”

“I’m not that high mainten—”

“—To think anyone is supposed to take us seriously!” Orpheus cut in, voice shrill. “This is the future of the world we’re talking about; we need to at least follow the plan!”

“The same plan that led to economic exhaustion and a capitalist society that devoured itself from the inside out?” So, Fenrir had read the entire book after all. “And then, you know, world war forever.”

“Which completely reset the fated trajectory of humankind and look at us now!” Red gestured at the valley and the thousands of gathered people, sun rising over a verdant hill capped by wildflowers of every color. “We’re doin’ great!”

Orpheus wanted to scream. “Lest you forget the enormous crack into Hell that would have wiped us all out if I hadn’t managed to close it!”

“A minor detail.” Red waved him off. “Sometimes you have to burn it all to the ground so you can build something better.”

“Oh, so you’re an anarchist now? Yes, because pandemonium always works in the average man’s favor. That’s certainly not a breeding ground for another psychopath to get a big idea!”

Fenrir lifted his hands, laughing uncomfortably. “Okay, I think we should all just—”

“Shut up!” Orpheus and Red shouted in tandem.

Silence bloated, heavy between them. At his back, the rise and fall of Fenrir’s chest was faster than Orpheus was used to. Right, like Fenrir needed him and Red fighting today of all days.

Orpheus deflated. “We’re really not well-equipped for this, are we?”

“We’re still the best for the task.” To Fenrir’s credit, he sounded mostly convinced.

“We’re the only ones for the task,” Red insisted, and it was true, even if it was fucking terrifying.

The pasture emerged from behind a copse of young dogwoods, the sun throwing long stripes of golden light between the wooden fence’s posts. Nightmare flared his nostrils and snuffled when he saw the other horses, the lonely stables at the farm no substitute for a life spent amongst the army’s herd. Orpheus clutched the horn of the saddle while Fenrir dismounted, didn’t resist when Fenrir reached up to help him down.

“Steady on?” Fenrir asked, hands landing on Orpheus’ hips and then staying there after his boots hit the ground—an excuse to touch him—a silent apology for all that had transpired before.

Except… Fenrir’s hands were shaking again.

“Your hands…” Orpheus said, reaching.

Fenrir dodged his touch gracefully, slipping behind him to gather up Nightmare’s reins. “I’m fine, Fifi,” he said into Orpheus’ ear. “But what about you?”

Orpheus didn’t have an answer, let alone the time to think it through when a soldier approached. She snapped into a well-practiced salute, then an awkward bow, eyes locked on the emblem emblazoned upon Fenrir’s cuirass when he handed her his reins, chest full and back straight while she led Nightmare into the paddock, as if tasked with escorting the man of the hour himself—governor, president, emperor, king—all the same in the eyes of these people no matter what title Fenrir decided on.

No, Orpheus wasn’t remotely fine.

They followed Red towards a small bunch of tents pitched downslope of the enormous stage, soldiers circling them tightly, shields tucked close to their sides as if to block a bullet. Orpheus found himself glancing over his shoulder. From the top of the hill the stage cast a long shadow in the morning light, a finely woven metal fence all that stood between them and a gathering crowd of thousands.

“Started lining up yesterday,” Red said, noticing Orpheus’ attention. “Had to sneak Fenrir out last night before everyone and their mother came looking for him.”

Fenrir rolled his eyes. “They’re excited. I’m not in any danger.”

“Let’s not put that to the test, okay? For their sake.” Red jutted her chin at the guards surrounding Fenrir. The quiet vigilance they kept that seemed so different from the rowdy soldiers Orpheus remembered training in the courtyard of the Gilded Palace. Like they were taking this seriously. More seriously than the war they had waged on their former Empress’ behalf.

The tent Red led them to was bigger than Orpheus expected—if not tidy. A cot had been shoved against the far wall in order to make enough space for a table at the tent’s center. Papers littered the surface, light spilling across the scratched-out markings of a hundred different versions of a speech Orpheus didn’t have the nerve to write himself.

Fenrir had asked, but Orpheus had refused, which left Red.