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and shoulder. Only the breastplate didn’t bear the red slash through the center that would tell the world he was the future King of Cymmera. A pang of grief shot through him. No. Not the future king. The king.
    He tamped down the insecurities threatening to drown him. Regardless of Ryleigh’s feelings, this was the right choice. The only choice. He stripped off his jacket and sweatshirt and hastily pulled on a thin, long sleeved, black shirt before pulling his long hair back into a tail at his nape and tying it with a thin leather band. He strapped the breastplate into place, secured the arm-guard to his left forearm, and slid the finger tab onto his right hand. Once the high, armor plated, black boots were fitted over his black jeans, he slung the bow and quiver onto his back, shoved a dagger into each of the casings on his boots, and sheathed his sword at his hip.
    At the sound of the alert calling the Death Dealer team to action, he tucked the ornate black helmet beneath his arm and strode resolutely toward the pens. There would be no turning back.
    Elijah met him before he reached the others, acknowledging him with the traditional greeting before his expression softened. “Are you all right?”
    “I’m fine. Thank you.” He lowered his gaze, hoping Elijah didn’t catch the lie.
    “Very well, sir.” He only hesitated another moment before dropping the subject and moving on. “Would you like me to brief the men directly, or give you the necessary information?”
    “Nah. You can do it. No sense wasting time.” Jackson clamped his teeth tightly together as the two covered the remaining distance to the pens, checking the urge to ask Elijah if he was sure about retrieving these men. If he wasn’t absolutely certain, he would never have come to Jackson. Especially after he was mistaken about Ryleigh. Questioning his vision would serve no purpose but to hurt the sensitive man.
    Dakota spotted them coming and ran toward them. With the loss of Kai, Dakota had moved up to train as a Death Dealer, at Jackson’s request. He now served as Jackson’s partner and protégé. The younger boy vibrated with energy. This would be his first retrieval, and his dark eyes shone with excitement. “Hey, Jackson.”
    Elijah shot Dakota a quick frown of disapproval at the familiar greeting.
    Jackson bit back a smile.
    Dakota had been his best friend since they were kids, hundreds of years. There was no way he was going to bow or address Jackson as King Maynard in any other than the most formal of circumstances. Nor did Jackson expect him to.
    Elijah on the other hand…Well, Elijah stood firmly on tradition.
    The men came to attention at his arrival. They stood, helmets in hand, and awaited their orders. Twelve men all together. Twelve Death Dealers. His team. All of them had more experience than him, though none had trained harder or for more situations, and yet he would lead them. He would be responsible for them. Success or failure would fall squarely on Jackson’s shoulders. It was a heavy burden in addition to the responsibility for every inhabitant of the kingdom he now ruled. A small throb started at the back of his eyes. He struggled to ignore it and focus on Elijah’s words.
    “You will intercept a small military plane, force it down, and return with its occupants. There should be eight men all together. The plane is equipped with guns, which shouldn’t be a problem for you to avoid. Once you have the plane on the ground, I’ll be able to tear it open so you may retrieve the men. They will also be armed.” He studied each of their faces, his gaze lingering for a moment on Dakota. “Any questions?”
    When they shook their heads, Jackson nodded, and they dispersed and headed for the pens. He approached Dakota. “You know what to do?”
    Eagerness lit his eyes. “I’m good.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “I do have a question, though. If Elijah can rip the plane open, why can’t he just crash it