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The god looked down at the woman who should have been his. He had half of a mind to rip her away from the pretend king, but then he heard the banging.

It seemed the mortal did not enjoy his new accommodations, but the change in ownership was for the best.

Fucking humans,the god thought as the human screamed inside of him.

You wish what is ours to be taken from us? So be it.He growled at the man inside of the cell.We will leave the woman with this masquerade of a king. After all, humans do learn best when they make irreversible mistakes. So let us see how she fares. Let her see the consequences of her own actions.

And then, the god turned his back on the woman whom the human had fought for his entire life, whom the god had been promised.

As he walked through the narrow staircase, he felt nothing. His throat didn’t clench up; his skin didn’t perspire. His jaw didn’t ache. He felt nothing as whispers crept up from the tiny dwelling beneath the tree.

The god had spent decades inside of that mental box. The human could handle a few hours or days.

He was done playing this game of cat and mouse. The woman would be his as she was always meant to be, but he would not beg. He would not grovel at her feet like the man wished to do.

Taking her now would be too easy. This king’s death was not the one the god craved. He wished for destruction, chaos. And right now, he would not get it.

The ounce of freedom the man would give the god when his assistance was required was insufficient. Those moments were nothing more than a tease, a fleeting escape from the torment of the cell that the man kept the god locked in.

It was time the mortals remembered what happened when they invoked the wrath of a god.

* * *

“You had your chance,and you blew it, Graeson. Admit it.” Sitting on the dresser, the woman—Danisinia, the god recalled from his time inside the man’s mind—swung her feet in the air as she gripped the edge of the dresser.

The god sighed heavily as he stood across from Danisinia in the corner of the room. She was a talented warrior, and he could have appreciated thatifshe wasn’t so agitating. Especially when, in the back of his mind, the human hissed that her words were supposed to strike him in the gut. That they were supposed to make the god experience some emotion.

Guilt? Pain? Sadness? Anger? The god did not know. Nor did he care.

He was numb to it—all the mortals’ screams and shouts. It was as if a blanket of darkness coated every inch of him.

It was pure bliss. He hadn’t experienced this much control in years.

He peered out the window through the small gap in the curtains and scanned the area. This world was so simple. For the last five and twenty years, he had only been able to see bits and pieces of the world.

After he had left the woods, the god had taken his time returning to the guest house. He had wandered the woods for hours, enjoying the wind brushing against his cheek, the ground beneath his feet. He became a part of the darkness like he was always meant to be. The shadows of the night molded around him, called to him, beckoned him. And he welcomed them with open arms.

By the time the god had made his way through the forest and to the guest house, midnight had come and passed. Kalisandre’s manipulation must have worked since none of the guards seemed to be on alert as he traveled through the shadows of the village. He was not surprised. His little mortal was capable of many things. Manipulating one man was only the beginning. If only she let her mind free, she would see all that she was capable of.

It also gave the god some satisfaction that she had not betrayed him. She had kept quiet about seeing him. She might have been in denial about the existence of the thread that connected them. But despite her tangled mind, she was still in there.

When the god finally strolled through the front door, everyone had been sitting in the foyer. Waiting. The other mortals who had accompanied the man into the forest had already returned hours ago.

The god didn’t need to say anything when he walked through the doors. Once the others saw that Kalisandre was not trailing behind him, they knew that the man had been unsuccessful yet again in convincing their mortal to return with him. But that was only partly true.

When they asked what had happened, the god reluctantly explained, for he knew all too well from watching the human man that they would not stop asking questions until he explained. Once he relayed the night’s events, the god leaned back against the wall, letting them take over.

“I’m sure it was more complicated than that,” the sweet woman with pitch-black hair said from the couch. The black leathers she had worn earlier had already been replaced with a simple nightgown.

Part of the god felt he should ask her how it went, but that part was small, infinitesimal. A natural reaction for the human, but for him? No, he didn’t have the patience.

“Prince Sebastian is a prick, after all,” the white-haired one said with a shrug.

For once, the god agreed.

“Complicated or not, you failed, Graeson. That was our last chance of getting in and out without being seen. It was the easiest chance we had, and you blew it,” Danisinia said as she gathered her braids together, gripping them in one hand.

He shrugged.