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The fire boiling in Arwin’s stomach burned with an intensity like no other. His eyes were locked in the union of their skin, and he could still remember the way Rionach gasped for breath underneath Brontes.

His eyes bounced from their joint hands to Brontes’s face and the happiness that shone there… it was supposed to be his. It was supposed to be him holding her hand, recipient of her gorgeous grin. Oh, how satisfying would it be to pull out his sword, drag it across the king’s neck, and take his place.

An infant’s cry broke the images of the flashback. Anger diluted as the cries grew louder and stronger. Brontes stopped his march, his gaze fixed with the closed door to the chamber. Within seconds, a handmaiden opened the door with tears in her eyes.

“Your Highness! She is here!” the handmaiden exclaimed.

She? A girl?

Brontes exhaled the breath he was holding and almost pushed the young handmaiden out of his way when he entered the royal chamber. One midwife washed her hands while the doula gently helped Rionach breastfeed the infant. Brontes’s face wrinkled with emotions at the sight of his wife and child. And Arwin…

Arwin’s whole world collapsed on itself as he saw the baby’s dark hair…

Ebony, like Brontes’s.

Rionach was too busy soaking in her husband’s affection, all the while trying to adjust the child in her arms. All Arwin could do was imagine what it would be like if it were him kissing her tears away, him supporting the child’s weight in his arms, him who felt as if his chest would explode with pride.

Rionach raised her eyes for a split second, and as soon as she saw him standing there, she turned her gaze to the child in her arms. He wasn’t even worth a second glance, an acknowledgment.

His upper lip twitched, and he decided to leave. He bowed his head to no one and closed the door on his way out.

The kingdom, along with every single person in it, could burn for all he cared. How long had Rionach been sleeping with Brontes? How was she so sure that her child was his? Arwin didn’t need to be there when she gave birth, but he was. He was there because he needed to be there for her regardless of the outcome. Because he cared.

He cared enough to make sure the child was healthy, enough that when the child was a couple of months old, he bowed down to her and Brontes, and presented his sword to them. Not only that, but he also swore to be loyal and to keep her safe.

Valda Aither, princess of the Sky Kingdom.

The name sent a shiver down his spine when she was presented to the people as if she was something special. She wasn’t. She was just the daughter of his traitorous brother and his whore wife. What bothered Arwin the most was how much she took after Brontes. Valda was his spitting image. All smiles, black hair, and honey-colored eyes. There was no doubt that she was Brontes’s, and apparently, there was no doubt she was the one the Fates spoke to Brontes about.

She and her mate would change things. They would bring forth a new world order.

No, she would not change how things were. For it was him, Arwin, who would change everything, even if it was for the worse, even if it took him all his life to achieve it.

The plan was set in motion when the news spread of the new Sealian royal baby—a girl. A baby girl was born, and already the whispers of change and renewal spread throughout every meeting in each castle and kingdom.

That wouldn’t do for Arwin. And so, he walked out of the castle, out of Ophelia, and into the Umbriel desert, feet sinking into the dense sand, the harsh burning heat on his shoulders.

He didn’t crave death, he craved revenge, and it wasn’t until he found himself falling to his knees that he realized he was calling out for her; for Eris.

Her sweet embrace chilled the heat on his shoulders and face, as if a cool blanket enveloped him. Sparkling eyes looked upon him as a smile, more radiant than the sun itself, clouded everything around him.

“We meet again!” Her voice was sweeter than anything he had heard before.

He smacked his chapped lips together, looking for the right words.

Shaking her head, she brushed away his hair and smiled even wider. “Oh, how lost you are,” she whispered, her lips trailing a soothing comfort on the skin of his forehead. “I can lead you back— to where you want to be. But I need something in return.”

“Anything,” he said, his hands fisted by his side, scared to touch the goddess before him.

“Build me a temple, fill your people’s mouths with prayers for me, sacrifice, and spill blood in my name. You will have my protection, and you will rule.”

Rule. He would rule. What more could he possibly want?

“Done.”