There he is. The predator beneath the facade—a god shaped for battle, ready to eat the world whole and pick his teeth with the bones. That look right there is the difference between a king and a demi in this realm.

We don’t build dynasties on birthright in Scillari. Power isn’t passed to whichever squalling infant is pushed out of the right cunt. You want to rule here? Better be prepared to bleed for it. To kill for it. To have the realm crawl inside you like a parasite, working its way into your bones until you either ascend or die trying. I was five hundred when it chose me. The youngest ever blessed with the magic of an Eternal—and it nearly killed me.

Alexios is far older. That time, the realm selected a ruthless, calculating monster. And it picked well. When everything went to shit during the war, he and the Dark King were the only reason Scillari didn’t fall to human armies.

“Clear the room,” he says, voice soft but carrying to every corner of the chamber.

The courtiers move swiftly at the king’s command. Within minutes, it’s just the two of us, the silence shattered by the boom of thunder outside.

Alexios studies me. “I see you enjoyed yourself today, Wolf.”

“I did. They didn’t.” I give him a smirk. “Funny how often it shakes out that way.”

“Anything useful?”

The stench of the shop wafts through my memory. The piss-reeking heap of offal that had once been the proprietor.

“Got an address from the apothecary before I cut his throat. Silk Street, beneath the old tannery in Hellevig. Could be nothing, could be a solid lead. The buyer also mentioned fleshtraders working the docks.”

His jaw tightens. “Which docks?”

“Valchek. But they were sourced from elsewhere. I’ll brief Zephyr on what I managed to torture out of him and have her keep an ear to the ground while I handle Silk Street,” I say, referring to Alexios’ spymaster. “It’s urgent.”

“Define urgent.”

I take a breath. This is the part that’s going to make him lose his shit. “The apothecary knew that consuming our kind gives mortals temporary access to our abilities. He wasn’t just pushing demi parts as a high. He had a whole setup—back room, display cases, regular buyers. Professional operation. If he knew, the network knows.”

Alexios stares at me. But I feel the storm building—that pressure change right before lightning strikes.

Then his power detonates.

Lightning tears through the chamber. It ricochets off the marble walls and shatters a column to my left, leaving smoking black trails across stone that has survived centuries of immortal tantrums. The stink of ozone floods my nose, sharp and metallic, mixing with the smell of burnt stone.

Then, as suddenly as it started, it stops.

Alexios uncurls his fingers from the throne. “Did you find anything else?” he asks, the words soft. Like he hadn’t just lost control. “Any other relics?”

My gut twists. I know what he’s asking. What he’s been driving himself half-mad hunting for.

He wants to know if I found his sister.

“No. There was nothing else. I’m sorry.”

And I am. I understand his grief as intimately as my own. I still wake up sometimes thinking I’m back three hundred years, desperately digging through the ruins of my homeland, searching for bodies.

That kind of wound doesn’t heal. Not really. Might scab over if you’re lucky, but underneath? The rot keeps spreading. Working deeper. Eating you alive from the inside until one day, it finally reaches your heart.

When Alexios speaks again, his voice is flat. “Keep me updated.” He stands, his wings flaring wide. “Walk with me. This involves Hellevig. I have something to show you.”

He guides me through the palace corridors to the great Eternium vault—god-steel, they call it. The bones of immortals broken and reforged into an impenetrable shell. Whorls and runes of power score its face, the metal seeming to drink the light. Ancient wards burst to life beneath his touch. With a groan, the vault opens to reveal the Eternal’s private sanctum.

And there, at the chamber’s heart, is a pool.

We stop at the edge. My reflection stares back, and then the surface changes, settling on the interior of the temple in Hellevig. But something is wrong. The marble altar stands bare and neglected—and most damning of all, the offering channels are dry.

The breath leaves me in a rush. “So they’re not making the tithe.” I glance up at him. “Want me to decorate the walls with their insides? Rip out a few spines? Between this and the possible fleshmarket in their capital, seems they need a reminder about honoring agreements.”

“Not yet,” Alexios says, shaking his head. “Destroying Hellevig would damage the Shroud beyond repair. I can redistribute the remaining tithes as a temporary measure, but the foundation is already compromised.” His fingers drum against the pool’s rim. “The problem is their youngest. The masses worship Bryony Devaliant. Get rid of her before we deal with the fleshtrade.”

My head snaps up. Fragments of memory flood in: violet eyes, the blood from my thumbprint stark against her pale skin, her voice steady.

Treat me like an equal.

“She’s your Anchor, Alexios. I can’t fly into Hellevig and take her head without a damn good reason.”

If all three Devaliants die, the Shroud falls. No barrier means no protection. No protection means Scillari is wide open to fleshtraders.

The god-king’s expression goes colder. “I forbade the princess from making her tithe yesterday. She was an oathbreaker the moment she left the temple. And you know what we do to oathbreakers, don’t you, Wolf?”

I raise my brows. “You manufactured a violation of the Accords? That’s impressively cold, even for you.”

“I used the tools available to me,” he corrects, like that makes it any better. “The Accords prevent me from direct interference in Devaliant rule—Amalthea made sure of that. If I’d had my way, you’d be perched in their throne room, ensuring they govern with a bare minimum of competence. But this?” He gestures to the pool, mouth twisting. “The Claim is all the leverage I have left. It’s mine to give and take away through whatever loopholes I had the foresight to hide in that agreement.”

“And killing her for being too popular seems like the best use of that loophole?” I try a different angle. “Idris is supposed to enforce the tithes. If you’re looking for someone to punish, he’s—”

“She’s being worshipped.” Alexios cuts me off with a sharp look. “Do you have any idea what that’s like inside my skull? Thousands of voices chanting her name? The combination of oathbreakers and Shroud rot? Punishing Idris won’t change the fact that the veil is failing because people exalt her above the duty that keeps our realms stable. The risk of keeping her alive far outweighs the potential consequences of eliminating her.” Lightning dances between his fingers. Thunder booms beyond the windows, responding to his emotions. “So the girl dies, or I’ll remind you exactly how tight I can pull your leash.”

I clench my jaw at the reminder. “Send Bastien. He’s been dying to put a Devaliant in the ground for centuries. Let him have this one.”

“Bastien has the subtlety and restraint of a battle-axe. I want a surgeon for this, not a butcher.”

And for better or worse, I’m a god of my word. I made the girl a promise.

If it comes down to it, I’ll make it a good death.

“I’ll handle it,” I tell him.

Lightning arcs over the ceiling. Alexios smiles. “Good. Don’t disappoint me.”

The pool’s surface ripples a final time. I swear I see Bryony Devaliant’s violet eyes before the water goes dark.

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