A runed collar winks at the hollow of the captive’s throat, the glyphs flaring as they siphon away his strength. My brother, Bastien, etched the shackles with magic to keep prisoners immobilized while Alexios plays.

I let out a whistle. “Must be quite the prisoner to get the royal treatment. What’d he do? Piss in your wine?”

“He’s a traitor. One old enough to remember the war”—he aims a brutal kick at the male’s side, earning a wet gasp—“and stupid enough to want to resurrect it. A scouting party found Turpori steel on him during the arrest.”

My head snaps up. “Where did he get it?”

Bastien’s blades are infused with his unique power signature. They were his gift and legacy to our realm—before humans learned that consuming our flesh would transfer our power temporarily. That our bodies were another resource to be exploited, carved up, and devoured. Now, the godkillers are permitted to be carried only by a few, but there’s a bustling black market for them. Every time some fleshbuyer gets their hands on Bastien’s feathers, they can use his magic to make Turpori steel. We keep having to track them down.

“I couldn’t torture an answer out of him,” he says. “Someone scrubbed the memories. But never forget how many of our own were complicit in the slaughter.”

He reaches down and wrenches the demigod up by his hair. “Maybe you’ve forgotten the screams of our dead. Or maybe you’re pissed off that the Eternals of Asteria and Nyholm are all that’s left. Is that it? Loyalty to a murdered Eternal?”

The demigod stirs with a rattling cough and gathers the remaining dregs of his defiance to spit a glob of bloodied saliva onto Alexios’ boots.

For a long moment, Alexios and I stare at each other, and I see my own grief reflected in his gaze. My own need to repay humanity’s sins. A part of me regrets him ever signing the Accords that prevented me from slaughtering every last one of them.

I think he knows that. I think he feels it, too. Understands precisely how deep this poison runs. This ugly, symbiotic rot that we’ll never get rid of.

“Just… kill me…” the captive says between choking gasps. “I welcome it…”

“Oh, I will,” Alexios says. “But first, I’m going to tear you apart until you’re a drooling, shitting husk.” His fingers squeeze around the demi’s throat. “Maybe I should have the Wolf put you back together so you’re lucid when I carve out your insides and feed them to you.”

I watch, saying nothing, as Alexios’ power burrows inside the prisoner’s chest and wrenches. The male makes a noise somewhere between a scream and a whimper as something in him gives with an audible snap.

The king winds his magic deeper. Wet pops fill the air as organs rupture. Blood gushes from the demigod’s gaping mouth, splattering Alexios’ hands and face.

He doesn’t so much as flinch.

“What do you think, Wolf?” Alexios’ voice is light. Conversational. “Want to dust off that healing ability? Should I start with feeding him his intestines or save that particular delight for the finale?”

“Depends. How long are you planning to stretch this out? I have a nice wine waiting for me at home.”

“Hmm, valid point.” He drops the body to the ground with a thud. “I’m leaving his corpse here,” Alexios says, wiping flecks of blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. “Let it be a reminder to anyone who foolishly mistakes my restraint for weakness.”

“You know for sure there are others?”

His smile is bleak. “There are always others willing to ally with the filth who cracked open our brothers and sisters and ate them raw, no matter how many carcasses I leave in my wake. That’s why we can’t ever show mercy.”

My mouth twists in a grim smile. “I know.”

“Yes, you do,” Alexios murmurs, and for a moment, it almost sounds like understanding. Like kinship.

Maybe that’s why he kept Bastien and me around. Saw the empty space where most people keep a conscience and figured he’d found the perfect killers, loyal not because we love him but because he’s the only one who can give our grief purpose.

After all, Alexios knows intimately what it’s like to watch your whole world burn.

He steps over the demi’s body and plucks the muslin from my hands. “Final offering from the princess. Let’s put it to good use, shall we?”

The Shroud pulses. The colors have leached away, leaving only faded hues that are shot through with veins of necrotic black. Beyond the fraying weave, Vartena peeks through, the mortal realm little more than a heat haze.

I smell the stagnation and slow rot.

“This damage. Was it from—”

“From the Devaliant’s cult members?” Alexios’ lip peels back from his teeth. “Yes.”

He extends a hand and crooks his fingers, and the blood seems to sing in answer. It lifts from the fabric in ribbons, curling through the air as it pools above his upturned palm. The droplets dance, strung together by threads of power.

With a percussive snap of magic, Alexios flings his arm out in a sweeping arc. The blood streaks toward the Shroud in a glimmering spray. The veil ripples where it strikes, crimson tearing through the rot. Devouring. Cleansing. Slowly, new wards flicker to life in glittering veins of ruby and obsidian.

It’s a temporary measure—a scab over a festering wound. But it buys us time.

Alexios’ magic fades. He sways on his feet, a tremor running through him. Even an Eternal has limits.

“You’re burning too hot,” I murmur. “You need rest. If you keep pouring yourself into the Shroud at this rate—”

He gives a mirthless laugh. “I need a bottle of Black Ember and a good hard fuck, not necessarily in that order. But this barrier isn’t going to maintain itself.”

He turns to me, the dying light throwing the harsh planes of his face into stark relief. Deep bruises smudge the skin beneath his eyes, and I’m struck by how exhausted he looks. Less the untouchable god-king and more the battle-weary soldier.

“I’m at the end of my patience with mortals.” His words are flat, emotionless, and that’s when he’s at his most unpredictable. His most dangerous. “The Vartenans are complacent, and I can’t keep spreading tithes thin over the Shroud whenever some little princess distracts the idiots on the other side. If those sheep can’t manage themselves, and the Accords prevent me from interfering in their rule, then they need reminders of their place.”

“You want me to make an example of the oathbreakers?”

“Brutality is an art in times like these. No more half measures, no more clean kills for traitors and oathbreakers. When the masses grow lazy, it’s our duty to deliver a lesson.”

I incline my head. “Any other orders?”

Alexios goes motionless in the way of a predator poised to lunge. Slowly, deliberately, he leans in until his lips hover above mine and I can taste the spice of his breath.

“One more thing,” he says, lethally soft. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten or forgiven you for ignoring a direct command.”

I lift my stare to meet his. “Disobedience is part of my charm.”

“You’re right,” he murmurs. “Insolence is one of your more attractive qualities. I’ve always enjoyed how this mouth gets you into trouble.”

Alexios pushes his lips against mine, kissing me deep and filthy. There’s no tenderness in it. No real affection or desire. With the God of Storms, everything is about control. About the dizzying, destructive push-pull of power—who wields it and who bends to its whims. He’s not kissing me because he wants to.

He’s kissing me because he likes to fuck with my head.

Alexios breaks the kiss to run his lips over my jaw. “But I can’t help but wonder…” His tongue laves along my neck before his teeth clamp down punishingly hard. I swallow a hiss. “If you didn’t kill the princess as I ordered, what exactly did you do?”

“Played with her. Let her get a taste of my blade.”