Chapter 4
SELENE
One year later
“Why does it have to be in his bedroom?”
I stare up at the obsidian and red carvings that cover the gaudy door.
Unlike the others in the palace depicting beautiful scenes of the creatures that inhabit our myriad of realms, the Wolf God demanded the rose quartz sculptures on his bedroom door be replaced with this visual atrocity.
Mikais has been accused of many things in his eternal life, but no one has ever accused him of having taste.
“For the last time, it’s a meeting not an orgy,” Nina sighs.
“An orgy would be preferable. Significantly lower chance of being exiled.” I roll my eyes as Nina taps a series of coded knocks on the door.
An entire year of her going on and on about how imperative it is that I listen to Mikais’ proposal has landed me in this moment. Despite my protests that I am only here to listen, there will be no going back once I cross the threshold.
No one has seen Arcasia since she gave birth to the prince. Rumors of her imprisonment and Nobus’ dominance over his wife and child circulate through the pantheon, further accelerating the growing movement to dethrone him.
Something about the baby terrifies the God King, and he’s waiting until the prince’s birthday and the bestowing of blessings to decide if he will live or die—an act that I cannot stomach no matter how much I may wish to avoid Mikais’ war.
Coded knocks respond to Nina’s petition. Taura stands in the now open doorway, her raven hair pinned atop her head, blue eyes shifting to violet when she sees me.
“I told you she’d come,” the Goddess of Truth smiles over her shoulder. “And I am never wrong.”
“Selene has finally decided to join us, has she? Welcome to the rebellion.” Mikais greets us with open arms. I step to the side, avoiding the hug he seems primed to give.
The inside of the god’s room is exactly how I imagined someone with his proclivities would decorate.
A giant four-poster bed spans the width of the room.
At least eight deities lounge on the silver silk bedding, all dressed, thank Creation.
Bottles of chilled wine rest on low tables next to crystal flutes, trays of fruit, and half-burned candles.
It might not be an orgy yet, but the room is certainly prepared for one.
I give the bed a wide berth as I make my way towards the floor-to-ceiling window that faces the mountains. The two suns cast the room in an eerie, purple haze as they descend below the range.
Even within the walls of the palace, my power can feel the moons that hover just out of view, calling to take their rightful place in the night sky. I yearn to give them what they long for, to flex the power that grows more restless with each day.
“I thought I told you to stay out of trouble.”
I turn my attention toward the black-clad god lounging atop a pile of silver pillows. Legs outstretched, arms behind his head, and white hair mussed, Drayven looks more at ease than I’ve ever seen him.
“That’s your fault for thinking I’d listen to you.” I smile playfully.
“What are you doing here, Selene?”
“The better question is ‘what are you doing here,’ oh Dark One? Answering another royal summons?”
“Hardly,” he scoffs. “My presence is unwanted, which is exactly how I prefer it.”
“Well…if I wasn’t already curious about this rebellion, consider me intrigued now.”
“You shouldn’t be.” Drayven’s green eyes narrow, his demeanor shifting to something unreadable. “You should stay out of this, Light.”
I should, but I won’t. The kindling has been laid and the Golden Pantheon will be fully aflame soon.
Siding with Mikais might mean certain exile, but a comfortable existence will never be worth siding with a king whose sole concern is power.
A king so concerned with it that he would willingly murder his own child.
Eager to redirect the conversation, I pick up the red fruit from a nearby tray and toss it his way. “Here.”
A hand made entirely of dark magic shoots out and catches the fruit inches from his face. “What is this?”
“It’s called a pomegranate. An interesting little food I discovered on my travels. It’s filled with the most delicious seeds.”
Something unreadable sparks in Drayven’s eyes, there one second and gone the next.
“Why do I need a pomegranate?” he asks, turning the red orb over in his pale hand, the silver rings adorning his fingers pressing into the fruit’s flesh.
“It’ll give you something to occupy yourself with instead of worrying about me.” I smile sweetly, beaming at the scathing look the Dark God shoots my way.
“Someone has to worry about you. You clearly possess no self-preservational instincts. Joining rebellions, begging to go to the Under Realm…”
“Gods don’t beg. And going to the Under Realm is self-preservation,” I correct.
“Is it now?”
“It is. I need a single day to make your realm shine. And all of that new light…well, that would feed my power immensely.” I bend down, swatting at his black boots until he sits up.
Taking their place on the silver pillows, I lay back, imitating his former pose.
“One day, Dark One, and my hunger would be satisfied.”
“It’s not your hunger I worry about, Light.”
Drayven cracks open the fruit and lifts the rind to his mouth.
He drinks deep, sucking down the tart liquid.
When he pulls back, a single drop of blood red juice leaks from the corner of his lips.
Green eyes lock onto mine as his pale thumb slowly swipes it away, the silver ring on his finger sparkling in the purple light.
The sudden urge to lean in and taste it overtakes me, and I feel my teeth sink into my bottom lip.
Mikais clears his throat and every god in the room turns their attention to him. Every god except Drayven. I feel his eyes bore into me as the Wolf God speaks, but I don’t meet them again.
“Let’s get down to business. As you know, Nobus has demanded our presence two nights from now.
” A groan resounds in the space, its source unknown but its meaning echoed by all.
“I know, I know. I am usually a fan of the elaborate parties my brother forces us to attend in his honor, but I don’t relish in celebrating the birthday of his little princeling any more than you do. ”
“Be that as it may, the required bestowing of blessings to the Prince of the Gods affords us an opportunity that we cannot pass up.” Nina’s red hair glows as she joins in sharing the plan that she clearly influenced.
“While we are on bended knee and every eye is trained on the little heir, we will put phase one into motion.”
“The attendance of every god is required at the ceremony,” Mikais continues. “Every god but one.”
The god beside me tenses. Shadows hover in my peripheral as every eye turns in our direction. I sit up, spine stiffening in preparation for Mikais’ next words.
“Once we have given our gifts to the child, Death will make his grand entrance.”
Murmurs fill the room, their faces ranging from delight to disgust. Drayven, ever stoic, doesn’t speak. Something unexpected bubbles up inside of me, something I can’t tamper down quickly enough. The sconces on the wall illuminate unexpectedly, the conspiring gods flinching as their eyes adjust.
Nina glares at me, a nasty rebuke forming on her tongue, but I cut her off before she has the chance to voice it. “If we harm the child, we are no better than Nobus.”
“I would never harm a child, Selene.” Mikais laughs off my concern, the rest of the gods joining him. “We have much bigger plans for him.”
Bigger plans. Nausea rolls in my gut.
Taura looks at me, her eyes shifting hues again, and I know she’s reading a truth. She lets out a sigh and nods, silently confirming the Wolf God’s words. They will not physically harm him, at least not yet.
He is a baby, a prince, and yet he is nothing more than a pawn to them. The Prince of the Gods has a powerful role to play in this game—and these gods plan to use him as leverage against his father.
“Consider what will be necessary for our young prince to be successful and craft your blessings appropriately. Remember, my brother shouldn’t be aware of the weapon we are creating until Death appears.”
Weapon. The word lingers heavily in the air.
“Still want to join us?” Drayven asks as the other gods go back to their conversations, each theorizing the ways they might word their gifts.
“At what point do we become worse than Nobus?” I ask. “Are we simply the lesser of the inevitable evils? Are we so far removed from humanity that we’ve forgotten how to be good?”
“Gods do not have humanity. We were made from the raw matter of Creation, not of the fragile fabric of mortality. Eternal life is not our gift; it is our curse. And to be eternal, you must be ruthless.”
“And what if I wish to be something else?” The whispered question pains me to say aloud.
Shadows form around the dark god as he starts to fade from view. “Then I would be very, very clear with the blessing you bestow.”