Here’s what you should know about my family: they never learn.

Arrogant fucks.

“No, not this time, Elythia,” my father booms from the white marble poolside. His voice shakes the columns of the sky terrace, and the clouds flinch.

The pool’s surface flickers, reflecting the realms’ fae queens one by one. A wave of his meaty hand dismisses one. A hum as he lingers over another.

I’m taking note of his preferences, don’t you worry.

I lounge above them all, a leg draped over the curve of a comfy little gold cloud, head propped by a fist. My tunic, mid-thigh and scandalous, ripples in the divine breeze. And just so there’s no confusion, the answer is yes. I am Vasari’s son.

Shocking, I know.

It’s the beard. Throws everyone off.

Vasari, the King of Gods, puts a halting hand in Elythia’s flawless face just as she opens her mouth to protest. He shakes his head, his long white beard scraping his barrel chest. “Stay out of it. My realms, my mortals. If I let you make all the decisions, they’d be drunk and merrily skipping all over the place, singing and screwing all the time. Power—my power—would wane. The realms will collapse, and then where would we be?”

See? Arrogant.

“If they’re drunk all the time,” I interject from my high cloud perch, “will they be burping pretty little rainbow bubbles? I like bubbles.”

I conjure a bubble with the wave of my hand and pop it with the tip of my finger. Tiny little sprites scatter into the blue sky, their pitched laughter filling the air.

Elythia rolls her eyes at me. “Hush, Maeris. When we’re in need of your foolery, we’ll ask.”

“What did I say?” I hold up my hands in surrender. “I’m on your side, Sister.”

I like love just as much as the next god—I’m just not quite as direct about it. Love should be fun, a bumpy ride, a well-earned gaffe. A carriage without a wheel. A lover who arrives five years too late.

With a heaving sigh, Elythia returns her attention to our father. “You won’t fade into existence over a little romance, Father. Love is just as powerful—”

“Love is just as—” Vasari turns plum in the cheeks, absolutely livid by the implication.

I grin and rub my palms together—this is getting good.

When Vasari can’t find the words to continue, he makes a mighty fist and rattles the air. The sky terrace, shimmering with the threads of fate and misted with golden clouds, quivers.

The rest of my half-siblings pause—all in various states of dress, many of them completely unconcerned about the three fae ceremonies underway. They’re here for the wine, mostly. But, really, it’s just another opportunity to become Father’s favorite. What they don’t realize—because…arrogance—is that Father will always be Father’s Favorite.

But I digress.

The whispered conversations go silent, and the clash of dueling swords halts; a lucky thing for Vaelkor—he was about to lose an eye. Nysara’s champagne flute freezes partway to her lips, and she nearly topples drunkenly from her divan. Ithra curses when the ink from his pen scratches imperfectly across his scroll mid-poem. Only Orithis has been paying attention—she loves to watch a good tragedy unfold.

“That’s enough!” Vasari bellows.

He waves a hand over the pool, then pulls at least a dozen colorful strands from the water. With a casual flick, the strands twist through the air and settle atop a chessboard near his throne. Sculpted figures fill the squares, representations of his chosen.

I lean forward to see who he’s chosen—bo-ring. Unsurprisingly, any children from these unions would bring great power to the realms. But there isn’t a cursed mortal in sight. Where’s the scandal? The inconvenience?

We can do better.

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Selene had been closed inside the captain’s quarters with Dimitrios for too long. Not that the heir wasn’t trustworthy. He fully trusted the man with Selene’s life and virtue.

It was the reason she was in there, which Augustus had learned only minutes ago in passing. She’d sought the heir out to discuss him taking the throne. A discussion Augustus couldn’t believe had to happen in the first place.

If it had been up to him, Augustus would have barged into that cabin and shaken the man into his right senses. Selene—gods love her—had taken a…softer route.

It felt like hours had passed by the time Selene appeared. He’d forgone his anxiety-induced pacing and reclined right at the threshold, where she nearly stepped on him.

Selene, eyes wide, shot a look behind her before hurriedly closing the door. She shoved him out of earshot. “Are you a spy now?”

She couldn’t possibly blame him, could she? They were in this together, and she was his to protect whether she liked it or not. “I’m a man who needs that man to get his head out of his—”

“Augustus.”

Normally, he found it adorable when she did that but now wasn’t the time. “What? We go in, we kill the king and his bitch daughter, and Dimitrios takes the throne. Why is this hard?”

“He is a human man with human concerns. Give him the space to work this out. Also, what is it with you and brute force? It would never be that easy.”

“Never” was not a word he accepted. “What would you say to explosives, then?”

A wary look entered her eyes. “You want to blow up the palace?”

He’d been mulling this idea over since his conversation with Vasso, who’d inadvertently given him the idea. “A mountain, actually.”

Selene’s head canted at the idea, and he knew he had her.

“We go in, we blow up that mountain, and we disappear, never to be seen again.”

“What? Augustus—”

“Hear me out. The king’s entire plan revolves around dropping us into those fires. But if he can’t reach them…?”

“The gods—”

“Fuck the gods, Selene.” He was so fucking tired of the gods and what they wanted. What about what he and Selene wanted? What about their future? “This is about keeping you alive.”

“A rightful king must stand, or we don’t live to see another year. Either of us.”

If it wasn’t the gods, it was the prophecy. Well, if they had to dive into that topic, he had a few complaints to add. He aimed a finger at the captain’s quarters. “Tell him that, why don’t you? While you’re in there pulling on his heartstrings about his people, remind him that— Remind him that—”

The weight of everything Augustus felt hit all at once. The idea that happiness was right there, and yet out of reach. It was as if he’d gone his entire life sailing against the wind. Then Selene ran into him on that dusty road outside the palace, looked up at him with those incredible eyes, and the course changed.

The sun felt warmer. The sea calmer. The act of living, of breathing, wasn’t hard anymore. He could do anything as long as she stayed right where she was.

With him.

He refused to go back to the way it was before. He refused to accept that they had limited time left in this life.

Selene gave a small shake of her head. “Remind him of what, Augustus?”

Augustus took her face into his hands. “Remind him that I only just found you.”

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Augustus was afraid.

Hours had passed since Augustus stormed from their rooms, leaving Cassia exasperated. Selene in shock. Mettius wanted to follow on his heels and shake the lad to his senses. Didn’t he see how hard this was for his mother? She didn’t want to come here. The gods had given her those visions for a reason. A taunt, she’d said. Dangling their son’s fate like a carrot. Had it been anyone else, they’d already be out to sea preparing the fleet for war.

Augustus needed time to process, though, so Mettius had waited. Let the sun set on this brow-beaten harbor. There’d been no room for their fleet in this little cove, and no room to host their numbers on land. Their ships were miles out, most of their crew still aboard.

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