Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 105164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
He tucked the knife away within easy reach of his left hand and started through the village. His heart clenched to see the splashes of blood on the walls and the dried pools on the ground. There wasn’t a sound except for the shuffle of his feet on the dirt and the breeze through the leaves. Not a bird sang. Not a single monkey or cat called out.
The village was empty of living creatures, but also the dead. The body of every creature that had been killed in the fighting was gone. He didn’t know if that was Drayce’s doing or Caelan’s.
Following the meandering main street, he ended up at the central square, where he at last found someone—though he didn’t know whether to describe them as living or not.
A figure stood near the well close to where Eno had lain, dying while Rayne fought for him. Every inch of the man was covered in dried blood. His dark hair was matted to his head and his once-handsome face was lost to the blood and caked-on gore. His clothes hung heavy on him, soaked through. Never in his life had Eno seen a more horrific sight.
He wanted to curse the gods for bringing the man who had been a little brother, prince, and king to this point. He wanted to curse Queen Amara and Hagen Sigurd for dying in the first place. And he wanted to curse Cael for letting his mind sink to this dark place.
But cursing didn’t help anyone, and his friend needed his help desperately.
“Caelan.”
The figure turned slowly toward him, just a sliding of his feet on the dirt, as if he no longer had the energy or will to move. He lifted eyes to Eno that were haunting. Caelan’s irises had always been a rather pale shade of blue, but his eyes were nearly snow white now with fathomless black pupils.
Eno’s heart broke. It was like looking at a ghost. Caelan’s face was utterly expressionless, as if he were mentally checked out.
“You’re a disgusting mess. Go to the falls. I’ll grab some soap and be right behind you,” Eno commanded. He’d expected some kind of reaction—a snarl, a sarcastic comment, anything. Caelan blinked at him a couple of times and disappeared in a bright-white flash.
That was terrifying. He could appear and disappear like the other gods now. What was to stop him from going straight to Green Spring without them? Nothing. Eno shook his head and turned toward the house they were using. He needed to help Caelan get his head clear before he disappeared on them completely.
Slipping into the house, he found that neither Rayne nor Drayce had stirred while he was gone. He snagged his own backpack that held some soap as well as a somewhat clean change of clothes. He wasn’t going to try to wrestle Caelan’s bag free from Drayce. The fact that Caelan hadn’t returned to the house meant he wasn’t ready to face his fiancé yet.
He started to settle the bag on his left shoulder as he headed down the road and cursed himself under his breath. The right. Things were placed on his right now, leaving his stronger left hand free for self-defense. This was going to take some time to get accustomed to.
As he walked, he couldn’t help looking at his right arm, inspecting the tangle of white scars edged with healing pink skin. The joke around the Royal Guard was that women loved scars—proof of their toughness and dedication to the crown—but this was a bit extreme.
Didn’t matter.
Rayne knew every inch of his scarred arm and still threatened his life if Eno didn’t agree to marry him. Yeah, he was in good hands.
At the top of the falls, he found Caelan standing at the riverbank, staring into the water. He didn’t even turn at the sound of Eno’s approach—but then, he was truly a god now. What the fuck did he have to fear except for another god?
“Strip and get in the water. You need to get clean. I can smell you from here,” Eno shouted as he carefully picked his way through the rocks. It was on the tip of his tongue to state that Cael smelled like a damn slaughterhouse, but the young man didn’t need the reminder.
Young man…
How could he forget that Caelan was still so young? He was only twenty-three.
What had he been doing at twenty-three?
Trailing after a sixteen-year-old prince attending a private high school, inwardly moaning about getting stuck with a babysitting gig and worrying about the fate of the kingdom if Drayce Ladon was going to be Caelan’s choice for a best friend.
Caelan, on the other hand, had lost his parents, lost and regained his throne, fought gods, fought dragons, died more times than anyone wanted to count, and now…he was a fucking god.