Arwin Tuuli

"Ithink it is sharp enough."

"You think," Arwin chuckled and lifted the blade for further inspection. "It could go for a couple of more hits to the whet stone."

Brontes rolled his eyes and shook his head before he leaned back on thick blankets. "Always so dramatic."

Arwin grunted a laugh before continuing the downstrokes on his sword, his forearm muscles bunching and corded under sleek tanned skin. "I hope you will call me dramatic when it is my sword that slashes through the neck of our enemy in one stroke." He turned to Brontes as a condescending smile stretched out on his face.

"What enemies, Arwin? Look at us!" Brontes waved his hands, gesturing at their predicament. "We are fucking lost in Umbriel. The one thing we need to think about is food and water which," Brontes turned to grab his satchel before tossing it at Arwin. "Is almost gone."

Arwin caught the satchel with ease, uncrewed the top and took two large swigs of it all the while Brontes stared at him, anger blazing through his honey-colored eyes.

"You are such a prick, Arwin."

"Ah, if I was such a horrible person, why would you keep me around?"

"Because Father wanted it that way," Brontes snarled before turning his back to him. "I hate being stuck here with you. I hate being your fucking babysitter."

"Babysitter?" Arwin threw the empty satchel at Brontes, hitting him right on the head. "You are only a couple of months older than me!"

"Still. It is babysitting."

"I would say it is the other way around. You are clearly not fit to be the heir."

Rubbing the back of his head, Brontes turned to face his companion, his features tense. "And you are?"

"I am a better fighter than you," Arwin quipped.

"Listen to me carefully, kid."

Arwin's grip on his sword grew tighter.

"For some reason, Father sees something in you that I do not see. He wanted us to go through this phase of training together because I know he plans on making you captain pretty damn soon, and after that, you will continue to climb until you become the general, but I want you to keep something in mind," Brontes paused as he pointed at his forehead. "I am the heir of the Sky Kingdom, you… you are a bastard piece of shit that my father needs to keep a secret."

"You know?"

"I saw you doing your little tricks." Brontes's upper lip twitched. "I put two and two together quickly. We Aithers like to put our dicks everywhere. Sadly, Father is less skilled in pulling it out." Brontes snorted and turned his back again. "I need to sleep. Tomorrow we will collect water. I hope there is an oasis nearby. We will replenish our satchels, kill something, and eat. Then we will head back to the castle.

Arwin's jaw tensed as he stared at the back of Brontes's head. His fingers twitched for his sword again but decided otherwise. Him and Brontes had been lucky enough to find a cave amidst the unforgiving desert of Umbriel. The cave was large and deep. Its opening was hidden on the side of a tall, rocky outcropping. Anyone else would have thought it was just another insignificant rock, Arwin had told Brontes they should explore it, maybe even turn it into a secret hideout just in case they were once again in Umbriel, but alas, Brontes refused to explore any further. The prince decided he had enough training and hiking for the day and made a fire before throwing his blankets next to it.

Arwin waited until the prince's soft snores filled the thick air before standing and tying his scarab to his belt. He grabbed one of the logs Brontes used to make the fire. He held it as a torch as he decided to go deeper into the cave. Turning one last time towards Brontes, he made sure he was asleep before venturing off.

The cave went deeper for a couple of miles before the ground went concave. With some proper tools and engineering, the cave could be used as some kind of refuge, maybe even a resting spot for soldiers or travelers. Arwin frowned, kneeled, and moved the torch closer to the edge on the ground. This place could really be made into a secret hideout, and no one would even find it. Tartarus, the heir didn't even see the promises of this place. Arwin did, as he did with the Sky Kingdom and its army.

With a satisfied grunt, the young man stood up straight and decided not to speak of his findings to Brontes. What good would it be?

"Enough!" Arwin bellowed as he grabbed one of his soldiers by his uniform and shoved him away. He looked down at the man tied up in front of him.

With a disgusted groan, Arwin rubbed his tired eyes before combing his fingers through his silver hair away from his face. "Really, Isen? You thought that a guy like you would just pass through, unseen?" He waited for a response, but Isen seemed to be too busy trying to get some much-needed air. "I asked you a question, tadpole."

Isen blew the water from his lips and raised his face to Arwin. Bun undone, strands of his blue mane stuck to his wet face and neck. The water mingled with trails of blood and dirt, down his chest and flank. He let out a deep growl, attempting once again to free his arms from the shackles secured over his head.

"You are not going anywhere." Arwin kneeled, now eye to eye with Isen's broken face. "Listen. I know Valda sent you. I know because you used one of the castle's horses to follow me. You see, the lad that seated your horse? He is with me, and so is every single soul in that castle." He licked his lips and moved closer. "I think you are the only parasite that thinks that Valda is the best to rule." His grin was dark. "Because you and all you Sealians are parasites, sucking the resources from our kingdom, moving in as if we have a fucking obligation to the likes of you."

"I serve the crown of the Sky Kingdom. Valda is the queen, she has the crown, I serve her."

"Ah, so they didn't break your jaw. Good." He chuckled. "Let me fix that." Arwin drew his fist back.

The Sealian grunted on impact, spat a glob of blood and turned back to Arwin.

"Listen. You can survive this. You can renounce Valda and pledge your allegiance to me. Because, let me be honest here, you might be Sealian, but you are a formidable soldier. Of course, not formidable enough to actually finish your mission. But that's fine. Nobody is perfect."

"You want to rule?"

"Are you listening to me, Captain Tadpole?"

"I can hear you loud and clear. I just want to skip all your bullshit and get to the fucking point."

Arwin stood up straight, his gaze fixated on Isen. "I should kick you for that."

Isen tutted. "You are the leader of the rebellion… You are a cockroach. You only do shit when hidden. Skylians will never bow to a nobody like you, Arwin."

"General to you, Captain. Respect the ranks."

Isen spit again, this time he almost caught Arwin's boot. Isen grinned. "Stay still, let me see if I can get your face next."

Arwin shook his head in amusement. He lifted his hand, and with a soft movement of his wrist, the air inside the cavern grew thick and heavy. He drew the air out of Isen's lungs, encapsulating his head in an empty airless void. Surprised gasps sounded around him, but his attention was on Isen's face, on his wide eyes and open mouth. Watching him gasp for air, struggling with his chains, brought him joy. Yet, he lowered his hand, freeing Isen and allowing him to breathe again.

Isen's gasps echoed off the walls of the cavern, muffling Arwin's steps as he moved close to him. The General fisted blue hair and pulled Isen's head back until he was looking down at cobalt eyes. He smiled and as gently as he could, wiped the blood from Arwin's lips. "Did you like my magic trick, tadpole?"

Isen heaved in air, his hands clenching on the chains above him for dear life. Still, he answered the General's question with a slow dip of his chin.

"Ah! You did?" He chuckled. "You make me blush, Captain Hurley. Would you like to see what else I can do?"

"You— you do not bear the mark." Isen grinned. "Do you?"

"I don't need that stupid mark on my forehead to rule."

"You are a bastard. That's why you are angry." Isen began to laugh but Arwin's grip on his hair tightened, making him hiss in pain. "The king died in battle, you hoped to take his place, but instead you were hammered down as the General. Not High Commander. No. Just General."

"If you keep running your mouth, you will see where you will lie. I might as well leave you to die under Umbriel's sun. What do you think?"

"I'd rather die than to pledge my allegiance to you." He spat again, this time in Arwin's right eye.

Arwin released him and planted the sole of his boot on his face. He wiped the saliva from his face and then turned to his soldiers, who looked at him with a petrified gaze. "I want him tied up and thrown out miles away from here. I want him to burn down to a fucking crisp."

One of the soldiers nodded while the other moved out of Arwin's way as he left the cavern. The General took one last look at Isen before grabbing a bag by the holding cell and leaving.

Arwin watched from the corner of the throne room as Brontes pressed his forehead to the now deceased king. At any crowning ceremony, the heir would press their forehead to the dead ruler as a way of passing on their knowledge.

Arwin thought it was a load of garbage.

His grip on his sword tightened as he heard Brontes proclaim himself king and place his crown on his head. A theater, he thought. Everything was a theater. As the leaders of every town and city came forward to congratulate Brontes and give their condolences, Arwin couldn't help but turn to face the corpse of his father.

His father…

He couldn't even mourn his death properly. The man never treated him as a son, he never treated him with the same warmth he treated Brontes. Arwin understood the reasons, but after the death of his mother, and moving into the castle at the tender age of ten, he thought that maybe the man who had given him the gift of wind would treat him like he treated Brontes. But no, he treated him as less, as another soldier in training. What Arwin wouldn't have done to at least receive an affectionate gaze from the king. Just a fucking gaze.

Arwin blinked the tears away and cleared his throat as he saw the new king walk towards him. Brontes smiled at him brightly, and surprisingly pulled him in for a strong and warm hug. Arwin froze, his hands unable to move, unable to process what was happening.

"We will be fine," Brontes told him, as if the death of their father would affect them the same way. "We got each other, right?"

Arwin nodded, his shaking hands moving to hold onto his half-brother. "We do."

"You won't let me do this by myself, right?"

Arwin shook his head and buried his face in Brontes's shoulder. "I won't."

"Good, because I need all the help I can get, and who better to help me than you." Brontes pulled away and patted his brother's young and handsome face. "Brother."

Arwin's chest swelled with pride. He nodded and cupped Brontes's nape, pulling him down to press their foreheads together. "Brother," he whispered, the word filling a void he didn't know had been empty.

Arwin opened his eyes just in time to see his lover rise from his bed. The beautiful young woman stretched her arms over her head, the bedsheets falling from her chest down to her slender waist. With a deep chuckle, he draped his thick arm over her figure, pulling her back to bed. The woman resisted at first, but after receiving soft, open mouth kisses to her shoulder she settled in against his chest.

"I should really get going, Arwin," she said, her hand lazily stroking soft circles to Arwin's taut and bare chest.

"You are always so eager to leave, Rionach," he groaned, pressing his hardening cock against her side. "Stay. Today is my free day, I can spare a couple of hours with you in bed."

Rionach chuckled, touched his stubbled jaw and pulled away. "I have places to go, though." She kissed the tip of his nose, so condescending and cold that it made the young soldier frown. "Oh, please. Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like," she motioned her hand at him. "Whatever that is!"

Arwin grunted and released Rionach before sliding off the bed and grabbing his pants. "Leave then."

Rionach scoffed. "Are you really going to act like that?"

He shook his head, pulling the pants on and combing his hair with his hands. "Like what?"

Rionach laughed and shook her head. "Really, Arwin?"

"Listen. I have no idea what is going on. You have been acting off ever since I introduced you to King Brontes. You merely want to spend time with me. You have blown me off on more than one occasion. For fucks sake, Rionach, we are supposed to get married!"

"No, Arwin. You want to marry me. I haven't accepted yet."

Arwin stopped moving and stared at the breathtaking woman lying on his bed, his fucking bed.

"I'm an idiot."

Of course, he was. He had ingrained in his head that Brontes was his brother, his only brother, his family, and that he should meet the woman he loved, the woman he should wed! But he saw the way Brontes's eyes flared, he saw his hungry gaze fall upon Rionach, and he saw Rionach return the look.

How could he be so fucking stupid? He knew there was a possibility they were mates. But he pushed the thought aside, lied to himself. There was no way the woman he loved was his brother's mate. Right?

"Why do you feel like an idiot?"

"Because I am, Rionach! Do you think I am fucking stupid?"

Rionach lifted her hands in defeat, grabbed her clothes, and got dressed as fast as she could. "I can't deal with you right now."

"You can never deal with me. You always run away instead of having an honest conversation."

"Says the one screaming."

Arwin grabbed his silver hair in exasperation. He opened his eyes and stared intently at Rionach. He needed to get a hold of his emotions and he needed her to leave. "Go, Rionach. Please."

Rionach nodded, and without saying another word, she left…

Arwin stared at the closed door for what seemed an eternity. He understood that he had asked her to leave, but he never thought she actually would. He decided to leave his room, go out to Ophelia Plaza, maybe have a drink. He needed time for himself. Maybe he was just over thinking things. Brontes wouldn't dare to come between him and Rionach.

Arwin had talked to him about her, about her beauty, of the day they met at the plaza. Of her gorgeous smile, long dark hair, of how headstrong she was, and how he felt each time she touched him.

He talked to Brontes of what they would do on their nightly visits, and although he knew it wasn't proper, he just felt proud saying that he was able to catch a woman such as Rionach… Brontes didn't seem interested until he met her; until his eyes fell on Rionach. Until he grabbed her hand and kissed it in greeting. Arwin could still feel the squeeze of his heart as his half-brother stared at Rionach.

Brontes wouldn't dare, would he?

He jumped on his horse and left the castle in a hurry. Ophelia Plaza would give him the distraction that he needed. He found said distraction inside the taverns. Even if he sat alone, women would approach him. His boyish good looks, his strange silver hair, always made him stand out to the rest of the Skylians. A trait he had inherited from his mother.

He drank alone, ignoring the hands of women and men, touching his back, wondering what he was doing, making small talk. He ignored them all. His mind always trailed back to Rionach, to her smile, to her hair, to her short, tight body. He suppressed an aroused groan and moved uncomfortably on his stool. He had met her years ago, during a Festival. He was dancing in the center square of the plaza, young, happy, unbothered. The only thing that he worried about was his rank test and how he would pass them to be where he was now.

She was standing by the musicians, watching them play, her hair down to her shoulders, her dress reached her thighs. As the music got louder, as more and more people were pulled into the square to dance, he was tangled by a group of youngsters, and before he knew it, he had her in his arms, dancing, laughing.

She seemed so unbothered, so … free. Free of judgment, of worries, of responsibilities, of anger, of sadness, pain. She was everything he wanted, and then more.

Before he knew it, she was stretching her arms to the sky, her eyes closed as he twirled her by the waist. He found himself laughing as well, breathless by her beauty, by their dancing, and by the closeness of her soft body to his. Rionach was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his entire existence, and he never wanted to let her go.

They were intimate that same night. He had taken her to his home outside the castle. The house used to be his mother's, and he still owned it. He was so nervous, scared that he might not be able to satisfy the goddess standing in the middle of the small living room, but her hands, her kisses, her caresses melted his anxiety away.

He wanted her forever, and he had decided as he held her down on his bed and thrusted into her, that he would have her. He grew addicted to her hands, to the way her face contorted when he was inside of her, of the small keening sound she made every time she was about to come, of how she squeezed his cock.

He was hers as she was his, and nothing and no one was to change that. He decided that she was his heart mate, they were to wed, that he would marry her and move out of the castle, that he would retire from his life as a soldier and live only to satisfy her, to keep that smile on her rosy lips, to hear her voice break as they made love. They would raise a family; she would bear him children and they would die holding hands when they grew old.

Arwin had everything planned in his head, all he needed was Rionach to say, "I do".

Rionach was his, and he wouldn't have it any other way. But he was sitting at a tavern alone, with a glass half empty and strangers trying to drag him to their sheets, and all he could think about was Rionach.

This wasn't the place to be. He needed to leave.

Arwin paid for his drink and decided to head back to the castle. Maybe it would be better to sleep and rest his tired, overworked mind, but as he walked down the halls of Oberon castle, as he noticed the pitiful looks the soldiers gave him, Arwin couldn't help but grow wary. Something was not right.

His boots echoed through the stone walls; his steps heavy with his own tiredness. As he went past the King's study, he couldn't ignore a soft keening noise he knew too well, he couldn't unhear the masculine grunts.

Arwin's heart dropped to his stomach. He took a sidestep towards the door, his heartbeat loud and deafening in his head. The moans of pleasure, the sound of flesh hitting flesh were loud enough to pierce through the haze of his worst fear.

Arwin's trembling hand fell on the door's latch, and slowly, silently, he opened the door to Brontes's office.

His hazel eyes fell upon Rionach's face. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted in a silent cry of pure pleasure, while Brontes, his brother, his blood, thrusted in and out of Rionach in an unforgiving and relentless rhythm.

His grip on his sword tightened, his upper lip twitched, yet he never spoke a word. Until Rionach's eyes opened. She saw him standing by the door from the corner of her eye, and she let out a loud gasp.

Brontes looked down at her in confusion then followed her gaze. Brontes pulled out, covered his erection, and grabbed his pants from the ground.

Rionach pulled her dress to hide herself, while turning away, ashamed.

"Arwin!" Brontes called out, moving to cover Rionach's disheveled form with his own.

"My king." Arwin's anger was dangerously contained. He stared at Brontes before slowly dipping his gaze to Rionach, his Rionach. "Miss."

"Arwin," Rionach's voice trembled. She pushed Brontes aside to face him. "Arwin, I—"

Before she could speak, Arwin pulled out his sword.

"Arwin," Brontes said, his voice calm yet deep. "Don't."

Arwin shook his head, his face stoic. He lifted the tip of his sword to Brontes's face. "I challenge you to a duel."

Brontes's eyes widened. "Are you insane?"

"If I win, you will leave her alone, I will become king." Arwin's eyes shifted to look at Rionach and then went back to Brontes. "If you win, you can marry her for all I care."

"I will not kill you."

"Might as well."

"Arwin, please. We can talk about this. Rionach and I, we are ma—"

"I don't want to know." Arwin pressed the tip of his sword to Brontes's Adam's apple, watching it bob with the force of his swallow. "Tomorrow, first light."

"Arwin! Please! I—"

"I would shut up if I were you, Rionach," Arwin warned, before putting his sword back into its sheath.

He stared at Rionach intently, as if searching for a hint of guilt in her eyes. Gods, if he saw just a speck of it, he would ask her to come back, to be with him, to leave the king. He was the one that loved her more than anything in this forsaken place. Yes, he was no king, but damn it, he loved her. He loved her so fucking much. Instead, what he saw made his skin crawl. All he saw was fear, not for him…

No.

Her small hand slipped through Brontes's, her fingers threading his. She squeezed his hand, looking for comfort. She was scared, not of losing Arwin, but of losing the king.

His gaze dropped to the floor. Arwin turned away and closed the door behind him. When he was finally down the stairs, heading to his chamber, and alone, then he let out a shuddering breath.

He pressed his back to the door, locking it in his wake before he slid down to the cold stone floor. If he died tomorrow, he wouldn't care, if he killed the king, he wouldn't care either. If he killed her. He shook his head and grabbed his hair in frustration. He couldn't kill her. Not her. He couldn't extinguish the fire that she ignited in him. He couldn't destroy that smile, that laugh. No, not Rionach.

He couldn't.

He shouldn't.

He wouldn't.

Arwin exhaled, standing again, and undid his belt. His sword clattered loudly as it fell. His chest was heavy with unshed tears. Whatever happened tomorrow, he had lost Rionach. He slipped under the covers and touched the side where Rionach had been hours ago.

Her scent still clung to the pillow, to the sheets. He hugged the pillow tightly to his face, and it dawned on him. He never really had her in the first place, had he?

Arwin did not sleep. Instead, he recounted the moment he met Rionach, and brought her to his home. He replayed the countless nights they would sit after making love and talk about what each one of them wanted. He always added her to his future, always talked about how he would get her a bigger house, how he would buy her the most expensive dresses. Her happiness was his goal.

She would listen to him intently, smile at his words and laugh when he said something too ostentatious. She never said no to him, but… she never truly said yes.

Arwin kept his gaze fixed on a specific stone of the ceiling as maids walked down the halls and soldiers changed shifts.

He needed to get up. The sun was already out, and the king was probably waiting for him somewhere at the back of the castle, where soldiers would be sent to train or spar. He pulled himself out of the bed, grabbed the forgotten belt from the floor and buckled it. He attempted to fix his hair with a shaking hand.

Exiting his chamber, he walked past the judging gaze of the guards by the halls. Arwin knew they knew. Word always traveled fast in Oberon castle. As he stepped outside, he searched for Brontes amongst the soldiers. He found him, sitting on a wooden stool in an open sandy square. Soldiers stood around, wanting to see the duel between the General of the royal Skylian army, and the King.

Arwin's heart raced, his grip on his sword tightened as he approached his brother, but as he got closer, he saw her. Rionach stood away from the king, yet close enough for Arwin to know which side she was really on.Their eyes met, and for the first time Arwin saw something twinkle in them when she saw him. Yet, that spark wasn't love. It was something else…

Pity?

"Arwin," she gasped and walked to him. His heart beat faster, stronger.This woman would be the end of him if he allowed it. "Arwin," she touched the hand that held his sword. "Please, you do not have to do this."

Arwin blinked, staring down at Rionach as if expecting something else in them. She wasn't worried about him; she was worried about Brontes. She was petrified to see him hurt. How...dare she!?

"I don't, but I want to." He turned to Brontes, whose face showed remorse rather than fear. "Let's get this over with."

Arwin pushed the door to his chamber open. He let the bag hit the ground with an audible and disgusting crack. His trip back to the castle was slow and hot. His cotton shirt stuck to his sweat dampened skin. As he sauntered to his bed, he caught his reflection in the mirror next to his closet.

He had weathered the years well. The fine lines at the corners of his eyes were prominent, as well as the ones at the edge of his mouth. Luckily his hair was already silver, no white hair would pop out. He was still strong, his body an easy witness to that. His arms were thick, thicker than many of the young soldiers at Oberon castle.

Arwin ran his fingers through his hair and tilted his head to the side. He stared at the scar along his jaw, the one that many people saw first when they laid eyes on him. His reminder. As he continued his scrutiny, he decided that something was missing.

Turning to his sleeping space, he wandered about his closet, getting on one knee, and pulling out a large box. He went back to the mirror, opened the box, and took out a crown.

It was Brontes's crown.

Made of thick, embellished gold, and studded with the same gems as the Heaven Sword. The symbol of Ouranos was shaped delicately in the middle of it, proud and powerful.

Arwin had taken it from Rionach's room, because it was his now. The throne was his. Not Valda's, not Rionach's, no one else's but his. It had to be his since the moment Brontes died, but his heart did not pump pure royal Skylian blood. He was a bastard. He took in the crumbs of whatever power was given to him by Brontes.

He was supposed to be happy with that…

He wasn't.

His fingers traced over the crown, over the symbol. His tired eyes inspected and analyzed each and every single detail. It was immaculate, as if it was only worn on special occasions…

Well, Arwin needed to fix that.

Raising his gaze to the mirror, he held the crown with both hands, lifting it over his shoulders, over his head. He closed his eyes and ever so slowly, he placed the crown on his silver head. When he adjusted it enough to know it wouldn't fall to the dirty ground, he opened his eyes.

There he was.

King Arwin of the Sky Kingdom…

Arwin hated that Brontes was so calm, so collected. It was as if the asshole took duels everyday. Damn it! He was fighting him! His brother! His own fucking blood. How could he be so calm!?

Arwin gritted his teeth, his nose flaring as the king stepped close enough to grab Rionach and pull her away from him. Brontes unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Arwin before barking orders at the soldiers—Captains and Lieutenants of the royal army looked on, in disbelief. They probably couldn't imagine that anyone would even dare point their blade at the King.

"General Arwin has challenged me to a duel."

They gasped and he smirked, his chin high. They probably didn't believe that he would have the audacity to do so. Well, he did, and he was going to win.

"As it is stated in Skylian law, anyone can challenge the king to a duel. If I win, we will continue with our lives as if nothing happened." Brontes's eyes burned through Arwin. The king was unyielding, whereas Arwin shifted his weight. He was nervous. There was no doubt about that, yet Arwin didn't want anyone to notice.

"If General Arwin wins, he will become the next king."

"What!?"

"Sir! Reconsider!"

Brontes silenced his soldiers with a wave of his hand. "It is the law."

Angry gazes settled on Arwin. Yet, his eyes did not falter. He looked upon the king with a dour stare, taking one step forward.

"No one will step in to help. No one will fight this. We will duel with our swords." Brontes dipped his chin and repeated himself. "With our swords."

Arwin understood right away and nodded in agreement. No gift would be used, only their sword and strength.

Brontes shifted closer and touched his sword to Arwin's. "I forgive you. Whatever happens"

Arwin's upper lip twitched. Forgive him? For what? For defending his honor? For punishing him for touching what was his?

"Fuck you!" And with an angry snarl, Arwin charged.

But Brontes was stronger and quicker.

Of course, he was. He had the best trainers, the best food, the best beds. The much-needed rest of a man that was to become king. His mother probably worried that he ate enough, that he rested. His father encouraged him to keep going when he was about to give up.

What did he have?

His mother died when he was young. She always saw him as a burden, an unavoidable problem she would carry until he was old enough. Luckily, she had died before his coming of age, she didn't have to see how miserable his life had been—how hard it was to obtain something, anything. If Brontes had to work for his strength, for his skills, Arwin had to work twice as hard. He still couldn't believe he had made it to General. He couldn't believe he was still even alive.

The air exploded out of his lungs as his back hit the sandy ground when Brontes had kicked the back of his knees. He opened his eyes and rolled away just as Brontes's sword thrusted into the spot he had been seconds ago.

Arwin scurried away from him, his chest burning with unreleased anger and as he looked up, the king fixed his shirt as if this was merely training, a sparring session. Fear dawned on Arwin. Brontes was going to win. He was going to thrust his sword into his stomach, he was going to decapitate him—the death of a traitor. His body would probably be tossed away to the blood-stained sands of Umbriel, vulture food.

As Arwin's gaze fell on Rionach, he saw that same fear in her tear-clouded eyes. She was crying, covering her mouth, trying not to say a word. Was she not trying to take sides? Did she feel something for him? Probably. She had to. There was no way in Tartarus that what they had was nothing.

She had seen him with an adoring gaze, she had screamed his name—his name time and time again. It was him who she held onto when she succumbed to pleasure. It was him she smiled at when she woke up, the first one she kissed. His skin was the first thing she touched when she needed to feel alive. It was him! Not Brontes! He was there first!

He was there first.

Arwin's head dropped.

All he ever wanted was to be someone's first choice. He wanted to be Rionach's first choice, he wanted to be his father's first choice—Brontes's first choice. His brother.

That was all.

Arwin's leg faltered as he blocked another attack. Brontes had struck from above, waving his sword as a hatchet. The King was focused on hurting him, his brother. His only brother, his only blood relative who remained alive.

Now on one knee, taking mouthfuls of air, Arwin looked up to Brontes. The king stumbled back, making space. No, that won't do. Not now. He wouldn't do this. Brontes would never leave things unfinished.

"Just kill me," Arwin mumbled, his eyes filled with tears until they overran, spilling over his dirty smudged cheek. "Please. Just get it over with."

Rionach screamed at the top of her lungs, begging Brontes not to kill him.

His heart broke even more. She wanted him alive. For what? To see her marry the king? To see her gift that smile to Brontes instead of him? To see her round with a child that wouldn't be his?

Arwin's stomach knotted, and he crouched, holding his flanks. "My King, please. I beg you." Arwin didn't see Brontes's forlorn stare fall from him to Rionach and back to him. He was in too much pain to even dare look up, to face his reality. The king won. Everything would remain as it was. He would marry Rionach, crown her queen, have royal descendants with her… descendants who would rule instead of him.

"I will not kill you, General Arwin."

Arwin's blood boiled. "Please." He lifted his head to look at him again. "Kill me!"

"I will not!"

Desperation settled in. He would not be witness to Brontes's ascension, to his marriage, to him holding a child with Rionach. He would not witness Rionach pulling Brontes down for a kiss, dressed in white and with a tiara on her head. He would not. Arwin's grip on his sword tightened. He tried one last time.

"King Brontes, I beseech you."

The king shook his head.

Arwin kneeled down, begging yet. No amount of begging would do. The king would not yield. He never did. Arwin snapped, and with the last ounce of energy in him he raised his sword to strike.

With the same speed as lighting, the Heaven Sword struck Arwin's face, his weapon dropping along with his remaining dignity.

Arwin stared at his reflection. The long gash on his face had long been sutured. A flesh wound. The doctor had called it a flesh wound… as if it was just a scrape of a mere child falling on his knees. A flesh wound…

The healer forgot to say that it would leave a horrendous scar on Arwin's once handsome face. Tilting his head, Arwin inspected how the healing was coming alone. He looked miserable. If he weren't such a coward, he would've ended himself right there in front of the king, but oh no, he had to be theatrical and ask Brontes to end him.

Brontes had come into his room after the match, as if Arwin's pride hadn't been damaged enough. The king gave him some much-needed leave to recuperate his strength.

Of course, the king needed him. He was his fucking general. He knew more of the army than Brontes did, and yet…

Arwin looked at himself one last time and decided that it wasn't worth it. Thinking about everything was not worth it. It was done. Brontes would marry Rionach. They were soulmates. Arwin would continue being the general, and Brontes king. Rionach would bear him an heir to the throne, and Arwin would watch as the baby was presented to the world, and he would go through the stupid protocol of bowing on his knees and pledge his loyalty to that baby. The mere thought of him kneeling and presenting his sword to Brontes and Rionach, made his stomach recoil in anger. Scoffing, Arwin grabbed his coat and left the castle.

His goal, for now, was to drown his sorrow with alcohol at Ophelia Plaza, and subsequently find someone to use and forget about the soon-to-be queen of the Sky Kingdom. Yet his visit to the local tavern was unfruitful. People walked up to him and touched his shoulders, but as they saw the scar, they moved away, probably scared not only by the scar but also by whatever was the cause. Arwin didn't blame them at all. The gash was disgusting, red with the still fresh stitches that pulled his skin. If he let his beard grow, maybe it would cover it up, but as much as he hated that mark, he found it to be a good reminder of what he had done. He had challenged the king and survived.

He snorted.

Who was he kidding?

He survived because Brontes took pity on him. If he had been any other soldier, he would've been dead, his corpse tossed out to rot in the blazing Umbriel desert, food for scavenger birds. But no. He was alive, all because he was the king's secret sibling.

"Fucking asshole," Arwin murmured to himself as he chugged another shot.

Another pair of soft hands brushed his shoulders, and he turned around. He was met with dark hooded eyes and a mischievous smile. He grunted as he took in the woman before him. He wasn't enticed, he wasn't even moved, so he turned and asked for another shot.

"It is such a sad thing, to see the General of the strongest army in Gaia, drinking away his sorrows," the woman said, sitting on the stool next to Arwin. "Bad week?"

Arwin rolled his eyes before facing the woman. "Bad life."

"Got it. I can't blame you. You would think that life here would be easy. It isn't." The woman smiled at the bartender and winked. "I'll have whatever he is having."

"I am not paying."

"Oh, is King Brontes not paying his soldiers what they are due?" She laughed, circling her finger around the glass, taking one short sip. "Oh my, the hard stuff. I'm always fascinated how mortals want to destroy their insides with such things."

Mortals? Arwin's curiosity peeked. Out of the corner of his eye, and acting as uninterested as he could, he took in the woman. An ethereal smile painted her lips as her dark eyes examined the now empty glass. Her skin glowed with eternal youth and unbroken innocence. This woman was not real, she was… goddess-like.

"Who are you?"

The woman chuckled, her eyes flicking to Arwin's. Holding his gaze, she leaned closer to his space—her scent was thick and flowery, overpowering. Swallowing hard, Arwin allowed her essence to relax him, subdue him, and he found himself smiling at her. Her own grin never wavering, as if she had nothing to be worried about, unlike him.

"I think the last name that stuck with me was Eris." She chuckled.

Arwin released the breath he was holding, a shiver running down his spine.

Eris, goddess of discord.

What was she doing here? What did she want? Wasn't she supposed to be gone, along with the other gods?

Arwin's hands trembled, unable to do something other than stare. Finding his voice again, he cleared his throat before asking, "What do you seek?"

Eris laughed, the sound earthy and pure, and otherworldly. "I seek nothing, General. It is you who seeks something you cannot obtain." She settled the glass between them, her hand slipping to touch him. The contact froze him in place. "I've heard your cries, General. I've seen you on your knees begging, whimpering to Ouranos to give you peace, to fill your heart. What has he done?"

Nothing. Ouranos had done nothing but ignore him. Arwin shook his head, answering her question.

"I didn't ignore you, General. I heard you loud and clear, and I am here. Renounce Ouranos, let me be your goddess."

Pushing his chair back, Arwin stood, knocking his drink, spilling over, and dripping to the floor. He pulled a couple of coins from his trembling hands and slammed them on the table and walked away. As he exited the tavern, he could feel the goddess' burning glance on his back.

It had been two months since Arwin found himself face to face with the goddess Eris. And in his desperation to hide from her, he had decided to head to his old home, where he used to live with his mother. Maybe she couldn't find him there, but as Arwin pushed the door open, he feared Eris' glance would find him. Racking his fingers through his white hair, he stared at the mess in his living space. Its interior was slowly succumbing to a lifetime of neglect, the condition worsening with each passing week. He knew he needed to go back to work but didn't think he would be ready to face the king or Rionach again.

But what if he did what he was yearning to do? He could do as Eris wished. Renounced Ouranos as his god, go under her wing and protection. Worship her. What would happen if he did? Could she really give him what he wanted?

A soft knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. Turning towards the entrance, he noticed the door ajar. A small face pressed through, and a pair of dark eyes stared back at him. Arwin's chest tightened with recognition.

"Rionach?"

"Arwin," she sounded relieved to see him. "I thought you would be here."

Rionach took a step inside and closed the door behind her. And just like that, the air in the small living room grew dense, acidic. Arwin swallowed hard and stood in the middle of the room, unmoving. He hadn't seen Rionach since the duel, and he thought that maybe staying away from her would clear out what he felt for her, but oh, how wrong he was.

"What are you doing here?"

Did she come back to say sorry? Did she want to take him back? A small spark of hope ignited in his chest. He would take her back in a heartbeat, he would forget about the entire duel ordeal, he would forget about seeing her underneath his brother. Gods, he would take her back and worship her instead of Eris.

"Does he know you are here?" he asked, but the mere thought of his brother made his nose scrunch as if he just smelled something rotten. But when Rionach's face softened so did his frown. "What is it?" he asked again, holding his breath.

Rionach's eyes turned from him up to the broken-down ceiling. Maybe she was reminiscing of their time together in his home, perhaps she was searching for words as beautiful and articulate as she was. He couldn't help but smile hopefully, his fist clenching by his side.

"I am sorry, Arwin."

He released his very soul from his lungs. "Sorry?"

Rionach nodded. "I am sorry I was never clear. I am sorry I am not clear right now. I am sorry it had to come to this."

Her hands quivered. Unsure of what to do with them, she looked down and clasped her fingers together, preventing them from trembling. He tilted his head to the side and stepped towards her, arms open. Oh, how he wanted to embrace her one more time, to pull in all the broken pieces of his own heart with one hug, surrounded by her scent, and heal himself.

"I love you, Arwin," she whispered, and just as his face brightened with a beaming smile, just as he took another step to grab her, she added, "I am just not in love with you."

What? The pressure in his chest became unbearable, suffocating the goodness in him one more time. He couldn't keep his eyes on her one more second, so he looked down at the dirty ground. What was the use of this? Why did she need to come here and tell him that? What was the fucking need?

"I think you should know; the wedding has been moved."

Wedding? Right… "Already regretting it?"

"It will be sooner."

He closed his eyes tightly.

"Arwin, I am pregnant."

Arwin's gaze flitted to Rionach, hoping that she was bluffing, but the seriousness and distress in her face was evident. She was pregnant. How far along was she? His large rough hands clasped Rionach's arms. "It's mine, isn't it?"

The distraught in her eyes shifted, leaving way for a surprised gasp. "No. It's—"

"Don't you dare, Rionach. Don't you dare say it is his. You were in my bed the same fucking day you cheated on me." He fought the desperate sob that dared to escape him. His grip tightened as he ignored Rionach's pained wince. "That is my child! I will not allow you to marry someone else if you are carrying my child!"

"Arwin, you are hurting me!"

With a snarl, he released her. The future queen of the Sky Kingdom shouldn't have bruises… He moved his hands to his hair. Fire burned inside of him, a million thoughts running through him. Kill the king, keep Rionach close. Overthrow everything. Pray to Ouranos, pray to Eris.

"Rionach," he began, turning away from her as she rubbed her hands over the lingering feeling of his grip. "Rionach. If that child is mine, I swear I will kill him and take you back." His voice didn't quiver or fault.

"It is not yours," Rionach whispered.

"This child is mine, and so are you."

Rionach shook her head and opened the door behind her to leave. "You are not all right."

He wasn't. Not when all of this was happening as fast as it was. How could he even breathe near Brontes knowing he was raising his child. How could Arwin stand by the king and queen as they present the new royal baby as theirs.

"I am leaving, Arwin. This is it."

"Leave then," Arwin muttered, his back still turned to her when receding steps echoed until the door closed.

Rionach was correct. He was not all right. How could he be when everything he held dear, everything he wanted, was being snatched from his very hands? The wind inside of him was rough and jagged, pulling and slipping out of himself, mimicking the inner turmoil that consumed him, wanting to escape one way or another. With a scream, Arwin fell to his knees and the house around him exploded in a gust of angered wind.

Arwin's knees wouldn't stop shaking. He was sitting outside the royal chamber while Brontes walked back and forth, almost wearing a hole into the rug. The news ran through the entire castle. The queen was in labor, and she had two midwives and a doula at her disposal while Arwin and Brontes had to wait outside.

At first, Brontes didn't want to be in the same room as him. But maybe it was the way his eyes glazed over with tears, or perhaps it was the desperation to know if the woman they both loved would be all right, which made Brontes allow him to sit in the living space outside the royal chamber.

And now they were both in the same room in a horrible waiting game.

Arwin rubbed his cheeks, his body trembling with anticipation. Would the child look like him? Will it sport his gray hair, his hazel eyes? Will it be a boy? A girl?

"It's been too long," Brontes snarled as he turned on his heels before starting another anxious lap over the rug.

Arwin agreed. It had been too long. He couldn't wait to see Rionach in all her glory, holding their child. Their child.

After their conversation at his mother's house, he hadn't said a word to her. He only saw her in the castle's halls, walking back and forth with the chambermaids while the castle's staff prepared for the royal wedding. A wedding that he had no choice but to attend. It was a morning wedding, and as he stood next to other high officials of the army, he couldn't help but look at his brother with such envy. Arwin was able to contain his emotions until he saw her.

As Rionach walked down the hall, Arwin took her in. Her hair was half-pulled into a bun, her off-shoulder dress left her perfect skin uncovered for anyone to see, and how dare they see her skin. Arwin never would've allowed such a dress in the first place. He wouldn't allow anyone else to see her…

As she walked past him, he could smell a faint hint of her vanilla soap, overpowered by a strong lily perfume. Her scent was off, but it was still Rionach; it was still his Rionach.

He focused on her face, her smile, so bright, brighter than he had ever seen before. She released the bouquet to grab hold of Brontes's hand.

The fire boiling in Arwin's stomach burned with an intensity like no other. His eyes were locked in the union of their skin, and he could still remember the way Rionach gasped for breath underneath Brontes.

His eyes bounced from their joint hands to Brontes's face and the happiness that shone there… it was supposed to be his. It was supposed to be him holding her hand, recipient of her gorgeous grin. Oh, how satisfying would it be to pull out his sword, drag it across the king's neck, and take his place.

An infant's cry broke the images of the flashback. Anger diluted as the cries grew louder and stronger. Brontes stopped his march, his gaze fixed with the closed door to the chamber. Within seconds, a handmaiden opened the door with tears in her eyes.

"Your Highness! She is here!" the handmaiden exclaimed.

She? A girl?

Brontes exhaled the breath he was holding and almost pushed the young handmaiden out of his way when he entered the royal chamber. One midwife washed her hands while the doula gently helped Rionach breastfeed the infant. Brontes's face wrinkled with emotions at the sight of his wife and child. And Arwin…

Arwin's whole world collapsed on itself as he saw the baby's dark hair…

Ebony, like Brontes's.

Rionach was too busy soaking in her husband's affection, all the while trying to adjust the child in her arms. All Arwin could do was imagine what it would be like if it were him kissing her tears away, him supporting the child's weight in his arms, him who felt as if his chest would explode with pride.

Rionach raised her eyes for a split second, and as soon as she saw him standing there, she turned her gaze to the child in her arms. He wasn't even worth a second glance, an acknowledgment.

His upper lip twitched, and he decided to leave. He bowed his head to no one and closed the door on his way out.

The kingdom, along with every single person in it, could burn for all he cared. How long had Rionach been sleeping with Brontes? How was she so sure that her child was his? Arwin didn't need to be there when she gave birth, but he was. He was there because he needed to be there for her regardless of the outcome. Because he cared.

He cared enough to make sure the child was healthy, enough that when the child was a couple of months old, he bowed down to her and Brontes, and presented his sword to them. Not only that, but he also swore to be loyal and to keep her safe.

Valda Aither, princess of the Sky Kingdom.

The name sent a shiver down his spine when she was presented to the people as if she was something special. She wasn't. She was just the daughter of his traitorous brother and his whore wife. What bothered Arwin the most was how much she took after Brontes. Valda was his spitting image. All smiles, black hair, and honey-colored eyes. There was no doubt that she was Brontes's, and apparently, there was no doubt she was the one the Fates spoke to Brontes about.

She and her mate would change things. They would bring forth a new world order.

No, she would not change how things were. For it was him, Arwin, who would change everything, even if it was for the worse, even if it took him all his life to achieve it.

The plan was set in motion when the news spread of the new Sealian royal baby—a girl. A baby girl was born, and already the whispers of change and renewal spread throughout every meeting in each castle and kingdom.

That wouldn't do for Arwin. And so, he walked out of the castle, out of Ophelia, and into the Umbriel desert, feet sinking into the dense sand, the harsh burning heat on his shoulders.

He didn't crave death, he craved revenge, and it wasn't until he found himself falling to his knees that he realized he was calling out for her; for Eris.

Her sweet embrace chilled the heat on his shoulders and face, as if a cool blanket enveloped him. Sparkling eyes looked upon him as a smile, more radiant than the sun itself, clouded everything around him.

"We meet again!" Her voice was sweeter than anything he had heard before.

He smacked his chapped lips together, looking for the right words.

Shaking her head, she brushed away his hair and smiled even wider. "Oh, how lost you are," she whispered, her lips trailing a soothing comfort on the skin of his forehead. "I can lead you back— to where you want to be. But I need something in return."

"Anything," he said, his hands fisted by his side, scared to touch the goddess before him.

"Build me a temple, fill your people's mouths with prayers for me, sacrifice, and spill blood in my name. You will have my protection, and you will rule."

Rule. He would rule. What more could he possibly want?

"Done."