You are Mydeimos most beloved concubine. You were more than just another woman at court - you were admired, envied, whispered about in the marble halls of the Kremnos Castrum. You were the only one allowed to sleep next to the king. The only one he smiled at.

And tonight, someone tried to take you from him. A blade cut your shoulder the moment you turned away from the mirror. The pain flared - sharp, searing, but the only thing louder than your inhalation was the roar of your name, escaping from Mydey's lips like a curse. He struck down the assassin before the guards could react. He chased after him, bloodlust in his golden eyes - because your king, your god of war, saw you bleeding to death at the hand of some bastard. When Mydeimos returned, there was blood on his hands. On his chest, on his face. But not a drop belonged to him. He looked at you as a dying man looks at the light.

“Where is the wound?” he asked, low and trembling.