Countess Evelyne sat alone in the dimly lit chamber, her delicate fingers gripping the armrest of her chair as she stared at the door her husband had walked through. The candlelight flickered against the polished wood, casting long shadows that danced across the chamber walls.
Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion and frustration.
The heavy oak door had barely closed behind Count Hamen, and yet his presence still lingered in the room like a shadow. She stared at the space where he had stood moments ago, her thoughts racing.
How could he be so calm? So unbothered? She had expected anger, perhaps even rage when she confessed Inadrys's visits.
But instead, he had been… indifferent. Thıs content belongs to novel⟡fire.net
Hamen had merely smiled. A knowing, unreadable smile that unsettled her more than rage ever could.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she replayed their conversation. Did he truly not care? Or was he hiding something behind that impenetrable mask?
And that was what unnerved her the most.
She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to make sense of it all. "Why isn't he angry?" she muttered to herself, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why doesn't he care?" The questions gnawed at her, eating away at her peace of mind.
Although she had been married to him for years, she couldn't claim to understand the man who shared her bed even now.
Evelyne scoffed under her breath, running a hand through her dark locks.
Never revealing his emotions, never showing weakness. And yet, she had seen how other men reacted in similar situations.
Jealousy, betrayal, and wounded pride—those were natural emotions.
But Hamen? He remained unshaken. He was like a fortress, impervious to the storm raging within her.
What are you thinking, Hamen?
She bit her lower lip, feeling an unfamiliar sensation creep into her mind.
Doubt? Fear? Perhaps something else entirely.
Was he truly indifferent to her affair?
Or was he plotting something beyond her comprehension?
She couldn't really understand. But the whole affair had been tempting and thrilling and too intoxicating. How many would get the chance to sleep with a deity, she thought it was like a blessing and gave herself to Inadrys.
Evelyne stood and walked to the window, her gaze drifting over the city below.
And somewhere in the castle, Hamen was walking away from her as if nothing had happened. She felt a sharp and sudden pang of anger. "Why won't you fight for me?" she whispered, her voice trembling. Why won't you fight for us?"
High above the city, far beyond the reach of mortal eyes, the skies were a different world.
The clouds parted, revealing a figure cloaked in divine radiance.
Ivyona, Queen of the Deities, stood amidst the clouds, her sharp eyes fixed on the scene below. She had been watching for some time, her interest piqued by the mortal drama unfolding in Godeylet.
Myron, the young Deivruta (children of deities are called deivruta), had heeded her words and come to the city, just as she had hoped. He had also sought out his father, just as she had intended.
A pleased smile touched her lips.
But her satisfaction was soon clouded by confusion.
Her divine sight pierced through the walls of his castle, observing his every movement, every word. She had expected him to react. To show some form of anger, possessiveness, or vengeance after discovering his wife's betrayal.
Not even the faintest flicker of emotion.
Her gaze narrowed as she leaned forward, studying the count more closely. Why?
Why was he so calm? Did he already know about Inadrys' visits? Had he accepted them? No, that didn't seem likely. A mortal would never take a god's interference so easily.
Her musings were interrupted by the sudden presence of another.
A familiar, powerful presence.
The clouds around swirled once again, making the presence known.
"I knew you were behind this."
Ivyona didn't need to turn to recognise the voice. The air itself crackled with divine energy as Inadrys approached, his form materializing from the golden haze of Illumarhen. His thunderous presence was subdued, yet the weight of his authority was undeniable.
The King of the deities crossed his arms, his piercing blue eyes locked onto her.
"Ivyona," he said, his voice deep and commanding.
"I see you've been busy."
Ivyona turned to him, her smile widening. "Dear," she said, her tone light but with an edge of defiance.
"It was you who led Myron here." His voice was neither accusing nor angry, merely stating what he already knew to be true.
Ivyona let out a chuckle, tilting her head slightly. "And what if I did?"
Inadrys' eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing. "You meddle too much, Ivyona," he said.
"This is not your game to play."
Ivyona chuckled, the sound like the tinkling of bells. "Oh, but it is," she said.
"You forget, husband, that I am the queen of deities. I can do what I want, just like you do."
Inadrys' expression darkened, and he took a step closer to her. "Be careful, Ivyona," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You tread on dangerous ground. Myron is my son, and his path is not yours to dictate."
Ivyona met his gaze squarely, her smile never wavering. "And yet, here we are," she said. "Watching, waiting, playing our parts. Isn't that what we do best?"
Inadrys stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
His eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned away. "This is my last warning, Ivyona. Stay out of this."
Then, without another word, he turned and vanished, leaving Ivyona alone in the clouds.
She watched him go, her smile fading as her gaze returned to the city below. "Oh, Inadrys," she murmured, turning her attention back to the county below.
"You always underestimate me."
Down in Godeylet, Count Hamen walked with measured steps through the castle halls, his expression devoid of any emotion. His deep blue coat swayed slightly with his movements, and his boots made no sound against the polished stone floors.
The castle doors opened before him, and he stepped into the evening light.
Waiting just beyond the entrance were Wymar and his men, standing in the courtyard. They had been left waiting, their patience wearing thin.
As Hamen approached, Wymar's face twisted into a scowl.