Prologue
Raindrops pelted heavily on the dark wood mouldings of the coffin, cascading down the gold-encrusted columns until finally reaching the impoverished soil of Ather.
Arienna used all her concentration to focus on one particular droplet as she watched it race the others to the scorching soil below. The drop evaporated just as quickly as it had appeared, a small puff of smoke in its place.
It had been decades since Ather had seen rain, which was befitting for the funeral taking place. Upon an initial glance, one would assume that Mother Nature was crying at the loss of his majesty—but this couldn’t be further from the truth.
For years, the former King of Ather had ruled with an iron fist, his rage fueling the rising temperatures surrounding the kingdom. The earth surrounding Ather reacted akin to its ruler, whose anger engulfed the land in sordid flames and, as a result, famine. The kingdom’s farmlands lay as withered and desolate as a dried out fig.
Until today, that is.
The people rejoiced silently as the king’s coffin was lowered into the ground. There was no need to verbalise their victory. Arienna could feel the joy radiating off each individual in the crowd. Their bright auras illuminated the sky with a sea of light, the green sheen forming a luminescent stratus cloud in the sky. The earth wept with joy alongside the people of Ather, the ground eagerly soaking up the water source it so desperately needed.
Meanwhile, Arienna raised her head to the heavens, praying to the gods for a miracle that extended beyond a few drops of rain.
Her life was about to change profoundly, and it was all because of the hateful corpse now fermenting six feet underground. Her father was dead, and because she was a woman, she would be unable to rule the Kingdom of Ather on her own. Not only that, but the people were desperate for an end to The War, and so, sought the most obvious solution.
She grimaced at the thought, her sour emotions in stark contrast to the fleeting jubilation of her people as reality set in.
Arienna Malik was 28 years old, a virgin, and she was about to be married off to the coldest, most vile, self-centred manwhore in the land: King Thaddeus of Dimn.
