The Romance of the Demigods {Excerpt}

When she first heard tell that the princess had gone missing, Kesh did not think much of it—she was far too busy failing to devise an escape from her holding cell.

For it was hard enough, struggling to plan while burning from fresh betrayal. Her chest was heaving and her heart railed against the confines of her ribcage, even though she'd been sitting still for well over a couple of hours. Her legs tingled from how long she'd had her knees pulled to her chest. Dark eyes stared at nothing. Beneath the pounding of rain against the ungiving marble of the sanctuary exterior, the conversation between the two paladins posted by her cell danced idly into her ears:

"You hoping to get chosen for the search party?"

"Not particularly."

"You're mad for that," replied the first—tall (for all paladins were tall), short-haired, the specter of a scraggly maybe-beard threatening his neck and jaw. "You'd rather be here?"

His companion shared his height. She was broad-shouldered, blue-black hair assembled into a neat bun atop the back of her head. Through the floor-to-ceiling iron bars of the cell, this was all Kesh had seen of her. "I don't consider it part of my holy duty to hunt down runaway brides," the woman said.

"A runaway princess."

"Even so."

The young man scoffed. "You're mad," he repeated. "You say that, but when Haulgen arrives and you're picked anyway, you're gonna go and call it 'the highest honor' like anyone else."

"I do as the Holy Commander bids. Like anyone else." She almost sounded bored.

Kesh's nails dug into the light brown skin of her arms. She had heard of Réithe au Haulgen—the iron helm atop the body of the Paladins of the Sonnelic Host.

And he had heard of her.

A few hours ago, it had started to sink in: They were going to put her to death. Réithe au Haulgen was going to pull out his big fuck-you paladin broadsword and take her head off. Maybe after reciting some words to her of purifying the kingdom, and dominion over the Earth. And she knew he would enjoy it—it would be the same feeling as finally squashing a gnat that couldn't leave well enough alone.

It was her fault—the not leaving well enough alone. Her fault for wandering into lands that kept the faith of the Host without being prepared to run. In other parts, where the Old Way hadn't yet been smothered, the Fae and their magic were allowed free movement. Folk kept a reverent distance, save for when they were in need of borrowed magic. And in those parts, life was fine. It was her fault for assuming that she could exist with ease.

So in truth, it was her fault for trusting some boy.

Lightning blinked through the slim windows, set high in the stone walls. Thunder trundled lazily behind.

"I'm only saying," Kesh heard the first paladin go on, "you might as well look forward to it."

The second said nothing for a long moment. Long enough for Kesh to feel consumed by her own heartbeat once again. In time with the pounding of her pulse, she envisioned the Holy Commander's approach. Death. Death. Death approaches.

"There are better moments for talk like this," the woman said at last.

When Kesh looked up, the woman had inclined her head slightly to the side. She caught a sliver of the paladin's unreadable gaze before the woman went right back to ignoring her existence in favor of her companion.

Kesh wanted to kill her.

The young man had less tasteful designs. As much as he could in his silver breastplate and pauldrons, he relaxed against the bars. "What, that?" He jerked his speckled chin in Kesh's direction. "Gods, I'm hoping that's my way onto the search."

The woman huffed through her nose—disapproval. Metal jostled as she thumped him solidly on the shoulder. She said something to him, but Kesh could not hear it over a rolling peal of thunder, and the angry blood rushing in her ears.

They were insufferable by nature, the paladins. When they had finally forced her into submission with the nets and the rods of cold iron, Kesh had had to fight to stay aware through the pain of the frost searing across her skin, through the way her agonized shrieks rang through the late summer air. She remembered how they had mingled with the beginning threat of thunder.

And through all of it, she could hardly believe what he had said to her, then: "You're a far ways from the Veyl, aren't you?" Like he had been waiting to catch her, just to deploy his quip. It'd probably made his week. Unbelievable.

The Paladins of the Sonnelic Host were thusly unmatched.

Falling unconscious had been a mercy, but waking up to the same smirking face had been a new brand of punishment. The last sight she might see before Réithe au Haulgen had her hanged from the gallows would be the shit-eating grin of a paladin hungry for an accolade. Gods around. Her dead body, swaying from the gibbet, an accolade.

Aye. One was boorish, one was civil, but both of her paladin guards were happy to facilitate her execution. She almost preferred the young man in all his piggish apathy.

"Aye, well..." Kesh could about hear him roll his eyes. The young man had pushed himself away from the bars, gloved hands raised in a placating gesture. "...I'm stepping out to piss. Am I permitted to say that much?"

The woman may as well have been a brick wall for all she responded to him.

Fiendish eyes, seeking any sort of parting amusement, found Kesh. When they did, the young man grinned. By the shape of her curled up in the cell corner, surely he was reminded of his great deed, of the valor in surprising a young woman from behind as she toured a street-market in midday. He would tell his grandchildren about this, doubtless.

Even after the clomping of boots on stone receded far out of her view, Kesh's body remained still as stone. Her mind, meanwhile, jolted into motion. The terror, the paralyzing awareness of her imminent death—it paled beneath the enormity of the instinct possessing her. The oldest of her knowledge surged to life: survive at all cost.

Feel.

Beneath the wool of her skirt, now grimy and torn from her rough treatment, flush against the skin of her outer thigh, her means of escape was held fast by a strap of leather.

She had a knife.

See.

The paladin guard remained still and stoic, even as the thunder hammered on. Kesh traced up the back of the woman's armored figure with searing eyes. An engraved map of stylized constellations dappled the metal. She faced away from the cell.

Kesh remembered how crowded the street had been, when they'd gotten her. How many of the witnesses kept the Old Way, even in Cill Tossach, not a full mile out from the capital? An affront to the Fae-gods, what had happened. So the Sonnelic paladin faced outward. Just in case. But Kesh knew deep in her heart that none would come to save her, to plead the case of her existence.

Her gaze came to rest on the woman's uncovered neck. She was tall—all paladins were tall. But it would pose no obstacle.

Listen.

For the space of a breath, nothing more than the rain battering the sanctuary. Then—the sky bellowed.

Kesh closed her eyes for one last moment, letting her bones be rocked by the angry thunder. Normally, the sound and the feel of it made her sick with dread. Normally, the lightning sent her fleeing. Normally, she knew the rain would drown her if given the chance.

Now, for the first time in her life, Kesh gave thanks to the King of the Sky.

Go.