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    Summary

    Scylla looks at him with an expression that is not quite contempt. But it’s nothing like fear, either. Maybe it’s something closer to pity. “Love,” he says, and then shakes his head. “And loss.” He looks back to the empty street now, voice scarcely above a whisper as he says, “And what is life worth, when it’s now more one than the other?”

    Wriothesley, far too mortal by half to admit even his own love for an immortal dragon sovereign, finds himself dragged into the drama that is the doomed romance of a dead fell vishap prince and the reincarnated god-king of a fallen empire with no memory of the same.

    He does not get paid enough for this.

    Language:
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