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Summary
Sparring with Enver Gortash is supposed to be simple: no magic, no weapons, just bruises and banter. But one careless jibe about Mirin’s divine blood cuts too deep, and her control slips—magic surges, her fist connects, and Gortash hits the ground hard, bloodied and grinning like he’s finally gotten exactly what he wanted.
Pinned beneath the spawn of a god, he isn’t afraid. He’s exhilarated.
In the charged quiet of the training yard, Mirin realises two things: Enver has been goading her power from the start, and he is more than willing to bleed to stand at the edge of her storm. What follows is a battle of wills and worship, where power is leverage, devotion is a weapon, and the man who would rule a city might just prefer to kneel for a goddess instead.
Or: Mirin loses her temper in the sparring ring, Gortash discovers that getting punched by a demigod is his new favourite hobby, and somewhere between bruises and blood, they start negotiating what it means to rule—together.
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Bookmark Notes:
Superb Durgetash smut.
Enver bloodied on his knees? Yes please.