Rhoetus rode through the thinning army, across the lowered drawbridge and toward the castle’s inner gates. The lump in his throat protested as he attempted to swallow. This was it. The first time he’d set foot inside this place since that fateful day.

Today was the day he’d become King.

And rule over his land, his people.

Alone. He scowled at his fisted hands in front of him. Damn. Nothing he could change about that. The path before him was set. There was no going back, only forward. Only ever forward.

Shoulders straight, spine rigid, he trotted up the wide staircase toward the imposing wooden doors.

Lycus, transforming from wolf into centaur, paced to his side. “Brother.” He bowed his head and swept his arm for Rhoetus to pass through.

Clenching his jaw, he placed his hands on the smooth wood and pushed, shoving the doors open. “Minos,” he bellowed, his thunderous voice echoing into the vast emptiness. Where was the swiney bastard?

Lycus stomped to his side and they exchanged raised brows. His army stole inside behind him, fanning out to search the adjoining rooms.

A hundred paces ahead, a wide staircase led to a platform governed by a single obsidian throne. The high arched dome above him resounded the clanking of his hooves about the empty hall. Two staircases ascended on either side, to the east and west. Beyond the throne loomed a majestic stained glass window, only the scenes which had once been portrayed—of centaur victories—now projected human tales. He curled his lip at the offensive images.

Where was the false King?

Rhoetus gripped his sword, ready to behead the fiend and claim his birthright.

“Empty!”

“There’s no one here.”

“They’re gone, milord,” his soldiers called from each of the alcoves.

Minos was gone.

The bloody cur.

Rhoetus fisted his hands and whipped his head. This would be no victory at all if he didn’t even get to defeat his enemy.

“We’ll find him eventually.” Lycus slapped him on the shoulder. “For now, let’s take the victory we fought so hard for, heh?” He extended his arm toward the throne. “It’s yours, my King.”

Around him, the soldiers grouped together in a circle and, one by one, dropped to their knees, fists braced over hearts. Chants of “My King” rumbled through the chamber, growing steadily louder.

Steeling his shoulders, he targeted his gaze on the throne. The same one his father had occupied for so many years. It never should have been passed to him like this, yet he would do his best to make his parents proud.

Rhoetus strode forward, each step heavy and echoing through the hall, until he reached the chair. Turning about, he sank onto the throne.

Claiming his place as King.

The moment he perched upon it, a sizzling jolt spiked through his veins, freezing his body and lashing his limbs to the throne. The entrance doors slammed shut with an ominous thud.

A chortle cackled from behind the throne. “Now, now, Lord Rhoetus. You didn’t presume it would be that easy, did you?”

* * *

Minthe couldn’t travel to Krete any faster than this boat carried her, but she viewed across the boundaries of time and space—through the stars.

She sat cross-legged on the ship’s deck and lifted her face to the sky. It didn’t matter that it was daytime. The stars always shone, even if one couldn’t detect them. Stretching her powers, she called upon the starlight to illuminate her hands and open a passageway for her to peer through.

Rhoetus. Where are you?

Squinting, she leaned close as the vision came into focus. There he was. Proud and strong, and in some kind of castle.

His castle? Could it be?

She bit her bottom lip as Rhoetus marched forward through a kneeling crowd, toward an obsidian throne, carved smooth and mirrored as glass. He approached the throne and she held her breath.

As he posed upon the destined seat, joy misted tears in her eyes.

He’s waited so long for this.

But then, something went wrong. She spun the vision toward his face, and pain sliced through his expression. His body bucked as though he wrenched his limbs, but they appeared frozen to the throne.

A menacing cackle iced down her spine. “Now, now, Lord Rhoetus. You didn’t presume it would be that easy, did you?”

No. Minthe inhaled a gasp. It couldn’t be.

Yet from the shadows behind the throne a male emerged. No, a youth? His countenance didn’t appear nearly old enough to be this famed King Minos. No weathering of age kissed his features, his blackened orbs, nor his harshly curved mouth.

He wore an ornate costume, red silk printed with a flowered pattern, the robe descending to his knees where it was met with tall boots. A hanging belt strapped about his waist, and long sleeves fell from his shoulders. He was tall and lanky, but not powerful in body. That didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. Words could be a potent weapon. The crown upon his golden-haired head was fashioned of twisted branches interspersed with red gemstones, the whole thing cast of pure gold.

He acted no more than a spoiled child. She scrunched her nose in distaste. The foul fiend. This was the one responsible for murdering thousands?

Oh, gods. What he did plan to do with Rhoetus and the others?

The snide male advanced to Rhoetus’s side. Half a dozen of his soldiers lunged forward, but Minos raised a hand and they collapsed to the ground, as if frozen.

“Tsk.” He bent toward Rhoetus, whose nostrils flared with intense fury. “Call your men off, before they join their friends.”

Rhoetus jerked his chin. “Stay back.”

“Good.” The male’s snide lips curled. “I hope you didn’t actually believe you’d seize my throne from me, did you?” He cocked his head at Rhoetus, hands clasped behind his back. “You see, I’ve spent much time calculating precisely how this moment would happen and, I must say, it pleases me greatly that you fell right into my grasp.”

He paced to the wall, spun on his heel, and marched to the opposite wall. “A century ago, I let you and your pathetic kin flee, but I fathom now this was a mistake. All you did was breed harder,” he snarled, “and plot more. You should have let go of the past, centaur, because the past has a tendency to repeat itself. You’ve left me no choice but to simply remove you, each and everyone one of you, so this will never happen again.”

No no. She had to help him. Somehow. Minthe concentrated, hard, until the answer came to her. Of course.

Minos sank beside the throne, huffing. “A shame, truly. I wonder if you’ll scream like your father did?”

* * *

Rhoetus jolted at the mention of his father’s death. No bloody way had King Cyllarus succumbed in such a manner. His father had been brave. Formidable. Indestructible.

“Or perchance, you’ll whimper and cry, like your mother.” Minos sniggered malevolently.

Rhoetus snapped, growling and sneering, lashing his entire body to attempt to break free.

This monster had destroyed his family. He refused to allow Minos to ravage what remained of his home. His people.

He would never surrender.

This was not his path.

He glanced in desperation toward Lycus, but his brother was focused on the doors and, likely, his mate, outside.

Right. No one could help him out of this except himself. His warriors were frozen in place, and who knew what Minos would do to any who tried to aid Rhoetus? He couldn’t risk any of them.

He had no one else, or did he? Was the spell making him perceive things which weren’t real, or were those sparkles of pink and purple truly shimmering across his arms? Telling him to break free?

That he could break free?

Minthe? His hearts danced inside him. Was it possible she was watching, helping? Guiding with her stardust? If she were, did it mean she’d forgiven him?

Only one way to know for sure.

Whatever enchantment Minos had employed to cast this binding, Rhoetus would break it. He was, after all, a son of Zeus. Nothing could keep him bound. He was stronger, far stronger, than any of them realized.

Breaking free would mean revealing his true nature, not only to Minos, but his family as well. It would mean surrendering his claim on this very throne.

Damn, but he had no choice.

Rhoetus gritted his teeth, shut his eyes, and found the strength of godly blood flowing through his veins.

Snarling, he ripped his limbs free, first his right arm, then his left, and next his hooves.

“What in—” Minos reared, his jaw dropping.

“Aye, your pretty plans might have worked,” Rhoetus rubbed his forearms, drawing blood back into his muscles, “except for one thing.” He prowled forward, advancing on the pathetic King. “I’m not my father’s son.”

He snatched Minos’s neck, his grasp clenching tight around the fiend’s paltry throat, and squeezed, lifting Minos into the air.

“I’m the son of Zeus.” He smirked, triumphant. “And you should have known better than to steal from a god.”

* * *

Oh, no. Minthe gasped while Rhoetus held Minos’s life in his hands. Wincing, she glanced aside, but forced herself to peer once more into her vision. Minos had to die.

But by Rhoetus’s hand?

Such violence turned her stomach.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t his path.

Show him what is.

Determined, she concentrated her powers on Rhoetus, on casting those shimmering particles toward him. They spread across his arms, and outward, urging him away from strangling Minos.

“What in bloody Hades?” Rhoetus grumbled, gave his head a fierce shake, and tossed Minos down.

Yes. She breathed in relief, stretching her glimmering dust further, to illuminate for Rhoetus what he must do.

“Stay right here,” Rhoetus sneered at Minos, then vanished.

She froze, knowing exactly where he’d gone.

“Nymph,” a voice purred behind her. “If you’re intent on bewitching me, mayhap you’d like to do so in person.”

A hand extended over her shoulder. She twisted, slipping her hand into Rhoetus’s and lifting her lashes toward his face.

Sweet gods. She’d missed him so much. Tears pooled in her eyes.

“I don’t have much time, so I must insist on your answer.”

So much hope and fear rested in his words.

“You already have it, my sweet Rhoetus. Yes.”

In a dizzying flash, Rhoetus transported them to the throne chamber in the castle on Krete, and being inside was so different from the vision. The expanse was enormous, majestic, intimidating. Just like Rhoetus. She smiled.

He released her hand and marched to Minos, who rested on the floor, wheezing.

“I realize you don’t want me to kill him, Minthe, but on this matter, your nymph nature may be interfering with yours gifts. This bastard must be punished for his crimes. He must die.”

She clasped her hands in front of her and stepped toward the cowering male. Not so defiant after he’d been bested.

All of his cruel plans undone.

Tilting her face, she squinted, and the male’s destiny shone before her eyes. “Yes, you are right. He must die, but not by your hand. Not just yet. His fate will be worse than death, his pleas for mercy, unanswered.”

Rhoetus spun to frown at her. “What do you mean, lass?”

She pointed toward the doors.

A vibration shook the ground beneath her feet and the doors slammed open.

Several figures paraded forward, a regal figure in their midst.

Rhoetus darted to her side and squeezed her hand. “Bloody hell. King Cheiron.”

* * *

The centaur King of Thessaly. Rhoetus barely trusted his eyes. Yet Cheiron approached, his hooves trotting elegantly upon the stone floors, to pose before Rhoetus. “King Rhoetus.” Cheiron inclined his head respectfully.

Rhoetus swallowed hard. “Nay, not King, I’m afraid.” Now that everyone knew the truth, they’d put someone else with greater blood ties on the throne.

Every pair of eyes shot to him and murmurs ebbed through the crowd.

Cheiron smiled wisely. “From where I’m standing, my lad, such is not the case.”

His muscles trembled and his hearts raced. Why had Cheiron come? Had his attempted regicide been enough to drive the King here?

Cheiron’s grey scrutiny passed over him, then over Minthe. Sweet gods. What had Minthe done? Would she be punished as his accomplice? He fought the urge to step in front of her.

“I fear we have arrived too late to offer the aid of our army in your cause. I can see you have triumphed without us. Let us instead convey our respect and well wishes for a long and happy reign. For our two Kingdoms to join together as they always should have been. We are blood, my brothers and sisters.” He cast his perusal about the chamber. “Although you may not require our assistance today, if you ever should in the future, we will fight by your side.” He thumped his fist over his chest, and every one of his accompaniment copied him.

The lump in Rhoetus’s throat grew thicker. He couldn’t wrap his mind around what was happening.

More warriors filed into the chamber, filling the halls. Among them, his bloodsworne brothers and sister and their mates. His family ascended the staircase to join his side. Rhoetus dipped his head at them, still incredulous. “I fear I have deceived you, and so, I owe you the truth. The real story behind my birth.” He inhaled deeply and exhaled in a rush of breath.

“Long ago, my parents attempted to conceive a child, an heir, but alas, they could not. So they ventured to the temple on Mount Ida and prayed to the god Zeus to grant them this heir. Benevolently, he did, placing his child within my mother’s womb. Thus, I was born, a child of my mother, whom, as you know, had no royal blood in her veins. Yet my parents were determined I would rule after them, and so they kept this secret, until the very end of their lives, when they told me the truth.”

His shoulders sank, heavy. “I should have shared it with you then, but you looked to me to save our Kingdom, and I couldn’t tear from you the last threads of hope you had. So now I would beg for your forgiveness. If you believe there is a more rightful heir, I will step aside and withdraw my claim to the throne.”

There. He’d done it. Spewed a century’s worth of secrets.

He regarded his siblings, but instead of reprimand or disappointment, he found absolution and acceptance in their eyes.

Peering out at the crowd, he discovered the same within their expressions.

He tensed, bracing to turn toward the one person whose opinion mattered more to him than anyone else’s.

Hearts in his throat, he clasped Minthe’s hand and gazed deeply into her eyes.