“—but you aren’t going to get everything.” Peyton stepped away. “I lost Shira—and you lost me.” He turned and walked toward the door.

“Peyton!” His legs were shaking too much to hold him. He braced his hands against the desk.

The Warlord Prince who turned to face him was no longer the son he loved, wasn’t anyone he recognized.

“I’m leaving,” Peyton said quietly. “The only way you can stop me is by killing me.”

He sank back into the chair as his son walked out of the study, walked out of the Hall . . . walked out of his life.

Saetan closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. Just breathing.

The split between him and Peyton had shattered the family for months. It was Mephis who finally realized who had been whispering the poisoned, honeyed words that had made Shira run away from the man she’d loved.

He’d been so devastated by Peyton’s accusations, he hadn’t thought of Hekatah. Mephis and Peyton had been children when he’d divorced her after she’d tried to shatter his friendship with Andulvar Yaslana by seducing his closest friend and flaunting the pregnancy that had come from that seduction. Instead, Andulvar had kept the child, and Saetan had severed his marriage to a woman who had loved nothing but the power she thought she could control through him.

When the boys were young, he’d refused to let her see them anywhere except the Hall, where they would be under his watchful eye and protection. But once they’d made the Offering to the Darkness and were old enough—and strong enough—to protect themselves, he hadn’t interfered whenever they wanted to spend time with their mother.

So he hadn’t thought of her—and he should have. He should have. Hekatah wouldn’t have tolerated her bloodline being fouled by a musician from Dharo, and once Mephis got him to think past the heartache, he’d realized running had saved Shira’s life. Because Hekatah wouldn’t have hesitated to destroy anything or anyone who didn’t suit her own schemes and ambitions.