Page 20 of Godbound
Shame seizes my body so hard, I squeeze my eyes shut to stop them from burning.
And when I open them again a few moments later, Mael steps out behind him. His head is bowed, his expression veiled in solemnity, yet somehow he seems taller, his posture unfaltering, his every movement measured. And as he ascends the dais behind Ryker, for the first time in my life, Mael looks more royal than his brother.
The realization shouldn’t bother me, but it does. It prickles beneath my skin, a whisper of unease I can’t shake.
But it’s Mael. The boy who never quite reached for the stars, who walked in Ryker’s shadow and bore it with quiet resignation. He isn’t the one to outshine his brother. He never has been. And yet he stands tall, nodding at several of his friends. My future husband.
Then the Sibyls emerge, the gods’ mouthpieces. Their robed figures gliding across the dais, their movements as synchronized as their voices. Their eyes and ears are sealed with scars, their journey through the deadly mists of Vapor Island stripped them of sensation—numbing their skin, erasing taste, and severing all earthly ties to the senses. Only then can they hear the whispers of the gods.
To become a Sibyl is considered an unfathomable honor, their role as divine messengers rewarded with immense wealth. Yet, devoid of the ability to enjoy such riches, it is their families who bear the burden of spending it in their stead.
The Sphere, once formed of separate magics swirling in a graceful dance above the temple, has now merged into a single whole. It hovers inside, suspended over them.
When the Sibyls speak, they do so in unison, their voices layered and otherworldly. “For centuries, the Gods of Elysium have watched over the human realm,” they chant, their words echoing through the temple. “Every age, a Sovereign God rises above the rest, sustained by the collective prayers of the faithful.”
Their voices hum with resonance, and the crowd drinks every word in complete silence.
“Shaped by our mortal custom, the gods’ magic flows through this divine conduit to those entrusted by the Crown and Church to safeguard our kingdom—armies, guards, and duennas alike. Without the Sovereign God’s power, Calcatra would stand vulnerable, like so many other kingdoms now fallen to invasion or to the blight that drains the land. Ours is the oldest realm, spared from great wars or famine for hundreds of years, preserved by this balance.”
I can barely focus on what they are saying. My gaze is fixed on Mael.
He stands behind Ryker, his hands clasped. He looks composed, unwavering, the picture of quiet loyalty.
Mael has always known how to keep his emotions in check, how to play the role expected of him. That’s all this is—poise, discipline. He knows the court is watching. He knows he must not betray weakness.
“Each Church has picked their Champion to enter the Trial of the Bound and compete for the title of Archpriest or priestess. Today we shall witness their ascension,” the Sibyls continue, their voices weaving through the chamber, drawing the attention of every single person here.
Mael moves.
Not hesitantly. Not with the caution of someone slipping away unnoticed. But with certainty. A shift of weight, a quiet step backward, his shoulders tilting just enough to break from the line of consuls and nobles.
No one looks his way. No one seems to notice the space he is carvingfor himself, as if he belongs both there and somewhere else entirely.
I track his movement through the gathered nobility, past the gilded robes and heavy perfumes, through the hush of whispered conversations.
He does not hesitate. He does not look back. His pace is smooth, deliberate, a shadow moving through the candlelight, just slow enough to seem unremarkable. And yet, something about it is remarkable.
Not a single glance over his shoulder. Not a flicker of caution. He is not a man stealing away. He is a man walking toward something.
The Sibyls’ voices rise, their layered tones weaving through the chamber, filling the space between his steps. “Once the Champion offers their blood, the deity they represent will bestow upon them a Godbeast.”
Eva takes my gloved hand and squeezes it. “It’s time,” she whispers, guiding me toward the archway leading out of the balcony where her duenna waits.
I hesitate, my heart slams against my ribs frantically.
“It’s now or never, Ray,” she says firmly, her tone making it clear she’ll only tolerate thenowversion of that choice.
“My lady,” the duenna gestures for me to step toward the stairs leading to the main floor. Mael is already there, waiting. Watching.
I swallow, take a steadying breath, and begin my descent away from Eva, toward him. Toward my future.
Just as I step down, Mael shifts. Only slightly. And in that moment, his gaze flickers toward his brother, and I catch it?—
A look. Brief, subtle.
At first, I tell myself I imagined it. A trick of the light. A misread expression.
But the longer I watch, the harder it is to believe my own excuses. There is something beneath his stillness, something I have never seen before. Not mere resignation. Not forced indifference.
