“My bride?” his lips curled upwards in sick amusement. It was both unsettling and relieving to know that he wouldn’t reject the offering. The God chuckled to himself, letting go of her. However, but not for her own comfort. Cors took a few steps to the side, walking around her, examining her. Nethira kept her eyes steadily forward trying to ignore him.

“You’re pretty, I’ll give you that,” He said, as if that were something she should've been proud to hear.

“You look a bit like her too, did you know?” He asked her, pausing at her back. “Her hair was a much richer color though,” He said, flicking it over her shoulder with what she could only assume was annoyance. Nethira had to contain herself. It was futile to reflect that annoyance back, even if he was accepting her the same way he’d accept an offering of cattle. “Your skin’s radiant though, are you wealthy?” he asked, grazing his fingers across her exposed side. She uncontrollable shuttered at his touch.

“I am not. My mother is a Fortune Teller and my father is a street performer,” She answered as he came to a stop in front of her. He discarded that information as soon as he heard it.

“You have her look in your eyes,” He said, seizing hold of her jaw and yanking her forward. She stumbled against him, but her weight didn’t shift him in the least. “That look of petty defiance. I always hated that look,” He said.

Before she had a chance to react to him, Cors had forced his lips to hers. His tongue shoved into her mouth in a controlling and angry kiss. A kiss that only accepted his right as a husband and nothing more.

Nethira felt a growing faintness as he took his kiss. A warm stinging tugged at her eyes. Tears leaked down her cheeks from the sudden pain that calmed only when the god released her. “Heh, it looks like I’ve upset your pets,” Cors said.

Nethira rubbed the tears from her eyes and looked over her shoulder. Manesc, Shannon, and Ror all had the look of tense soldiers. Why wouldn’t they? Their Goddess’s forever enemy had just made a mockery of them. Though she noticed a bit of a startled look float over them. She hadn’t the slightest idea why they suddenly looked surprised.

Nethira felt a hot breath on her ear.

“If I could kill a god, imagine what I could do to your priests and priestess. You should remind them of their manners,” He laughed to her, before pulling away.

“I’ll accept your offering,” He said with a certain fickleness that made her uneasy. “We will discuss the terms, the rest of you may rise,” He said. The heaviness in the air lifted as he seated himself back on the bench. Cors sat like a man who did not need any type of etiquette, lounging across the chair like he was going to take a nap in the sun, not like they were discussing Nethira’s life.