Page 89 of Storms of His Wrath

“But she did not save us alone. She forged alliances with people I had banished—peoples whose very existence I buried beneath lies and silence.”

His chest rose in a smooth sharp breath.

“You have heard whispers,” he said. “Rumors of Omegas who once lived among us, were enslaved by the Sy Dynasty. Those whispers are truth.” Utterings of disgust rose up from the crowd, but he continued on, “For years, I have actively concealed their history from you. I have hidden how they suffered at the hands of my family, how their enslavement was the root cause of the magical devastation that has plagued us.”

The crowd’s murmur rose louder, horror and confusion warring in thousands of faces.

“But these Omegas are the ones who made it possible for Princess Naya to save us from more destruction,” he said. “They deserve our respect, our support, our acknowledgment of the wrongs we have done them. Soon you will meet the newly titled, Soge Oshrun. Princess Naya has forged an alliance with our three peoples—Tsashokran, Lox, and the Ilia Omegas—and will build something greater and more prosperous than I ever could have achieved alone.”

“And I,” Akoro said, his voice now thick with love so profound it seemed to transform the very air around him, “who tortured my own mate, who carved scars into the soul the Voices chose for me—I love her. I love her with every breath in my body, every beat of my heart, every fiber of my worthless being.”

The confession hung in the desert air like incense, sacred and devastating.

“I love the woman I destroyed,” he continued, self-loathing and devotion warring in his voice as he built toward his final crescendo. “I love the mate I desecrated. I love the savior I kept chained to me rather than honoring her as the queen she has always been. I have been the same king my family was. Taking what I wanted. Treating others as tools for my ambitions rather than equals deserving honor.”

The repetitive structure hypnotized the crowd, drew them deeper into his web of confession and condemnation.

“I cannot continue ruling while dishonoring the woman who saved us all, a woman I love,” he declared, his voice building to that resonant power that seemed to shake the very foundations of the ancient city. “I cannot honor the vow I made to you, my people who have put so much trust and faith in me. I have failed so completely. Princess Naya deserves better than a king who would keep her hidden. You deserve better than a ruler who repeats the mistakes that nearly destroyed our people.”

Another pause—shorter this time.

“Therefore,” and now his voice rang with finality that made the desert air itself seem to still, “I abdicate the throne of Tshashokra.”

The words struck like lightning.

Horror clawed at Naya’s throat at the full magnitude of his political suicide forming before her.

“No,” she breathed, the word torn from her chest like a prayer. Her hands trembled against the stone balustrade as she watched him conduct his own destruction with masterful precision. “Prillu, he can’t—they need him.”

Because she knew. She had seen him in the last few weeks navigate the impossible politics of a fractured kingdom, had watched him forge alliances from blood feuds, had witnessed him making decisions that would break lesser rulers. She had studied his council meetings, observed how he balanced a dozen competing factions with the skill of a master strategist. There was no one else—no heir trained in the brutal art of desert politics, no general with his combination of tactical brilliance and political cunning. This man—this brilliant, flawed, impossible man—was dismantling the one thing that could save his people.

Him.

The Omegas she had worked with spoke of him with a respect that bordered on reverence, even when they disagreed with hismethods. The merchants trusted his word. The warriors would follow him into the depths of hell itself. He was woven into the very fabric of this kingdom like thread into tapestry—remove him, and everything would unravel.

“He’s the only one who can hold the region together,” she whispered. “It will tear itself apart without him. The outer provinces will revolt. The trade agreements will collapse. Tsashokra’s too big.”

Her mind raced through every conversation she’d had with his advisers, every political briefing she’d witnessed. Without Akoro, the delicate balance he had spent decades building would shatter within months. The very people he was trying to protect would suffer most from his abdication, the very people he cared so much about that he would sacrifice his own soul to cruelty in order to keep them safe.

The irony twisted like a blade between her ribs. She had sworn she would never be with him—the man who had tortured her, carved into her flesh, broken her in ways that went deeper than bone. She had built walls around her heart with his cruelties, and promised herself that no matter what he did, no matter how he changed, she would never forgive what he had made her suffer.

And then she had fallen in love with him anyway in the Isshiran Sands. Despite every scar he had given her, despite every reason to hate him, her heart had chosen him.

And now he was throwing it all away for her.

Akoro strode across the platform toward her, his jaw clenched, his eyes so beautifully intense. But behind him someone shouted.

“No!” The first voice rang out from somewhere deep in the crowd, clear and strong above the chaos. “No abdication!”

“No!” another joined. “We don’t accept.”

“No!” another joined. “No! No! No!”

“We want our king!” another voice joined, then another, building like approaching thunder. “King Akoro!”

But then a different chant arose, one that made Naya’s breath catch and her core flutter with disbelief.

“Princess!” someone shouted, the words carrying across the square with stunning clarity. “We want the princess!”

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