MAXIMUS’S POV

I couldn’t sit still.

I’d been pacing the throne room for hours, my boots dragging against the marble floor, the sound echoing through the empty hall like thunder. My fingers ran through my hair again and again, tugging hard enough to hurt, but not nearly enough to drown out the storm inside my head.

The image wouldn’t leave me—the way Emilia looked at me before she screamed for me to leave. That look… goddess, it burned. Like she’d ripped open my chest and poured salt on the wound. Hatred. Fear. Disgust.

And I couldn’t even blame her.

Lucien stood by the wall, watching me in silence. He’d been...