To Dean Winchester. Carry on my wayward son.

PROLOGUE

      THE GIFTS HAD been on parade for the past hour. Shows of wealth from Tirimia being trotted out before King Kairos as though he were a boy and this was Christmas morning. Baskets overflowing with the finest fruits grown in the orchards from Petras’s neighboring country. Art and jewelry from the most celebrated painters and silversmiths. But certainly the ambassadors from Tirimia had saved the most spectacular gift for last.

      Kairos looked down from his position on the throne at the men who were standing before him, clearly awaiting his awe, and listened as they began to introduce their final treasure, the one they were calling the jewel of their collection.

      “This will please you, my king,” the man, known as Darius, was saying. “The ultimate in Tirimian beauty and grace, for your palace. For the continued health of relations between Tirimia and Petras. The representation of how far we’ve come since the revolution. It was bloody, and we cannot erase that history. We can only show we are committed to moving forward.”

      Darius was speaking of the overthrow of Tirimia’s monarchy some fifteen years earlier. Kairos had not been on the throne then, but his father had made sure he’d been well educated in what was happening. At the time, the rebels in Tirimia had even posed a threat to the borders of Petras. Earning back trust between the two nations had been slow. Which was why they had requested an audience with Kairos today. He was the newly installed king, and they were clearly keen to make the most of the clean slate they felt he might offer.

      Too bad for them he wasn’t easily impressed with baubles. However, they had quite a few natural resources he was interested in, and war was never in the best interest of the nation. Which was why he had granted them the audience. And watched with decreasing patience as they brought forth their offerings.

      “As a token of goodwill between our nations,” Darius said, a film of oil coating each word, “we present to you Princess Zara.”

      The doors to the throne room swung open and there, standing in the center of the doorway, flanked by two large men, was a woman. Her hands were clasped in front of her body, bright gold cuffs gleaming from her wrists.

      For a moment Kairos wondered if she was bound. Then she began to walk, her hands falling to her sides, and that momentary fear was alleviated. Her hair was long and dark, caught back in a braid that swung with her every step. Her face was decorated with gold paint, dots above her eyebrows, and a few down below her eyes. She possessed a dark, exotic beauty that stoked no fire in him. She was so unlike his cool, blonde wife, Tabitha. The only woman he wanted. The woman who had chosen to skip this very important procession.

      He wished, very much, that Tabitha were here to see this. To see him gifted with a woman. He wondered if her blue eyes would burn with jealousy. If they were capable of burning with anything at all.

      Very likely, she would simply sit there, passive and unmoved. She might even suggest he take the girl as his own. So little was her esteem for him these days.

      He ignored the kick of regret in his stomach.

      “There must be some mistake,” Kairos said. “I cannot imagine you intend to give me a human being.”

      Darius spread his hands wide. “We have no need of a princess in Tirimia. Not now.”

      “So you seek to give her to me?”

      “To do with as you please. Preferably, you would take her as a wife. Her dishonor is not our wish. Though, however you intend to use her...it would be an honor in its way.”

      Another