BrettMichaelOrr

“You can bring back everyone you’ve lost. It will only cost your sanity.”

The king is dead, murdered by an interloper from the future—a manic copy of his own son, hellbent on forcibly reversing a disastrous timeline. The true Damian Roswald—a hedonistic crown prince bereft of magical talent—finds his comfortable life upended by his father’s murder and assassins from his own future.

“There are none left who can judge us, so we must be our own executioner. That is the cursed fate of those few named Damian Roswald.” 

With politicians plotting his demise, his royal cousins scheming for the empty throne, and warring churches tearing the grieving city apart, Damian must accept the tragedy of his countless futures—or else, find himself doomed to repeat them. But can a mere mortal decide their own fate in a world governed by almighty angels? 

“Find me, Damian Roswald. And I’ll tell you why the stars fell.”

For three centuries, even the wisest men have accepted that the night sky was once populated by ‘stars’—until a terrible calamity plunged mankind into a Dark Age. From the darkness, the Roswalds rose to power, but few know that the first crown was forged with the blood of a slaughtered god…

Damian must endure countless tragedies and the consequences of his own future actions to reach the peace he desires—but could the true threat be hiding not in his future, but in his own distant past?

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A Thread of Broken Fate

Tia almost broke her cover when the church exploded in flame and shadow.

Every instinct in her body screamed at her to race towards that inferno, to find Damian and pull him to safety. This entire idea—working with her father, joining with those revolutionary zealots—was fraught with danger, and although she'd acted confident with Prince Leon, the reality was far different. Tia considered Damian her friend, especially after the events of the last month, and besides, she was partly responsible for him plunging headfirst into her father's schemes.

Still, Tia forced herself to remain hidden, partially cloaked by a veil of Deepshadow.

Her heart was in her throat, and her knuckles white as she watched the church burn. The network of shadow that would otherwise connect her to the building's inside was severed almost immediately. Moments later, dark smoke billowed out of the church, carrying a flurry of ash—and the unmistakeable rot of charred flesh.

royal flush [the house always wins] (1)