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 spent as much time in the bath as she dared, until the hot water carried away all the filth that had caked up on her skin and in her hair.

I have the feeling that whatever my father is planning, this might be one of the last times I get to relax in a while...

She sighed and lifted herself out of the bath, drying her body off with an exceedingly fluffy towel. In Deep-blessed households, it was common enough to use a pre-heated towel to help dry your hair; but here in The Bellwether, there was a convenient Flame-blessed device that emitted a steady heat much like a clothes iron.

Tia dried her hair with the device, then padded out into the bedroom, her bare feet sinking into the thick carpet. Inside the closet was an assortment of clothes from her old house in the Commons—belongings that she'd never had a chance to move into Rossheim Palace after she was hired. Her eyes slid over various skirts and tops, along with pairs of underwear and pantyhose.

royal flush (stacking the deck).