Lanassa’s Betrayal

The halls of Demetrius's palace in Macedon were lit with golden fire, the air thick with the scent of incense and wine.

Lanassa stood by the great marble balcony, staring down at the city below.

She had once ruled beside Pyrrhus.

Now, she had left him behind.

Footsteps echoed behind her.

She did not turn.

"Regrets?" Demetrius's voice was smooth, laced with amusement.

Lanassa finally turned to face him. "I regret waiting as long as I did."

Demetrius smirked. "He will hate you for this."

Lanassa chuckled darkly. "Pyrrhus only loves one thing—war. And war does not love him back."

Demetrius studied her. "And what of your son?"

She stiffened. "I will not let him grow up in a kingdom where his father loves war more than his own blood."

Demetrius stepped closer. "Then stay here. Rule with me."

She searched his face, looking for sincerity.

For something Pyrrhus had never given her.

She reached for her goblet and raised it. "To the death of love," she murmured.

Demetrius smiled. "And the birth of power."

They clinked their goblets, and as Lanassa drank, she told herself:

Pyrrhus will not chase me. He will not fight for me.

Because Pyrrhus had already chosen his war.

And it was not her.