Heir of Decay (Shadow Gods #3)

Pick your poison

ZORAH

The Chort—the name whispered in the moments before men died, in service to the man who wielded her.

She was his blade. His shadow. His reckoning.

He built an empire with the blood on her hands and fed it with her violence, even as her name was never spoken.

Now he is dead.

What remains is not a legacy, but a debt built of rot.

She does not seek the throne. She wants to take it—because everything it was built on was already hers.

IVAR

Surveillance was the job. Risk was the variable. Termination was the order.

Does he ignore all three for the thing that called to him—the darkness that didn’t just recognise his violence, but sang to it?

A man already on a leash was never meant to choose another.

ROMAN

He was not made to lead. He was made to stand beside power and ensure it endures.

Loyalty was never a question. Only direction.

What he follows now is no longer assigned, and no longer negotiable.

He does not hesitate. He does not doubt.

But does he know how to choose, when choice stands before him and duty behind.

Choose you venom, your weapon, and your flavour of violence