Rhiannan POV
The world had officially lost its damn mind.
And honestly? I couldn't even blame them.
Faenet's servers had to be reinforced, twice, in less than 24 hours just to handle the sheer chaos swarming my profile. Notifications buzzed like a swarm of bees on meth. Mentions flooded in. Hashtags were climbing through the realms like wildfire.
#MoonbloodGoddess.
#GoddessOfTheRealm.
#PrincessRescued.
I couldn't even open my damn messages without triggering an avalanche of praise, marriage proposals, enchanted roses, and, yes, fucking enchanted panties. One scroll literally sang a ballad about my non existent cleavage. Another exploded with pink glitter and offered me a magical throne forged from the bones of my enemies.
Some centaur lord sent me a very enthusiastic offer to be my ninth husband.
Spoiler...he didn't even make it past the castle gates.
Because my men? My almost complete pentacle? They were done playing nice.
Kaleb's claws stayed extended like the wolf in him dared someone to try.
Arwen never strayed more than three feet from me, eyes glowing like a stormcloud about to wreck someone's day.
Liam? That dramatic asshole was literally sharpening his fangs with a glass shard while singing old vampire lullabies. Threat or foreplay? Unknown.
Elisha burned a visiting Fae Duke's chair to ash just for breathing wrong.
And Sable…? He didn't even have to speak. He stood behind me like a walking death wish, cracking his knuckles and looking like a demon king on his lunch break.
We were chaos. Holy. Divine. Dangerous.
And apparently, trending.
Even Gailia wasn't safe from the spotlight anymore...not that she gave a single sparkling fuck. Her twin dragon mates Draven and Fenix, were practically velcroed to her hips, growling at anyone who looked too long, moved too fast, or existed near her radius. Watching them in overprotective mode was chef's kiss. They nearly threatened a butterfly once.
So, naturally, when FaeView called?
We said yes. Hell to the yes. It might be a set up, but oh well. Time to tell our truth.
A high profile, live streamed exclusive. All realms would tune in. They wanted to know everything...the divine battle, the prophecy, the palace drama, the rebellion.
And for once?
We weren't scared of being seen.
We were ready for the planet to hear the truth. The real truth.
The morning of the interview was disgustingly perfect.
A literal spa day. Lavender soaked moonflower baths. Oils that smelled like dreams and orgasms. Our hair was done by enchanted brushes that hummed little lullabies while they worked. Makeup shimmered like starfire.
The gowns? Fae silk. Hand stitched. Blessed by three minor gods and a very gay fashion elf who screamed when I tried to wear black again.
Gailia looked like a sapphire dream. That deep blue hugged her curves like it wanted to propose. Her golden curls bounced around her face as she twirled for her mates and smirked like she knew she was untouchable. Her blue eyes sparkled with joy and I found myself blissfully happy to see that.
And me?
Silver dress that clung to me like a lover. Floor length. Split up both thighs. Sleeves like falling starlight. My auburn hair tumbled down my back in soft waves. The tattoos glowing on my neck shimmered like constellations. My mate marks on full display.
When we stepped into the grand hall, heads turned.
We didn't walk bitch, we fucking arrived.
But the second we sat down for the interview?
The vibe shifted. My eyes narrowed. Gailia gasped softly.
The smiles from the "hosts" didn't reach their eyes anymore. The lighting went from soft to harsh. The glowing runes around the set flared in a sickly crimson, pulsing like a warning.
I felt it.
A trap.
But I smiled.
Because I am the trap. I also totally called this and was ready for it.
The questions started out polite, but they twisted fast.
"Tell us, Goddess Rhiannan, how many lives have you really taken?"
"Princess Gailia, is it true you turned against your kingdom for sex and riches?"
"Do you actually believe one girl deserves seven mates?"
My blood stilled. My magic curled tight inside me like a cobra preparing to strike.
And I smiled that slow, dangerous, bless your heart and die screaming kind of smile.
But before I could open my mouth?
CRASH.
My men hit the set like a divine war scene from a prophecy scroll.
Kaleb's claws dug into the edge of the table, his wolf eyes glowing murder.
Arwen's sword was suddenly pressed to the host's throat. "You blink wrong, and I will decorate the walls with your lies."
Elisha? Lit the corner of the damn rug on fire. Inside. No fucks given.
Liam sighed, tipping his head. "I warned you bitches. One wrong word and we'd turn this into a bloodbath."
And Sable?
He didn't move.
Just stood behind me like a silent executioner, arms crossed, shadows whispering at his feet, eyes like death in a bottle.
The hosts pissed themselves. Figuratively. (Probably.) I grinned like an idiot.
But it didn't stop there. I turned just in fucking time.
A hooded figure lunged from the shadows.
Snake assassin. Blade drawn. Poison dripping.
The audience screamed, the hosts dove under the table like the cowards they were.
And me?
I didn't even blink.
I snatched that bastard out of the air like a fly, wrapped my fingers around his skull, and crushed it in my fist, my silver magic crackling around me dangerously.
CRACK.
Blood. Everywhere. All over my face. Fucking EW. Nasty ass snake assassin.
Silence. Heavy. Absolute.
Then I turned to the nearest camera, blood dripping down my wrist, and smiled sweetly.
"Y'all really thought I came this far… to die on a talk show?"
Mic. Fucking. Drop.
Faenet exploded. Again. Photos of my feral blood covered grin were everywhere. I was definitely a meme again. Oh fucking well.
They didn't try to clean up the mess.
Because the world had seen it live. There was no covering that shit up. They had sabotaged this interview, and invaded our castle of peace. That was a declaration of fucking WAR.
The Goddess had arrived, and she didn't fuck around.