My secret obsession with a high king God.

Ariella, a Goddess born without powers, struggles with fitting into the powerful world of the High King's academy. When a strict new law bans the use of powers for learning, the mysterious and intimidating Blake, a member of the royal counsel, becomes her unwilling escort. Amidst whispers of a ruthless High King and the brutal laws he enforces, Ariella finds herself caught in a web of power, secrets, and unexpected connections. Can she navigate this dangerous new reality, uncover the truth about her power, and survive her first days at a school where every glance holds a hidden meaning?

My secret obsession with a high king God.

Ariella, a Goddess born without powers, struggles with fitting into the powerful world of the High King's academy. When a strict new law bans the use of powers for learning, the mysterious and intimidating Blake, a member of the royal counsel, becomes her unwilling escort. Amidst whispers of a ruthless High King and the brutal laws he enforces, Ariella finds herself caught in a web of power, secrets, and unexpected connections. Can she navigate this dangerous new reality, uncover the truth about her power, and survive her first days at a school where every glance holds a hidden meaning?

The frantic morning light barely penetrated the thick curtains of Ariella's room, yet her anxiety was already a palpable presence. She stared at her reflection, a familiar knot of frustration tightening in her stomach. "Ariella, are you ready?" Her father's voice, laced with an exasperated patience she knew too well, boomed from downstairs for what felt like the hundredth time.

Her curls, a wild, defiant mess, refused to cooperate, mirroring the chaos swirling within her. School had started ten minutes ago, a fact her father had just yelled up, propelling her into a sudden, desperate rush. This couldn't be messed up. Not after years of begging him to let her attend the most sought-after school in all realms.

She snatched her brush, her movements clumsy, her heart hammering against her ribs. One last glance in the mirror, a quick mental plea for perfection, and she was hurtling down the stairs, two steps at a time. The unladylike cry she emitted as she nearly tripped was proof enough of her disarray. Her father, the God of Good Fortune, watched her with a scrutinizing gaze, a sigh escaping him. This was it. Her new start. Butterflies, a whirlwind of anticipation and fear, fluttered in her stomach.