It didn't surprise him that the hybrid with special powers slung venom his way - after all, he'd pledged his loyalty to her in a fit of fucking stupidity, believing it would be worthwhile to make a difference. But it did surprise him she stooped to the level of a small child, spitting the most hurtful things she could likely think of as he left. Like he cared she would never protect him again. She wasn't worth serving. She was a vile creature. At least the other gods had some semblance of good in them he could see. The God of the Sun was prideful and vain, but his care, his love, for Ophelia, it was true. And no corrupt heart could love true. The God of the Earth Torleik knew little of, but he had never witness cruelty from him. And the God of the Spark? Twisted. Most likely sociopathic just like the Moon, but if Ophelia didn't hate him after all that had happened...surely she saw something he did not.
 
He should have listened to the woman he loved when she spat her loathing of the lavender one.

So many mistakes in such little time. He was a foolish man, a naive, hopeful, foolish man who let the world disappoint him at every turn. The purple bitch was wrong. Torleik didn't think he was wholly clear of blame for his removal as king. That they were displeased with his absence, it was expected. That they would simply depose him without a chance for him to defend himself...it was dishonorable. And dishonorable men he did not understand. 

That was his failure, then. To adapt. To grow to this world and let it infect him as necessary to truly survive. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, saddened to consider what the good ones in the herd must think of him now. Had the deity not come down from on high, he could have fought for his honor, his reputation, as was his right, but no. They would remain coddled, listening to the word and law of that viper with wings. How had he ever thought any good could come of dealing with her? At least that naive colt had died in his breast; it would rule him no longer. 

The Bloodskald had sent word to Ulrik via Irelyn, as he wished to bade his cousin goodbye this time. Waiting, head brought low just like he assumed his reputation had been (which was, admittedly, of his doing as well), he listened for hoof-falls or Ulrik's signature, guttural grunt.