72 pages • 2-hour read
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Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of graphic violence, death, and emotional abuse.
Across gods, monsters, and mortals, loyalty defines who the characters are and what they are willing to become. It is often the truest measure of humanity, yet, in a world where power corrupts and love can be weaponized, loyalty is complex, distinct from unthinking obedience yet still vulnerable to exploitation.
Dianna’s arc reveals the redemptive potential of loyalty. The death of her sister, Gabby, shatters her sense of belonging, driving her into isolation and vengeance, but Samkiel refuses to abandon her. Through his influence, Logan, Neverra, Cameron, Xavier, and even Imogen become the family she never expected, a circle bound not by blood, but by choice. Moreover, Dianna does not earn this circle through perfection or purity but through shared struggle, forgiveness, and persistence. Samkiel and The Hand’s loyalty to Dianna is compassionate: They see her fury, her guilt, and her darkness, and choose to stay anyway, and this choice is crucial to her transformation, allowing her to set aside her desire for vengeance and to forgive herself.
Samkiel’s leadership of The Hand adds further nuance to the theme, distinguishing loyalty from obedience and its implications of subordination. Samkiel calls his celestial soldiers equals, friends, and siblings, and his commitment to disbanding the group after Kaden’s defeat reinforces that the authority he wields is provisional; The Hand’s loyalty to him does not give him control over them. The Throne of Broken Gods presents such found family as an act of resistance. In a cosmos built on hierarchy, where gods create and discard life without remorse, choosing one another becomes a radical, even sacred, act.
By contrast, Kaden’s perversion of love and loyalty exposes the theme’s dark inverse. Kaden demands obedience from those around him, and when even this fails, he simply overrides any pretense of free will. The Words of Ezalan symbolize a kind of loyalty stripped of choice and a devotion that is rooted in obedience. Yet Kaden’s actions also reveal the ambiguities of even loyalty based in love. Beginning with Drake and culminating with Cameron, Kaden exploits people’s loyalties (to Ethan and Naomi and to Xavier, respectively) to coerce them into acts of betrayal (of Dianna and The Order).
The flip side of this recognition that even “good” loyalty can be turned to bad ends is its tolerance for certain forms of betrayal. Camilla, for instance, betrays Dianna to Samkiel and The Hand, but she does so not only under duress but also in the knowledge that Dianna is on a self-destructive path—one that Samkiel can perhaps arrest. Similarly, Roccurem is a double agent within The Order, quietly defying Kaden to protect Dianna and guide her toward Samkiel. In both cases, an apparent act of disloyalty serves loyalty to something more profound, implying that in the gray world of the Gods and Monsters series, there are few moral absolutes.
The Throne of Broken Gods situates grief not as a static wound but as the engine of transformation. Every major character carries loss, yet how they respond to that loss defines their evolution. Through Dianna’s descent into vengeance, Samkiel’s confrontation with divine legacy, and the shattering of loyalty and faith, grief becomes both destroyer and architect, a force that dismantles the self so it can be remade.
Dianna embodies this theme most directly. Her journey begins with her sister Gabby’s death, an event that ruptures her sense of identity and purpose and quickly drives her to rage. Her violence against the Netherworld creatures who betrayed her—the vampires, werewolves, and witches who helped deliver Gabby to Kaden—is an externalized form of self-punishment. She believes that avenging Gabby will restore meaning to her life, but every act of destruction deepens her despair. However, through her relationship with Samkiel, she begins to understand that grief need not hollow her out; it can refine her. Samkiel’s patience and belief in her humanity challenge her to see herself not as a “monster” shaped by loss, but as someone capable of surviving it. When Gabby’s spirit forces her to face the truth that wanting happiness does not make her selfish, Dianna learns that healing does not require forgetting the dead. Instead, she integrates grief into identity; loss becomes the crucible that transforms her from a weapon into a protector.
Samkiel’s arc mirrors Dianna’s, but his grief takes a different form: the loss of faith. He spends centuries mourning his father, Unir, only to discover that the god he worshiped was deeply flawed, a creator who broke divine law and birthed monsters. His grief, then, is not only personal but cosmic. Accepting Unir’s imperfection forces Samkiel to redefine what it means to be good. In the end, he uses his fading power not for revenge but to shield Onuna from destruction, proving that love, not lineage, defines divinity. His transformation completes the thematic mirror between him and Dianna. She learns to forgive herself, and he learns to forgive the world that failed him.
Together, their intertwined arcs suggest that grief is both the cost and catalyst of growth. Transformation in The Throne of Broken Gods arises from the willingness to face pain without letting it consume identity. By turning loss into purpose and guilt into compassion, Dianna and Samkiel affirm that grief, embraced rather than denied, is not an ending but the beginning of becoming whole.
The Throne of Broken Gods dismantles the traditional mythic hierarchy between gods, monsters, and mortals: Across the novel, divinity does not equate to virtue, nor does monstrosity imply evil. The story thus argues that morality is not defined by what one is, but by what one chooses to do with the power one holds.
The gods in this world are deeply flawed. Unir, the World Creator and moral center of the cosmos, violates divine law by crafting life from his own blood. This act of illicit creation, meant to preserve peace and avoid a prophesied war, instead births chaos. He hides his children, lies to his followers, and binds the realms with his son Samkiel’s life force. Unir’s “love” leads to devastation, suggesting that intention does not absolve the harm of exercising power without empathy.
That Nismera and Kaden—the villains to Unir’s putative hero—also embody this moral decay underscores that good and evil inhere in choices rather than identities. Nismera, goddess of war and destruction, thrives on domination and revenge. Her influence poisons everything it touches, including Vincent and The Order. Kaden, her brother and Unir’s blood-born son, perverts creation itself. Once a being of divine purpose, he becomes a manipulator, twisting love into a weapon. His obsession with Dianna, in particular, mirrors his father’s flawed desire to control life: His creations, both the Kings of Yejedin and Dianna herself, become extensions of his will.
It falls to Dianna—born of divine blood, remade by violence, and thus a figure who stands at the intersection of god and monster—to redefine what it means to be good. Her capacity for destruction rivals any deity’s, and her love burns with the same intensity as her wrath. She fears both her own power and her emotions, but her character arc suggests that she is wrong to do so. The very capacity for violence that renders her dangerous in the novel’s opening chapters is redeemed by the novel’s conclusion, when she kills to protect rather than to avenge herself. Her forgiveness of those who wronged her and her resurrection of Samkiel through the force of her love for him are more conventionally heroic actions that testify to her moral transformation.
The moral axis of The Throne of Broken Gods thus pivots on choice. Even Dianna’s so-called monstrosity lies not in her nature but in her empathy; it is love that drives her cruelty at the novel’s opening, a paradox that underscores that it is one’s response to impulses rather than the impulses themselves that makes one “good” or “bad.” Her transformation blurs the line between sacred and profane, further illustrating that morality depends not on what one is made of but what one chooses to become.



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