Page 17 of Queen to the Sunless Court (Brides of Myth #2)

Shattered

Calliste

Calliste’s mouth was parched as she hurriedly changed, her body still aflame from his closeness and already in an icy grip of fear as she contemplated how Hypnos might have revealed himself to Theron.

She cleared her throat. “I’m dressed... Majesty.” Slipping back into formality was deliberate; a challenge.

He straightened abruptly, and then turned to the tray of food Melitta had left on the table. “Eat.” He turned back to the window without correcting her or mentioning she could still use his given name.

Her heart squeezed painfully at that.

But I knew this could be the outcome. What else did I expect?

She looked at the tray of Gaiane’s delicacies and picked up a roll, her hands trembling as she tore off small pieces, eating them quickly just to have something in her empty stomach, grateful for the last fleeting moment before she had to unleash the nightmare of a truth.

She settled in an armchair. “I’m ready.”

Theron turned away from the window, grabbed the remaining armchair, placed it in front of her, and sat down. The afternoon sun streaming through the window behind him highlighted his broad shoulders, cast obsidian glints in his dark hair, and shrouded his face in an unreadable shadow.

Not that she had the courage to meet his gaze. Perhaps it was for the best.

This is it. She swallowed hard. “For everything to make sense, I need to start by telling you what’s truly wrong with... the prince.”

“Go on.” His voice was so cold and emotionless that it sent a shiver down her spine.

He’s never spoken to me like this before.

He might still be stinging from her rejection of his kiss, and she still couldn’t fathom what Hypnos could have done to complicate matters.

“I only ask one thing. No matter how it might surprise or anger you, let me finish. Then I can answer your questions and face the consequences.”

After a long pause, he finally said. “So be it.”

She began from the moment when she first fell into the Underworld, facing a mystery that unfolded slowly and she recounted it in the same manner: pieces of a puzzle falling into place.

She spoke of meeting Thanatos and Hypnos in the Everlasting Enclave and learning that Kalias’ illness was not as it appeared.

She recounted discovering the Condemned, and the hostile, nameless force behind their presence in the Roots, deliberately tangling the threads of the Fates.

She described journeying to the Underworld every night, hoping to solve the mystery but returning with even more questions.

Theron’s expression was unreadable in the shifting shadows as the sun moved behind him, the afternoon deepening into sunset.

She sipped water as she finally spoke of the events leading up to the fight that had nearly cost her everything—and struggled for words as she relived the nightmare once more.

But she went on, describing her solitary battle, nearly lost, and the moment her life began to seep into the soil of the Roots.

“Epione came to my aid. I didn’t expect it at all, and…

Is it strange to say I’ve never felt her presence so intensely?

She said I was her vessel, but also warned me that vessels could overflow and break.

She poured her power into me and blinded Tempest. My knife—the one you returned to me, Majesty—I used it then, and with my goddess’s help, I drove Tempest from the Condemned’s body.

And then...” Her lips parted, but no words came out as she froze, recalling a beautiful woman in a ruined crown and black robe.

Even as a Condemned, she was captivating—but also tragic: a queen trapped in the Underworld as a puppet to a mysterious, malicious deity. And, however she looked at it, his wife. He must have loved her deeply. Why must I tear this wound open?

The mere thought of hurting him and losing everything they had constricted her chest. Her words dried up completely.

She bent over in her armchair, pressing her eyes shut.

“Can I stop here for a moment?” She covered her face with her hands.

“Please.” Just a few moments before I open this abyss that neither of us will be able to cross.

“Calliste?”

His voice came from below. She peeked between her fingers: he was kneeling in front of her, his face pale and his eyes... they seemed to burn, but it wasn’t the flame of hatred she feared most.

“I know it’s a lot,” she said in a hoarse voice. “And there’s one more thing you must know, but I just…”

“You’re trembling,” he said quietly. “Would you like to lie down?”

“No. I’m not tired. It’s just my mind that’s exhausted.” She steadied herself against the armrest, rose, and moved past him to the window, inhaling the fresh air. Just a few more moments.

He followed her, stopping close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body as his scent enveloped her.

“Calliste…” he paused. A beat later, he slipped his hands onto her arms. “It is a lot. Why did you keep it all a secret from me?” His voice was so neutral that it was hard to judge whether he was angry or disappointed—or perhaps both.

“I wish I hadn’t.” The warmth of his touch felt magnetic, even though she knew she was holding onto something not meant for her.

“You insisted on me not seeking the Underworld gods for help. I know how much you despise them.” She glanced at her hand where his ring glinted on her finger, aware of its presence all along.

“You also bound me with loyalty… so when I realized I’d broken my pledge, even though I hadn’t meant to, I went on, hoping that I could resolve this without telling you the truth, but—”

“But you nearly lost your life instead,” he finished, his voice flat, dark.

“Fighting for Kalias.” Another pause. His touch disappeared.

“Turn around, Calliste.” When she did, he took her chin and tilted it up, so she had to meet his gaze.

“Of all that, what I find hardest to accept is that you didn’t trust my judgment.

Even though you know me better than most, because I have shown you more of myself than I’ve shown most people. ”

The intensity of him made her breathing a struggle. “What if you hated me for it?”

“Hated you ?” A fleeting shadow passed over his face, like that of a bird flying by.

“For what? Why would I hate you for trying your best in a situation you neither asked for nor chose? I was the one who forced you to come here. How could you think I’d blame you for something I dragged you into? ” Anger threaded through his voice.

“Majesty—”

“ Theron . Just Theron for you, Calliste; this, and nothing else.” He cupped her face, his lips a breath away from hers. “Why didn’t you trust me? Why didn’t you come to me? Because I’m godless? Did you think I wouldn’t believe you?”

“No—”

“Then why?” His gaze traveled down her neck, to her pendant, his eyes darkening. “You nearly died saving my son, Calliste. What further proof of loyalty could I possibly need? How am I supposed to feel anything but immense gratitude at the very, very least?”

Her breath hitched, and tears blurred her vision. “Theron—”

“Do you know how I felt when I saw you lying in a pool of blood?” He pressed on, his anger swelling like a tidal wave, cresting, engulfing them.

“When I thought I had lost you and knew that if I had, it would haunt me forever? Don’t you understand that this isn’t just about Kalias, but also about you ? ”

Each word seared through her as he spoke it, hot against her lips. Her body tingled in his presence, and she couldn’t tell if it was from desire, shock, or relief, or all three. She slipped her hands on his chest to steady herself and calm his anger.

“Do you fear me, Calliste?”

“No. No.”

“Then why? You looked drained each morning I saw you, and I worried already—then. But I convinced myself you’d tell me if it was too much for you.”

Tears ran down her cheeks. “I just… couldn’t—I’m so, so sorry.”

His face softened as his thumbs brushed away her tears and then he just watched her, unspeaking, his anger fading away from his face, his features mellowing. He wrapped his arms around her, rocking her. “You should have told me,” he murmured, his voice raw.

“I know it now.” She soaked up his warmth, because this could be the last time he held her like this.

Then he sighed. “Still, there are things I don’t understand.” His voice hardened again. “Hypnos. Who is he to you? You barely mentioned him.”

She stiffened. “Like Epione, Hypnos is my patron god. He has always helped me as a healer, but I didn’t meet him in person until you took me away from my Temple.”

He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “And?”

“He was also my guide to the Underworld.”

His gaze lingered on her lips before meeting her eyes once more. “I know you well enough by now. You don’t lie, because you can’t. Instead, you offer part of the truth to make it seem complete—but it’s not. Is he anything more to you than your patron and guide?”

She swallowed, frozen by the steel in his eyes and his uncanny knowledge of Hypnos. “But how do you know about him?”

He glanced over her shoulder, the sunset illuminating his eyes, his jaw clenching as he met her gaze.

“I had a nightmare last night. I was in a bedchamber I didn’t know, watching a god make love to a mortal woman.

I’ll spare you the details, but that woman looked like you, and he said his name was Hypnos. ”

“What?” She flinched, pulling away from his arms, blood draining from her face. “Gods,” she said weakly, backing up against the wall, humiliation and fury burning inside her. “How dare he.”

Theron’s voice was flat as he asked, “So it wasn’t something that has already happened?”

“No,” she whispered, still aghast. “Of course not. He’s a god of dreams and can create anything he likes.”

“But why would he do that?”

She took a deep breath. “Because he believed that being my patron god meant my heart was exclusive to him. And I recently told him… it was not.”

Theron stared at her for a long time. “He doesn’t have your heart?”

“No.”

“You… rejected the advances of a god?”

“He had no right to demand anything at all,” she said, her fury burning even brighter at the thought of Hypnos’ machinations. “He’s not entitled to dictate my feelings because he happens to be my patron.”

He leaned in. “But did you reject him… for me ?”

She mellowed in the heat of his gaze, with no defenses against it. “What do you think?”

“That he could be quite a catch,” he quipped, the corner of his mouth twitching, his brow lifted in a challenge.

“Not half as much as he fancies himself to be, Theron.”

“For you.”

“For me.”

“Calliste.” His smile built slowly, dazzling. “As long as I know this, I don’t care about his conjurations.” He moved his face closer, waiting.

She stilled, longing to brush her lips against his and vanish into the heat he offered, but even that brief moment was indulgence she knew she would regret.

“Theron.” She pressed her hands against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath her palm, gently pushing him to arm’s length. “There is one last thing.”

His gaze darkened, questioning again.

She steeled herself, feeling as if she were about to drive a blade into him.

Her stomach churned. Her fingers trembled, and she didn’t hide her tears—it felt like a cruelty neither of them deserved.

“The Condemned who remained after Tempest was driven from her body told me her name, and…” His heartbeat was steady, patient. “Her name is Amatheia.”

A chill swept between them.

He cleared his throat, confusion glazing his eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“Amyntasides,” she forced herself to say, her throat closing up, but not before she finished. “Amatheia Amyntasides. Your wife, Theron.”