Page 18 of Queen to the Sunless Court (Brides of Myth #2)

Adrift

Theron

Theron stared at Calliste in shocked silence, feeling just as he had once in his life when, as a daring and overconfident young boy, he’d attempted to showcase how well he swam in the deep sea, only to be caught by its merciless, treacherous current, helpless until his father’s guards swam to his rescue.

Nothing could erase the terror of those breathless moments when the sea had him in its grip, sucking him in, demonstrating its force and indifference about his life.

Now, he felt the same: trapped beneath masses of water, unable to breathe.

Because he believed her. As unsettling and otherworldly as her story had been, it all made sense—perhaps because he had suspected it all along. Somehow, he knew that Kalias was not merely ill; there was an elusive dimension to it, like a room hidden behind a secret door he couldn’t find.

Now she had opened that door for him, leading him down to the Underworld.

He could accept all of that. The Fates trifling with him was something he was used to. After being woken by a god commanding him to run to Calliste and save her, he now knew what he had to save her from.

But Amatheia’s name at the end left him speechless. “I don’t understand,” he repeated, numb, the memories he wanted to forget surging back. He resisted them, focusing on her and noticing how badly she shook. Gods, she’s exhausted.

She still held him at arm’s length, and it took him a moment to piece together why she acted this way, or turned her head away when he tried to kiss her earlier.

It’s because she knew about Amatheia all along.

Still… that last revelation didn’t make sense.

“Calliste,” he said gently. “You could have misheard.”

“No.” She exhaled, slowly shaking her head, her eyes brimming with tears. “I’m so sorry, Theron. There’s no mistake.”

“How do you know?” he asked.

“There’s no mistake, Majesty,” a soft voice echoed behind him and he swept around, shielding Calliste.

There was no doubt that the winged man who slowly blazed into presence was a god.

He wore a white tunic as opalescent as his wings, capturing the last rays of the sunset, which also illuminated his long, curly hair, making it gleam like golden rings across his broad shoulders.

His most unique feature were his eyes: the purest turquoise with silver flecks.

Theron shot him a split-second glance. “You…” he growled, a scorching wave of fury overwhelming him as he lunged in his direction, aiming to deliver a punch he hadn’t managed to land in that dream.

“Theron, no, please!” Calliste shouted, grabbing his wrist and pulling him in the opposite direction. “This isn’t Hypnos!”

This stilled him, his blood still boiling in his veins but cooling at Calliste’s frightened eyes. “He’s not?”

“No,” the immortal replied, unruffled. “Thankfully, I am not. Unfortunately—for me—I am his kin.”

Theron met his celestial gaze without flinching, assessing him as calmly as he had all the threats in his life, noting the quiet poise and air of immortality, his eyes inevitably drawn to the wings folded behind the god, noting the differences to what he remembered.

His wings were white, not blue. His crown wasn’t rubies fashioned into poppies, and his gaze was serene and warm, not cynical and cold. “So… who are you?”

He placed his hand on his chest. “Morpheus, a god of visions from Hades’ court in the Underworld.”

Calliste let go of his wrist. “I know him, Theron. He’s an ally.”

Theron noticed a flicker of hope in her eyes. Why ? He then turned his attention back to the god.

“I apologize for my intrusion,” Morpheus continued, his voice like a warm breeze over the sea.

“I'm not here on official business; I simply wish to confirm Calliste's words, assuming she's already shared everything she was asked to…” His turquoise gaze softened as it shifted to Calliste. “Which I believe she has.”

He took Calliste’s hand, pulling her to his side. “Indeed.”

The silver flecks in Morpheus’ eyes glowed briefly as he noticed the gesture. “It’s a lot to process and explain, no doubt. Must have been taxing on both of you.”

“Yes.” Calliste’s face brightened up. “Thank you for coming.”

A tiny spark of jealousy flickered out of nowhere, and Theron did his best to smother it.

Morpheus’ smile was as gentle as the sunset reflecting on his wings, and his tone was subtly apologetic. “Majesty, I must repeat that there is no mistake about the identity of the Condemned. She named herself as your late wife, and her presence there is as surprising to us as it must be to you.”

Theron reined in his emotions, pushing them deep into the darkest recesses of his soul, moving with the situation. “What am I supposed to do with that knowledge?”

“Calliste was asked to extend an invitation from my lord, but since I’m here, I might just as well do it myself.” Morpheus stepped closer. “My lord, Hades, would like to invite you to the court of the Underworld, along with Calliste, to discuss this unexpected development.”

Theron’s eyes flickered to Calliste again, noting her hesitant nod.

“I was about to tell you this as well,” she said.

“If the ruler of the Underworld expects me to explain my late wife’s presence, then I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he replied.

Morpheus bowed his head, impeccably polite. “That remains to be seen. Do you accept the invitation, Majesty?”

There was that shift—a subtle pull within him, as if he’d been blindly navigating stormy waters and had at last discovered the right course. “I’m more than willing to oblige your lord. When?”

“When Calliste recovers enough to travel back to our realm,” Morpheus answered smoothly. “She should be back to her full strength, but this situation is urgent.”

Calliste glanced down at her pendant. “Give me a day… or two.”

“Three, then.” Morpheus stepped back, his form losing solidity. “I’ll return for both of you at sunset, three days from today. Wait for me on the terrace of the golden chamber.”

***

Theron still held Calliste’s hand for a long time after Morpheus had disappeared, while she continued to watch the spot where he had stood.

“How do you know him?” he asked in a neutral tone.

She gazed up. “When I was in the Underworld... while I was unconscious here, he took care of me.” Then she looked at their joined hands, biting her lip. “I… I think I’d like to rest now.” Her tone had cooled down. Perhaps she was just tired.

He turned to her, releasing her hand and placing his hands on her neck, his thumbs gently brushing her cheeks, just as he had done moments ago to wipe away her tears. “Do you want me to go?”

She clasped her pendant. “It might be best if we keep some distance from each other... until Morpheus returns for us.”

“Is this because of my wife? Or something else?”

She blinked slowly, emotions in her eyes shifting to mild confusion, then calm. “I know it hasn’t hit you yet, but it will, soon. It will hurt most when you see her, Theron. I’ll try to comfort you as much as I can, but all this is difficult for me too.”

It took him a long moment to see where she was trying to position herself in this situation, and yet again, he was awed by her unerring sense of what was right—matching his own.

Except she didn’t know the full truth about him and Amatheia… because no one did. Except for him. And it dawned on him that if he wanted to keep her, he’d have to let her in.

But not right now. Not today. “You’re right,” he said, withdrawing his hands and stepping back. “You should rest now. I’ll catch up on all the official matters I’ve missed over the next three days.”

She nodded, already avoiding his gaze.

It took considerable strength to walk away like this, with so many questions unanswered and so much he wanted to explain. But they were both spent.

So he left, closing the door behind him.

He wasn’t much surprised to see Lykos standing guard on the other side, in a quiet conversation with Melitta, who leaned against the wall. They both looked at him. “Took you a while,” Lykos said.

Melitta bowed.

Theron glanced at her. “Melitta, before you go to Calliste, could you bring a jug of Hellenixian wine and two cups to my study?”

“Yes, Majesty.” She turned and paced down the corridor, leaving her floral scent behind.

Lykos raised an eyebrow. “Who’s the other cup for?”

“For you. We need to talk.”

“I don’t drink on duty, Theron.”

“You’ll want to once I tell you everything.” He shrugged. “Let’s go.”

***

The sunset deepened and darkened into late evening by the time Theron finished sharing what he’d learned from Calliste. Seeing Lykos utterly astonished was definitely worth the sore throat he’d gotten in the process.

“So...” his friend finally said, cradling an untouched cup of wine. “If I understand correctly, three evenings from now, you will be visiting the Underworld because of... your late wife?”

Theron nodded.

Lykos straightened abruptly, narrowing his eyes. “How is it possible she’s not in Elysium?”

“This is why I’ve been invited—to help answer that question.”

“And you’re not making it up.”

Theron shook his head. “I don’t have this kind of imagination.”

“No, you don’t,” his friend agreed, far too quickly. “But it still beggars belief.” He shot him another assessing look. “And there’s no way you hallucinated it, or…?”

“Lykos,” Theron interrupted. “Does Kalias’ condition make sense to you?

Remember how Calliste used her powers in Petrakelis Passage, or how she healed Panakeios?

That was just a glimpse of what she can do, and that’s beyond our understanding.

If this doesn’t convince you, take a look at her wound next time you see her.

It’s already a scar, and do you know what? I wasn’t even surprised to see it.”

Lykos shook his head. “But that’s—”

“Impossible. Yes, I know. But here we are. You’ll see more proof in three days.”

His friend leaned back in his chair, letting out a heavy sigh. “I believe you.” He rubbed his forehead and then drained his cup in one gulp. “And I’m not thrilled that you’re going somewhere I can’t keep an eye on you,” he said without humor.

Theron snorted. “Think about it as another visit to a foreign court.”

“Except it’s the Underworld, huh?” Lykos set down his cup. “I have enough to think about and I need to retire.”

“To bed? Or from my service?”

“Shut up. I don’t retire from my commitments. But bed has never sounded more tempting.” He rose, shaking his head in disbelief, and slowly made his way to the door. He turned as he grabbed the handle. “You should try to sleep, too.”

Theron nodded, staring at the burgundy reflection in his cup, already knowing that sleep would evade him tonight. When the door clicked behind Lykos, he downed the rest of it and poured himself another to ease into the recesses of his mind he had abandoned years ago—and now needed to revisit.

His skin prickled at the thought, but he couldn’t imagine telling Calliste the truth without first examining it in the luxury of solitude and from the distance of years.

Monster.

This was a word Amatheia could easily throw in his face… once he met her again in the Underworld.