Page 20 of Queen to the Sunless Court (Brides of Myth #2)

Nocturne

Theron

Theron didn’t visit Calliste for the next three days, throwing himself into the whirlpool of official matters, much to Xanthos’ obvious relief.

It didn’t serve as much of a distraction, because he kept replaying his conversation with her, and Morpheus’ unexpected appearance, which inevitably led him to thoughts of Amatheia.

Even though there was nothing in his heart for her—nor had there ever been—knowing that she was now a servant of an evil deity in the Underworld was unsettling. Guilt flared up to consume him again, and he wondered if this tangled situation was a consequence of his decision years ago.

But at the same time, he visited Kalias daily, hope alight in his chest, because he finally knew what was wrong… and that he’d do everything in his power to right it.

There was also the question of what to expect from the Underworld gods, but that only ignited the primal anticipation of a challenge.

But ultimately, his thoughts always returned to Calliste.

He missed her calm voice, that serene smile, and the scent of her hair, often pausing outside her room as he returned to his quarters, lingering there in an intolerable void, hoping she’d heard his steps and would open the door to speak to him—if only for a moment.

But her doors remained closed.

So he’d leave, thinking about their second kiss before she refused a third.

Although the reason for her refusal was now clear, it still stung, leaving an unsatisfied emptiness.

He filled it with memories of her soft, bare body against him and how caught up she’d become in the kiss, oblivious to her nakedness—and that thought heated his blood at night as he tossed in bed.

***

In the late afternoon of the third day, Theron was buzzing with energy.

As the orange glow of the setting sun faded on the horizon, he’d finished dressing in ceremonial armor: his golden cuirass, crafted into a faithful likeness of his torso and engraved with the insignia of Hesperis—two lions facing each other, surrounded by a laurel wreath, as if carved into his own flesh.

Under the breastplate, he wore a luxurious tunic: black, as a subtle nod to the realm he was visiting, falling to mid-thigh and edged with an intricate pattern embroidered in gold thread.

A wide black leather belt with a Medusa head buckle complemented the breastplate, embossed with a seething, silvered sea of serpents slithering in all directions.

When Lykos arrived to escort him to the terrace, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I thought you’d dress more casually for the Underworld.”

“I’d dress the same if I was to visit, say, Olynthos. Or any overseas kingdom.”

“You’re unarmed?”

Theron shrugged. “I wouldn’t arm myself for a diplomatic visit.”

“Because you’d take me with you.”

“True, but since I’m going to the Underworld, a sword won’t make a difference. There’s no armor that can protect me from immortals, is there?”

Lykos sighed. “Come on, then. Calliste is already on the terrace.”

This surprised him, because he had wanted to collect her himself—but he quickly composed himself. “Let’s not keep her waiting.”

They walked in silence to the golden room where he had dined with Calliste the night before that chilling morning, and then onto the terrace where he had kissed her for the first time.

She stood by the balustrade, outlined by the sunset, turning slowly at the sound of their steps.

Against the backdrop of churned-up, leaden clouds hovering over the horizon, she reminded him of a goddess from a sacred, ancient grove.

Her robe wasn’t her usual healer’s garb but a soft, mossy-green outfit, darker than usual, its shade in mellow harmony with her golden-honey complexion, embracing her figure in a manner he knew would linger in his memory for days.

Her hair was pinned up with threads and a decorative comb.

“You look like a simpleton with that expression, Theron,” Lykos muttered under his breath. “One would think you’ve never seen a woman before. At least try to pretend you have some worldliness.”

Theron shot him a sidelong glance. “When your time comes, you’ll gape just the same.”

Lykos gave him a peculiar look, then cleared his throat. “Shall we?”

She kept her face neutral as they approached, but he noticed a flush rising on her cheeks when her eyes swept over his breastplate and caught the slight intake of breath.

She was acquainted with the sight of his chest, having glimpsed it enough times, so she knew this wasn’t just decorative metalwork, but a faithful rendering of his body.

The way she hid her hands behind her made him wonder if she wanted to trace her fingers down his armor.

And she wasn’t the only one holding back.

If he acted on impulse, he would have seated her on the balustrade and kissed her until she was breathless.

“You look rested, Calliste,” he said instead. “But you could probably use a longer break.”

Her answering smile was as pale as the moon emerging from the depths of the sky, and he wished he had spoken more eloquently. There were things he wanted to say, but not in front of Lykos.

“I wonder why Morpheus asked us to wait here and how we’ll travel,” he added before finally asking the question he’d been holding onto for three days. “How did you travel to the Underworld before?”

She flushed deeper, looking away. “Hypnos assisted me.”

“How?”

“He... He carried me through the dimensions.”

“Carried you?” he repeated, jealousy flaring. “You mean, in his arms?”

She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I should have questioned it, but it’s hard to challenge your patron, especially an immortal. I saw it purely as a means of transportation.”

Her shaky voice made him pause, and he had to remind himself that all this time, she had been at the mercy of an immortal she considered her patron.

After that nightmare he’d been forced to endure, he had no illusions about how perfidious Hypnos could have been.

“I see,” he said tersely. “It still makes me wonder how we will travel.”

“I don’t know,” she admitted softly.

“Over there,” Lykos said, his eyes fixed ahead.

The last of the sun glazed the clouds’ edges with gold, while a pale moon, seeming as if fashioned from crystal, rose high above their billowing greyness.

In that quiet chorus of gold and silver, a silhouette of a black horse with a lone rider appeared on the horizon, galloping over the clouds.

“I’ll be damned,” Lykos whispered.

Theron watched the clouds swirl around the horse as it raced across the sky as if on an invisible bridge. Riding the steed was Morpheus in his opalescent white tunic, his pearly wings folded behind him. His hair gently bounced in the currents.

Theron stepped aside, pulling Calliste with him to clear the path.

Lykos did the same, and moments later, the steed landed on the terrace, its hooves clacking against the stone. Morpheus steered the horse to turn around and dismounted.

“Majesty.” Morpheus nodded in his impeccable manner. “Calliste.” He smiled at her. His eyes went to Lykos and he tilted his head at him. “And the king’s polemarchos and faithful friend. Greetings.”

Lykos’ eyes widened as he took in Morpheus’ wings.

Morpheus approached them, guiding the horse by the bridle. “Majesty, Hades has sent one of his horses to take you and Calliste to the Underworld. This is Nocturne.”

“He’s beautiful.” Theron stepped closer in curiosity, noting the horse’s well-raised, graceful neck, his lean, shapely body, his deep chest and the thoughtful intelligence in his onyx eyes.

“Rebel would kick you for it,” Lykos quipped.

Theron chuckled under his breath. “Best not tell him, then.” Then he reached out to stroke Nocturne’ muzzle. “It’s a shame I don’t have a treat for him.”

“One cannot bribe Nocturne.” Morpheus said. “But he’s a gentle one. He will carry you as long as he senses you are worthy, which I believe you are.”

Theron couldn’t help but smile. “And how does he determine worthiness?”

The god of visions grew serious. “Once you mount him, he’ll know everything about you and then decide. But before that…” He opened his hand to reveal a purple pendant on a thin, golden chain. “Please accept this gift from me.”

As Theron took it, a shiver ran down his spine, and a strange feeling coiled in his gut. “Is this a charm?”

“Of sorts,” Morpheus’ eyes glittered, silver sparkling in turquoise. “I’m curious if I’m right about you, Majesty.”

“Right about me?” Theron scrutinized Morpheus’ face. When the god did not elaborate, he turned his attention to the amethyst, awed by its deep, clear purple and the thin golden threads trapped under its flawless luster like grains of sand. He put it on, feeling Calliste’s gaze on his pendant.

The amethyst seemed to mesmerize her, and only then did he notice that it was identical to her emerald in shape and ornament. She also gave Morpheus a questioning look, but the god of visions stepped back to let Theron mount Nocturne.

Theron approached the beast, gently stroking the horse’s neck. His saddle and reins were made of plain black leather, with no owner’s insignia. Theron patted Nocturne again and, in one swift move, climbed onto his back.

A slight shudder ran through Nocturne before he snorted and pawed at the terrace.

Morpheus smiled. “He likes you.” Then he turned to Calliste. “How would you like to travel—with me or with your king?”

She blushed.

She’s riding with me, Theron nearly growled, though he was curious about her answer.

Calliste bit her lip. “Will Nocturne accept me?”

Theron exhaled.

“Without question,” Morpheus’ smile widened. He knelt and clasped his hands. “Let me help you up, Calliste.” He encouraged her to climb onto his knee.

Theron assisted her, using it as a perfect excuse to position her sidesaddle, not astride, in front of him.

She shot him a surprised look.

“My preference,” he muttered under his breath as he wrapped his arms around her to take the reins, inhaling her scent and absorbing her warmth.

“Since you’ll be visiting the Underworld physically, you must use the correct portal,” Morpheus explained.

“Nocturne will take you there, and you don’t need my assistance at this point.

” He turned to Lykos, examining him briefly.

“ Polemarchos , it’s an honor to meet you.

You are a good man and a loyal friend. Rest assured, your king and Calliste will return before the night ends.

” Lowering his voice, he whispered something to Lykos that Theron couldn’t hear, leaving his friend visibly shocked.

“I don’t… understand,” Lykos said, frowning.

“It will become clear at the right time.” Morpheus spread his wings, which shimmered like opalescent moonlight against the darkening sky. With two swift steps and a graceful leap over the balustrade, he took flight, soon vanishing into the night.

Theron was ready to spur Nocturne forward, but the steed had already advanced past Lykos, and then suddenly scaled the balustrade.

“Gods,” Calliste gasped, clutching him tightly.

He held her close as the sky unfolded before them, and they soared high above the darkening sea.