Page 22 of Queen to the Sunless Court (Brides of Myth #2)

Two Kings

Theron

Calliste’s kiss was sweet and unyielding and stunning—and it was also his absolution.

It tore apart the shell around his heart. Set him free. He hadn’t realized how much he craved her clemency until she offered it with all of herself—her hands tangled in his hair, her body pressed against his, and her tongue…

When his mind caught up, his response was heated and demanding, because now he couldn’t get enough of kissing her beneath the stars, his heart lighter than it had been in years.

Then the darkness surrounding them stirred and light danced behind his eyelids. He paused mid-kiss, his eyes widening at the veils of shimmering pinks and blues rippling around them like auroras and cascading with white sparks as they tore through them. “What’s that?” he breathed.

She stroked his cheek. The auroras reflected in her eyes like distant dreams. “We must have crossed the border between the mortal and immortal realms. We will be in the Underworld soon.”

He glanced one last time before dismissing the view entirely, his mouth returning to hers and savoring her own brand of possessiveness, then dominating her until she was breathless and rested her forehead against his collarbone. “Our third kiss was in the sky,” he said.

“You keep count?”

The corner of his mouth lifted, then he noticed the landscape unfolding before them and squinted at the luminous forest below, stretching over the silver shore of a majestic river. “So... this is the Underworld?”

She sat upright, her profile tilting as she looked down. “This river is Styx, and that forest…” She lowered her voice, as if in reverence. “That’s the Everlasting Enclave.”

He gazed at the land that belonged to one of the most feared immortals, yet he felt nothing but calm, as if visiting a long-forgotten friend.

“It’s so peaceful here,” she whispered. “Nothing compares to the Enclave, Theron. It’s endless, ethereal. Eternal, and—”

Before she finished, he captured her lips again, his tongue exploring her mouth and stealing her breath in an intense, brief caress. “Our fourth kiss was in the Underworld.” He glanced down at the pendant Morpheus had gifted him. “I still keep wondering why we have matching jewelry.”

Her laughter was like silver chimes. “He’s a god of visions. Perhaps he saw something that made him decide this was for the best.”

“He seems decent… for a god,” he quipped, “to the point that I worried you’d prefer traveling with him.”

“Not if you offered me a ride,” she replied softly, her cheeks flushed as she held his gaze, unblinking, as if mesmerized, then she lowered her eyes to his pendant again.

“But it makes me wonder, too, because my gem, aside from connecting me to Epione’s energy, is a sign of the protection of my goddess. ”

He thought about it. “They look alike, don't they?”

Nocturne flew over the Enclave and braved the mists hanging over Styx. They were suspended in grayness until the mists parted, revealing a glinting, forbidding black-and-gold palace perched atop a massive hill rising from a sea of white flowers.

***

Nocturne circled over a palace courtyard paved with obsidian slabs and bordered by black columns with golden capitals, landing gently with a clack of his hooves.

Theron dismounted and helped Calliste down, then stroked the steed’s neck.

Morpheus emerged from the shadows with a serene expression. “Welcome to the Court of Hades, Majesty. He awaits you in his library.”

“Not the throne room?”

“He’s not one for formalities.”

“Ah. Then we have something in common.”

“You have more in common than you think, Majesty,” Morpheus said, gesturing for them to follow him through a high-walled corridor of black marble, and leading them through a golden door.

The library was filled to the ceiling with scrolls and their dry scent, but Morpheus led them through it to another doorway, which opened onto a terrace.

There, a man in a shimmering black robe leaned over a balustrade, gazing at his colorful inner garden.

When he straightened up and turned to greet them, Theron assessed him as he would any opponent stepping into a ring, and then almost chuckled to himself. He’s an immortal.

Aside from that, Hades was indeed very much like him—built for battle, with a short-cropped beard and thick brows drawn into a slight frown. He wore no crown or insignia of his position, yet the moment he turned and spoke, there was no question as to who he was.

“Welcome to my realm, King of Hesperis.” His tone was formal yet curious.

Theron recognized the hint. “It’s an honor to be here, Lord of the Underworld,” he replied, schooling his voice to faultless courtesy without a trace of subservience.

The immortal’s black eyes glinted and he relaxed his stance. “I prefer Hades.”

“I prefer Theron.”

“Excellent.” Hades’ gaze swept over him and settled on Morpheus’ pendant.

His brow rose and he glanced at the god of visions, but asked no questions.

Instead, he gestured to the reclining couch on the terrace, facing an armchair, and smiled at Calliste, his tone slightly warmer. “Welcome back. Have you recovered?”

Her smile wavered as she nodded.

“Not entirely,” Theron said. “But she’s doing her best, as always.”

Calliste threw him a startled look.

“I see.” Hades’ gaze shifted between them before softening.

Stroking his beard, he settled into the armchair and gestured for the two of them to sit on the reclining couch across a small, decorative table, where three golden cups seemed to be waiting for them.

Leaning forward, he picked up one. “Help yourselves,” he said.

“It’s pomegranate wine from the finest fruits of my orchard. Very light and safe for you to drink.”

“Safe?” Calliste asked.

“There are some varieties which could, for instance, bind you to the Underworld, preventing you from leaving,” Hades’ eyes glowed for a moment, then dimmed. “But this one is free of such magic.”

Theron picked up a cup and tasted the wine, surprised by its crisp, fruity flavor as it slid across his tongue. “Exquisite,” he remarked.

Seated next to him, Calliste took a small sip, holding the cup tightly under Hades’ shrewd gaze.

“It is unfortunate that you could not make a full recovery before returning, Calliste,” Hades eventually said. “I wish it were different, but time is not on our side.”

She nodded. “I know. I’m well enough to go to the Roots… but I’m not sure what will await us there.”

Hades glanced at Theron. “We know part of the answer: it’s the Shade of your deceased wife, controlled by an unidentified deity who tries to undermine the Underworld and tangle the threads of the Fates.”

“I am aware of that,” Theron replied.

“It might be a strange question, but did you see to all the burial rites?”

“Of course. I placed the golden coin in her mouth myself.”

Hades exhaled. “I thought you’d say that. Yet for her to end up where she is, Charon must have refused her. While Calliste recovered in your realm, I spoke to him. He remembered the deceased queen, crowned with golden laurel leaves, attempting to board his ferry. But she didn’t have a coin.”

Calliste stiffened and shot him a startled look.

His jaw tightened. “Impossible. The coin was there—I made sure of it.”

“When exactly did you place it?” Hades inquired.

Theron closed his eyes, forcing himself to revisit a moment he’d rather forget. “Before I carried her to the pyre. It was a coin from the temple under your patronage, blessed by your priest and forged with her name on it.”

“So it was both sacred to us and one of a kind.” Hades watched him, as if assessing the truth of his words. “And no one else approached her after you did it? Is there any chance someone could have removed it?”

He stared at him, incredulous. “Why would anybody…” A sudden recollection shook him to the core. He took a shuddering breath, his mind spinning as he remembered he hadn’t been the last person to embrace Amatheia’s body.

“Theron?” Calliste’s concerned voice brought him back, and he looked at her, shocked.

“Solon,” he said slowly, in disbelief. “Her father,” he added, looking at Hades. “He paid his last respects after me. I looked away as he did. He was the last to hold her, that’s all I know.”

Calliste stared at him. “Solon? Would he do that? Why?”

“I’ve never seen someone so broken from the loss of their child,” Theron said quietly. “He wasn’t himself. But to remove the coin would be sacrilegious—surely, he’d know that. What would he gain by doing that?”

Hades set his cup on the table and leaned back in the armchair, his jaw working. “He must have done it—I see no other explanation. His reasons matter less; the key question is whether he still has the coin. If he does, and you can retrieve it, it’s a way to help the queen cross the Styx.”

Theron straightened. “And then?”

“Then she will undergo a trial, like everyone else, and I’ll determine her final destination in my realm.”

Theron rose as if in a dream, a sudden question rising within him like a wave he couldn’t stop.

“Is it possible that all this time...” Speaking was difficult, but he had to know.

“All this time I couldn’t shake the feeling she was still with me.

.. that I dreamed of her, that I felt she was still around—was it because she never truly left?

Because she lives on in the twilight of your realm and remembers who she is? ”

Calliste was already upright, now standing at his side.

Hades rose with a composed expression. “Thanatos,” he called, and another god appeared from thin air like an ominous promise. Hades didn’t even glance in his direction. “Did you hear all of that?”

“Yes,” Thanatos replied, bowing his head.

“It was you...” Theron stiffened, recognizing the voice. “When Calliste was wounded, you woke me.”

“Yes, Majesty. I’m glad you knew what to do.”

There was a brief pause as Theron scrutinized Thanatos. “You were also the one who took my wife.”

“I took her to the Everlasting Enclave, where she could reflect on her life. That was the last I saw of her.”

“Can Shades like this haunt the living?” Calliste asked him, not at all intimidated by the god of death.

Thanatos thought for a moment. “Shades unable to cross the Styx still remember their mortal lives because they observe them in the Enclave. They remain close enough to the living realm to appear in their kin’s dreams. My brother could explain it in more detail.”

“He means Hypnos,” Calliste said quietly, looking at Theron.

He stiffened.

“Hypnos,” Hades confirmed, glancing at Morpheus. “Have you seen him?”

Morpheus shook his head. “Not since our last conversation.”

Hades frowned. “We don’t have time for this.” He looked at Calliste and Theron. “Cover your ears for a moment.”

Even through his hands, Theron could hear the immortal language as Hades uttered a single word in a tingling, harsh, otherworldly cadence. “?πνο?.”

After a moment of silence, another god appeared on the opposite end of the terrace, several steps from them.

Theron clenched his teeth, instantly recognizing the cold smirk, flawless physique, and azure wings.

Hypnos surveyed the scene, his gaze landing on Calliste, moving to their joined hands, then slowly up to Theron. “Ah, look who we have here.”

Calliste tensed.

“Hypnos.” Hades’ voice was sharp enough to cut stone. “Where have you been?”

The god of dreams gave him an insolent look, raising an eyebrow. “You told me to stay away.”

“I told you to step back and reflect,” Hades thundered, the air quivering with his words, “not to disappear altogether.”

“Then I am at your service should my service be required,” Hypnos replied, his voice dripping with honeyed venom.

“You are a member of this court, and we’re grappling with a very thorny problem right now. Don’t you dare waste my time with your games.”

“Maybe I’m not impressed by how you separate me from my favored.”

The lord of the Underworld straightened, a glint in his eye. “She’s not your toy, and you were supposed to understand that.”

Theron gently pulled Calliste closer, assuming a stance that would give him an advantage if a fight broke out.

The movement caught Hypnos’ attention, and his face stilled before his eyes flickered back to Hades. “She is whatever I need her to be. She’s a mortal to whom I’ve shown a lot of favor, and I expect her back in my service exactly as I want her—”

“Over my dead body,” Theron drawled, a fury of startling proportions rising inside him, spreading wings, baring teeth, and showing claws.

The silence that followed was peculiar: leaden yet pulsing, the air thickening with threat.

In a breath, Theron’s focus magnified, registering details with astounding clarity, though he struggled to interpret them, caught in a current of slowly trickling moments.

Hades’ eyes flickered to Theron’s amethyst pendant again; he stepped back, shaking his head at Thanatos as if stopping him from intervening, and leaving the space between Theron and Hypnos clear.

“Right now—” Hypnos shifted to a predatory stance, his otherworldly growl laced with unmistakable hatred, “—I dream of nothing more than your dead body. And I can arrange that, blasphemous king.”

“No,” Calliste breathed, eyes wide, pale as she clutched her pendant and tried to position herself in front of him.

Theron smoothly pushed her behind him, bracing himself and assuming a fighting stance, even though he was armed only with his fists—

“Die!” Hypnos shot forth in a seething flash of white, gold, and azure.

Theron locked eyes with him, feeling the gust of Hypnos’ immortal power surge like a crushing wave.

By instinct, he reached for his belt, searching for his weapon, despite knowing he was unarmed.

But then… then he found a handle and gripped it, ripping the sword out of the scabbard.

Flawless, perfectly balanced, as if crafted just for him, it shone with a purple light that flared to life like a shield before him. Its glare blinded him, and he narrowed his eyes, bracing for impact.

It never came.

Hypnos smashed into the shield of purple light, and it exploded, sizzling and seething.

Between one blink and the next, Hypnos was hurled backward, crashing into the opposite wall of the terrace. His shocked, sharp shriek of agony and terror pierced the air.

Only then did the shield in front of Theron waver, losing its form, transforming into a radiant energy that glowed in the deepest, most vibrant shade of purple, wrapping around him like auroras and humming an ancient song.