Page 48 of Queen to the Sunless Court (Brides of Myth #2)

Chasm

Calliste

Although the hour seemed meaningless, it was unmistakably morning, cutting through Calliste’s dreams with the sharpness of its light and the distant screech of gulls.

Theron’s frame pressed against her, the warmth of his body merging with hers. His heavy, muscular arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close against his chest.

He was still asleep, the strong angles of his face softened by dreams and framed by loose hair. She focused on him for a moment. Even in rest, his body radiated power, so mesmerizing that it made her forget Hypnos, and the memories of the previous night glimmered instead.

What shone through was his wondrous understanding of her body’s fragility and strength, and how his touch could turn from soothing to dominant at the right time in pursuit of her pleasure.

How he was still insatiable after the second time and wore her out to a pleasant numbness with the third.

Only then did he let her sleep in his arms.

The gull screeched again, closer this time, snapping her out of the half-dream. Hypnos’ words trickled back in.

Perhaps he wanted you in his bed without messy complications, but now that he has what he wanted…

The icy dread jolted her fully awake, spreading through her veins.

Theron’s breathing grew shallow and paused briefly before he sighed and opened his eyes.

She froze.

His eyes lit up as they met hers. “Morning, nymph.” He tightened his arms around her, his voice husky from sleep. A drowsy, slightly wicked smile spread across his face as he ran his hand down her back. “Why are you looking at me like I’m about to devour you?”

She didn’t know how to respond, fear clawing at her throat.

“Come to think of it, I could, if you wanted me to.” His eyes already glinted with promises. “You taste so good.”

Still nothing. She couldn’t choke out a word or even manage a neutral expression, lying there like deadwood.

His smile fell away by slow fractions. “Calliste?”

She eased out of his arms, her fear driving her away from the warmth, and sat up.

Hypnos could still have lied. She should have known better than to trust his words, but one thing he’d said did make sense—Theron was always prepared.

And I overlooked it because it was convenient for me to ignore.

Theron lifted himself on his elbow, his brows pinching together. “What’s going on?”

The moment she had feared suddenly rushed at her, merciless as the swish of a blade.

“Theron,” she began, but her voice faltered.

She took a moment to compose herself. “Let me dress.” But her robe was in his study.

She covered her breasts with her hair, moved to the edge of the bed, and lowered her feet to the floor, turning her back to him as she gathered her strength. Breathe.

The bed made a faint creaking noise behind her, followed by the sound of Theron’s feet touching the floor.

Then, a swish of fabric. By the time he stood before her, he had hastily wrapped the tunic around himself and was buckling his belt.

He knelt down before her, lifting her chin with his fingers so she had to meet his eyes. “Please don’t do this.”

His request puzzled her, and she stared at him numbly. “Do what?”

“Don’t leave before you tell me what’s wrong.”

His hair was wonderfully tousled—she reached out and ran her hand through it before catching herself. “Theron…” Her voice was stifled, but the words finally stumbled out. “Hypnos stole into my dream last night.”

Theron tensed. “He dared?”

“He shouldn’t have, of course, and I would be enraged about it, except... he claimed that you investigated my past.” She took a deep breath. “He showed me where you keep a document about it—in your desk, in the bottom drawer.” She waited for him to deny it.

He didn’t. A strange stillness came over him. His mouth tightened.

She rose from the bed, sidestepping him. “This one time I hoped he’d lie to me, he didn’t.”

“Wait,” he said, standing up.

She turned away, heading for the side table by the door where he’d left the key and grabbed it.

He was already beside her, catching her wrist. “Calliste, look at me.”

She couldn’t, her fear and sense of betrayal numbing her. “You knew all along. I thought I could trust you to leave it alone and not pry, but you went and looked for it.” Bitterness overwhelmed her. “Please let go of my wrist.”

He released it.

She put the key in the lock and turned it.

His study was flooded with pink, early-morning sunshine, but her focus was on her robe, still on the floor beside the armchair.

She rushed over to it, her hands trembling as she wrapped it around herself and grabbed her clasps from the table—too hastily, knocking over the wine jug and not catching it in time.

It fell to the floor, shattering and splattering wine all over her robe.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath.

Theron was already beside her. “Leave it; it doesn’t matter.”

She stepped away from him, adjusting her robe and securing it with clasps until she was dressed properly.

He faced her, now fully illuminated by the sunshine, and waited a moment before moving closer. “Calliste, let me explain.”

“No, let me explain what it’s like to have a terrible past you don’t want anybody to know about—only to find out that someone you grew to trust didn’t respect that.” Her voice was brittle and bitter, and she couldn’t find her calm. “How long have you known?”

“Before we kissed for the first time, I knew enough. More details came after that,” he replied, his voice taut with guilt.

“But I didn’t… pry. It wasn’t idle curiosity, Calliste.

” He stepped closer. “After I saw your scars for the first time, when you collapsed on the hills outside Anthemos, and every time you shrank away when I asked about your past—I had to know. How could I watch you struggle under all that weight and do nothing ?”

It all sounded like him—sincere and caring, and she could acknowledge it despite the numbness and agony sweeping through her. But it didn’t lessen her pain at all. “Well, now you know.” Trepidation was tearing her apart. “What are you going to do with that knowledge?”

“What do you mean?” He sounded confused.

Her chest tightened further. “You know about my crime,” she forced out. “I understand why you didn’t mention it until necessary, but it ends now. What are you going to do with me?”

He blinked rapidly, as if she made no sense. His eyebrows knitted together as he spoke slowly. “What crime are you talking about?”

The air froze around her as she stared at him, equally confused, feeling as if she were about to step off a parapet into an abyss.

“The crime of killing my husband,” she finally said, and it felt both crushing and liberating, the dissonance so strange that she could barely breathe.

“I killed him, Theron. The night he marked me with scars, I pushed him into the fireplace and ran away, barring the doors. I could hear him screaming, until he stopped.”

He froze, his eyes widening as he stepped back from her and choked out, “Oh, gods.”

Her pulse drummed in her ears. “You didn’t know?

” Her breaths came up sharp and rushed as everything was crashing around her.

“But now you do.” She had expected his disgust, but seeing it so plainly on his face was heartbreaking.

All the arguments she had prepared to defend herself with vanished from her mind.

Theron stared at her for an unbearably long moment before he spoke again. “Did you see… his body?”

The question caught her off guard. “No, but he was burning alive as I fled. I blinded him with a torch and pushed him into a fireplace. He couldn’t have survived.”

When he stepped closer, she realized that what she’d taken for disgust was something else. He was horrified. “Calliste… All those years, you believed you killed your husband and… and you lived with all that guilt?”

Now it was her turn to stare at him, her mind struggling to process his questions. Why is he asking me this?

He grasped her wrist and led her to the desk, keeping hold as he leaned over to open the drawer Hypnos had mentioned, retrieving a scroll.

He released her only to unroll it on the desk and secure its ends with two elegantly carved paperweights.

“Read this,” he said, stepping aside to stand next to her.

She stared at it in confusion until her eyes caught something familiar: her own name, Calliste of Anthemos, right next to the name she had tried to erase from her memory countless times.

Ariston Nasso.

Her vision blurred. An icy sensation rose in her throat, choking her. She rubbed her eyes to see properly and started picking out the words around those names until one stood out, wildering.

Divorced.

Her heartbeat flared up. She read the line again, and again.

…this confirms that Ariston Nasso, a citizen of Anthemos, has divorced his wife, Calliste of Anthemos in absentia…

The document was dated just after the war. Her legs trembled, about to fold beneath her.

He steadied her against him, holding her tightly. “Keep reading, Calliste.”

On the grounds of her barrenness, and a violent action against him, resulting in disfigurement and the loss of sight in one eye.

Her stomach churned as she clamped a hand over her mouth, unable to stop shaking. Her vision blurred and then cleared again. I didn’t kill him. Gods. I did not.

Theron held her steady, unwavering.

After a long moment, she finally met his eyes. “And... you knew about this all along and I didn’t... repulse you?”

“Repulse me?” He inhaled and released a long breath. “I might not know what happened that night, but I understand that he branded you and you fought back. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Calliste, I’ve witnessed enough trials to know that if a woman fights a man as you did, she must be desperate. Her life must be in danger. What would have happened if you hadn’t fought back?”

She couldn’t find words.

“Let me answer this for you—sooner or later, you’d have been dead, and no one would blink.” His voice had turned pitiless. “This was the reality before I changed the law, wasn’t it? When no one would hold him accountable, because you were his property and he could do as he pleased.”

Her pulse still raced on, her mind too slow to catch up with the tilt of reality, still in disbelief. Her hand trembled as she reached out to grasp his shoulder, the burden on her conscience lifting.

Suddenly, she could breathe a little easier, as if her lungs could expand better now that she knew the truth. She was free. “Theron, I’m not… not a murderer.”

He gathered her in his arms and held her tight. “Gods, Calliste, no. You’re not.”

Great, shaking sobs tore through her chest. “Theron.” She clutched his robe, pressing her forehead against him while he rocked her, the space around them filling with sunlight.

“Damn it all to Tartarus.” His voice was anguished. “If only I’d known… I’d have told you earlier.”

Her answer wouldn’t come. That overwhelming wave of relief, disbelief, grief kept battering her, and there was only one safe harbor that could withstand it, where she wasn’t ashamed of being so wrecked, and that was him.

She didn’t know how much time had passed before her breath smoothed out, but when it finally did, she wiped her eyes with the edge of her robe, looking up at his haunted expression.

“I thought you’d push me away. Put me on trial. ”

He flinched. “Never.”

“Do you know… where he is?”

Briefly, he looked away. “Yes.”

She forgot to breathe again, shaking anew.

“No,” he said quickly. “He won’t hurt you ever again. He won’t come near you, because he physically can’t. He’s a cripple, and it had nothing to do with you.”

“A cripple?” She believed him, but she wanted to know more, and eased out of his embrace to ask, but caught the sound of footsteps outside.

The door swung open, and Captain Lykos burst in, his eyes scanning the room before settling on Theron and then her.

Gaiane followed, carrying a tray of food, her eyes widening as she saw them.

Captain Lykos approached them, briefly glancing at the broken wine bottle, narrowing his gaze at her, then shifting to Theron before his expression shifted to perfect composure. “Ah. Morning, Calliste. This explains why you’re not in your chamber and why no one knows your whereabouts.”

She didn’t know where to look, as it was obvious that she hadn’t left Theron’s quarters since last night—especially since both of them were disheveled and wearing yesterday’s crumpled robes. Anyone with a pair of eyes would know what to make of it.

Gaiane’s smile dazzled as she came close to them and set down the tray on Theron’s desk, scrutinizing them with an approving air.

“Well, now you know where she is,” Theron said calmly. “Anything else?”

Lykos’s jaw tightened. “Calliste, are you all right?”

She touched her cheeks, realizing her eyes were puffy and her face was red from crying. “...Yes. Thank you, Captain, I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.” He shot Theron a challenging glare. “What did you do?”

“No, Captain, honestly,” she put in quickly. “He didn’t do anything wrong. I... I just had an emotional moment. I’m not hurt. Quite the opposite.”

The tension in Captain Lykos’ posture softened as he cast her a puzzled look. “Which is...?”

“Healed,” she whispered.

“And probably hungry,” Gaiane added cheerfully from behind Lykos.

Calliste smiled at Gaiane. “You’re as right as ever.”

Theron caressed her cheek, a playful smile on his face. “Bath and breakfast? With me?”

Gaiane was already marching in that direction. “I’ll prepare the bath-chamber.”

Like a lazy wave drowning everything in its path, sunshine flooded the study.