Page 49 of Queen to the Sunless Court (Brides of Myth #2)

Bath and Breakfast

Theron

They nibbled on cinnamon buns to stave off hunger while they waited for the bath, which Gaiane arranged in no time, her bright smile never fading as she left.

Lykos made himself scarce, too, and this time, Theron didn’t have to guess the reason for his set jaw. Eumelia. That will be an interesting chat.

Calliste finished her bun and drank some water. “I really need a bath,” she said.

“You’re not the only one.” He led her back to his bedchamber, then to the bathroom, where he hummed in approval, impressed by how Gaiane had outdone herself.

Beside him, Calliste sighed in wonder.

Amber radiance from golden wax pillar candles glazed the marble walls, steeping the space in syrupy-thick light. A few stood on the floor by the wall, while several more blazed in the corner of the bath.

Calliste studied the gold-and-azure mural towering above the bath, which depicted a muscular merman with long green-black hair leaning down to kiss a sea-nymph on a rock.

She wore a crown of seashells, pearls, and indigo roses woven into her black hair, fluttering in the sea breeze.

Her tail’s scales shimmered like polished silver.

The merman’s hand was buried in her hair as he tilted her face to kiss her parted lips.

Their faces were serene, the painting capturing the tenderness in their expressions.

Although he knew every detail of this mural by heart, its beauty never faded.

“Theron, what is this scene?”

“Chrysanthe and Ambrosios. It’s a romantic folk tale from a nearby region.”

She took his hand, her eyes on the mural. “You have a phoenix in your study and a romantic scene here?”

He paused, trying to remember why he’d chosen this mural. “In that tale, she broke a curse that trapped him in an underwater palace and discovered they were destined for each other. It’s a story with a happy ending.”

A shadow passed over the moment, whispering all the reasons that stood in the way of theirs, but he didn’t want to dwell on them. “Let’s bathe.”

Though he wanted to undress her himself, it was more satisfying to watch her do it instead, glancing at him coyly and letting her robe slide to the floor. Surrounded by marble and the steam rising from the bathtub, she seemed like a gracious ghost.

But when she bent over the tub to check the water, he was beside her in two steps, helping her into the tub, watching her scars. The man who’d given them to her was no longer a threat—and didn’t deserve to die by Theron’s hand anymore, either. The Fates relished irony, by the looks of it.

She sighed as she sank into the water. The tub was deep, but its bottom had a gentle incline, allowing her to relax with her head against the sinuous frame. She tilted her head at the carved stone pots at the edge.

“Just two?” she smiled. “Melitta brought me at least five.”

“Melitta is infamous for her extravagant taste,” he chuckled. “And she despairs at mine. They both contain the same bathing salts.”

She lifted the lid of the nearest one and sniffed. “Oh.” Her breath caught. “Oh.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I love this scent on your skin, Theron.”

“Ah.” He unwrapped his robe. “Do you, now?”

She stilled, her gaze sweeping over him, likely unaware of how much she revealed on her face—and it was more than flattering. “I may or may not be addicted to it.”

“Glad to hear. It’s my favorite.” He slipped into the bath, settling in front of her and scooping water to wet her hair. My precious, wild nymph. What wouldn’t I give to keep you with me forever. “Let me wash your hair.”

When she turned around, he pulled her against him, his back against the end of the tub, which was wide enough for both of them to be comfortable. He picked up the small block of scented hair soap from the clay saucer on the ledge and lathered it, working his fingers through her hair.

“I’m going to smell like you,” she observed.

He leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Good. I want everyone to know who you belong to.” He grinned at hearing her breath catch.

As he ran his fingers through her hair, he pondered how to steer the conversation back to her past, as there were countless things he wanted to know.

But he’d rather she told him of her own volition.

She sighed a few times before finally speaking. “I’m an orphan, Theron.”

This stilled his hands for a moment, then he resumed massaging her scalp, choosing not to break the silence she needed with needless questions.

“I was left at Hera’s temple doorstep when I was about two summers old, and I never knew or remembered my parents.

The Temple sheltered and educated me.” Her voice was distant.

“Well, as far as they would educate a useful servant. I hated it there, but I had no means of escape, until one day after my nineteenth birthday, I caught the eye of a patron during dinner.” She sighed again.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “His name was Ariston.”

Theron stopped lathering her scalp and pulled her closer, grabbing a rinsing cup and dipping it in the water.

“He asked Xanthippe, the Head Priestess, if she could release me from the Temple to become his wife. When I heard about it… I couldn’t believe my luck.

Until then, I was a nobody with no prospects beyond a life of servitude, and no hope of escaping that dreadful place.

I didn’t care what kind of man he was; what mattered was that I could finally leave. ”

The sudden fury that seized him made it hard to breathe. “So marrying a man you barely knew was better than living… there?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I’d have done anything to escape that place. And he seemed decent.”

He wrapped his arms around her.

“He was, well, a true merchant. A very cold man. In his world, everything was a calculation or a transaction. He made it clear he wanted a wife who would obey him completely, someone he could control, but also someone who would take care of him when he was blind drunk… which was often. He also expected a family. But this was where he miscalculated, because it turned out that… I can’t have children. ”

The anguish in her voice was an open wound. He held her tight against him, planting a small kiss on the back of her shoulder, wishing he could kiss away that harrowing past.

“He kept calling me a failure and disappointment because of that. He hated that the woman he had personally chosen turned out to be barren. When a Disciple of Asklepios told him nothing could be done, he insisted on a trip to Mount Hellecon to see if it might help.”

He almost said it again: it didn’t have to be you. But he held his tongue.

“That was my first journey to Mount Hellecon. I didn’t meet Leontia then, because the sisters told him they don’t treat barrenness—which is true. We don’t. So he took me back to Anthemos, and after that journey, our marriage took a darker turn. He was becoming vicious. And that night...”

He sensed her body tensing. “Calliste, if it’s too much for you, I can wait. You’ve already told me a lot.”

She exhaled. “I want to tell you this now and never come back to it again. That night, he was the worst I’d ever seen, and he pushed me to the edge, Theron.

I was at the bottom of a terrible, icy pit, and the only person I hated more than myself was him.

I wanted to be free. I knew I could make it on my own, but not without a divorce.

Everything I’d held back for nearly three years burst out of me all at once.

I screamed at him that I wanted to leave…

and it sent him into a fury that I’d never seen.

He grabbed the poker and branded me. I can’t explain what happened next, except that it felt like Epione must have intervened, because though I should have been in agony, I somehow got to my feet and attacked him.

I caught him by surprise and pushed him into the fireplace.

When I saw him in flames and realized what I’d done I… I ran away. You know the rest.”

He rinsed her hair in silence, and when he was sure she didn’t want to add anything else, he took his comb from the side and ran it down her wet hair, starting at the ends and working his way up.

“Let me finish his story for you. This is what I’ve learned from the official record and a woman I spoke to recently.

The fire was quickly extinguished because it was a summer festival that day, and enough people were around to stop it from spreading.

He was found in the house, badly burned, but alive.

He had enough money to pay the Disciples of Asklepios for treatment, but he did lose sight in one eye. ”

She was still. “And then?”

“When the barbarians besieged Anthemos, he fought with others.” He slid the comb down in smooth strokes now.

Her hair was sleek, its color deeper now that it was wet.

The movement seemed to soothe her. “He rescued a woman from a burning house but was crushed under rubble. After being pulled out, he could no longer walk.”

Her silence was like armor.

“This is where things take an interesting turn.” Dark satisfaction seeped into his voice.

“He refused to pay the Disciples of Asklepios any longer, despite being in agony. The woman he saved during the siege had illegal access to milk of poppy painkillers and she must have offered him some. I’m sure you’re familiar with this substance, as potent as it is addictive. ”

Her shoulders tensed. “Yes. I know what you mean.”

“He decided to marry the woman he’d saved, likely believing that marriage would secure him a steady supply of that substance.

I have no illusions that she married him mainly for money, after losing everything during the siege.

A match made in heaven. He divorced you first, then remarried.

And then… well. What he didn’t realize was just how addictive and destructive this painkiller was.

He’s a ruin, Calliste, and I don’t think he’ll last long. ”