Page 61 of Queen to the Sunless Court (Brides of Myth #2)

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Theron

Theron held Calliste in his arms while Nocturne shot through the nighttime sky like a dark arrow.

Morpheus flew beside them, as bright as the approaching dawn in the mortal realm.

“How long have we been away?” Theron asked.

“One night. It may feel longer to you, but that was it.”

They landed on the terrace as usual.

Theron dismounted from Nocturne without help, cradling Calliste close. She felt so weightless that he was terrified she might vanish. “She can’t disappear now, can she?” he finally managed, already exhausted at the thought of leaving her alone even for a moment.

“No.” Morpheus’ smile was the usual study in serenity. “She won’t, Theron. I’m certain Epione will continue to watch over her.”

“You supported Calliste all the way, and I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for her.”

“I had to. She’s unique. But it was an honor to assist both of you.” Morpheus’ gaze lingered on Calliste. “I can see your devotion to her, and while I cannot influence the Fates, I hope they will bring you together for good. Anything less would be unfair.”

“She gave it all and didn’t expect to survive. Did she?” he asked. “When she wakes and realizes what it means to her…” His heart clenched. “I don’t know if she’ll be able to live on without it.”

“Yes, there’s that.” Morpheus gave Calliste an infinitely sad look. “My advice is to give her as much space and time as she needs to process this. That’s the best you can do.”

“And… Hypnos?” Theron’s muscles tensed. “I heard what you said about his attraction to her. Is he going to leave her alone now?”

A faint, chilly smile flickered across Morpheus’ face, making him look eerily like his father for a heartbeat.

“I cannot—and frankly, do not want to—imagine what goes through my father’s mind, but I’d venture a guess that he’s unsettled right now.

We’ve both noticed Calliste’s gift and how unlike it was to any other power known to us.

Thankfully, this is where my father and I differ, because I respected it, whereas he viewed it through the prism of his desire. ”

Nocturne huffed behind him.

Morpheus cast the steed a glance over his shoulder.

“You would toss him in a heartbeat, wouldn’t you, Nocturne?

” He patted the horse’s neck, then turned back to Theron.

“The truth is that my father was genuinely attracted to Calliste because the energy she carried from Erebus resonated with his own, which is no longer the case.” He stepped closer to Calliste and stroked her hair.

“I’m so proud that she didn’t fall for his machinations.

Fates only know where we would be if she had.

Now…” He bent over and placed a soft kiss on Calliste’s forehead.

“She has a special place in my heart, and I know I’m leaving her in good hands. ”

“You know I’d fight anyone for her.”

Morpheus stepped back, smoothly mounting Nocturne. “And I’d fight beside you. It was just this one battle that she had to wage alone.” His golden curls swayed in the morning breeze as he bowed his head and urged Nocturne to jump over the balustrade.

Theron watched him disappear on the horizon, then made his way to his chamber. He laid Calliste on his sheets and sat down, burying his face in his hands. Then he dragged himself downstairs to check on Kalias.

Sudden steps from around the corner made him slow down, but not quickly enough, and he collided with Lykos.

“Theron.” His friend looked him up and down, eyes wide with urgency, then frowned. “Where’s Calliste?”

Theron exhaled, but before he could explain, he noticed his friend’s red-rimmed eyes. “Were you crying?”

“I wasn’t,” he said defiantly. “I, erm—oh, screw it, maybe I was. Whatever.”

“What happened?” Theron was speechless as he watched Lykos rub his eyes. “Don’t tell me someone has died, I can’t—”

“Theron. Kalias is awake,” Lykos said slowly, and then Theron remembered.

Kalias is awake.

He stared at Lykos for another heartbeat before striding—running—racing down the corridor with Lykos beside him until they reached the doors of Kalias’ chamber, where he halted, afraid it might be a dream.

Kalias’ room was filled with what at first seemed like a crowd—no, not a crowd. Just all his friends, standing in a tight circle next to the bed, blocking the view.

Drakon noticed him first and straightened. “Majesty,” he called out.

All heads turned toward him. Grinning faces. Happy faces. Chrysantos, Argyros. Melitta, wiping away her tears. Gaiane, beaming… and Xanthos, with the strangest expression. They all stepped aside, clearing the way to—

“Dad!” Kalias shouted. “I’m having honey cakes for breakfast!”

Theron froze, swayed, then rushed forward. A heartbeat later, he held his son in his arms. “Kalias,” he repeated. “Kalias. Gods, I was so worried.”

Beside him, Lykos attempted some witty remarks, but Theron heard only his son’s breath, his warm presence, and his sweet, chirpy voice.

“Dad,” Kalias squirmed. “Dad, I can’t breathe.”

“Oh.” Theron released him, running his hand over his hair, laughing, still incredulous. “How do you feel?”

His son looked up, grinning as he munched on the honey cakes Gaiane must have supplied. “I’m fine. I wanted to ride my horse, but Uncle Lykos said I have to ask you first,” he sighed. “Can I?”

“I had to restrain him already,” Lykos muttered, pointing at the wooden warriors scattered in the billowing depths of Kalias’ blanket among the crumbs of oatcakes. “He wanted all his army with him. Now he wants to ride his pony.”

“Can you stand?” Theron asked, surprised.

Kalias swung his legs over the edge of the bed, but they gave way when he tried to stand.

Theron and Lykos caught him before he flopped to the floor.

“What’s wrong with my legs?” Kalias asked, sitting back, his mouth downturned.

“You were asleep too long,” Theron stroked his head. “Much longer than you should have been—but I promise you’ll be fine. Did you have any dreams?”

Kalias watched him for a moment, settling back on the bed. “Yes,” he mumbled. “I dreamt about a goddess, Dad. She was beautiful, in green robes with a shining green stone… here.” He touched the middle of his chest. “She was watching over me.”

Theron opened his mouth, but his words took a long while before finally stumbling out. “That might be the priestess who was looking after you while you were asleep.”

His son’s eyes widened as he glanced around. “Where is she now?”

Theron hesitated, aware of everyone’s gaze.

“Where’s she?” Lykos asked again. “Please don’t tell me she—”

“She’s alive,” Theron cleared his throat, his heart clenching. “Asleep. She’s exhausted.”

Lykos frowned, seeing through him straight away. “Why do you look so miserable?”

“Theron.” Gaiane rose with worry etched on her face. “Is she all right?”

Kalias didn’t ask him anything, but he waited.

The atmosphere had already shifted as his friends exchanged worried glances.

If they could see through his anguish, Kalias would, too, and the last thing Theron wanted was to burden his son with the knowledge of what it had cost to have him back.

So he smiled at him. “The priestess who was looking after you—her name is Calliste. She’s resting now, but I promise you that once she feels better, you’ll be able to speak to her and…

” His voice grew hoarse as he closed his arms around Kalias again, relief and anguish tangled in his mind, unable to separate. “Thank her.”

***

Anthemos was celebrating.

Theron could hear the festivities from the palace—people dancing in the streets, Temples filled with citizens bringing offerings to thank the gods for Kalias’ recovery, the Assembly jubilant.

Even all that noise wouldn’t wake Calliste.

Because the real reason for her condition seemed too fantastical, more like a vivid dream than reality, he settled for a simpler explanation: that she had overexerted herself in her final attempt to help Kalias in the Underworld.

This was what he told Lykos, Xanthos, and Gaiane: the only ones he could trust with some of the truth.

“That’s not all, is it?” Lykos challenged him. “She’s never looked like this.” His eyes darted to her white hair and lingered on her cracked pendant.

“There is more,” Theron muttered, sitting beside her, hunched and dispirited. “But I’ll tell you another day. What she did was heroic, but it came at a price.”

“Why don’t we move her to her old room?” Gaiane stroked Calliste’s hair. “Melitta and I could look after her.”

“I’d have to move there, too.” Theron said.

Gaiane gave him a shrewd look. “You’d be closer to Kalias as well.”

“Oh, of course. I keep forgetting he’s awake…”

Gaiane was right, as always.

As he carried Calliste back to her room, Kalias found him and froze at the sight of Calliste, his eyes filled with confusion. “Dad, this is the goddess I saw, but her hair was brown…”

“This is the priestess I brought here to take care of you.”

“Why is her hair white?”

“Because she… exhausted herself. That’s why her hair is white and she’s asleep.”

“Will she wake up?”

“I... I don’t know. I hope so.” He laid her on the bed and tucked the covers around her, restraining himself from doing more in front of Kalias—but he underestimated his son.

“Do you like her?” Kalias asked bluntly, his head tilted.

He paused, then sat at the edge of the bed, smiling. “I like her very much, Kalias.”

“Because she helped me?”

“Yes. Because she helped you… and me. She cared for many people, and now we need to care for her.”

“We will.” Kalias nodded solemnly.

Theron ruffled his hair, his throat tight.

Three days turned into a week, then two.

Theron settled back into his usual routine, attending the Assembly and spending time with Kalias.

In the evenings, after he put Kalias to bed, he would eat, wash, and lie next to Calliste, holding her through the night and talking to her, recounting the day’s events.

As the third week started, her hair remained white, and she still didn’t wake.