Page 14 of The Prince of Hidden Shadows (Runaway Prince Hotel #5)

Chapter Eleven

HEROES

Théo

C afé Magnifique smells of fresh coffee and baked goods, its rustic charm offset by the golden glow of Edison bulbs dangling from the ceiling.

The wooden tables are scarred from years of use, and mismatched chairs creak slightly as customers settle into them.

A chalkboard menu hangs behind the counter, listing drinks and pastries in uneven, handwritten letters.

It has a homey warmth to it—both familiar and welcoming, resembling a friend’s kitchen more than a business.

The lunchtime rush is over, leaving a short line.

I steal a glance at Zagreus’s sinful mouth, heat rising as I recall the blissful moment we shared.

A kiss that made us hard as granite. A kiss that enlightened me about his true nature.

A kiss that I long to reenact. With the fire we ignited, our attraction can’t be denied.

But it’s been over a month, and there’s been no progress. We agreed to quell the hunger screaming in our bodies. My favorite Greek god suggested we take things slow and get to know each other better.

As much as I love it, and my job taught me to be patient, putting my attraction under wraps is new to me… and man, this is not my jam!

Granted, it allowed me to accept him as he is. Real. Otherworldly. Fascinating. What he is not? An imaginary friend fabricated by my lonely and horny brain.

Despite our surreal trip to the pit of the Earth, it took me weeks to wrap my head around his true nature. He is Zagreus. Son of Hades. Prince of the Underworld. Occasional elevator operator. Expert kisser. What a combo!

Once the realization sank in, I devoured articles and stories about this Greek god. Legends surround his name, his life, as well as his death and rebirth. I can’t believe he’s a video game character. Yet, I’m the lucky mortal who gets to see who he is—bit by bit, piece by piece.

I’ve steered clear of mentioning him when I text Noé. I’m torn—wary of Zagreus and his world. But another side of me—the one drawn to a guy thirsty for knowledge—doesn’t give a flying fuck about the myths. There’s a legend, yes, but it’s not the truth. Not ours.

I value the bond we’re building, day by day, over steamy cups of java more often than not. Sharing stories, trading curiosities, diving into a world that’s split in two—distinct halves of one greater world.

On top of his larger-than-life history, having a one-night stand with him didn’t sit right for more reasons than I can count.

I am a guest, and he works here—a recipe for disaster.

We’re bound to cross paths again on the premises, no matter how things end.

Beyond that, Zagreus has been fixated on Hidden Shadows , hinting that he wants me to play a role in my scheme that doesn’t quite match what I was assigned.

We’ve just got back from our second visit to the museum, and my legs are heavy with a dull ache from all the walking, but his energy hasn’t faded. Must be nice to be a god who never tires.

I glance up at the menu. “Grilled cheese… yeah, that sounds good,” I declare before returning my attention to my Greek friend by my side. “Simple, comforting.”

Zagreus smirks for no apparent reason as the line creeps towards the register.

“What?” I snap, unable to hide my irritation when I realize it’s because of my selection.

“Nothing…” He pauses, not carrying on until after we place our order—a grilled veggie sandwich on focaccia with pesto for him.

We find a spot while waiting for our names to be called. Well, I’m Théo, obviously, but he goes by Ziggy. He says his real name draws odd looks, and he’s a die-hard Bowie fan.

Seated at a round table by a large window, I smile, wondering if he’ll offer me an explanation. I keep my mouth shut and wait, but our silence is interrupted by Justice, one of the male staff members, on the opposite side of the café.

“Ziggy and Théo.”

As much as I hate to admit it, I like the sound of that far more than I should.

“I’ll get it.” Before I can react, he moves with that effortless, godly grace of his.

One second he’s relaxed, the next, he’s halfway to the counter.

That’s how he slipped in paying for lunch—sneaky bastard—refusing my money when I protested.

Instead, he explained that gods have deep pockets when they visit, so “why not treat my friends?” He’s impossible…

and sweet. I warned him—next meal’s on me.

I’m happy to call him my friend.

He’s back with a tray in hand that finds its place between us.

Eyes on the food, his grin spreads wide as he sits.

“I mean…” He takes a bite of his sandwich and groans.

I pretend to be immune to his little noises, unlike when we kissed.

I want to hear what he has to say. “Comforting, huh, Théo? You always pick the safe option.”

My left eyebrow spikes so high, it must be close to my hairline. I bet he means the food. Lips curving into a knowing smile, I refrain from emphasizing that stealing a magical golden coin and kissing him might not be labeled as safe choices.

“What?” It’s his turn to ask. His tone holds no malice—just genuine surprise.

He shrugs. “What can I say? I’m observant.

” A noncommittal sound slips from my lips at his statement.

I can’t decide whether I’m pleased or offended.

“That’s why I’m good at my job.” I don’t dare inquire if he’s referring to his current occupation or the one he performs down under, guiding the souls on their journey.

“This is a pretty decent sandwich, by the way.” He wolfs it down, and I watch his Adam’s apple work.

I’ve been drawn to it ever since he said this attribute is a special addition when he’s on Earth—his facial hair, too.

Captivated, I study his stubbled throat, my mouth watering at the thought of tracing it with my tongue.

His voice tears me from my lustful haze, and I meet his gaze. “We don’t have those where I’m from.”

Talking about his world or his unique nature in public isn’t allowed, so I guess he’ll elaborate when it’s only the two of us —which happens often enough.

The hotel owner, Layla, also his long-time friend, landed him a job here keep him occupied and provide a fresh way to send souls to the Underworld.

“Are you happy with your safe choice?” he teases.

Minutes later, Zagreus scrolls through his phone with fierce concentration.

I sip my water, shooting him a sideways glance.

Brows furrowed. Lips parted. Eyes narrowed.

This is the same composed, deadly god who moves through the world like it bends to his will—now grinning at cat memes and viral dances.

Whenever he’s off duty and I’m not wandering the city or getting lost examining every corner of my museum of choice, I teach him the basics—search engines, streaming, rabbit holes of useless but addictive knowledge.

Seeing him light up at things I barely register anymore—it’s disarming, oddly touching.

Through his eyes, the mundane becomes magic.

Of course, he’s been hooked on social media since our impromptu lesson.

He’s obsessed with Princetagram and created an aesthetic that he’s super proud of.

He’s been posting loads of pictures of—I quote—beautiful things, which includes paintings, sculptures, landscapes, fashion, and, most of all, his favorite fictional character: Sonny Crockett from the 80s show Miami Vice .

I swear I kept a straight face when we surfed the Internet in search of a hot Crockett photo Zagreus deemed worthy of adding to his wall.

Funny that he has added nothing Greek so far.

When my plate is empty, I eventually inquire, “Have you been analyzing my orders whenever we ate together?” He gazes at me in silent agreement, a spark of joy in his dark eyes.

Besides watching movies or TV series, sharing meals ranks high on our list of favorite activities.

Food stirs memories—ones we eagerly exchange as if we’ve been close for years.

And with this terrible weather, we can’t exactly enjoy the boardwalk.

Instead, we opt for the indoor pool. “You’re weird. ”

“Shocker, right?”

“Ha-ha… Should I be concerned about being the object of your scrutiny or flattered?”

“I prefer you being flattered.” He halts for a long while, and I bite my tongue rather than interrupt him. “What can I say? You fascinate me.”

“I’m not sure why, but thanks.” My throat goes dry at what I’m about to admit, and I swallow the lump there, although his confession sounded so effortless. “If you must know, the feeling is mutual.”

He watches me and rubs the back of his neck without a word. His blush is adorable, but I will myself not to fall for it.

“But anyway,” I redirect the conversation, “what’s wrong with opting for safe choices?”

“Nothing. Except you’re anything but safe when it comes to your job.

It’s one of the reasons I’m fascinated by you.

You’re a walking contradiction with a signature permanent frown.

I kinda dig it!” He raises an eyebrow, his hand rubbing his chin.

“Like what you were telling me about wanting to go to cooking school? That doesn’t scream ‘safe.’”

I chuckle, shaking off the thought. “Yeah, well, that was years ago. A pipe dream. My family couldn’t afford it, so I taught myself. Then life… happened.”

He cocks his head to the left. “You’re good at it though, aren’t you? Cooking?”

“I like to think so.” I sip my water, avoiding his eyes. “But that ship sailed a long time ago. Now I’m in… my new line of work.”

His smile fades, replaced by a look of quiet determination. “You could still do it, you know.”

I snort, setting my glass down. “Not likely. Besides, I told you I’m accountable for…” I pause. With resolve in my tone, I add, “There’s no walking away from that.”

“Who said anything about giving up?” He leans forward, lowering his voice. “What if there’s a way to fix this? To free you from that contract and set things straight?”

I frown, my skepticism clear. “Come on, Z.” His cheeks flush at the nickname, which I file away for later. “Don’t you get it? I work for people who won’t let me quit and disappear without a fight. I have a reputation to uphold and, believe it or not, I do need the money.”

“You’d be surprised what can happen when you have a plan,” he says, his voice light but his eyes sharp. “And lucky for you, I’m pretty good at plans.”

“Sure,” I say with a smirk. “And what’s your grand idea?”

“Steal Hidden Shadows for me .”

I gawk at his indecent proposal. Before he can elaborate, I notice a familiar figure entering the café, who spots me almost instantly and waves, approaching the table.

“Bonjour, Théodore,” Simon calls out with a lopsided grin.

When Simon is standing in front of us, he acknowledges Zagreus’s presence by jutting his chin in his direction, but keeps his attention on me. “ Quoi de neuf aujourd’hui ?”

I compliment him on his French, accent and all, and he thanks me; I’ve been teaching him every chance we get, as I promised him upon my arrival. He’s gifted.

Unsure how much Simon follows, I switch to English—for Zagreus’s sake, too. “Just grabbing lunch.” I nod toward the stacked plates and folded napkins. Neat freak Zagreus—now that’s a plot twist. “What about you?” Then I remember French is no challenge for my favorite Greek god.

“I rarely serve at the café since I’m tied up at the reception.

But today we’re short-staffed—one of the cooks called in sick.

I offered to fill in until they find a replacement.

” He gestures at the revolving door behind the counter.

“It’s a madhouse back there. Shuffling my schedule sucks…

I had plans, so I ended up canceling them. ” He shrugs.

Zagreus’s face lights up, and he turns to me with a sly grin. “Hear that? The café needs a cook. Could be more than a quick fill-in. Seems like the perfect chance to put your skills to the test, Théo.” Under the table, his shoe nudges against my boot.

More than the touch, it’s the impulse behind it that tugs at me, distracting me from the conversation. Is it a ploy to throw me off? I push it aside and blink at him, incredulous. “What? Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Didn’t you say you regretted your missed opportunity?”

Not quite, but kinda… still. “God, no!” I exclaim, hand flying to my heart, pretending I didn’t say “God” on purpose.

By now, though, he can see right through me. “Ha-ha!” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“Listen, I’m not jumping into someone else’s kitchen on a whim.”

Simon glances between us, clearly intrigued. “You a chef?”

“He could be,” Zagreus replies pointedly, ignoring my glare. “Think you can talk someone into letting him sub in for the day?”

Simon chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s not my call, but I can ask Mateo. I think he’s the manager on duty today. We’re desperate enough, and like I said, I’d rather stick to the front desk.”

I groan, sinking back into my chair, alternatively glaring at the two, then my eyes settle on Zagreus. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

He beams; his excitement is infectious despite my reluctance.

“I do.”