Page 4 of The Prince of Hidden Shadows (Runaway Prince Hotel #5)

Chapter Three

RIVER STYX

Zagreus

T he Styx doesn’t whisper. It suffocates.

A soft, choking hum hangs over the banks of the river, dense with the fallout of souls fresh from death. Not cries. Not screams. Not solace—rather disbelief, pleas, regrets.

Small waves slap against jagged rocks, disrupting the stillness of the overcast sky. Some would call this place claustrophobic—a space where mortals crawl out of their skin upon arrival… literally.

“I’m not his puppet, for fuck’s sake!” I hiss.

Raw from the exchange with my father minutes ago, I rake a hand through my dark curls and step up beside Charon. My jaw clenches. I grind my teeth, bracing myself for the next blow—because with Hades, one is never the end.

Busy sulking, I spare little more than a glance towards the human who’s staring out at the water as if it holds answers.

Standing at the edge, he looks lost in his thoughts.

Well-behaved humans are scarce around here.

They become hostile that their time is up and often throw a fit when they comprehend Greek mythology is no myth—that this realm is their forever.

“You okay?” my friend murmurs, catching my distress.

I offer a half-smile. My strained relationship with my father isn’t news to him.

The back of his hand caresses mine, and warmth spreads down my spine. Charon gets me better than anyone, yet neither of us seeks commitment. Guess who invented the concept of friends with benefits?

He and I have an understanding. He’s one of my father’s oldest lieutenants, and any… extracurricular display of affection would invite trouble. So, we keep it low-key—wordless looks, occasional grins, and an appreciation for how well we work together.

His focus doesn’t waver from the newcomer.

“I smell witchcraft,” Charon mutters.

Why can my dearest friends tap into human magic, and I can’t? I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, sure—but he’s on another level.

I say nothing.

He’s not wrong. Over time, we’ve welcomed quite a few specimens—evil ones—that arrived resembling dried-out mummies. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that magic was responsible for their state.

But this guy? Very much intact. Breathing. Confused. Alive.

Sort of. Suspended in the in-between, an insect trapped in amber. Another glitch in the system.

He waits, dripping river spray, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Gaze flickering with interest, he takes in the premises, a lazy— almost smug—smile playing at his lips. That kind of attitude doesn’t bode well down here.

“Not again,” I mutter.

Charon winces as he fills in the details my father provided, so that I size up the situation. Not his fault. Still grates.

“Thanks for the heads-up.” Why am I thanking him anyway? For stalling the guy? For giving me a distraction from Father’s unrelenting summons? Maybe both.

He grins, and that spark ignites between us—unspoken, dangerous, comforting. Even with Hecate, we both wear a mask. Around him, I drop the act—and so does he. Charming. Honest. Funny. We understand each other, and I can’t pinpoint what triggered our connection.

Could he be behind Hades’s plan to send me to Earth?

The thought floods my body with a shiver of relief. My friend and occasional lover didn’t need gossip to sense that Hermes’s betrayal shook me to the core, much more than I care to admit out loud.

I step forward.

“Sir, you lost?” My voice cuts through the mist, more warning than question, as I approach him.

The man pivots, gaze keen and restless, scanning me as if trying to piece together the nightmare he's landed in. “Intrigued is more accurate.”

I hold back from introducing myself, allowing him to draw his own conclusions.

A low shroud coils around our feet, veiling the black, glassy surface of the river. Moored in silence, Charon’s boat rocks—tethered and expectant. The dead don’t jostle. Bound by fate, they hover on the edge, poised to embark on their final passage.

I stifle a sigh and fix my attention on the party crasher. I finally say, “I’m Zagreus, and you’re standing on the banks of the Styx—the arrivals lounge. You shouldn’t be here. Fair warning: My father doesn’t tolerate strangers showing up uninvited?—”

He narrows his dark eyes at me. “Uninvited?” he snaps, shrugging. “Might as well get sorted, then.”

“That’s the problem, Nathan ,” I insist, incapable of resisting.

He squints.

Yes, I know your name, young man.

But he doesn’t interrupt.

“You can’t because you’re not on the list.”

Frowning, he takes a step back. “What are you talking about? What?—”

“The names we track show who’s allowed through,” I clarify. “Couldn’t find yours. Meaning, it isn’t your time.”

“Too bad…” An audible sigh escapes from his lips. “I really felt it was the right place. If I remember correctly, I think I was trying to join the 27 Club.”

I chuckle at that. “You a famous musician?”

“Nah, famous calligrapher and painter. Thought that’d count, since I’m an artist. Who was I kidding? I’m past twenty-seven—missed my shot at the club. And you’re rejecting me, too… What a shitty day!”

At once, his eyes widen, and he chuckles.

“Wait a minute! If you’re Zagreus, then your dad’s Hades.

That means I’m in Hell, aren’t I?” Before I can object, he carries on.

“It’s the right place for me. Hell… I deserve it.

” He swallows. “Not sure I get why I’ve been sent here, if that’s part of Greek mythology.

I don’t really care. I’m tired of my life, and I miss my girlfriend.

She’s around here somewhere…” He trails off.

“Probably in Paradise, though…” He shakes his head.

“This is the Underworld. Hell is a simplified human concept. Here’s your crash course: The dead come to be sorted and judged.

Then, they are sent to their ultimate resting place.

Elysium for the virtuous. Asphodel for the ordinary.

Tartarus for the truly damned. This is real.

You can’t stay.” I growl the last part, but something he said earlier clicks.

“Did you follow your girlfriend here?” I rub my chin, studying him.

Is he having an Orpheus and Eurydice crisis?

His brow furrows. “Nah, she died a few months ago, but I’m sure I belong here. I saw the light. I felt the pull. I was ready.”

“And now you’re stuck.” I slide my hands into my pockets, mimicking his stance. “Like Schrodinger’s cat, sealed in a box. No one’s opened it yet to check if you're dead or alive.”

Time moves on its own terms in this realm. If he wasn’t alone when he crossed, his absence won’t raise alarms. A breathy laugh escapes him. “Fantastic. I’m a science experiment in a mythological nightmare.”

“Actually, like I said, this is no myth.” I grin.

“You know, before I ended up here, I didn’t think.

I just… wanted it to stop. Life, I mean.

” His eyes fall to the ground, then flick up—burning, unfiltered.

“I mean, come on—one minute I’m in my New York bathroom, snorting a shit-ton of coke.

Next thing I know? I’m here, arguing with your weird friend about whether I even belong.

” His voice stays low, but tension coils under it—twitchy, ready to detonate.

Mister Trouble, no question. “So trippy… Tell me I’m wrong.

That guy—” he jerks his chin toward the ferryman, “—he’s Charon, isn’t he?

” I heave out a dry chuckle. That’s all he needs.

“Fuck! And here I was, thinking I had the whole afterlife thing down! Reincarnation, soulmates and some big cosmic plan…” He drags both hands through his dark hair and lets out a jagged, bitter laugh. “God, I’m so fucking stupid.”

He growls—rage, regret, tangled into one raw sound. But that’s not what bothers me. It’s the crack in his voice. Deep down, a part of him is still hoping that this might all just be a bad trip.

“You tried to kill yourself?” A pang of unease rushes through me; these cases always punch straight to the heart. Not that I’m judging, but human life’s so short. Why end it before your time’s up?

He shakes his head again. “I must have OD’d. On purpose, I mean.” He runs his feet across the black sand, then cages my eyes. “It felt peaceful at first. Like drifting off. Then something yanked me back. Pain, tearing through—like my heart got ripped out.”

Charon’s right: something magical was involved. But he’s not the source. And yet, he’s oddly unfazed by Hades, the Underworld—everything.

None of it adds up.

“And the pressure in your chest—the push and pull—it built until you couldn’t breathe, didn’t it?”

“How do you know?”

“I’m Zagreus, remember?” That earns me a belly laugh.

Nathan’s awfully relaxed for a guy who’s literally two feet away from the Styx.

Maybe the coke is still affecting him. “Why don’t we concentrate on the current situation for now, okay?

” He nods in agreement. “Your name keeps appearing and disappearing from the list. That doesn’t happen. Ever.”

“Glitch?”

“Or interference. Charon here,”—my thumb points at my friend, who’s back to welcoming more souls. Good. Bad. Average people—“says witchcraft was involved. Our guess is that magic brought you here, not your death wish.”

He makes a tsk noise, bows his head, rubbing the back of his neck. Tension bleeding into motion—he paces. “Rose wouldn’t pull off something like this, would she? Nah, she…” He trails off. “But she was the only person with me.”

He pauses, then screams at the top of his lungs—at no one in particular. He couldn’t care less about the crowd’s attention; in fact, he rolls his eyes at it. “What the fuck’s going on?” he shouts, looking around again.

Sort the mess first, worry about his scapegoat later. She must be his new girlfriend, not that I care. I’ll learn about her soon enough.

“But most of all, what now? You send me back?”

“Yeah, I have to,” I admit, eyeing him—not with desire, more like you’d watch a loose wire.

“I’m going back with you. I need answers about how the hell you ended up here.

” What I don’t say: I’ll wipe his memory before we travel to the aforementioned bathroom.

One of the few tricks I can pull off—and with his half-baked status, it might blow up in my face.

“Protective chaperone?” He smirks.

“Insurance. My father doesn’t like messes, especially not human or magical ones.”

“And what about you? What’s in it for you, aside from pleasing daddy dearest?”

The question catches me off guard. He has some balls for a mortal. What’s in it for me ? Escape my father’s claws. Savor Earth’s novelties after such a long absence. Investigate this Beetlejuice or rather Rose phenomenon that managed to put Nathan in my path.

“That’s none of your concern. All you need to know,” I say, “is that I don’t like being blindsided. And neither of us like questions without answers.”

He exhales, almost a laugh. “You’re kind of intense.

” We both glance back at Charon, who’s resumed his silent post at the ferry.

Business as usual. Except it’s not. Not today.

“Just a quick heads up before you send me back, though.” There’s a thread of mockery in his voice.

What the fuck? And then my suspicions are confirmed.

“You realize it’s not the 1980s anymore, right? ”

Is he for real?

“If my outfit is your sole issue, then there’s hope! Be glad that you’re on my good side.”

His lips twitch into a small smile. “Thanks.”

“Save it,” I mutter. “You’ll be someone else’s problem by the end of this. But the glitch goes first.”

Pronto.