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Chapter Fifteen

Hebe

O nce I’m done arranging the firewood, Atum sets it alight.

The light is a relief, and the heat is more so. Doing my best to ignore how violently I’m shivering in my sodden gown as I set the slabs of meat next to the fire.

Atum looks up from inspecting my work on the lion and frowns. “Prometheus, your bride needs your body heat again.”

“What am I supposed to do about that?” he mutters.

Taking my spot by the lion, Atum sags against the carcass. “You’re supposed to be the clever one between us. Figure it out.”

The fire casts shadows over Prometheus’ face and just barely illuminate his scowl. Then he lowers himself back on the ground and stretches out one arm. “Hebe, come to me.”

I tense and glance down at the meat. “But our supper—”

“Can cook perfectly without you hovering over it,” he answers. “Did you not say a husband can tell his wife what pleases him? Well, it would please me if you laid beside me and made use of my body heat.”

A flush spreads up my neck, warring with the cold that has already consumed me. “I— er—”

“I apologize if it flies in the face of mortal traditions. But just as you do not wish to be divorced on your first day, I’d prefer not to be widowed on the second night.”

Atum says nothing, but my fear that he knows more of mortal traditions than he lets on returns. What if he says something to Prometheus? It would be best not to draw attention to such things.

Stiffly, I stride around the fire. Then, ignoring Prometheus’ mostly undressed form, I lie down close enough to him to make it appear like we’re touching.

Groaning, Prometheus slides his outstretched arm beneath me and pulls me toward him so that my back is pressed against his side. His arm becomes a cushion beneath my head. “Comfortable?” Prometheus’ word is a growl, like he isn’t comfortable at all.

I should move off his arm at least. But between his warmth at my back and the fire before me, I can’t find the will to do so. The exhaustion I staved off before has returned with more ferocity than the lion.

“Tell me, wife,” Prometheus murmurs, his breath toying with my drying curls. “What is it that mortals do to strengthen the marital bond?”

My heart pounds, but I still cannot bring myself to pull away. “Well . . . they say what pleases them about the other.”

“You already told me that part.”

“But they normally don’t do it in an insulting manner. In fact, they actively seek what delights the other.”

“My apologies if my words seem sharp. It is just difficult to find things to compliment about you.”

Stiffening, I finally find enough anger to rise.

As I shift, though, a hand presses against my shoulder.

“But I enjoy discovering hidden things. Like your courage.”

Deep down in my psyche, where the fire cannot reach, I feel warmth caused by his words, which is foolish. I have gone my entire life without pretty words; I will not lose my head over the first haphazard compliment I receive.

“And speaking of discovering hidden things, you still haven’t told me what bonding traditions you mortals have besides what is already known to me.”

I lick my chapped lips. “We pledge our hearts to each other.”

“What?”

“And we also protect each other,” I add quickly.

Prometheus’ head lulls closer so that is resting against my curls. “We must be halfway bonded already.”

Not sure what to say to that, I watch the flames instead. Should I go flip the meat around? Except, my body feels like Prometheus’ must have when he collapsed. I am fighting a war to keep my eyelids from closing completely.

“What else?” Prometheus asks, and I wonder where he is finding the energy to be so talkative. “Do your kind also share secrets with one another?”

I give a noncommittal grunt.

The hand on my shoulder trails down my arm as if Prometheus has lost the strength to keep it in place— probably because he expended all that energy speaking. “Do you have any secrets, little warrior?”

My mind races even faster than my heart is. The question is so intimate— worse, it was meant to be. Prometheus is trying to bond with me the only way he knows how.

“I don’t have any secrets,” I whisper. “Everything about me has been known since my childhood.”

It’s true. Everyone in my village knew about my parents’ tragic fates and of my fanciful dreams. Both were used to mock me at first and to pity me for later.

“Yet I know nothing about you.” Prometheus’ voice is so low, I wouldn’t hear him if I weren’t pressed against him. “I want to learn you, Hebe.”

My breath hitches. “What has changed since your threats of abandonment?”

“You felled a lion.”

“And you saved me from a storm.”

“It would seem like the bonding process is already drawing us closer.”

I grunt. Is it possible to accidentally trick a Primordial into falling for you? No mortal man is so easily tricked— at least not without a hefty bride price.

Still, I’m too warm to move, even to satiate my thirst. With my hunger also unresolved I have no strength to fight my drooping eyelids.

Prometheus’ voice drags me back from slumber. “Tell me, bride of mine, what is it you desire most in this world?”

That is the last question I expected him to ask, and one I have no answer to. I gave away every desire I had for my future when I submitted for sacrifice. Since then, I have only been sorting through how to deal with my dramatic change of fate.

I have no desire except to keep my honor— the one thing I have left after I sacrificed everything else when I laid myself upon the altar.

Since there is no way I can open my mouth to voice that, I grunt and hope that gets my point across. Then I slip into an oblivion where neither desire nor honor matters any longer.