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Chapter Twenty-One

Hebe

“I know your tradition— kisses in exchange for compliments.”

I’m not sure why Prometheus has suddenly decided he wants to kiss the mortal bride he finds so repulsive. I suppose this is his way of making the best of a situation he never asked for.

I ought to do the same. And since him giving me true compliments rather than thinly veiled insults is my preference, I suppose I should reward him. In the name of practicality, not desire.

Unfortunately, while I could have believed that before we entered this bath together, that is no longer something I can swear to.

Still, I shove away my foolish attraction and draw closer to my new husband. I press my lips to Prometheus’ cheek in the same manner as I would kiss Puraltas.

Before I can retreat to the safety of the bath, though, Prometheus’s touch on my arm turns into a grip. “Wait a moment— I gave you two compliments.”

Rolling my eyes, I press a kiss to the hand on my arm.

“Your kiss is wielded with the same grace as you handle a spear, yet your lips are a far more potent weapon.”

I glance up at Prometheus.

He smirks, knowing he’s earned another kiss.

Leaning forward with every intention of wiping that smirk off his face, I deviate at the last moment. I kiss the corner of his mouth, hoping I wasn’t too bold and dreading his disgust.

Instead of pulling away, though, Prometheus leans forward until his lips hover over my ear. “It’s your turn to compliment me , my flame.”

I shiver as his breath warms the droplets on my skin that isn’t as covered as it ought to be. “That’s not how this works. You’re not supposed to ask for compliments.”

“I don’t do things to honor tradition, but to go where no one has ever gone before.” His face rests between my neck and shoulder, which is certainly where none have gone before. “Now compliment me, my bride.”

I should release him. Drop back into the water and hide from Prometheus’ threatened kiss and current touch. Hide where his eyes can never find me. Flee from these strange new feelings he’s aroused that have no business being directed toward a brutish male who calls me a savage .

Yet this being— this man — is also my bridegroom, my husband.

Tilting my head so my lips almost touch the top of his ear, I whisper, “Sometimes, you almost make me chuckle with your sharp humor.”

He nuzzles my neck but doesn’t kiss it. “ Mmm , try harder.”

“I would rather you by my side than Atum when it comes to slaying lions.”

Prometheus pulls away, looking horrified. “I would hope that you’d prefer me to him in all things!” The joking lilt to his tone fades as his gaze locks on mine with such intensity I feel like he’s seeing into my psyche. “Your loyalty is to me, is it not?”

Surprised by the sudden change in tone, I release him and cross my arms defensively. “Of course! You are my husband, and I am bound to you unto death.”

“Like a bargain?”

“Yes. You have no need to be jealous of your master.”

Prometheus scoffs. “Jealous? Please . Have you seen my hair?” He sits back, tossing back his fiery mane that is already almost dry yet still capable of burning me if I get too close— actually, that just might be true of all of him. “Because I know you haven’t seen his.”

I choke on a surprised laugh.

My husband smiles and gestures at me. “See? I knew you found me amusing.” Prometheus places the chiton I’d somehow forgotten about on the ledge before standing. “You should dress quickly before your precious Atum bursts in as he is wont to do. I’m not sure your modesty would appreciate that very much.”

With that announcement, he turns and strides out of the room like everything that happened before I brought up Atum meant nothing.

“Of course it meant nothing,” I whisper the moment Prometheus closes the door between us. “They weren’t even true kisses. They were barely even real compliments.”

My lips do not seem to agree with my tongue, though, as they still tingle.

Groaning, I climb out of the bath, and dry off with the linen my husband left on the floor. I take my knife to the one I would have used otherwise, slicing it in two. I make the pieces into a makeshift stróphion and perizoma . Hopefully, the priestesses don’t mind, but the alterations are preferable to seeking one of theirs or returning to my filthy rags.

Since my husband selected a chiton for me, I honor him by adorning myself with it— or, at least, try to. It is one long piece of linen that I have to somehow fold into a covering with only a rope and two pins to hold it in place.

I should have paid more attention when Prometheus was dressing. But I was too busy averting my eyes like a blushing maiden . . . which is exactly what I am, but now there are consequences. Like my being unable to dress myself and the fact that my husband will be so disappointed by my ignorance.

Finally, I fasten the garment into . . . something . It certainly isn’t a chiton , but with the belt in place it feels secure enough . . . even if it shows an unfortunate amount of my left side.

However, it’s the best I’m going to be able to manage, so I trudge toward my sandals. On the way, I nearly trip over something left on the tiles beside Prometheus’ side of the bath.

Glancing down, I find a pumice stone. But it isn’t the one I used.

“The little trickster,” I mutter, kicking it into the bath.

As if I’d summoned him, the door slides open and Prometheus pokes his head inside. “Are you almost finished—” His gaze lands on my handiwork, and his eyes widen. “Great Olympus! Are you so savage that you cannot even dress yourself?”

“I am not sav— hey!”

Prometheus is suddenly before me, pulling the rope free and snatching my sorry excuse for a chiton off.

“You can’t do that!” I cry, reaching to cover my undergarments that I am so grateful I created.

“What? Properly dress? Of course I can, even if it proves to be an obstacle for you.” Prometheus calmly folds the cloth before wrapping it around me.

Despite my protests, he manages to re-secure the rope and the pins, and then I’m fully covered, only without my side exposed.

Prometheus steps back and inspects his handiwork impassively before nodding. “That will do. You almost look civilized.”

If I’m almost civilized now, how did he view me when I kissed him while unadorned? I know how I view myself— foolish.

I glare at him as I snatch a comb and leather band from a nearby stone.

“Also, we have been summoned.” Prometheus strides back out of the bathhouse. “Atum’s strength has returned, and he’s eager to read the Tablet. Honestly, so am I.”

At this moment, I don’t much care what Prometheus wants. However, I swallow my frustrations, secure the leather band over my temple, and follow him out not for his sake, but for the sake of those I wedded him for.

Complete the ritual. Become a goddess. Save my people.