Page 6 of Where Darkness Bloomed (Of Stars and Salt #1)

Kore’s pulse hammered as the two gods stood, opposed. Apollo blazed like the sun incarnate, brilliance made flesh. But Hades—he stood like night itself: silent, still, and watching.

For an instant, she saw it. A flicker of hesitation in Apollo’s eyes. A brief but unmistakable fissure in his gilded confidence.

But the moment buckled under a crash of thunder.

“Enough.”

Zeus’s voice boomed through the hall, cutting through the tension like a blade. Lightning cracked against the dark sky above, splitting the night with veins of white light.

“Sit, Apollo,” Zeus commanded, his tone heavy with warning. “Hold your tongue before it invites greater insult. You were not there during the war with the Titans. You did not bear its weight and you would do well to respect those who did.”

Thunder rumbled again, deeper this time. Another warning .

“Even now, it is Hades who bears that burden,” he continued, eyes hard. “It is his power that binds the Titans in Tartarus. His kingdom that jails the force that once threatened our very existence.”

Apollo hesitated, jaw clenched, golden fire still simmering in his eyes. Then, slowly, he obeyed, returning to his throne. The bow rested at his side, untouched but not forgotten.

Across the dais, Hades lingered a moment longer, eyes still fixed on Apollo. Then, without a word, he reclaimed the obsidian seat.

As the tension bled from the hall, Poseidon’s trident struck the floor with a sharp clang. “I agree with Hades,” the sea god rumbled. “The mortals have always made war. This is no different.”

“But it is,” Hera interjected. “They’ve never endured war of this scale, and it can still be prevented.” Her disdainful gaze returned to Aphrodite. “Paris must return Helen.”

Aphrodite’s eyes burned as she rose, her full lips curling with scorn. “Menelaus will kill her if she returns to Sparta. You know this.”

“She’ll die in the war anyway.” Hera’s tone was cold as glittering ice. “And whose fault will that be? Paris possessed no courage of his own. You emboldened him.”

Aphrodite stepped forward, her voice a low hiss. “Try taking her.”

A dagger flung between them.

From where he stood, Ares’s gaze shifted between the goddesses. His fingers twitched at his side, restless.

But Hera didn’t flinch. She sat back with a cold, triumphant smile. “I need do nothing,” she replied. “The Greeks will raze Troy to dust. And Paris, the dear boy, will not last five sword strokes against Achilles.”

Worry flickered across Aphrodite’s flawless face.

“Oh, yes,” Hera purred. “All men fear Achilles. So great is his prowess in battle, they even say he’s immortal.”

Ares snorted, a sound of dark amusement. “I will gladly prove otherwise.”

But Apollo’s expression hardened as he shook his head. “You’ve not seen him swing a sword,” he said tersely. “He is unmatched among the mortals. His gift for killing is the only reason Agamemnon tolerates his insolence.”

Ares’s grin faded into a scowl, his grip tightening on the spear.

Zeus rose, and once more silence claimed the hall.

“Hades is right—this is a quarrel between men,” the lord of the skies declared, his voice echoing through the hall. “Our influence will only feed the flames of their war.”

His storm-filled eyes moved to Aphrodite, who still stood trembling, her beauty sharpened to a dangerous edge by rage. “Paris should have won her with valor,” Zeus said coldly. “With strength and honor, not stolen her like a common thief. His insult will not be forgotten.”

Aphrodite’s face darkened, but she wisely held her tongue.

Zeus stroked a hand over his beard. “The Fates have not yet proclaimed Troy’s fate. Until they do, none will intervene.” His commanding gaze swept the dais, daring an objection. “This is final.”

Uneasy silence clung to the air like fog.

Then, with a flick of his hand, Zeus gestured toward the edge of the dais. “Let those with other matters come forward.”

Low murmurs stirred the stillness. Movement rippled through the assembly as the first petitioner stepped forth from the gathered crowd.

Kore glanced up—and stilled.

Her mother’s gaze had not shifted. Demeter still looked toward the obsidian throne, her face cold and stern.

Kore followed her stare, caution faltering beneath the pull of curiosity. Half-hidden among the shifting crowd and shadows, she let her gaze settle on him.

Hades sat in stillness, one arm draped along the throne’s edge, his posture deceptively relaxed. But his eyes were sharp, unwavering, tracking each petitioner with unshaken authority.

Then—as if she had whispered his name—his gaze shifted.

Unerring. Swift.

His eyes met hers.

From across the great hall, the Lord of the Underworld looked directly at her.

A jolt streaked through her, sharp and breathless, as though she had been caught in some forbidden act. Her pulse surged, thunderous in her ears.

She tore her gaze away.

Her hair slipped forward like a veil, a feeble shield to separate them, to mask the heat rising in her face. She eased back a step, willing herself to vanish further into the swell of bodies.

Minutes dragged by, heavy and uneven. The hum of voices rose and fell as the Olympians debated matters that she no longer heard. Her thoughts were trapped, ensnared by the memory of his gaze—the precision with which it had found her.

Finally, curiosity proved too strong. Carefully, she tilted her head, stealing another glance toward the obsidian throne.

The change in him was startling.

Gone was the relaxed repose, the lithe, careless grace that he’d possessed before. Now, the powerful lines of his body were drawn taut beneath the dark robes. He sat rigidly, forearms braced against the carved arms.

But it was his hand that captured her gaze.

His thumb traced a slow path over his bottom lip. It was an absent gesture, but it deepened the warm color rising in her cheeks. Her eyes lingered there, caught in the careless intimacy of it.

Then, inevitably, her gaze rose—

Dark eyes stared back.

Hades watched her, his gaze dark and deep as the void between stars. It cut through the crowd between them, reaching her with silence that felt like touch. As though he bridged the distance between them by the sheer force of his will.

A thrill of fear shivered through her. But, rising with it—something else stirred.

The rush of something wild, untamed. It burned like fire and felt like falling all at once, snaring deep in her chest, warming her from the inside out.

Heady and unfamiliar, dangerously alive, rising like sparks into the night sky, coaxed from her by the unwavering pull of shadowed eyes across the hall.