26. Nyssa
Nyssa
The Palace of Aetherion was breathtaking.
Begrudgingly, I had to admit that Hera had outdone herself.
Chandeliers dripping with crystal were suspended from a gilded ceiling painted with opulent scenes of Hera herself.
I cringed inwardly, wondering how Caelus had grown to be a man of worth with a mother so obviously drunk on her own self-importance.
Candles twinkled, their flames frolicking in the slight breeze drifting in from an open patio.
Delicate orchestral notes wove their way through faceless dancers, servers with silver platters of wine, and raucous conversations.
Bouquets of white, gold-dipped roses adorned every table, each one groaning under enough food to feed a mortal village for an entire month. It was a disgusting display of wealth.
I stepped onto the landing and felt the weight of a hundred gazes settle over me like a shroud — suffocating and cloying.
A hush spread gradually, like a tide pulling back, as one by one, they noticed me.
Laughter died mid-howl. Conversations stuttered to a halt.
In their place came scrutiny. Fear. Even a little awe.
A rapt stillness settled over them, thicker than the shadows pooling at my boot-covered toes.
But only the intense silver stare of one god gave me pause.
Caelus had frozen mid-motion, goblet halfway to his parted lips, eyes sparking as he drank me in instead.
My gown was spun from pure, starlit midnight.
Shadows clung to my curves like a second skin, flaring at the hips before trailing down to the floor in a swirling, ever-shifting inky skirt.
Tiny orbs of light glittered within the darkness — cradled by my shadows, not extinguished by them.
My gown was a waltz of light and dark, night sky and twinkling stars.
Constellations formed and dissolved as I moved confidently down the staircase.
I lifted my chin higher, my cold mask of indifference firmly in place. I knew what they saw beyond the pretty dress.
They saw the monster.
The death-wielder.
The evil spawn of Hades.
They saw their own fears thrust back into their faces.
I had almost reached the bottom when a tanned hand extended gracefully in front of me. I looked up and met the heated amber eyes of a fiery redheaded god, taunting me with his wicked grin, daring me to take up the challenge he offered.
Relief washed over me at the gesture. Somehow, even without Charon and Velira — the only name my tiny purple friend had acquiesced to — I wasn’t alone.
Truthfully, I hadn’t been alone in weeks.
Not since Velira bonded with me, and not since I’d decided to extend my circle of trust a little wider during Athena’s trial.
Aros’ grin grew wider, more genuine, when I placed my hand atop his.
I returned it with a small smile of my own, letting him guide me to a table laden with goblets full of various coloured liquids.
A path had cleared easily through the crowded room, no one eager to breathe the same air as the daughter of death.
No one, it seemed, except the son of war.
“You look like you could use a drink,” Aros said with a smirk, handing me a chalice of red wine. I took it gratefully, sipping?—
And nearly spat it back out. The sour tang coated my tongue like rot. It took every ounce of control I possessed not to spit it all over him.
The god laughed at my expression.
“It’s no pomegranate wine; I’ll give you that.”
“Here, try this.” A gentle hand extracted the chalice of wine clutched between my fingers, replacing it with a golden goblet filled with something else. I looked up, meeting a familiar silver stare.
Caelus had a way of staring right through me.
Or maybe through my facade. This time was no different.
I wasn’t even sure he’d blinked. He’d handed me his own goblet, and I raised it to my lips, taking a tentative sip.
Caramel-flavoured whiskey caressed my tastebuds, and for a moment, the mask slipped. Joy shone through.
I heard more than saw his quick inhale before his fingers reached for mine.
“Come with me for just a moment,” he said, voice low. “I owe you a gift, after all.”
One side of his mouth tilted up into the tiniest of smiles, and in that moment — because of that smile — I would have followed him into Tartarus itself.
Caelus led me onto the patio I’d spotted earlier. He growled at the trio we encountered making out against the balcony, and they fled in half-dressed haste.
I hadn’t even realised I’d laughed until he whipped around and tugged me closer.
“Furies, that sound…” he groaned.
But then disappointment washed over me as I watched him rebuild that mental wall between us — closing his eyes, releasing me, and taking a step back.
Caelus reached into a hidden pocket of his chiton and pulled something silvery out.
“Here.” He opened his palm to reveal a length of chain bearing a glass pendant. “I made this for you.” He cleared his throat, lifting the two ends up so the pendant dangled between them.
I stepped closer, my brows shooting upwards as I caught the movement within the pendant. Inside the glass orb, a tiny bolt of lightning danced. Again and again, it flashed, illuminating Caelus’ hesitant features in staccato bursts of light.
“May I?” he asked, nodding to the chain.
I turned to face the ballroom doors, feeling his static presence press up behind me, almost but not quite touching. He slid the chain around my neck, fastening the clasp with shaking fingers.
“There,” he rasped.
I spun back around as I looked down at the pendant that now rested just above my heart. It was impressive workmanship. I had never seen anything like it before, not even in Hermes’ treasure trove.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed.
“It is.”
But when I looked up, he was not looking at the pendant. He was looking at me. For just a second, he let me in — let me see a fraction of the torment behind his eyes. But then he glanced past me, and the shutters slammed down.
Aros chose that moment to burst through the double doors. He shot a wink at a furious Caelus, then swept me into his toasty arms and out onto the dancefloor.
The god of war knew how to make an entrance.
Aros’ gaze lingered upon every sliver of exposed skin whenever my shadows shifted, revealing a glimpse of tattooed collarbone or the hint of a scarred upper thigh.
“I thought I was a god of war,” he murmured. “Turns out you’re the one leaving casualties,” he groaned.
“Who me? In this old thing?” I teased, gesturing to my sparkling gown.
“Darling, wars have been waged over lesser dresses than that,” he purred.
Aros quirked a brow as his fingertips grazed my bare side, then settled firmly at my waist. The music conveniently shifted to a sultry, pulsing rhythm and sank its claws deep into my skin.
The urge to move was all-consuming. I needed to shake off all of my unspoken desires and worries, and without giving myself a screaming orgasm in the middle of the packed ballroom, dancing was a good way to do that.
Both my father and Charon had ensured I was as well-trained in the art of dance as I was in swordplay.
And I loved it.
“Men are fickle creatures indeed, if they dare to fight over who’s wearing a gown,” I replied, purposefully misunderstanding. “Personally, I think it looks better on me than it would on you, Aros, but you’re welcome to try it on.”
His face split into a grin.
“I would gladly wear your shadows if it meant you’d removed them,” he said, leaning in, only to pause, gaze flickering to something over my shoulder.
“Let the battle begin,” he whispered, breath dancing across my exposed skin, and pulled me into the opening steps of a fast-paced tango. The dance suited him perfectly.
Aros guided me into a series of sharp twists and spins, never once letting me falter. I felt free.
When I accidentally stood on his toes, he glanced down, then blinked at my choice in footwear and roared with laughter. It was contagious, infecting me down to my marrow. I laughed with him.
We moved around the room, fluid and fierce, commanding the floor with a fire neither of us cared to extinguish.
Aros thrust me into another spin, and suddenly I crashed into a wall of solid muscle shaped like a scowling storm-wielder.
My grin vanished.
Caelus tugged my hands from his chest and grasped them within his own. He glared over my head at Aros, daring him to argue. But Aros merely smirked, inclined his head, and melted into the crowd. Still, he never looked away. His eyes burned holes in my skin the entire time.
These gods and their testosterone, I internally sighed.
Caelus and I stood barely a breath apart, my heaving chest brushing up against his. The gentle friction teased, and my nipples tingled as they hardened. His nostrils flared as he glowered down at me.
Shit.
The music moved to something slower, and Caelus wrapped his ridiculously muscular arms around me in the guise of a polite hold, but filled with intimate intent. He pulled me close, bodies touching, thumb tracing circles over the exposed skin on my back.
He began to glide us across the floor like a pair of figure skaters, possessing a grace no behemoth like him should have ever been capable of.
I was awe-struck. Mouth agape, I followed his lead, feeling the weight of the crowd’s stares tenfold.
The son of the mighty Zeus had deigned to dance with the likes of me. He dared to cut in and steal me from violence’s grip — and by the look on Ares’ and Hera’s faces, both of their godly parents wanted to kill me for it.
Caelus growled, the rumble coming from deep in his throat.
“Don’t look at me like that, Nightshade.”
My brows pinched. “Like what?”
“Like I hung a moon in the Underworld’s sky just to make your realm a little brighter,” he replied, glancing skyward, then returned his electric gaze back to mine. It burned with such cold intensity that everything else faded into the background.