Healer to the Broken King (Brides of Myth #1)

1. A False Dream

1

A False Dream

Calliste

For a fluttering breath, she was motionless, captivated by this unfamiliar man.

Never without you, Calliste.

His voice was a smooth blend of silver and steel, caress and command, binding her to a glorious moment within the space infused with the luminous quiet.

Come, my fearless queen.

The dark, deep timbre flooded her heart and glowed in her veins. He guided her down the temple’s aisle. His face was out of focus, like a reflection in a misted mirror, his tall frame blurred except for a small, sharp detail: a part of his breastplate, where a burning golden lion roared against the expanse of steel.

But she only glimpsed it before he moved, holding her hand. He was still a shadow beside her, entirely immaterial, yet she knew she belonged to him—a man who knew what he wanted and powerful enough to secure anything he liked.

And he wanted her .

So she followed him to the high gates filled with saffron radiance that flooded their path and illuminated their future.

***

“Calliste.”

That voice, she knew. Female, soft, motherly. Leontia.

“Calliste, wake.”

She opened her eyes, blinking away the fading fragments of her dream and fixing her gaze on the marble ceiling, glossed by the raw pinkness of the dawn. A heartbeat later, she caught the distant fluting of a robin, the scrape of a reed broom sweeping the courtyard, the hushed rush of feet tapping up and down the stairs outside her chamber.

“You slept well. That’s an auspicious sign,” Leontia said, a hint of a smile to her voice as she perched on the edge of Calliste’s bed. She was dressed in the regalia of the High Priestess heading the Sisterhood of Epione: a pine-green peplos robe with golden hem, each fold arranged on her frame with meticulous perfection. A pleated thread of green and silver spanned her waist. Her milky hair was swept up, coiled, and secured with a silver pin and a net of pearls.

But those were mere ornaments. The sum of who she was went far beyond her robe and her station. No one else in the Sisterhood had such air of authority and wisdom, pressed into every plane of her beautifully aged face. Her shrewd eyes had seen everything, including the gods. “I’m wondering,” she said, “if you’ve kept the count of lives you’ve healed and saved in the last nine years.”

Calliste blinked, taken aback by the odd question and Leontia’s presence in her private room, her mind still trapped in that strange, luminous place with the unknown man. “No… I didn’t keep a count.”

“Our record-keepers did.” The Head Priestess smiled. “So I can tell you. Seven hundred and twenty-eight.”

She sat up, still confused. “Why are you telling me this?”

Leontia raised her brow. “Why indeed?”

If Calliste hadn’t been following in Leontia’s footsteps for the last nine years, she would have thought it was all a strange prank.

Except the Head Priestess of Epione’s Order didn’t indulge in pranks.

And then Calliste reconciled herself with the surroundings enough to remember what day it was, and it all finally clicked together. “Gods. Is it… today? Please tell me it is.”

Amusement sparkled in Leontia’s brown eyes. “Yes. Today is the day.”

“My vow-taking,” she whispered, too afraid to say it out loud, in case there was some miscalculation, “is today?”

“Definitely, Calliste. You’re not dreaming it.”

Blood whooshed to her head. Her breath frayed. “Nine years.”

“It took me ten years.” Leontia ran her finger along the emerald pendant on a silver necklace, a sign of the sworn healer anointed to use divine powers without limits. “You will be the first High Priestess to claim this title at barely over thirty summers. I don’t think I’ve ever told you this.”

“No.” Calliste swallowed at the quiet praise in her mentor’s voice, unable to take her eyes away from the emerald pendant on her chest. I’ll receive the same one. Today. At noon, when I become the High Priestess.

And Leontia’s named successor, no less.

But more than a title and the power, it was a responsibility to goddess Epione and to her own sisters. One day, she’d have to be a bedrock of her order and an unwavering, guiding light, just like Leontia and every Head Priestess before her.

The first step on that path would start today, with the vow that would bind her power and presence to this place: a sacrifice of ordinary life.

With that, she’d no longer dream of this day, as if it were a golden, ripe pear dangling just outside of her fingertips. She wouldn’t watch dawns peeling away to reveal the new day, with no end of them in sight. Today, she’d grasp the fruit and bite into its soft flesh to savor the sweet core.

“Any dreams?” Leontia asked .

Come, my fearless queen.

Calliste faltered. “Dreams?”

“Usually, the dreams that come to you on the eve of your vow-taking may well come from the Underworld, sent by Morpheus himself.”

In other words, they could be prophetic. Calliste bit her lip. “I… I didn’t know that.”

“Because I wasn’t supposed to tell you.” Leontia’s serene gaze pinned her to the spot.

“Did you have a dream before your vow-taking?” Calliste dodged the answer.

Leontia’s face darkened. “I dreamed of the war.” Her finger absent-mindedly traced her beloved silver bracelet adorned with rubies.

Oh, no. “The… invasion?”

“Yes. Years before it happened.” Leontia shook her head, as if to rid herself of the memory, the silver in her hair flaring up in the morning light.

“I had a dream.” Calliste lowered her head, unwilling to lie to the woman who was like a mother to her. Not on the day of her vow-taking. “But it was definitely false.” Then she bit her lip, startled at how her body reacted at the mere recollection of the stranger’s voice: with flaming cheeks and erratic heartbeat. And she recognized the place from her dream: this was where she was supposed to take her vow in a few hours.

“You don’t have to tell me, Calliste,” Leontia said. “Perhaps write it down while it’s fresh.”

“No need.” Calliste took a deep breath, unable to keep anything from her. “It was ridiculous enough. I dreamed of a man who took me away from the Grand Temple of Epione.”

Leontia stilled, her hands neatly clasped in her lap. For a long moment, she frowned at the rubies in her bracelet. “I see.”

“And how is that possible?” Calliste pushed away the thin blanket, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed and sitting beside Leontia. “It’s not. Since men know better than to risk divine wrath by entering the Grand Temple. So it’s definitely not a prophetic dream.” She glanced ahead, through the window showing the majestic range of mountains and forests beyond, so magnificent they must have been shaped by the hands of the gods themselves.

Among this wild, barely accessible beauty, sat the monastery of Epione, raised on a rock formation branching from Mount Hellecon and elevated above the rest of the region. Legend had it that goddess Epione, the immortal patroness of the order, shaped the rocks so her temple could be built at this exact site, then infused it with her blessing, granting her priestesses the source of healing power.

It was also the most remote place in the Kingdom of Hesperis, accessible only by a thread of a forest road.

Calliste pushed her dark-brown hair past her shoulder, squinting at the landscape that never failed to take her breath away. By the position of the sun above the ragged peaks, noon—and the time when the ceremony would begin—was about four hours away.

Then she jolted. Four hours? “Gods, Leontia, look at the time. Why did you let me sleep so long?”

“In keeping with tradition, I couldn’t wake you until the sun was high enough, in case you had a prophetic dream.” She rose.

“But the food… the preparations.”

“All underway, Calliste.”

“I must—”

“You must bathe and prepare yourself to look pleasing to our goddess when you stand before her.” Leontia picked up a pristine white robe from the chair next to her desk. She returned to the bed and spread it out so it didn’t crease, then walked briskly to the door. “I brought you fresh water. Now I’ll go and make sure the roast for the feast is done properly.” She winked at her. “Knowing Arete, she’ll be too generous with salt and too stingy with rosemary.” The door clicked behind her.

Why did she leave so abruptly?

Calliste glanced at the snowy robe and smoothed her hand over it.

Perhaps she saw there’s more to my dream than I’m willing to admit.

Since there was more, coming back in snatches.

All of it absurd.

The man leading her down the aisle and away from the altar at the Grand Temple couldn’t be real and calling her a queen. The Kingdom of Hesperis already had a queen—Queen Amatheia, King Theron’s wife.

Never without you, Calliste. That deep, commanding voice echoed down in her mind again.

Calliste hurried to her tiny bath chamber. She grasped the clay jug, filled with the fresh mountain water, stepped onto the drain grate and poured icy water over her neck and back. The usual morning routine. The shocking coldness stole her breath for a moment, but then she repeated, again, and again.

All that to purge her body of heat she’d never experienced before, almost sacrilegious on such a day.

And to forget that in her dream, she left with that mysterious, powerful man.

Because he wouldn’t settle for anything less.

And to prove it, he’d burn down the world.