Internally, I was raging.
Screaming.
My birth people looked so hopeful.
Over the last two weeks, they’d let Charlie stay with us and hadnursed my hands to health. They’d even remembered it was my twentieth birthday.
They’d done everything they could to help me “move forward” past the kidnapping, and Hades took great pleasure in telling me that Theros had mysteriously “disappeared”.
No one was searching for him.
While the likely torture of my kidnapper was a positive, it wasn’t enough to fix the overarching problem—me.
My smile dropped as I walked past them.
I could only pretend for so long.
In the next row, eleven Spartans wore large jeweled crowns and exquisite finery. All the House leaders were in attendance. Zeus glowered, and his lion showed its teeth. I resisted the urge to bare mine back.
The House leaders frowned at me, and I let them see the misery in my eyes.
I’d never been a big fan of tyranny.
This wedding is a sham.
Because of your stupid law—my life is ruined.
On the other side of the aisle, Patro’s expression was furious, and Achilles’s posture was rigid. His arm was stretched across Patro’s chest like he was physically restraining him from causing a scene.
Charlie sat stiffly beside the two of them. His yellow irises were wide with concern.
Helen was next to him with a shell-shocked expression, like she couldn’t believe this was happening.
That makes two of us.
At the front of the aisle, Fluffy Jr. slept on the floor with an invisible Nyx wrapped around his neck.
In the last week, he’d grown three sizes larger and one hundred pounds heavier.
I couldn’t be sure, because his features were still lumpy and covered in tufts of fur, but I’d potentially bonded with a hideous horse.
Dark times indeed.
During Fluffy Jr.’s sudden growth spurt (early-onset obesity?), he’d formed a friendship with Nyx—she tried to strangle his thick lumpy neck, and he wagged his gnarled tail, thinking they were playing. Thus her current position wrapped around him.
Poco sat next to my murderous animals, chewing on both his hands at the same time.
Every few seconds, for seemingly no reason, the racoon would let out a loud ear-piercing screech.
We were all trying our best.
After all, I was walking towardthem.
My steps faltered.
Silk cloaks and long black togas did nothing to civilize the unhealthy glint in their unblinking eyes. They were beasts masquerading as men.
Kharon’s short, usually messy, hair was perfectly slicked back under his crown. He swallowed thickly, and the black ink of his neck tattoo—“Furia”—was stark against his pale skin.
