My heart stopped when I saw the noble—thegod—they escorted.
He looked just like Seth.
Tattoos of different runes and patterns painted a tapestry across his bare chest, black as the ebony cloak streaming from his shoulders. A jackal helm rose from his brow, its eyes encrusted with scarlet jewels that matched his eyes. Beside him walked a young woman, her strawberry blonde hair tied up in an elaborate bun, letting not a strand fall across the transparent dress she wore.
Seth growled in my mind. “Someone has a new concubine.”
“Is that. . . ?” I asked.
“Yes,” Seth hissed.
Aethra’s back trembled, and her breathing came in ragged gasps. I grabbed her hand, and Seth leaned protectively against her.
Pressing my head to the ground, I said a prayer to gods I didn’t believe in.
Lord Haimyx had arrived.
17
Seth
Every fiber of my being told me to take Aethra and run. I watched the Hades Knights march by, praying they were not here for us.
Cerys rose from her knees and hurried to the king’s side before falling prostrate again. The two exchanged words, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.
Eleos spoke across our mental bond. “How many queens have there been?”
“Only one,” I responded. “But I have more half-siblings than I care to count.”
“How?” Eleos wondered. “Haimyx looks hardly any older than you.” He paused. “Seth. What is a cycle?”
My hand curled into a fist. The time had come to tell them the terrible truth about my home—another secret that would drive Aethra away.
“Does it have to do with why he looks so young?” Eleos pressed.
“Not now,” I hissed.
Lord Haimyx beckoned Cerys up, and she returned to Percy’sside. Lowering my head, I stared at the road.
Would my father recognize me in the crowd?
Aethra gasped softly beside me—a strangled sound of fear. Her hand quivered beneath mine, and I pulled her closer, pressing my head against hers.
The sound of heavy boots rapping on stone rang in my ears—in time with my thumping heart. When the sound quieted, I raised my head.
Father had passed us, thank the divines. But Aethra was still shaking, eyes locked on the noble at the back of the line.
Silver-haired, silver-eyed, dressed like the Duat’s golden guards—Lord Icelus. The man who’d tortured her.
Now, I recognized him—he belonged to a small branch of Cerys’ family. We’d never spoken before—no wonder he did not recall my face.
Lord Icelus was lucky to arrive in such company while we needed to lay low. He would breathe for a few more hours.
I gripped Aethra’s hand tightly. Blood pounded in my ears.
The procession of knights turned down the next road, and I exhaled in relief. Father wasleavingthe city—heading for the northern gate that would see him back home.
Slowly, the people rose from their bows. Following suit, I helped Aethra up, but she doubled over, grabbing her head.
