“Phaon, return my things to my bedchambers, please.”
The servant threw her an apologetic glance before hurriedly making for the black continental chariot Tethys hadn’t noticed parked at the side of the house.
“My people need to see us united, just as the Venians have. So, I told the council we’d journey west together,” he replied, stepping aside as the servants loaded the chariot. “We’ll tour the countryside and borderlands. Perhaps if the mortals see our unified strength, they’ll think twice before joining the rebellion,” he explained, guiding Tethys up the gravel drive.
Birds fluttered in the rustling branches above, darting left and right through the canopy. A small fiddle wren,perched on a thick lower branch of Tethys’s favorite elm tree, cocked its head at her before fluting its symphonic tune.
While Procyon’s tourwouldfurther their cause, ice frosted over her veins. She was entirely at his mercy during this countryside travel, and when she crossed the border into his lands…well, she would very well be his prisoner. Not that she wasn’t already.
“I hate to admit this, husband, but I’m a bit taken aback. While I agree a tour through the realms would be helpful…” She trailed off as they entered the manor’s foyer, the lieutenant silently following close behind. “I couldn’t possibly leave Venia in its current state. The city guards are still actively investigating the lowborn disappearances, and I need to remain here for their reports.”
“If we make haste, we’ll catch the start of Harvest upon our arrival.” Procyon wasn’t listening. Instead, his focus remained on Harvest, a grand feast, marking the autumnal floods coinciding with the Venian drought. The east and west, down to the very bones of the earth, were at odds. Whilst one suffered a withering, dry season, the other thrived in lush floods.
“Your staff already packed your things. Go upstairs and freshen up if you need. The first leg of our travels will be long, but we’re leaving within the hour,” he replied before disappearing down the staff’s hallway toward the kitchen.
Tethys grimaced. Procyon was an imposter here. To so casually stake claim on Venia’s ancestral home was an insult to not just her, but the realm’s long-since departed descendant herself. Eos probably rolled in her grave watching the brute traipse through her hallways, commanding the present generations of families devoted to her estate.
This had once been a safe haven for those who’d suffered hardships during the dark ages. The ancestral staff took oaths of service to their goddess willingly in exchangefor salvation. Even now, Tethys held each of her staff in highest regards. To see Procyon so carelessly hurl orders at them made her blood boil.
She bit the inside of her cheek until she could taste the sharp tang of blood, then glanced toward Araes. A hint of pity flashed across his eyes. Her cheeks heated. The last thing she needed was this mortalpityingher. He probably thought her weak, allowing such a beast of a husband to bully her into subservience. Of course, the lieutenant wasn’t blind to Procyon’s erratic attempts of control, but yet, he did nothing.
Tethys didn’t blame him, though. Procyon was an overfull kettle brought to boil. If provoked, the god wouldn’t hesitate to snap the human’s neck. Like all mortal men, he was expendable. There was no hiding behind rank or medals in the games of the gods.
“It appears, Lieutenant, we’re going on a trip.” She didn’t wait to hear his response before ascending up the steps.
† † †
Twenty minutes later, the continental chariot rocked down the drive and turned onto the cobblestone streets of Antares. Unlike her usual transit chariot, its midnight black exterior was double the size. The chariot house contained a small bed and cushioned settee to ease the long journeys from realm to realm. Tethys sighed, keeping a firm grip on the memories of her last journey seated on the velvet bench. She’d had it made for her last trip to Ursae years ago.
Tethys sought to surprise Polaris for Festival. However, the caravan hadn’t made it a few miles past the border when a historical cold front blanketed the entire realm in six feet of snow. Unequipped for such conditions, they’d been forced to return home. But the convenience of such astorm still soured her tongue, like her sister intentionally sent that snowfall to keep Tethys out.
Now, their convoy paraded through the serpentining neighborhoods with the royal chariot on display first, then various smaller vehicles housing their staff, and finally, Lieutenant Araes mounted on a sleek, black mare. He’d insisted on riding horseback rather than with the other city guard and staff in the convoy. It was easier to stay on alert that way.
She watched the highborn district flash across the windows, the pristinely uniform townhomes passing by in blurs of pastel paint and white marble. Although outfitted for comfort, each dip and sway of the chariot house as it crossed over uneven cobblestone was jarring.
Her heart sank as the city faded beneath the horizon. It felt wrong leaving her people, as hateful as they were. There was too much that hung in the balance. Grain stores dwindled, and a kidnapper was still at large. She’d been awaiting a report from Lord Ophis, checking the stacks of scrolls from the morning messenger daily, but it hadn’t yet come.
In some sense, this journey felt like fleeing. She could hear the council now with their condescending eyes and vicious words. Their queen, with her tail tucked between her legs, ran to the west. But what they failed to see, or simply turned a blind eye to, was that she hadn’t been given a choice. There was no refusing her brother.
He took what he wanted without remorse or hesitation. This trip was no different. Tethys found herself at a crossroads, and she was damned whichever direction she chose.
So, she sat quietly, with hands folded in her lap, and watched her people recede into the horizon.
“What are you thinking about?” Procyon asked. Tethys flinched. Lost in the labyrinth of her own mind, her surroundings had seeped into darkness, but Procyon’s voice whipped her back to this reality. She took a breath, feelingher stomach churn. The air, shared with her husband, was stale and thicker than smog.
“Nothing of relevance, Proc,” she replied, keeping her gaze fixed out the window. Her breath clouded the glass as she leaned her brow against its smooth, sun warmed surface.Everything of relevanceis what she truly meant though.
“I thought myself better company than your little lieutenant, but suit yourself.” He shrugged and returned to the sliding cube he’d been toying with. As barbaric as he was in all other aspects of his life, Procyon was surprisingly clever when it came to solving puzzles.
Tethys supposed it shouldn’t come as a surprise, really, with his other exceptionally manipulative talents, but watching those massive calloused hands delicately slide each tile in place was a sight to behold.
At least it’d keep him busy.
She groaned under her breath as the incessant rocking of wooden wheels over broken stone jostled her stomach. How many more hours must she be trapped in this traveling prison?
“Do not spill your stomach here please, little bird. These are new boots,” Procyon said, his eyes remaining fixed on the puzzle. She groaned again in response.
Procyon hadn’t provided a return itinerary. Their time in Canissa could last days…maybe weeks. She watched the god bite his lower lip, his brow furrowed with active concentration. Visions flashed through her mind before she could lock them away. Her bedchambers. His hands gripping her wrists. The emerald ivy leaves painted on the mural above her bed.
