Bonds of Hercules (Villains of Lore, #2)(98)
For how many Spartans and creatures were in attendance, the room was weirdly quiet.
Drex waved us over to where he sat with Achilles and Patro, all three of them looking miserable.
I went to take the chair next to Drex—Kharon pressed his hand to my lower back and guided me to a different seat across the table.
Augustus stood so close his shoulder brushed against mine as we moved.
Awareness coursed through me.
You’re in grave danger.
Our new closer proximity was a perilous thing because the abrasive edges of resentment were slowly melting away.
Food trays circulated and Kharon waved down waiters, piling my plate until it overflowed. I ate every piece, and the worry lines around Kharon’s eyes relaxed with each bite. The old Spartan adage that hung on a plaque on the symposium wall was correct—a starving man does not choose his meal.
Our table ate in heavy silence.
No one spoke about Zeus’s calamitous power, but we were all thinking it.
All around, Olympians chatted in Latin with subdued merriment, their extravagant togas shimmering as they spun across the dance floor. Coy smiles painted their lips; long-tailed, vibrantly colored birds sat atop their shoulders.
Strained laughter echoed as lights flashed, the reporters capturing a group of heirs and heiresses.
They’d recovered from their terror quickly.
Zeus is on their side. They feel protected.
Drex slumped lower in his seat across the table, scraping his fork across his plate.
“What’s your favorite food?” Kharon asked me abruptly.
I turned to him. “I don’t … understand the question.”
Kharon searched my face. “What type of food do you enjoy eating the most? Sweet, savory, salty? Augustus’s favorite is steak. Mine is sweets, like baklava or …” He trailed off.
Why is he staring at my lips?
Augustus leaned close like he was interested in the answer.
“I don’t have one.” I dug my nails into the top of my hand, a strange sort of shame filling my chest.
Both men frowned.
Do they think I’m purposely being difficult?
“I guess … I just like any food that you can … uh … have every day,” I said with a forced smile, then changed the subject. “What are your favorite colors?”
Neither answered.
Kharon shared a pointed look with Augustus. Long seconds passed, and Augustus shook his head, as if to tell him to let it go.
“Gold,” Kharon said softly, as he reached up and wrapped his pointer finger in one of my curls—he tugged at it.
My head filled with static.
He leaned closer. “Ask me … what my favorite color was before you.”
“What was your favorite color?” I whispered.
“Nothing.” He stared at me with cold intensity. “I didn’t notice colors before you.”
I forced out a laugh.
Kharon didn’t join me.
“Alexis.” Augustus’s eyes were dark as a moonless night. “Don’t you want to know what my favorite color is?”
“What … is it?”
“A shade of pure milky white I’ve only seen in one place.” He lifted his hand to my face, thumb tracing tenderly across my left cheekbone.
I leaned into his touch.
No one had ever complimented me on my injured eye. They said the contrast between them was cool, but no one had looked only at my ruined eye and thought it was beautiful.
Would he still think that if he knew the truth?
If he knew it was blind?
“I like yours too,” I said, holding his gaze, entranced. “They remind me … of the space between stars.”
Augustus looked shattered.
I opened my mouth to say something else, but my heart was beating out of my chest.
Augustus dragged his thumb lower and traced my lips.
“Fuck us.” Hermos threw himself down into the free seat next to Drex, and Augustus dropped his hand, the moment broken. “They’re still interrogating Agatha about Medusa, like she hasn’t been through enough already. Obviously she fucking knows nothing.”
Hermos picked up a shot of ambrosia and threw it back, then he picked up another one, and another as he stared down at the grain of the wood, eyes glazing over.
Drex gingerly patted his back, but Hermos gave no indication that he could feel his touch.
Patro and Achilles sat rigid, their expressions blank. Traumatized.
I slumped back in my chair, numbness returning.
Symposium, coliseum, or locked bedroom, the results were the same—we were imprisoned.
We retired as a group soon after with Drex half carrying Hermos, who was too drunk to walk on his own.
None of us said anything as the guards held open our cells—we voluntarily walked inside.
Self-determination was a peculiar thing, and for the first time in my life, I wasn’t so sure that I possessed it.
In the dim scarlet light of our bedroom, Kharon and Augustus seemed larger, more overwhelming.
They carefully took off their crowns and placed them on the floor next to mine. I hadn’t bothered to put it back on this morning.
We stared at the single bed.
Then at each other.
Emotions mixed with lust, crackling between us.
“I’m not s-sure …” I said, then cleared my throat and tried again. “I’m not sure … I’m ready for more—”