Chapter 4

At dawn, I was too nervous to eat. My mother lifted a spoon of broth to my lips, but I turned my head away.

“You need to eat,” she said.

“Later.”

“You always say that.”

I gave her a thin smile. “Mother, please. Just help me get ready.”

She sighed, a tired, heavy sigh that had become her signature over these eight years, and went to fetch my cloak.

I asked her to wheel me down to the sacred marble arch by the riverbank before sunrise. The morning air was cold and damp, the wild grass glistening with heavy dew. The ancient white pillars stood tall against the pale sky.

This was where I had first kissed Apollo when we were fifteen, too young to understand what divine destiny truly meant. This was where Lady Leto forced me to pretend to betray him, driving him away to the north. And this was where I had waited for him a thousand times before.

So I waited again.

The sun rose higher. The dew dried on the stone steps. Riverbirds called through the reeds.

Apollo didn't come.

Noon passed. The sun sat high overhead, and my mother shifted restlessly beside me.

"He's not coming," she said.

"He said he would."

"People say many things."

I tried reaching out through our frayed golden bond. Nothing. Just a cold, empty void.

Maybe he had severed the connection again. Maybe he had changed his mind. Or maybe Chloe had whispered poison into his ear while he held her in his palace.

My mother urged me to go home, but I refused.

"This is destroying you," she said, her voice tight with grief. "You're going to collapse."

"Then let me. At least I'll collapse here, by the river, where I waited for him so many times before."

She didn't argue. She simply sat beside my chair and held my hand.

Finally, in the early afternoon, a cold whisper brushed against my mind. Two words:

On our way.

My mother saw my expression and knew. She stood up, brushed off her dress, and forced a brave smile. She loved me too much to say no.

When the golden chariot pulled up, Chloe leaned over the gilded railing with a lazy, triumphant smile. Her hair was softly undone, Apollo's dark cloak draped over her shoulders.

"Sorry we're late, Aria," she said smoothly. "Apollo didn't let me get much sleep last night."

She said it casually, flaunting her place at his side.

I pressed my fingernails into my palms until it hurt. The sharp pain kept me grounded.

Apollo stepped down. He lifted my chair into the rear compartment without a single glance at me. Then he took the reins, and my mother helped me into the back carriage.

He caught my reflection in the polished bronze frame—just a brief, cold flicker of his eyes—and said to Chloe, "Why explain anything to her?"

Chloe shrugged, her golden bracelets chiming softly. "Just being friendly."

I looked down at my lap, unable to stop my hands from shaking.

Apollo drove fast—far too fast. The chariot jostled violently over every stone, and my weak body couldn't brace itself. I slid across the bench with every sharp turn, my aching joints slamming against the wooden frame and the leather strap digging into my chest.

I remembered how he used to drive when we were young. Gentle and smooth. He would reach back with one hand to hold mine, slowing down before every turn. He knew I grew faint easily, and he never wanted me to suffer even a moment's discomfort.

Now he snapped the reins hard into a sharp turn, throwing my body against the side of the carriage. A faint whimper escaped my throat over the thunder of hooves.

He heard it.

A short, dark laugh escaped his lips.

"Did you think I'd go easy on you?" he said, staring straight ahead. "Those days are long gone."

I quickly wiped my eyes before he could look back. "No," I said quietly. "You should drive carefully for Chloe now. She is your bride."

He laughed again, harsh and bitter. He whipped the reins harder. The chariot lurched and my head cracked against the wood.

But I smiled anyway.

At least he still hated me. At least I still took up some small space in his heart, even if it was filled entirely with rage.

That had to be enough.

We reached the venue—a grand divine pavilion on the cliff, famous for its view of the sacred mountains and private dining chambers.

Apollo stopped the chariot and stepped down. He opened the carriage door and lifted me out.

For one dizzying second, I was in his arms again. Warm. Solid. Heartbreakingly familiar.

His scent hit me—sun-warmed cedar, golden nectar, and that distinct trace that belonged only to him. I had dreamed of that scent for eight years. I had tried to recall it through long, painful nights when the curse made me forget what warmth felt like.

And now he was holding me.

My throat locked up. My eyes burned.

But he set me into my chair quickly—far too quickly—and turned to Chloe.

"Give me the purifying water," he said.

Chloe handed him a crystal flask. He poured the scented water over his hands and scrubbed them with a linen cloth. Then another. And another. He wiped his skin as if he had touched something vile.