Chapter 5

Chloe let out a light laugh. "Don't mind him, Aria. He's very particular about his divine touch now. He can't stand anyone else brushing against him—a habit from the northern wastes, I suppose."

I watched him scrub until his knuckles were red, forcing myself to look away.

It wasn't about cleanliness.

Eight years ago, whenever I touched him—holding his hands, wrapping my arms around his waist, or falling asleep against his chest—he had never pulled away. He had never flinched.

This was deliberate. He was showing me that every inch of skin I had ever touched now repulsed him. He was erasing me.

We entered the pavilion, and the host escorted us to a high terrace chamber overlooking the winding Anphissos River.

Apollo ordered for the table, calling for rich northern delicacies—spiced mountain game, frost-berries, and heavy honeyed wine from the polar lands. A lavish spread.

He had hated those heavy, bitter flavors when we were young. So had I. We used to prefer fresh figs, soft bread, and light mountain honey. Yet here he was, ordering northern food as if it were his favorite in the world.

He wasn't ordering it for himself. He was ordering it for Chloe—who smiled delightedly, leaning against his arm.

I didn't want to cause trouble. My stomach could barely tolerate food anyway. So when the attendant turned to me, I asked softly for a clear vegetable broth.

Apollo snapped.

"You're already thin as a shade," he said, his voice so sharp the attendant flinched. "Now you're starving yourself? What is wrong with you?"

A bitter, aching warmth flooded my chest. He still noticed. Even through his anger, he noticed.

I kept my voice smooth. "Theron prefers me delicate."

Theron.

The name of the young warrior Lady Leto had hired eight years ago. I had seen him for five minutes before he disappeared forever. I didn't even remember his face.

But the name still worked. It always did.

Apollo went pale, then flushed with rage. His jaw clenched tightly.

He shoved his chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the stone floor.

"I'm stepping outside," he said coldly, turning on his heel.

Chloe waited.

She waited barely two seconds—just long enough for the heavy doors to close—and then threw a goblet of ice-cold spring water straight into my face.

The shock made me gasp. Cold water dripped down my cheeks, soaking my tunic.

"You pathetic shade," Chloe whispered, her voice dropping into something dark and cruel, entirely different from her sweet tone around Apollo. "Do you think playing fragile will win him back? Do you think looking broken will make him forget me and our child?"

I sat there dripping, my hands trembling violently in my lap.

She leaned closer. "Apollo is mine, Aria. He has been mine for years, and he will rule the Sun with me. Don't think for a second that being his childhood romance gives you any claim to him."

I said nothing.

She slapped me across the face.

The sharp crack echoed off the marble walls. My head snapped side-ways, my cheek throbbing with heat.

The cold water I could endure. I felt I deserved that much for clinging to these last moments with him.

But she couldn't strike me.

Without thinking, I reached out to push her away. My arms were so weakened by the curse that my palm merely brushed her shoulder, nudging her back half a step.

Then she collapsed.

She dropped to the floor like a wilted flower, screaming out.

"My stomach! Someone help me! She attacked me! I'm carrying Apollo's heir!"

I stared at my trembling hands, then at her writhing on the marble. I couldn't understand it. I was so weak I could barely hold a spoon. How could I have knocked her down?

Apollo burst back in.

He rushed over and saw Chloe on the floor, her face twisted in agony—fake agony. For a split second, her eyes flicked toward me, her lips curling into a subtle, triumphant smile.

Then, seeing Apollo, her expression melted back into terror.

"Apollo!" she sobbed, clutching her abdomen. "Help me! She pushed me! She tried to harm our child!"

Apollo turned to me.

His face was carved of ice, his eyes burning with pure hatred.

"Aria," he said, his voice dropping dangerously low. "What did you do?"

"Apollo, I didn't—she's lying—I barely touched her—"

"You barely touched her?" His divine aura flared, heavy and suffocating. "She's on the floor, Aria! She is bearing my heir!"

"I know, but—"

"Eight years ago, you betrayed me! You threw our vows into the mud!" His voice shook the room. "And now, when I've finally rebuilt my life, you try to harm my bride?"

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. What could I say? Tell him the truth about Leto? Tell him I was dying? He wouldn't believe me anyway.

Apollo stepped closer, his heavy footsteps echoing against the stone, stopping right in front of my chair.

Then he struck the frame with his divine power.

The chair rattled violently.

With a ruthless shove, he sent the chair rolling backward. The wheels spun out of control across the slick marble, crashing hard into a heavy pedestal before flipping over.

I hit the floor hard, my head slamming against the sharp edge of the marble table. A sickening crack echoed in my ears. Something thick and warm began trickling down my forehead, blinding my right eye. Blood.

I lay on the cold stone, surrounded by shattered goblets and spilled wine. My ears rang deafeningly, my vision blurring into streaks of gold and red.

Apollo didn't look down at me.

He gathered Chloe into his arms, holding her as if she were delicate glass. He kissed her forehead, whispering gentle words against her hair.

Then he carried her out of the chamber.

He didn't look back once.

I lay staring at the painted ceiling as the host, attendants, and guards rushed in. Someone called for a healer; someone else tried to press a cloth to my bleeding head.

I reached out, clutching the cloak of a guard who recognized my family.

"Tell my mother..." my voice was barely a gasp. "Tell her not to blame him. Tell her... it was my choice. Tell her I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer."

The guard's face went pale, nodding rapidly.

I closed my eyes, letting the darkness sweep over me.

Eight years. Eight years of enduring the curse. Eight years of holding on, wishing only to see Apollo one last time.

I had seen him.

That was enough.