Chapter 2

The birthday feast began at sunset.

Zeus had ordered the Great Hall of Olympus opened from the eagle gates to the star ceiling. Nectar flowed through crystal fountains, white horses of cloud circled the balconies, and every old house sent gifts heavy enough to make their loyalty clear.

Apollo arrived late with Celeste on his arm.

A faint gold mark shone at the base of her throat, the kind left by a private healing too intimate for a public feast. In my last life, I would have felt the room tilt. Now, I merely looked away and continued speaking to Athena's priestess beside me.

Apollo noticed. He moved Celeste behind him, ready for tears, accusations, anything he could turn against me. When I gave him nothing, his mouth tightened.

"You are pretending to be generous because you are afraid I will not marry you."

I lifted my cup. "Think whatever comforts you."

His eyes flashed. "I am the heir of the sun. A man in my position will never belong to one woman. If you behave, I may still give you the respect of a wife."

He drew a small gold box from his robe. Before it reached me, Celeste touched the lid with a soft gasp. Inside lay a bracelet of dawnstone, bright with trapped sunlight.

"Apollo, it is beautiful. Is this from Helios's private forge?" She looked at me quickly. "But it is Persephone's birthday gift. I should not take what belongs to her."

Her fingers didn’t move away.

Apollo closed the box and placed it in her palm. "Keep it if you like it. I can buy Persephone another. She likes anything from me."

A memory rose before I could stop it. Years ago, Apollo had given me a cloak in the rain because I was soaked through. I kept it for months. When he found it folded in my room, he told half the court I was shameless enough to treasure a servant's kindness as love.

I set my cup down. "I am leaving."

Apollo caught my wrist. "Upset already? You will share my bed sooner or later. Why act pure now?"

I pulled free. "Do not touch me."

The hall quieted.

He laughed. "Still pretending? Who else would you choose? Cassian Hadeion? The last scrap of Hades, hidden in the shadow wing because even Olympus cannot decide whether to pity him or fear him?"

Several guests laughed with him.

"He cannot stand in the sun without looking half-dead," Apollo went on. "His underworld wings were shattered in the chariot fall that killed his parents. Some say he will never fly again. Some say the darkness broke more than that. Is that the husband you want, Persephone?"

At the hall entrance, a shadow moved.

Cassian Hadeion stood beneath the bronze arch, dressed in black with a silver clasp at his throat. He no longer used the wheeled chair I remembered from the old rumors, but his cloak fell heavily over his back, hiding the ruined line of his wings. His face was pale, his dark eyes calm, and the noise around him seemed to pull back by instinct.

Unlike Apollo, he didn’t look around to see who admired him. He bowed to Zeus first, then to the altar flame, and when his gaze reached me, it held no mockery, no pity, and no demand. That steadiness hurt more than any insult. In my last life, I had wasted years begging Apollo to look at me with even half that respect.

I wanted to say his name then and there.

But Zeus had warned me that morning. "If you choose the Hadeion boy, keep silent until I announce it. The vaults have too many hungry eyes."

So I swallowed the words.

Cassian looked at me once. Something like disappointment crossed his face before he bowed to Zeus and disappeared toward the shadowed side of the hall.

Celeste smiled beside Apollo as if she had won.

I let them think so.