Poseidon's Mistress
His dark hair was bound back from a face sharper than memory had allowed.
He was beautiful.
I hated that first. Before grief, before anger, before the old softness could crawl from whatever grave I had buried it in, I hated that he was beautiful in the way powerful Olympian men were allowed to be beautiful—honored for it, feared for it, admired for taking up space no one had ever tried to deny him.
Lord Poseidon. Married Lord Poseidon. Father, if the gossip of the Capital was true. A man with a wife, children, halls, servants, banners, and a House wrapped around him like proof that he had survived without me.