It seems a particularly cruel twist of fate that gave Eros Ambrosia the face of a golden god and no heart to speak of. He sits there, somehow finding the single beam of light in this dark hole of a place, and looks at me with nothing in his pale-blue eyes. No guilt. No sympathy. Not even anticipation for what comes next. There’s no bloodlust there, either—just a certain sort of weariness as if he’s already tired of this song and dance and just wants to get the whole thing over with so he can go home and go to bed.
He’s wearing nearly the same expression he was when he thanked me for helping him.
I refuse to hope he’s actually offering me a way out, but I’m approaching a desperation that makes me foolish. I thought I was so incredibly clever, creating that false timeline with Hermes so that Eros and I could plot together. What was I thinking? The first thing I should have done was go to Persephone. Just because Eros wasn’t a total monster to me two weeks ago doesn’t mean he’s safe.
If I had known I was in danger, I would have fled to the lower city and taken what protection Hades and Persephone have to offer. It would only be a temporary solution, but at least my life would be extended past tonight. That extra time would have given me the opportunity to think my way out of this mess, preferably without getting my mother involved.
If she finds out that Aphrodite essentially took a hit out on me, she’ll go after the woman with everything in her arsenal. And my mother has many things in her arsenal. She might not have killed the old Zeus herself, but she certainly set up the sequence of events that ended in his death. She’s also the sole reason that his death was ruled an accident instead of murder. She helped pave the way for Hades himself to reenter society. She has some kind of dirt on Poseidon that ensures he backs her at least half of the time. But even with all that power at her disposal, she will throw caution to the wind and might do something truly foolish like trying to run Aphrodite over with her car. Something with no plausible deniability.
If I had known…
But then, it doesn’t matter. Playing what-if is a recipe for disaster. I made a mistake. Just because I didn’t know the cost doesn’t mean I’m exempt from paying it.
Eros is watching me so closely, I almost forget myself and take a sip of the drink that was waiting for me when I got to the table. Knowing what I do now, it’s definitely poisoned, though whether it’s a lethal dose or just something meant to incapacitate is up for debate.
“There might be another way,” he says again, as if reassuring both of us.
After everything he’s said, suddenly he’s offering me an alternate option. Why? Is this another way to torment me? I want to scream in his face, to throw this poisoned drink at him and watch it drip down his perfect features. Maybe I’ll get lucky and it will burn his skin, distracting him long enough for me to run.
I glance around the bar. It’s even dimmer than when I arrived, and people have begun to filter in. This place is as far from the shining streets around Dodona Tower as a person can get and stay in the upper city. It’s also in an area I’m not overly familiar with. It’s entirely possible that all of these people are on Eros’s payroll—Aphrodite’s payroll—and the moment I try to flee, they’ll catch me and haul me back to him.
No, I am out of options and we both know it. I try to swallow down the panic making it difficult to think. “What other way?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
He says it so flatly that I have to laugh. “Right. Because I like the idea of being murdered so much more.”
Finally, he seems to steel himself and says, “Marry me.”
I blink. The two soft words don’t morph into a sentence that makes sense. If anything, the longer they stand between us, the less comprehensible they are. “I’m sorry, I misheard you. I could have sworn you just said ‘marry me.’”
“Because I did.” There’s still no emotion in his eyes, no reaction to indicate what he’s thinking. I’m used to being able to at least pick up something from the people around me. Even the best liars have tells, and I’ve spent enough time drifting through Olympian parties to pick up on most of the major players’ over the years. It’s a matter of survival and I’m very good at it. I know that Ares scratches at his beard when he wants to throttle someone. I know that Perseus—Zeus—gets colder when he’s buying time to respond. Even the last Zeus, while not transparent, got louder and more boisterously happy when he was furious.
Eros gives me nothing.
I catch myself reaching for the drink out of instinct and push the glass to the far side of the table. “That’s not funny.”
“Who’s laughing?” He sighs as if already tired of this conversation. “There are consequences for failing my mother, and I’m not willing to bear them. I can’t walk away without either killing you or marrying you.”
A hysterical giggle escapes, and I grab his drink and down it. Vodka tonic. Of course it is. I shudder. “That’s ridiculous. Why are those the only two options? If you don’t want to kill me, surely there’s something else you can do.”
“There’s not.” When I just stare at him, he rolls his shoulders a little. “Look, if I marry you, that ties me to Demeter as much as it ties you to Aphrodite. She won’t be able to exile me without causing a stir, and if you suddenly turn up dead, there’s no plausible deniability there. If we make it believable, everyone will assume that it’s a love match between two rivals’ children. As the last two weeks have more than proven, the media loves that Romeo and Juliet shit.”
“You’re not exactly convincing me with that comparison. Romeo and Juliet both died.”
“Semantics. You know I’m right.”
I rub my throat where I can still feel the burn of the alcohol and try to think my way through this. Marriages of convenience are hardly unknown in Olympus, especially among the families of the Thirteen. Everyone is constantly jockeying for power, often in the form of alliances, and using a marriage to seal an alliance is an ancient practice. It’s just… Even with my mother’s obvious machinations, I honestly thought I would avoid being married to someone who actively wants to harm me. It’s the lowest bar possible, but here we are.
“You’re serious?” I finally ask.
“Yes.”
There’s no reason for this to be an elaborate trap. He already has me in the upper warehouse district, and from the look of the streets around here, there are plenty of alleys for him to drop my dead body in with no one the wiser. I paved the way for that to happen without consequences, and I have no one to blame for my naivety but myself.
No, the only thing that makes sense is that Eros is actually offering to marry me. He’s right, in a way; if we played things correctly, we’d be untouchable. There’s little Olympus loves more than gossip. A secret marriage between Eros and me would send them into a frenzy, practically crawling over one another to ensure they’re the first to get an exclusive scoop. The buzz still going on about that single photo is more than proof of that. From there, it’s child’s play to get people on our side, rooting for us to go the distance. If someone harmed either of us at that point, Olympus would have a riot on its hands and not even the Thirteen could quell it. They’d be forced to answer some uncomfortable questions about what happens out of the sight of the public, and no one wants that.
Even Aphrodite.
So, yes, the plan might work. There’s just one glaring issue. I press my lips together and consider Eros. He’s attractive, yes, but there’s an aura of danger that even his flawless looks can’t dispel. “No one would believe that you’ve lost your head and married anyone in a whirlwind affair. You’re too cold. You don’t play the game with the media, and they resent you for it.”
“I don’t play the game because it bores me, not because I’m incapable.”
He’s confident enough that I almost believe him, but this could backfire half a dozen ways, and that’s just off the top of my head. I know I can fake it; it’s what I’ve been doing since my mother became Demeter and dragged our family out of its idyllic country life and into the snake pit that is Olympus. “Prove it.”