Again and again, my attention is drawn back to the bridal party. They’ve mixed up a bit. My people—Hermes, Eros, and my brother and sister—on one side and Hephaestus’s—the Minotaur, Icarus, Ariadne, and Pandora—on the other. It’s the latter who interests me.
In the brief time I’ve known their cursed household, Pandora seems to be the only one whom my lovely husband does more than tolerate. Even now, he’s leaning over Icarus to speak to her and there’s an actual smile on his face. It’s strange and soft, and it makes me want to grab the nearest piece of silverware and gouge his eyes out.
Instead, I focus on Pandora. She’s a pretty little thing—short and soft with the kind of curves a person can sink their hands into. Smooth light-brown skin and a thick fall of wavy black hair complete the picture. But what really sets her apart is the way she lights up a room when she walks into it. Her laugh fills a space in a way I’ve never experienced before. I added her to my side of the wedding party out of spite because I knew it would bother Hephaestus, but I actually found myself enjoying being around her.
If her attitude is a mask, it’s the best I’ve ever seen.
Hephaestus sees me coming and sits back abruptly, his smile falling away and clouds gathering in his dark eyes. I dislike how attractive he is. Medium-brown skin and dark-red hair that’s actually trimmed properly for this event. His muscular frame marked him as a warrior before his injury, and I have no doubt that even with his injured knee, he can do plenty of damage.
He killed the last Hephaestus, after all.
I slip around the table and take my place at his side. I can do this. I chose this. The reception is all but over, and then all that’s left is to consummate the marriage. After that, I can put the next stage of my plan into motion. For the next hour or two, I simply need to endure. Even knowing it’s coming, the rest of the reception passes in a blur of congratulations.
And then it’s time to see us off.
Hephaestus has only just moved into the penthouse he inherited with the title—likely because his predecessor’s people made the transition difficult—and I have no intention of letting him into my home. As a result, we’ve booked a hotel room for the night.
It was the simplest solution, but I’m regretting the short trip now. The remaining wedding guests line the hall, tossing flowers before us, a perfect blend of red—roses and carnations and poppies. It creates a beautiful stage for us to walk down, holding hands as if we’re a real husband and wife, instead of enemies. Distantly, I note the photographer taking pictures furiously. Helen will go over which to release tonight, and the rest will be sent to me afterward.
What’s the point in a wedding as a distraction if everyone isn’t talking about it?
My sister appears at the end of the hall and pulls me into a quick hug. “Be safe,” she whispers. Something cold presses into my hand.
I glance down and nearly laugh. It’s a small knife, wickedly curved and designed to fit perfectly in the palm of my hand. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“He’s a murderer, Eris.” She hugs me again, speaking directly into my ear. “Do what you have to.”
I don’t tell her not to worry. Truthfully, this wedding was a gamble. It could be as much a trap for me as I intend it to be for Hephaestus. If one of his family decides to kill me and trigger the assassination clause—the carefully guarded, fucked-up bit of old Olympian lore that gained Hephaestus his place in the Thirteen—they would be entitled to my title. Being alone with him is asking for an ambush.
But that danger goes both ways.
“I’ll be safe.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” She steps back and then our brother is there. He doesn’t hug me; he’s not really the hugging type.
He just looks at me and nods. “Do what you have to do.”
Helen makes an angry sound, but she’s never really understood Perseus—now Zeus—the way I do. He’s ruthless to a fault and clinically cold, both traits our bastard of a father encouraged, but he’s never railed against his role in this city. Not like Helen. Not like Hercules. I wince a little at the thought of our youngest brother. He’s not here. He was invited, of course, but he’s made it clear he’s not returning to Olympus, even if our father is gone.
I try not to hold that against him. He’s happy and that’s enough for the others. It has to be enough for me, too.
“I always do what I have to.” I turn away from what remains of my family and walk with my new husband to the elevator that will take us up to the honeymoon suite. The doors close and I’m alone with Hephaestus for the first time.
I don’t know what I expect. Threats or more taunting, perhaps. He says nothing. The silence unnerves me, but this is a weapon I’m familiar with. My father didn’t use it often, but when he did, it was so bad I almost preferred his fists. He would ignore us when we made him a special shade of angry, would act as if he couldn’t see or hear us for hours and sometimes days. Perseus always seemed to find that almost a relief, but it made me wild with fury. When I was fifteen, I destroyed an entire room while shrieking at my father, and he sat there staring mildly out the window and drinking his coffee the entire time.
I shudder. I’m not fifteen any longer. Control has been hard-won, but it exists. The doors open before I can make a liar out of myself, and I charge forward, leaving Hephaestus to follow behind.
The honeymoon suite is lovely. Everything about this historic hotel is lovely; it’s why I picked it for the wedding. That and the fact that every member of my family going back generations has been married here.
In my father’s case, multiple times.
I stare at the tasteful cream decor and my stomach twists. Best not to think about that. Or the fact that my brother and sister-in-law occupied this same room for their political marriage back in May. I shudder. Tradition is a trap, but I’ve gone too far to back out now.
Hephaestus steps around me and makes a beeline to the kitchenette. There’s a bottle of whiskey there with a jaunty bow around it that seems to be made entirely of glitter. Even before he picks up the card and snorts, I know who it’s from.
Hermes. Up until two weeks ago, I considered her one of my best friends in this world. Now, I don’t know what to believe. My brother thinks she’s a traitor, and she hasn’t done much to disabuse him of the belief. I still can’t quite believe that she means this city harm or that she’s really allied with Hephaestus’s family. Surely there’s some game afoot. Surely she didn’t feed Minos information with the intention of bringing Olympus and the Thirteen down.
Maybe that belief makes me naive. I’ve been accused of worse.
I swallow past the complicated feelings the thought of her brings and cross to join Hephaestus at the counter. “Give me that.”
“I’ve got it.” He rips at the bow almost violently.
I barely resist the urge to snatch the bottle out of his hands and pick up the card instead. Hermes’s sprawling handwriting greets me.
Enjoy the wedding night, you two lovebirds!
I sigh and toss it aside. “Always playing games.”
“She’s an Olympian. It’s what your people do.” He finally gets the bow off and drops it to the counter with a disgusted grunt. The bottle top soon joins it. Hephaestus takes a long pull directly from the bottle. Another time, I’d make a biting comment about his manners, but right now I need the same fortification he obviously does.
No. Damn it, no.
I am not some weak princess, married off against her will. This wedding is by my design. If this were a story, I’d be the cunning queen, or even the evil witch. I am not helpless and I am not innocent.
If Hephaestus needs liquid courage, that means I’m the one coming out on top of today, no matter his nasty little trick with Adonis earlier. I still take the bottle from his hand and lift it to my lips, holding his gaze all the while. One swallow, then two. I stop myself there and set it on the counter with a clink. “Shall we, dear husband?”