Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
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?”
He shakes his head slowly. “You really are Olympus’s wh—”
“I’m going to stop you there.” It takes everything I have to resist clenching my fists…and perhaps driving one right into his face. “This marriage can be as awful or as pleasant as you choose.” Lies. I have every intention of making each day a new torment for my dear husband. Any information I gather is valuable, and my brother has more plans in place to find out exactly what Minos is up to. We will attack this problem—this enemy—from several different directions.
If I can make my new husband suffer in the process? All the better.
He looks at me as if he’d like to toss me out the nearest window. The feeling is entirely mutual.
I resign myself to a torturous experience and turn for the bedroom. “Let’s get this over with.”
3
HEPHAESTUS
I take another long pull from the whiskey bottle before I follow Aphrodite down the hall to the ridiculously lavish bedroom. Everything about this place reflects Olympus as a whole. Wealth invested in useless things to create an aesthetic. Appearances are all that matter to the citizens of this city, and the longer I’m here, the less connected with reality I feel.
It doesn’t matter. I don’t need reality. I have Minos’s plans. It should be a victory beyond measure that a pissed-off orphan is now one of the thirteen most powerful people in one of the world’s most untouchable cities. I expected that feeling, anticipated it. This is what I’ve always wanted, after all. Power enough not to be fucked with.
I didn’t anticipate that power would feel like a steel trap closing around my leg.
Growing up, I always thought power meant freedom. Being brought into Minos’s household as a teenager only cemented that belief. He answers to one person, and even then, it’s rarely. I wanted that for myself, wanted it so desperately, I could taste it.
The last two weeks have shown me how wrong that belief is. I haven’t made a choice for myself since becoming Hephaestus. There’s more red tape than I could have dreamed, and it all culminates with this fucking marriage and this fucking night.
Aphrodite takes her hair down from its fancy design, pin by pin. She doesn’t look over, doesn’t even act like I’m in the room.
Now’s the time to take charge of the situation, to show her that I’m not some weakling that she can manipulate and steamroll. But I can’t quite make my body move as I watch dark strand after dark strand fall. Her hair is long, reaching halfway down her back in a faint wave. It’s not naturally wavy. Or at least it wasn’t during the house party Minos threw two weeks ago.
She sets the last pin on the dresser and runs her fingers through her hair. “That’s better. Now, come unzip me.”
I jolt. “The fuck?”
Aphrodite turns to face me, a mocking smile on her crimson lips. “Darling, look at me. In case you didn’t notice, this dress hardly allows for much movement.”
Against my better judgment, I drag my gaze over her body. The dress truly is a masterpiece. It leaves little to the imagination, and if she’s built just as sharp in body as she is in face, even I can’t deny that Aphrodite is beautiful. The lace flows over her body, drawing my attention to the curve of her small breasts, the slight flare of her waist, the miles and miles of legs.
“Turn around.” I hardly sound like myself.
She gives me one last long look and then turns. It’s not better without her dark eyes on me, because the mirror over the dresser hides nothing. She should be afraid of me, should be wondering what I might do now that we’re alone, and yet I’m the one who’s almost tentative as I move to stand behind her.
The zipper is a tiny little thing, but I’m used to this sort of shit after growing up with Pandora as a best friend. Women’s clothing is fucking impractical, and Pandora likes to pick the most impractical of all. I hope she listened to me about going home with the family tonight. She was a little tipsy when we left, and she gets mischievous when she drinks. So far, I’ve managed to keep her out of trouble since we came to Olympus, but this is the first night we won’t be spending together in longer than I can remember.