2. Hephaestus

2

HEPHAESTUS

“I don’t want to do this.”

“It’s too late for that, my boy.” Minos, the foster father I owe everything to, stands before me and adjusts my collar. Almost as if he’s a real father at his real son’s wedding. The pride on his face is real enough, even if everything else about today is a farce. He pats my shoulder. “With great power comes great responsibility.”

Funny how he only remembers the last part of that saying when it suits him. When we came to Olympus, things seemed simple enough. Take the Ares title and secure a spot for the rest of my family in this cesspool of a city. Except nothing has gone to plan since we arrived here. I was eliminated in the second round instead of going on to win the whole tournament. More, that little bitch left my knee permanently fucked up. Not even surgery could fix it.

If we were anyone else, that would have been the end of it.

We’re not anyone else, though. Minos isn’t anyone else. He’s a powerful man beholden to someone even more powerful. A single failure isn’t enough to set someone like that back. I’m not convinced he didn’t plan for us to miss the mark in the Ares tournament, because he pivoted fast enough afterward.

“You never said that taking the title like this would sink me up to my neck in political bullshit.” Political bullshit like marrying that witch Aphrodite. From the moment I saw her, I’ve hated her and wanted her in equal measures. She’s too smart, too gorgeous, too good at getting under my skin. A marriage would be bad enough—it’s not something I’ve ever wanted—but with this pairing, every day will be a battlefield.

“If you’d succeeded at claiming the Ares title, you would have married Helen.” An edge creeps into Minos’s voice. “You failed, so here we are. Helen would have been a more biddable wife, but the dice have been rolled.”

I highly doubt the woman who maimed me would ever be described as biddable, but I’m not about to argue. It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m not marrying Helen. I’m marrying Aphrodite. “I didn’t fail twice,” I snap.

I’m one of the Thirteen most powerful people in Olympus now, but since I killed the last Hephaestus and stepped into his place, there’s been nothing but strings tying me down. Can’t do this. Can’t do that. Have to marry her. In all this shit, no one mentioned that I’d lose all free will the moment I lost my name. I fucking hate it.

Minos draws himself up. He’s a big man, nearly as broad as me and an inch taller. He’s aged in the time we’ve been here, the lines deeper around his eyes and mouth. All my life, he’s been a godlike figure. He’s the one who rescued me from that orphanage, the one who taught me everything I know and carved me into the warrior I am today.

I might not agree with all his shit, but I owe him everything.

I start to drag my hand through my hair, but he catches my wrist. “You’ll muss yourself.”

“I could give a fuck.”

His mouth thins. “Appearances matter here, Hephaestus. That’s a lesson you need to learn, and fast.”

Hephaestus. Not Theseus. The only person who uses my real name anymore is Pandora, and I haven’t seen much of her in the last two weeks. My fiancée is holding her hostage in the wedding party, though Aphrodite would never be so plain as to say as much. “My name is Theseus.”

“Not anymore.” Minos looks me up and down. “You’re no use to me if you can’t do your job. We’re not done here in Olympus, not by a long shot, and I can’t waste time babysitting you. I have things to take care of.”

Things to take care of. Right. Not that he tells me much anymore. My name isn’t the only thing I lost when I became Hephaestus. The title put me on the other side of the line from Minos, or at least it feels that way. I can’t shake the feeling he doesn’t trust me now. “I got it,” I finally manage. “I won’t disappoint you.”

“I know you won’t, my boy. Not again.” He glances at his watch. “It’s time.”

A protest rises up my throat, but I swallow it back down. It’s too late to turn back. It was too late the moment we came to this fucking city. I follow Minos out into the hallway where my groomsmen are gathered. My foster brothers, the Minotaur and Icarus…and the two men I didn’t choose. Eros, a fucking fixer for Olympus. And Zeus, my future brother-in-law. They couldn’t have spelled out the threat more clearly than if they’d written it in blood.

Zeus is a white guy with blond hair and blue eyes so cold, they give even me pause. He raises an eyebrow. “Problem?”

“Not at all.” Minos is all projected good cheer. “No cold feet to speak of.”

“Good.” So much threat in four letters. “Let’s go.”

We file out of the building and into the yard or courtyard or whatever the fuck this space is. It’s packed with people and there are flowers everywhere. As if this is a real wedding, instead of a charade.

The rest of the Thirteen are here. I easily pick them out in the first few rows. Artemis, who looks like she wants nothing more than to strike me down where I stand for killing her cousin. Athena, Dionysus, Apollo, Poseidon, all of them serious and stern. I notice that Apollo brought his little girlfriend along.

Every single one of them wants me dead, and here they are, attending my wedding. Have to keep up appearances. This city loves that shit. Demeter, Hades, and Hera round out the guests. Soft. All of them are so fucking soft.

The music swells, and the guests turn as one to look back at the fancy door at the back of the space. First comes Ariadne, my foster sister. I don’t have much experience with weddings, but I thought the point was to pick ugly bridesmaid dresses so they don’t show up the bride. Aphrodite hasn’t done that. The deep red looks nice against Ariadne’s light-brown skin and the cut is flattering on her curvy body.

My gaze tracks to the reporters clustered just off to the side. Their snapping cameras are audible even with the strange little melody the wedding planner picked for this part of the event.

Pandora follows, and fuck if that doesn’t piss me off even more. She looks great. She always looks great. Her dress is a little different from Ariadne’s and fits her curves to perfection. She gives me a big smile, as if this whole thing is real instead of a political marriage to my enemy. But then, Pandora has a habit of only seeing the bright side of things. She’s my perfect balance in that way because fuck if I can see anything bright about this situation.

I wish I’d had a chance to talk to her in the last couple days. She always has a new perspective to offer, and maybe she knows some secret that will make this marriage anything less than open warfare.

Except that’s a fool’s dream.

Hermes and Ares follow. Hermes is a petite Black woman wearing an honest-to-gods jumpsuit with her natural curls on full display. She’s cute, but I’ve seen exactly how dangerous she is. Only a fool would see the impish smile and think she’s harmless.

Ares is last: a white woman with auburn hair, each move showcasing the kind of grace that she used against me in the Ares competition. I hadn’t known she was a gymnast before entering the tournament. Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t have underestimated her. I watch her approach with narrowed eyes. She’s the reason I walk with a limp now, and I’d like nothing more than to return the favor.

Ares lifts her gaze and catches me staring. She’s absolutely stunning, even when glaring. If Aphrodite didn’t want to be outshone on her wedding day, she shouldn’t have put her sister in the wedding party. Ares is the kind of beautiful that makes me a little sick to my stomach. Features too perfect to be real.

I could fix that for her.

Her gaze flicks to my knee and her smile widens. It’s everything I can do to stand perfectly still as she walks past to take up her place on the other side of the altar instead of wrapping my hands around her long throat.

The music changes and then it’s Aphrodite’s turn.

The air goes charged as she steps through the doors and makes her way slowly down the aisle. She doesn’t have the same otherworldly beauty that Ares does, but I can’t tear my gaze away from her. Her dress is almost indecent, or at least hints that it could be with one wrong move, and her mass of dark hair is piled on her head in a fancy design that looks like it took hours.

She holds my gaze boldly. It strikes me that she’s walking down the aisle alone. Shouldn’t her brother be giving her away instead of standing at my back like he wants nothing more than to sink a knife between my ribs before I can say my vows?

There’s probably some symbolism here. Olympus seems to love that shit. Nothing is straightforward and no one says what they mean. It wasn’t like that back on Aeaea. I won’t pretend it was some nice life without pitfalls, but at least people didn’t smile to your face and then murder you the first chance they got.

It isn’t lost on me that I did exactly that two weeks ago.

Aphrodite stops in front of me. She’s already tall, but wears heels that make her even taller than my six feet, two inches. She smiles and it’s not a happy expression. I once again have to fight not to tense. I’ve read the headlines of that gossip site they call news—MuseWatch. No one believes this is a love match. It’s a relief in a way.

I don’t have to pretend to like my wife.

The priest, an old white guy with all of three hairs on the top of his head, starts going on about the principles that guide a good marriage, but I ignore him and stare at the woman I’m linking my life to.

Not for long. Not if Minos and the others have their way. I can see him out of the corner of my eye, all smiles and pretend joy. My foster father doesn’t share my difficulty with lying in both expression and body language. The memory of his words has me straightening.

This is what’s required to keep the rest of them thinking we’re cowed. Play the part, Theseus.

I follow the priest’s instructions to place my left hand under Aphrodite’s right. Her skin is soft and smooth, free of the calluses that mark mine. I’m not fool enough to think that means she’s not dangerous. She’s already proved otherwise.

“Cold feet, Husband,” she murmurs.

“No colder than your heart,” I snap.

The priest ignores us as he wraps a piece of golden cloth around our hands, binding us together symbolically. He drones on about binding our lives together. It seems to go on forever, the late summer sun beating down on us and making my suit feel too tight. I want to get the fuck out of here, to move until I stop feeling like an animal in a trap.

He finally lifts our hands high. “What the gods have bound, no one should separate.”

And then it’s over.

We’ll have to wear the bindings until the reception, which seems like a good time to attempt an assassination, when both parties are awkwardly tied to each other and at least one’s dominant hand is out of commission. Another useless Olympus tradition.

My skin prickles as we walk back down the aisle together. None of the people watching us seem overly happy with this event. That’s to be expected, but I didn’t anticipate it making me feel so fucking vulnerable. I hate it.

We step through the doors, but Aphrodite doesn’t stop there. She practically drags me through the hall, past the ballroom where part of the reception will be held, and through a nondescript door.

My eyes are still adjusting to the dimness when she spins and shoves me against the wall. It’s awkward because our bound hands mean she comes with me, landing against my chest.

“You fucking bastard,” she snarls.

Just like that, I know exactly why she’s pissed. Apparently my little invitation found its home. Good. I relax back against the wall and look up at her. “Problem, Wife?”

“You know exactly what the problem is.” She grabs for my chin, but I catch her wrist before she can make contact. She narrows her eyes. “Release me.”

“Call it an overabundance of caution.” I tighten my grip a little when she yanks on it. “Wouldn’t want you clawing up my pretty face with those nails.” Now that I have a better look at them, I’m not at all surprised to see that they’re sharp enough to serve as weapons in their own right. She’s not going to be ripping out any throats, but she could probably take an eye or two.

Aphrodite flips a switch so fast it makes my head spin, all her fury tucked away between one heartbeat and the next. She goes soft against me, her smile still cold as ice. “You’re not pretty, Hephaestus. You never know; a few scars might be an improvement. They’ve certainly served the Minotaur well.”

“Pass.” My wires are getting crossed by this interaction. She came in like an attack, but now she’s pressed against me like a lover, her breasts nearly spilling out of her dress. Our faces are even, close enough to kiss. I don’t like how fast she changed things up on me. I don’t trust it. “Back off.”

“Why, Husband? We’ll be consummating this marriage shortly. We could get started now.”

Just like that, I get it. The anger was the slip, not this weird sexual tension that flares between us like poison. I lower her arm and pin it to the small of her back, pressing us closer yet. It’s a fight to keep my body from responding to her. I’m only human, and Aphrodite might be a snake, but she’s a gorgeous one.

She’s also just confirmed exactly what I suspected…and handed me the ultimate weapon in the process.

I lean down a little to speak directly into her ear. “Did your little boyfriend pay you a visit, Wife?”

She tenses for half a beat and then relaxes. A quick recovery, but we’re pressed too tightly together for me to miss it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Liar.” Being this close is a mistake, but I like that she can’t lie effectively like this. It makes me want to press my advantage. “Did he offer to save you? To take you away from big, bad me?”

Again, a quick tensing following by a forced relaxation. Aphrodite releases a slow breath. “Adonis was a fun little fling who let his emotions get the best of him. He doesn’t matter.”

I laugh. “Cute story. I saw the way you looked at him at the house party. Seems like love.” If I have to be in this marriage—and I do—then I fully intend to make Aphrodite pay for cornering me in the first place. Political machinations may have forced me into this, but I’m determined to end up on top. No matter how formidable she is, she’s got one glaring weak spot.

And I fully intend to exploit him.

APHRODITE

The reception stretches on for an eternity. Even though I carefully hide what I’m feeling, I can’t stop the sinking in my stomach. I played right into my new husband’s hands. A mistake, and one that will be costly. I can’t afford to underestimate Hephaestus, and reacting to Adonis unexpectedly showing up before my wedding to the enemy? I might as well have waved a red flag in front of a bull. My husband will be charging in no time. I wish I could trust Adonis to avoid that pitfall, but emotions make everything messy and I hurt him badly by making this move.

He’s not the only one.

All through the speeches and cake cutting and first dance, Hephaestus keeps that satisfied smirk in place. It makes me want to…

I manage to extract myself and part ways with my husband to grab a glass of champagne off a waiter’s tray. Now’s the time to follow him back to our seats at the center of the bridal party table, but I need a moment, so I drift over to the doorway leading back outside. The air has cooled with the sun setting, giving the first hint of the bite winter will bring.

I close my eyes and inhale deeply. The desire to strike back at Hephaestus after that little altercation is nearly overwhelming, but I haven’t made it to where I am now by acting impulsively. Mostly.

Right now, the only thing that matters is getting through the rest of the reception and then managing to resist the impulse to make myself a widow on my wedding night. Hephaestus is an enemy, but he’s a known one. If Minos thinks he’s getting his way, he will let his guard down. Hopefully.

Worrying about Minos and his plans can wait for tomorrow.

Even knowing that is the smartest course of action, I can’t help searching the faces of the guests gathered in the ballroom. Adonis isn’t here—I know he isn’t—but that doesn’t stop me from looking despite myself.

He won’t have left Olympus; not without me. His life is here. His family and fortune and a whole city’s worth of admirers. He has a way of drawing people to him wherever he goes, his charm and beauty making him the darling of MuseWatch and a good portion of the legacy families. Not enough to help him secure one of the titles of the Thirteen for himself, but Adonis lives a charmed life.

None of that really excuses what I’ve done.

Or the fact that I didn’t talk to him about it first.

I smother the guilt trying to take root in my chest. Adonis knew what he was getting when we started this ill-fated on-again, off-again relationship several years ago. I was a Kasios before I became Aphrodite.

I drain my champagne glass and tuck all the messy emotions away. It doesn’t matter what could have been because this is my reality. I will not give my new husband and his family even an ounce of satisfaction from thinking that I’m heartbroken.

Being heartbroken would require me to have a heart.

I make my way toward the table with the wedding party. It’s slow going because everyone wants to stop the bride and wish me congratulations or use thirty seconds of their time to try to weasel closer to the power Aphrodite holds. My title’s responsibilities include making marriage matches, and arranged marriages are one of Olympus’s favorite ways to consolidate power.

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?”

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.”