Eight

The room feels too small, the air too thick. I sit there, lost for words, staring at the table as everything crashes down on me all at once.

Mate. Queen.

The only choice.

I suck in a slow breath, my fingers tightening into fists in my lap as I try to steady myself. This is too much. Too fast. Too impossible. But the truth stands in front of me, immovable. Fayne is trapped. And if what they're saying is true, if I really am Hades' mate, then I am the only one who can save her.

I swallow, my throat dry. "If I agreed," I start slowly, carefully, "if I decided to help—what is the first thing I have to do?"

Kieran leans back in his chair, looking far too comfortable with the weight of my words. He shrugs, like he's discussing something as simple as what to eat for breakfast. "Easy," he says. "You need to accept the bond with Hades and make yourself a queen."

The words settle heavily in my chest, but I force myself to keep going. "And how do I do that?"

Kieran smirks, and this time, it's not his usual teasing expression. There's something sharper in it, something deliberate. "You marry him." He tilts his head, watching me closely. "Not just marry—mate. You must become one."

Everything in me freezes.

The word mate slams into me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs.

My mouth parts slightly, but no words come out.

Mate.

The thought sends me off guard, sends my mind reeling in a direction I don't want it to go. Because mating isn't just a ceremony. It's not just standing before an altar, reciting vows. It's binding. A connection that can't be undone. A soul-deep tether.

I shake my head, my pulse racing. "You can't be serious."

Kieran grins, as if enjoying my reaction. "Oh, I'm very serious."

I dart a glance at Hades. He hasn't spoken. Hasn't moved. He simply watches me, his deep blue eyes dark and unreadable.

Something about the way he's looking at me makes my stomach twist.

I can't tell if he's waiting to see if I'll run.

Or if he already knows I won't.

I swallow hard, pushing back the nausea creeping into my throat. My hands curl into fists at my sides as I shove my chair back and stand abruptly. The legs scrape against the wooden floor, the sound sharp, slicing through the tense silence.

"I've lost my appetite," I say, my voice quiet but firm. "I need to be alone."

No one stops me.

Not Hades, not Kieran, not Callum.

I don't know if it's because they understand or because they know better than to push me right now. Either way, I don't look back as I turn on my heel and walk swiftly out of the dining hall.

The corridors are empty as I make my way back to my room, the cold air pressing against my skin, but my thoughts are anything but silent.

I replay everything I just heard, every word spoken, every truth revealed.

The gods' curse.

The kingdoms lost.

The trial—a sacrifice, not a selection.

And then, Hades.

I close the door behind me with a soft click and press my back against it, exhaling shakily.

Mating.

My fingers tremble as I lift them to my temples, pressing hard as if that will somehow keep my thoughts from spiraling.

I knew Hades was dangerous. I knew there was something about him I should have stayed away from. But I never imagined this. Never thought that the pull I felt toward him—the scent that wraps around me every time he's near—was more than just an attraction.

It's a bond. A curse. A fate I never asked for.

And now, the only way to save Fayne, to break this cycle, to end the gods' hold over them all...

Is to mate with him.

My stomach twists violently.

I don't even know what that means—truly means. Is it just a ceremony? A ritual? A binding magic? Or something deeper, something physical?

I shut my eyes, exhaling sharply.

No.

I can't let myself go there. Not yet.

I push off the door and walk toward the window, my arms wrapping around myself as I stare at the vast, endless forest beyond.

One thing is certain.

If I don't do this, Fayne dies.

And if I do—

I swallow hard.

I don't know what happens to me.

I stay in my room for the rest of the day.

I don't move. I don't eat. I don't think—at least, I try not to.

Instead, I curl up on the bed, wrapping the blanket tightly around me, willing myself to sleep.

It's always been this way—ever since I was a child. When the world becomes too loud, too heavy, too much, I sleep. It's the only escape I know how to reach for. A quiet void where nothing exists—no gods, no kings, no impossible choices.

I don't know how long I drift in and out, but when I open my eyes again, the sky outside is dark. The manor is quiet.

And I'm starving.

My stomach twists, a dull ache curling in my gut as I slowly sit up and swing my legs off the bed. The room is cloaked in shadows, but I don't bother lighting a candle. I walk to the tall chamber window and unlatch it, pushing it open.

Cool night air rushes in, brushing against my skin like a whisper.

That's when I see it—something I hadn't noticed before.

Beyond the stone path at the back of the manor, there's a garden.

A small one, tucked behind the towering architecture, hidden from view unless you were looking. And now that I am, I can't look away.

Drawn by something quiet and persistent, I slip out of my room, careful not to make a sound as I walk through the empty halls and down the back staircase. The manor creaks in the quiet, but it doesn't feel haunted—it feels ancient. Waiting.

I step outside barefoot, the earth cool beneath my feet as I make my way toward the garden.

And when I reach it, I stop.

It's... beautiful.

The garden isn't wild like the forests I know, or carefully trimmed like those in the wealthier districts. It feels alive, intentional. A path of flat stones winds through it, guiding the eye—and the feet—through rows upon rows of blooming flowers.

The strange thing is... they're arranged by color.

It begins with deep, crimson reds—roses and poppies, heavy with scent. Then slowly shifts to oranges, warm and golden marigolds swaying in the night breeze. The yellows glow soft like morning sun—daisies, tulips, even soft buttercups.

From there it bleeds into greens—not just leaves, but soft blooms with green petals I don't recognize. Then into blues—irises, hydrangeas, even deep navy blossoms that almost blend into the dark.

Then indigo. Violet. Soft lilac.

It stretches like a woven tapestry of color, a rainbow painted by hand, growing from the earth.

It shouldn't be this beautiful. Not in a place like this.

But it is.

And for a moment, just a breath of time, I forget about the gods.

I forget about the curse.

About the bond.

About what I might have to give.

Here, in the stillness, surrounded by a thousand shades of blooming color—I'm just Freya.

And the world is quiet.

"I'm not surprised you're out here," comes a familiar voice behind me, light and teasing. "I could hear your stomach grumbling from my room."

I sigh, already rolling my eyes before I even turn around.

Callum grins at me, as effortlessly charming as ever, a wooden tray balanced in his hands. "You're lucky I'm a generous man," he says. "Thought you might be too stubborn to ask for food, so I brought it to you."

On the tray: a small loaf of crusty bread, still warm, and a clay cup of milk that curls steam into the night air.

He holds it out to me like an offering from the gods.

I eye it suspiciously. "And what if you've poisoned it?"

He gasps in mock offense, clutching his chest. "Poison? Freya, I'm hurt."

I arch a brow. "Take a bite first."

He snorts, but without hesitation, rips off a piece of the bread and pops it into his mouth. "Mmm," he says around the bite, chewing dramatically. "Delicious. And tragically nonlethal."

I can't help the small smile that tugs at the corner of my lips. I shrug and reach for the tray. "Well, what's the worst that can happen," I mutter, more to myself than to him.

Callum grins wider and gestures to the stone bench nestled between two rows of deep violet blooms. "Mind if I sit?"

I shake my head, already tearing into the bread as we both take our places on the bench.

The quiet hum of the garden wraps around us like a blanket, and for a moment, everything feels softer. Slower.

And as I chew the bread—simple, warm, comforting—I realize how long it's been since something felt normal.

"You know," Callum says after a moment, nudging my elbow with his, "you might be a future queen, Freya. So if I had poisoned you, I'm pretty sure Hades would've killed me before the bread had a chance to."

I shake my head, a small laugh slipping from me despite myself. "That's not funny."

"It's a little funny," he says, smirking.

I glance down at the empty tray in my lap and murmur, "Queen. That word doesn't suit me."

"No?"

I shake my head again. "No. It feels... distant. Delicate. Not me."

He leans back against the bench, his arm stretched lazily over the back. "Alright, then. If you had to choose one word for yourself, what would it be?"

I don't even have to think about it.

"Warrior."

Callum's smirk fades into something gentler. "You know," he says, "a queen doesn't always have to be someone who lounges on a throne and sips wine in a golden gown. A queen can lead a battle. A queen can fight a war... and win it."

I look at him. Really look at him. And for once, there's no teasing in his eyes—just quiet sincerity.

I finish the last bite of bread and hand him the tray, brushing the crumbs from my fingers. The silence between us stretches for a heartbeat before I speak again.

"What is it you really came out here to say, Callum?" I ask softly, turning to him.

Callum shrugs, glancing sideways at me. "Nothing," he says casually, though his voice is softer now. "I just figured you could use some company."

He looks out over the garden, the gentle night breeze brushing his silver hair across his forehead. "I mean, come on. All that stuff you heard today? The truth about the trials, the curse, the bond—hell, even Hades? That's more than anyone should have to swallow in a single morning."

He pauses, and then adds more quietly, "I thought maybe... you shouldn't have to sit with that alone."

I blink slowly, the tight knot in my chest loosening just a little. I glance down at my hands in my lap, then to the earth beneath my bare feet, grounding myself in something real.

I smile, faint and stubborn, refusing to say thank you out loud—but I think he sees it anyway.

For a moment, we sit in silence. Only the sound of the wind through the flowers and the rhythmic hum of crickets surrounds us, peaceful in a way that makes the rest of the world feel a little less heavy.

Then Callum tips his head back, eyes tracing the star-drenched sky above us. His voice is quieter when he speaks again.

"I used to have a sister," he says.

I turn toward him, surprised.

"Her name was Calleen," he goes on. "My twin."

There's something hollow in his voice—something raw beneath the calm. A depth I hadn't seen before.

And suddenly, I realize... he didn't just come to check on me.

He came because he understands.

Callum's eyes remain on the stars, as if the answers he's about to give are written somewhere among them. The warmth in his voice fades into something distant, edged with shadow.

"It started five hundred years ago," he says, his tone no longer light, but steady. Worn. "The gods of Dawn Valley... they weren't always monsters. At least, that's what the stories say. They were once revered—worshipped like creators, guardians of the land. People gave them offerings, sang their names in every prayer."

I listen, the garden silent around us now, the night holding its breath.

"But the more they were worshipped, the more they demanded," he continues. "What started as gratitude became greed. They didn't just want offerings anymore. They wanted control. Blood. Obedience."

I feel the cold edge of his words settle over me like a mist.

"They began to take girls from villages—virgins, always. Disappeared into the valley and never came back. Sacrifices, they called them. To preserve balance. But there was nothing balanced about it. They were feeding off those lives to hold onto their power."

I swallow hard. The same fate Fayne had been dragged toward.

Callum looks down at his hands. "That was when we stopped praying. When the four of us—Alec, Kieran, Hades, and I—finally stopped waiting for mercy and decided to fight."

He pauses, exhaling through his nose. "I was just a boy. Nineteen. Barely a ruler. But I had Calleen. My twin. My best friend. And from the moment we were born, we could feel each other. I'd get sick and she'd feel it. She'd cry, and I'd feel the tightness in my chest."

There's a flicker of a smile, brief and broken.

"We always knew when something was wrong with the other. And the day the gods took their first girl from our land, Calleen... she woke up screaming. Said something was wrong. Said it felt like something old and angry had woken up beneath the earth. I felt it too. This dread. Like a storm was coming and there was no place to hide."

His voice drops to a whisper. "She was right."

I don't speak. I can't.

Callum's gaze returns to the stars. "The war started not long after. And we won, in a way. We defeated them. But they cursed us before they fell. Ripped away our powers. Bound our fates to something cruel and impossible."

I already know what comes next. The curse. The bond. The centuries of waiting.

But hearing it now, like this, spoken from someone who lost as much as he fought to protect... it feels heavier. Realer.

"And Calleen?" I ask quietly.

Callum swallows hard. "She fought with us. She led the resistance while I led the front lines. But she disappeared during the final battle. No body. No sign. Just... gone."

Silence stretches between us again, thick and aching.

I turn back toward the garden, toward the impossible rainbow of flowers swaying softly in the night air, and wonder—how much can one person lose before they stop hoping at all?

Callum's smile fades entirely now. What's left in its place is something I haven't seen before—grief so raw it still lives just beneath his skin, untouched by time.

"After the battle," he says quietly, "I went searching. For survivors, for soldiers, for family... for her."

He doesn't have to say her name again. I know he means Calleen.

His jaw clenches. "I found her. In the forest, not far from the battlefield. Just lying there. Cold. Still."

He pauses, his eyes fixed somewhere far away—somewhere I can't follow.

"I never screamed like that before," he says, voice barely above a whisper. "Not as a child, not as a soldier, not as a king. And I don't think I ever will again."

I can feel my throat tightening, just hearing the way he says it.

"I held her," he continues. "Held her for hours. Her body was heavy in my arms, but I didn't care. I couldn't move. Couldn't let go. Eventually, I carried her all the way back to the palace. Buried her in the garden beside the east wall. It was the only place that felt... close enough to me."

He swallows, and his voice cracks when he says, "Every single night, I visited her. I'd bring her favorite flower—lavender. She used to sneak them into my bathwater as a prank."

A soft smile ghosts his lips for a second. "She said it made me smell 'less like sweat and more like spring.'"

He laughs under his breath, but it's not amusement. It's pain disguised in humor.

"And then," he says, looking up at the sky, "one night I stood at her grave, lavender in my hand... and I saw a shooting star."

I glance at him, drawn in, my chest heavy with his words.

"I made a wish," he says.

I hesitate. "What did you wish for?"

His eyes remain on the stars, voice so quiet I almost miss it.

"I wished she'd come back," he says. "That somehow, in some lifetime, she'd be reborn."

The air stills around us.

"And when that happened," he continues, "I wished I'd be there to see her again. That she'd give me a sign. Something to know it's her."

He turns to me, his gaze softer now, tinged with something fragile. My breath catches, a chill crawling over my arms.

Callum leans forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees, his voice dipping just above a whisper. "You know, we can speak to each other without words. The kings, I mean. A sort of... mind-link. It's part of the remnants of our power. Faded, but still there. Still useful."

I blink at him, startled. "You can... speak through your minds?"

He smirks a little at my reaction. "Startling, isn't it? Comes in handy when you're surrounded by enemies, or bickering brothers who can't shut up."

My brows furrow. "So you can all just... hear each other's thoughts?"

"Not all thoughts," he says with a soft chuckle. "Just what we choose to send. Direct lines, like threads connecting the four of us."

I lean back slightly, unease prickling down my spine. "So that night... the night Hades brought me to the manor..."

Callum's eyes darken with memory. "I asked him," he says. "Right after I saw you."

He turns to face me now, and there's a strange tension in his voice. "I asked Hades what you smelled like."

I blink. "You asked him—what I smelled like?"

Callum nods slowly. "When a king finds his mate, he knows. By her scent. It's always vivid. Clear. And when Hades said you smelled like lavender..."

His voice trails off, but the meaning doesn't need to be spoken.

My breath stills.

Lavender.

Of course.

That night in the manor, Callum had smiled, laughed... and then everything shifted. His expression had gone still. His voice quiet.

Now I know why.

My throat tightens. "Do you think..." I hesitate, the words catching. "Do you think I'm her? Your sister. Reborn?"

Callum doesn't speak for a long moment. He just watches me, eyes soft in the moonlight, unreadable and yet full of something deep.

Finally, he offers me only a faint smile.

"I hope so."

And the silence that follows is full of unspoken ache, and quiet hope too deep to name.

Callum shrugs, a quiet chuckle rumbling from his chest as he leans back and tips his head toward the stars. The heaviness in his voice lifts just slightly, replaced by something more playful, more Callum.

"You know, Calleen never liked wearing gowns either," he says with a crooked smile. "She used to tear the hems on purpose just so the maids would stop trying to force her into them. Said she could barely breathe, let alone fight, in all that lace and boning."

I can't help the soft smile that tugs at the corners of my lips. "Sounds familiar."

He glances at me, the amusement returning to his eyes. "Exactly why I tested you this morning."

I blink. "Tested me?"

Callum nods. "I asked the staff to lay out a gown for you. Wanted to see if you'd wear it."

My eyes narrow slightly. "That was you?"

He lifts a hand, laughing. "Guilty. I just needed to know... if maybe it was you. And when you walked out in your old shirt and those gods-forsaken pants..." He lets out a breath, shaking his head with a grin. "I swear, it sent chills down my spine. I stopped second-guessing the moment I saw you standing there, looking like you were ready for war instead of courtship."

I don't know what to say to that, so I look down, brushing my fingers across my knees, letting the night air cool the storm inside me.

Callum's voice softens again. "I don't know if you're her. Not for certain. But I do know one thing, Freya."

I lift my eyes to meet his.

He holds my gaze, solemn and unwavering. "I'll protect you. As a sister... or a queen I'm meant to serve." Then his mouth curls up again. "Or, gods help me, a sister-in-law."

I scoff, shoving his shoulder gently. "Don't push your luck."

He laughs, the sound rich and warm, echoing through the garden like a forgotten song. And for the first time in what feels like days, the ache in my chest eases.

Just a little.

I sit quietly for a moment, letting his laughter fade into the night, letting the stillness settle between us again. But something tugs at my mind, a loose thread that I can't help but pull.

"You said earlier that you asked the staff to lay out the gown," I murmur, glancing sideways at him. "But... I haven't seen a single soul in this manor besides the three of you. No maids. No cooks. Nothing."

Callum's smile turns knowing. "That's because you're still a commoner."

My brow arches. "Excuse me?"

He chuckles. "Not an insult, little mouse. Just a fact. Only those who've accepted the bond—those who are part of the court—can see the people who serve us."

My mouth opens, but no words come out.

"There are staff here," he continues. "Dozens, actually. Bound to the manor, to the kings. They cook, clean, keep the fires lit. They're loyal, sworn to us. But they're veiled from the eyes of outsiders—until you're no longer considered one."

I frown, staring at the stone path winding through the garden. "And I'll see them when...?"

"When you accept the bond," he finishes for me, his voice gentler now. "When you mate with Hades."

That word again. Mate.

It drips with meaning. With consequence.

The silence between us stretches long and thick, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

I stare down at the soft grass beneath the bench, then draw in a shaky breath.

"What do you know about bonds?" I ask. My voice is quieter than I mean it to be, but it carries. "About... mating?"

Callum's easy smile fades into something deeper, something sadder.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his silver hair falling into his eyes as he thinks.

"I know it's not just a ceremony," he says at last. "It's not about crowns or thrones or duty. It's magic. Old magic. A soul recognizing another soul and choosing to be bound to it. Forever."

He glances at me, and for the first time, I see something ancient behind his playful charm. Something tired.

"You don't just feel it in your heart, Freya. You feel it in your bones. In your breath. In every part of you. It's... undeniable."

My throat tightens. "And once you're bound?"

"You belong to each other. Completely. In power, in mind, in flesh."

I press my lips together, unsure if I'm terrified or curious. Or both.

"And there's no undoing it?" I ask.

Callum shakes his head slowly. "No. Once the bond is sealed, it's eternal."

My chest tightens again as I look away.

Forever.

And Hades...

I close my eyes.

What if I'm not ready for forever?