Page 27 of The Prince of Hidden Shadows
“What?” It’s his turn to ask. His tone holds no malice—just genuine surprise. He shrugs. “What can I say? I’m observant.” A noncommittal sound slips from my lips at his statement. I can’t decide whether I’m pleased or offended. “That’s why I’m good at my job.” I don’t dare inquire if he’s referring to his current occupation or the one he performs down under, guiding the souls on their journey. “This is a pretty decent sandwich, by the way.” He wolfs it down, and I watch his Adam’s apple work. I’ve been drawn to it ever since he said this attribute is a special addition when he’s on Earth—his facial hair, too. Captivated, I study his stubbled throat, my mouth watering at the thought of tracing it with my tongue. His voice tears me from my lustful haze, and I meet his gaze. “We don’t have those where I’m from.”
Talking about his world or his unique nature in public isn’t allowed, so I guess he’ll elaborate when it’s only the two of us—which happens often enough. The hotel owner, Layla, also his long-time friend, landed him a job here keep him occupied and provide a fresh way to send souls to the Underworld.
“Are you happy with your safe choice?” he teases.
Minutes later, Zagreus scrolls through his phone with fierce concentration. I sip my water, shooting him a sideways glance. Brows furrowed. Lips parted. Eyes narrowed. This is the same composed, deadly god who moves through the world like it bends to his will—now grinning at cat memes and viral dances.
Whenever he’s off duty and I’m not wandering the city or getting lost examining every corner of my museum of choice, I teach him the basics—search engines, streaming, rabbit holes of useless but addictive knowledge. Seeing him light up at things I barely register anymore—it’s disarming, oddly touching. Through his eyes, the mundane becomes magic.
Of course, he’s been hooked on social media since our impromptu lesson. He’s obsessed with Princetagram and created an aesthetic that he’s super proud of. He’s been posting loads of pictures of—I quote—beautiful things, which includes paintings, sculptures, landscapes, fashion, and, most of all, his favorite fictional character: Sonny Crockett from the 80s showMiami Vice. I swear I kept a straight face when we surfed the Internet in search of a hot Crockett photo Zagreus deemed worthy of adding to his wall. Funny that he has added nothing Greek so far.
When my plate is empty, I eventually inquire, “Have you been analyzing my orders whenever we ate together?” He gazes at me in silent agreement, a spark of joy in his dark eyes. Besides watching movies or TV series, sharing meals ranks high on our list of favorite activities. Food stirs memories—ones we eagerlyexchange as if we’ve been close for years. And with this terrible weather, we can’t exactly enjoy the boardwalk. Instead, we opt for the indoor pool. “You’re weird.”
“Shocker, right?”
“Ha-ha… Should I be concerned about being the object of your scrutiny or flattered?”
“I prefer you being flattered.” He halts for a long while, and I bite my tongue rather than interrupt him. “What can I say? You fascinate me.”
“I’m not sure why, but thanks.” My throat goes dry at what I’m about to admit, and I swallow the lump there, although his confession sounded so effortless. “If you must know, the feeling is mutual.”
He watches me and rubs the back of his neck without a word. His blush is adorable, but I will myself not to fall for it.
“But anyway,” I redirect the conversation, “what’s wrong with opting for safe choices?”
“Nothing. Except you’re anything but safe when it comes to your job. It’s one of the reasons I’m fascinated by you. You’re a walking contradiction with a signature permanent frown. I kinda dig it!” He raises an eyebrow, his hand rubbing his chin. “Like what you were telling me about wanting to go to cooking school? That doesn’t scream ‘safe.’”
I chuckle, shaking off the thought. “Yeah, well, that was years ago. A pipe dream. My family couldn’t afford it, so I taught myself. Then life… happened.”
He cocks his head to the left. “You’re good at it though, aren’t you? Cooking?”
“I like to think so.” I sip my water, avoiding his eyes. “But that ship sailed a long time ago. Now I’m in… my new line of work.”
His smile fades, replaced by a look of quiet determination. “You could still do it, you know.”
I snort, setting my glass down. “Not likely. Besides, I told you I’m accountable for…” I pause. With resolve in my tone, I add, “There’s no walking away from that.”
“Who said anything about giving up?” He leans forward, lowering his voice. “What if there’s a way to fix this? To free you from that contract and set things straight?”
I frown, my skepticism clear. “Come on, Z.” His cheeks flush at the nickname, which I file away for later. “Don’t you get it? I work for people who won’t let me quit and disappear without a fight. I have a reputation to uphold and, believe it or not, I do need the money.”
“You’d be surprised what can happen when you have a plan,” he says, his voice light but his eyessharp. “And lucky for you, I’m pretty good at plans.”
“Sure,” I say with a smirk. “And what’s your grand idea?”
“StealHidden Shadowsforme.”
I gawk at his indecent proposal. Before he can elaborate, I notice a familiar figure entering the café, who spots me almost instantly and waves, approaching the table. “Bonjour, Théodore,” Simon calls out with a lopsided grin. When Simon is standing in front of us, he acknowledges Zagreus’s presence by jutting his chin in his direction, but keeps hisattention on me. “Quoi de neuf aujourd’hui?”
I compliment him on his French, accent and all, and he thanks me; I’ve been teaching him every chance we get, as I promised him upon my arrival. He’s gifted.
Unsure how much Simon follows, I switch to English—for Zagreus’s sake, too. “Just grabbing lunch.” I nod toward the stacked plates and folded napkins. Neat freak Zagreus—now that’s a plot twist. “What about you?” Then I remember French is no challenge for my favorite Greek god.
“I rarely serve at the café since I’m tied up at the reception. But today we’re short-staffed—one of the cooks called in sick. I offered to fill in until they find a replacement.” He gestures at the revolving door behind the counter. “It’s a madhouse back there. Shuffling my schedule sucks… I had plans, so I ended up canceling them.” He shrugs.
Zagreus’s face lights up, and he turns to me with a sly grin. “Hear that? The café needs a cook. Could be more than a quick fill-in. Seems like the perfect chance to put your skills to the test, Théo.” Under the table, his shoe nudges against my boot.
More than the touch, it’s the impulse behind it that tugs at me, distracting me from the conversation. Is it a ploy to throw me off? I push it aside and blink at him, incredulous. “What? Absolutely not.”
