Page 23 of The Prince of Hidden Shadows
Zagreus, son of Hades, Prince of the Underworld.
My heart skips a beat, even though he has his back to me, pressed on the arm of the Chesterfield. He is so engrossed in his conversation that he doesn’t notice me. I unabashedly spy on him, watching his relaxed posture, barefoot with his legs crossed on the couch. His hoarse voice is calm but carries that edge that I remember. I purse my lips and welcome the sudden heat at the nape of my neck.
I linger by the doorway, rethinking my initial plan to maul him out of pure lust. Hesitant to interrupt, I’m unsure of what else to do.
A grin spreads across my face as I realize that he’s wearing an outdated outfit akin to the one from last night. Today it’s pale blue. How many of these does he own? I make a mental note to inquire about his wardrobe choices. Not that it matters, but I’m curious. Oddly, he somehow pulls it off.
“Thanks for the update, Nathan.” He sighs. The name rings a bell. Is he one of Zagreus’s exes? I rack my brain, trying to remember what was said yesterday by the river. A little voice inside me says that I shouldn’t care, but I do… “Keep an eye on Rose.” Is that the answer to my question? Nathan is saying something I can’t hear from where I stand. “Considering what she did to you, who knows what her next move will be? You’ve got my number—hit me up if anything comes up on the East Coast, okay.” More silence, then he adds, “She might be powerful, but she’s not as invincible as she thinks.”
He props his feet against the coffee table’s side, near a steaming mug. Then he stills, as if sensing me behind him. I stay put.
Slowly, he turns his head, eyes roaming over my bare skin—neutral at first, then molten in seconds.
My mouth waters at his glorious sight. Heat coils low in my belly, and a sly grin tugs at my lips—my boxer briefs leave nothing to the imagination, and he’s clearly taking it all in.
Which is why my heart lurches—understatement of the year—when Zagreus doesn’t budge. Greek gods are known for their appetite, after all, and he let me spend the night, stripped me down to this. I expected more… enthusiasm.
Instead, he swallows hard, slips his feet off the table, plants them firmly on the floor, and ends the call.
He sets the phone down and offers a small, almost distant smile. Rooted on the couch, he leans forward, fingers wrapping around his mug. He takes a sip and puts the hot beverage down before speaking—his tone poised, completely at odds with the fire I just saw in his eyes. “Morning—or, well, late morning. It’s a little past eleven. How are you feeling?”
“Better than I deserve to,” I reply, my voice rougher than intended. My throat feels dry again, but not as bad as earlier. “Thanks for…” Playing it cool, I gesture vaguely at the room, at him. “All of this.”
He shrugs, standing and stretching a little. “You’re welcome, Théo.” Once again, my nickname rolls off his tongue like honey. This time, goosebumps rise uninvited along my arms. I’m twenty-six, and somehow this is all it takes to turn me into a starstruck idiot. This isn’t me. “Thought you could use somewhere safe to crash. After last night, leaving you alone to process it all felt wrong. Aspirin’s working, I hope?”
“Yeah, and the water,” I say, opting for a faint smile. “Your note was… memorable.”
A brief smile quirks at his lips, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he strolls towards the small bar area. “You should eat something. I’ll order room service. Do you trust me on it?”
I nod and watch him pick up the room service menu, flipping through it with an easy familiarity. His voice, as he speaks into the phone to place the order, stirs a longing I have no business nursing—aching and unwelcome, especially now that he’s pulling away. And yet, I’m drawn to the rhythm of it, the casual authority behind every word, as if nothing he says could be accidental. It’s stupidly captivating, and I find myself standing there like an idiot, soaking it all in.
He notices. I know he does—there’s a flicker of awareness in the way he glances at me, but he doesn’t say a word. He finishes the order, puts the phone down, and leans against the counter with a raised eyebrow. “You’re allowed to sit, you know. You’re my guest,” he says, tilting his head towards the couch. “Ma maison est ta maison.” Wow! His French is flawless, and I tell him so after thanking him. He gestures dismissively, saying that he has no merits since languages come naturally to him and his peers.
Oh, right… The Greek god magic. I’m eager to hear more about it, but at the same time, I’m in no hurry. My current interest lies in him as a person, not his mythical abilities.
I laugh softly, hover a second longer—my inner rebel doesn’t enjoy being told what to do—then ease down onto the far side of the couch from where he sat earlier, some tension loosening from my shoulders. “So…” I study him. “I remember… pieces of last night. It comes back in fragments—flashes, sounds—and then…” I can’t admit what stirs in me when I look at him.Throwing myself at him isn’t an option I can consider for now. “Actually, I’m a little queasy.” He winces. “But I could eat… I think,” I hurry to say.
He sighs, crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Sorry about that,” he says. “Must be an aftereffect. But it was all real—I promise. I know it’s a lot to take in, trust me, I do.”
Trust seems important to him. I betrayed it by stealing from him, and part of me wants to set things right. He’s been nothing but nice. “None of it was a hallucination. When I brought you back, you passed out. I didn’t have the heart to wake you or ask for your room number—couldn’t bring myself to cross a line by grabbing your keycard and barging into your room. So, I brought you here. Left your memory untouched. And don’t let the boxer briefs fool you; I figured you’d sleep better that way. Besides, I took the couch. Simple as that.” He shrugs as if his chivalrousness is no big deal. His tone stays grounded—no apology, no embellishment, no nonsense. Just facts.
I’m not used to people caring. My mom never did. My dad wasn’t in the picture. The grandparents who raised me weren’t warm and demonstrative. I felt like I was a burden to them. My gran used to rope me into baking when I was little, more out of duty rather than affection… Funny how the act of baking turned out to be more rewarding than the time spent with her. In the end, the emotional walls they built prevented me from coming out to them. Why bother, right?
Still, part of me wonders if Zagreus’s blunt kindness is another kind of barrier—should I be relieved, or quietly disappointed?
But how he meticulously handled my clothes, anticipated my headache, and held my gaze so unwavering—it feels like something… I can’t name it at first. Then, I know.
I matter.
Chapter Ten
HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH
Zagreus
Acute blush forms on Théo’s cheeks, but I have no clue what caused it. I wish I were the reason. After what I put him through, I doubt it… Well, technically, his kleptomania is to blame.
Figures.
