Page 7 of The Prince of Hidden Shadows
RIVER STYX
Zagreus
The Styx doesn’t whisper. It suffocates.
A soft, choking hum hangs over the banks of the river, dense with the fallout of souls fresh from death. Not cries. Not screams. Not solace—rather disbelief, pleas, regrets.
Small waves slap against jagged rocks, disrupting the stillness of the overcast sky. Some would call this place claustrophobic—a space where mortals crawl out of their skin upon arrival… literally.
“I’m not his puppet, for fuck’s sake!” I hiss.
Raw from the exchange with my father minutes ago, I rake a hand through my dark curls and step up beside Charon. My jaw clenches. I grind my teeth, bracing myself for the next blow—because with Hades, one is never the end.
Busy sulking, I spare little more than a glance towards the human who’s staring out at the water as if it holds answers. Standing at the edge, he looks lost in his thoughts. Well-behaved humans are scarce around here. They become hostile that their time is up and often throw a fit when they comprehend Greek mythology is no myth—that this realm is their forever.
“You okay?” my friend murmurs, catching my distress.
I offer a half-smile. My strained relationship with my father isn’t news to him.
The back of his hand caresses mine, and warmth spreads down my spine. Charon gets me better than anyone, yet neither of us seeks commitment. Guess who invented the concept of friends with benefits?
He and I have an understanding. He’s one of my father’s oldest lieutenants, and any… extracurricular display of affection would invite trouble. So, we keep it low-key—wordless looks, occasional grins, and an appreciation for how well we work together.
His focus doesn’t waver from the newcomer.
“I smell witchcraft,” Charon mutters.
Why can my dearest friends tap into human magic, and I can’t? I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, sure—but he’s on another level.
I say nothing.
He’s not wrong. Over time, we’ve welcomed quite a few specimens—evil ones—that arrived resembling dried-out mummies. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that magic was responsible for their state.
But this guy? Very much intact. Breathing. Confused. Alive.
Sort of. Suspended in the in-between, an insect trapped in amber. Another glitch in the system.
He waits, dripping river spray, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Gaze flickering with interest, he takes in the premises, a lazy— almost smug—smile playing at his lips. That kind of attitude doesn’t bode well down here.
“Not again,” I mutter.
Charon winces as he fills in the details my father provided, so that I size up the situation. Not his fault. Still grates.
“Thanks for the heads-up.” Why am I thanking him anyway? For stalling the guy? For giving me a distraction from Father’s unrelenting summons? Maybe both.
He grins, and that spark ignites between us—unspoken, dangerous, comforting. Even with Hecate, we both wear a mask. Around him, I drop the act—and so does he. Charming. Honest. Funny. We understand each other, and I can’t pinpoint what triggered our connection.
Could he be behind Hades’s plan to send me to Earth?
The thought floods my body with a shiver of relief. My friend and occasional lover didn’t need gossip to sense that Hermes’s betrayal shook me to the core, much more than I care to admit out loud.
I step forward.
“Sir, you lost?” My voice cuts through the mist, more warning than question, as I approach him.
The man pivots, gaze keen and restless, scanning me as if trying to piece together the nightmare he's landed in. “Intrigued is more accurate.”
I hold back from introducing myself, allowing him to draw his own conclusions.
