Page 75 of Where Darkness Bloomed
The words came quiet. Intimate. A lover’s vow spoken through gritted teeth.
“And when he falls,” Paris breathed, his lips at her ear, “broken and bloody—youwill be the last thing his eyes ever see.”
Part Two
Roots
Chapter 32
Kore lay on the bed, staring at the dark ceiling.
The bedchamber’s stillness made a mockery of the tempest swirling inside her. Confusion, doubt, and fear.
And beneath it, a warmth that lingered. It unfurled deep within her like roots searching for soil, quiet as embers banked beneath ash—alive, waiting.
Restless, she rose.
She paced the stone floor until her bare soles cramped. Then, at last, she drew a blanket from the bed and sat beside the hearth. The fire crackled softly, its warmth licking at her cheeks, faintly soothing against the wild turmoil of her thoughts.
Husband.
The word tasted foreign, sharp-edged. Heavy with her mother’s warnings about gods who possessed, took, and conquered. And yet, in the shifting firelight, another truth emerged, fragile but persistent.
He was not as her mother had warned. Or... he did not seem to be.
His touch had been firm, not seizing. His hands had not gripped but gathered, drawing her close with the kind of strength that promised protection, not possession. His gaze had lingered, not with desire, but something rarer—
Recognition.
He looked and saw her. Not as daughter or maiden or goddess, but something more. A force in her own right. A being of weight and wildness, equal to the ancient power rooted in him.
He had taken her from the world above. That much was true. And yet—he had not forced his will upon her. He had only opened a door, revealed a path woven by the Fates, a thread laid for her feet alone. And it led here.
To him.
But even now, the choice remained hers. Of that, he’d been clear.
I will not force you.
The vow settled in her chest—heavy, wondrous, terrifying. Too vast to fully grasp as fear and wonder tangled like wild vines.
Her gaze rose to the chiton draped across a divan nearby.
It lay there, waiting. Dark fabric delicately threaded with silver embroidery that sparkled like the constellations of the night sky.
She had seen it before. In the Fates’ foretelling at her birth, the same garment had adorned her beneath a jeweled stone sky, a crown on her brow.
Not a maiden taken. A queen risen.
The fire crackled softly, and Kore inhaled, slow and deep.
She was not the same. Not the goddess who had arrived in this place, tumbling like a fallen blossom, caught by hands she feared. Something else had taken root. Grown deep. And now, like wild thyme breaking through the earth, it rose.
Slowly, she stood.
The chiton’s fabric cascaded over her fingers like woven water. It glided over her body, catching the firelight like fractured starlight. Her hands trembled slightly as she clasped the diamond pin at her shoulder, then, barefoot, she stepped from the bedchamber.
The corridors stretched before her in a hush. The atrium, the throne room, the high-vaulted spaces carved of obsidian and shadow, all lay silent, as if the temple itself watched. She slipped into the garden’s quiet embrace.
