Page 64 of Where Darkness Bloomed
Her eyes opened slowly.
They stood in a vast stone chamber, scents of smoke and ember lingering in the air. Overhead, lanterns of iron and glass hung from the cavernous ceiling, spilling amber light in gentle pools.
A hearth was set into the stone floor at the chamber’s center, a wide basin of burnished bronze, etched with intricate relief. Within, flames danced, reaching out to brush thick pelts that softened the space.
Across the chamber, a massive bed commanded attention. Blackened iron was woven with veins of molten gold, carved in detailed patterns, layers of furs and linens cascading over its edges.
Everything here bore the mark of a master, shaped with skill and purpose. A reflection of the one who called this place home.
Him.
Husband.
The word was stunning in its finality, beautiful in its strangeness. It had happened so quickly.
Now, she stood with her arms wrapped around his waist. His broad hands rested at her back, anchoring her against him with an ease that felt impossible. Natural.
She tilted her head back.
Hephaestus looked down at her steadily, his eyes amber and stormlit. He did not release her and she didn’t move, unwilling to step away.
But her thoughts crashed like waves. “I do not understand,” she whispered, unable to hold back the tide.
The fire in his eyes eased. “What is it, Aglaia?”
His deep voice rolled through her, leaving her unmoored.
She hesitated, gathering the words. The sting of the memory still smarted.
“You told me to go,” she said, the words painful as they left her. “You did not want me.”
A beat passed.
His hand came to her cheek, his thumb tracing a line beneath her eye. “I wanted you more than was wise.”
Aglaia’s throat tightened. “Then why...?”
She couldn’t finish.
“I should not have sent you away.” Hephaestus’s brow furrowed, the words rougher now. A confession dredged from somewhere deep and silent. “I should have spoken then. I should have kept you near.”
Shadows danced over his face, darkening his eyes. But his hand gently cradled her cheek. “I should have bound your name to mine,” he murmured, “the moment you stepped into my forge.”
Her breath caught, her heart rising fast in her chest. Her fingers curled around his wrist, holding him there. Closing her eyes, she turned her face into the warmth of his hard palm.
He watched her, sorrow and warmth mingling in his eyes. “The eons have shaped me,” he said in a low voice. “And not gently. The Fates have rarely woven me a thread worth keeping.”
He hesitated. But she didn’t press, waiting as the words rose within him.
“When you came to me, bright and fierce as dawn—I thought you misplaced. Surely you were meant for another.” His thumb brushed her cheek again, slower this time. “A younger god, one as radiant and whole as you.”
He exhaled, a harsh release.
“I have little to offer one such as you.”
Aglaia looked up at him, still holding his hand. Her voice came steady, certain. “You have everything I want. And I do not want another.”
It was the purest truth she possessed.
