Page 36 of Aïdes the Unseen
I was already reaching for my blade. The scent of him came first. Not sulfur, not blood, not divine fire. Jasmine andripe peach. Myrrh. The faintest copper of open skin. Pleasure masquerading as peace. A seduction in every inhalation.
I did not need to hear his name. Only one god carried that scent into death and expected to be welcome.Eros.
Not the winged child painted on the pottery of mortals. Not the laughing imp who flitted through lovers’ chambers with arrows and whimsy. No. That was his charm.
Hislie.
The true Eros, born of shadow and night, first flame of hunger in a godless void, stood just beyond the archway of the throne hall. Cloaked in something finer than silk, his body ageless, his face a study in perfection so measured it could only be cruel. His eyes were not warm.
They wereweaponized.
When he saw her—my queen, my flame, my fierce spring turned sovereign—his smile bloomed like a slow bruise.
“Kore,” he said.
She did not flinch.
Blessed Gaia,how I loved herfor it.
“I was told,” Eros continued, voice like molten amber, “that you had beenstolen. Taken beneath the earth by the Lord of Silence. I came to retrieve you. To offer you light again.” A pause. “But I see now… you do not appear lost.”
Her smile was small, polite. Not warm. “I was never lost,” she said evenly.
He tilted his head, stepping inside without permission. “No? Then what name shall I use for you now?”
“She needs no new name fromyou,” I said, stepping forward.
Eros turned his eyes on me for the first time, assessing, unbothered. “Ah. The shade who thinks himself a king.”
“I do not think,” I warned, voice low. “Iknow. And she is not yours to address, let alone retrieve.”
He offered a small laugh, sweet and honeyed as poison. “Are you so certain? I have undone stronger bindings than yours with a glance.”
At that, her eyes narrowed. “There are no bindings here.”
Eros stilled. I watched him. He was used to desire. He could drown cities with it. Spark wars in mortal veins.
What he saw in her, what he couldnottouch, was choice.
It baffled him.
He stepped closer. “You were made to be adored,” he said softly. “To be worshipped. What are you doing buried in rot and bone, when you could be sung to from every peak? Painted on the backs of temples?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Instead, she descended the steps of the dais with slow, deliberate grace. Her crown of shadow flared above her, not because I willed it, but becauseshedid. “Why do you assume I am buried?” she asked.
Eros frowned slightly.
“Because you live in shadow,” he said.
“Iamshadow,” she corrected. “I am also soil. Root. Bloom. Rot. You would have me on marble, pinned and perfect. But down here—Igrow.”
Then she stepped beside me, not behind. Not beneath. Not in need of defense. But as flame walks beside ash. As power walks beside stillness.
Eros’ eyes flicked between us, his honeyed smile souring. “You could be loved more,” he said, voice like a knife drawn behind a silk curtain.
“I am loved freely,” she replied, lifting her chin. “Can you say the same?”
For the first time since he arrived, Eros was silent. He turned his attention back to me, the charm now gone. “You’ll regret keeping her here,” he said, voice gone flint.
