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Striking him was like hitting a marble statue.
The god hisses at me.
A bright red handprint mars his golden skin and perfect face. Yanking me down from the horse by my hair, I yelp as he releases me.
My bottom thumps against the ground. “Don’t try me again,” he warns in a deep baritone voice.
The entire courtyard collectively inhales. Whispers sound. All remarking on how the mortal dared slap a god.
But I don’t let the crowd deter me. Mischief and defiance run through my veins. “Don’t give me a reason to strike you and I won’t.” Narrowing my eyes, I glare at him. Holding my head high.
Apollo growls at me. Scowling at me. “If you wouldn’t have slapped me, you wouldn’t have been put on your ass princess. Now would you?”
Grinding my teeth, I spit at him. Treat me like an animal and I will give it to you. “You picked the wrong maiden to get away with garbage like this.”
“Do not, do that, again.” Annoyance bubbled in his eyes, almost more the color of a hot fire than the simple amber I remembered.
Scrunching my face, I tip my chin up at him. Glaring at him, I snap back. “That sounds like a dare to me.”
Propelling myself off the ground, I leap up. He felt so much larger now. Before, Phoebus only felt like he was six feet but now he appeared to be at least seven.
Can gods shift size as they please? I always imagined them as extraordinarily tall. Rivaling the size of trees. But back in town, he looked average. Now, he appears to look even taller.
Leaning back, he pulls away from me. Placing his face outside of my reach, I can tell he learned his lesson.
Large hands wrap around my upper arms, wordlessly dragging me toward the manor.
“Let go of me,” I command as I yank my arm away from him. Each time that I attempted to pull away from him, the tighter his grip is on me.
The god is as unwavering as a mountain.
His strong hands won’t release me. Phoebus hisses, “Do not fight me.”
Pulling me toward the castle, I relent. Focusing instead on memorizing each turn and passage that I possibly can.
Candles flicker against the white walls. The tops of the columns are capped in gold. Even the edges of the room have flourishing gold, gems, and other metals in precise patterns. My eyes catch on the ornate frescos on the walls surrounding us.
Paintings, statues, and lavish rugs are strategically placed. Branches, void of all leaves like dead black vines crawl along the walls and ceiling. Once, it was probably beautiful. Now, it looks like a tomb.
Even surrounded by all the death, the castle is pristine.
Even in the darkness.
Up the grand staircase, we scale through the maze of passages. Was this god doing this to me on purpose? “Where are you taking me, Phoebus?”
“Apollo.”
“What?”
He pulls me further up the stairs. “Apollo is my name. Phoebus was an alias, a nickname of sorts.”
Apollo.
My captor is Apollo.
The Sun God who abducts mortal maidens.
Gods above.
