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Laying back, we stare up at the sky.
Offering me a glass, I take a drink. The wine is bitter and not too sweet. I love good dry wine. “Are you familiar with the plants in the garden?”
Shrugging, he replies, “Not particularly. Typically, when I'm here, I'm hunting.”
Taking that as an invitation enough, I start prattling on about all the plants in the clearing. About their properties, uses, and symbols.
After several minutes, I watch as he eagerly tries to remember the various plants, but I may be throwing them at him a bit too quickly.
“Next time that you get on one of your plant kicks,” he grins broadly. His cocky smile is bright. “Remind me to come prepared with a scroll and a writing utensil.”
Smacking his chest, I scrunch up my nose playfully, “I didn’t realize that I had to slow myself down so that a god could keep up with me.” Giving him a teasing look, his eyes rest on me.
“Well now you know.” He grins as he pushes his shoulder into mine.
“Now I know,” I repeat.
“You have a love of plants that rivals Demeter and Persephone themselves.”
Turning to him, I smiled widely at Apollo, and he returns my gaze.
“I have a request for you,” he whispers as he leans forward, he kisses along my neck.
Hades help me.
“Anything,” I reply breathlessly.
“Soon, there will come a time, when I'll need you to follow a prophecy.” His voice is low as his hand crawls up my leg. Closer and closer to my core.
My breathing hitches.
His fingers tease my hips. Begging me to open myself up to him.
“I have already told you that I’d follow your instructions,” I moan as his hand picks up the pace.
Spreading my legs wide, his fingers dance on my hips. “On that day, you’ll need to sit on the throne and wear a diadem which is a family heirloom.”
Mortals don’t sit on the thrones of the gods.
Is he trying to kill me?
Am I sentenced to death?
My brain buzzed with possibilities.
Maybe Apollo wants me to sit on the throne for a reason less dark. Perhaps I’m being too cynical.
Maybe he wants to make me his queen.
Gods, that might just terrify me even more than a death sentence.
My eyes shot open, “What do you mean? Are you asking me to marry you? This is going far too quick for me—”
“No, no worries, it’s part of what’s needed for the prophecy. We will take our relationship at a pace that’s comfortable to you,” Apollo assures me. Sighing, I melt back against him. “On that day, it will be to see how well you're connecting to our world. Which I know you’ll do great. We’ve been prepping you since day one.”
“Prepping me?” I ask with heavily lidded eyes.
“The ambrosia. We’ve been steadily increasing your dose. It helps you to bind to the throne and the crown according to my oracles.” Pushing me onto my back he crouches over me. Hands in my hair. Pressing kisses onto my lips which I return. “What do you say? Save my court?”
