Page 72 of Queen of Tempests and Sin

A beat of silence. She arched a brow. ‘I’m having snacks with Theseus and Perseus in the kitchen.’ I bobbed my head like a demented pigeon, and she cocked her head and squinted at me. ‘Right, I’ll be back soon… Stop being weird.’

The door shut again, and I exhaled shakily.

He hadn’t moved; still leaning, still watching me with that same unrepentant hunger. Completely unapologetic, as if he’d branded me with nothing but touch and would do it again in a heartbeat.

My fingers trembled as I tugged my top higher. I looked away—anywhere but at him—but the ache between my legs throbbed in protest, reminding me exactly what he’d left unfinished. Damn him. Damn the king of the sea.

I risked a glance back.

He hadn’t blinked. His eyes seared mine, burning, and waiting.

Then—slowly, inevitably—a smirk curved his lips. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow at the coronation.’

And just like that, he was gone. A swirl of seafoam and mist, leaving nothing but silence, the ghost of his kiss, and the knowledge that my resistance was starting to crumble like a cheap deck of cards in a downpour.

* * *

The next morning dawned far too early, but Bronte didn’t give a toss. She barged in—a one-woman hurricane—clapping her hands.

‘Come on, dolls. Time to get trussed up like sacrifices. A coronation waits for no man.’

Guinn was already twirling in front of the mirror, her gown the colour of crushed violets. The dress clung to her curves before spilling into soft, sheer layers that caught the light with every spin; she was every inch a dangerous fae princess ready to charm an empire.

And then there was me. The jade-green dress Bronte had shoved into my hands the night before skimmed down my body like a waterfall, clinging to all the right places before dancing freely around my ankles. It was indecent in all the ways a gown could be—baring shoulders, cinching waist, and plunging low enough to put my breasts on full display. You’re welcome, Si.

Bronte gave me a long once-over, one brow arched, and her mouth twitching in smug approval.

‘Perfect. You’ll make him choke on his own arrogance.’

I muttered something about throttling said god if he so much as smirked at me, but the truth was, the thought of Poseidon seeing me in this dress had my pulse stuttering like a faulty engine.

Bronte, of course, looked like wickedness wrapped in satin. Her dress was a deep blood-red, cut close to her body as if it had been painted on, with a high slit that bared one toned leg with every stride. The neckline plunged daringly low, though the sharp shoulders and long sleeves kept it from being anything but pure power-dressing. Black embroidery gleamed across the bodice, catching the light in onyx shards as she moved.

She fastened on a choker of dark rubies, then gave a razor-sharp smile.

‘Don’t gawp. I dress to kill—literally. And if any of these gods gives me grief today, I want them too busy staring at my tits to notice me hexing them.’ And with that, Bronte swept us both out and into the corridor, her grin sharp as a blade. ‘Come on, ladies. Let’s go crown ourselves a queen.’

When we arrived at the gigantic ebony doors, Guinn twirled once more in her lilac gown, the skirts sparkling faintly, akin to moonlight, as she clutched the hem. Her curls bounced as she beamed at us.

‘Right, I’m off. Perseus and Theseus are waiting, and Simmy promised me a dance. Don’t wait up!’

I caught her arm before she could bolt. ‘Guinn. No alcohol, alright? Not a drop. You don’t know what gods pour in their wine, and I don’t want you waking up in Tartarus with a stinking hangover.’

She rolled her eyes, but there was affection in the gesture. ‘Yes, Mum. I’ll behave. Probably.’

She flitted away across the polished floor, weaving through the crowd towards the demigods and the satyr waiting by the columns. Perseus was already grinning like an idiot when she reached them, and Theseus gave her a gallant little bow. Simmy nearly tripped over his own hooves trying to get to her side, and Guinn’s laughter carried all the way back to us.

‘Well, she’s living her best bloody fairy tale.’ Bronte arched a brow, grinning. ‘She’s got them all dancing already. Not even crowned royalty, and she’s holding court.’

I tugged the neckline of my jade-green dress a little higher, muttering, ‘At least one of us is.’

The throne room yawned vast and cavernous, every inch designed to awe—and to intimidate. My breath caught in my throat as my gaze swept forward. At the far end, raised upon a sweeping dais, stood two thrones. One was hewn from pure obsidian, its surface laced with veins of molten gold—constellations frozen in stone. Beside it rose another—woven from twisted, living vines, their surfaces glimmering with an inner, shadowy pulse. The first was immense, towering, its sheer scale declaring the dominance of the Lord of the Dead. The second, smaller but no less commanding, radiated a quieter, lethal beauty—the throne of his queen.

The floor was smooth black marble, shot through with veins of silver, and towering Grecian pillars lined the chamber, their fluted shafts crowned with massive golden braziers. Flames roared in them, casting a fierce, shifting glow that painted the room in shades of fire. Crowds pressed close—gods, demigods, and creatures of the Underworld alike—some of which made me gape, until Bronte elbowed me in the ribs.

A low murmur rippled through the spectators like a restless tide, their whispers swelling and ebbing until the sound was little more than the collective breath of anticipation. Every eye was fixed upon the dais, upon the thrones. The sheer weight of the chamber pressed down, heavy with history—eternal, unyielding, and magnificent; a place for gods, and tonight, they would witness the crowning of their queen.

Persephone entered like the night itself had taken form. On either side of her walked a man. Poseidon, all storm and sea, looked hot enough to pour on pancakes. The other, unmistakably Zeus, radiated thunderous authority. Together they flanked her, escorting her down the wide aisle towards the dais, to the dark king who waited—her future husband, her fate.