Page 48 of A Veil of Gods and Kings

Apollo sighed. “No. I don’t even want to spend time with you.”

I dropped back against my chair. “There’s such a thing as being too honest.”

“Is there?” He flicked his gaze to the window. “I haven’t noticed.”

I stacked the papers together and shoved them to the side of the desk. So much for getting that done. “Yesterday you claimed I don’t know my people.”

He tapped his fingers into a drumbeat on the armrest of his chair. “Yet again, a statement I stand by.”

“This afternoon I’m going on my weekly visit to the kingdom. Why don’t you come with me?”

Apollo shifted back towards me and leaned forward in his seat. Something sparked across his eyes. “All right. I will.”

Sun shimmered off merchant ware, glimmering like liquid gold, reflecting onto the guards surrounding Apollo and myself and casting us all in a glittering bronze. Thousands of citizens lined the walk, smiling, bright robes swirling around their feet.

“My prince,” they said as we passed, crossing their arms across their chests, touching their fingers to their shoulders, and bowing.

I inclined my head. Smiled.

Played this game where I ushered through them richly dressed like a bird captured in a cage, on display for their amusement, for their comfort.

A healthy, confident, well-adorned prince.

A symbol of a prosperous city.

I took a breath and turned to the other side, grasping hands, murmuring words of blessing.

Apollo frowned. His gaze swept the crowds pressed in around the market, the piles of fruits and nuts, the fresh baked loaves of bread wafting their yeasty scents to us, the bangles clattering on waving wrists. He kept his posture neutral, but a carefulness lingered in his gestures, assessment drifting across his eyes.

And those eyes. He wore another veil, one that looked almost like him.

But not quite.

His irises lacked their golden hue and shone a brown instead.

I had seen many beautiful brown eyes.

But his were not like that.

Their surface had a matted effect, like they had lost light, hope.

He’d also removed the silver shimmer of a deity and the golden coloring of his skin and hair.

But the twisting up of his lips, the scowl, that was the same in whatever form he took.

We stopped at the end of the market and ambled into a large shop, the ceilings tall and airy, colorful fabrics rippling in front of open windows, the coolness of the space refreshing. Rocha, one of the top traders in the kingdom, with his thick black eyebrows and burly frame, stepped forward and bowed. “Your Highness, thank you for taking the time to visit.”

I clasped his hand. “Of course. Thank you for having us.” I flashed a smile and gestured to Apollo. “Please let me introduce—”

“Andreas.” Apollo shot his hand out, a bright grin stretching over his cheeks, his eyes twinkling. “Prince Hyacinth has been gracious enough to take me under his tutelage for a season.”

Rocha inclined his head to me again. “The gods have blessed us with gracious leaders. Please come in.” He gestured farther into the shop, and the three of us sat at a table where a feast—sliced meats, shining fruits so ripe they perfumed the air, twenty varieties of cheeses, hunks of bread as warm and fragrant as the loaves offered for sale outside, and a bottle of wine, already opened, sat, and the heady smells all mixed together.

The market noises bustled outside the door, flutes humming, children laughing, the low din of conversations. The country, successful, safe, happy.

If I could keep it that way.

If Apollo—and Zeus—would allow it to stay that way.