Page 70 of A Veil of Gods and Kings

Wrinkles crept up alongside the corners of Hyacinth’s eyes. “For what purpose?”

“I don’t know.” I turned towards the windows, the world alive and sparking beyond them. “Do you ever get to go outside in the sunshine? Breathe some fresh air?”

He sighed and hesitated for a moment, tapping his finger against the desk, a ring clink-clink-clinking with the motion. He dropped the paper. “You’re right. We’ve accomplished quite a bit in the last few days. An afternoon off won’t hurt anything.”

“Look at that.” I jumped to my feet, a grin fluttering across my face. “I’m already able to influence you.”

He rolled his eyes but shrugged into the robe he’d discarded over the back of a chair.

“Isn’t it too hot for that?” I said.

He grinned. “No. It’s silk. Maybe you should try one. You might like it.”

“Not fucking likely.”

He laughed. “Do you want to see the gardens?”

I pulled the door open. “The obnoxious inside ones or the outside ones?”

He released a breath, pausing for a moment before he replied. “You know, this whole act you put on of being an arrogant ass, it makes everyone believe you are, in fact, one.”

I frowned. “Yes, I know.”

We strode out, a sweet, floral scent perfuming the air. “So, why do you do it then, Apollo? Why do you set others up to hate you?”

I swallowed and readjusted my knapsack, tightening the straps, the contents inside bumping against the muscles of my back. That was not a question I would answer. Because the reality ached through me. If everyone hated me, they didn’t get close to me, and they couldn’t get hurt. Fate had stuck Temi with me by her birth and through Zeus vowing her to me. She was the only one reasonably safe. But I couldn’t tell that to Hyacinth. It was too... personal.

I knocked my shoulder into his as our feet clattered against stone pavers. “How about you, Prince? I’m still trying to figure out who the real Hyacinth is. You’re a different version of yourself in front of every person.”

He sighed and draped his hand out, brushing his fingertips through the thick green leaves of a bush. “I suppose that’s true. It’s part of being a prince, I’m afraid.”

I studied him, the way his posture dropped with his words. I raised my face to the sun, to my destiny glaring over me. “What would you do if you weren’t a prince?”

He scraped his thumb over his lower lip, his gaze growing distant. After a long moment punctuated by the crunching of our steps, he cocked his head towards me. “I suppose there’s no reason to keep secrets with someone who could just read my mind.”

“You make a valid point.”

He smirked, his gaze drifting back to the stretching emeralds of the world. “I’d write poetry.”

“What?”

He huffed a laugh. “Does that surprise you?”

“Yes.” I scuffed my sandal over a clump of grass that peeked out between the pavers.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“Go ahead and what?”

He rolled his eyes again, the hazel of them catching glimmers of the sunset and turning into a color like honey candy, an amber so warm and rich that I longed to ask him to stop walking, to let me study the way sunlight played across his features. “Go ahead and tell me you think that’s stupid,” he said.

I scoffed. “Why would I say that?”

“You hate my robes as you’ve said dozens of times.”

“And my opinion on that still hasn’t changed.”

He skimmed his fingers over the embroidered lapels grazing his chest. “As you clearly have terrible taste in clothing, that’s bound to bleed into your appreciation for the arts as well.”