Page 3 of A Crown of Hopes and Sorrows

A frown pressed onto his face. “You’ve only been alive for two human decades?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re younger than Hyacinth?”

I nodded. “I am. Just by a year-and-a-half. I understand he was born near the Dionysus Festival?”

“He was, yes.” The king hesitated, his forehead wrinkling. “I didn’t know you were so young.”

He must have thought I was some centuries old half-deity fucking his twenty-two-year-old son. My cheeks flamed. Thank Hades to Zeus we had done nothing in this office. Gods, I wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face otherwise.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I don’t mean to come across”—he laughed and sank against this chair—“the way I’m clearly coming across. Hyacinth is my child. He’s very dear to me. And, well…”

“Him being involved with a god is concerning,” I whispered.

The thoughts I tried to avoid peppered back into my mind. I wasn’t sure how long Hyacinth and I could be together. And I wondered if his father worried more about that or over the attention my connection could bring him. Magic hummed over my skin, and I swallowed the disgust that welled in me. How I wish I could be worthy of him.

The king studied me for a long moment, his brown eyes a darker shade than Hyacinth’s but still holding the same streaking pattern. He tapped his thumb against his armrest. “Hyacinth tells me your mother has passed away.”

“Yes, when I was very young.”

“Epiphany was quite young when she lost her mother as well.” He paused until I met his gaze. A concern lingered over his expression, his lips pinched. “I always worried for her—still do, if I’m honest. Every day I see for her—and Hyacinth and Emrin—what a burden it’s been to lose someone who loved them so dearly.”

I cleared my throat, unsure where this conversation was heading. A prickling discomfort slipped down my spine. “It was many years ago when I lost my mother, Your Highness. She was a wonderful woman from what little I remember of her and what stories others told me before… we moved.”

“I hope you and your sister can feel”—he pressed his fingers together—“like you have a home here, if the idea suits you.”

I leaned back and chewed on the inside of my cheek. “That’s a very kind offer. Of course, while we help with things involved with this upcoming war, we’ll be very grateful to take you up on it.”

“This isn’t about the war.” He cocked up an eyebrow. “We’ll discuss those matters in the meeting later. I mean this personally, as the father of your partner. You have a home here.”

I sucked in a breath. A home. That was the second time that morning I’d allowed myself to imagine that term, to feel like I had one and belonged to it. I wanted it so badly it hurt. “Thank you.”

A few minutes later I strode alongside a frowning Hyacinth down a hallway lined with wide curved windows that let ivory light flood the carpets. “What did he say to you?” Hyacinth asked.

“Not much.”

He side-eyed me. “My father doesn’t waste time.”

I shrugged and readjusted the straps of my knapsack. “He had some questions for me about our relationship, I guess.”

Hyacinth stopped walking, his lips parting. “Did he interrogate you?”

“No, Cyn, it was nothing like that. Honestly. He was actually”—I shrugged again, my cheeks warming—“really welcoming in a way. The rest was fine.”

Hyacinth’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “All right.”

I gripped his hand, relished how his fingers automatically draped around mine. “It’s okay, seriously.”

He blew out a breath and leaned in closer to me, his jasmine-smell sweetening the air. “After this meeting, there’s something I want to discuss.”

“What is it?”

“An idea I had. But let’s go hear if the advisors have any better ones first.”

I groaned. “Unlikely.”

He chuckled and tugged my hand, pulling us both forward towards the conference room.