Chapter 8
Aletheia's POV
"What?"
"My concubine," he repeated, as if it were a perfectly reasonable offer. "I can give you a place in my household. You'll be safe, provided for. No one would dare touch you if you're under my protection."
I felt something crack inside my chest. Not my heart—that had broken long ago. This was different. This was the last tiny piece of hope I'd been carrying without realizing it. The hope that maybe, somewhere deep down, Ares had actually cared about me once. That our engagement had meant something beyond political advantage.
Gone. Shattered. Like my constellation.
"Let me make sure I understand." My voice came out cold enough to freeze fire. "Ten years ago, you were engaged to me when you thought I was a goddess. You said—and I quote—'I will only marry a woman worthy of the War God's name.' You looked at me with disgust when my blood ran red. You stood silent while they destroyed me." I met his eyes. "And now, now that I'm broken and scarred and officially nothing, you want me as your concubine?"
"It's not like that—"
"From fiancée to concubine. Is that your idea of a generous offer?"
His grip tightened slightly. "You're twisting my words."
"I'm repeating them." I looked down at his hand on my wrist, then back up at his face. "You want to own me. That's what this is about. You feel guilty, so you want to lock me away somewhere you can pretend you're being noble while actually just keeping me under control."
"That's not—"
I slapped him.
The sound echoed across the empty courtyard like a thunderclap. My palm stung—his face was hard as bronze—but I didn't care. Worth it. Completely worth it.
Ares stared at me, shock written across his features.
"Don't touch me," I said quietly. "Don't ever touch me again."
I turned to leave, but his hand caught my wrist again—harder this time, desperate. "Wait. Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. For being a coward, for not defending you, for—" His voice cracked. "I just want to make it right."
"You can't make it right." I tried to pull away, but his grip held firm. "There is no making this right. You can't undo what you did. You can't erase what I became in that river. You can't—"
"Aletheia."
The new voice made us both freeze.
I turned slowly, already knowing who I'd see. Aurora stood on the steps, dressed in an elaborate golden gown that caught the light like liquid sunshine. Behind her, half-hidden in the shadows, was her servant.
Aurora's smile was perfectly calibrated—concerned, sisterly, with just a hint of reproach. "Aletheia, where are you going?"
The way she said my old name made it sound like a weapon.
Ares released my wrist immediately, stepping back like I'd burned him. I watched him put distance between us, watched his expression shift from desperate to carefully neutral. Again.
Some things never changed.
"That's none of your concern," I said.
Aurora's smile didn't waver, but something cold flickered in her eyes. "Of course it's my concern. You're family." She glanced at Ares, and I saw the calculation there. Saw her noting his presence, his proximity to me, the crystal vial still in his hand. "Ares, what a surprise to see you here. I thought you were still at the front."
"Just returned." His voice was clipped, formal. Nothing like the desperate tone he'd used with me moments ago. "I was simply... checking on Aletheia's wellbeing."
"How thoughtful." Aurora's gaze slid back to me. "Though I'm sure she appreciates your concern, there's no need to worry. She's home now. Safe."
Safe. The word was a joke.
"I was just leaving," I said flatly.
"Leaving?" Aurora's eyebrows rose in perfectly practiced surprise. "But you only just returned to the family. Surely you're not thinking of going anywhere so soon?"
"I'm thinking of going far away from here."
"I see." Her smile turned sharp. "And does Father know about this plan?"
Silence. We both knew the answer.
Aurora turned to the nearest guard. "Send word to Lord Helios immediately. Tell him Aletheia is attempting to leave the estate without permission."
"I don't need permission," I said. "I'm not a prisoner anymore."
"No, you're family." Aurora stepped closer, and I caught the scent of jasmine and sunlight—everything I used to smell like, before the river. "And family doesn't just run away without saying goodbye. Without even discussing their plans."
"There's nothing to discuss."
"I disagree." Her voice hardened. "Your status, your future, your very presence here—these all affect the family. You can't simply make decisions without consulting Father and Mother."
I stared at her. At this girl wearing my old life like a costume.
Before I could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the courtyard. Heavy, measured, accompanied by the rustle of formal robes.
My father. Of course.
I didn't turn around. Didn't want to see his face, didn't want to give him the satisfaction of my attention. But I could feel his presence like a weight on my shoulders, pressing down, suffocating.
"Aletheia." Helios's voice was cold, controlled. "Come with me. Now."
"I'm leaving."
"You will do no such thing." He moved into my line of sight, his golden robes pristine, his expression carved from marble. "You are still a member of this household, and you will obey its rules."
"I'm not a member of anything." I met his eyes. "You made that very clear when you let Hera destroy me."
Something flickered across his face—too quick to read. "We will discuss this in private."
"There's nothing to discuss."
"There is everything to discuss." He turned to the guards. "Escort her to the council chamber."
The guards moved toward me. I tensed, hand sliding toward the hidden blade in my sleeve—
"Father, wait."
Orion's voice. I hadn't even heard him approach.
He looked uncomfortable. "Maybe we should just... let her go. If she wants to leave, I mean. She's been through enough."
Helios turned to him slowly. "Are you questioning my judgment?"
"No, I just—" Orion faltered under his father's gaze. "I just think..."
"Enough." Helios's voice cracked like a whip. "You will not speak of this again."
Orion's mouth snapped shut. He looked at me—really looked at me—and I saw guilt swimming in his eyes. But not enough guilt to actually stand up to Father. Never enough for that.
"Aletheia." Helios turned back to me. "You have one chance to comply willingly. After that, I will have you carried."
I looked around. At the guards closing in. At Aurora's satisfied smile. At Ares, standing frozen like a statue. At Orion, unable to meet my eyes.
At the gates, so close and yet impossibly far.
"Fine." The word tasted like ash.
The council chamber was exactly as I remembered it. High ceilings. Marble columns. Windows that let in too much light.
Helios and Selene sat at the head of the long table, side by side like matching bookends. Aurora stood near them, her hand resting possessively on the back of Selene's chair. Orion lurked in the corner, still refusing to look at me.
I stood in the center of the room, alone.
"Sit," Helios said, gesturing to a chair.
"I'd rather stand."
"That wasn't a request."
I sat. The chair was hard, uncomfortable.
Selene leaned forward, her expression carefully arranged into something approximating concern. "Aletheia, sweetheart, we need to talk about your future."
"I don't have a future here."
"That's where you're wrong." Helios's voice was flat, final. "You have been selected for a great honor."
I laughed. Couldn't help it. "An honor. Right. What is it this time? Cleaning the stables? Scrubbing floors? Oh, I know—you want to send me back to the river for another ten years?"
"You will marry Erebus, Lord of the Ashen Fields."
The words hit me like a physical blow. For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
