Page 66 of Queen of Tempests and Sin

‘Good,’ I muttered, my hands curling into fists. ‘Maybe he deserves a little chaos.’

CHAPTER 23

POSEIDON

After dinner, I searched for Cordelia but knew in my gut she wasn’t in the Underworld, and Bronte and Persephone were mysteriously absent, too.

Her scent hit me the moment I stepped into her room—cherries, and something vicious and wilder underneath, like danger wrapped in lace. The bed was neatly made, the books Persephone had given her stacked on the nightstand.

Cold fury slid through me like black ice as I strode through into the adjoining suite, checking the bathroom, the balcony. Nothing.

The corridors of Hades’s home blurred past as I searched, power rolling off me in a low, dangerous hum. Servants scattered… No one met my gaze.

I appeared in the middle of the terrace in a spray of sea mist, burning with a rage that made the air taste like a squall.

‘Where is she?’ My voice was low, lethal—more dangerous than a shout.

Hades didn’t even look up from pouring a glass of wine. ‘If you’re going to start throwing hurricanes—or waves—take it somewhere else. You’ll ruin my flooring.’

‘Don’t test me, Hades.’ The air shimmered with heat as power rolled off me.

Hades finally turned, gaze sharp as a blade. ‘She left with Persephone and Bronte.’

My jaw tightened, hands curling into fists at my sides. ‘They took her from me.’

At that moment, Persephone and Bronte stepped through a portal, wind-tossed and flushed from travel.

‘Where. Is. She?’ My voice cracked through the air like a trident strike.

Persephone froze mid-step, eyes flicking to Bronte. ‘Cordelia’s safe,’ she said carefully.

Bronte’s smirk was gone, replaced by a flat, deliberate hostility. ‘She’s in London.’

The air pressure in the room shifted, the scent of salt and ozone thickening. ‘You took her?’

‘She needed space,’ Bronte shot back, all venom and challenge. ‘Something you clearly don’t understand.’

‘You’ve placed her in incredible danger!’ I roared. Fury was a living, breathing entity—so real I could almost touch it. ‘If Ixion find her⁠—'

Hades stepped forward, his presence instantly grounding the room in shadow. ‘Enough.’ His tone was the kind that could halt armies. ‘If you so much as threaten my wife or Bronte, I’ll personally throw you into Tartarus.’ His shadows leaked from him. ‘And if you ruin Persephone’s coronation tomorrow, I’ll gut you first.’

My jaw locked, fury boiling so hot I could hear the ocean’s roar in my own skull.

‘Now,’ Hades said, stepping closer, ‘instead of tearing my home apart, try asking yourself why she’d rather run than talk to you.’

My eyes burned like the heart of a tempest, but I didn’t answer.

I vanished in a crack of seafoam and mist.

* * *

London opened to me like an obedient tide. One whisper of Cordelia’s name into the currents, and the city yielded its secrets. I knew exactly where she was—her small house in the arse-end of town, and the pub she frequented. I could feel it in my gut: this house was her oasis, the one place she’d fight to keep. That could be… problematic. A queen deserved more than this… I’d see to it personally.

I made a few calls as I stood on the narrow street, studying the modest brick structure, committing every line of it to memory.

Then I strolled to the pub.

I’d had her in my arms long enough to memorise the faintest scent of the place from her hair and skin: old wood, spilled ale, and a faint rosemary note from whatever the cook burned in the kitchen. Weeks old, but still sharp enough on my senses to hunt her down. A ghost of a scent to anyone else… a trail of blood in the water to me.