Page 2 of A Crown of Hopes and Sorrows

Hyacinth closed the closet with a thunk. “I thought you’d be the god of the sun.”

“Yes.” I waved him off. “But high gods get to designate what other minor things they rule over as well.”

Hyacinth gestured to his door, and I nabbed my knapsack before we strode out into the hallways with their rich carpeting and soaring ceilings draped with silk panels. “What might you choose, then?”

“Well, music, for one thing, because I’m fucking brilliant with the lyre.”

Hyacinth chuckled. “I should disagree, just to bring you down a notch.”

“But you know you’d be lying.” I knocked my shoulder into his.

He rolled his eyes. “What else then?”

I tangled my fingers with his and stopped walking, grazing my thumb over his knuckles. “Maybe I’ll choose poetry as well.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a lover of poetry.”

“I’m not, but…” I smiled. “I love a man who is.”

His shoulders eased, and he offered me a gentle expression. I relished it—having someone to love—and his reaction every time I said that word. He lifted our hands and kissed my fingers. “And what about archery?”

“What about it?”

“Wouldn’t that also fit you, if anything Temi tells me about your skills are true?”

I chuckled. “Temi doesn’t tend to stretch the truth. But if she is a goddess herself…” I paused, the ache of not knowing answers for her sake coursing through me. “She may want to choose that category. She can whip my ass in any competition involving weapons, I assure you.”

“I’ll have to see this someday.”

I hummed a reply as we reached his father’s office, and he knocked.

“Come in,” King Magnes said.

We walked through the door, and I tucked my hands behind my back. Rich curtains adorned large windows that gave a view of the gardens that had eased their way into autumn, rust tones taking over once-vibrant greens. The king lifted his face and brushed his hand through his silver-streaked hair, the rings on his fingers sparkling. “Ah, yes. Good morning. Hyacinth?”

“Father?”

“Would you let Apollo and I speak alone for a moment?” My stomach sunk to my toes. Hyacinth froze, his lips parting as if to protest, but his father chuckled. “It’s nothing malicious, Cyn.”

A breath huffed out of Hyacinth’s body and he shifted to me, a question in his eyes. I nodded, and he walked out, scanning over the two of us before pulling the door shut.

“Please have a seat,” the king said.

I dropped into the chair I’d spent the previous summer working in. He sat as well and gestured to the bottles of spirits on his desk that splashed the wood with amber reflections. “Would you like a drink?”

It was still first thing in the morning.

Was this a test?

“No, thank you.”

He nodded and worried his hands together. “How old are you, Apollo?”

I bit the inside of my cheek and leaned down against my knees. “I’m twenty, sir.”

He released a breath. “Right. But how old are you in mortal years?”

Sunlight danced around, illuminating a shelf stacked with scrolls and folios. “Umm”—I cleared my throat—“twenty.”