Page 9 of The Crown of the Dark Prince
Today, he sat atop the dais on his throne, draped in black robes, radiating authority. Beside him stood a tall, broad-shouldered man with sharp features, his long dark hair falling in waves to his shoulders. He gestured to astack of papers, drawing Hyrax’s attention as the God of the Dead scanned them diligently.
The moment I threw open the doors, the stranger's dark eyes locked onto mine—steady, unflinching. The air between us crackled, and my magic coiled beneath my skin, reacting to him before I even knew who he was.
“Theadora,” Hyrax’s deep voice carried across the room, tinged with surprise. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
I scoffed, my tone sharp. “Am I only permitted here when you allow it?”
A grin spread across Hyrax’s face as he waved the man aside, gesturing for him to leave the papers on the table. The man stepped back, but his gaze didn’t waver, still assessing me with an intensity that sent a slow, involuntary shiver down my spine.
Hyrax stood, descending from the platform with a lazy stretch of his neck. “Of course not, my dear. It has been some time since you’ve visited, though. I had hoped to hear what became of you after our last meeting, but you never returned.”
His words hit a nerve. The last time I’d been here was during the height of Camilla’s attack. I had traveled between the battlefield and the Underworld as my consciousness wavered, hovering dangerously close to death. Camilla had flushed Mortal blood through my veins to strip me of my powers, and it had been Hyrax who had helped me reconnect with my magic, guiding me back to life. Hyrax had saved me.
And yet…
“You lied to me,” I spat without hesitation, the accusation venomous.
His eyes narrowed, and from the corner of my vision, I saw the man at the dining table turn away slightly to hide his soft chuckle.
“I did no such thing,” Hyrax replied coolly, his voice betraying the slightest flicker of irritation. “I never pretended to be anything other than what I am. And what I am has always been rather obvious, Theadora. You’ve explored myrealm, sat at my table, drank at my side. If you refused to see the truth, that willful blindness is not my fault.”
My stomach twisted, his words sinking in like barbs. He was right. It had been so painfully obvious, the truth of it laid out on a platter for me. He could have been more upfront with me, yes, but he was also right. I should have known better.
“You could have told me,” I insisted, my voice cracking slightly.
He scoffed. “And would you have wanted to hear it? Look at you now—disapproval etched across your face.”
"Of course I’m disapproving! You were banished for a reason, Hyrax!”
The man beside the dining table stepped forward, his movements slow, deliberate—like a predator deciding whether I was worth his time. His gaze flicked over me, assessing, calculating, lingering just a beat too long before he spoke.
His voice, when he finally did, was low and controlled, yet it carried an undeniable weight. "You are speaking to a High God, Theadora. I would caution you to mind your tone.”
Magic rippled through me, rattling the ground beneath our feet. This was a private conversation between my ancestor and me. I didn’t need input from a stranger I had never even seen before.
“And you are?” I said, hostility rolling off of me. Hyrax chuckled, summoning a chalice of wine with a flick of his hand and taking a leisurely sip as he approached the man. He clapped him on the back with a somewhat surprising air of paternal pride.
"Forgive me, my dear,” Hyrax drawled. “Allow me to introduce my right hand. This is Caldrius Dagon, Supreme Lieutenant of the Underworld.”
The name struck me like a blow, fragments of memory surfacing. The name sent me back to Hyrax Estate, to the Archives where Clay had recounted the tale of Caldrius stealing Hyrax’s Bident. Zion had allowed him to keep it, but the Bident’s magic had poisoned Caldrius, leaving him as nothing more than amurderous shadow of himself. It was Caldrius’ younger brother, Ennoss, who had taken the Bident from Caldrius, fled, and founded Athenia.
“Caldrius,” I echoed, my voice tinged with disbelief. “As in the Descendant—”
“Of Zion?” Caldrius finished for me, his lips curving into a knowing smile. “Perhaps, in life. In death, I am loyal to his highness.” He inclined his head respectfully toward Hyrax.
"Most loyal,” Hyrax confirmed, that same odd pride gleaming in his eyes.
“But why?” I pressed, my mind reeling. “Why would you serve Hyrax if you’re descended from Zion?”
Weren’t the two brothers known to be at odds with each other?
Caldrius laughed, a rich sound that echoed through the room. His eyes gleamed in the flickering firelight, alight with dark amusement. “And why would you shun Hyrax when you’re descended from him?”
Hyrax clapped his hands together, a delighted grin spreading across his face. “I can already tell the two of you will get along famously.”
I frowned, the weight of his assumption settling uncomfortably on my chest. “You think I’ll be returning here?”
Hyrax and Caldrius exchanged a look, their expressions identical in their smug certainty.
