(Apollo)
“Try again,” Apollo said softly. A king’s mercy was always worse than his wrath. Mercy meant time. Time meant suffering.
Behind the door, something shifted—a quiet, almost inaudible sound of fabric against stone. Adelaide moving. Awake. Listening. He felt her attention like a pulse. A second, softer sound followed: breath. Controlled. Trying to be silent. Trying not to exist. Apollo knew that kind of quiet. Mortals did it when they feared a predator would notice them. He also felt the tremor in her magic, like wings flexing under skin. She wasn’t asleep. She was bracing.
His temper sharpened. Because she shouldn’t have to brace in his palace. Not when he had already claimed her. Not when he had already decided she was his.
Cael’s eyes flicked to the door for a flicker of a mom
