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Chapter Text

The crown of flowers was already beginning to wilt as Kris placed it on his bed. It was almost appropriate. Even though the crocus and primrose blossoms had stayed preternaturally perfect throughout the festivities of the spring equinox, as the mortals called it, they were now drooping, their blue and purple petals on the road to decay. As if they knew his plans. As if they were reacting to the god of spring deciding to leave everything he knew behind.

Olympus was all he had ever known. His mother’s cottage tucked among seemingly endless fields of wheat and lavender was all he had ever known, for three hundred years. A drop in the pond to most immortal beings, but when the same places, the same experiences, were all you knew, it got tiring fast. It got isolating fast. Kris recalled the explanation his mother had given him over and over again, first when he was a child, and then through the centuries, despite him technically being a full-fledged god now. Grown, matured, he thought, but his mother thought otherwise. That everything she did, she did to protect him.

Kris had been born after the war that overthrew what came before the gods of Olympus. The Titans. Just the word sent a shiver through him, even though he was the son of one. He had never known his father. All he had of him was a dagger that had once belonged to him and his name, as he had been named after him. Crius. He looked like him, too, apparently, which made sense, considering he hadn’t inherited his mother’s wheat-coloured hair, or piercing blue-grey eyes, or sun-kissed skin. Instead, his hair was red-gold, his eyes green like moss, his skin so pale, it was almost white, except for a spray of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Sometimes he wondered if things would have been different if he had been born looking like his mother, or, alternatively, if he had been born a girl.

Would she have felt the urge to hide him away from the world then, like mortals hid their prized flowers in their greenhouses? Or would it have been more of the same? More of insisting that Kris stay with her to keep him safe, even though there were whole worlds out there waiting for him to discover? He knew she still mourned his father. Knew that, even though three centuries had passed, the harvest goddess’s heart still belonged to the long-dead Titan.

But he was tired. Tired of being under his mother’s overbearing thumb and watchful gaze. Tired, somehow, of spring flowers and warm breezes, despite being the god of spring. Tired of the grain whispering his every move back to his mother when he dared to venture outside, beyond his mother’s lands.

The spring equinox last night had been worse than previous ones. He had been forced to participate in the celebrations and wear the crown of flowers so perfectly blossomed that their perfume almost overwhelmed him. Made to act like he was happy doing the same thing he had done a thousand times over. Kris turned his palms upward, to see if there was any proof that he had been digging his nails into them so hard that his golden blood had flowed out of irritation and anger, but of course, there was none. Just smooth, perfect, unblemished skin.

His plan had come into being by chance, really. The messenger god had stopped by the cottage to deliver news from Olympus a few weeks prior, and when he’d left, a coin had fallen out of his pocket. It was unlike any coin Kris had ever seen. Not made of silver, or gold, or bronze, even, but metal that was a multitude of different hues. Almost like a rainbow. Through carefully asking questions of his mother and the nymphs who served her, he discovered that it would take him anywhere he wanted. To any realm.

The only issue with the coin was the fact that there was no return trip included. So wherever he chose, he had to be certain of it. Had to make sure that wherever he went, his mother wouldn’t be able to find him. He’d spent many a sleepless night thinking about where to go. Would lie in bed staring at the ceiling, or, if he was outside, stare at the stars, trying to figure out where he would be free. And then it hit him.

Who would ever expect the god of spring, a being of flowers and sunshine and warm breezes, to run away to the Underworld? He didn’t know much about the realm of the dead. All he knew was that nobody would think to look for him there. That he could probably convince its king to grant him sanctuary. And maybe, just maybe, he hoped that he could find his father’s spirit there. That he could finally know him from something besides his mother’s stories.

He had packed a bag the morning of the equinox, the few things he couldn’t bear to leave behind stashed in there along with a few sets of clothes. His diary. His father’s dagger. A shawl that he had received as a gift two centuries prior, the fabric still soft and silky to the touch. And the carved ivory and gold bracelet that a kind mortal merchant had sold him on one of the rare occasions his mother had allowed him to interact with the mortals who worshipped the gods. Everything else, he left behind. Just like the life he was about to leave behind, he thought as he shouldered his bag and took the rainbow-hued coin out of his pocket, holding it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Take me to the Underworld.” It was the first thing he’d said out loud that morning, too scared to say anything for fear it would wake someone. The coin grew warm, almost unbearably so, and Kris flung it onto the floor, scared of getting burned. The coin was glowing white now, and expanding into… something. A portal, he realised, one that would take him to the Underworld. To freedom.

It was now or never. He stepped into the portal, a wave of cold washing over him, and once both feet were on the other side, the opening closed behind him, leaving him in a cavern of sorts. No, not a cavern—a chamber. The walls were black rock, veins of gold and other precious ores streaking through them. The floors were made of that same vein-streaked black rock, and the sky above him was full of dark clouds. And at the front of the chamber was a throne.

An occupied throne. He didn’t know much of the god of the Underworld. His name, of course. Nace. He knew that he had been a relatively young god at the time the war had ended, only about fifty mortal years in age. That, of the three brothers who had dealt the killing blow against the Titan Kronos, he had been given what most of the Olympians saw as the metaphorical short end of the stick. The skies and seas were one thing, but a realm full of the dead was far, far different. As he walked closer, Kris wondered what he was supposed to say, or do, even? Bow?

He certainly hadn’t expected the god of the Underworld to be devastatingly handsome. Even in a simple black shirt and pants, he radiated power. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, displaying strong arms, the right one covered in tattoos. The only indication that it was him was the silver ring in the shape of a skull on his left hand. “Am I supposed to know who you are?” His voice, quiet and deep, sent shivers down Kris’s spine. “My name is Kris.”

The god of the Underworld let out a hum, peering down at Kris with deep, dark, brown eyes, darker than anything Kris had ever seen. “Geike’s son.” He winced at hearing his mother’s name, winced at being called that. He hated being called his mother’s son, as if that was the only thing that defined him. “What could the god of spring want from me?” Kris took a deep breath and spoke the words that meant there was no going back.

“I need you to give me asylum.”

Chapter Text

Well. Nace certainly hadn’t expected another god to be begging him for sanctuary that morning. Or, for that matter, for another god to even set foot in the Underworld. The sole Olympian who paid him regular visits was Blas, and even then, the messenger god was always leaving as quickly as he’d come. As if the cold darkness of the Underworld would leach the colour from his skin if he stayed more than ten minutes.

Out of every god, every deity that existed, the last one he would expect to come here was the god of spring. He wasn’t even sure that the other immortal knew what he was asking of him. If he knew the animosity between him and his mother, animosity that had simmered for three hundred years. It was mostly one-sided, of course.

How was it possibly Nace’s fault that Geike’s Titan lover had chosen to be reborn after he died? He still remembered the day she had arrived in this very room, pleading with him to let her see Crius one last time. But even if he could have let her (because the Underworld had rules , as he’d found out), he simply wasn’t there. Not in the Fields of Asphodel, not in Elysium. The Titan who had fought on the side of the Olympians had chosen to be reborn. He had no memories of the goddess who loved him in his new life.

And now, the harvest goddess’s son was standing where his mother had stood three centuries ago, asking for asylum. “Do you want to start a war?” He asked, genuinely curious. If Geike found out that Nace had harboured her runaway son, it could spell more trouble than he was worth. “I just want to be left alone!” The other immortal snapped back, although he could hear his voice was just about to crack. “And what will you give me in return for my agreeing to let you stay here, Kris?” It was the first time he’d said his name out loud. He didn’t look like his mother. No, instead, the god of spring looked like his long-dead father, who’d died on a battlefield Nace remembered all too well.

Nace pushed his memories of the war to the back of his mind, where they belonged, and waited for the answer. This was going to be good. “Anything.” Anything? Either he was naive, or stupid, or both. Or maybe, just maybe, he was truly desperate for asylum. Truly desperate to get out from under his mother’s watchful eye. Nace had a reputation for being cold and heartless, and who could blame him? He had been all but banished to the Underworld, drawing the short straw in who got to rule over what dominion.

He’d always had more darkness inside him than his brothers. Why not embrace it, had been his thought the first time he sat on his throne. Now, though, he realised that he could get something out of this small act of kindness. “A favour, then.” He declared. He liked favours. They were simple enough, or were they? He could ask anything of him, and he’d probably do it. “For every month you stay here, you’ll owe me a favour.”

“I’ll do it.” Kris said, a little too quickly, a little too eagerly. But that wasn’t something that Nace cared about right now. “We have a deal, then, flower boy.” He almost snorted at the murderous expression that crossed over the immortal’s face for a split second before composing into a look of gratitude. “Thank you.”

Nobody had thanked him for anything for a long, long time. There weren’t many opportunities for thanks here. “Are you just going to stand there for a month?” He asked, getting up and walking down the dais steps towards him. “I don’t know where you want me to go.” Fair enough. He hadn’t told him anything besides the terms of their deal. Including where he was to stay. “There are plenty of spare rooms in the palace. You can pick one.” One advantage of ruling over his own domain was that he could go wherever he wanted in the blink of an eye—and take someone with him. A single touch of Kris’s arm, and they were in the palace of onyx and obsidian that he called home.

“All of the rooms here are empty. Except for mine, of course.” He pointed out the double doors at the end of the hallway. “I’d avoid going into them, if I were you.” To his surprise, the god of spring snickered. Actually snickered, and said, “You’re not me.” He had him there. “You have free roam of the palace and the rest of the Underworld. But don’t stray too close to the Fields of Asphodel. Or the Lethe. I’d hate for you to lose all your memories.”

“I’ll make sure to stay away from them.” Nace moved to leave, but Kris stopped him with a single word. “Wait.” Was he giving him a command in his own palace? Bold of him. “Does anybody else live here besides you?” The question was innocent. So, so innocent. Harmless, even, asked by a god who had probably never even gotten hurt once . But not to Nace, who had taken control of the darkest realm of all for a reason. “Not permanently. I’m a private sort of god. I like the quiet.” He certainly wasn’t going to get as much as he was used to now, not with another god taking up residence here. “I…I’ll keep that in mind.”

Finally, Kris chose a set of rooms, and Nace left him alone, teleporting to the banks of the Styx, where the one deity he knew would give him an honest answer would be waiting. “I heard we have a visitor.” Martin had always had an interesting sense of humour. He wasn’t sure how ancient the ferryman of the Underworld was. He’d been here when Nace had assumed control over the realm, and despite his youthful appearance, he knew better. “Geike’s son has run away from home.”

“And he chose to come here? Interesting.” Martin folded his hands over the top of his staff, the movement so fluid and organic, it was clear he’d done it a thousand times before. “Does he know that his mother hates you?” Nace laughed at that, even though there was nothing funny about his words. “That’s the thing. I don’t know.” He couldn’t read minds. He could, however, read body language, and the god of spring had looked like he felt safe in the Underworld. Like anywhere, even the coldest, darkest realm of them all, would be preferable to where he had been before. “For every month he stays, he’ll owe me a favour.”

“Mm. What could he offer you, Nace? Company? You could use some of that.” It wasn’t like he was wrong , exactly, but what kind of company would Kris be? Did he even know how to interact with others socially? Nace had heard that the harvest goddess had practically kept her only child under lock and key. Actually, the better question was probably if he knew how to interact socially, considering his only constant company was Martin. “You’re right, it’s getting boring just talking to you.” Martin raised an eyebrow at him, shaking his head. “You want to know what I think, Nace?”

“You’re going to tell me no matter what I say, aren’t you?” Martin’s lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile that he’d ever seen from him. “I think that you should give him a chance. He might surprise you.”

Surprise him? Right. What could the god of spring do to surprise him? Nace had seen it all. Had been on the battlefield before Kris had even been born. He still bore the scars of the war between the gods and the Titans, but kept them hidden, even though there was nobody here who would bat an eye at them.

Except now there was , and Nace didn’t know how to deal with him.

Chapter Text

A month had gone by far, far too quickly for Kris’s liking. There wasn’t much to do in the Underworld when you were living, admittedly, but the rooms he’d chosen in the palace had a small library among them. Small meaning a few thousand tomes, nothing compared to the goddess of wisdom’s infinite library, one that he had visited several times and delighted in. Books were books, though, and most of his days were spent reading.

Food appeared whenever he requested it. His bathwater was always the right temperature. Even the wardrobe was full of clothes that flattered his figure, although none of them were in the light, pastel colours he had worn for centuries. No, instead, they were in rich, dark tones, to suit the realm of darkness and riches that he was now in, because the Underworld was not just the realm of the dead, but of everything that was beneath the earth. Gold. Gems. Minerals. There was a jewellery box on the vanity in his bedchamber, and when Kris had opened it, he’d been temporarily blinded by the items inside.

Gods didn’t have much of a need for money, of course, but Kris had been around mortals enough to know that just one of the rings in that box was worth enough to feed a family for a year. He kept his thoughts to himself, though, not wanting to appear ungrateful for what he’d been given. All for a single favour at the end of every month. What would Nace even want from him?

There was one semi-permanent resident in the palace besides him, he’d soon found out. The goddess of magic preferred the darkness of the Underworld to the white marble of Olympus, and so she was the only one who stayed here more than she did up there. At first, Kris had been scared of Teodora (or Teya, as she told him to call her), considering her vast power, but when he got to know her, he realised he’d had nothing to be afraid of. They had become friends, even. “What do you think he’ll want from me?” He asked. They were sitting under the shade of a poplar tree on the banks of the Lethe, not too far from the palace. “I don’t know. And I hate that I don’t.”

“Me, too,” he agreed, leaning back against the tree’s trunk. “But-”

“Having fun?” His heart stopped at the sound of Nace’s voice. The god of the Underworld was standing above them, clad in all black, like normal, but there was one big difference from his regular attire. He was wearing his crown. The metal was strange, unlike anything he’d seen before, looking like it would suck up all the light in the grove. “We were just talking.” Kris said as calmly as possible. “Unless I’m not allowed to do that?”

Nace raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like I care who you speak to, flower boy? You’ve been here for a month. I’ve come to collect on my favour.” Kris had almost hoped he’d forgotten, but clearly, the other god had a mind that didn’t forget. “I want you to have supper with me tonight.”

Wait. What? That was the favour he owed him? He must have looked stunned, because the god of the Underworld continued, “I’m not a terrible host. I’ll see you in the dining chamber tonight.” With that, he vanished into thin air, leaving Kris more confused than anything. “Why would he want this from me?” He asked. Teya lifted a shoulder in a shrug before clapping her hands together. “No clue. But one thing’s for sure.” When he gave her a puzzled expression, the goddess of magic grinned. “You need to figure out what you’re going to wear.”

Apparently, the black pants and green silk shirt he was currently wearing weren’t good enough. Not for supper with the king of the dead. So he let Teya sort through the clothes in his wardrobe with him, until the pile of rejects was bigger than the pile of books to be read on his nightstand. “Are you sure there’s anything in here that’s suitable?” She sighed, letting a velvet jacket slip through her fingers and onto the floor. “The clothes were here when I arrived. I didn’t choose them.” It was the truth; he hadn’t brought many clothes with him, and the ones he had had remained unworn, stashed in his satchel. Which, in turn, was stashed at the bottom of his wardrobe. “Hmm. I did build this place, but I’d forgotten about the wardrobes.”

“You built the palace?” Teya laughed, her red-streaked hair moving with her head as she nodded. “It was the least I could do, after Nace saved my life during the war.” The war. Three hundred years had passed, and yet, it was still in the older immortals’ minds. “The place is full of magic. How do you think you get fed every day?” Admittedly, he hadn’t thought about it before. “Here. Try this.” She handed him three garments: a pair of black pants made of a ribbed, velvet-like fabric, the jacket she’d discarded just a few moments earlier, and a silky dark purple shirt. Apparently, the soft leather boots he was already wearing were fine. He ducked behind a screen to change, and when he emerged, Teya let out a low whistle. “My work here is done.”

When he looked at himself in the gilded full-length mirror on the wall, he had to admit, he looked handsome. The darkness of the clothes didn’t wash him out, like he’d feared; instead, it highlighted the sharpness of his face, the gold in his auburn hair, his eyes somehow a more vibrant green. “I look good.” He finally said, and he caught Teya’s grin out of the corner of his eye. “Damn right, you do. But it needs a little something more.” She went over to his vanity, opening the jewellery box. “Here, put this on.”

She had picked out a necklace, an amethyst pendant sliding on a thin silver chain, and when he put it on, the pendant settled into the space between the collar of his shirt, right above his heart. “Perfect.”

When night fell (he thought, it was hard to tell in a place with no sun) he made his way to the dining chamber, which Teya had pointed out to him during a tour of the palace she’d given him in his first week there. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect at this supper. Was Nace even going to speak to him, or did he like his dining companions to be seen and not heard? That was something he’d find out soon enough, and after taking a deep breath, Kris pushed the double doors open and walked inside.

Nace was sitting at a table set for two in front of the chamber’s fireplace, in a chair that looked like a throne in its own right, lazily swirling the contents of a wineglass around before taking a sip. Sitting was the wrong word for his position, really—he was lounging. As if he had no cares at all. He was wearing the same clothes he had been when he’d called in his favour, close-fitting black pants and a black silk shirt, a pair of leather boots that came up to the middles of his calves completing the look. But he was no longer wearing his crown. “Won’t you come and join me?”

He knew it wasn’t a request. Kris walked over, the soles of his boots making whispers of noise on the marble, and sat down in the chair opposite the other god’s, not quite wanting to meet his gaze. “Look at me.” Damn it. When he lifted his head to look him in the eye, he swore that there was a hint of regret in those deep brown eyes. “Are you afraid of me, flower boy?”

“I have a name, and it’s not flower boy .” Nace put his glass down and his hands up in the air, as if he was surrendering. “Looks like you have thorns, after all, Kris.” The way he said his name made him shiver. “Answer the question. Are you afraid of me?” This could go one of two ways. Either he could tell him he was, or tell the truth. He went for the second option. “It’s hard to be afraid of someone who I’ve had exactly two encounters with. You haven’t given me a reason to be afraid of you, Nace. All you’ve done is ignore me.”

“I thought you wanted to be left alone. That was why you came here, wasn’t it?” Using his words against him? That was low. “I did. But being left alone and being isolated are two different things. I think you know what I mean when I say that.” The other god’s eyes darkened, as if he was insulted by the mere proposition. “Are you implying we have something in common?”

“And what if I am?” He challenged. “Then I’m curious to know just how much darkness is hiding under that pretty face of yours.” Nace snapped his fingers, and in an instant, the table was laden with food. “I invited you to supper, after all. Let’s eat.” Kris’s stomach agreed wholeheartedly, and he piled his plate with roast chicken and root vegetables and salad, bread and a pat of butter on the side. Nace poured him a glass of wine before filling his own plate, and Kris hesitated before taking a sip. He hadn’t had much wine before, only a glass or two during festivals, but this wine was unlike anything he’d ever had. It was sweet, but not cloying, with a pleasant sort of spice to it. “What have you been doing to fill your days, besides being ignored by me?”

Was he…making a joke? The other god was smirking, but there was nothing malicious to it. “I’ve been working my way through the books that I found in my chambers.” He admitted, stabbing a piece of chicken as he replied. “You have good taste in literature.”

“I didn’t choose the books.” Then who had? When he asked, Nace grimaced. Actually grimaced, before he said, “They’re the books of the dead.” Oh. He hadn’t thought about the burial customs of mortals. Clearly, enough of them had been buried with their books to amass quite the collection. “Mortals don’t quite realise that the only part of them they get to take with them to the afterlife is themselves. But considering they cared enough to take the books with them…I didn’t want them to be thrown away.” So he had built a collection, instead. It was a shockingly nice gesture.

Speaking of spirits, though, there was something he needed to ask. “Is my father’s spirit in the Underworld?” The question made Nace pause as he lifted his fork, then set it down. “I thought your mother would have told you what happened to him.”

“My mother didn’t tell me much of anything. Just that he lived, and died in her arms. I…” He trailed off, feeling awkward. “I’m sorry for asking. I didn’t mean to ruin supper.”

“You hardly ruined it.” Nace took a long sip of wine, as if to steel himself, before he spoke again. What he said made Kris’s stomach turn, and it had nothing to do with how much he’d eaten. “Your father was granted entry into Elysium when he died, but chose to be reborn, instead. After that, I don’t know what happened to him.” Was there sympathy in his gaze? No, that was ridiculous. Why would he ever have sympathy towards him? But he had closure, of sorts.

Closure, and a stomach full of conflicting feelings.

Chapter Text

Contrary to what he’d thought when he made that deal with the god of spring, Nace found himself not wanting to ignore him like he had the first month he’d spent in his realm. Martin, in his infinite wisdom, had been right. He had been in need of some new company. Kris had surprised him, especially that night at supper when he’d defended himself against Nace’s teasing nickname of flower boy. But the inescapable truth remained: he belonged here, and Kris most certainly did not.

A realm of darkness suited a being of darkness. A being of spring flowers and sunshine belonged anywhere but here. So did beings of the skies and seas, for that matter. Everyone else thought that he had drawn the short stick, that he had gotten the bad end of the deal in the division of realms. Only he knew the truth. Only he knew that he had chosen to rule the Underworld on purpose. Three centuries prior, as the eldest of the three brothers who had overthrown and killed their tyrant father, he had known that there was no way either of his brothers would be able to permanently live in the darkness.

Not Jure, who spent so much time in the water, Nace had often teased him about it, saying that he had to be part fish. And certainly not Bojan, whose one true love (besides his husband, who was the only god he’d bow to) was the sky and his ability to fly. Nace had inherited more of their father’s darkness than either of his brothers knew. So he took control of the Underworld, and embraced what came with it. Embraced his darkness, and, unlike his brothers, had no consort or lover. It was just him, and his throne, and his crown.

“You look deep in thought. What gives?”

“Sentenced a mass murderer to Tartarus.” Here he was, back on the banks of the Styx, where Martin had docked his boat after guiding the last soul of the day to the gates of the Underworld. “You do that every fortnight, at least. There’s something on your mind, isn’t there?”

“I’m thinking about my brothers.” He admitted. “Ah. What about them?” Nace hesitated. He didn’t expect Martin to understand him, not when he wasn’t even sure if he had any sort of family or relatives or even a lover. “That they have someone by their side.” He finally said. “Bojan with Jere, and Jure with his merman consort. And what do I have? Nothing and nobody. Then again, it was expected when I took over the Underworld, right? The dead don’t love, and neither does their king.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Hearing those words from anyone else would have meant their instant death or torment. He hated being told that he was wrong. “Have you forgotten that you yourself are not dead, Nace?” Martin reached out and tapped his chest with one long, tapered finger. “As for the dead themselves, they love more than you know. You should join me on a ride sometime. The dead talk to me. Reveal quite a bit.” He didn’t have time for that, though. Not when today was the end of the second month Kris had spent here, and he had to come up with some kind of favour to ask of him. “I’ll think about it.”

Which meant no, in his parlance, but he didn’t need to tell Martin that. Instead, he found himself wandering the halls of his own palace. Trying to think of what to ask of the god of spring. He couldn’t ask him to supper, not again. Perhaps to keep him company when he judged the dead the following day. No, his mind shouted, he couldn’t handle it. The instinct to keep Kris away from the dead was strong. But why? Was he really that concerned about him?

He wound up in the gardens, somehow, even though he hadn’t ventured here in centuries. All of the plants were dead. Probably had been for at least a few decades. If only someone could restore them, perhaps they would be a true thing of beauty. Then it hit him. He knew what he was going to ask of Kris. He knew just where to find him, too; he had taken to reading in the centre courtyard, instead of in his chambers, and would probably be there now.

For some reason, he soon found himself looking in the mirror, wondering if he looked presentable. One thing was for certain: the crown had to go. It wasn’t the truly terrifying helm he owned, a far cry from the helm of darkness, but he didn’t want to seem too demanding when he made his request. Even though Kris was only here out of whatever goodness remained in his heart. Did he even have a heart? Martin certainly seemed to think so. But Martin was an enigma in and of himself. With that in mind, Nace walked to the courtyard, where Kris was lounging on his stomach under the shade of a tree, reading.

His throat suddenly felt dry. Since when had the god of spring looked so… handsome? That was the only way to describe him, truly, and when he saw him smile at something on the page he was reading, Nace felt his chest constrict. What would it take for Kris to give him a smile like that? Or any smile at all, really?

Enough. He was here to call in his favour. Nace cleared his throat, making the other god jump slightly before he looked up. “I was wondering when you were going to come find me.” He said quietly, placing a ribbon in his book to mark his page before getting up. “You’ve been keeping track.” As had he, he noted to himself. “What do I owe you now? Another supper?” Nace shook his head before he stepped a bit closer to Kris, extending his arm to him. “Will you come with me? There’s something I want to show you.” He wasn’t even sure if Kris would want to touch him. God of the dead and all that. But the god of spring took his arm, albeit gingerly. “Lead the way.”

They began walking towards Nace’s private chambers, as the gardens were only accessible through a door in his rooms. He saw Kris hesitate when they reached the doors, but his hesitation was gone as Nace led him inside, towards the door that opened into the gardens. “I want you to restore and tend to the palace gardens.”

“Plants grow in the Underworld?” The question made Nace laugh softly as he pushed the door open and stepped through it. “They do. Or did. I don’t have much of a gift for taking care of plants, so…the gardens are dead.” An understatement. There was barely any source of life in these gardens, but Kris’s mouth had fallen open in apparent delight, his eyes darting around as he took the space in. “You can come whenever you want to and work here. The only access is through my chambers, but you have my permission to go through them without me.”

Kris had already unhooked his arm from Nace’s and knelt at one of the plant beds, hands in the soil, looking up at him. “Okay. Is…is that it?” Before he could say something dumb like, Can I watch you work , he nodded. “That’s it. I look forward to seeing what you do with the place.”

That sounded even dumber than his thoughts had, and he quickly left, lest he put his foot in his mouth even more. I look forward ? Since when did he speak in such a ridiculously formal manner to anyone, let alone Kris? Was he sick? Was something wrong with him? Besides the obvious, of course. Nace let out a shaky breath and went into his bathing chamber, locking the door behind him before taking his shirt off, feeling stifled by the garment, even though he’d worn it all day without complaint.

Looking in the mirror, he immediately regretted it. His tattoo-covered right arm wasn’t what he cringed at, because he had chosen to receive them. Chosen to permanently mark his body in that way. No, instead, he cringed at the scars that covered most of his chest. If he turned around and looked over his shoulder, he would be cringing at the scars on his back, too. Permanent reminders of the war. The poison from blades and claws and barbed tails was easily drawn out of his blood, but the scars still remained.

Damaged goods, his mind sneered, no wonder you have no consort or lover. Nobody who would even bear to take more than one look at you.

A sudden crunching noise came from his waist level, and he looked down to see that he had crushed the edge of the marble counter to dust from gripping it so hard. Fuck. That would be difficult to explain, had he not been the god of the Underworld. Had he not been able to reshape the stone back to the way it normally was. With a single thought, the counter was good as new. But he wasn’t. Far from it. Instead, his thoughts drifted to what it would feel like to let himself love.

Was he even capable of it, considering he had locked all of his emotions behind a wall so long ago? He’d barely had a life before the war, and the only sort of attraction he’d felt was lust. Lust for those that he no longer truly remembered. He thought about the possibility of love. The possibility of soft kisses and caresses and being called beloved by someone made him let out a contented sort of hum. But then again, who would want him? Who would be willing to preside over a kingdom of the dead with him and never see the sun again?

One more deep breath, and after he put his shirt back on and buttoned it up, he walked back out to the gardens to see what Kris had done. He was more than surprised to find a riot of colours awaiting him, the scents enticing, and standing among the plants and flowers was Kris, looking happy. Like he was at peace in a dark garden. “You did all this so quickly?”

The god of spring looked up at him with wide eyes. Eyes that made Nace feel like he was falling, over and over, into a chasm that had no bottom. No. No, no, no, he could not let himself wish that Kris was the one who would call him beloved. “The plants just…reacted to me. Especially the foxglove.” Foxglove. A poisonous plant, he thought, having dug that fact up out of some corner of his mind. Appropriate that it would grow here. “They look beautiful.” He finally said, and Kris blushed at his words. “Thank you. I’ll, um, come back tomorrow to water them.” With that, he left, Nace watching him go, heart in his throat.

He had to stay away from him.

Chapter Text

Having a garden to take care of again was relaxing. Sure, most of the plants were ones he had never even touched before, apart from dried ones in his mother’s plant book, but Kris was growing accustomed to them. Every morning, he would go through Nace’s chambers and into the gardens, spending hours among the plants and flowers, making sure they were all at the peak of health.

Once upon a time, he had done the very same thing with his mother. Had tended to the garden at the cottage in the lavender fields, and whenever he got praise when he managed to bring a plant back from the brink of wither, his heart soared. As a child, he’d seen it as a sign of his mother’s love. As an adult, though, now that he’d had time to think about it…was her praise just a tool to ensure that he remained loyal to her? That he didn’t even think about running away?

He was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to count how many veins of gold were in the rock that composed it. Trying to delay having to get up, but somewhere in the hundreds, he gave up. His garden (as he’d come to think of it) was relying on him. After getting dressed and eating a quick breakfast, he was on his way, humming softly under his breath. Maybe he could experiment with some of the more poisonous plants, see if they could interact with each other, he thought as he pushed the doors to Nace’s chambers open-

And gasped. He’d walked in on the god of the Underworld while he was changing his clothes. It wasn’t the semi-nude state the other god was in that shocked him. Nor was it seeing the sleeve-like tattoo that covered most of his right arm in full for the first time. No, Kris’s shock came from seeing the scars that almost blanketed Nace’s chest and back. His back was covered in what looked like healed-over claw marks. What kind of weapon—or, more likely, what kind of creature— could cause scars like that? “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, “I was just going to go to the gardens-”

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” Nace murmured, but Kris noticed that he’d put his shirt on as quickly as he could. “You didn’t cause me to have these scars.” His stomach flipped before he decided that he would ask the question he hadn’t dared to before. “What was the war like?”

The god of the dead just shook his head. “Worse than the darkest pits of Tartarus.” Instead of vanishing to leave, like he normally did, Nace walked past Kris, into the hallway, leaving him totally alone. Alone, and able to focus on the gardens that needed him so badly. Part of him wanted to chase after Nace, to ask him to stay. The part that won out, though, knew that distance was a better idea. That keeping away from the scarred, battle-worn god was the right thing to do.

His beloved lily of the valley plants curled towards him as he walked into the gardens, as if they were concerned about him. “I’m fine,” he murmured, even though he didn’t feel fine. Instead, he felt queasy. Not because of anything Nace had done, of course—it was his fault he’d walked in on him. He hadn’t thought to knock. Not when he’d been entering the chambers for days now and going straight to the door that led to the gardens. What could he do to make it up to him, for walking in on him during what was obviously a private moment?

Ironically, he wished that he could talk to his mother right now. Even though she had kept him hidden away, he had trusted her. Clearly, that trust was gone, but it didn’t stop him from wanting his mother. From wanting someone to hold him and comfort him. Would things have been different if his father had survived the war, if he had lived to raise Kris?

“I wish I could have known you,” he whispered, running a hand over his plot of foamflowers and smiling when they blossomed even further. “Father, if you’re listening somehow…I hope you’re proud of me.”

Thinking of his father took him back to a conversation he’d had with Teya a few days before. She had been willing to tell him about his father’s actions during the war. How he had turned against the other Titans to fight on the side of the goddess he’d loved. How, during the final battle, he’d called on his power to open a chasm in the earth and let it swallow hundreds of monsters. But it hadn’t been enough. Teya had hesitated before telling him how his father had died. As if she were afraid that hearing it would break him.

“During that battle, your father faced Kronos head-on. Thinking that he would be strong enough to overpower him, perhaps even kill him. But no matter what he hurled at him, it wasn’t enough.” Teya lowered her eyes, remembering that day and the battles she’d fought, too. “I was with your mother, fighting off a horde of beasts, when the earth shook . Somehow, she knew that your father was in trouble. Knew exactly where to go, where to find Crius, but when we got there, it was too late.”

Kris knew what she was going to say even before she spoke again. “Kronos’s scythe had dealt a killing blow. He left Crius there, dying, like he wasn’t worth finishing off. Like he was just another enemy he’d cut down in the war. Your father’s last words were to your mother. I could never forget them. He said, ‘Thank you for letting me love you’.”

What would it be like to have that kind of love, Kris wondered as he tended to the oleander plants, still surprised that they were able to grow with no sun. To have someone who you loved so much, they were always on your mind. So much so that your dying words were for them, and them only? But something else was on his mind, too. Teya had hinted that he’d inherited more from his father than just his looks.

“You’re the son of a Titan, Kris. Your father’s power is waiting to be used.”

Could he do what his father had done on that battlefield? Cause earthquakes and open chasms in the earth? He stared down at his hands, as if they held the answer. As if they could tell him what lurked beneath his skin, besides his abilities to manipulate the earth and wind and make plants grow. Besides the inhuman strength and immortal bodies that all the gods possessed. You can do more, and you know it , a little voice inside of him said. You are your father’s son.

But what did it mean to be the son of a dead Titan, he mused, besides the obvious? He didn’t know how to cause an earthquake even if he had wanted to. Maybe he hadn’t inherited his father’s gifts, and was just him—

A sudden snarl snapped him out of his thoughts, and when he looked up, Kris had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from gasping out loud. To keep the three shades that had entered the gardens from hearing and seeing him. How had they gotten here? As far as he knew, the spirits of the dead who had been neither good nor evil in life were confined to the Fields of Asphodel, and could never leave. Clearly, there had been a breach in the wards keeping them there. He looked to the door that would get him back into the palace, to safety, but one of them was standing in front of it. Guarding it, almost.

For the first time in his immortal life, Kris drew his father’s dagger from its sheath to defend himself. He’d never trained with a weapon, but the weight of the hilt in his hand was a comfort of sorts. He would not go down without a fight. Now, if only he knew if it would work on the shades.

Almost as if they could hear his thoughts, the shades turned towards him. They didn’t have faces, which really was a blessing. If they’d had faces, he would have been reminded that they were once human. They’d be easier to fight this way…if he had to fight. Kris knew the gardens better than any shade could, and so he ran, tearing down the path and not looking back even as he heard the shades hiss and chase after him. Please, please, get lost, or leave me alone, he begged mentally, the plants reacting to his emotions and forming a protective sort of wall. It worked for barely a minute.

Shades weren’t corporeal, and he’d realised that far too late. Kris flung a hand out at the nearest one, to do what, he didn’t know, but with his hand’s movement came a blinding flash of light that dissolved the shade into dust. He barely had time to marvel at what he’d done before the other two shades charged towards him. Kris gripped his father’s dagger tightly, ready to try to use it.

Before he could even get in a single stab, though, the temperature in the area plummeted. The gardens got dark, darker than they already were. And a swirling mass of shadows appeared, featureless except for a pair of coal-black eyes and gleaming white teeth, and ripped the shades apart. Kris’s first instinct was to get away from the mass of shadows, to run and try to find Teya or someone else, but his gut told him that he had nothing to fear. That this being was to be trusted. That he knew this being, and so he found his voice again and spoke its name.

“Nace?”

Chapter Text

Nace had been contemplating taking Martin up on that offer of a boat ride when he’d felt a tug in his stomach. Something was wrong. Not just that, though—something was wrong with Kris. It was like he could feel what the god of spring felt. Maybe it was because he was one of the only living beings in a realm full of the dead, so he could feel his presence and emotions, but Nace barely hesitated before he teleported to the palace gardens.

What he saw replaced all of his emotions and rational thoughts with blind rage. Two shades had somehow escaped from the Fields of Asphodel, and Kris was facing off against them, a dagger in his hand and fear in his eyes. Nace recognised that dagger. It was the same one Crius had wielded during the war. Gold, the hilt carved with the image of a mountain landscape, an emerald embedded at the top. But forget about the dagger, Kris was in danger. If those shades touched him, he would be in blinding pain for days, if not weeks. He had to act, now, or risk something that not even he could reverse .

He rushed forward, the shadows overtaking his body as he shifted into his true form, and struck. The shades didn’t even have the chance to touch Kris before he ripped them apart, almost enjoying hearing their screams as they were sent to Tartarus. His twisted delight was short-lived, though, when he realised that he had shown Kris his true form. The form he had always hated, because he thought it was him at his most monstrous.

“Nace?”

Hearing his name confused him, even as the shadows retreated. Why wasn’t Kris running away from him, or running away screaming, even? “You—you saved me.” He whispered, sheathing his dagger, looking at him with gratitude. Gratitude, and unease. What was going through his mind? Nace would have given anything to know. “Does this mean I can’t leave the palace now?”

The question confused him. Why would a few errant shades attacking mean he would be confined to the palace like a prisoner? But the way Kris’s lip was trembling, the way his green eyes had dulled at the mere prospect of confinement, made him realise why.

It was what Geike had done. To keep him locked away so that no harm could come to him. Nace felt sick at the mental image of Kris locked in a room, begging to be let out, pleading that he would be safe in the world, that he could take care of himself. “As long as you stay in the Underworld, you will never be stuck here, or unable to leave. I swear it on the Styx.” It was the strongest oath he could make. He had to let Kris know he was serious, he had to. “You can go to the mortal lands, even, if you want to.”

“Really?” He looked so hopeful that Nace almost smiled, but he managed to contain himself, giving Kris a simple nod, instead. “Really. Whenever you want, just…just tell me, and I’ll help you go.”

“Can you show me around the Underworld?” He hadn’t expected him to ask that. Kris must have seen his hesitation and confusion, because he added, “I haven’t seen much of the place. Just the palace, and the throne room, and the Lethe…”

“I’ll give you a tour.” He said firmly. “But you might want to change your clothes.” The other god looked down, seemingly having forgotten that his clothes were covered in dirt from his tending to the gardens. “Oh. Um, can you give me ten minutes to get changed?” Despite everything that had happened, Nace laughed. “It’ll take you that long to get dressed?”

A deep, rosy blush spread across Kris’s cheeks. “Are you making a joke?”

“Am I not allowed to?” Kris blushed even deeper, the sight rather pleasant to Nace. “I mean, of course you are, but I didn’t expect the king of the Underworld to have a sense of humour.”

“I have a great sense of humour, I’ll have you know. Go get changed. I’ll meet you outside your chambers in ten minutes.” As Kris walked off, Nace watched him go, watched the way he moved, and sighed. Despite telling himself that he had to stay away from him, he couldn’t. Whatever was left of his heart, it was dragging him back towards the god of spring, no matter how many metaphorical steps he took away from him.

Ten minutes went by far too quickly for Nace’s liking, and he made his way towards Kris’s chambers. What would he show him on this tour, he wondered, just as the door opened and Kris stepped out.

No longer was he wearing greens and browns. No, instead, the god of spring had changed into an all-black ensemble, velvet and brocade and silk, the darkness of the fabrics making him look like he belonged in the Underworld.  He was beautiful, Nace thought, more beautiful than any deity he had ever seen. His chest constricted, just like it had that day in the courtyard, and it was then that he knew that he was falling in love with him. He would make him his king, would crown him and have him rule by his side…but why would the god of spring ever want to stay in a place with no sunlight?

Why would the god of spring ever want to stay with him?

“Are we ready to go?” Kris asked, making him blink and his mind return to what they were supposed to be doing. “Let’s go.” He offered him his arm, and when he took it, Nace’s heart started beating faster than it normally did. With a single thought, they were on the banks of the Styx, right near where Cerberus was napping, but the hellhound woke up the moment they got there. “I always check on him first in the mornings.” He explained, and Kris smiled at that. “I’d ask if he’s friendly, but…”

To Nace’s surprise, though, Cerberus wasn’t growling at the unfamiliar being in front of him. Instead, the guard dog of the Underworld was putting his three heads back on the volcanic sands of the beach and letting out a contented sigh. “He likes getting scratched behind the ears.” Kris tentatively reached a hand out and scratched Cerberus’s middle head in the spot Nace had pointed out. The hound made a happy noise, and Kris scratched the other heads behind the ears, too, beaming. Nace could only look, his heart doing backflips.

Either he was sick, or he was screwed. After Cerberus fell asleep again, they continued on, Nace showing Kris the three other rivers of the Underworld, a glimpse of the Fields of Asphodel, and, even though he hadn’t wanted to, the entrance to Tartarus. Kris just stared into the abyss, shivering slightly, before he turned to him. “Do you ever have to go down there?” He whispered. “No. And I would never want to, either.”

With that, he took them back to the palace, back to the courtyard where Kris loved to read so much, and let go of him. “I have some things I need to take care of, but…would you care to join me for supper tonight? Not as a favour,” he added quickly, “but just as two immortals.” Just the two of them, having supper together. “I’ll be there.” Came the response, and with it, a smile. A beautiful, genuine smile that made Nace want to smile back, but instead, he teleported to where he knew Martin would be waiting for him. “I think I’m sick.” He announced. “Gods don’t get sick, Nace, don’t be so dramatic. That’s Benjamin’s job.” He hadn’t thought about the god of wine and festivals in a long, long time. “It’s about Kris, isn’t it?”

“I still don’t know how you do that. Know everything about everyone.” Martin just laughed, shedding the cloak he always wore and letting it fall to the bottom of his boat before stepping off and sitting down next to him on the sands. “It’s a gift. You care for him, don’t you?” He hesitated before nodding, too afraid to say the words, I wish he were mine out loud. “I never expected to.” Was all he admitted. “But I doubt he cares for me in the same way.”

“You doubt yourself far too much.” Nace shook his head. “He saw my true form, Martin.” Nobody had seen it since the war. Nace hadn’t shifted into it since the war. But when it had come to protecting Kris, he had barely hesitated. “And did he run away in terror from you?”

“No.” He still couldn’t believe it. “He recognised that it was me.” Nace went on to explain what had happened, how two shades had attacked Kris. How he had felt that something was wrong, and gotten there just in time. “I didn’t even hesitate. I knew I had to keep him safe.” He exhaled before he said, “He asked me if I would lock him in the palace because of what had happened. I swore on the Styx that he would never be a prisoner in this realm. Not like…”

“Not like he was when he was in his mother’s care.” Martin finished. “You’re not sick, Nace.” He’d said that before, but he didn’t believe it. “Then what’s wrong with me?” The ferryman shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong with you, either.”

“You’re just in love.”

Chapter Text

True to his word, Nace hadn’t locked Kris inside the palace after the shade attack. Instead, the god of the Underworld had given him more freedom. That night at supper, Nace had been polite, and funny, and nothing like he’d expected the king of the dead to be. Charming, even, and open to answering questions about himself, as long as he got to ask some of him . He learned that Nace’s tattoos had been a choice he’d made after the war, to put the darkness of the realm he ruled over on his body. That, during the few times he’d gone to the mortal realm, his favourite season had been winter. And that he liked having Kris around.

He didn’t say that last point out loud, but he didn’t have to. It was clear to him. Why else would he invite him to supper without it being a favour? Or talk to him? Or give him a smile that made him feel like he wanted to melt into a puddle?

Could it be that he was falling in love with the other god? He didn’t quite know. All he knew was that he had never felt unsafe in Nace’s presence. Had never felt smothered, either. Even though he knew that Nace could sense where he was. He’d asked, considering he’d been able to get to him so fast that day in the gardens. Nace’s explanation had been simple: that, as the ruler of the realm, he was able to sense the presence of living beings. “They’re not normally supposed to be here, so there aren’t many for me to notice,” he’d said. “I just had this feeling that you were in danger.”

An understatement. But it was nice to know that someone was looking out for him, and not in a way that was constricting. As he tended to the gardens, Kris’s thoughts drifted to his mother for the first time in a while. Was she searching for him? Calling in every favour she had with every god and deity and, hell, every mortal , to try to find her missing son?

If she somehow found him, he wasn’t sure what he would do. What Nace would do. Something told him that he wouldn’t take too kindly to Kris getting god-napped and dragged back to his mother’s lands. But was it because of their deal, or because there was something between them? With every day that passed, Kris felt more for the god with the eyes like liquid night and the shy smile. Felt comfortable around him.

Felt like he was safe with him. That as long as he was in Nace’s domain, nothing bad could happen. There hadn’t been any more shade attacks on the palace, and even if there had been, he would have been able to defend himself now. Nace had taken it upon himself to give Kris basic weapons training, telling him that if he carried a dagger, he better know how to use it. He had a point, so he accepted the training and felt much more comfortable with using a blade. “I didn’t know plants could grow so much.”

Kris looked up at the sound of Nace’s voice and smiled. “Hi.” The other god smiled back. “Hi, yourself.” As he sat down, Kris tried to come up with a witty remark about the growing cycles of plants, but came up empty. “Can you tell me what plants are here?” He wanted him to? When he raised an eyebrow, Nace said, “I want to appreciate your hard work. You turned this place from nothing into…well, this.” He cared. He actually cared enough to have a genuine interest in what he’d done. So Kris could only oblige. “Well, right now, we’re sitting next to some foxglove, and lily of the valley.” He pointed each plant out. “They’re both poisonous. A lot of the flowers here are.”

“And you work with them?”

“They don’t affect me. I think I like them more than non-poisonous plants, actually.” It sounded strange, but it was true. The poisonous plants were beautiful and deadly, having developed their poisons as self-defence mechanisms. To protect themselves when nobody else did. Perhaps he was like them—evolving to find new ways to protect himself. To become something more than just Geike’s son. “What about that tree?”

As he explained how deadly the manchineel tree was, Kris felt a wave of happiness bubble up inside his stomach. Nace made him feel seen, appreciated. They had shared their worlds with each other, but he wanted to share another part of his world, too. “We should have a picnic sometime.”

“What’s a picnic?” This was unacceptable. Nace couldn’t not experience a picnic at least once in his immortal life. “It’s one of my favourite parts of springtime. The weather finally gets warm enough that you can go outside and eat and enjoy the atmosphere. You pack a basket with all your favourite things, put a blanket out on the grass…” As he went on, Kris could picture it. Them in a field somewhere, snacking on cheese and crackers and fruit, not a care in the world. “Then let’s have a picnic.”

Nace snapped his fingers, a picnic basket and blanket appearing in front of them in an instant. “Here?” He shook his head, got up, and extended his hand. Kris took it as he got up, too, wondering where they’d be going. After he grabbed the basket, the world shifted, their surroundings becoming bright. More bright than anything he’d experienced in the past few months. They were in the middle of a grassy field, flowers springing up here and there. A cluster of oleander blossoms sprung up at his feet, likely a sign of his powers reacting to being aboveground once again. He knew where they were, he thought, but he still had to ask. “Are we…are we in the mortal realm?”

“I told you that whenever you wanted to go, I’d help you.” Nace replied, taking the blanket from him and spreading it out on the grass. “You sounded like you wanted to go, so I did what I said I would. I don’t break my promises.”

They settled down on the blanket and unpacked the basket, finding all the things he liked eating on picnics, plus a few surprises. He hadn’t expected there to be a bottle of wine, or chocolate. Clearly, the contents of this basket were meant for this to be more than just a casual picnic between gods. As they ate and drank, Kris couldn’t help but think that being in the light suited Nace. The sun hit his hair just so, making it shine, his skin less pallid than it was in the darkness of the Underworld.

He was beautiful.

“You’re staring at me.” Kris blinked. Had he been staring? “I was just thinking.” He said, trying not to sound weird. “You haven’t asked me for a favour this month.” It was true; the month had come and gone, and Nace hadn’t requested anything from him.

He didn’t know the god of the Underworld could blush, but he had to admit, it sure did look pretty on him. “I like having you around.” Nace murmured, tilting his head so that he was looking at Kris straight-on with those deep brown eyes. He wanted to stare into them for an eternity. “The favours were just an added bonus. Being the god of the Underworld is…lonely, to say the least. Not many chances to be social.”

They were so close now. So, so close, that all it would take for their lips to touch was for him to lean in just a little bit. So he did. Kris decided to be bold for once in his life and leaned in, kissing Nace softly on the lips. The other god didn’t pull away and ask him what he was doing. Instead, he pulled him closer , wrapping a strong arm around Kris’s waist and deepening the kiss. Even though it was his first kiss, Kris didn’t feel awkward. Didn’t feel like he had no idea what he was doing. No, instead, he felt more confident than ever before. Like the Fates had woven kissing the god of the dead into the threads of his life.

If kissing Nace was wrong, if wanting him was wrong, he didn’t want to be right. To his surprise, the first thing Nace said after their lips stopped touching was, “I didn’t know you knew how to kiss.”

“Of course I know how to kiss,” Kris replied, slightly insulted, “I’ve read books.”

Nace just tipped his head back and laughed, the sound so beautiful, Kris wanted to capture it so he could hear it over and over again. “Come here and show me what those books taught you, then, handsome.” He didn’t have to tell him twice, and as they kissed again, and again, and again, in this peaceful, beautiful meadow, Kris felt happy. At ease. Safe, in the arms of the god of the Underworld.

When they returned to the Underworld after the most beautiful sunset he’d ever seen, Kris was more than surprised to find that Nace had teleported them directly into his chambers. “Will you stay the night?” He murmured. “Just to sleep.” He hadn’t wanted to let go of him just yet, to leave his side, so Kris nodded eagerly before saying it out loud. “I want to stay with you.” Nace smiled softly, going over to his wardrobe and taking two sets of sleeping clothes out. Both were a deep purple, the fabric soft and silky beneath Kris’s fingers when he touched it. “Living in a palace built by magic has its perks.” He said, moving to unbutton his shirt and remove it, but Nace stopped him, placing his hands on his. “May I?”

Kris hesitated at first. Hesitated, and then slipped his hands out from under Nace’s, placing them on the other god’s chest, right above his heart. “May I?” They stared at each other for what felt like an eon until Nace whispered, “You’re the only one besides me to see my scars.” The way he confessed it, his voice soft and vulnerable, made Kris’s heart ache. “I don’t care about your scars,” he said quietly, “just about you.”

They undressed each other slowly, taking time and care to lavish attention on every new bit of exposed skin that showed, and once they both had their sleeping clothes on, climbed into bed together. “Your bed’s more comfortable than mine.” Kris noted, making Nace laugh. “I’m the king, I get the most comfortable bed.” The left corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. “If you’re complaining, you can just sleep here from now on.” If he was offering, he wasn’t going to turn him down. “Okay. That can be my favour to you for this month.”

“Mm.” Nace pulled him into his arms so that they were curled up together, Kris’s back against Nace’s chest, an arm around his torso. It felt comfortable. Safe. He already felt drowsy. “No more favours, Kris. Just you and me.”

Just the two of them. Just two gods, who’d found each other despite their differences. As he drifted off, he felt Nace kiss the back of his head, hearing him whisper something, but he couldn’t quite make it out. Whatever it was, it had to be good. Nace might have been a being of darkness, but in the end…

In the end, there was light in him, too.

Chapter Text

It had been six months since the god of spring had begged Nace for asylum. Three since they had shared their first kiss in a meadow. Ever since that night when they’d fallen asleep together in his bed, Kris had all but moved in to Nace’s chambers. Every night, they would kiss and caress each other until sleep came, and every morning, whichever one of them woke up first would wake the other with soft kisses on his face and hair and the words I love you .

But there were times when Nace would jolt awake during the night as his mind broke free from a nightmare from the war. It would wake Kris up, too, and every time, his beloved would stroke his skin and tell him that it was alright, that the war was over. That they were safe. He didn’t tell him that the worst nightmares weren’t from the war. No, his worst nightmares were the ones where Kris woke up one morning and decided he didn’t want to be the lover of the king of the dead anymore.

Where Nace woke up to an empty bed, the other side cold, the barest hint of Kris’s wildflower scent the only proof that he had ever been there.

They were in bed now, Kris wrapped snugly in his arms. The sconces on either side of the headboard were dimly lit, allowing Nace to admire his lover without waking him. He was beautiful, so beautiful he couldn’t quite believe that he was his. Every time he thought the words, he’s mine, he marvelled at how lucky he was.

One day in the gardens, Kris had finally shown him his true form. A being of spring flowers and wind, although, he noticed, quite a few of the flowers were of the poisonous variety. He was just as beautiful in that form as he was in his humanoid form, if not more so. Sometimes, flowers would bloom where Kris had walked, forming a trail, and Nace could only let them. Kris had his heart, was his king in every way but name.

You could change that, he thought. You could propose to him.

If Kris agreed to marry him, he would be his king. Would rule by his side. Nace shivered a little at the thought, and the tremors woke Kris up. “Good morning.” He whispered, his voice groggy from sleep. “Good morning. Sorry I woke you up.”

“Don’t apologise. I get to open my eyes and see your face.” Nace smiled at that, leaning in for a kiss, and Kris met him in the middle. As the kiss grew more and more heated, his hands slipped down to squeeze his lover’s backside. It was one of Kris’s best features, and there were some mornings that he just couldn’t keep his hands off of it. “What do we have to do today?”

“Just rounds, and then the day is ours.” He gave him a second, shorter kiss, and got up. “Cerberus will be happy to see you.” He said, trying to sound casual. When would he have a chance to find a ring if Kris was by his side all day? “I still think he should live here with us.”

“You say that now, until he sheds all over your pretty clothes.” Nace retorted, slipping a jacket over his shirt, and thought . He could find precious gems and metals wherever he walked, but actually making a ring out of them would take time. He’d have to cause a distraction. “He’s a good hound, he doesn’t shed. I’m going to take a bath, and then can we have breakfast? I’m hungry.” Of course, he promised, and once the door to the bathing chamber closed behind him with a soft snick, Nace went on a one-god manhunt for the materials to make Kris’s engagement ring. He wound up with black gold, black diamonds, and, for the centre stone, a garnet. Garnet for the god with the hair like red gold who had captured his heart.

He barely had enough time to get the ring formed and put it in his jacket pocket before Kris came out of the bathing chamber, wrapped in a fluffy white towel, water droplets sliding down his chest towards where the towel was knotted at his waist. He looked good enough to eat. Good enough to keep in bed all day. But, alas. Nace had responsibilities. “I’m not sure the spirits of the dead need to see you in nothing but a towel.” He murmured, and Kris grinned. “I know. That sight is just for you.”

After they had breakfast and made their rounds, Nace took his lover to the throne room. It was the place where they’d first laid eyes on each other. Where the threads of their immortal lives had begun to intertwine. “I thought you said we just had rounds to make today.”

“We do. But…” Nace’s throat suddenly felt dry, and he swallowed. “But I wanted to ask you for one last favour.”

“Anything.” Kris said it almost immediately, making Nace smile as he remembered their first meeting, when he’d said the same thing. He took Kris’s hand and got down on one knee, taking the ring he’d crafted that morning out of his pocket. “Marry me.” He whispered. “Be my king, and rule by my side.” His beloved’s mouth fell open, tears sliding down his cheeks, and he almost panicked until Kris pulled him to his feet and kissed him. “I’ll marry you.” He said once they pulled apart. “You make me feel so, so safe, and so, so happy. Being your king is what I was meant to be, I know it.”

They were wed that same day, Teya and Martin witnessing the oaths they swore to each other, the oaths that bound them as one. The first time he heard Kris call him his husband, he almost cried out of the sheer happiness he felt from the word. Crowning him was, somehow, even better. He’d crafted a crown that matched Kris’s wedding ring, and as he set it on his husband’s red-gold hair, his heart swelled with love and pride.

Nobody could deny that they belonged together.

“When I saw you for the first time, I thought you were devastatingly handsome.” Kris admitted that night, after they had tired themselves out with celebrating the fact that they were married. With exploring every part of each other’s body that they hadn’t dared to just yet. “You weren’t afraid of me?” Nace asked, curious, and his husband blushed. “Oh, I was. But I couldn’t help but notice just how attractive you were. What did you think of me when you first saw me?”

“That you were either naive or stupid for coming here.” Kris gasped, playfully pushing him in the chest. “You did not!”

“I did. I thought, why would such an innocent god come here and ask me for help? But I don’t regret helping you.” Kris’s eyes softened at that. “I sure hope you don’t.” Then they were kissing again, their bodies entwined, and he ignored the past for a while. His future was more important. His future was in his arms, looking at him like he had put the stars in the sky.

Somehow, he wasn’t shocked to discover that Kris was just as good of a judge of the dead as he was, if not better. He listened to what they had to say from his throne of onyx, the twin to Nace’s, but never let their words sway his judgement too much. As the day’s queue of souls finally came to an end, Nace looked at his husband, his king, a vision in deep burgundy. He would do anything for him, he thought as he reached out and took his hand. Kris looked back at him, smiling. “You’re awfully affectionate today.”

“Can you blame me? You-” But his train of thought was interrupted by the whoosh of feathers and tinkling of bells that signalled the arrival of someone Nace did not want to see. The messenger god wasn’t staring at him, though.

He was staring at Kris, whose face had drained of colour, and was holding Nace’s hand so tightly that, if he had been mortal, he would have crushed it. He was scared. “Your mother’s been tearing the heavens and earth apart to try to find you.” Blas said. The second he mentioned Geike, Kris’s lips twisted into a snarl. “I’m not leaving my husband.”

“Your what?” They were all on their feet now, staring each other down. “Nace and I are married. I love him. And I am never going back to being a prisoner in my mother’s house. You can tell her that that’s exactly what I said.”

“But-” Nace was about to tell the messenger god that he had no power in his domain, that he should leave if he knew what was good for him, but before he could, the ground shook, an occurrence that made him weary of what was happening. Earthquakes never happened in the Underworld. Unless…unless Kris had inherited his father’s power. Nace gently squeezed his hand, and the tremors stopped. “You heard him.” He finally said. “You should go, before any of us does something we regret.”

Blas threw his hands up in the air. “Fine. Guess I’ll go get murdered by Geike.” Kris beat him to a snappy retort. “You’re immortal. The most she can do is chase after you with a scythe.” One glare from him, and he was gone, that same whoosh of feathers and tinkling of bells going with him. Nace immediately turned to his husband, needing to make sure he was alright, needing to comfort him. “I’m not going back.” He pulled him into his arms, stroking his back, trying to soothe his tumultuous mind and calm his own. “I would never make you go back.”

“What if she tries to take me away from you?” Nace just held him tighter. “If she tries anything of that sort, I will start a war to get you back. I don’t care what it takes.” He stepped back slightly, only so he could look at his beloved face-to-face. “You are the only one who matters to me.”

Even with that promise, they were both on edge over the next three days, constantly preparing themselves for the worst. Kris’s newly unlocked powers had caused more than one small earthquake. All Nace could do was hold him at night and tell him that he loved him, that he would never let anything bad happen to him.

But the one thing he couldn’t do was predict when Geike would show up.

Chapter Text

It had been a surprise that his mother had waited this long to come after him. Kris would have expected her to rush to the Underworld as soon as Blas had told her what he’d said to tell her. The past three days had been the most stressful ones of his life. Not only had he discovered that he had inherited his father’s power to cause earthquakes, but he’d been unable to sleep, even with Nace holding him. Unable to keep nightmares from plaguing his mind. Nightmares where his mother succeeded in dragging him back to that cottage in the lavender fields. Nightmares where he was a prisoner once again.

Nightmares where Nace never came to rescue him, because he had never truly loved him.

And now, he was sitting on his throne, next to his husband, staring his mother down. Unlike the last time he’d seen her, on that spring equinox that felt like it had been an eternity ago, she was wearing armour. Armour that he knew had been hidden away for centuries. Armour that she hadn’t worn since the war that had killed his father. “What has he done to you?”

Done to him? Was she seriously implying that Nace had corrupted him? Or worse, that he had brainwashed him into falling in love with him? He stole a glance at the god seated beside him; his fingers were gripping the arms of his throne in indignation, his eyes darkening even further than normal. “He didn’t do anything to me, Mother. He isn’t the one who made me run away to the Underworld. I fell in love with him on my own terms.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. Please, Kris. Just come home.” She wasn’t listening. She was treating him like he was still a child who was having a rebellious phase. “That place hasn’t been my home for a long, long time.”

“You heard him, Geike.” Nace’s deep voice held a hint of rage in it, and Kris took his hand to try to calm him. But it had the opposite effect on his mother. “You made it so that I could never see the man I loved again. I thought that would be enough, but now you’ve stolen my only child from me?”

She had taken all of one step towards the dais when the ground began to shake. Kris’s power was reacting to his emotions, and unlike the past few days, when he had tried to control it, he let himself give in. Let a fissure open in the marble floor, dangerously close to where his mother’s feet were. “He didn’t steal me. I chose him.” He said once he willed the tremors to stop, and got to his feet. “And he chose me , and he gave me what you never wanted to. He gave me freedom.”

Mother and son stared each other down until Kris decided to deliver the killing blow with his words. “My father would never have wanted me to be a prisoner.” His voice was firm. Not a single quiver, even as he saw sadness in his mother’s eyes. “If you try to take me away, if you even think about locking me back up in that house, I will hate you for the rest of eternity.”

“Touch a hair on his head, and it will be war.” Nace was standing right behind him, the shadows of his true form beginning to creep into the space. “This isn’t over.” His mother swore, and with the sound of rustling grain, she was gone. Kris’s knees buckled; if Nace hadn’t been there to catch him, he would have collapsed. “It’s okay, it’s okay, she can’t hurt you.” But she had. She had come to his home, insulted the god he loved, and insulted him. She had hurt him in more ways than Nace could ever imagine.

Once they’d returned to the palace, Nace drew them a bath. They almost always bathed together, but right now, Kris needed to be held, otherwise he might shatter into a million pieces. Once they were immersed in the steaming, orange blossom-scented water, he spoke. “My nightmares have been the same for the past three nights.” He whispered. “She finds me, and takes me back there, and I’m a prisoner. And you don’t come for me.”

“I would tear the world apart to find you and bring you home.”

“I know. But my fears don’t.” Nace’s grip on him tightened ever-so-imperceptibly, and he looked up at his husband, at his king. His dark eyes had never looked sadder. “I have nightmares, too. Not just from the war.” This was the first he had ever heard of it. “Do…do they have to do with me?” Nace nodded, biting his lip, before he murmured, “They’re always the same. You tire of being my king, of being in this place, and I wake up to an empty bed, the barest hint of your smell the only way I know you were here.” Kris’s own eyes filled with tears at the thought of leaving him. “I would never leave you. Not when you let me be free.”

Nace just held him tighter, and Kris let him. It was really all he could do.

That night, his dreams didn’t turn to that nightmare of his mother god-napping him and locking him away. No, instead, they took him to a beach, where a single figure was standing with their feet in the water. Kris felt strangely in control, and decided to call out to the figure. “Hello?”

The figure looked up, and Kris saw that it was a man, his clear blue eyes like the ocean. “Hello, there, Kris.” He knew his name? He must have looked puzzled, because the man laughed. “Right. You haven’t been on Olympus for a while, and honestly, neither have I. I prefer the seas.” This was no man speaking to him in his dreams. No, it was Jure, the god of the seas—and Nace’s brother. “How are you talking to me in my dreams?”

“Ah. Magic.” He raised his arm to show off a lapis lazuli bracelet. “Teya crafted this for me, just as she crafted that bracelet you’re wearing, I suspect. A gift, from both her and the god of sleep. It allows me to speak to other gods in the dream realm.” Jure stepped closer to him, but Kris didn’t feel unease, despite the power that he knew he held. “You love my brother.”

“I do.” The god of the seas smiled. “If the two of you seek allies…come to the shore. Any shore. Nace and I are more alike than he knows.”

Kris bolted awake, breathing heavily. The sea god had offered his help. They wouldn’t be alone if this came to a civil war. “Kris, what’s wrong?” Nace had woken up, too, and normally, the sight of his husband bare-chested would have made him tackle and kiss him. But not right now. “Your brother came to me in a dream.” His mouth fell open in shock. “Which one?”

“Jure. He said…he said that if we needed allies, we should go to any shore. That the two of you were more alike than you knew.” Nace took a deep breath, letting it out, and nodded. “Tomorrow. Let’s try to sleep again, and tomorrow, we’ll go to shore to see what he has to say.” They settled back into bed, arms around each other, and sleep came a little easier. No dreams. No nightmares. Just peaceful sleep, and when he opened his eyes again, Nace was still asleep, so he took the chance to admire him. To let his gaze wander across his broad shoulders and chest. To take in his scarred skin. Whatever had left the marks on him, it hadn’t been as strong as he was, and Kris made sure to remind him of that every day. “Are you watching me sleep, flower boy?”

He jumped slightly as Nace chuckled, opening his eyes fully. “That’s king flower boy to you.” Kris retorted, poking a finger into his husband’s chest. “Damn right, it is.” Seeing his smile made his heart flutter, and as they kissed and kissed, Nace’s arms snaking around his torso, he knew that he could face his fears. Knew that if he was by his side, he’d be alright.

After a quick breakfast and getting dressed, Kris took them to the first shore he thought of. As a wedding gift, Teya had given him a bracelet she’d crafted that allowed the wearer to transport themselves and one other person wherever they wanted. He’d been more than delighted to be able to travel the realms, and had thrown his arms around her in gratitude. “How’d you know about this place?” Kris knelt on the sands, scooping up a handful of grains and letting them fall in between his fingers, before he replied. “I read about it in a book.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Nace’s words weren’t mean, but affectionate. “So do we just…wait?”

They didn’t have to wait for long. The waves increased their battery of the sands for a brief moment, until two figures appeared on a nearby rock outcropping. Kris recognised one, of course; it was Jure, who was wearing an all-blue outfit, holding a trident in one hand. The other was unfamiliar, and wearing nothing at all, although his long, dark hair covered most of his shoulders and part of his chest. He didn’t have legs, but a tail, like fish did, the scales flashing in the sun, starting out with blue near his waist before transforming to purple. This had to be Jure’s consort. His merman lover. Kris shared a look with his husband before they began walking towards the rocks. “It’s good to meet you in person, Kris.” Jure said once they got within earshot. “And Nace…”

“It’s been a while.” Nace murmured. “You said to come if we needed allies.” His brother nodded. “I did. I wanted you to meet Jan, too.” The merman offered a small smile and a wave, taking the sea god’s hand. “Geike has been raging about you god-napping her son. I wanted to get the story from the both of you before I chose a side.” The sea god paused before he spoke further. “But something tells me that I already know which one to take.”

Chapter Text

Nace hadn’t seen his brother in centuries. That being said, he was here, and willing to listen to him and Kris, and not sending an army of dolphins after him or something. He’d even brought the merman who he’d been made to marry but fallen in love with. “I didn’t god-nap Kris.” He began, settling down on the rock next to his brother. Kris was by his side, holding his hand, the weight comforting. “He came to me.”

“I ran away from my mother.” Kris added. “Used a coin Blas dropped when he visited, and went to the Underworld because I knew it was the one place she wouldn’t think to look for me.”

“Imagine my surprise when he appeared in my throne room and asked me for asylum. I gave it to him, but for every month he stayed in the Underworld, he would owe me a favour.” Nace shook his head, letting out a small laugh. “I never would have expected that I would fall in love with him.”

“That was my thought when Jure and I were first wed.” The merman’s voice was deep, deeper than Nace had expected, but it was a small detail. “Neither of us knew if we even liked each other. But we gave each other a chance, and…it worked.” Jure was the only one of the three brothers who had slain Kronos who hadn’t gotten to marry who he wanted. In order to keep peace with the sea nymphs and merpeople, he had agreed to marry one of their number. It had worked out, but if it hadn’t , Nace would have hated to see his brother trapped in a loveless marriage. “What is my mother saying?”

Jure grimaced, and Nace could only hold his husband’s hand tighter. “That you ran away, but you did not mean to go to the Underworld, and your marriage is nothing but a sham.”

“No-”

“I believe you have love for my brother. True love. But Geike is calling for a conclave.” A conclave. There hadn’t been one of those since the war. Not since the draw that had divided the realms and Nace had relegated himself to the dark. “To do what? Drag me away from the god that I love?”

“She claims it’s to get the truth out. But in essence…yes.” The truth was obvious. That he hadn’t god-napped Kris, and that they were in love. That was too easy of an explanation for the harvest goddess, though, considering she’d shown up in armour to confront him. So instead, she was calling a conclave, summoning all the gods to Olympus. Him included. Unlike his brothers, he had no throne in the Olympian throne room. What was the point? He hadn’t been there for three centuries, so the throne would just remain empty.

More proof that he didn’t belong.

“If she wants a conclave, then she’ll get one. We have nothing to hide.” Kris spoke firmly, the steel in his voice hiding how he truly felt, how Nace knew he truly felt, because he felt the same way. Despite the realm they presided over together, they were scared. Scared of being torn apart. Scared of what it would mean to go to war for each other. “Then you have my support. I’ll see you there, and…if worse comes to worse, the seas will be on your side.”

With that, his brother gave him a smile before he and the merman slipped off the rocks, into the sea, and vanished, leaving him and Kris alone. “The truth is on our side.” His husband murmured, dipping his bare feet into the water. Somewhere along the line, he’d jettisoned his boots. “Right?”

He wanted to say yes. To reassure him that they would walk out of that conclave together. But Nace’s fears didn’t let him. After all, why would anyone believe him? He was no true Olympian, had no truly devout followers among mortals. The most he got was a prayer when someone died to watch over their souls. “Nace?” He blinked, having gotten lost in his own thoughts. “I can’t lose you, Kris.” He finally whispered. “You won’t.”

The conclave would take place in three days, as they learned from a message given rather angrily to them by the messenger god. Blas hadn’t been killed by Geike, although with the way he acted when he’d arrived, you would have thought he had been. Three days was barely enough time to prepare. But it was more time than Nace had expected, and any time was precious. Everything they did was a careful decision, even choosing what clothes they would wear with care. Nace chose his traditional all black attire, but Kris wore green. Bottle green , he called it, the colour deep and lush, making his green eyes stand out even more than they normally did.

Neither of them wore a crown. They agreed it would be too much.

When the day came, he noticed that Kris was barely touching his breakfast. “Upset stomach?” He asked, putting his own plate down. “Something like that. Nerves, mostly.” It was understandable, considering they were going up against his mother. The mother who had hidden him away out of a desire to protect him, before it had gone way too far. “I’ll hold your hair back if you get sick.”

“You’re such a romantic.” Kris retorted, but it brought a smile to his face, and he picked his bowl of oats up again, polishing it clean before moving on to his eggs. “Only for you, my love. Only for you.”

Olympus was the same as he remembered it to be from three centuries ago. White marble, shining streets, flowers everywhere…but none of the flowers were Kris’s prized poisonous ones. They were all harmless. Meant to be pretty and nothing else. Now he remembered why he hated being here so much, because the perfection was overwhelming. No place for a god covered in scars, who bore more marks of the war than most of them. Even with his husband by his side, Nace’s stomach filled with dread. Then he felt Kris’s hand slip into his. “I’m here.”

“I know.” Still, feeling his physical presence helped, and once they gave each other one last look, they walked into the Pantheon together. Into the hall of the gods, ringed by twelve thrones. Not one for him, though. No, his throne of onyx would look incredibly out of place in this gold and white hall. And at the front of that hall was his youngest brother. Bojan’s hair still had several grey streaks in it, despite his immortality. A marker of what he had been through during the war. Next to him sat his beloved husband, whose delicate green and white finery betrayed the surprising amount of power he had.

He hadn’t seen him in centuries, just like he hadn’t seen Jure. Nace almost felt guilty, but then again, he had chosen to become one with the darkness to protect both of his brothers. “You came.” Bojan sounded like he was surprised to see him there. Especially with Kris by his side. “I wasn’t aware I had a choice.” Nace tried not to snap at him, but it was difficult. “You didn’t even offer us a seat.”

Bojan raised an eyebrow, but snapped his fingers and two chairs appeared in the centre of the hall, directly in front of the hearth. “There. Happy?” He didn’t comment. Just walked with Kris and took a seat, crossing his legs, lounging as if the golden chair was his throne. “Now that everyone is here, we can begin. Geike, since you called us here…” Next to him, Kris tensed up, and he could hardly blame him. His mother looked like she was on the warpath. “All I want is my son back.”

“I wasn’t taken from you.” Kris said quietly. “I left on my own accord.”

“You disappeared the morning after the equinox. You never-” Before Nace could say anything, his husband stood up. “What have I asked you for on my birthday for the past ten years?” Where was he going with this? Geike looked puzzled, as did the other gods. “What?”

“Answer the question, Mother.” Something told Nace that she couldn’t. Or, that if she could, that Kris’s request was something that she had never fulfilled. “You asked me to let you go.” She finally said. “To let you see the world, to give you freedom, but-”

But she never had. Nace almost felt bad for the harvest goddess. Almost, if it weren’t for the fact that she had painted him as the villain, painted Kris as someone who needed rescuing when he had taken it upon himself to rescue himself. “Look through my memories if you want.” Kris was looking directly at Bojan now, whose hands were laced together in front of him. Nace knew what that meant. That his brother was confused about what to do. “But I was not stolen. Not by my husband, or by anybody else.”

“Is this true, Nace?” Bojan was speaking to him now, sounding so much older and wiser than he’d expected. “I didn’t steal him. He came to me, and I fell in love with him.” He lifted his left hand, to show the ring that glittered there. “If he wanted to leave, all he had to do was go.” Still, Bojan had the goddess of wisdom look through Kris’s memories. Kateryna was much shorter than him, which made for an interesting picture, but after a while, she lifted her hands from Kris’s head, nodding. “He speaks the truth. He was not taken.” Finally, it was said out loud. “Well, since that’s settled, the conclave is adjourned.” At Bojan’s words, most of the gods got up and filed out, talking with each other, except, predictably, for one. Geike. “Kris, I-”

“Save it, Mother.” Kris’s voice had turned to ice. “Was it really so unbelievable to you that I had the potential to fall in love with someone? That I would never grow tired of being under your thumb?” He shook his head, a soft, humourless laugh escaping his mouth. “I know why you hate my husband. But it is not his fault that my father chose to be reborn. And the sooner you accept that, we’ll all be better off.”

“Kris, please , I’m-” But Nace’s husband was already turning to him and slipping an arm through his, a silent get me out of here. He could only oblige, and in a single second, they were back in the Underworld, under the poplar tree on the banks of the Lethe where Nace had asked that first favour of him what felt like a lifetime ago. “I don’t know how I feel.” He murmured, staring down at his hands. “I can’t blame you, Kris. But you’re free now. You don’t ever have to go back.” He smiled at that, taking Nace’s hands in his. “I have you to thank for that, don’t I?”

Nace just shook his head, matching his smile with one of his own. “You set yourself free, Kris. I just helped.”

Chapter Text

When Kris had stepped through that portal five years prior, he hadn’t expected to fall in love. To become king of the Underworld, no less. But his life had decided to take him down an unexpected path, and he couldn’t say that it was a bad thing at all. Not when he was happy presiding over the dead. Not when his garden full of poisons flourished with barely a second thought from him. Not when he was with the god he loved.

True to his word, Nace told him that whenever he wanted to go to the mortal realm, he could—as long as he went with him. I haven’t explored enough of that world as I wanted to, before the war, he’d said, and so Kris happily let his husband accompany him on his sojourns.

He still hadn’t forgiven his mother. No matter how much she tried to make amends, he still wasn’t ready to give her a chance. The only thing he’d allowed was for the belongings he’d left behind when he ran away to be delivered to the palace. There had been a note, tucked under the cover of one of his favourite books: When you’re ready, my door will be open to you. Kris had sighed, smelling the paper and its lavender scent, before putting it in his desk drawer. One day, perhaps. But not right now.

After the conclave, things had changed in the Olympian dynamic. There was now a thirteenth throne in the Pantheon. Not that Nace ever journeyed up to Olympus all that often. It was too little, too late, in Kris’s opinion. They’d practically ignored him for centuries, leaving him to the Underworld, and now they wanted him to be one of their number? Nace had all but laughed when he’d heard the news, and Kris could hardly blame him.

His husband had told him the truth of the division of the realms one night as they lay in bed together, limbs tangled in a loose embrace. That he had chosen the Underworld on purpose, to try and protect his brothers from the dark. Kris had just listened, gently stroking Nace’s tattooed arm (which had grown to be one of his favourite parts of him), until he finished, and told him that no matter how much darkness was in him, he accepted it.

Accepted him.

The Blessed Isles were one of Kris’s favourite places in any realm, not just the Underworld. Elysium was one thing, but these small islands for the truly heroic were paradise perfected. Three lives, three times reaching Elysium, and it all led to this. Sometimes, Nace joined him on his walks through the marble-paved streets, always holding his hand, always smiling at him like he was the most precious thing in the universe. He’d told him that he was that more than once. And every time, Kris kissed him and told him that to him, he was the most precious thing in the universe.

Right now, though, he was on a solo trip. Not everyone who had reached the Isles had won their glory in battle. Instead, some had earned it through their kindness. Their generosity. One such person was a silversmith who had taken in orphans as apprentices after a long, bloody war in her third life, and as a result, was granted entry into the Isles when she died. She’d continued her craft in the Underworld, making the most beautiful pieces, and Kris was on his way to buy something for his husband. Their anniversary was coming up soon, after all-

He hadn’t been looking where he was going, and in the midst of his thoughts about whether to get Nace another ring or a pendant, he’d bumped into someone. “Oh!”

Spirits in Elysium and the Blessed Isles weren’t shades like they were in Asphodel, but solid, retaining all memory of their previous life (or lives). Those in the Blessed Isles only regained memory of their previous lives when they achieved Elysium for the third time, and so it was with hope in his heart that Kris looked at the spirit he had run into.

The spirit was male, tall and broad-shouldered, with red-gold hair and moss-green eyes. Eyes that Kris had seen staring back at him through his mirror all his life. His father’s eyes. “My apologies, young man. I did not look where I was going.” He gave him a small smile and moved to leave, but Kris stopped him. “I think you once knew my mother.” His father’s eyebrows drew together in thought, and internally, he begged him to realise the truth. That he was his son. “Your dagger.” He finally said. “I once had one like it. Given to me as a gift by the woman I loved.”

“My mother gave it to me on my eighteenth birthday. Told me that as long as I carried it with me, my father’s spirit would be there, too.” He didn’t dare say the words out loud. He wanted him to come to that himself. “Your mother…is her name Geike?” Kris nodded, tears springing to his eyes. “My son.” His father murmured, and before he knew it, he was in his embrace. When he told him his name, he saw his eyes light up. Happy that he had a child who carried his name, in part. “I am sorry that I was not there to see you grow. But you…you are not one of the dead, are you?”

He shook his head. “I rule over the dead with my husband, but I am not one of their number.” At the mention of Nace, his father appeared surprised. “Your husband, is he good to you?” Kris smiled softly. “He’s all I could ever ask for.”

When the sun set across the Isles, Kris bid his father goodbye, but promised he would return. The second part of his promise was something he had to discuss with his husband, though, and when he arrived home, found Nace in the dining chamber, lounging in an armchair. “Hello, my love.” He murmured, getting up and crossing the room to kiss him. “Hi.”

“I missed you.” Nace was adorable when he pouted, and this instance was no different. “What were you up to while you were gone?” He asked. It was time to tell him. “I was in the Blessed Isles. And either by some happy accident, or by the Fates weaving it into my thread…I found my father.” Nace’s mouth fell open in shock. “I should have known that Crius would have gone for three lives. Always was an overachiever.” His husband reached out and tapped Kris’s nose, making him laugh. “Just like you are.”

“You like me the way I am.” He couldn’t deny that, and he knew it, and as they sat down to eat, Kris murmured, “My father asked me to bring my mother here, to see him.” At the mention of his mother, Nace’s eyes darkened. “Are you going to grant his wish?”

“That’s the thing. I’m not sure. I wanted to talk it over with you first.” It wasn’t like he was asking Nace’s permission, but he didn’t want him to be shocked blind. “If you think it’s a good idea, I can only support you. But if she tries anything…” He reached across the table and took his hand. “I can take care of myself if she does.” He’d gotten more weapons and combat training over the years, and had learned how to keep his earthquake-causing gifts under control. “I know you can. Now let’s eat, I’m starving.” As they dug in, Kris’s thoughts kept drifting to how he was going to face his mother.

How he was going to tell her that her lover was waiting for her.

The cottage in the lavender fields was the same as it had always been. Peaceful, beautiful, and far too static for Kris’s liking. He’d come alone, but he wasn’t unarmed. He had both his father’s dagger and his powers with him, and as he stepped onto the cottage’s porch, the ground rumbled slightly. Just slightly, but even then, it was enough for him to flinch—and for the door to open, his mother coming out a second later. “Kris?”

Her voice was full of hope. As she took a step towards him, he murmured, “I haven’t quite forgiven you just yet. But I need you to come with me.”

Despite his contradictory statements, his mother accepted the hand he offered her. In the blink of an eye, they were in the Underworld, standing on one of the beaches of the Blessed Isles. “Why have you brought me here?”

“You’ll see.” He’d asked his father to meet him here at dawn, and just as the sun rose, Kris heard footsteps from behind them. “Geike?” His mother’s face drained of colour before she turned around, Kris following suit. His father was standing there, shock on his face, but his eyes were full of love. “I hoped that this day could somehow come ever since I regained my memories.”

“Crius,” the harvest goddess breathed, and before he could even blink, Kris was seeing his parents embrace for the first time in his life. He was suddenly hit with flashes of what could have been had his father not died. A life with two parents, instead of one. Technically, he had that now, but three centuries of not having it hit harder than he’d expected it to, and Kris felt tears form in his eyes. “Our son found me.” He heard him murmur. “If I had known-”

“I didn’t know. Only after you—you died.” Even hearing the words made his heart ache. “I’ll leave you to have some time to yourselves.” He said, making his parents look away from each other for the first time since their reunion. “Kris, please. Stay. We want you to.” So he stayed. Stayed, and listened to his parents talk. His mother, to his surprise, didn’t hide what she had done to him at all. Instead, she admitted it, and begged for his forgiveness, and that of his father. I was a fool for what I did, she said, and if I could go back in time and do it all over again, I never would have kept you hidden away, Kris.

Hearing her admit it was all he had wanted, and with those words, he finally forgave her.