Chaos

The morning glows as the sun rises, Melinoë attended by her ladies-in-waiting. She looks out her window to see him, Nathaniel, taking care of the horses in the stables. He senses Melinoë watching him, and he smiles, looking up at her in her window. She looks away, but he catches her gazing at him, and she can’t help hiding her blush.

Nathaniel leans against the stall door, the morning light catching the lines of his jaw as he watches Melinoë pretend to look away. A low growl rumbles from his chest that is audible only to those within the forbidden bond. His voice carries on the wind, rough and close despite the distance between them, “Still watching, little dove.” The one who catches Melinoë’s eye smiles.

“What did you say?” Mark, Nathaniel’s friend, asks. Nathaniel makes some inconsequential lie that makes Mark roll his eyes. Mark follows Nathaniel’s gaze. “Just admiring the view.” Nathaniel says in a low voice, a dangerous purr that only Melinoë can hear. Mark finally notices her through the window, the recognizable silhouette of the daughter of the underworld.

Mark elbows Nathaniel hard, and he whispers sharply, “You’ve got a death wish, mutt.” Almost all lycans are aware of Nathaniel’s affection for the little princess in the dark castle of the underworld. They all whisper low but don’t dare breathe a word of it.

Meanwhile, Melinoë is settled in the dining hall, where her parents await her. “Good morning, Father, Mother.” She gives her parents a kiss on their cheek.

“Morning, my little death,” Hades coos, his voice still rough like the gravel paths of the underworld. His skin is pale and sickly, with dark brown hair and a beard to match. Hades is the personification of death. Whereas Persephone, her skin flushed in a tan that brings health and virility, has long, luscious raven locks filled with flowers that stick out to represent spring, the goddess of life.

When not ruling the dead, Hades is more tolerable than the other gods.

“Sleep well?” he asks this casually like any father would.

“Yes, as one can…” Melinoë’s parents continue to talk while she wanders in her mind about the one who stays in her heart. She looks towards her parents; they speak with a soft hum that Melinoë envies.

The morning is dull, filled with studies and training on being the princess for the underworld when her time comes. As the only child and heir to Hades, she has to learn everything that comes with the responsibilities of running a kingdom for the dead. Her teacher continues to talk about the politics of Olympia when her eyes wander to the window. She notices Nathaniel and his companions training in the art of war. Nathaniel outperforms all of them and she can’t help but blush when she notices the strain of his muscles bulging with every swift movement of his sword.

The sun glistens off Nathaniel’s sweat-slicked skin as he moves with predatory grace, his sword a deadly extension of his arm. He’s the clear standout among the other lycans, his skill honed by years of secret training and the burning need to prove himself worthy of his forbidden love.

“Melinoë, are you paying attention?” Her teacher, Micah, takes her back to the forefront of reality; she’s embarrassed she is caught.

“Yes, sorry…” She resumes her studies soon after the sun is setting. The underworld’s castle sits between two realms of life and death. Inside, it’s a portal to the underworld that only gods and the lycans may go through; humans can’t. And the castle is the only place where the underworld may see the sun.

Melinoë returns to her chambers to be out of her royal garments and into something much simpler. She dons a white milkmaid dress that splits on the left side of her leg, and she braids her long, dark brown hair and heads straight to the horses’ stables, where she meets with the other lycans working there. But she only tries to find the one she can’t stop thinking about.

She finds him; he’s finishing his work in the stables, making sure the horses are fed.

“Nathaniel.” She’s breathless when she sees him working; his curls hide his gray eyes. He turns at the sound of his name on her lips; his expression instantly softens by her presence. The other lycans nearby exchange knowing glances but keep their distance, respecting the unwritten rule that allows this precious moment of solitude.

“My lady…” Nathaniel acknowledges her softly.

“Quite the formality…” she teases, but he never calls her by her name. He dares not cross that boundary in front of his peers.

“One of us has to be careful, little dove.” He murmurs as he looks around for anyone eyeing him. Settling the bucket of oats down, his eyes roam over her simple dress and her braided hair, which are such a contrast to the gilded image she presents in court.

“You shouldn’t be here. If they find you—” He doesn’t finish the thought. The consequences hang heavy between them. Soon, the others leave, and they are left alone.

“No one will find me; I’m currently taking my royal nap…” Melinoë exclaims as she slowly closes the stable doors so no one will look. When she turns around, Nathaniel is already on her; he kisses her like a starved man, his hands framing her face gently despite the urgency in his touch. The stable is filled with the scent of hay and horses, but all Nathaniel can smell is her—her perfume, her divine essence. His tongue parts her lips, seeking a deeper connection.

Melinoë lifts her legs for him to touch her skin; his elongated nails dig deep at her flesh but are careful not to pierce her. Melinoë’s body hums at his kiss, his touch. She can feel a sensation course through her between her legs, but she never knows what it means. Nathaniel never pushes her more than she can take. He stops before it goes further.

“Why do you stop?” she asks, out of breath, lips red and swollen. Her skin is flushed from the heat between them. Nathaniel rests his forehead against hers, his breathing ragged. His heart pounds in his chest, a relentless drumbeat that echoes his primal need coursing through his veins.

“Because I won’t take you like this, in the stables. You deserve better than a hasty fumble in the hay.”

“What do you mean?” Melinoë asks innocently, and Nathaniel groans when he looks down at her. He caresses her face and always teases her that she’s too innocent or too pure for him.

“You’re too innocent for your own good,” he mutters, his thumb brushing against her swollen lips. “You don’t even know what’s happening between us. You’re a god, a princess. You should be protected and cherished, not handled by a rough lycan in the stables.

“You think too highly of me…” Melinoë pouts; she only wants Nathaniel to finish whatever he started with her.

“Will you take me to the forest? ” the place where the lycans are free to be themselves. They’re allowed to transform into their beast form once a month under the full moon. She loves to see them run, and Nathaniel always takes them under a disguise.

“The forest?” he asks, his eyes softening. He knows what she’s asking for—time alone with him under the moonlight.

“Of course, my little dove,” he agrees gently, helping her down from his lap. He grabs a cloak and wraps it around her shoulders before leading her out of the stables.