Fingers stained black

Chapter 7

Adora

I do not know why I agreed to allow Brone to train me.

I have been running around this huge field for an hour and a half, and I was beginning to get bored. There were only so many plants that I could identify. The air has begun to feel harder to suck into my tight lungs. I could run for a long time, but not this long.

Training for that race had been torture. Every year, the gods show off their children in fights and races. This was the first year I had been allowed to compete. Brone usually won everything, his arrogant disposition that he acquired from his constant, unmet need for validation from his father.

So I trained. Fighting was still prohibited to me, but I did not, and do not care for such sport. But I needed to win, if not to honour my mother, then to see the look of defeat on Brone's face.

"How did you win that race when you can barely run?" Brone shouts at me, he had been watching me from that damn apple tree for the past two hours. Shouting at me as I ran.

Refusing to run anymore, when I reached the Brone I sat next to him without saying a word. I wsa, once again, wearing a leather skirt, a red tunic top and armor. I moaned when he gave me the armor to run in but apparently it would increase my strength or something.

He, of course, is only wearing shorts. Another underworld article of clothing , I suppose. His bare chest is on show for all to see, does he have any manners? Anybody could come running up the lane at any moment and I would be truly scandalised. Especially with Athena here.

"Did I say you could stop running?" He asks, a cold look on his face.

"No, but I don't care." Leaning my head back against the tree, I sigh as I am finally able to breathe properly again. My lungs loosen from the tight hold that exercise had put on them.

I do not know which I prefer.

Fake, charming Brone who is only charming and well-mannered because he wants to prove himself to be a respectable man so that he could win a wager. Although I should quite enjoy this version of him, I cannot when I know that it is all fake. Sometimes, like this morning at breakfast, I catch a glimmer of what I believe he could be. A kind god who respects the boundaries of society without being fake.

Or, an angry Brone who I grew up with, that decided he did not like me for whatever reason and snarls at me every chance he gets. Angry Brone was always rather rugged, I suppose you could call it masculine. Quite frankly, I do believe that Brone must be a descendant of a dog for all the growling he does and the way he refuses to wear a shirt. I do wonder if there is a middleman who I would get along with.

"Take off your armor." Brone demands, lifting himself from the base of the tree and walking over to the few pieces of equipment that he had brought out with us.

The muscles in his biceps tense as he leans down, I cannot help but watch. As a god, his figure is tall and muscular to fit the role of the king of the underworld. His abdomen is carved out, the muscles appearing as indents in his tanned, smooth skin. The sun seems to shine down onto him and his skin seems to glisten.

Perhaps Helios was doing this on purpose, but I had to turn my face away quickly as I stood. I could feel the heat creeping up my skin as I internally scold myself for my actions. Brone is attractive, of course he was. But I am a lady who does not indulge in those kinds of pleasures. Especially not when it was the future god of the underworld.

I grumble as I stand up, ripping the metal off of my body. The ties come loose easily and I throw them to the side. Looking like a metal box was not a fashion choice that I was willing to make. Although, I am rather glad for the skirt, however heavy it might be.