Darkly Delicate

two | gray sun

Aphrodite 

Achilles glances over at us. 

"The Ball is next week. Apparently they didn't see any reason to notify us any sooner." His tone is tired and bitter. 

"We'll be fine, dad. Where is it held this year?" 

"Spain— the Clementes are hosting all of the families." 

"Don't they have five sons?" I ask. 

"Yes, and a son your age, too," Achilles adds. 

"So?" Ares butts in, his tone harsh as he narrows his eyes on his father. I raise an eyebrow at him. 

"So nothing. Just pointing out a fact. You watch your tone, mister." Achilles glares at his son. "Anyway, it's time for dinner." 

"Good. I'm starved," Alastor sighs, rubbing his stomach. 

"You don't get dinner," Achilles says. 

"Huh?! Whatever have I done?!" 

Achilles can barely keep a straight face. "You dyed Apollo's hair, and now we have to worry about that, not to mention you made him run into Aphrodite." 

Alastor rolls his eyes. "That good-for-nothing son of yours deserved it." 

"I did not!" 

"Did too." 

"Boys, so immature," Athena sighs next to me. I nod in agreement. "C'mon, Rory. Let's leave these imbeciles." With sly smirks, we flick our hair and saunter off. 

I hear Ares quickly following us. My heart rate accelerates when he leans in close to me, and whispers, "There's blood on your dress, princess." 

Where did Athena go? 

I glance back at him. Smirk. "No, really? Didn't notice it." 

He grabs my wrist and spins me around. A faint gasp leaves my mouth and I place my hand on his chest, gazing into his dilated blue eyes. 

"You know, this type of stuff should really stay in the bedroom," Apollo says nonchalantly, prancing past us on his way to the dining room. 

I break away moments before my brothers round the corner, throwing subtle glares Ares's way. Atlas throws his arm over my shoulder, and Alastor stands to the side of us. 

"What's going on here, Ares? Aphrodite?" Alastor asks menacingly. 

Ares rolls his eyes. "Nothing. Just two friends talking. And besides, you two are younger than me. I have superiority." 

"Mhm... too old for Rory, too," Atlas sneers, dropping the subtle act Alastor was trying to play. 

Ares hold his hands up in mock surrender. "Nothing is happening here. We're platonic, right?" He glances at me, and I immediately nod. 

"Obviously. You two are so possessive." 

I wiggle out of Atlas's hold, rushing out of that awkward situation. My face is still flushed with color. 

Ares. Me. Together. 

No.

We can't do that. 

My brothers will certainly skin him alive. 

I take a seat in between my brothers, Athena across from me. Achilles sits at the front of the table, the Head. 

A few maids came and placed steaming with moussaka, salad, lemon potatoes... My mouth begins to water.