Once Upon a Winter's Spring

33. A Morning To Be Good On

The darkness in the room was not absolute, the faintest wash of dawnlight pressed at the curtains, brushing the furniture into faint relief while the deeper corners remained untouched. The space beside her had already cooled. Hades rarely lingered in bed once the night had settled fully into stillness; there was something in him that belonged to those last hours before sunrise, when the world held its breath between states.

For a moment Kore remained where she was, listening to the faint hush of the manor. There were no servants stirring here, no distant mortal sounds, no birds yet daring to break the silence. Only the soft murmur of water beyond the balcony doors.

She rose and wrapped herself in his discarded robe then crossed the chamber barefoot, the stone cool beneath her feet. The balcony doors stood slightly ajar, letting in air that smelled faintly of lake water and cold earth. When she stepped outside, dawn embraced her in full.

The lake behind the manor lay wide and dark, its surface reflecting a scatter of distant stars. The sky had not yet begun to pale. The world existed in shades of ink and pink, Eos strolling across her canvas soon after Seline had collected her lantern. Helios was probably just stirring.

At first she did not see him.

Then the surface of the water shifted, and she recognized the movement. Hades moved through the lake with a deliberate ease, each stroke smooth and unhurried. He did not thrash or disturb the surface unnecessarily. The water parted for him as if it understood him. Ripples spread outward in long, quiet arcs before dissolving back into stillness.

She rested her hands against the cool stone of the balcony rail and watched.

There was something elemental about him in that darkness. He seemed less a king and more a force, shadow cutting through deeper shadow. The faint starlight traced the line of his shoulders when he turned, catching briefly on the wet plane of his back before disappearing again.

She watched him reach the far edge and turn. He would reach shore soon.

Rather than wait above, she turned and descended the curved staircase that wound from her balcony down to the narrow stretch of sand below. The stone was cool beneath her feet, the air carrying the clean scent of water and frost. By the time she stepped onto the sand, he was still several strokes away, his form half-shadowed beneath the surface.

He saw her before he reached land. His rhythm did not falter, but she saw the shift in his attention as he adjusted his course toward her.

He felt her stare, a physical weight on his skin. With a final, powerful kick, he turned and stroked toward the shore. He rose from the water, and the breath caught in Kore's throat. Water streamed down the hard planes of his chest, over the ridges of his abdomen, clinging to the powerful lines of his thighs. He was magnificent, a god carved from obsidian and night, and every drop of Under water that clung to him felt like a trespass.

He didn't bother with a towel. He just walked toward her, his movements confident and utterly unconcerned with his nudity. He stopped a few feet away, a knowing smirk touching his lips. "Has it become our thing?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. "You, watching me swim?"

A slow, possessive smile curved her own lips. "I despise every drop that sticks to you," she said, her voice low and intense.

His smirk softened into something warmer, more intimate. "You are my wife, Kore," he murmured stepping closer, the last inches of distance narrowing without haste, "you are at liberty to remove anything that displeases you."

An invitation. A challenge. She accepted.

Kore stepped forward and closed the distance between them entirely. Her hands, cool from the shaded terrace, came to rest on his wet, heated chest. She leaned in and pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat, and her eyes, dark with intent, locked with his. She held his gaze as she began to kiss his body, her mouth a soft, firm pressure as she sucked the offending water from his skin. She started at the top, her lips tracing a path over his collarbones, down the center of his chest, her eyes never leaving his, a silent promise in every touch. She lingered over his heart, feeling its steady, powerful beat against her tongue, a silent acknowledgment of his surrender.