She reached upward, cupping his bearded face. She forced him to look down into her liquid, pale eyes. “Can I tell you a secret, Leo, my darling?”
“Do we have any remaining secrets between us?” He cocked an eyebrow.
“I think, should we investigate the facts of my birth . . . that I’m actually a little bit older than you.” She gave him an impish look. “But I was happy for you to live with your delusions until recently. We women have our own vanity, too, you know. I only tell you now so that you’ll be clear about one thing: you may be the lion, but I am the cougar in this particular relationship.”
“You little devil, you,” he said, catching her by the nape. “You never told me.”
“You always assumed! You of all people know that appearances can be most deceiving—especially when it comes to Olympian facts and curses and such.”
He cradled the back of her head, angling her face upward. “I think you should be punished.” He planned to absolutely ravage her with his mouth—the best possible punishment for the most beautiful woman he’d ever held in his arms.
“But there’s another secret,” she told him, eyes sparkling.
He gave her a first kiss, just a brushing of his lips against hers. “Umm?”
“You think you’re unattractive—but every woman who knows you, myself most of all, thinks that you’re drop-dead, insanely . . . wickedly handsome. In your own unique way.”
His face suddenly burned beneath his beard. “You love me, that’s all.”
“Uh, no. Sorry, my lord. Why do you think Sophie blushes around you all the time? Have you not seen the way Emma, even at nine months pregnant, would do the same?” Daphne pulled him down to finish the kiss. “I plan to make you understand how desirable and hot you are.”
Apparently, Leo realized, she meant to start by kissing him right in the center of his hooked, once-broken nose.
If this was her method, to worship his imperfections, he couldn’t help smiling as he thought of the long, thin scar right across the lowest part of his belly. Because, you know, one thing would naturally lead down to another.
Leo seized hold of her hand, grinning like a prize stud. “Come, my lady, let us shower.”
The darkness was gone, the evil night done; still, Leo wanted to wash them both clean—all the way. And then, only then, he planned to take Daphne into that regal bed, and in all the ways that really counted . . . make her his queen.
Epilogue
Leo scooped up tiny Angela, hoisting his daughter atop his shoulders. “Daddy’s taking you to a picnic,” he told her as they started a rolling walk from the main house out to the peach orchard in the side pasture.
His three-year-old daughter giggled, clamping her small hands atop his head. She often squealed and laughed in unbridled delight, her life so much easier than anything he and Daphne had known as children. No war, no harsh training, and certainly no lack of loving parents, just safety and nurture, in the bosom of a very large, extended—and, yes, boisterous—family.
Life here in Savannah was heaven on earth for his baby girl: fishing with Uncle Mason, boating with Aunt Emma, horseback riding with Uncle River, baking with Aunt Shay. Leo had prayed hard for this dream, but it was more than he’d ever pictured in his most private hopes.
He took careful steps toward the peach grove in the distance, excited about the day with his warriors and friends, but treasuring this brief moment. For now, he was just Daddy, with wee Angela all to himself.
Catching sight of the gathering ahead, he said, “Do you remember last year’s celebration? Your mama knows how to plan a party, little girl, let me tell you. I can only imagine what your sixteenth birthday will be like.”
Angela giggled, pulling on his curly hair. “Mama’s good at parties!” The words came out with a soft twang, probably because she was so excited.
He grinned, as he often did, when he heard his baby girl’s Southern accent. It just couldn’t be helped, not with the bevy of strong Southern women who were in her life. There was Emma, with her lilting, sophisticated accent, and Shay with her less subtle one. And then Sophie, of course, whose drawl was most pronounced of all, as she chattered away about almost anything that interested her—particularly her children and her beloved husband, the once hot-blooded Djinn whom she’d managed to tame.
“Daddy, when we gonna have the picnic?” Angela popped him on the forehead. “I’m hungry.”
Leo laughed, thinking about today’s honored guest. “You can count on your uncle Apollo for a very fine spread.”
“Apollo?” She released a downright gleeful giggle. “Oh, he’s got the yummiest food of all.”
Leo gave her spindly legs a squeeze. “Well, baby doll, he’s catering the whole affair. But nobody’s told me exactly what we’ll be having.”
One small hand came over his right eye. “It’s a surprise, Daddy!”
He grinned like a fool; his entire life was a surprise, the most wonderful blessing from the Highest God of all. The answer to every prayer he’d murmured over the years—all of those heartfelt entreaties had come to pass, and tenfold. No wonder they’d easily arrived at the name Angela for their daughter. Heavenly messenger.
Ahead in the grove, everyone else had gathered already. Children ran to the far end, weaving between peach trees as they chased each other. Emma and River’s twin boys were biggest of all, going on eight years old now, but Sophie and Sable’s eldest daughter, Leah, with her coltish long legs and natural speed was never far behind.
From slightly down the slope, Sable appeared, calling out to them. “Hey, Leo! Your wife sent me to find you.”
Not King Leonidas, or even just Leonidas, but the very familiar and friendly . . . Leo. He smiled, thinking how far he and the Djinn had come. The two of them, once sworn enemies, were unexpectedly like brothers now. Although it had been inevitable, really, as close as their wives had become, truly best friends.
“Uncle Sable!” Angela clapped her hands, practically bouncing atop Leo’s broad shoulders the moment she spotted him.
The Djinn absolutely beamed at her; he had a huge soft spot for Angela in particular and little girls in general—especially as the father of two daughters himself, with a third on the way. Ari jokingly referred to Sable as the “little babe magnet,” and he was only half teasing. Sable was like a guileless pied piper, and none of their kids could ever get enough of him. Daphne’s theory was that Sable, once so dark, was now more pure-hearted than the lot of them—Spartans and humans alike. She believed he’d been purified in that fire on the moors, and that children, with their natural innocence and sweetness, sensed that somehow.
Sable walked up to them, already extending his arms toward tiny Angela. “My Angelina,” he said, and Leo handed her down into his waiting hands. Sable hoisted her atop his own shoulders and fell into step beside Leo.
“Everyone’s here,” Sable said as they ambled toward the orchard. “Your wife’s outdone herself, of course.”
Leo laughed. “She certainly ‘hired’ the best caterer in the business.”
Sable cut his eyes at him. “Watch yourself this year, Old Man. I seem to recall seeing you on the grass after last year’s fiesta, wiped out and snoring.” Sable patted Leo on the stomach affectionately. “It took you a month to work off all those puddings.”
“He serves a damned good spread, that god,” Leo said sheepishly. “But it’s not the sort of food I generally eat.”
“Ah, the hardship, Leo, the hardship. Going without your usual rations of blood pudding, forgoing the water in your wine,” Sable said in a grave tone. “But I’m sure you’ll manage to indulge today for the sake of group morale. Button up and sacrifice just this one day a year, like any good leader.”
“I indulge at Christmas, as well, you damned Djinn.” Leo folded both arms over his chest in mock indignation. “And Sophie makes sure none of us shortchange the Fourth of July.” He thought for a moment. “Jamie’s a particular fan of New Year’s Day celebrations, and I can
’t let him down then.”
Sable gave him a sideways grin. “Undisciplined and reckless, that’s what I’d call that sort of behavior. Perhaps I should apply for kingship in your stead? Your poor warriors must be faltering under such sloppy leadership.”
Leo laughed. “Last I checked, you are one of my warriors.”
“My point precisely.”
“Uncle Sable, don’t be mean to Daddy!” Angela squeezed her arms around the Djinn’s neck. “Hey, Aunt Sophie says we’re gonna play crochet. In the grove . . . after lunch.”
Leo burst out laughing. “Croquet, honeybee. It’s a lawn game.”
Angela chewed on her lip. “Uh-uh. Aunt Sophie does crochet. All the pretty blankets. She made me one, Daddy.”
Leo decided that arguing with three-year-old princesses was an exercise in futility, and that if his daughter wanted to, she could play “crochet” all afternoon.
“The celebration gets bigger every year.” Sable nodded toward their friends. Billowing silks and balloons filled the grove, and wine casks were lined up beside the picnic tables.
“That’s because with every year, we grow more grateful . . . as our blessings multiply, so do our families. There’s much to celebrate, indeed.” Leo watched Sophie as she now approached. She plodded her way up the slight incline, huffing and puffing because of how pregnant she was. Only six weeks left, but she looked ready to deliver that baby girl any moment.
Sable beamed at his wife, love shining unabashedly in his eyes. He’d recently confessed to Leo that he wanted several more children beyond even this one—or at the very least, he wouldn’t give up on siring a son.
“Gods of Olympus,” Sable muttered, adoring eyes riveted on Sophie, “is there any more beautiful female than mine? Why ever did she fall for the likes of me?” It was a rhetorical question, but the humility wasn’t a put-on.
It occurred to Leo that he’d never known any person to change quite so thoroughly, nor quite so honorably, as the male walking beside him.
“I’m proud of you, Sable,” Leo told him quietly. “And I’m proud to call you friend . . . and brother.”
The Djinn acted as if he hadn’t heard, waving at Sophie and bouncing little Angela on his shoulders. But a telltale blush hit Sable’s face, and his light blue eyes grew bright.
If he’d been going to reply—which he probably hadn’t been—Angela cut him off. “Lots of balloons,” she cried excitedly, squeezing the top of Sable’s head. “Red, red, red . . . all red.”
Leo reached up and patted one chubby leg. “Crimson, baby girl. Crimson for Spartans.”
Sable explained. “We’re celebrating, Angelina.” His voice dropped low, becoming reverential. “Every April, we mark this occasion, all of us together. It’s our Liberation Day, the time when we remember how we finally gained our freedom.”
“Freedom?” Angela squirmed atop him. Leaning down along the top of his head, she flattened both her tiny hands against his cheeks. “But what is that?”
The Djinn recaptured her hands, holding her securely atop his shoulders, and began the tale. “Once, a very, very long time ago, there was a brave and noble king—”
“My daddy!” Angela squealed.
Sable nodded solemnly, picking up his pace as Sophie neared. “Yes, and he was a good king, fair to all . . . but there was a wicked enemy. Several, in fact . . .”
Leo fell behind, loving how protected his daughter was atop Sable’s shoulders. Anyone could change, and the Djinn was evidence of that. Once the man had been that enemy in the story, now he was a brother. Leo watched as Sophie took Sable’s hand, and they strolled with Angela toward the grove.
And then, Leo walked alone, hungry to find Daphne and lay with her in the warm, spring sun, in the open grass where they often secretly made love beneath the canopy of peach trees. He’d planted them all those years ago, because she smelled like peaches, and he missed her. He’d hoped the scent of the grove would ease his loneliness for her. These days, the thick orchard of trees, which had grown with supernatural swiftness, reminded him of sweet times, the best times.
Days like this one, shared with his wife and the people he loved.
The smell of peaches was the smell of home.
The party was in full swing now, Apollo having inaugurated Liberation Day with a raised flagon of wine to all, and by playing a triumphant, whimsical piece on his lyre. Then, once finished, he’d proclaimed himself famished—and dared Daphne to actually eat more than a few grains of rice this year.
She’d leaned up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “Last year, my dear Lord Apollo,” she chastised, “I gained five pounds in one afternoon thanks to you.”
He gave her a mock bow. “Then try to gain another this year, my sprite of a Daughter.”
So she’d filled her plate, indulging the bighearted god’s wishes. She’d come to realize that Apollo used rich and wonderful delicacies as a kind of love language; it was his way of doting on those he cared about.
He reclined in the grass beside her now, as bulky as ever, perhaps even more so. But that didn’t stop him from nibbling on a fourth of Shay’s pimento cheese sandwiches. “I’ll admit, I have a weak spot for this Southern cuisine.” He gestured with the sandwich. “I must tell my cook to add this recipe to our daily menu on Olympus.”
“You know, Apollo,” Daphne said, poking him in the belly, “it hardly seems fair that you’re barely overweight at all. It’s almost all muscle you carry.”
He gave her a sly wink. “There are some god’s mysteries that I won’t answer for you, Daphne love. Although . . .” Apollo nodded next to them, where Nikos was half-asleep, laid out in the grass with his dark head in Mace’s lap. “I’ll undoubtedly be doing the same as that Spartan in just a bit, what with the warm afternoon and the copious portions of grand food I just consumed.”
Mason was eating from a plate beside them, idly stroking Nik’s long hair and chatting with Jamie as he did so. True to Nik’s marriage proposal in that dark cell so many years ago, the couple had married not long after, down by the river behind Mason’s family home. Just like Nikos had envisioned, he’d worn his formal Spartan armor, crimson cloak draped proudly across his shoulders, with Mason beside him in his crisp, USMC dress blues.
It was as beautiful a wedding ceremony as any Daphne had ever witnessed, her own with Leo included. When both men had spoken briefly about their dead lovers, including them in the occasion, there hadn’t been a dry eye among those gathered. Love was eternal, but it also lived long after death, finding new ways to grow and blossom, even the most unexpected ones.
Staring at Nik and Mason now, Daphne’s heart constricted. The only sadness in their lives was how desperately they wanted children; so far, they’d been unable to successfully adopt because any background check into Nik’s past threw up ten thousand red flags. But as a group—and without Nik or Mace’s knowledge—the females had been privately plotting, talking about one of the Daughters stepping forward to offer surrogacy. One female in particular.
Daphne’s eyes drifted to Shay and she smiled conspiratorially. Yes, Shayanna Angel loved her brother Mason, and would do almost anything to secure his happiness. Even if it took a solid nine months to accomplish.
Angela scrambled up onto Daphne’s lap, nearly knocking over her lunch plate. The little girl had picked a dandelion and presented it like the most prized treasure. “Here, Mama!”
Daphne rubbed it across Angela’s chin. “Careful, you might turn yellow, buttercup.”
Leo rose then, walking to the middle of the orchard, to the center of where everyone was picnicking. He placed both hands behind his back, his stance and demeanor as regal as it had ever been.
Daphne lifted fingertips to her lips. “Daddy’s about to talk to everyone,” she explained, as the group grew hushed.
Angela cuddled close and giggled. “Funny.”
“What’s so funny about that?”
Angela tucked her knees over Daphne’s cradling arms. “ �
�� Cause Daddy’s a good talker, but he doesn’t like to.”
Her little girl grinned up at her, her eyes twinkling, the private joke a shared moment between them. Leonidas didn’t speak nearly as much as the rest of them, but whenever he did, it was always powerful. Kind. Important. Tender.
Angela nodded seriously, continuing, “Daddy’s really good at quiet time.”
Dark curls spiraled atop her little girl’s head, and Daphne thought of Apollo’s words so many years ago. That Leo’s and her sons would look like the god; they’d had no sons, not yet. But there was so much magic in this one child’s soul, a universe full of mystery. It had nothing to do with Olympus or that her mother was a demigoddess, or her father an immortal.
But it had everything to do with how very, truly loved she was—and how much her mama and daddy loved each other.
“Another year has come,” Leo began. “Another year where we gather here, among family and friends. And remember . . . how far we’ve come. The twisting, harrowing paths that led to this point, we honor and recognize.” Leo glanced among each of them, taking his time. “The successes, the failures, the losses of comrades in years gone by. And, of course, today we remember the many, many blessings in our lives. Fate and the Highest have smiled upon us, and I am grateful for you all.” He fell silent, staring upward at the sky for a moment. It was such a familiar Leo gesture, a quiet pause while he gathered his thoughts. “But, most of all,” he said fiercely, returning his gaze to the group. “Let us never cease to be thankful for our freedom. What that word means, bought by the blood and history and time we share between us.”
As he continued, Daphne glanced around the grove. She saw Ajax and Shay, nestled together against the base of a peach tree. Sable leaned against the same big tree, his daughter Leah upon his lap, and he listened intently to Leo’s words. Sophie had managed to sit down beside him, pregnant and all, and was furiously crocheting a pair of baby booties in bright pink.
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