Page 4 of Blood of Olympus

Because this melancholy was his fault.

He had to go and sacrifice himself for me.

He died — Charon was dead.

Murdered by the Titan lord of time, Kronos.

And I did not have the luxury of falling apart. I could not let myself shatter. The realms needed a strong and whole ruler — now, more than ever. And if I didn’t pull myself together now, it was only a matter of time before someone else took up the space I was inadvertently leaving open for them. And he wouldn’t have allowed that.

But Charon had always been the one to piece me back together, before. I didn’t even know if I was capable of doing it on my own. And so, I was forced to endure. To endure this poignant loss and the piercing glares of the Primal Council — whom I had just summoned for the first time since being crowned Queen of Olympus.

Seated on a throne made entirely of shadows — a deliberate reminder of the first time I strode into this chamber as a mature, power-filled god — I cleared my throat. Every set of godly eyes in the room shot to mine, locking onto my statuesque form. Conversations immediately fell short. Anticipation blanketed the room in silence. Tension rose, balanced delicately on a knife edge.

“You have my gratitude for attending on such short notice,” I told them, speaking the words as if reciting a script — flat, monotonous, expressionless. My face was a blank facade, portraying nothing but that stone cold mask I was all too well accustomed to wearing.

Its return worried Caelus. Just as I felt his chasmal, bone-gnawing concern, my poor, soul-bonded storm-wielder was forced to feel every ounce of the apathy I did.

I’d slipped up, I knew I had. At some point over the last year, I’d become accustomed to feeling things and being entirely unapologetic for them.

And now? Now there was just this cold, isolating detachment. Not an ounce of pain, grief, or anger lingered within me. Nothing of any substance — at least, none that I could stomach feeling.

“Olympus is in desperate need of change,” I announced, my tone leaving no room for dispute. “And where better to start than its presiding council?”

At my words, four shiny Olympians rose from their thrones, wearing various shades of shock and outrage. It erupted like bright flares across their faces, betraying the depth of their feelings on the matter.

The others remained seated. They had been prepared for this particular announcement — had encouraged it, even.

But whether the glaring gods agreed or not, two crowns now adorned my head. And it was my word that was law. Even if said headpieces were a little worse for wear after I’d hurled them into the rift that had cracked open between realms. The rift that allowed evil to break free of its icy confines and commit unspeakable acts.

A rift that was entirely my fault — like the consequences of its opening were also mine to carry.

The Crown of Olympus now bore a crack in its gilded facade. No matter how many times Hephaestus tried to repair it, nothing had worked. It was now permanently tarnished by the depths of my grief. Likewise, the Shadow Crown — my father’s parting gift — remained a dull, muted grey instead of the flickering darkness of night it had been before.

We’d surmised that each had sacrificed a little of its power to seal the rift — but their sacrifice had still come too late. Kronos had already escaped. And he had done so, set on vengeance.

It was just my bad luck that the son who’d imprisoned him had already faded into the same frosty abyss.

My bad luck that Olympus’ rule had fallen to me when he broke free.

My bad luck that I’d let someone in; someone who felt compelled to place my life above their own. Charon had been the one to pay my price in the end. And I wasn’t sure I could ever forgive myself for it.

“I’ll be blunt, lest you misunderstand me,” I continued, spitting the words with pointed teeth, unveiling them for the threat that they were. “Half of you I do not trust. And at least three of you attempted to murder or sabotage me at various points during the Ascension Rite.”

Caelus sat back in the gilded throne beside mine. His lips pressed tightly together, revealing none of the building worry that currently plagued him.

My eyes flicked to his, holding his gaze hostage. Silently reassuring him that I was okay to do this. That I wouldn’t be undone by a few snivelling gods.

“Therefore, the Primal Council is in need of an overhaul,” I finished.

“But we are the Primal gods. How can you overthrow us?!” Poseidon argued, his long black hair curiously swishing around his head like he was underwater.

“You’ve barely worn that thing for a week,” Ares barked, glaring at the gilded, battered crown atop my head. “And you already want to undo millennia of tradition that has kept these realms running smoothly?”

“But that’s just the problem, Ares,” I snapped back. “It hasn’t worked. It isn’t working. Kronos has risen, determined to usurp us, and now Hera — another Primal — has joined him. How many minor gods have heard the whispers and thrown their lot in with them as well? How many have you failed so thoroughly they’d rather try their luck with a known tyrant than with us?” I paused to skewer him with a look of scathing retribution. “How many of you sit in this room, waiting to hear me out and see what I do before you decide to join him?” I looked around the circle of thrones, assessing each of the Olympians in turn. “How many of you think Kronos would be a better ruler than the daughter of Hades?” The words dripped with lethal softness from my lips, but detonated all the same.

They were met with silence — equally damning in its own right.

“Which is exactly why my council needs to be forged solely on trust. Starting with those who have earned mine while I work to earn theirs in return.”