IT IS AN unusual thought; the Northern King with a lover. Not because I think him unable to find a woman to fawn at his feet, for I know he has surplus doting harlots, starving for a moment of his affection. It is also not that I think him unworthy of love, though he is, that would never stop a fool from falling. It is always those most unloveable that somehow seem always to find a way of being loved worst of all.

   Instead, it is that he would allow himself to be loved, in a way so keenly reciprocal, so intimate, that they may be allowed to call themselves his lover.

  "Do tell," Andromeda's face is bright as it is eager. She has always fed off stories, devouring as many books as she has meals. That is all this is to her — a story. That is all it should be to me, too, and yet, it is not. It is more.

  "There is not all that much to tell," Daedalus folds his hands atop the table as if he is some high lord holding court. He has that way about him, lordly, so innately graceful. "Not much is known, it is the King's greatest secret and his father's greatest shame, and also, the reason for his exile."

  He pauses as if waiting for one of us to interject, to ask more, only we are far too fixated, swallowing every syllable sweetly as nectar. Each word tastes bitter to me.

  "All that is known is that Ares took a lover that Zeus did not approve of. An indignity so scandalous that it caused the God to banish his own son to live among men for all eternity."

  "These Gods take lovers as often as mortals take breaths," Andromeda's incredulous voice sounds, "They drink scandals up like honey wine, Zeus best of all, how could Ares' foulest indiscretion be any worse than the best of his father's?"

  Andromeda, for all her faults and naivety, may be a fool in life, but for her knowledge of all things foreign and far removed, she is smarter than we will ever be. She was reading tales of all these Northern Gods before Ascella and I could even walk. All her years of servitude to our father's library succour her well now.

  Something twitches at the corner of Daedalus' lips, "Because it was a union forbidden by Zeus himself. That is all that separates another night's amusement from treachery."

  "His father sounds terrible." Says Ascella quietly, mirroring my own thoughts. Though, in a way, the upbringing of this Northern God sounds not all too far removed from our own. Raised loveless, forced from home, abandoned to a foreign city. The difference is that he sits upon the throne whilst we kneel beneath it.

"All great men have the tendency to be terrible, there is rarely one without the other, power is never kept by the kind." Daedalus says. We know it to be true. No one speaks against his sentiment, so instead, there is a moment collective silence.

Ascella's hand clasps mine, "What else do you know of these Northern men, Daedalus? Please, tell us everything you know, there must be a reason you came here of all places to seek asylum..."

"No reason that should please you to hear I'm afraid. Though I'm sure you're aware that I am no less a prisoner to the North than you."

"But you came willingly," The bitter edge finds its way to my tongue, no matter how I try to stop it. He had a choice. He had a choice and he chose wrong. The more revered mortal craftsman in all the world — he could have gone anywhere, could've done anything — and yet, he came here, willingly to captivity. "You offered yourself to the Northern King, what more did you expect?"

Ever quick to scorn, Andromeda's voice lashes at me with the quickness of a whip, "Ophelia, please!"

"No, no, she is quite right." If I didn't know any better I would've thought him almost mocking, him with his small quirk of lip and that bronze twinkle to his eye. But he is not the King, I remind myself, his small slips of smiles are just as they appear, nothing cold or calculating lies beneath them. In that same way, he continues, "I admit, I knew that the Northern King would want to... collect me, if you will. You see, these Gods are not capable of any deeper affections like love or true joy — they may believe they are but they are not. That is the difference between us and them, and that is why they may live forever. Love kills them, love allows them to be killed, — Zeus could never allow such a malignant affliction to weaken his offspring, and so he dealt in darkness, made deals with forces that should never have been dealt with. He dallied with witches that cursed all he bore to be incapable of love." Ice pools in the pit of my stomach, a horrid feeling like dread.
"And so, in place of true affection, they instead form deep, almost unstoppable obsessions... Obsessions that are practically always fatal to the subject." His eyes meet mine, if only for the briefest flicker of a second before turning away, but still, I can't help but feel like these words are aimed, "No mortal to entangle their life with that of the God's has ever ended kindly. There's always some feud — always some debt to be paid or grievance to be settled between these Gods. They cannot die and they are almost impossible to hurt, even so, their damages heal in heartbeats when ours may be drawn out for many months... So that's instead how they punish one another, by killing the most valued around them. A lover. A friend. Any mortal foolish enough to get close to the Gods puts a target on their back."

Disgust coils a fist around my stomach that they could ever be so cruel. It is not surprising in the least, but still shocking nonetheless, "What reason should a mortal have to ever want to get close to a God?"

  "Dear child, there is every reason." There is a pressing to his earthy gaze, a pointed purpose laying just beneath the surface, "A God's affection is like no other, their protection hallowed beyond belief... And their beauty, well, take one look at our dear King and tell me what you make of it."

  My cheeks heat, a small tickle of flame warming my face, "Well, he's..." There are no words to describe the Devine perfection that is the Northern King. Just the mention of his name and I can see him there, the first time I lay eyes upon him. His head wreathed in thorns, eyes like blazing fire — like the sun, or the warmest sunrise the earth had ever known. Eyes that were looking at me. "He's tolerable to look at, I suppose."

  Ascella lets out a laugh, "You're far too modest, sister. He is delicious."

  "Do not be vulgar, Ascella." Frowns Andromeda.

  My middle sister raises a speculator eyebrow; teasing, "So you're telling me he is not the most delectable creature you've ever laid eyes on?"

  She purses her lips into a fine line, no answers for telling.

  "Your silence speaks volumes, dear sister. Even I would do absolutely unspeakable things to —,"

  " —Daedalus."

  Ascella falls silent at once, mortification glaring in her wide eyes as Sir Deimos steps into the library, "The King requests your presence."

  "Of course." The craftsman bows his weary head, standing from the table, "Thank you for the candour of your company ladies."

  We three nod in return, a uniformly trained gesture, but do not speak. Later, when the sun has set and our hair neatly plaited and our faces cleaned of the last of the day's dirt, when we sit in the dark of our bedrooms, then we will talk.

***
Sorry it's been so long since the last update and that this is only a short chapter — the next one should be back to normal length and definitely won't take as long, although for those of you on my Patreon you've been seeing this chapter for the past month :)