A nice girl would probably just bow her head and submit to the god's decision, but too bad for both of us, I'm done playing nice, and I find myself scowling in his direction. "Don't I get to have a say about this?"
You don't.
"And that's it?" I sputter.
Yes.
"But that's unfair!"
It is.
His high-handedness should've been a huge turn-off, but instead I find myself struggling to keep my lips from twitching. Gods like him are often painted as anything between unreasonable tyrants and petty spoiled brats, and I'm sure if it had been any other god, my defiance would've long earned me divine punishment.
But since he is proving to be a different god, all he's been doing is answer me with a lazy sort of complacency, and—-
I suppose I should have expected you to be bothered by this.
Shall I take it as your reason for spending an inordinate amount of time with another man?
The sudden question catches me off guard, and I can't help but tense. "Uh..."
Were you trying to make me jealous?
I tell myself I have nothing to fear, but a telltale quaver still manages to worm itself into my voice as I ask, "What exactly have you heard?"
Enough.
Shit.
You have nothing to say in your defense?
"I...got into trouble a few times," I muttered, "and he always happened to be around to help me."
Have you made it clear to this man that you belong to me?
I know the answer to that is yes, but my throat somehow refuses to let the words out, and instead I hear myself ask, "I never said I belonged to you."
Are you rejecting me?
"I'm not a possession."
Indeed you are not. But this does not make you any less mine.
"I never agreed to—-"
You know very well that is not how this world works any longer.
A certain heaviness accompanies the words as the god spells them out in my mind, and it makes me want to believe there's still hope.
"Please don't force me to serve you."
Are you saying it must come to that? You will not serve me willingly?
"You say you know everything there is about me..."
I do.
"Then you must know about how my biological parents died." I find myself holding my breath as I wait for his answer. The cynical part of me is already prepared to be disappointed; he is a god, after all, and he can simply demand me to surrender to his authority if he so wishes.
But when the god finally responds, it's in a way I find completely unexpected, with his hand falling away from my hair, and my chest subsequently squeezing at the sudden loss of his touch.
Do you fear me then?
My lips part, but no words come out because I truly don't know how to answer him.
I had hoped you would be able to love me without seeing me,
but it seems I was wrong about this as well.
His words throw me in a state of confusion. "What are you saying?"
It doesn't matter—-
"Of course it matters!" It's not like me to be this emotional, but there's just something about this whole conversation that suddenly makes me feel like I'm walking on a stupid tightrope. "Gods don't do love!"
This one does, apparently.
Sweet. Greek. Heavens. Is he serious? No. He can't be. It's impossible because—-
"Gods don't do love," I say again, but my voice sounds uncertain even to my ears.
You've already said that.
"Because you're not making sense," I can't help snarling back. "Are you truly saying you've somehow fallen in love—-"
Would you believe me if I do?
"But you barely know me!"
That is where you're wrong.
He sounds so grimly certain that I actually find myself hesitating. Is it possible for me to have met him without knowing he was a god? "I feel like I would've remembered you if I met you."
Perhaps.
"Will you please stop speaking in riddles? Did I or did I not—-" A finger suddenly presses against my lips, and I find myself obeying his silent command to stop speaking.
Once, a long, long time ago, the Crones told me I was to fall for a girl lying in a pool of blood.
I refused to believe them...and because of that I failed to protect you on that day.
I blame myself for that, and it is why I arranged for you to live in Rosethorne.
Here, you will no longer be in danger.
But I also promised myself to stay away from you. I intended to keep it, too, except...
"I found you instead," I whisper in realization. "That night, in the labyrinth. You didn't mean to see me."
No. I did not.
"But you did."
But I did.
"And so you ended up changing your mind."
Yes.
"Because you found me pathetic?"
Because I found it impossible to stay away.
So I promised myself instead that I would always protect you. Cherish you.
That was the only thing I wished to do, but now I know it's impossible.