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Hazel awoke to the faint shimmer of red light filtering through the velvet curtains. The Citadel never truly saw daylight, but the shift of the blood-moon sky outside always told her when morning had come. She stretched languidly beneath the sheets, her silver hair fanning out across the pillow like spilled starlight. For a brief, blissful moment, she simply lay there, letting the memory of the night before flood back into her.
Her body still hummed from Hades' touch. She had never imagined herself like this — flushed, warm, and utterly unraveled. The memory of his molten gaze as he'd whispered her name made her cheeks burn anew. Gods, she thought, pressing a cool hand to her face. I actually let him— She stopped the thought before it could finish. Her stomach flipped.
But the bed beside her was empty. She rolled over, reaching out as if to confirm it, her fingers brushing nothing but cool sheets. The faint scent of him lingered — smoke and spice — but he was gone.
Hazel sat up, pulling the blanket to her chest. She wasn't sure what she had expected — that he'd still be there, watching her sleep? That he'd hold her like the heroine of some fairytale she used to read back in her own world? She shook her head at herself. Hades was a demon king. Of course he wouldn't linger.
A soft knock sounded at the door. "Your Majesty?" Miriam's voice floated in, warm and careful.
"Come in," Hazel said, pulling the sheets tighter.
Miriam entered, carrying a basin of water and a folded gown of black silk embroidered with faint silver threads. Her sharp eyes darted to Hazel's flushed cheeks and the disheveled bed. The corner of her mouth twitched upward, though she tried to school her expression into neutrality.
"You look…" Miriam began, setting the basin down, "…radiant this morning."
Hazel scowled lightly at her maid's teasing tone, but she could feel her blush deepen. "Stop," she muttered, sliding out of bed. "It's nothing."
"Oh?" Miriam arched a brow as she helped Hazel step into the gown. "Then why are you blushing like the blood moon?"
Hazel turned away, fiddling with the ties of the gown. "I'm not."
Miriam smirked, but her voice softened. "It's about last night, isn't it? You don't have to tell me anything, my lady, but…" She paused, brushing out Hazel's silver hair with gentle strokes. "…I'm glad you're happy."
Hazel's chest tightened at the simple kindness. She smiled faintly, eyes lowered. "Thank you, Miriam."
They finished dressing in silence, but Hazel's mind wouldn't stop replaying the feel of Hades' hands on her, the sound of his voice, the way he had looked at her afterward — not like a demon king, but like a man. What does it even mean now? she wondered. Does this change anything? Or am I just another passing moment to him?
When Miriam left, Hazel lingered a moment longer in the quiet room before deciding she couldn't stay cooped up. The air felt too heavy, too thick with memories. She needed a distraction.
She made her way to the Citadel's grand dining hall — a cavernous space lined with obsidian pillars, its walls glowing faintly with enchanted sconces that flickered like captured starlight. Long tables ran the length of the hall, but only a few were occupied.
At the head of the central table sat Hades. His silver hair fell loose around his face, his expression as unreadable as ever. But Hazel's heart jolted at the sight of two unfamiliar men seated across from him — and at how much they resembled him.
The first was tall, with hair the color of pale ash and eyes like polished obsidian. He wore a smile that didn't reach his eyes, and his long fingers played idly with a jeweled goblet as though he were bored with everything around him.
The second was leaner, with hair blacker than midnight and faint silver tattoos curling along his neck. His smile was sharper, hungrier, like a blade disguised as charm.
"Ah," the leaner one drawled as Hazel entered, rising smoothly to his feet. "The famed Queen of the Underworld herself. At last."
Hades' jaw tightened. "Hazel," he said, his voice clipped, "these are my brothers. Deus and Zion."
Hazel blinked. Brothers. Somehow she had never pictured Hades as someone who had siblings.
Deus — the pale-haired one — inclined his head with a smile that was almost courtly. "It's an honor, Your Majesty."
Zion, the dark-haired one, reached for her hand before she could even react, brushing his lips over her knuckles in a gesture that felt more like a dare than respect. "An absolute pleasure."
Hazel stiffened. There was something about the way they both looked at her — like foxes circling something they weren't sure was prey or predator. "Thank you," she said carefully, pulling her hand back. "I didn't know Hades had brothers."
"We're not often invited," Deus said smoothly. "The Citadel can be… stifling."
"Or perhaps," Zion added with a sharp little smile, "our dear brother prefers to keep his toys to himself."
Hazel blinked, heat rising to her cheeks. Hades' aura flickered at the edge of her vision, a dark pulse like a storm cloud. His hands were clenched on the table, the tendons in his wrists taut.
"That's enough," Hades said, his voice low, but it carried the weight of a warning.
"Oh, come now," Deus murmured, swirling his wine. "We're only curious. It's not every day Hades takes a wife." He glanced at Hazel, his expression polite but his eyes calculating. "Tell us, Your Majesty — do you enjoy the Citadel? Or is it a cage gilded in shadows?"
Hazel hesitated. She had the sense this was more than idle conversation — that every word she said would be weighed, twisted, and filed away for later use. She forced a light smile. "It's… different," she said. "But I'm adapting."
"Adapting," Zion repeated, as though tasting the word. "How diplomatic. You'll fit right in."
Hades' aura flared again. Hazel saw his jaw tighten, the muscle jumping beneath his skin. She had never seen him like this — not just angry, but restrained, as though he were fighting the urge to unleash something dangerous.
She glanced between the brothers, noticing the way their smiles didn't quite reach their eyes, the subtle barbs hidden in their words. And then she saw it — the flicker of something wounded beneath Hades' stoicism, something that made her heart clench.
They didn't get along. That much was clear. But it was more than that. There was history here, bitter and unspoken, and Hades was very much the outsider.
"So," Deus said at last, breaking the tension with another easy swirl of his wine. "How fares the Queen? Do you find my brother… satisfactory?"
Hazel blinked at the brazenness of the question, then straightened her spine. "Hades is…" She paused, searching for the right word, then said firmly, "Hades is my husband. That's all you need to know."
Deus raised an eyebrow, his lips curving faintly. Zion chuckled under his breath.
Hades stood abruptly, the sound of his chair scraping across the stone loud in the hall. "Enough," he said again, his voice like a blade sliding from its sheath.
For a moment, the room went still. Hazel could feel the weight of his aura pressing down on everyone. Even the brothers seemed to still, though their expressions remained casual.
"Perhaps we've overstayed our welcome," Deus said finally, rising with a small bow. "We wouldn't want to upset our gracious host."
Zion smirked, his eyes flicking between Hades and Hazel before he too rose. "Until next time, Queen Hazel."
They left together, their footsteps echoing down the hall.
When the doors closed behind them, the tension in the room seemed to shatter. Hades exhaled sharply, his hands still clenched at his sides. Hazel watched him, her heart pounding.
"They're…" she began, then trailed off. "They're not what I expected."
"No," Hades said, his voice low and rough. "They never are."
Hazel hesitated, then stepped closer. "Hades… they kept hinting at things. About you."
He didn't look at her. "Ignore them."
"I can't," she said softly. "They're your brothers."
His jaw clenched again, but he didn't answer. Hazel studied his profile, the hard lines of it, and felt a strange ache bloom in her chest. He's the black sheep, she realized. Just like I was.
"Hades," she murmured, touching his arm. He finally turned to her, his eyes still stormy.
"They don't matter," he said. "Only you do."
Hazel's breath caught. For a moment, the hall was silent except for the distant flicker of enchanted flames.
But somewhere deep down, she knew this wasn't the end of it. Deus and Zion weren't done — not with their games, not with Hades, and certainly not with her.
Hazel found herself thinking: Maybe I'm not the only one who doesn't belong.