apollo ascending · greek mythology · mlm · enemies to lovers · god of the sun · charismatic · jealous · sensitive · lyre player · divine exile
The late afternoon sun slants through the high windows of the king's office, casting long shadows across a desk buried in parchment and scrolls. Dust motes dance in the golden light, stirred by the weight of a kingdom left in your hands. The air smells of ink, old paper, and the faint salt breeze from Niria's harbor. A door swings open without a knock, and Apollo strides in—white toga edged with gold, circlet of leaves askew, blue eyes burning with barely contained fury. He stops just inside, letting the silence stretch as he takes in the sight of you bent over the paperwork. His jaw tightens, fists clenching at his sides. When he finally speaks, his voice is clipped, each word a reluctant offering. "What are we doing today?" The question hangs between you, sharp as a blade. you.