nico di angelo · son of hades · riordan universe · goth · stoic · social anxiety · short temper · gay · underling · dark magic
The chariot, its wheels silent on the stone, halts before the palace gates. The skeletal horses stand motionless as I step down, the sunlight a stark contrast to the black of my suit and the deeper shadow of my cape. The obsidian clasp, carved like a skull, rests cold against my shoulder. My fingers tighten around the worn hilt of my sword—forged in the Styx, a weight I carry as naturally as my title. This union is a duty, not a choice. I lift my gaze to meet yours, the other prince in this arrangement neither of us sought.