Chapter 225 For All To See
(Apollo)
Apollo turned, guiding her with him as the pit continued to cool, the mountain settling into a watchful hush behind them.
Hell had felt her now. And it would not forget. Neither would he.
He didn’t offer his arm. He simply scooped her up, the motion smooth and inevitable, hands sliding beneath her knees and shoulders as if she weighed nothing. Adelaide made a small, startled sound—more indignation than fear—curling instinctively toward his heat as the ground vanished beneath her boots. Her heart slammed once against his chest, a trapped bird finding shelter in the dark.
“Excuse me—” she began.
“No,” Apollo said mildly, already walking.
The corridors opened before them, stone parting, torches flaring as he passed. His stride was unhurried, confident, each step ringing with the quiet authority of a ruler who had never once questioned whether the world would move for him.
Adelaide stared up at him, breath still unsteady from training, sweat cooling against her skin now that she was no longer moving. “Where,” she demanded, one hand braced against his chest, “do you think you’re taking me?”
He glanced down at her, eyes alight with amusement. “I have work to do.”
Her brow furrowed. “You’re carrying me to… what. Meetings?” She huffed softly. “Is this part of the intimidation? Look, everyone, the Devil’s newest burden?”
His mouth curved. “You assume they’d think you a burden?”
She shifted in his arms, testing him. He didn’t budge. “Are you really going to hang me from the cross again while you conduct royal business?”
He laughed then. A deep, genuine sound that echoed off the stone and turned more than one head in the corridors they passed. The sound unsettled lesser demons like bells rung in a ruined church.
“Is that a question born of fear,” he asked lightly, “or anticipation?”
Her lips parted. Then pressed together. “I hate that you think those are interchangeable.”
“I know,” he said. “It’s one of your better qualities.”
She rolled her eyes, though her fingers tightened on his shoulder. “So what. I just dangle there while demons complain about taxes and blood feuds?”
“For now,” Apollo said, adjusting his grip as she shifted, drawing her closer without thinking, “you won’t hang.”
She relaxed a fraction. Then stiffened. “For now?”
His gaze dipped to her mouth. “If you use your good girl manners,” he murmured, voice dropping just enough to curl under her skin, “I might consider it later.”
Heat flared across her face that had nothing to do with exhaustion. Her flame flickered in embarrassed protest.
She met his gaze steadily, heat rising to meet heat. “Careful. I’m starting to learn your tricks.”
Apollo arched a brow, amusement flickering in his gaze, “Mm,” he hummed.
A faint smile tugged at his mouth as his gaze traced the evidence of her exertion, the leather soaked and moulded to the mounds of flesh around her chest.
“And you,” he replied, glancing pointedly at the sweat-darkened leather clinging to her, “are not dressed for royal business.”
She followed his look and scowled. “Then I should go change.”
She tried to wriggle free.
Apollo growled. The sound wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. His arms tightened, iron and heat closing around her, stride unbroken. The growl rolled through his chest, thunder leashed and waiting.
“You don’t need to do for yourself,” he said, voice low and possessive, “what I can do far more efficiently for you.”
Before she could argue, magic brushed her skin like warm breath.
The sweat-soaked leather peeled away without a single buckle touched, dissolving into embers that vanished before they reached the floor. Cool air kissed her overheated skin, chased at once by silk—light as smoke—settling over her shoulders and down her body. The fabric whispered against her skin as it settled. Cool where she needed it, warm where she still clung to heat.
Adelaide sucked in a breath. The sensation made her shiver, as if heaven and hell had briefly agreed on her temperature.
The gown was sheer, flowing. Its colour: infernal red, the Devil’s colour, shot through with darker threads that caught torchlight like embers banked beneath silk. The fabric clung just enough to hint at the shape beneath, never hiding, always suggesting. It moved when she breathed, when she shifted, when Apollo walked—alive in a way leather never was.
Her hair followed, loosening from its sweat-tangled state as if unseen fingers combed through it, lifting from her neck, smoothing it, then letting it fall down her back in soft waves, threaded with faint glimmers of gold that caught the torchlight. She smelled faintly of smoke and something almost holy.
She stared at him. “You didn’t even ask.”
Apollo’s gaze lingered on her, slow and appreciative, before returning to the path ahead. “You would have said no.”
“…Probably.”
“And I would have done it anyway.”
She laughed quietly, helplessly, the sound stolen from her by the absurdity of it. “At least you’re honest.”
“I’m the Devil,” he said. “Honesty is my least dangerous quality.”
Apollo didn’t stop walking.
Adelaide stared down at herself, then back up at him. “You could have warned me.”
“And ruin the surprise?” he asked. “Never.”
She exhaled, torn between annoyance and something dangerously close to awe. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
His eyes met hers, unrepentant. “So are you.”
Ahead, the throne room doors loomed, massive and ancient, already beginning to open at his approach. Apollo adjusted his hold on her again—not because he needed to, but because he wanted her exactly where she was.
Across his arms. Against his chest. Where everyone would see.