Whispers In the River

Whispers In the River
Macey
It’s been just over three months since the coronation, and the Underworld finally runs the way it should. Souls come, and souls go, and for the first time in forever, everything feels… ordinary—
Or at least, as ordinary as life can be for the rulers of the dead. I’m in the mortal realm at the moment, reaping. It’s quiet work, and I enjoy it. I get to help people find their way. My scythe cuts clean through the last thread of light tethering a soul to its body, and the spirit drifts upward, calm and ready. I whisper a soft goodbye and watch it fade. There’ll be a line waiting for me back in the waiting room now. Confused souls needing to be consoled and moved on to the pods, but for now, I linger. The air here still smells like rain and earth after a storm. It reminds me that somewhere, people are living, laughing and breathing.

When I step back through the Veil, the Underworld greets me in shades of blue and silver. Everything feels suspended in that quiet, unhurried rhythm this realm has settled into. The corridor that leads to the heart of the palace stretches wide and open, lined with tall windows. I make my way to the kitchen first. Titles aside, I still find comfort in the simple things. I might be Queen of the Underworld, but before that, I’m a woman, a mate, a lover. And right now, I know exactly where my priorities lie. Elliot’s been working nonstop since dawn, reaping, sorting, overseeing the Veil’s currents, all without a single break. He’s meticulous like that, too stubborn to stop for himself, so I’ve learned to make him stop. It’s strange how domesticity feels sacred here; how making him a sandwich can feel like worshipping our love. I move around the counter, pulling the bread from the tin and slicing it with a clean motion. The knife glints in the dim light, and I hum softly to myself as I work. I move to add roast beef, a touch of honeyed mustard, and a slice of cheese. He likes the simple things. When I’m done, I wrap it neatly in parchment and tuck it into the small basket already waiting on the counter. There’s fruit too, because he’ll need it, and a folded napkin he’ll never remember to use. I glance around the kitchen one last time, making sure everything’s tidy. The simple order of it all brings an odd kind of peace to my chest. It’s funny. Ruling the Underworld feels enormous, like carrying an entire realm’s heartbeat in your hands. But this? Packing lunch for my husband? This feels like living.

I sling the basket over my arm and portal to the lower pits, my boots whispering against the stone when I emerge. I catch sight of the shadow moving at the base of the pit below the cages—the familiar curve of his shoulders, the way his scythe catches the light even at rest. And there he is. My King. Bent over the railing, watching the current of souls drift past, completely lost in thought. The sight makes my heart ache in a soft, quiet way. That's what love does after a long time. It makes you feel at peace when they're around. I pause for a moment, letting myself simply watch him. The glow from the pit paints his profile in shifting red light, catching the edge of his jaw, the fall of his hair, the mark over his neck.
"Our mark," Saphra whispers in satisfaction.
"Our mate," I whisper back out loud.
Then I step forward, smiling—time to feed the King.
“Busy?” I call out to him.
He looks over his shoulder, a grin already forming on his handsome face. “Always. You?”
“Hungry,” I say, holding up the basket. “I thought we could have lunch together. Maybe not while we watch souls burn, though.”
He pushes off the railing, portaling to stand in front of me now. “You spoil me, you know that?”
“Maybe I like spoiling you.”
He tilts his head, smile deepening. “Then spoil me somewhere less… infernal.”

Before I can answer, his hand slips around my waist, and the world folds with a soft rush of air. The portal opens in a flicker of silver light, and we step through together, out into the garden behind the palace. It’s quiet here. The sky above us is caught between twilight and dawn, painted in deep indigo streaked with gold. The grass glows faintly beneath our feet, lit by the reflection of the river that winds its way beyond the hedges, its pale shimmer cutting through the dark like a living thread. Fireflies drift lazily between the flowers, their light pulsing in time with the soft current of the river. Elliot lowers the basket onto the edge of the fountain and sits beside it, patting the space next to him. “Our lunch date,” he says lightly, “brought to you by divine intervention and your impeccable taste in mustard.”
I laugh and settle in beside him, pulling my legs up and tucking my dress neatly around my knees.
He watches me with that look again, the one that’s half adoration, half disbelief. “You really do like feeding me,” he murmurs.
“You make it easy,” I say softly. “You forget to eat.”
He hums, gaze turning toward the river. “You know, I used to think ruling meant distance,” he says after a moment. “That you had to be unreachable to be respected.”
“And now?”
“Now I think it’s the small things that hold the realm together.” He glances down at the sandwich in his hands. “Like this and like you.”
My chest tightens. “You’re getting sentimental.”
He smirks. “Only with you.”

I lean my head on his shoulder, watching the slow drift of light over the water. For a while, we don’t speak; there’s no need to with us.
When I finally lift my head, he’s already looking at me. “What?” I ask.
“Just thinking,” he says quietly. “If this is what the rest of my life looks like, I think I can live with it.”
I smile. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me, King.”
He grins, brushing his thumb along my jaw before kissing me, slow and unhurried, the kind of kiss that says we have forever and still not enough time. The moment holds, right up until the air beside us cracks open in a swirl of violet light.
I groan. “Please tell me that isn’t Mum again.”
Elliot sighs. “It’s always Envy.”