Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Olympus gleamed that night. Marble columns shimmered under enchanted torches, and the grand hall displayed a ceiling painted with constellations that moved slowly, as if the sky itself had descended for the feast. The tables overflowed with impossible fruits, wine in crystal goblets, braided breads, and meats seasoned with herbs that grew only in celestial gardens. Harps and flutes alternated to fill the air with music, while the perfume of freshly cut flowers mingled with the warm scent of honey and spices.

It was, without a doubt, a spectacle.

And Eloise could not have cared less.

Seated between Violet and Gregory, with Hyacinth chattering on her other side, she absentmindedly observed the parade of smiles, toasts, and furtive touches among the couples around her. Daphne and Simon whispered softly, hands joined over the table; Benedict and Sophie laughed at some private joke, their faces lit by torchlight; Anthony and Kate, even while discussing battle tactics with another guest, exchanged glances full of complicity. And, as if that weren’t enough, Colin and Penelope seemed determined to turn the banquet into an exercise of “who can tease the other the most without Violet noticing.”

Eloise sighed. There was no room for another romance in that hall, at least not for her. Her mother’s constant presence, her younger siblings’ chatter, and her involuntary role as the “official candle-holder” only reinforced her sense of being on the margins of everything.

Until it happened.

There was no decoy, no flash of light, no grand announcement, only a small shift in the air, subtle but undeniable, as if something had moved without anyone noticing. Eloise lifted her gaze and, between columns and curtains, found a man who did not belong to that scene.

He wore black — simple, without adornment — and yet he was impossible to ignore. His eyes, so dark they seemed to absorb the light around them, locked on hers with an intensity that made the music fade into the distance. It was not mere curiosity, nor simple courtesy. It was as though he had spent his whole life waiting to find her, and now was only confirming.

And, strangely, it made sense.

They didn’t know each other’s names, nor did they exchange words, but Eloise had the unsettling feeling they had met before. From a forgotten dream, perhaps, or a story told long ago.

He did not approach. He did not speak. He only held her gaze, as if willing her to remember this moment. And before she could decide whether to return it with a smile or a challenge, he turned and vanished into the crowd.

“You look pale, my dear,” Violet murmured, touching her arm. “Would you like some wine?”

“No, thank you,” Eloise replied, trying to catch her breath and pretend nothing had happened.

The celebration stretched on for hours, but the rest of the night blurred together. She answered questions automatically, laughed at jokes she didn’t hear, and pushed food around her plate without tasting it. The only thing she could truly recall was that gaze.

When she returned to her chambers, she found the door ajar. Inside, upon the table, rested a small box of black stone, polished so smooth it reflected the lamplight. On the lid, a dry branch carved in relief, which, as she drew near, slowly blossomed, as if sensing her presence.

Inside, Eloise discovered flowers unlike any she had ever seen: translucent petals glowing with a soft light, almost breathing. Their perfume was rich and sweet, like damp earth and summer nights. Nestled among them was a tiny parchment tied with a thread of gold.

“To make your night less tedious.”

She smiled, heart quickening. She did not know who they were, but one thing was certain: she wanted to find out.

Morning sunlight bathed the fields in gold as Eloise walked slowly between rows of blossoms, brushing petals with her fingertips. This was what she loved most in her domain: silent freedom, far from endless banquets and her mother’s constant watch. Here, she could breathe.

Now and then she stopped to pluck weeds, adjust the stem of a plant, or simply close her eyes and feel the warm breeze. And yet, the memory of the night before returned again and again. The gaze of that man had rooted itself within her.

“You’re distracted today,” Hyacinth remarked, passing by with a basket full of fruit. “I bet it’s because of Colin and Penelope. They were particularly insufferable last night.”

“Yes, of course,” Eloise answered, forcing a smile. There was no chance she would confess the true reason for her daydreams.

That was when she noticed something unusual.

At the center of the field, perched on a stone, stood a raven with feathers as black as obsidian. It was no ordinary bird: its talons glimmered faintly, like metal, and its eyes shone with a bluish light. Tied to its leg was a silver cylinder, delicately engraved.

Eloise approached, and instead of flying away, the raven tilted its head as if in greeting.

With a touch, the cylinder opened, revealing a slim parchment tied with a dark ribbon.

“My lady,

Forgive me for daring to cross your path last night. I do not often disturb the peace of others, but something in your presence held me fast before I could resist.

I hope you liked my flowers, though. I grown them myself in a garden few ever visit. They say they carry a touch of night within them, but also hold the promise of spring.

— Phillip”

Eloise read the letter more than once, a smile forming despite herself. Phillip. The name fit the image she had conjured of him, steady, certain, as though it had always existed.

Without thinking too much, she took a slip of paper and, balancing it on Hyacinth’s abandoned basket, wrote:

“My Lord,

There is no need to apologize. I did not mind in the least.

The flowers are extraordinary. I have never seen anything like them. Where exactly do they come from? And is it true that you grow them yourself?

— Eloise”

The raven waited patiently as she tied her reply to its leg. When it spread its wings, it sent a shower of golden sparks into the air, which vanished before they touched the ground.

Eloise watched until it disappeared into the horizon, caught between expectation and unease.

She wasn’t sure whether she wanted Phillip to answer at once or whether she needed more time to decipher what this exchange of messages truly meant.

With a sigh, she settled into the grass at the heart of the fields. The wind stirred the fabric of her gown and carried the fresh fragrance of blossoms. In her hands, she held one of the flowers Phillip had sent the night before.

She had never seen anything like it and she knew every species cultivated on Olympus. The gentle glow pulsing through its petals seemed to follow her breath, as if the bloom had a heartbeat of its own. Unique, even for a goddess, and that intrigued her as much as it delighted her.

A strange, new feeling. Not uncomfortable,but bright, restless, alive.

“I knew I’d find you here,” said Penelope, approaching with a smile and sitting beside her. “Whenever you need to think, you always escape to the flowers.”

Eloise glanced at her friend, considering. Penelope was one of the few people with whom she ever felt free to speak openly.

“I…” she began, hesitating.

But before she could continue, a shadow fell across them.

“Ah, here you are,” Colin said, appearing behind Penelope and resting his hands on her shoulders, with that satisfied air of someone who always believed himself in the right place. “You two looked like you were plotting something, so I thought I’d better check.”

Penelope rolled her eyes but smiled, leaning into her husband.

Eloise closed her mouth, her confession dying before it was born. Perhaps this was not the moment. Perhaps she wanted to keep it to herself, at least for another day.

Instead, she let the flower fall back into her lap, allowing the wind to cradle it, and changed the subject.

Chapter Text

The Underworld was silent as always, wrapped in the constant half-light that not even the flames of the torches could fully pierce. Down there, time stretched and contracted in strange ways, as if minutes dragged endlessly, but centuries slipped by unnoticed.

Phillip walked down the narrow corridor that led to his private chambers. The cold stone walls were covered with withered vines, plants that looked dead, yet stirred slightly as he passed, recognizing him as part of themselves.

When he entered, he found the raven perched upon his desk. The creature gave a single caw before lifting its leg for Phillip to remove the silver cylinder.

He did not hurry. He savored the light weight of the object in his hands, the strangely warm touch of it, as if it had carried a trace of sunlight from the world above. Unsealing the cylinder, he carefully unrolled the parchment.

The handwriting was steady, but there was something curious about it, as if every letter had been written with more intention than necessary.

"There is no need to apologize. I was not bothered in the least.

The flowers are… extraordinary. I have never seen anything like them. Where exactly do they come from? And is it true that you grow them yourself?"

A faint smile curved his lips. She had not only accepted his approach, but she wanted to know more. She wanted to know him.

He turned and crossed the side door into his hidden garden, a space protected by tall black columns and a half-opened ceiling that let in only the filtered light of a gray sky.

There his flowers grew. Petals reflecting shades of amethyst and silver, stems strong, roots deep. Many were species forgotten by the world of the living, surviving only here, nourished by the silent energy of the Underworld. Others… were his own creations, cultivated with patience and a care he gave to no one else.

Phillip walked to a more secluded row, where a single flower bloomed, unlike any of the others: white petals streaked with veins of gold, as if light itself sought to escape from within. He touched it with the tip of his fingers.

"Yes, this one is for you," he murmured.

With care, he cut the stem and placed it upon the table, beside a fresh parchment. Dipping his quill in ink, he paused to consider his words. He would not rush this, each word had to be a seed.

The raven waited, still and patient, while he rolled the letter and tied it with the flower. With a beat of wings, the creature vanished in a whirl of sparks, rising toward her world.

Phillip remained where he stood, gazing at the emptiness the raven had left behind, a faint ache pressing against his chest, a rare blend of curiosity and longing.

It was dangerous, he knew. But also inevitable.

The golden afternoon sun spilled over the fields like honey, warming the air and making the colors of the flowers seem even more vivid. Eloise sat on a low stone wall, watching the lazy sway of petals, a closed book resting on her lap.

Then she heard the quick beating of wings. A black raven landed beside her, its eyes glinting with a metallic sheen. On its leg, another silver cylinder gleamed. Eloise, without meaning to, held her breath as she unfastened it.

This time, the parchment came with something more: a flower.

It was unlike any she had ever seen. White petals, thin and almost translucent, traced with delicate golden veins that seemed to pulse in the light. As she held it, she noticed the stem was faintly warm, as if the flower carried its own breath of life.

She unrolled the letter.

"My lady,

Yes, I do grow them myself. Each one takes years before it blooms, and they do not open for just anyone.

This one I now send you… had never left this place. But I believe it was waiting for someone who could understand it.

— Phillip"

His name, simple and firm at the end, tightened something inside her chest.

Eloise brushed her fingers across the petals, studying the golden glow. Never left this place. He had kept something so beautiful hidden, only to give it to her? A smile rose to her lips before she could stop it.

"Oh, since when does a simple gift do this to you?" she muttered under her breath.

The breeze stirred, carrying the flower’s subtle fragrance. It was unlike anything she had known, almost impossible to describe and that only made her more intrigued.

Just then, Penelope appeared, her dress fluttering and a basket of freshly baked bread in her hands.

"There you are!" she said with a smile. "I thought you were hiding from your mother’s visitors."

Eloise quickly slipped the letter back into her book.

"Perhaps…" she answered, her expression enigmatic.

Penelope sat beside her, offering the basket. "I brought fresh bread. Colin ate half of it before I left the kitchen, but I saved a few."

Eloise laughed, but her eyes wandered back, unbidden, to the flower still lying across her lap.

"That’s new," Penelope remarked, leaning in for a better look. "I’ve never seen anything like it. Where did you find it?"

Eloise hesitated. She had meant to tell her friend, but then she saw Colin approaching along the path, smiling at his wife in that uncomplicated way of his. The moment slipped away.

"It’s just something I came across," she said instead, tucking the flower inside her book with the letter.

Colin came closer, wrapping his arm around Penelope.

"I hope you’re not talking anything against me," he teased.

Eloise smiled, but her thoughts were elsewhere. The flower burned faintly between the pages, as if it demanded not to be forgotten.

Colin settled on the stone wall beside his wife, pulling her close as though he could not stand being even a breath away. Penelope protested with a laugh and a gentle shove, but quickly gave in, resting her head against him.

Eloise rolled her eyes. Not because she disapproved of affection, but because they always seemed to exist in their own private world, full of inside jokes, shared glances, and unnecessary (and perhaps excessive) touches.

"You two are insufferable," she muttered dryly.

"And happy," Colin corrected with a grin toward his wife. "Which makes us impossible to ignore."

Penelope only laughed and squeezed his hand.

Eloise turned her gaze to the horizon, pretending to be more interested in the distant hills. But the truth was, for some reason, the image of them together lingered in her mind. Not quite as irritation, not entirely, at least. It was different.

For a fleeting moment, she imagined Phillip there, sitting beside her. She could not picture him clearly, like his voice, his smile, the weight of his presence, but she could see, with disturbing clarity, the golden-veined flower resting between their hands, as if he had just placed it there.

The thought made her cheeks flush, and she quickly rose, adjusting her dress.

"I should return to my tasks," she said, before anyone noticed the color in her face.

But as she walked away across the field, she could not keep the small, persistent smile from blooming on her lips.

Chapter Text

Night fell silently over Olympus. In her room, Eloise sat at her desk, the soft glow of a golden lamp illuminating the blank sheet before her. The golden flower rested in a small crystal vase beside her. She stared at it for a few moments, as if waiting for it to reveal the right words.

She dipped the quill into ink.

Phillip,

Your last message has lingered in my mind far longer than I would like to admit. I don’t know why I feel inclined to write back, perhaps out of curiosity about a man who cultivates flowers that do not exist anywhere else.

You told me that they come from your garden… I might ask: what sort of garden is this, where colors bloom that I have never seen before? Or… perhaps I shouldn’t ask.

Do not misunderstand me, I am not the kind who dreams of romances or eternal promises. But there is something in the way you write, in the way you choose your words, that makes me want to continue this conversation.

— Eloise.

She read the letter again. Simple, direct. Yet personal enough to intrigue him. She folded the paper, sealed it with wax, and summoned the magical messenger, a small black raven that landed on the windowsill, waiting.

“For Phillip,” she said.

The raven took flight, vanishing into the night.

The next morning, Eloise found on her windowsill a new note, accompanied by a small feather dark as onyx:

Eloise,

A garden is only ever the reflection of the one who tends it. Mine, they say, is too shadowed. But perhaps it is in darkness that certain colors reveal themselves most vividly.

As for you, do not worry about failing to dream of eternal promises. Promises are fragile. I prefer the honesty of a brief but sincere letter.

Yours as always 

— Phillip.

Eloise caught herself smiling before she even realized it.

Phillip,

You write as if you do not fear being read. As if you’ve already accepted that words carry weight. Perhaps that is why yours sounds so different. Here among the gods, everyone speaks as though sentences are masks. You do not. And I… I appreciate that.

If your garden is so shadowed, perhaps that is precisely what intrigues me. Light, after all, I know all too well.

Yours truly

— Eloise.

Two days later, another raven arrived. This time it carried a small bundle of dark soil wrapped in fine cloth. Among the grains, a deep crimson bud had begun to push through.

Eloise,

If there is too much light where you are, I bring you a fragment of my soil. Perhaps it may restore some balance. There is life in darkness, and beauty too, only of a different kind.

They say those who look upon these flowers see reflected in them what they desire, even if they do not yet admit it. Take care. They do not lie.

Yours as always

— Phillip.

Eloise brushed her fingers lightly over the closed bud, feeling the faint warmth that emanated from it. Her heart beat faster. She reached for her quill and answered without hesitation.

Phillip,

I’m not sure if I should thank you or worry about this gift. Perhaps both. To deny that it intrigues me would be a lie. And I’ve never been very good at lying to myself.

You speak of borders between light and shadow as if they were doors to be crossed. I find myself wondering what lies on the other side of yours?

Yours truly 

— Eloise.

The next morning, there was no flower, no bud, but instead a small parcel wrapped in dark fabric. Pinned to it, a note bore only a single line:

To cross boundaries, sometimes all it takes is to taste the right fruit.

— P.

Inside, three pomegranate seeds glistened like rubies.

Eloise felt her heart quicken. She wasn’t sure what was more dangerous, the invitation itself or how much she longed to accept it.

She could not sleep. His letter and the three pomegranate seeds pulsed in her mind like a gentle spell, impossible to ignore.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, she turned the small bundle in her hands, watching the deep crimson shimmer under the lamplight. They were so beautiful they almost seemed alive, as if they held something more.

To cross boundaries, sometimes all it takes is to taste the right fruit.

She knew what he meant. And she also knew that accepting would mean more than a simple visit, it would mean crossing the limit between two worlds, stepping into the territory of a man she barely knew, yet who somehow already understood her.

She spent the morning wandering Olympus, trying to distract herself. She walked through the flower fields, greeted a few gods, helped her mother with chores. But in every smile, in every conversation, the same thought gnawed at her: nothing here would ever change. The same feasts, the same comments, the same suffocating expectations.

Then, in a rare moment of stillness, while watching Penelope and Colin exchange knowing glances in the distance, something stirred inside her. It wasn’t envy, but certainty: if she did not allow herself to step away from this sameness, she would never have the chance to live something different.

She returned to her room and unwrapped the bundle again. She touched the three seeds gently, as if choosing from among precious jewels.

The first, to go to him.

The second, to return.

The third to stay.

She drew a deep breath. No promises, no guarantees. Only the chance of something new.

“Well then, Phillip,” she whispered. “Let’s see what kind of world is yours.”

She stood, packed a few clothes and small belongings in a leather bag. Then she sat by the open window, lifted the first seed to her lips, and bit down.

The taste was intense, sweet and bitter at once, as though every drop carried the weight of a decision.

As she swallowed, the air around her began to shift. The world of Olympus dissolved, replaced by a dense, chilling breeze.

In the next instant, Eloise stood upon a ground black and gleaming, beneath a sky of deep gray. Before her stretched a path leading to an ornate iron gate. And leaning against it, waiting for her as though he had known she would come, stood Phillip.

Chapter Text

Phillip was exactly as she remembered (or perhaps even more striking). The cold light of the Underworld molded itself around him, highlighting his tall frame, broad shoulders, and calm expression, far too calm for someone who was seeing her for the first time since the night of the ball.

He did not rush toward her. Instead, he inclined his head slightly, as though savoring the sight of her presence.

“I did not expect you so soon,” he said, his low voice reverberating through the air like a distant echo. “But I am glad you came.”

Eloise wasn’t sure if her shiver came from the cold or from his words. She tightened her grip on the strap of her bag.

“I thought it best to see for myself if your invitation was truly as tempting as it seemed.”

The corner of his mouth curved into an almost-smile.

“And?”

She turned her gaze toward the gate, pretending to be absorbed by its towering iron design.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

He stepped closer, the sound of his boots against the blackened ground carrying like a soft warning.

“Then let me show you.” His tone was calm, yet there was a weight to it that made her pulse quicken.

With a mere touch, Phillip opened the gate. The iron didn’t creak, didn’t resist, it simply obeyed, as though it recognized no master but him. Beyond lay a path lined with strange flowers, their petals dark and glowing faintly from within, as though each had swallowed a star.

“Welcome to my world, Eloise.” He extended his hand. Not pulling, but inviting. “I promise, you will not regret it.”

She hesitated. Something about him drew her in, even as caution urged her to take her time. Yet instinct, or perhaps fate, whispered that she should follow.

She placed her hand in his. His touch was warm, steady, a stark contrast to the chill in the air and together, they crossed the gate.

The air of the Underworld carried a fragrance she had not expected. Eloise had imagined sulfur and smoke, but instead there was only a damp freshness, like a nocturnal garden after rain. The flowers along the path were unlike any she had ever seen: black petals edged with deep crimson, bushes shimmering faintly with gold, and twisted trees bearing luminous fruits like lanterns suspended in the dark.

Phillip walked beside her with unhurried steps.

“These flowers don’t exist on Olympus,” she observed, brushing her fingers close to a petal without quite touching.

“Because they would not survive the light there.” He glanced at the bud she studied. “Here, in the darkness, they can be what they truly are.”

The words echoed in her mind.

“Are you also like that?”

“I like what is true, even if it is surprising.” His gaze flicked toward her briefly, and Eloise felt warmth rise to her face despite the dimness surrounding them.

They crossed a stone bridge spanning a river so calm it mirrored the world above it. Beneath its surface, indistinct shapes drifted, glowing faintly in shades of blue.

“It’s beautiful,” she admitted, surprised at her own sincerity.

“Olympus teaches that this is the realm of death,” Phillip said, pausing to face her. “But it is also the realm where everything eventually finds a place in the end of all things.”

He spoke not as one persuading, but as one revealing a truth he knew she already carried inside her. And somehow, it made sense.

They continued until they reached a wide courtyard where pomegranate trees grew, heavy with ruby-red fruit. Phillip plucked one and handed it to her.

“This is the heart of my kingdom.”

Eloise accepted it, the fruit cool and heavy in her palms.

“Do you always offer pomegranates to your guests?”

His smile was slow, deliberate, softer than she expected.

“No. Only to those I hope will appreciate them.”

Her heart gave a leap that was both unsettling and strangely pleasant.

“What if I don’t?” she asked, her voice unsteady, half teasing.

“Then I’ll respect your choice,” he said simply. But his gaze lingered, intense. “Understand this, Eloise: the Underworld is not a prison. It is my home. And for too long it has been mine alone.”

She blinked, startled by the quiet weight in his tone.

Phillip’s voice dropped lower, stripped of its calm façade, earnest and vulnerable.

“Olympus has its light, its revels, its endless noise. But it also binds, judges, demands masks. Here, in shadow, everything is bare. No masks or false smiles. Only the truth. And in you, I see someone who does not belong in cages of expectation. Someone who deserves to choose your own place. I wish that place could be here…” He drew a steady breath. “It would honor me more than you know.”

The fruit seemed heavier in her hands, as if it carried the weight of his confession. Eloise’s throat tightened. She hadn’t expected this, not power, not grandeur, but a man, a king, offering her freedom not out of command, but longing.

She managed a small, wavering smile.

“I’ll think about it,” she whispered.

For the first time, Phillip’s composure cracked. A flicker of relief crossed his face, quiet but unmistakable, as though those words alone were enough to sustain him.

Chapter Text

Eloise stood still for a few moments, staring at the closed door. Phillip’s presence still seemed to linger in the room, as though he had left an invisible trace in the air.

She walked to the wardrobe and opened the doors slowly. A soft fragrance of fabrics rose to greet her. Her fingers brushed over the garments, feeling the weight of embroidery, the freshness of silk, the velvet’s smoothness. She had never cared much for dresses on Olympus, but here, each piece seemed to tell a story.

After some hesitation, she chose a deep wine-colored gown, flowing in its cut, with sleeves that draped like veils down to her wrists. When she put it on, she realized how naturally the fabric shaped to her figure, not tight, but accentuating every curve of her body.

She pinned her hair only partly, leaving a few strands free, as if she hadn’t tried too hard. But deep down, she felt as though she were preparing for something important, perhaps even dangerous.

When the doors of the dining hall opened, Eloise caught her breath.

Phillip was waiting, standing at the head of the table. He was dressed in black from head to toe, silver accents gleaming faintly under the torchlight. The contrast made his pale eyes appear even sharper.

The table was a spectacle: ripe fruits, rich cheeses, succulent meats, freshly baked bread, wine glowing like rubies in the light. Between the platters, black flowers and golden candles created a scene that looked like it had stepped out of a dream or a temptation.

“You are breathtaking,” he said softly, his voice nearly a secret.

Eloise smiled faintly, trying not to get lost in that look.

He led her to the seat beside him and not opposite him, as might have been expected. As they began to serve themselves, Phillip kept the conversation light, but there was something in every question, in every comment, that seemed to reach beyond words.

“And so…” he said, pouring wine into her glass. “Will you tell me what you truly think of the Underworld or are you still forming your opinion?”

“I suppose… I’m still discovering,” she answered, swirling the wine. “But I have the impression it’s a place full of surprises.”

The corner of his mouth curved into a slow smile.

“I hope I am one of the good ones.”

She arched a brow, lips twitching.

“That depends. Do you often invite goddesses to lavish banquets, or am I a rare exception?”

His eyes glinted with amusement.

“I’ve hosted banquets before,” he admitted. “But none like this. None where the company outshone the feast.”

Heat crept up Eloise’s neck, though she lifted her chin.

“Careful, Phillip. That almost sounded like flattery.”

“Not flattery.” He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice. “Just a fact.”

The rest of the dinner became a silent game of subtle provocations: brief touches when their hands met across the table, lingering glances, smiles that said far more than words. Eloise knew that if she chose to remain there, it would not be only for the comfort or the curiosity.

There was something about him and about the way he looked at her, that awakened a dangerous, intoxicating warmth, impossible to ignore.

The days that followed seemed to dissolve into a rhythm unlike Olympus. In the Underworld, time did not rush, but it flowed, like a silent river that was never in haste.

Phillip insisted on showing Eloise every corner of his domain. The morning after the banquet, he took her to the subterranean gardens, where rare flowers grew beneath the ethereal glow of luminous stones. Some exhaled sweet fragrances; others had scents so intense they seemed to stir memory itself.

“These bloom only for those the Underworld accepts,” he said, plucking one and tucking it into her hair. “And I think they’ve approved of you.”

On the second day, they walked along the rivers that cut through his realm. Eloise was captivated by the waters, shimmering in impossible hues of gold and crimson. Phillip told her stories of each current: the river of memory, the river of forgetfulness and, with an enigmatic smile, the river of secrets.

On the third, they explored the library, an immense space, shelves vanishing into the shadows of the ceiling. There were books written in languages she had never seen, scrolls that whispered when opened, maps of lands that might no longer exist. Phillip watched her, amused, every time she became lost among the shelves.

“You could spend the whole day here, if that’s your wish” he said, as though stating a fact, but the words carried the weight of an invitation.

Afternoons passed in grand halls hung with ancient tapestries, nights when Phillip asked the kitchens to prepare dishes he thought she might enjoy, quiet moments where they simply looked at each other, words unnecessary.

Little by little, Eloise realized she no longer thought as much of Olympus. This world of shadow and gold, of impossible flowers and mysterious rivers, was beginning to feel like home to her.

Phillip, for his part, no longer hid it. Every glance, every gesture carried a tenderness that betrayed what he felt. He didn’t only want her to like the Underworld, he wanted her to stay. He wanted her to be his.

He hesitated before a door carved from black stone, covered in ancient inscriptions that glowed faintly. He pushed it open carefully, as though revealing something far too intimate.

“No one but me enters here,” he said, voice low, almost reverent. “But I want you to see.”

On the other side, Eloise found another secret garden hidden at the heart of the palace. There was no ceiling, only an opening to a sky that was not the same as Olympus. Stars pulsed with an otherworldly brilliance, and silver flowers slowly unfurled in the night, reflecting the celestial glow.

Eloise was left speechless.

“It’s beautiful…” she murmured, stepping forward with wide eyes.

Phillip watched her, his chest tightening. It wasn’t the garden that mattered. It was the way she lit up at the sight of it, as though the place had been waiting for her to exist at all.

“You keep all this just for yourself?” she asked, turning to him.

“I did.” He stepped closer, gaze fixed on hers. “But I want to share with you. I want to give this garden to you, to be ours."

The silence between them grew heavy, expectant. Eloise’s heartbeat raced, though she couldn’t explain why.

Phillip drew a deep breath, as though gathering courage.

“You know, I’ve brought many into the Underworld before. Heroes, mortals, even gods. But no one, no one has ever made this place feel different.” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “It was always shadows, weight, duty. Until you caught my eye.”

Eloise frowned slightly, startled by the raw intensity in his tone.

“Phillip…”

He lifted a hand, not to silence her, but to ask for one moment more.

“With you, even the darkness feels less cold. You don’t try to fear me, or please me, or run from who I am. You simply are. And that is something I’ve never known.” His voice faltered, painfully honest. “I want you to stay, Eloise. Not just as a guest. I want this realm to be yours too.”

Her heart raced. His words carried a weight she could not ignore, an invitation not just to a garden, but to an entire world.

She opened her mouth, but no answer came. Part of her wanted to laugh at his audacity, as she often did; another part longed to say yes, to surrender to the pull that had been there since the first moment.

Phillip stepped closer, his hand hovering just a breath away from her face, offering her the chance to retreat. Eloise didn’t. His touch, when it came, was achingly gentle, almost reverent, as though she were made of glass.

“Why me?” she whispered, nearly breathless.

His lips curved in a restrained smile, his eyes burning into hers.

“Because from the very first moment I saw you, you made the Underworld seem less dark. Because you are light, Eloise. The one light I cannot bear to lose.”

Her eyes stung, overwhelmed by an emotion she couldn’t name, something between fear and longing, peril and promise.

The space between them shrank. The air grew heavy, charged with everything unspoken. Eloise closed her eyes, leaning in without realizing, ready to cross that fragile line…

“My lord Phillip?” a voice called from the corridor, shattering the spell.

Phillip pulled back instantly, rigid, control snapping back into place. Eloise drew a shaky breath, trying to steady the heart that still raced too wildly, his words echoing in her mind.

“We should… return,” he said, voice contained.

But as they walked back, the silence between them brimmed with everything unspoken and everything that had almost been.

Chapter Text

Phillip led her back through the palace corridors, but Eloise couldn’t think of anything beyond what had almost happened. Each step echoed with the memory of his eyes locked on hers, of his touch against her face. Her heart hammered in her chest, begging for more.

When they reached the door to her chambers, Phillip stopped. His large, strong hand rested on the handle for a moment, but he didn’t move. His chest rose and fell with the weight of something unspoken.

“Eloise…” His voice was low, torn, as though every syllable cost him. “I shouldn’t want this. But gods, you make my heart forget every law I’ve ever sworn to keep.”

Her heart skipped, then raced so fast she thought it might betray her. His words pressed against her ribs like a second heartbeat. She stepped closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, her gaze unwavering. “Phillip, please. Kiss me.”

He froze, the air between them heavy with tension.

“Eloise, if I take this step…” His voice trembled, almost a plea. “I may never be able to stop.”

She lifted a hand and placed it against his chest, feeling the wild rhythm of his heart. Her eyes shone, bright with certainty.

“Then don’t,” she said firmly. “You can have me in every way you desire, because it is my desire too.”

For a moment he simply stared at her, undone by the truth laid bare in her words. Then the restraint inside him shattered. With a rough exhale, he pulled her to him and captured her lips in a kiss that tasted of surrender, of fire, of everything he had tried and failed to deny.

The kiss began fierce, hungry, but soon softened, as though Phillip feared he might break her. Eloise smiled against his mouth and deepened it, showing him she did not want delicacy, she wanted only him.

His hands slid up her back, strong and possessive, pulling her closer as if distance itself was unbearable. Eloise answered with equal intensity, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging, exploring. The air between them filled with ragged breaths, fractured sighs, and the quiet sounds of pleasure that escaped without control.

“Tell me to stop,” Phillip murmured, lips still pressed to hers, his voice rough and shaking.

“Don’t stop.” Eloise’s whisper was steady, resolute, and she kissed him again, leaving no room for doubt.

A low groan escaped him, helpless, as though her words unraveled every last thread of his restraint. His hands traced her waist, gripping her hips with fervor. Eloise arched against him, burning wherever their bodies met.

The kiss became a silent dialogue: the urgency of fast strokes, the promises hidden in slow ones. Eloise discovered in him a fire she had never imagined, and Phillip surrendered to her like a man who had waited his entire life for this.

Without realizing, they stumbled back until the great bed was behind her. Phillip paused, his breath heavy, eyes dark with desire and reverence.

“Are you sure…?” The question was nearly a whisper, as though her answer could shatter him.

Her face flushed, lips swollen from their kisses. She nodded. “I am exactly where I want to be.”

He could resist no longer. The kiss returned, more desperate, hands exploring every curve, every inch of her skin. Eloise gasped when his fingers traced her throat, gliding downward, mapping her as though engraving her into memory.

The world dissolved. No Olympus, no fate, no doubts. Only their breaths, their heat, the surrender consuming them whole.

The kiss turned to fire. Phillip laid her gently upon the sheets, yet every movement carried reverence, as though she were too precious to be touched carelessly. Eloise, however, pulled him closer, her very skin thirsting for him.

His lips trailed down her neck, drawing a breathless moan from her lips. She arched beneath him, shivering at the weight and warmth of his body pressing into hers. Each touch was a promise written in flames.

“Phillip…” His name escaped her like a plea, half-surrender, half-command.

He lifted his head, eyes black and intense as the deepest night. “You don’t know what you do to me, Eloise.”

She smiled, pulling him back for a fervent kiss. “I think you need to show me then.”

His hands roamed slowly, reverent and hungry at once. Their bodies aligned as though made for each other, each movement pulling them deeper, each sigh echoing the other’s. The rhythm built, urgent, intense, until there were no more barriers, only two hearts pounding wildly, two voices lost in gasps and muffled cries.

The world seemed to collapse around them when they finally surrendered fully, an overwhelming climax that made Eloise clutch the sheets and Phillip grasp her waist as though afraid to lose her.

Breathless, they stayed entwined, sweat mingled, hearts racing. Phillip pressed lingering kisses to her shoulder while Eloise stroked his damp hair, smiling through broken sighs.

He rolled to the side, pulling her with him. Eloise nestled against his chest without hesitation. The silence of the chamber was filled only by their breaths, slowly calming.

Phillip held her tighter, kissing her forehead. “If Olympus saw you now…” he murmured, his smile rough with exhaustion. “They would know you were born to reign at my side.”

Eloise laughed softly, weary and content, hiding her face in his chest. “Perhaps I was only born to drive you mad.”

“Then you fulfill your mission perfectly.” He closed his eyes, embracing her even tighter.

Beneath the black mantle of the Underworld night, they fell asleep wrapped in each other’s warmth, as though nothing could ever part them again.

The first pale ray that pierced the dark curtains was not golden like in Olympus, but silver, ethereal, bathing the room in calm light. Eloise awoke slowly, wrapped in warmth and silence. Only when she shifted did she notice the weight of the strong arm around her waist, keeping her close: Phillip.

His chest rose and fell steadily, his breath brushing softly against her hair. Eloise pressed closer, closing her eyes as if to memorize this feeling: safety, warmth, peace.

Curious… In Olympus, she had everything: gardens, music, her family’s company. And still, she had always felt restless, out of place, as though something were missing. In the Underworld, at Phillip’s side, for the first time she felt complete.

His hand moved, pulling her more firmly against him even in sleep, and Eloise couldn’t help but smile. Part of her wished every day could begin in his arms, certain this was where she belonged.

Phillip stirred, opening his eyes slowly, as if he had sensed her gaze. A slow smile, roughened by sleep, curved his lips. “Good morning, my goddess.”

“Good morning.” She blushed, but didn’t look away.

He brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “You’re even more beautiful at dawn.” His tone was low, reverent.

Eloise laughed softly, trying to disguise the warmth rushing through her. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I can’t help it.” His fingers lingered along her cheek as though he couldn’t believe she was real. “You’re here, with me and all I want is for it to be forever.”

Her heart leapt, and for a moment Eloise didn’t know what to say.

Phillip pushed himself up slightly, propped on one elbow, his gaze burning. “Eloise, I don’t want you to be only a guest. I want you as my queen. Today, tomorrow, forever.”

The words hung between them like both promise and challenge. Eloise met his gaze, torn between the urge to say yes immediately and the fear of the irrevocable choice behind the third seed.

Still, in a voice low and sincere, she confessed:

“I have never felt more at home than here, with you.”

Phillip bent and kissed her tenderly, a kiss unlike those of the night before. It wasn’t made of fire, but of hope.

Chapter Text

The dark halls seemed brighter, the shadowed gardens more alive. Even the guards and servants exchanged curious glances as Phillip walked by smiling. The king who for centuries had carried an aura of sternness on his shoulders now walked beside Eloise, his arm around her, laughing at something only they understood.

Eloise found herself surprised at every turn. It wasn’t only the grandeur of the palace or the strange beauty of the Underworld, but the way everything seemed to shape itself around her presence. Servants approached her with discreet respect, creatures who had once observed her with caution now bowed in reverence. It was as if they already recognized her as part of that realm.

“Have you noticed it?” she murmured when they sat in the underground gardens, surrounded by nocturnal flowers glowing under the silver torchlight. He held her in his arms, as if it were impossible to stay away.

“Notice what?” Phillip’s gaze never left her, as though nothing else mattered.

“That everyone accepts us. As if there was no doubt that I belong here.”

Phillip smiled, that rare smile that seemed to illuminate his entire face and kissed her shoulder.

“Because there isn’t. You belong to this place as much as I do.

He took her hand, intertwining their fingers.

“But I want to do this properly. I…” He drew a deep breath, hesitating as though the words were heavier. “I want you to be my wife before the gods, for your mother to give her blessing, so your brothers cannot claim I stole you.

Eloise stared at him, both surprised and moved. The thought of Phillip, the feared king of the Underworld, formally asking Violet for her hand left her speechless for a few moments.

“They won’t make it easy,” she murmured at last. “Anthony will try to drag me back, mother will meddle…”

Phillip let out a low laugh, his deep voice echoing through the garden.

“Then perhaps we should prepare an army to face them.”

Eloise laughed softly too, before sighing and resting her head on his shoulder.

“I don’t want to go back. Not now that I’ve found something that makes me feel so alive.”

He kissed her hair, firm and certain.

“Then we’ll fight for this together. If need be, I’ll face all of Olympus itself to keep you with me forever.”

Her heart raced, and Eloise wondered how far she would dare go to make this forever. It was no longer curiosity or rebellion: she loved him.

And silently, she decided she would only use the third seed when she was certain nobody would make her leave Phillip’s side.

That night, Phillip ordered a banquet worthy of the great gods. The long table overflowed with rare fruits of the Underworld, golden goblets filled with wine, platters of meat seasoned with herbs that glowed like embers. Eloise sat beside him, laughing at something one of the servants had said, and for the first time, the king of the Underworld seemed more human.

He could not stop watching her, fascinated. The way Eloise touched each fruit as if it were a treasure, the way she tasted the drinks with curiosity, how her very presence made the entire hall less somber.

“Perhaps this is only the first of many banquets” Phillip murmured to her, smiling as her cheeks turned pink.

But the enchantment was shattered when the great doors of the hall burst open with violence.

“ELOISE!” Anthony’s voice thundered like a storm.

Behind him came all Eloise’s brothers, each wearing a different expression: Anthony looked ready for war, Benedict radiated the air of an indignant gentleman, Gregory’s fists were clenched with reckless fury, while Colin simply yawned, visibly irritated.

“What do you think you’re doing here, Eloise?” Anthony roared, his hand already on his sword. “Did this usurper abduct you?!”

Phillip rose at once, tall and imposing, but before he could speak Eloise stepped in front of him, arms spread wide.

“No one abducted me!” she shouted. “I came because I wanted to, Anthony! Because I finally found a place where I can be myself!”

“Don’t lie to protect this monster” Benedict stepped forward, his hand tight on his sword’s hilt. “We’ll take you back. Now.”

“You will not hurt him!” Eloise snapped, her voice carrying through the entire hall. “Don’t you dare raise a blade against Phillip!”

Anthony and Benedict exchanged charged looks, ready to strike regardless, but before either could move, Colin had already sat at the table.

“Well, at least someone here had the decency to prepare food” he said, serving himself gleaming grapes. “I particularly didn’t want to come, but no, Anthony doesn’t know how to wait. I had to leave my Penelope behind and she’s pregnant. Pregnant!” he grumbled, grabbing more fruit and wine. “I bet she already misses me, just as much as I miss her!”

“Colin!” Anthony bellowed, outraged. “Our sister is in danger and you’re worried about your stomach?!”

“And my wife!” Colin corrected calmly, chewing. “Don’t forget she’s carrying our first child.”

Meanwhile, Gregory raised his fists, ready to lunge at Phillip.

“Kidnapping my sister was outrageous! I’ll finish you off!”

He took a step forward, but Colin grabbed him by the collar before he could do anything foolish.

“Sit down, boy. Anthony and Benedict’s dramatics are enough” Colin sighed, pushing Gregory back. “Let’s not turn this banquet into a tavern brawl.”

Phillip stood immovable behind Eloise, his eyes burning with restrained fury. He would never allow anyone to take her away against her will. Eloise’s heart, however, pounded wildly: she would have to face her brothers head-on to defend her own choice.

Anthony stepped closer, hand tightening on his sword, but this time Phillip moved first. He drew Eloise behind him, his eyes glowing like embers.

“Watch your words and your weapons, Bridgerton.” His voice thundered through the hall, firm and commanding. “This is not your domain. And she is not my prisoner. Eloise is here because she chose to be. Because I love her.”

The silence that followed was heavy, as though even the shadows of the Underworld had paused to listen. Anthony and Benedict froze, stunned, Gregory’s eyes widened and Colin simply kept chewing, as if the whole thing were the obvious end of a play.

Phillip did not waver. His chest rose and fell with controlled force, but his voice was steady, unwavering:

“I love her. I wish to make her my queen, not to challenge or to take the power, but because without her this realm has no light. Eloise brought life where once there was only shadow.

Anthony let out an angry huff, ready to retort, but Eloise stepped forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with Phillip. Her chin was high, her eyes blazing with the same fire as his.

“I am not leaving!” Her voice rang firm, surprising even herself. “The Underworld is my home now. Here, for the first time, I am free.”

From her tunic, she pulled two small pomegranate seeds, gleaming, the very ones Phillip had sent her weeks before. They were her passage back to Olympus or her choice to stay.

For a heartbeat, her brothers leaned forward, hope flickering in their eyes. But Eloise clenched her fist and, with a resolute gesture, flung the seeds far across the stone floor until they vanished into the shadows.

“There is no going back” she declared, meeting Anthony and Benedict’s gaze. “That’s my choice.”

The hall trembled, as though the Underworld itself acclaimed her decision. Phillip turned to her, eyes glistening, as if she had just given him the greatest gift imaginable.

“Eloise…” he whispered, her name a mixture of reverence, desire, and devotion.

Anthony, however, was not ready to surrender.

“You don’t know what you’re doing. He is nothing but a…”

But Colin raised a hand, cutting him off impatiently.

“Anthony, for the love of the gods, look at them.” He popped another grape into his mouth. “When was the last time you saw Eloise this determined and happy?”

The silence that followed was louder than any shout. Eloise stood tall, shoulder to shoulder with Phillip, showing her family and the world that her destiny was no longer in Olympus.

Chapter Text

“I am not leaving!” Her voice rang firm, surprising even herself. “The Underworld is my home now. Here, for the first time, I am free.”

From her tunic, she pulled two small pomegranate seeds, gleaming, the very ones Phillip had sent her weeks before. They were her passage back to Olympus or her choice to stay.

For a heartbeat, her brothers leaned forward, hope flickering in their eyes. But Eloise clenched her fist and, with a resolute gesture, flung the seeds far across the stone floor until they vanished into the shadows.

The sound of the seeds still rolling across the hall echoed like funeral bells. Yet instead of vanishing into shadow, they began to glow.

At first it was faint, a mere flicker of crimson against the cold stone. But then the light deepened, pulsing like a heartbeat, red and alive. The entire floor beneath them throbbed with the rhythm, as though the Underworld itself were answering Eloise’s choice.

The air thickened, charged with unseen power. The torches lining the walls sputtered and flared, their flames bending toward her as if pulled by a divine command. From the shadows rose whispers, ancient, low, reverent, voices that did not belong to the living.

A current of energy swirled upward, encircling Eloise and Phillip. It blazed into a crimson arc, woven with threads of fire and starlight, rising higher until it crowned them both before settling into a shimmering bond around their joined forms. It was no illusion. It was a seal. A vow. A destiny written in the marrow of the world.

Gasps rippled through the hall. Even the creatures of the Underworld, who rarely bowed to anyone but their king, bent their heads instinctively toward Eloise. The earth shuddered beneath their feet as though bowing to its queen.

Anthony froze mid-motion, his hand still gripping the hilt of his sword. His face drained of color, his breath caught in his chest.

“What… What is this sorcery?”

Benedict, who so rarely betrayed his thoughts, stared with grim recognition. His voice fell like a stone.

“The bond of the seeds. It is a covenant… one that forms only when a goddess has surrendered wholly to the god who claims her.”

The words cut through the silence like thunder.

Anthony’s eyes snapped toward Eloise, shock and fury mingling in equal measure.

“No. No, this is impossible. You… you wouldn’t…”

Gregory all but choked, pointing wildly from Phillip to Eloise, back again, his voice cracking.

“So… you and he… you mean… you’ve… you” He couldn’t finish, stammering like a boy who had stumbled upon a truth too great to bear.

Eloise, cheeks warm but her chin lifted high, folded her arms with deliberate calm.

“Yes. Exactly what you are thinking.”

The glow of the seeds flared brighter, as though her confession had bound it tighter. The light reflected in Phillip’s eyes, making them burn with both devotion and defiance. He stood close beside her, not just a king but a sentinel, as if daring anyone to so much as breathe against what was now sacred.

Anthony’s voice cracked as his fury returned.

“He has ensnared you, Eloise! This is a trap, a trick of his cursed realm!”

But Eloise stepped forward, her hand sliding into Phillip’s without hesitation.

“No. This was my choice. My vow. Do you think me so weak that I could be bound without my will? The Fates themselves would laugh at such a lie.”

Phillip’s voice followed hers, steady as stone, resonant with the power of the bond that now encircled them both.

“She speaks truth. This vow cannot be forged by force. It is sealed only when two souls join freely. This bond is not mine alone, it is ours.”

The crimson arc pulsed again, its glow reflected in Phillip’s armor, in Eloise’s determined gaze, in the horrified stares of her brothers.

Benedict exhaled sharply, a man resigned to what he could not change.

“Then it is done. She has chosen. We cannot tear apart what the gods themselves have sealed.”

Gregory muttered, still pale.

“Then… she’s truly his.”

Colin, who had been silent until now, swirled the wine in his cup and leaned back in his chair, his lips curving into a wry smile.

“Well, it seems our arguments are over, aren’t they? We no longer debate if, only when. The wedding, brothers, is inevitable.”

Anthony’s fury boiled over. He turned his gaze to Phillip, his voice low, dangerous.

“If you harm her, if you make her shed a single tear of regret, I will drag you from your throne myself. God or not.”

Phillip’s answer came without hesitation, his hand tightening protectively around Eloise’s.

“I would sooner see my realm fall into ruin than bring her sorrow. She is not my prisoner, nor my conquest. She is my queen. My heart. My light in the shadows. And I will guard that vow until the end of time.”

The hall grew silent again, heavy with the weight of his words. Even Anthony faltered, uncertain of how to fight what could no longer be undone.

And then, Colin broke the silence once more with a clap of his hands.

“Well, then. Who will tell Mother?”

The color drained from Phillip’s face in a way it hadn’t even when confronted with Anthony’s sword. The thought of hosting the entirety of Eloise’s boisterous family in his solemn palace seemed almost enough to strike fear into the King of the Dead.

But Eloise only laughed softly, sliding her arm through his.

“You’ll survive. For me.”

Phillip’s eyes found hers, and every trace of hesitation, every shadow of dread melted away.

“For you, Eloise,” he whispered with reverence, “I would survive even Olympus itself.”

The bond glowed once more between them, sealing not just their fate but the beginning of forever.