Prophecy of the Most Beautiful

by Jones, Diantha

  "Wha' good is he though?" Ace continued, making an impatient gesture at the wanker Strafford had wanted to kill then forget about, "He doesn' even know his bloody name. He's a complete waster."

  "The woman in my dream. I think she's looking for him. I think he's been given to us to protect."

  "By whom? Wha' dream? Wha' woman?" Strafford snapped. All these bloody secrets…

  "Don't tell us anything more abou' your dream, Chloe," Ace said, giving him a look, "Your dreams are sacred. Strafford knows tha'."

  He scowled at his little brother.

  "Wha' else have you been keepin' a secret, Red?" His dagger poked the bloke.

  "Damnit, Strafford, get your dagger out of his neck!" She exclaimed. "I need him!"

  He could have snapped the pretty fella's neck over those three words. He was the only one she needed. Soon she would know that. "Last time I checked, Red, I was the only royal here. Make one more demand…"

  "You're impossible," She grumbled.

  "And slightly unhinged," the bastard he was trying not to kill had the nerve to mumble.

  He slammed the wanker’s head back into the cottage wall. It hit with a satisfying crack and he smirked at the groan of pain it evoked.

  "Won't feel so good next time," he looked down and rolled his eyes, "and will you please get him a bloody shirt?" He eyed Ace.

  "Why do I always have to sacrifice my gear?"

  Strafford didn't waste time answering such a pointless question. Ace already knew it was simply because he said so.

  He had to let the man go so he could dress himself. But his dagger remained ready to slice him into cutlets if he so much as took a wrong breath. He was thinking he still might kill him even if he didn't. Just for kicks and giggles.

  The bugger was smiling as the t-shirt slid over his head. "You are quite lovely," he said to Chloe, who blushed and incited in Strafford a slight rage.

  "Don't say another word to her," He snapped.

  "I could tell right away that you were not like them," The guy continued, just asking to be knocked off, "As he mentioned, he is a Prince of the heavens, so he must be a demigod. The one who healed me is a godling as well." He jerked a nod at Ace. "But you…you are not like them." His smile became sickening and cheesy and the wanker's pupils sparkled again.

  His voice dropped down to a dangerous level. "Don't make me regret not killin' you. I said, don't say another word to the Oracle. Understood?"

  "My name is Chloe," She quickly stepped between them and said sweet as candy, leaving Strafford close to offing him. He was the only one that was going to be getting sweet looks around here…

  "So very nice to meet you, beautiful Chloe," The wanker said, bending down to kiss her hand. Strafford could not believe the bollocks on this guy.

  "Give us a name to call you, fella," he demanded, "any name. Unless you prefer to be called by my name of choice, 'ball-bag'." Ace snorted a chuckle.

  The man looked thoughtful. "Call me…call me…the Dropper. I did drop in on you, did I not?"

  He couldn't fathom why Chloe laughed. How in the bloody hell had she found that funny?

  "Ball-bag fits him better," Ace mumbled. Strafford agreed.

  Now what to do with him.

  He couldn't deny Chloe. From the moment he'd met her, he'd known he didn't stand a chance in hades of denying her much of anything outside of what he had to to keep her safe. The wanker might have been an immediate pain in the hole but he wasn't a threat. Chloe said she had a prophecy and she needed him for part of it. Or all of it. Who the hell knew. It didn't matter. It was his duty to allow her to keep him around anyway.

  Damnit.

  "He's your burden, Red," He lied, knowing good and well the fella had just become his burden too. "If he causes us any trouble…"

  "I will not be of any trouble," the Dropper said with a queer amount of happiness.

  Strafford ignored him. He was already trouble.

  The small temple that was Godlet's loomed at the end of the alley. He had always thought Godlet's was in the perfect obscure location––a temple set in the low rent part of town (if a few run down castles could even be considered low rent). Without another word, he headed for it. The Counselor was waiting for them. He didn't want to waste another second trying to decide if this "Dropper" fella really was part of the prophecy Chloe had been keeping secret from him, or if she was even the least bit interested in the wanker. He had more pressing matters on his mind, though Chloe's instant attraction to the guy was kind of weighing heavy on it. But who was he to get his knickers all in a bunch? He'd pushed her away, hadn't he?

  Blah. How to keep safe the Pythia was his priority, not monitoring her love life. If one icey knew about her, then a bunch more did too, and the simple act of living was about to become a dangerous activity for all of them. That little tidbit trumped all.

  For two thousand years, the gods had feared her arrival, and now, here she was. A vision of beauty who had no idea what was in store for her, and his job was to keep her above ground and from being used in outside plots and agendas. And he had a feeling that there was about to be some serious plotting going down in Myth…now that the Pythia had arrived.

  The details of what had transpired two thousand years ago were clouded in secrecy. The gods never spoke about anything more than what everyone already knew, not even with royalty, and definitely not with disgraced royalty. He had heard gossip and common rumors, but never a concrete explanation of why the gods would be so bloody on edge about a mortal.

  He had just a few clues, one that stuck out in particular.

  What if she knows, Apollo had said to him the day he'd arrived at the Chateau, right before his estranged father leered down a smile that sent waves of unsettling chills coursing through him.

  What if she knows…what?

  Strafford hoped she didn't and had his fingers crossed that she never found out. Because if she knew anything, consciously or subconsciously, that would make Apollo smile in such a way that it gave a demigod Prince like him the chills, nothing in the heavens or on Earth could protect her from her destiny.

  *****

  XVI. Chloe

  She had wanted to interrogate the Dropper right away.

  Strafford had said that could wait. The Counselor had summoned them and that was more important.

  Ha. What was more important than the six billion images floating around in her head? Or the infinite amount of knowledge concreted like a wall around her mind?

  Or the prophecy that made absolutely no sense?

  Nothing. But she could save her questions for later.

  On the outside, Godlet's was just a tiny temple with a single entryway and a measly two pillars holding up its great awning.

  As they entered the temple, a stadium-sized athletic facility folded out in front of them. It reminded her of the Georgia Dome in Atlanta, gigantic and overwhelming.

  "Well, this is some establishment you half-breeds have here, godling," Dropper said, looking up at the domed ceiling that was painted with a picture of Hercules battling the Hydra of Lerna.

  "Shut your mouth before I make you shut it, fella," Strafford snapped, "And it's 'Your Highness' to you. I wouldn' suggest you forget it again."

  "Your Highness, then," Dropper bowed ridiculously low. Chloe ducked her head to hide her amused smile. She liked the Dropper already.

  The facility was huge and circular with a field of green in its center and a perfect turf track surrounding it. Chloe legs itched to give the amazing looking track a go. Just one lap…in lanes four or five, the lanes with the best times...but she kept her place beside her guardians and the Dropper, and watched a group of runners with exceptional form, heroes no doubt, practice relay hand-offs. More runners leapt over hurdles nearby and she couldn't stop herself from tingling with envy.

  When the runners stopped for a break, they walked over the track and onto the green. Her attention was taken by a group of teenagers who were watching a boy and a girl in chest armor
duel with swords. The boy swung his sword with a vengeance. The girl ducked under it, used the hilt of her sword to knock the wind out of him, brought the blade down on his armored back, and watched with amusement as his face met the ground. A bunch of teen girls laughed. The boy was only down for a minute. He came up spitting out turf and snatched the sword she had claimed as he'd fallen, back out of her triumphant hands. He prepared for another attempt.

  "She's using the evade-strike technique," Strafford said, and she almost ran into him as he abruptly stopped walking. "If you strike first, anticipate tha' or you'll lose again."

  All heads turned to look at them. Mouths dropped open. Eyes widened. Then there were murmurs of, "It's Solar, It's the Oracle," "He's back," "The Prince actually came back." Girls were throwing admiring looks at Strafford, as if they could help it, but beyond that, they gave him no recognition. It was her they stared at and she was reminded that they'd never seen an Oracle before. For some reason, she wondered if they were digging what they saw or if she was a total disappointment to them. She couldn't even figure out why it mattered, but it did.

  The boy who had participated in the duel ran up and dropped down to one knee. "Your Highness," He said, "Welcome back."

  "Get up, fella," Strafford demanded, grabbing the boy up by the crook of his armor, "Nobody bows to me."

  "I bowed to you and always will," The boy said, "You're a Prince and you'll always be a hero to me." There was no agreement from the others, but Strafford clearly hadn't expected there to be any. He just nodded once at the boy, she guessed his way of thanking the kid, put his arm around her waist, and dismissed them from the group. She felt the stares follow.

  "What was that all about?" She asked right away. "Why were they glaring at you like they hate you? What happened that you don't want to tell me?"

  "You ask too many questions, Red," He mumbled, releasing her. She frowned, but mostly because his arm wasn’t around her waist anymore.

  They passed a dirt ring where two boys were engaged in an intense wrestling match, another group of demigods sifting through armor and testing out swords for more dueling, and a different troop of godlings who were weighing out discus and examining javelins for practice throws. All looked pretty astonished, and even pissed, to see Strafford…and her. There was a heck of a lot more staring, like, holes being bored right through them and she blamed Strafford. So he was disgraced, okay, but he was holding out on her about a lot more than just that and she wanted to know what it was.

  As half of the track was dedicated to running, the other half was dedicated to…wow…chariot racing. Beautiful, hand-crafted chariots sat in each lane and the riders struggled to properly mount as their anxious horses––each with a pair of enormous wings––couldn't quite manage to keep still.

  "Well, I've just about seen it all now," She muttered to herself as she stared at the beautiful animals.

  "Not even close, Red," Strafford replied, having heard her. As they approached, several of the riders turned their backs on Strafford, but he barely noticed. His don't-give-a-crap attitude was the only thing that kept her from going off on them. She just couldn't believe how rude everyone was being, but then again, she was used to being snubbed. Guessed she shouldn't have been surprised.

  "The pegasus are lookin' sound, man!" Ace exclaimed approaching a white chariot edged in gold with intricate suns painted on each side. He petted one of the white winged horses with a silky mane and tail of gold, which neighed at his touch.

  "Remedy!" The red-haired boy rider said with a grin as he adjusted the reins, "I thought with your new appointment, I'd never get to see you before the Games!" He noticed Strafford and leapt from the chariot, his armor clinking with the sudden movements. "Your Highness." He then grinned and acknowledged her with a nod. Well, at least one person had some manners in the place. She returned the smile, showing as much dental as possible.

  "I think you know how I feel abou' my siblings callin' me tha', Sam," Strafford replied, doing his own examination of the chariot and two winged horses. "It annoys me."

  Sam smiled. "I know. But little brothers are annoying, so get over it." Strafford rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

  "You're brothers?" Chloe asked, petting one of the pegasus without a second thought. Dropper stared at the animals curiously, but wouldn't come anywhere near them. He stood back with his slim, but fit arms folded against his chest, watching her. Every time she looked his way, he smiled, his eyes twinkled like crazy, and she blushed her socks off. This mysterious Dropper had a charm that she just couldn’t deny. She'd drowned in it from the moment she had looked into those twinkling eyes of his, from the very second he'd spoken with such adorable refinement.

  Which meant, the guy was dangerous.

  "Hard to believe we're related, huh?" Sam replied, his freckles dancing on his face when he smiled. "Only the Law children were chosen to have our father's good looks. The rest of us clearly weren't considered to be worthy enough." He winked at Ace, who laughed and mounted the chariot.

  "Your pegasus are beautiful," She commented, stroking one's mane and trying not to look at the Dropper.

  "Don't let them hear you say that," Sam replied with a smile, "They're vain enough already." And like they really did understand him, they turned their heads to scowl in his direction. Chloe just laughed.

  Sam's eyes finally landed on the Dropper. He raised an eyebrow. "Where are your shoes, dude?"

  Dropper opened his mouth to reply, but Strafford cut him off with a lethal glance. He shook his head at Sam and that was the end of it. Sam nodded and circled his heart with his fist and Chloe thought she might be starting to understand what the gesture meant. It was a sign of respect for Strafford. He was their Prince, if nobody else's, and they respected his authority as such. She was beginning to see what it really meant to be an Olympian Prince, even if he didn't.

  "Is the Counselor here?" Strafford asked, changing the subject. He looked over the boy towards a torch lit corridor that Chloe assumed led to the Counselor.

  "When is he ever not here?" Sam laughed. "He lives for this place."

  "Are we ever going to start this race, red top? Battle and Crucify are ready to destroy your pair of pansy pegs."

  They looked over at the rider who had spoken from atop a steel chariot fortified with barbed wire and reigned to two black horses with red eyes, obviously Battle and Crucify.

  Strafford answered him. "Have the rules changed while I've been gone? Can any ol' fella butt into the conversation of a royal now? I see your Prince, Skirmish has been lettin' you get away with some very unhealthy habits, Dodge." He glared at the rider as his skin started to glow bronze. She remembered that the sun was pretty high in the sky right now. The warrior in him could escape at any moment.

  Dodge sneered and grinned like a menace, not giving a crap about Strafford's bronze smolder. "If I still considered you a royal, maybe that rule would apply. But you forfeited that title about four years ago when you punked out and got-––"

  She didn't even see Strafford move.

  One second he was standing beside her, the next he had Dodge on his back, his knee in the boy's chest, his hand choking the life out of him.

  The rage in those gray eyes and that deadly bronze glow kept everyone way back, even her, even Ace. Those who had been giving him the brush off earlier were now one cough away from wetting their pants. Good.

  "Stop strugglin'." Strafford's voice was cold and emotionless. He waited a moment, until Dodge finally realized he was going to pass out before he got free and stopped moving. "Good boy. Now, you've clearly forgotten who the bloody hell I am. So I'll remind you. I'm a Royal, the same Royal tha's put down dragons, beasts, and fat-mouthed sons of Ares, alike. Disgraced or not, I could put you down like the worthless mutt you are without even breakin' a sweat. Never doubt tha', Dodge. It'll only get you killed. Understood?"

  Dodge's body heaved, trying to draw oxygen, but he didn't utter a word.

  Strafford's hand tightened around
the boy's neck and his dark eyes bulged. "I can't hear you, Dodge…"

  Finally, he choked out, "Yes…Yes…Your Highness…"

  "Good. Now sleep." He hit a pressure point with his thumb and Dodge checked right into la-la land.

  Strafford released the demigod at his leisure. After standing, he cracked his knuckles, once, twice, then announced, "The race will start when Sam says so. Any objections?"

  Ha. Yeah right. There was a whole lot of hustling and bustling as the other riders beat feet back to their chariots and a buff, scowling girl came to scoop Dodge up off the ground. After tossing Strafford a dirty look, but wisely keeping her trap shut, she carried Dodge off and another male rider replaced him behind Battle and Crucify.

  Finished with the entire business of chariot racing and putting demigods down for nap time, Strafford motioned to her. "The Counselor's waitin', wan." Not even wanting to appear to be trying to antagonize the guy, she answered his summons right away.

  "I'm racin'," Ace informed them as Sam strapped him into armor, "I need to see the pegs in action. If I have the nerve to call myself captain of the chariot team for the Games, I need to make sure they're in sound shape."

  "Fine with me…You, idiot," Strafford snapped at Dropper, "You're with us." Dropper, who seemed to have rather enjoyed Strafford's little display, bowed and followed them down the dank, torch lit corridor. She looked back once and smiled at him. She had no idea why but it seemed appropriate. He returned the gesture with a gorgeous, dimpled smile of his own that caused his beautiful eyes to twinkle without mercy. Silly her. She had walked right into that one.

  The Counselor's office was hidden away at the back of the passage like the cell of a dungeon. The door was frosted glass and said: Hero Counselor, in etched letters. Of course, Strafford barged right in.

  There was a man sitting behind a desk engrossed in a map that was spread across it. His blond hair was back in a loose ponytail and he had a little pointed goatee on his chin. He was wearing a green t-shirt with the word "Godlet's" written in bright gold letters across the front of it under a light blue denim jacket. When they walked in, his dark eyes rose up to look at them. His face broke out with a wide grin.