Refill

The voices of her sisters rose and fell like waves as she slipped out of the sitting room, fading into muffled laughter and sharp retorts as she turned the corner down the hallway. The familiar sounds of their townhouse dimmed with distance. Barefoot she felt the polished wood cool beneath her toes, Lily told herself she was only refilling her glass. She already knew she’d had too much, but her chest felt too full, too restless for wine to soothe.

The kitchen was dimmer, quieter. Someone had left a candle burning on the counter, its wax dripping like a slow heartbeat. The smell of sandalwood and the faint trace of citrus from their fruit bowl lingered in the air. She set her empty glass down, the small clink unnaturally loud in the hush.

She should rejoin them, she knew. The sisters never liked it when she pulled back, when she drifted to the edges of things. But the edges were easier. Safer. If she stayed in the center too long, someone was bound to notice what pressed against her ribs and ask the questions she wasn’t ready to answer.

She stared at the candle, its flame steady and strong, and it reminded her of him.

Ares.

Even thinking the name felt reckless. It lodged like a secret between her teeth, something hot and dangerous. She poured the wine slowly, watching the liquid curve against the glass, rich and red as spilled blood. Her hand shook just enough to betray her.

Why him? Of all the gods, why the one who carried war in his chest? She should despise him. He was arrogant, impossible, quick to violence. And she had despised him, once. Until she hadn’t. Until his voice had wrapped around her in low, smoke-roughened tones that lingered longer than they should have. Until she’d caught the way he looked at her, like he expected her to stand against him and secretly hoped she might.

The candle flickered. She pressed her free hand flat against the countertop, grounding herself. Her sisters would say it was foolishness. Clio would laugh, sharp and knowing. Erato would pry for details, relentless. Even gentle Thalia would shake her head, disappointed. And Hera...Hera would remind her of the vow, the contract signed so long ago in shadows.

Her stomach tightened. She was bound elsewhere. Promised. Owed. She had no right to be thinking of the god in the way she was.

And yet.

She remembered the heat in his magic, the cedar-smoke scent of him, the way it scraped against her skin like steel striking flint. He made her feel… not safe, exactly. Seen. As though her careful silences had edges he could cut himself on, and still he reached for them. As though he believed she was capable of more than soft words and patient smiles.

The thought made her dizzy as heat bloomed in her stomach. She tipped the wineglass to her lips before it was even half-full, the sharpness biting at her tongue. Maybe if she drank enough, the ache would dull. Maybe the sound of her sisters’ laughter would wash it away. But even as the warmth spread through her, she knew it wouldn’t. Desire wasn’t so easily drowned.

She leaned her hip against the counter, staring at the patterns of shadow trembling across the tile floor. Ares was not meant for her. She repeated the words silently, like an incantation, but the pulse in her throat betrayed her. Not meant for her... and yet he lingered, threaded through her thoughts, woven into her very breath.

The door to the sitting room cracked open and Erato’s voice carried in, rich with mischief: “Lily? Don’t tell me you’re hiding in the kitchen again.”

Lily startled, nearly sloshing wine over her hand. She forced her voice steady. “Just refilling.”

“Bring the bottle,” Erato called, laughter chasing her words as she swayed out of the room. 

Lily closed her eyes, inhaling the silence. She wanted to stay here, alone with the dangerous truth of her longing. But she lifted the bottle anyway, and her glass, and turned back toward the sound of her sisters. Her steps were steady and measured, but her heart carried its secret flame, untouched and untouchable.