“How is the wedding planning going?” Lexa asked. She sat across from Persephone on a white quilt, embroidered with blue forget-me-nots. It had been a gift from one of the souls, Alma. She’d approached Persephone on one of her daily visits to Asphodel, a bundle in her arms.
“I have something for you, my lady.”
“Alma, you shouldn’t have—”
“It is a gift for you to give,” she interrupted quickly, wisps of her silver hair floating around her round, rosy-cheeked face. “I know you grieve for your friend so here, give her this.”
Persephone had taken the bundle, and upon realizing what it was—a quilt, lovingly crafted with small, blue flowers, tears sprang to her eyes.
“I don’t know that I need to tell you what forget-me-nots mean,” Alma continued. “True love, faithfulness, memories. In time, your friend will come to know you again.”
That evening, after Persephone had returned to the castle, she’d hugged the blanket to her chest and wept. The next day, she gifted it to Lexa.
“Oh, it is beautiful, my lady,” she’d said, holding the bundle as if it were a small child.
Persephone stiffened at the use of her title; her brows furrowed and when she spoke, she sounded more confused than anything. “My lady?”
Lexa had never used Persephone’s title before. Their eyes met, and Lexa hesitated, blushing.
Lexa never blushed.
“Thanatos said it is your title,” she explained.
Persephone recognized that titles had a use, but not among friends.
“Call me Persephone.”
Lexa’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You…didn’t.”
As much as Persephone tried to sound convincing, she couldn’t imbue her voice with enough reassurance. The truth was, hearing Lexa call her my lady was another reminder that she wasn’t the same person as before, and as much as Persephone told herself to be patient with Lexa, it was difficult. Lexa looked the same, sounded the same—she even laughed the same, but her personality was different.
“Besides, if we are using titles, then you would have to call Thanatos lord.”
Again, Lexa appeared to be embarrassed. She averted his eyes, and her flush deepened as she answered, “He said…I didn’t have to.”
Persephone had left that conversation feeling strange and somehow, even more distant from Lexa than before.
“Persephone?” Lexa asked.
“Hmm?” Persephone was drawn from her thoughts. Her eyes shifted and met Lexa’s eyes—bright blue, beautiful. Her face was paler here beneath the light of Elysium, framed by her thick, dark locks. She was also dressed in a white gown that tied around the middle. It was a color Persephone could not remember her wearing in the time she had known her in the Upperworld.
“Wedding planning—how is it going?” Lexa asked again.
“Oh,” Persephone frowned and admitted, “I haven’t really begun.”
That was half-true. She hadn’t begun planning—but Hecate and Yuri had. In all honesty, thinking of planning a wedding without Lexa hurt. If she’d been alive, her best friend would have been online looking for color palettes and dresses and venues. She would have made a plan and lists and explained customs Persephone had never been taught by her mother. Instead, she sat across from Persephone, quiet, subdued, unaware of their history. Even if Persephone had wanted to include her in Yuri and Hecate’s plans, she couldn’t—souls were not allowed to leave Elysium unless Thanatos deemed them ready to transition to Asphodel.
“Perhaps we can take the planning to her,” Persephone had suggested.
Thanatos had shaken his head. “Your visits leave her fatigued. She could not handle anything more at the moment.”
He had also attempted to ease the rejection with his magic. The God of Death was able to calm those in his presence, bringing comfort to the grieving and easing anxiety. Sometimes, though, it had the opposite effect on Persephone. She found his influence over emotion invasive, even when he meant well. In the days after Lexa’s death, Thanatos had used his magic in an attempt to ease her suffering, but she’d told him to stop. While she knew he meant well, she wanted to feel—even if it hurt.
It seemed wrong not to when she had caused Lexa so much pain.
“You don’t seem excited,” Lexa pointed out.
“I am excited to be Hades’ wife,” she clarified. “It’s just…I never imagined that I would be getting married. I don’t even know where to start.”
Demeter had never prepared her for this—for anything. The Goddess of Harvest had hoped to outwit the Fates by keeping her isolated from the world—from Hades. When she’d begged to leave the greenhouse, to enter the world in the guise of a mortal, she’d only had dreams of finishing her degree, beginning a successful career, and reveling in her freedom for as long as possible.
Love had never been part of that dream, least of all marriage.
“Hmm,” Lexa hummed, and she leaned back on her hands, head tilted toward the muted sky, as if she wished to sunbathe. “You should start with what makes you the most excited.”
It was advice the old Lexa would have offered.
But what made Persephone most excited was being Hades’ wife. When she thought of their future, her chest felt full, her body electric, her soul, alive.
“I will think on it,” Persephone promised as she rose to her feet. Speaking of the wedding, she was due at the palace soon to begin planning. “Although, I am sure Hecate and Yuri will have their own ideas.”
“They may,” Lexa said, and for a moment, Persephone couldn’t look away. The old Lexa stared back, thoughtful and sincere as she added, “But it is your wedding.”
***
Persephone left Elysium.
She should teleport to Asphodel. She was already running late, but as she left Lexa behind, her vision blurred with tears. She stopped, burying her face in her hands. Her body ached, chest hollow and lungs aflame. She knew this feeling well, as it had crippled her in the days since Lexa’s death. It came, unbidden, like the nightmares haunting her sleep—it came when she expected it and even when she didn’t, attached to laughter and smells and songs, to words and places and pictures. It chipped away at pieces of her.
And it wasn’t just sadness that burdened her—she was also angry. Angry that Lexa had been hurt at all, angry that despite the gods—despite her own Divinity—there was no fighting Fate. Because Persephone had tried, and she had failed.
Her stomach knotted, poisoned by guilt. If she had known what lay ahead, she would have never bargained with Apollo. When Lexa lay unconscious in the ICU, Persephone had just begun to understand what it was to fear losing someone. In fact, she had been so afraid, she had done everything in her power to prevent what was ultimately, inevitable. Her decisions had hurt Lexa in ways that were only repairable with time—and a drink from the Lethe.
Even with her memories gone, Persephone still had hope that the old Lexa would come back. Now she knew the truth—grief meant never going back, it meant never collecting the pieces. It meant that the person she was now in the aftermath of Lexa’s death was who she would be until the next death.
Bile rose in her throat.
Grief was a cruel god.
As she approached the palace, she was greeted by Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus who bounded toward her. The three Dobermans halted before her, energetic but obedient. She knelt, scratching behind their ears and moving to their sides. She’d come to understand their personalities more. Of the three, Cerberus was the most serious and the most dominate. Typhon was mellow but always alert, and Orthrus could be silly when he wasn’t patrolling the Underworld—which was almost never.
“How are my handsome boys?” she asked.
They panted and Orthrus’s paws tapped the ground, as if he could barely contain his wish to lick her face.
“Have you seen Hecate and Yuri?” she asked.
They whined.
“Take me to them.”
The three obeyed, ambling toward the palace, towering and ominous, it could be seen from just about anywhere in the Underworld. Its shining obsidian pinnacles seemed to go on forever, disappearing into the bright, grey-toned sky, a representation of Hades’ reach, his influence, his reign. At the base of the castle were gardens of green ivy, red roses, narcissus, and gardenias. There were willows and blossoming trees and pathways that cut through the flora. It was a symbol of Hades’ kindness, his ability to change and adapt—it was atonement.
When she’s first visited, she’d been angry to find the Underworld so lush, both because of the bargain she’d struck with the God of the Dead, and also because creating life was supposed to be her power. Hades had quickly illustrated that the beauty he had crafted was an illusion. Even then, she’d been jealous that he was able to use his magic so effortlessly. Though she was gaining control daily—through practices with Hecate and Hades—she still envied their control.
“We are old gods, my dear,” Hecate had said. “You cannot compare yourself to us.”
They were words she repeated every time she felt the familiar claws of jealousy. Every time she felt the familiar frustration of failure. She was improving, and one day she would master her magic, and maybe then the illusions Hades had held for years would become real.
The dogs lead her to the ballroom where Hecate and Yuri stood before a table of floral stems, color swatches, and sketches of wedding dresses.
“There you are,” Hecate said, looking up at the sound of the Doberman’s nails tapping on the marble floor. They ran straight for the Goddess of Witchcraft, who bent to pat their heads before they plopped on the floor beneath the table, panting.
“Sorry I’m late,” Persephone said. “I was visiting Lexa.”
“That’s alright, dear,” Hecate said. “Yuri and I were just discussing your engagement party.”
“My…engagement party?” It was the first time she’d heard anything about it. “I thought we were meeting to plan for the wedding.”
“Oh, we are,” Yuri said. “But we must have an engagement party. Oh, Persephone! I cannot wait to call you queen!”
“You can call her queen now,” Hecate said. “Hades does.”
“It’s just so exciting!” Yuri clasped her hands. “A Divine wedding! We haven’t had one of those in years.”
“Who was the last?” Persephone asked.
“I believe it was Aphrodite and Hephaestus,” Hecate said.
Persephone frowned. Rumors had always circulated about Aphrodite and Hephaestus, the most common, that the God of Fire did not want the Goddess of Love. During the times Persephone had spoken to Aphrodite, she’d gathered that the goddess was not happy in her marriage, but she did not know why. When she tried to learn more about her relationship, Aphrodite shut down. In part, Persephone did not blame the goddess. Her love life and its struggles were no one’s business. Still, she got the sense that Aphrodite believed she was very much alone.
“Were you in attendance at their wedding?” Persephone asked Hecate.
“I was,” she said. “It was beautiful, despite the circumstances.”
“Circumstances?”
“Theirs was an arranged marriage,” Yuri explained. “Aphrodite was a gift to Hephaestus.”
“A…gift.”
Persephone cringed. How could a goddess—any woman—be presented as a gift?
“That is what Zeus likes to say,” Hecate said. “But when she was born—a siren of beauty and temptation—Zeus was approached by several gods for her hand in marriage—Ares, Poseidon, even Hermes fell prey to her charms, though he will deny it. Zeus rarely makes a decision without consulting his oracle, and when he asked about marriage to each of those gods, the oracle foretold war, so he wed her to Hephaestus.”
Persephone frowned. “But Aphrodite seems so…fierce. Why would she allow Zeus to determine who she weds?”
“Aphrodite wanted to marry Hephaestus,” Hecate said. “And even if she hadn’t, she would not have had any choice. All Divine marriages must be approved by Zeus.”
“What? Why? I thought Hera was the Goddess of Marriage.”
“She is—and he involves her to a point, but he does not trust her. She would approve of a marriage if it meant an end to his reign as King of the Gods.
“I still don’t understand. Why do we need approval to marry?”
“Marriage between gods it is not like mortals—gods share power, they have children. There are many factors Zeus must consider before he gives his blessing.”
“Share….power?”
“Yes—though I doubt it will affect Hades at all. He already has influence over the Earth, but you—you will have control over shadow, over death.”
Persephone shivered. The thought that she would have to learn to control and harness more magic was a little overwhelming. She was just now mastering her own magic. Of course, that wouldn’t be a problem if Zeus did not approve of her marriage. Why hadn’t Hades told her about this?
“Is there a chance Zeus will disapprove?” she asked, worrying her bottom lip. If he did, what would Hades do?
Darling, I would burn this world for you.
The words trailed along her skin, whispering along her spine—a promise Hades had made and would deliver upon if forced.
“I cannot say for certain,” Hecate said, and her evasive words made anxiety flare in Persephone’s stomach—a constant static that sat in her heart and pumped through her veins. The goddess was rarely anything but direct.
Yuri elbowed Hecate. “I am sure Zeus will approve,” she said. “What reasons could he possibly have for denying you happiness?”
Persephone could think of one—and that was her power. After she had lost control in the Forest of Despair and used Hades’ own magic against him, Hecate had confessed a fear she’d harbored since their first meeting—that she would be more powerful than any other god. That power would either land her a spot among the Olympians or as their enemy, which she could not say.
Yuri seemed to tire of the conversation and changed the subject quickly.
“Let’s start with color palettes!” she said, opening a large book on the table. Tuffs of cloth stuck out from the between pages.
“What is this?” Persephone asked.
“It’s…well, it’s a book of wedding ideas.”
“Where did you get it?”
“The girls and I made it,” Yuri said.
Persephone raised a brow.
“When did you start it?”
The soul’s cheeks turned pink, and she stammered. “A few months ago.”
“Hmm.”
Persephone had a feeling the souls had been collecting wedding-themed items since the night she almost drowned in the Styx, but she said nothing, listening as Yuri showed her a variety of color pairings.
“I’m thinking lilac and green,” she said. “It will compliment black, which we all know is the only color Hades will wear.”
Persephone giggled. “Does his color choice annoy you?”
“You mean his lack of color? Just once I’d like to see him in white.”
Hecate snorted, but said nothing.
As Yuri continued going over other options, Persephone couldn’t help thinking about Zeus and wondering why they were planning a wedding before knowing if her union with Hades was even permitted. Perhaps your marriage has been blessed, she argued. Perhaps Hades had asked before his proposals. It would explain why she’d never heard of the antiquated caveat.
Still, she would be sure to ask him later…and she would be anxious until then.
Persephone approved of the color pallet and with that settled, Yuri moved onto the wedding dress.
“I had Alma draw up some designs,” she said.
Persephone flipped through the pages. Each dress was heavily embellished with jewels or pearls and layers and layers of tulle. She might not have ever dreamed of her wedding, but she knew for certain these were not the dresses for her.
“What do you think?”
“They are beautiful sketches,” she said.
“You don’t like them,” Yuri said instantly, frowning.
“It’s not that…” Persephone said.
“It’s that,” Hecate interjected.
Persephone glared. “It’s just that…I think I want something a little more…simple.”
“But…you are to be a Queen,” Yuri argued.
“But I am still Persephone,” she said. “And I’d like to be Persephone…for as long as I can.”
Yuri opened her mouth to protest once more, but Hecate intervened. “I understand, my dear. Why don’t I take care of coordinating the gown? Besides, it’s not as though you won’t have another chance to wear a ballgown.”
The Goddess of Witchcraft looked pointedly at Yuri.
Persephone’s brows knitted together. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, my dear—this is just the first wedding. You’ll have a second, perhaps a third.”
Persephone felt the color drain from her face. “A…third?”
This was another thing she had yet to learn.
Hecate explained. “One in the Underworld, one in the Upperworld, and one on Olympus.”
“Why Olympus?”
“It’s tradition.”
“Tradition,” Persephone echoed. Just as it was tradition for Zeus to approve marriages—and now she wondered, if Zeus didn’t approve of their marriage, did that mean he did not approve of their relationship at all? Would he try to force them apart just as her mother? She frowned. “I’m not so eager to follow tradition.”
Hecate smiled. “Lucky for you, Hades isn’t, either.”
They stayed for a while longer, discussing flowers and location. Yuri favored gardenias and hydrangeas while Persephone preferred anemone and narcissus. Yuri favored the ballroom for the ceremony while Persephone favored one of the gardens—perhaps beneath the purple wisteria in Hades’ garden. By the end of it, Hecate was smiling.
“What?” Persephone asked, curious as to why the Goddess of Magic seemed so amused.
“Oh, nothing,” she said. “It’s just…despite stating otherwise, you seem to know exactly what you want out of this wedding.”
Persephone smiled softly. “I just…picked things that reminded me of us.”
After their meeting, Persephone retired to the baths where she soaked in the hot, lavender-infused water for close to an hour. She was exhausted. It was the kind of weariness that went bone deep, a result of her body fighting near-constant anxiety and crushing guilt. It did not help that she had awoken to nightmares of Pirithous. Even after she and Hades had returned from Tartarus, she’d been unable to sleep. Laying wide-awake beside the God of the Dead, reliving the torture she’d inflicted upon the demi-god, wondering what her actions made her. Suddenly, her mother’s words came to mind.
Daughter, even you cannot escape our corruption. It is what comes with power.
Was she a monster? Or just another god?
Persephone left the baths and returned to Hades’—their, she reminded herself—bedchamber. She intended to change and dine with the souls while she waited to confront Hades about Zeus, but when she saw the bed, her body felt heavy and all she wanted to do was rest. She collapsed atop the silk sheets, comfortable, weightless, safe.
When she opened her eyes, it was night. The room was full of firelight and shadowy flames danced on the wall opposite her. She sat up and found Hades near the fireplace. He turned to face her, naked, his muscles haloed by flames—broad shoulders, flat abs, strong thighs. Her gaze trailed all parts of him—from his glittering eyes to his swollen cock. He was a work of art as much as he was a weapon.
He sipped the whiskey in his glass.
“You are awake,” he said softly then downed what remained of his drink, leaving the glass on the table near the fireplace, to come to bed. As he sat beside her, he cupped her face and kissed her. When he pulled away, his thumb brushed her lips.
“How was your day?” he asked.
She pulled at her lip with her teeth as she answered, “Hard.”
He frowned.
“Yours?” she asked.
“The same,” he said, letting his hand fall from her face. “Lay with me.”
“You don’t have to ask,” she whispered.
He parted her robe which had already fallen open, exposing one of her breasts to his hungry eyes. The silky fabric slid down her arms, puddling around her waist. Hades bent, taking her nipples into his mouth, tongue shifting between teasing laps and sharp sucking. Persephone’s fingers tangled into his hair, holding him in place as her head fell back, delighting in the feel of his mouth on her body. The longer he worked, the hotter she grew, and she found herself guiding one of Hades hands between her thighs, to her molten center where she desired most to be filled.
He obliged, parting her slick flesh, and as he filled her, she blew out a breath that turned into a moan, which Hades captured as his mouth closed over hers. For a long moment, Persephone held Hades’ wrist as his fingers worked, curling deep, touching familiar parts of her, but then her hand shifted to his cock and as her fingers met the softness of his shaft, he groaned, breaking their kiss and leaving her body.
She growled, reaching for his hand again, but he just chuckled.
“Do you not trust me to bring you pleasure?” he asked.
“Eventually.”
Hades narrowed his eyes. “Oh, darling. How you challenge me.”
He shifted her body so that she was on her side, back to his chest. One of his arms cradled her neck while the other gripped her breasts, skimmed down her stomach to her thighs. He drew her legs apart, hooking one over his own, spreading her wide. His fingers circled her clit and threaded through her curls before dipping into her warmth again. She inhaled, arching against him, his hard cock grinding into her ass. Her head pressed into the crook of his shoulder, her legs opening wider, coaxing him deeper—and Hades’ mouth descended on hers, savage in his wish to claim.
Her breath quickened, her heels slipped on the bedding, unable to ground—she felt euphoric and alive, and she wanted more even as the first vibrating orgasm wrecked her body.
“Is this pleasure?” he asked.
She did not have time to answer. Even if he’d given her time, she did not think she had the ability to summon words between heavy breaths as the head of Hades’ cock nestled against her entrance. She inhaled as he eased inside her, back arching, shoulders digging into his chest. When he was fully sheathed, his mouth touched her shoulder, teeth grazing skin, hand continuing to tease her clit until she moaned. It was a sound he had summoned from somewhere deep inside her.
“Is this pleasure?” he asked again as he moved, setting a slow rhythm that made her aware of everything—each increment of his cock as it reached deep, the slamming of his balls against her ass, the way each thrust stole the breath from her lungs.
“Is this pleasure?” he asked again.
She turned her head toward his, gripping the back of his neck. “It is ecstasy.”
Their lips collided in a vicious kiss and there was no more talking, just gasps, desperate moans, and the slamming of bodies. The heat grew between them, until Persephone could feel the perspiration from their bodies mixing. Hades’ pace quickened, one hand kept her leg curled around his own, the other was at her throat, holding her jaw between his fingers with the lightest pressure—and he held her like that until they came.
Hades’ head fell into the crook of her neck where he pressed kisses to her skin.
“Are you well?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
She was more than well. Sex with Hades always went beyond her expectations and every time she thought they’d reached their peak—nothing can get better than this—she was proven wrong. This instance had been no different, and she found herself wondering just how much experience the God of the Dead had—and why was he holding out?
Hades withdrew, and Persephone rolled to face him, studied his face, glistening after their lovemaking. He looked sleepy and content.
“Has Zeus approved of our marriage?”
Hades stilled, as if his heart had stopped beating and he had ceased breathing. She wasn’t sure what he was reacting to—perhaps he realized he’d forgotten to talk to her about this, or he realized he’d been caught. After a moment, he relaxed, but a strange tension settled between them—it wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t the elation they usually reveled in after sex.
“He is aware of our engagement,” he said.
“That is not what I asked.”
She knew him well enough now—Hades never said or offered more than was needed. He stared at her for a moment before answering, “He will not deny me.”
“But he has not given you his blessing?”
She wanted him to say it, though she already knew the answer.
“No.”
It was her turn to stare. Still, Hades remained silent.
“When were you going to tell me?” Persephone asked.
“I don’t know,” he paused and to her surprised added, “When I had no other choice.”
“That is more than obvious.” She glared.
“I was hoping to avoid it altogether,” he said.
“Telling me?”
“No, Zeus’s approval,” Hades said. “He makes a spectacle of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“He will summon us to Olympus for an engagement feast and festivities, he will drag out his decision for days. I have no desire to be in attendance, and no desire to have you suffer through it.”
“And when will he do this?” Her voice a breathless whisper.
“In a few weeks, I imagine,” he said.
She stared at the ceiling, the colors swirling together as her vision clouded with tears. She wasn’t sure why this made her so emotional—maybe it was because she was afraid, or maybe because she was tired.
“Why wouldn’t you tell me? If there is a chance we cannot be together, I have the right to know.”
“Persephone,” Hades whispered, rising to his elbow, he loomed over her, brushing at her tears. “No one will keep us apart—not the Fates, not your mother, and not Zeus.”
“You are so certain, but even you will not challenge the Fates.”
“Oh, darling, but I have told you before—for you, I would destroy this world.”
She swallowed, watching him. “Perhaps that is what I fear the most.”
He studied her a moment longer, thumb brushing her cheek before his lips touched hers, then kissed down her body, drinking deep between her thighs and when he rose again, there were no other names upon her lips but Hades.
***
Later she woke again to find Hades returning to their room, fully dressed.
Her brows knitted together as she rose into a sitting position, eyes still heavy with sleep.
“What’s wrong?”
The god grimaced, his gaze hard and a little unkind as he answered, “Adonis is dead. He’s been murdered.”
She blinked as a wave of shock shivered though her.
Persephone did not like Adonis. He had stolen her work and published it without her permission, he’d touched her even after she’d said no, and he’d threatened to expose her relationship with Hades if she didn’t get him rehired at New Athens News. He deserved a lot, but he hadn’t deserved to be murdered.
Hades crossed the room, returning to the bar where he poured himself a drink.
“Adonis. Murdered? How?”
“Horribly,” Hades replied. “He was found in the alleyway outside La Rose.”
It took Persephone a moment to think, her mind not quite able to catch up with the news. The last time she’d seen Adonis was in the Garden of the Gods. She’d turned his arms into literal, wooden limbs and he’d groveled at her feet, begging to be returned to normal. She’d done so under the condition that if he touched another woman without consent, he would spend the rest of his days as a corpse flower.
She hadn’t seen him since.
“Has he made it here…to the Underworld?”
“He has,” Hades replied as he downed a glass of whiskey and poured another.
“Can you ask him what happened?”
“No. He…is in Elysium.”
Which told Persephone that his death had to have been traumatic to warrant placement upon the healing fields.
Persephone watched as Hades threw back another drink. He only drank like this when he was anxious and what worried her most was how upset he seemed about the death of a man he’d once called a parasite.
Whatever he’d seen had disturbed him.
“Do you think he was killed because of Aphrodite’s favor?” Persephone asked.
It wasn’t uncommon—over the years, many mortals had been killed for that very reason and Adonis was someone who flaunted his association with the Goddess of Love.
“It’s likely,” he said. “Whether it was because of jealousy or a hatred for the gods, I cannot say.”
Dread pooled in her stomach.
“Are you suggesting he was killed by someone who had a vendetta against Aphrodite?”
“I think he was killed by several people,” Hades said. “And that they hate all Divinity.”
