They feasted, and the meadow was full of happy chatter, laughter, and the delighted screams of children. Persephone watched the scene, her heart full. These were her people, but most importantly, they were her friends. The urge to protect and provide for them was almost primal—it was that impulse that surprised her, but it was also how she knew she wanted to be Queen of the Underworld—because taking on that title meant something far more than royalty. It was responsibility, it was caring, it was making this realm an even better, more comforting space.
“What are you thinking?” Hades asked.
She glanced at him and then at her hands. She held a wheat roll and had been breaking off pieces, her lap was covered in crumbs. She sat it aside and brushed them away.
“I was just thinking about becoming queen,” she said.
Hades offered a small smile. “And are you happy?”
“Yes,” she said. “Of course. I was just thinking of how it will be. What we will do together. If, that is, Zeus approves.”
Hades’ lips thinned. “Just keep planning, darling.”
She did not ask him any more questions about Zeus because she knew what he would say—we will marry despite Zeus—and she believed him.
“I would like to speak about earlier,” Hades said. “Before we were interrupted, you asked if I trusted you.”
She could tell by his expression that her question had hurt his feelings. She hesitated to speak, searching for the words to explain herself.
“You did not think I’d come to you when Hermes summoned me to Lemnos,” she said. “Tell me, truthfully.”
Hades clenched his jaw before answering, “I did not.”
Persephone frowned.
“But I was more concerned about Aphrodite. I know what she wants from you. I worry you will try to investigate and identify Adonis and Harmonia’s attackers on your own. It isn’t because I don’t trust you, but because I know you. You want to make the world safe again, fix what is broken.”
“I told you I wouldn’t do anything without your knowledge,” Persephone said. “I meant it.”
Persephone wanted to find Adonis and Harmonia’s attackers as much as Hades and Aphrodite, but that did not mean she was going to be rash. She’d learned a lot from her mistakes. Not to mention, seeing Harmonia and how she’d suffered gave her even more pause. This threat was obviously different. Gods with control of their powers weren’t able to fight it, which meant she’d have an even harder time.
“I am sorry,” he said.
“You once said words had no meaning,” she answered. “Let our actions speak next time.”
She would show Hades she meant what she said, and she could only hope he’d do the same.
***
Later, after the souls had retreated to their homes for the night, they remained in the meadow. Hades rested on his back, his head in Persephone’s lap. She played with his hair, smoothing her fingers through it as it spilled over her thigh and into the grass. His eyes were closed, his thick lashes grazing the high points of his cheek. He had faint lines around his eyes that deepened when he smiled. If there were any around his mouth, she could not see for the stubble on his face.
Gods did not age beyond a certain point in their lifetime. It was different for everyone, which was why none of them looked the same, and probably a decision made by the Fates. Hades looked as though he had matured into his late thirties.
“Hades,” she said his name and then quieted, hesitating.
“Hmm?” He looked up at her and she held his gaze.
“What did you trade for your ability to have children?”
He stiffened and shifted his eyes to the sky. It was something she’d been thinking about since playing in the meadow. One day, after they’d greeted souls at the Gates of the Underworld, Hades admitted that he could not give her children because he’d bargained away the ability. She did not know the details, and in that moment, she’d been more concerned about easing his anxiety. He’d seemed to think that this admission would mean the end of their relationship.
But Persephone was not sure she wanted children and she was no closer to making that decision now even though she asked.
“I gave a mortal woman divinity,” he answered.
The words made her throat feel tight and her fingers stalled as they threaded through his hair. After a moment, she asked, “Did you love her?”
Hades offered a humorless chuckle. “No. I wish I could claim it was out of love or even compassion,” he answered. “But...I wanted to claim a favor from a god and so I bargained with the Fates.”
“And they asked for your…our…children?”
This time, Hades rolled into a sitting position, twisting to face her, eyes roaming her face.
“What are you thinking?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. I just…am trying to understand Fate.”
Hades smiled wryly. “Fate does not make sense, that is why it is so easy to blame.”
The corners of her lips turned upward, but only for a moment as she looked away. Her thoughts were muddled as she tried to sort out how exactly Hades’ bargain made her feel.
He reached to brush his fingers along her cheek.
“If I had known—if I’d been given any inkling—I would have never—”
“It’s alright, Hades,” Persephone interrupted. “I did not ask to cause you grief.”
“You did not cause me grief,” he answered. “I think back on that moment often, reflect upon the ease with which I gave up something I would come to wish for, but that is the consequence of bargaining with the Fates. Inevitably, you will always desire what they take. One day, I think, you will come to resent me for my actions.”
“I do not, and I will not,” Persephone said, and she believed that despite a strange feeling knotting her chest. “Can you not forgive yourself as easily as you have forgiven me? We have all made mistakes, Hades.”
He stared at her for a moment and then kissed her, guiding her backward, to the pillowy ground. She relaxed beneath his weight and let him devour her mouth with slow, heated strokes. She drew her knees up, caging him between her thighs as she sought his hard length beneath his robes. Once she had him in hand, Hades pulled back to position himself against her heat. She arched against the feel of him thrusting into her. He settled there for a moment, buried deep and filling, kissing her once more before setting a languid pace. Their breaths were slow to quicken, their moans soft, their words whispered, and beneath the starry Underworld sky, they found release and refuge in each other’s arms.
***
“Persephone,” the voice was melodic—a soft whisper across skin.
Her breath caught in her throat as hands drifted up her calves. Her fingers fisted in the silk sheets and her back arched, restless, her body still half-buried in sleep.
“You will like it,” he whispered, his lips brushing her lower abdomen. She twisted and wriggled beneath the breathy touch.
“Open for me,” the voice coaxed. The words were a request, but the hands that forced her knees apart were a command.
She wrenched her eyes open, recognizing the sunken face and bleeding eyes staring into hers.
“Pirithous,” she said, hating the way the name sounded and felt in her mouth—a horrible curse that didn’t deserve the breath it took to speak. She screamed, and his bony hand clamped down upon her mouth. He shifted so that he straddled her, his thighs pressing into her body tight.