“Your support.”
He nodded, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “You have it.”
“And I’d like to hire Leuce as an assistant.”
He raised his brows, though he wasn’t surprised. “I’m sure she’d be pleased.”
“And…I need your permission.”
He almost laughed at her list of requests, but he was intrigued, unable to imagine what she might ask his permission for, though he would grant anything if she asked.
“Oh?”
“I want the first story to be our story. I want to tell the world how I fell in love with you. I want to be the first to announce our engagement.”
His chest felt tight at her words, and while he’d never consider offering their life to anyone willingly, he would do it for Persephone.
“Hmm,” he said, pretending to consider her demand. “I will agree under one condition.”
“And that is?”
“I too wish to tell the world how I fell in love with you.”
She smiled and offered a breathy laugh as he took her mouth against his, and when she shifted to straddle his body, he gladly let her take him.
* * *
Hades had attended few mortal funerals, and when he did, it was often when he was cloaked in glamour, but this one—Lexa’s—was different. He attended with Persephone because she asked, and even if she hadn’t, he would have been there for her. It was a morose affair, with many dressed in black.
“She would have hated this,” Persephone said. “She would have wanted a celebration.”
Hades smoothed her hair and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Funerals are for the living.”
It wasn’t long after that her anxiety began to rise. Hades did not need to look to know what had upset her—mortals. Those in attendance knew who he was, knew who she was, and did not understand why he had allowed Lexa to die. He could feel their gazes, angry and discontent, though all he cared about was how Persephone felt.
“You could never make them understand,” he said in an attempt to quell her nerves.
She stared back at him, not only sad for Lexa but for him. “I do not want them to think poorly of you.”
“I hate that it bothers you. Does it help if I tell you the only opinion I value is yours?”
“No,” she said, but despite her pain, she managed a smile.
Chapter XXIX
Pirithous
MY JOURNEY TOWARD LOVING THE GOD OF THE DEAD
It was the first article on Persephone’s new website, The Advocate, and while Hades had been prepared for it, she hadn’t let him read it until it was live.
“You’ll have to wait like everyone else!” she had said.
When he’d asked why, she’d blushed.
“Because I don’t want to be here when you do.”
Now that he had read her words, he understood. She had wanted him to read it alone so he could feel the full weight of her confession—and did he ever.
He’d read it over and over again.
Fuck. He loved her, and it took everything in his power to remain focused on his work when all he wanted to do was go to her, but today was a big day for her. She had launched her website, this…love letter to him…and she was quitting her job at New Athens News. She was taking back her power, and he was proud.
In the meantime, he had an errand to run—one that felt even more right on the heels of this article—and he was eager to see it complete, which was how he found himself returning to the island of Lemnos, but this time to visit Hephaestus. He wandered through the god’s lab, a cluttered and cavernous workshop built into a volcanic mountain, filled with his inventions. The God of Fire had created weapons, armor, and even human life for the Olympians and their heroes. His skills, while invaluable, were often overlooked by the other gods, who were content to forget he existed until they needed something, though Hades did not think Hephaestus minded, as it allowed him to pursue his own interests.
As he wandered through the empty lab, he heard a loud clanking coming from below. Hades followed the sound into the darkened corridors of Hephaestus’s lab, down a set of stone steps, to a forge that was bright with fire. Hephaestus stood before it, sweat dripping down his bare chest, his muscles bulging from the work he had already put into shaping the metal he had pressed against his anvil.
A few more hard strikes and Hephaestus dropped his hammer, turning his attention to Hades. Perspiration and black coal stained his face, making his gray eyes somehow look brighter. He wiped a hand across his brow, then used a cloth sticking out of his leather apron to clean his hands.
“Lord Hades,” he greeted. “Come to retrieve your ring?”
Not long ago, Hades had commissioned Hephaestus to craft a ring for Persephone, but shortly before he had gone to retrieve it, Persephone had discovered his bargain with Aphrodite, which had caused her to question everything—even his love for her. He knew how it had looked then, knew how it looked even now, but that had not made letting her go any easier, and it had made seeing the ring he had designed for her even worse.
Hades had expected to never see the ring again, but Hephaestus had known better and promised to hold on to it until he needed it again.
“I didn’t know you were psychic,” Hades said.
“It is not so easy to fall out of love,” Hephaestus said, and there was an uneasy silence that followed those words. Likely Hephaestus feared he had invited Hades to comment on his relationship with Aphrodite, but Hades said nothing, though he knew Hephaestus spoke from experience.
The God of Fire crossed to a workbench and plucked a black box from one of his crowded shelves and handed it to Hades. He was overcome with a comforting energy as the soft velvet touched his palm, and when he opened the lid to gaze upon the ring—a ring of flowers and gems that gleamed in the firelight—he felt nervous.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, closing the box.
Hephaestus nodded.
“What are you working on?” Hades asked. He was always curious about the god’s projects.
“Nothing of worth,” the god replied, but Hades caught sight of it—the metal he was shaping—and he had questions.
“Is that…adamant?” Hades looked longer. “Is that a trident?”
Then his gaze leveled with Hephaestus’s.
“Are you trying to re-create Poseidon’s trident?”
The God of Fire was frozen in place, but not out of fear. This was different. He was stiff all over, his muscles rippling, as if he were about to have to defend himself.