As if hearing my thoughts, Artemis flushes but nods.
She’s no protector. Not yet.
But maybe it will only take one of us to successfully defy my father before the others follow suit. The icy glare in Artemis’seyes, ducked to the table, suggests she’d love to take on everyone that ever put a girl in danger, preferably with an arrow through the eye.
‘Please, do eat,’ I insist. The men certainly wouldn’t be hesitating. The women of my court have already piled their plates high.
‘None of this food was grown here?’ Hera checks.
I assure her it was not, shuddering at the thought of any Olympian here for eternity.
I perform for the next hour, glittering like a crystal ornament for them to admire. I feign interest in the gossip they share, giggle at their tiresome jokes and bow my head with a blush at any questions about Hades. They will get nothing from me.
I scan the faces around me, wondering who else is performing a role. I’m a little concerned – though perhaps not surprised – to find that I think all of them are.
Nymphs return with cakes that shimmer with sugar, whips of cream and torrents of honey. Fruit is piled so high in the baskets they carry that it makes Mount Olympus look small. I pull Tempest aside before she leaves, whispering to her to refill the wine of the goddesses.
I wonder if Hades’ party is this dull. Perhaps they’re all playing their roles too – bawdy men with riotous feasting and vile questions. I wonder if Hades answers them as I reach for my own goblet. He could barely manage Hermes at our engagement announcement. How will he cope with a roomful of gods wanting lewd details about our non-existent relationship?
By the time the cakes are cleared, the chattering has reached fever pitch, thanks no doubt to the swiftly filled glasses. Twominor ocean deities are heatedly arguing, and those round them turn their heads from side to side like they are watching a pentathlon.
Astraea, another of my father’s bastards and technically, I suppose, my sister, leans into Peitho, goddess of seduction. Peitho rests her hand on Astraea’s thigh and Astraea blushes a shade of red I’ve only seen on flowers.
People are pushing their plates away and moving to talk to those sitting further away, forming small huddles of goddesses trading gossip. Just as I’m about to join one, Hera’s hand grasps my arm.
‘Your mother is distraught, you know,’ she says. Her eyes are more alert than her clumsy movements suggest. She’s not too drunk then; this is something she would callously say sober.
‘Have you spoken to her?’ I ask. ‘Is she okay?’
‘How could she be?’ Hera says but she doesn’t sound compassionate. She sounds cruel, a sneering lilt to her voice. ‘She thinks he’s forcing you to act this happy but you really are delighted, aren’t you? How could you do that to your poor mother?’
Well, if she were here, if I could speak to her, maybe she’d understand.
‘I love Hades,’ I confirm. ‘And I hope that in time she may see that. She’ll be pleased with how happy I am with my husband.’
Hera snorts derisively. ‘You’ve been married less than a day and you’re expecting happiness? You truly are naive.’
‘I am demanding happiness,’ I correct and pull my arm from her so abruptly she jolts. I stand just as abruptly. ‘Excuse me.’
Perhaps any plan to ally myself with Hera will have to wait. Before I can choose a group to converse with, Hecate appears beside me.
‘May I speak to you privately?’ she asks.
I suppress a sigh. I get the feeling protesting will not end particularly well.
I take her to a small room so close to the banquet hall that I can still hear the chatter of the goddesses.
‘What is this?’ she asks, waving her wrinkled hand at me.
‘Could you elaborate?’
‘Your web of deceit is a disgrace.’
I close my arms across my chest. ‘I’m sorry you feel that way.’
I turn to go but she steps in front of me, pushing me back.
‘What are you doing, playing at the blushing bride when you could be doing so much more?’
