‘And we come back to you having an odd sense of what a compliment is.’
‘Did you mean it as a compliment?’
‘Well, yes, but only because I know you.’
‘Then my thank you stands.’
‘Are you ready?’ he asks.
‘One moment,’ I say, tucking a sprig of asphodel behind my ear.
Hades grins. ‘Well isn’t that just waving it in their faces?’
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘But they have no idea that’s what I’m doing.’
It is what brought me here. This is me screaming that it was my decision all along.
I think of other decisions I have made as we walk to the megaron – the human afterlife and everything it is shaping up to be. I think of Zeus on his throne and the other gods of Olympus and the wars they start and the people they hurt.I tell myself that even though it might take generations of humans, one day the gods will be lucky if they are even remembered. And maybe I’ll go down with them, but I’ll be smiling the whole damn way.
Maybe I do hold power, simply by choosing to act when others don’t.
Hades slips in first and I wait for my entrance.
With such thoughts swirling in my head, I don’t have to feign regal disdain as I push the doors open and traipse down the aisle.
The Muses and their offspring sing and minor deities play instruments, all of it eerie and echoing in a way that music can only be in the Underworld. It sends shivers down my spine and goosebumps prickling across my skin. Hades manipulates illusions without batting an eyelid: the whispers beneath the songs, the shadows creeping along his skin and sticking to every hollow and crevice of the hall. He even adorns me with them, tendrils beneath my feet as I walk, stretching in the reflections of the golden floor.
Hades waits at the end of the aisle, only it’s not an altar he stands by – it’s two thrones. A canopy of sheer fabric is draped above, floating on a non-existent, haunting breeze.
I ignore the gods, my sight set dead ahead on the throne that will be mine. When I reach Hades he turns with a pillow, upon which lies the most intricately designed crown I’ve ever seen – not that I’ve seen many. Metal twists like ivy, fragile and dangerous at the same time, like thorns on a rose. The gems are deep within, most of them black but dark reds and purples twinkle too.
Hades must have made it, I realize, feeling his signature. Like the cadence of his words or the tap of his footsteps, I recognize it.
The tip of each spike curls like smoke from a flame, his illusions made metal.
I remove my gloves delicately and slowly, tossing them aside without apparent reverence but very deliberate ease. My fingernails are long, blood red and pointed. Dark iron rings twist the length of my fingers.
Traditionally, the king would crown his queen. I snatch the crown myself and raise it to my head. There are gasps from the assembled gods but no one dares utter a word as a careful smile unfurls on my lips.
No one breathes as I clasp the collar of Hades’ ceremonial cloth. It must cost more than all the riches of the mortal realm. I pull him close. He wastes no time in clutching my waist to him and our lips meet like a collision.
In all honesty it’s messy and clumsy, both of us trying to move the same way at once, our teeth clashing. It’s still a performance – but a clunkier one than yesterday’s.
But no one can tell and as we pull away the whispers have already started. My focus lingers on my waist, Hades’ fingertips iron hot through the fabric – like my body remembers how he held me there last night, like it never wants to forget.
We are young. We are powerful. We are beautiful. And who knows what we could do together.
Zeus may be the god of lightning, but he looks thunderous.
And so it begins.
THE GODS LEAVE RATHER QUICKLY,smiles on their faces and whispers in the air. They’re gone hardly an hour before Hermes requests a drink with Hades, who later reports that the rumours are already flying. That Aphrodite had never sensed love like ours, powerful and alluring. That there was something about both of us that seemed more defined. That Hades tricked me into loving him. That I tricked him. That something is different, something is stronger, something –
‘Stop,’ I interrupt. ‘I need to talk to you about something.’
‘Divorce on your mind already?’ He grins. He’s been awfully smiley all day, clearly pleased with himself. Now we’re sitting before a fire in the study, a cosy little room with plush chairs and soft candlelight, supposedly toasting our success, and all I can hear is Hecate, like wherever she is she’s whispering at me. I dismissed her words yesterday, have barely thought about them since, but now they’re drowning out everything.
‘I didn’t want to ruin the wedding,’ I say. ‘Or the coronation.’
