Apollo is gazing around the guests, probably searching for nymphs in lieu of bridesmaids. Artemis stands to his side, awkwardly toying with a silver leaf-shaped hair clip, which would be more sophisticated if there wasn’t a real leaf tangled beside it.
Athena’s look is as iron cold as the shield that hangs from her side.
Now my steps become more purposeful.
Because there is Poseidon, his eyes a raging ocean and utterly indecipherable. Is he angry that Hades took what he could not have? Or is he delighted that Zeus has lost control?
Hera smiles serenely, embodying the graceful harmony she expects of a wedding.
And Father …
Zeus is doing a pretty good job of looking pleased. His hands rest behind his back as he surveys the scene before him. But his jaw is too tight, the muscles of his arms too tensed.
I grin, not even trying to suppress it because the veil does such a brilliant job.
This whole marriage would be worth it just to anger Zeus.
Beside him there is only empty space. My heart jumps. Where is she? It takes all my self-restraint not to search the crowd. I feel panicked like I’m a child again, lost in the woods and screaming for my mother.
Because she is not here.
She’s not here.
I imagined so many things, so many horrific confrontations – her screaming at Hades or dragging me away without listening to my protests. But no confrontation at all is so much worse. How could she not be here? I want to tell her the truth, show her what I’ve done with this world, introduce her to Hades and tell her all the things he’s done for me. But she hasn’t come. My mother hasn’t come to my wedding.
I keep going. The last thing I turn to see is Hades.
I nearly stumble.
It’s not that he’s gorgeous, because of course he is, his dark skin radiant, eyes bright, cheekbones and jawline carved from something harder than marble. It’s not that his white robe isperfectly cut to enhance all my favourite parts of him – his strong shoulders, muscled thighs and narrow hips. It’s not even the crown that rests upon his head, catching the light and pulling me closer, or the smoke that falls off him in waves, or the darkness clinging to his skin, more exaggerated than I’ve ever seen it so that he resembles a creature from a nightmare.
It’s the way he looks at me, the smile that isn’t visible but plays across his face nonetheless. It’s the way he is almost entranced. It’s the way I feel caught in his gaze.
My heart is beating hard and strong. From the corner of my eye I see Aphrodite, goddess of love, snap her head up, her eyes widening, and I wonder if she can sense every feeling thrumming through me.
Three women rise behind Hades, all unassuming in appearance, different only in their age. The Fates. The youngest’s hair is long and uncut. She is barely out of adolescence but something about her feels ancient. The middle reminds me of Mother, though they don’t look a thing alike. I remember that my mother is not here to see this. The final Fate makes Hecate look young. Her eyes, white with cataracts, stare straight at me.
I can feel their power. Every eye draws towards them. Hades and I bow our heads and the attendees drop to one knee.
Zeus bows – a stiff, jerky movement.
Even kings must bow to Fate, but the sight is delightful nonetheless.
I take my place beside Hades and the gods around me melt away. They are no longer individuals but a distant audience. All I can see is him.
The desire for this wedding to be real hits me so strongly that it feels more like pain than longing. The thought doesn’t shock me like it should; it’s just another wave of sadness pulsing through me. I knew I liked him, and I knew I wanted more. But it would be so like me not to realize quite how much until the moment I’m standing beside him, about to marry him.
Hades smiles slightly, the demure nod of a pleased monarch. But his eyes? Oh, his eyes are positively radiating happiness. Everyone can see how truly happy he is.
I have to concede defeat. My ability to lie has nothing on his. His performance is truly something else.
Clotho, the youngest Fate, steps forward. She wears a white dress of the kind it will no longer be deemed suitable for me to wear.
I don’t care too much about that. I only ever got them dirty anyway.
‘Lord Hades.’ Her voice is clear as it rings through the room like a tinkling bell. ‘You may lift the veil of your betrothed.’
My breath catches and this is it. I thought there would be more preamble, more ceremony.
