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Dimos kicks one of his hooves against the ground. “Damnit.”
Kore breathes out another breath, but this one is happier. He digs the poster out of his pocket, unfurling the paper to stare at the creased face of Hades. The goddess haunts his nights—a siren of thought that plagues Kore’s days.
I will look nice for you.
Dimos sees the paper and takes a seat beside Kore.
“You know, if mortals were Fates, it would be Persephone who marries Hades,” Dimos says, unaware of how his words slam against Kore’s excited heart.
“Mortals aren’t Fates though, are they?” Kore replies with a snort. “There are a great many stories they’ve gotten wrong.” His story, for certain.
“It would be neat,” Dimos says with a crooked grin. “Then there’d be something they got half right. But no one’s seen Persephone. There’s a lot of people who think Demeter made her up.”
“Believe me, Dimos, Persephone is real.” Kore tells him with a tight smile, “Demeter’s just really protective of her child.”For all the wrong reasons, Kore thinks but doesn’t tack on at the end.
“Could you imagine what kind of hell Demeter would unleash on Hades if she actually took the real Persephone? I’d almost pay to see it happen.” Dimos grins, amused by his thought.
Me too.
Kore releases a weak laugh. “Anyways, when’s a good time to come by for the suit?”
“Ugh, my mom is gonna kill me if she finds out. So, come when night falls. Well after she’s gone to sleep, please.” Dimos stands, after a glance at the massive clock on the face of the university. “I’ve got History of War for the next couple of hours. It’s a guest lecture by Achilles.”
“Should be a bore,” Kore snorts. Achilles is a great warrior; he’s a terrible teacher. Kore sat through one of his guest lectures during his freshman year and, though immortal, he wishes he could reclaim those hours of his time. Athena is a better guest lecturer, but she rarely makes it to the university unless it’s for graduation. She’s the one passing out diplomas. “I think I was the only one awake by the end of the lecture I saw,” Kore tells Dimos with a grin.
“Well, that means it won’t be that terrible if I pass out,” Dimos laughs. “Alright, see ya, Kore.”
He waves, watching as those short, hairy legs carry Dimos through the courtyard and toward the history department of the university. Kore doesn’t have another lecture today, but he also doesn’t have a home; so, he’s got to find a way to kill some time before dark. He can’t go back to Hera’s garden—he’s avoiding Zeus.
The paper in his hands rattles from a passing wind. Kore glances down at the scowling image, his eyes memorizing the soft lines that create the face of the queen. It’s not quite right, as if the artist was frightened away from gazing into Hades' eyes. They are black as her hair in the painting, nothing like the soft gray that fills Kore’s dreams.
He traces her eyes, his finger trailing over delicate ink lines that make up her nose and down to the swell of her red lips.
Kore makes a promise to that portrait, as he sits alone on a seat surrounded by daffodils. “If you don’t choose me, I’ll grovel at my mother’s feet and accept my fate as Persephone. But if you choose me, Queen Hades, I will make sure you never regret that choice.”
9
Hades
“Why can’t you choose me?” Minthe demands, his dark eyes hard with an emotion Hades doesn’t dare name.
Hades watches him with pity, but her voice remains firm as she speaks. “You know Zeus won’t allow me a union with a lesser deity.”
“Poseidon married a nereid.” Minthe points out, his words clipped as he bites them out through his teeth.
Hades sighs and rubs soothing circles against her temple. She avoided telling any of her subjects about Zeus' demand, certain she’d find a way out of the marriagebeforeword reached the Underworld. Born under a bad star, Hades lost out on that luck. “Poseidon is a god, Minthe. He’s allowed to take a lesser wife. He won’t be mocked for it. As a goddess, I’m not afforded that luxury. Zeus expects my husband to be a greater god. He wants a god who stands equal in power to me so that I might bend to that god’s will.” She releases an angry sound, one she’s felt trapped in the back of her throat since her meeting with Zeus. A scream remains trapped there, but Hades believes she’ll release that cry when she calls for war.
“Your husband won’t love you!” Minthe blurts. He claps a large hand over his mouth as a flush stains his cheeks.
Ah, there it is.
Hades closes her eyes again, releasing another frustrated sound. This was the conversation she’d hoped to avoid—the one where she has to break a good man’s heart. Because she can’t, in good conscience, allow him false hope. Hades doesn’t love Minthe; she’ll never love him as anything more than a friend.
“Minthe, even if I could marry you…I wouldn’t.” Hades confides, at length. “I don’t see you as a lover, and I never will. You’re a dear friend. It’d hurt me to break you in irreparable ways.”
Minthe’s chin juts out. Petulance radiates off of him in silent waves, but he doesn’t argue. He can’t. Hades is his queen, and Minthe is just another servant.
“Leave me,” Hades commands. When the silence chokes her, Hades needs him to leave so she can breathe.
