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Minthe bows—his jaw tight and trembling—and retreats from the room with a stiff spine. When the door closes behind Minthe’s retreating form, Hades places her face in her palms and releases a soft shout.
Fortunately, Minthe doesn’t return from that.
Unfortunately, Hecatedoes.
“You’re still in here?” she asks Hades, with an expression that bleeds judgment.
“I’m staying in here until I die,” Hades replies with a rare, dramatic flare.
Hecate’s the first of her borrowed children. The one she’s had so long that it feels like they’ve moved beyond that nurturer/nurtured phase, and blossomed into something akin to sisters.
“You can’t die,” Hecate reminds as she steps closer. She settles on the top of Hades' desk, knocking over a stack of Hades' record books. “Please don’t kill me for that,” Hecate rushes to say.
Hades rolls her eyes, “You can’t die either.”
She’s too tired to be angry with Hecate for scattering the neat organization of her work.
“No, but I can feel pain,” Hecate supplies.
That reply pulls a grin across Hades' mouth, and the tension in her shoulders eases a bit.
“Thanks.”
“Sometimes, Hades, you need out of your head,” Hecate says, reaching out to pat Hades’ hair.
Zeus told her she’s foolish for loving children she didn’t birth, but Hades finds peace with Hecate. A connection that isn’t forced from bloodlines and bonds of duty—Hecate loves Hades because Hades loved her when none tried. Hades loves Hecate because Hecate filled the void of silence that surrounded her in Erebus. During the early days, nothing existed except for the rivers and Tartarus. Vast nothingness and endless darkness reminded Hades of her father’s horrid stomach. She thought she’d go mad until Nyx gave her Hecate.
“I need Zeus to leave me alone.” Hades stands, going to her office bar cart to pour herself a brandy.
“Make haste, have a ball, come home unwed,” Hecate says, hopping off of the desk. “Zeus can make you throw a ball, but he can’t make a god brave enough to marry you.”
Hades takes a drink, watching Hecate over the rim of her glass with consideration.
“You think they won’t want me?”
“I believe men are weak, my queen. Strong women terrify them more than the thought of punishment in Tartarus. I imagine they’ve pissed themselves over the thought of bedding the queen who rules the source of all their fears.”
Hades grins, thinking of all the gods who’ve shrunk back from her presence. A cerulean gaze enters her mind’s imaginings as she swallows a large sip of her brandy. It burns a path down her throat while Hades' memories invade her thoughts, reminding her of the corded muscle of tawny, sun-kissed forearms. The ease with which Kore reached for her skirt, movements unafraid as he freed Hades from the bramble.
“What if there’s one?” Hades asks, afraid of the hope that soars from her fantasies.
“One what? A brave man?” Hecate scoffs. “I’ll believe it when I see it, Hades.”
Her words send a shiver down Hades' spine.
They feel like an omen.
10
Hades
A few weeks later, Hecate watches Hades as Hades swirls color onto her lips. A bloody, crimson shade that makes her pale skin seem translucent. It doesn’t match the garish golden gown Olympians prefer. Hades sighs, frustrated.
“I pressed the black gown, if you’d rather try that one,” Hecate says again. Hades knows Hecate hates Zeus for dictating what Hades can wear to a ball held in her honor.
“My brother says I’m here for matchmaking, not a funeral.” Hades swipes a fingernail across the edge of her lip, sharpening its painted border. “Funeral attire feels more appropriate, if I’m being honest.”
“Not even Zeus’ gaudy tastes dulls your beauty,” Hecate replies, stepping closer to where Hades sits at a borrowed vanity in Zeus’ palace.
