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Hades can hear the party beyond the walls; wine makes the partygoers louder and their laughter grating. Hades longs for the quietude of home.I will pick one and throw their bones on the mountain.Only she doesn’t mean that. War brings casualties, and though most of her realm is immortal, there are many in her shadows who don’t have that luxury.
Hecate leaves her for a moment after she says she’s off to find them something to drink. Ambrosia will loosen her anxiety and ebb Hades’ rage.
A gasp sounds behind her, and Hades releases a humorless chuckle, “I know I look terrible, Hecate, but it’s notthatbad.” When Hades lifts her eyes to the mirror she finds the young god—Kore—staring back at her with wide eyes. He’s in a suit, not an old, billowing toga like some of the greater gods still prefer. His suit is a deep shade of violet—so dark it borders on black—and she startles at how the darkness compliments his tanned skin.
“You look very handsome,” Hades says to break the odd tension between them.
“That gowndoesn’tsuit you,” Kore says, offending her despite the fact that she agrees.
“How kind of you,” Hades replies with a dry tone. All hint of warmth bleeds from her expression. She regards Kore the way she would an unwanted pest, with narrowed eyes.
“It just makes you look like everyone else,” he continues, frowning as he pushes further into her borrowed dressing room. His lack of decorum and manners would be laughable, if Hades weren’t on edge from his comment.
“That’s the idea of a dress code, yes,” Hades says, her voice icy. Irritation bleeds out of Hades, casting a frost over the surfaces of the room. Kore barrels closer, unaware of the danger he’s courting.
“I thought you’d be the exception to this bullshit Olympian pageantry,” Kore says, annoyance coloring his voice. Though Hades isn’t sure if he’s annoyed with her or the entirety of Olympus. Perhaps he’s tired of both.
“Did you?” Hades leans back, appraising him and pinching her mouth together.
“That day, in Hera’s garden, you wore black. You stood out, a dark thing flourishing in the light. This—” he catches a fold of fabric from her dress and rubs it between his fingers “—isn’t exceptional. It suits their pretty rules. But it doesn’t suit you.”
Hades gapes, intrigued by his passionate outburst. It’s rare for men to see her as anything more than a figure worthy of scorn. Hades’ parents disregarded her, degraded her; her brothers manage to do the same now. But this man—still a boy in comparison to Hades—sees her. He’s angry on her behalf, and Hades swallows down the emotion that clogs her throat.
“You don’t know what it means to be a ruler,” Hades says, once she’s gathered her bearings. “Compromise is my duty.”
Kore draws his bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing at the peachy skin until gold spills from a crack. “You, my queen, should never compromise in anything. You’re the most genuine being I’ve met in this stagnant place.”
He steps closer, stopping himself just before he reaches for her skin. Kore seems drawn to her the way she feels drawn to him. It’s a dangerous attraction Hades can’t afford when she’s deciding between two desolate options—compliance or war.
“Just, promise me, you won’t let them make you less of yourself. You—Hades—ruled the Underworld for longer than most of Zeus' court has existed. Don’t forget that.” Kore breathes out a shaky breath. He stares at her, down into her soul, and holds Hades' gaze. “I have to go now, but I want you to know… I’m rooting for you.”
Once is Luck. Twice is Coincidence. Thrice is Fate.
Hades hopes, for Kore’s sake, that this is the end of their common thread.
* * *
Silence passes after Kore departs,surrounding Hades with a strange energy. Warmth lingers around her long after he goes. She leans into the sensation, drawing in deep breaths to try and hold Kore in her lungs—the scent of an untamed garden.
Hades reaches for a cotton pad to remove the red lipstick. The gilt fabric turns the color garish against her skin. Hades wipes it away, smearing crimson across her pale cheek.
They won’t even look at my face. Perhaps I should meet them in this messy state.
“No matter how you try, my queen, you won’t be able to make yourself ugly.” Hecate tells Hades, appearing from a cloud of emerald smoke and running gentle fingers through Hades’ dark hair.
Hades leans into her cool touch, comforted again by Hecate’s presence. Though they are close companions, Hades doesn’t share Kore’s visit. She feels she has to keep that to herself, hold it close like a comforting secret.
She smiles at Hecate in the reflection of her mirror. “You forget, Hecate, that just the other day you said men aren’t brave enough to look into my face. You say I’m pretty—”
“Beautiful,” Hecate interrupts her with a grin.
Hecate lifts Hades' diadem with careful hands, settling the heavy weight of the platinum and ruby monstrosity on Hades' head.
“You are a queen, Hades. They should fear your power.” Hecate places her fingers—calloused from hours grinding ingredients for her tonics—beneath Hades' chin. She lifts Hades’ head, a silent word to the queen to straighten her spine. “Be powerful, my beautiful queen. Be terrifying.”
Hades smiles at her reflection—a sharp, unyielding queen stares back at her. She pulls her shoulders straight, tighter; a movement that seems to enlarge Hades' body. She takes up the space she was born to occupy.
“I think I’ll wear the gown I brought,” Hades muses. Her golden threads melt from her body in a ripple of dark smoke. As the smoke clears, Hades’ evening gown remains.
