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“I came to see if you knew why Queen Hades reeks of sorrow.” Minthe stands before Kore, an expectant expression on his face.
“I don’t see how that’s your business,” Kore replies, crossing his arms over his chest. Defensive.
Minthe appears amused by his churlish behavior.
“I have been at Queen Hades' side since before you were cast out of Chaos. I’ve served her since the early days of her reign, in the time before her crown was crafted from metals mined from below the River Phlegethon.” He steps closer to Kore. Minthe is tall for a naiad, but he is still small compared to a god. Minthe’s glower is not quite as intimidating as he intended. “Yet, here you are, a boy in youth. And you’re ruining her in ways I never could or would.”
Kore huffs a short laugh. “Jealous? Do you want to stand in my place?”
Minthe’s dark eyes remind Kore of the River Styx—deep, icy, and full of deadly intention. “I was never given the chance.”
“You’ve been by Hades' side since the early days of her reign,” Kore muses, narrowing his eyes at the man before him. “Yet, you never told her you would love her as a consort. How is that my fault?”
Kore is already angry that he’s hurt the goddess he’s come to adore, but to have this naiad tell Kore he isn’t worthy adds fuel to the flames of his dormant wrath.
Minthe refuses to meet Kore’s gaze. Minthe’s dark eyes turn toward his feet and his sharp jaw twitches when he clenches his teeth. They stand in tense silence; Kore’s gaze turns to the fire, watching it dance with disdain.
Kore’s right hand curls into a fist and the blunted edges of his nails bite into his palm, grounding him in that pain.
“You should leave,” he says to Minthe. His voice soft, but deadly—like the oleander his mother loves so much.
“I’m not finished!” Minthe’s rage contorts his face; he appears feral, reminiscent of Kore’s first encounter with Cerberus.
Kore grins, amused that terrifying things no longer cause him discomfort.
With a cruel glare, Kore says, “I didn’t ask. I’m telling you to leave, Minthe. I will not tell you a third time.”
As Minthe moves to open his mouth, a dark vine shoots from the floor. It grows from small lines between the stones making up the mosaic pattern of the Elysian Fields. Waxy fauna blooms with rapid ascent, crawling up Minthe’s legs and torso. A thick rope of deep purple—a shade so dark it might as well be black—wraps around Minthe’s throat. Kore’s vines squeeze, crushing a tender neck.
“Your life is eternal. Though unlike a god, you can be killed,” Kore reminds Minthe with deadly calm. “Do you know why my mother named me Persephone?” Kore asks.
He grins when Minthe shakes his head, The naiad’s dusky eyes wide with fear.
Kore steps closer, smile widening as Minthe releases a gurgle—grappling for air. Desperate to continue living.
“If you fuck with me again, Minthe. If you disobey my command, approach me with a reprimand, or tell me how to servemyqueen...” Kore trails off, eyes flashing as the vine tightens with an unspoken promise. “I will show you why that damnable name suits me. Do you understand?”
Minthe nods as well as he can, despite his restraints.
Kore lets him struggle another second before he snaps. The vines drop away in a flash of golden light.
“You might’ve known Hades longer. However, if you can’t even handle that, naiad, you are not worthy to stand at her side as an equal.”
Kore admires that Minthe still possesses the spirit to glare up at him from where he gasps on his hands and knees.
“Go on, you can hate me from another part of the palace. I’m tired of your presence.” Kore leans into his power as a god, walking away from the being he knows is beneath him.
25
Hades
Hades takes to her study, settling at the ancient desk that was carved from the first tree, a relic from Chaos. She sits with another book open, the silver tip of her pen flowing across the page as she thinks of the last soul she judged.
Anna Marie Flynn. Twelve years old. Born July 7th, 2010. Died January 3rd, 2023.
Anna Marie Flynn stood in the throne room with the poise I expect from a woman at the end of their life; not a child whose youth was stolen by an act of wrath. She did not shy away from my gaze, the way so many do. I wish the Fates made allowances for souls who come to my realm too soon. I never enjoy judging children. They don’t have the years to be messy, to learn from their mistakes, and to grow into a being meant for paradise. Rewriting rules is frowned upon. Whims aren’t tolerated by rulers, and I cannot allow my heart to be swayed. When I cast out Zeus' judges, I swore I would be impartial, I would be fair, and I would not allow misguided judgments. When I judge souls, I judge myself. I weigh my worth alongside theirs; an act that never comes easy when a child stands before me. All children deserve happiness. If they weren’t fortunate enough to experience beauty in life, then I give it to them in death. Hecate reminds me that my brother would disagree with my methods. My brother rules the living; I rule the dead. As such, I don’t believe Zeus has the right to comment on my judgments. I will not be told how to judge a soul any more than I will be told how to keep a husband…
Hades sighs, “I’m getting off topic.”
