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Hades takes the large chair at the head of the table and motions for Kore to take the seat at her left. Their small audience doesn’t miss the significant move.
Thanatos doesn’t enjoy being ignored; he smacks a hand on the long, black slate of Hades' table. “Why is he still here? The Messenger said he is the prizeddaughterof the Goddess of Harvest.”
Hades sighs, “Is that any of your concern, Thanatos?”
“It is if Zeus decides this is an act of war,” Thanatos replies. His voice borders on a yell, fist pounding the table again. “Is his dick worth it?”
Kore shoots up from his chair, eyes hard, “Watch how you speak to her.”
“Or you’ll what?” Thanatos challenges, rising from his chair. “You’ll teach me a lesson,Persephone? You forget I am the God of Death.”
Hades remains impassive, her face giving nothing away as she glances between them—her beloved child and the man she’s developing a deeper affection for with each passing day.
“You could be King of the Gods and I wouldn’t allow you to speak to her that way.” From the floor, blackened vines spring to life. They wrap around Thanatos and drag him into his seat. Hades' eyes widen. She whips around to face Kore.
“It’s not your place to punish the children.” Her tone is stern.
“He’s older than me, did you forget?” Kore doesn’t take his eyes off Thanatos. There is a cruel gleam in his gaze as he smiles at Thanatos. “Hades loves you like her child, and still indulges your refusal to grow up. but you will not forget that she is my wife.” A vine grows from the center of the slate table, deadly spikes springing up along the waxy stem. “I won’t stand for slander against my wife. Do I make myself clear, Thanatos?”
Thanatos struggles in his binds, his pale eyes widening with fear when the barbed vine presses closer to his face. Kore stays the vine at the last moment, one of the thick spikes a hair from Thanatos' wide eye.
“Remember, you might be a god of death, but I am the consort to the Queen of the Dead. Don’t forget your place, Thanatos, and I won’t forget mine.”
“Kore,” Hades says. His name is a soft command as it falls from her lips, and he needs no other instruction. Kore releases Thanatos, watching with satisfaction as Thanatos hurries to apologize to Hades.
“You are forgiven, Thanatos,” Hades waves a dismissive hand. “We do need to worry about war.” She settles back in her seat laughing as she adds, “Kore should give you lessons in diplomacy, Thanatos.”
Hypnos grins at his brother’s side, “If Zeus brings a war to our realm, Hades, I don’t doubt your consort will defend you.” Hypnos holds Kore’s gaze, weighing his worth before he says, “I respect your union with the Goddess of Spring.”
Though Hypnos means well, Kore hates that title. He lets it slide, settling back into his seat as their food arrives.
“I appreciate the respect,” Hades says with a fond smile. “But we must remember Demeter holds weight in Olympus. Zeus cannot act against her, and if I keep my consort against her wishes there will be war.”
Kore hates his mother for holding him hostage again. Her need for control won’t allow him to stay where he is happy.A son doesn’t deserve happiness.The words whisper through Kore’s mind and he tries not to show the table his heart.
Kore knows he must leave; as he watches Hades eat her dinner, Kore vows he will return to Demeter.I’ll negotiate. I’ll work for her, but will stay Hades' husband. Commuting isn’t uncommon for the greater gods.
Hades watches him, her gray eyes full of ancient wisdom; Kore wonders if she can read his heart the way she reads the dead, when they stand before her in the throne room.
She doesn’t speak, but Kore wishes she would beg him to stay.My will is hers,he vows to this primordial place. To the old gods who might be listening, Kore promises he will make the Underworld proud.
He, too, is an unwanted thing—cast into the darkness by his mother’s refusal to love him. Demeter has no right to call him back, and Kore will not return to her without a fight.
27
Hades
Kore follows Hades to her chamber. His presence burns at her back, and his scent fills her lungs with the sweet bouquet of spring. Hades resists leaning into his comfort. Kore will leave here soon—she knows he will—and Hades has to guard her heart.
She removes her shawl, hanging the dark knit over the back of her velvet-lined reading chair. Hades stands before the mantle. In the hearth, a fire burns hot. But a chill remains on Hades' heart.
“My queen,” Kore says, breaking the silence.
Hades swallows a plea—queens should not beg—and turns to face Kore. She looks at him,reallylooks at him, and her heart flutters. As it did the first moment she beheld him in Zeus' garden. Kore is the embodiment of a man in youth—golden skin, eyes the color of a cloudless spring sky, and lips a maiden would die to taste. Kore is nothing like her; he is the image of all things good and soothing. Hades stands as an ominous figure—a goddess of all things cruel and dead. She should return him. It is barbaric to keep a flower from sunlight.
“You will leave.” Hades tells Kore when he steps closer to her. She glances away from the hurt that morphs Kore’s features while she continues. “You served me well, Kore. You were a wonderful consort.”
“You say that as if I am no longer your consort,” Kore’s words possess an edge of disbelief. His hurt masked by subtle fury.
