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He touched her cheek softly. “Are you well?”
“Yes. Perfect,” she said and offered him a smile, though he knew it wasn’t completely genuine. She likely dreaded facing the Olympians, and he could not blame her. It took a lot to interact with them, to keep up with their mind games. Tonight would be trying for him, worse for her. “Are you ready?”
“I am never ready for Olympus,” he said. “Do not leave my side.”
Hades took her to the courtyard of Olympus, where Tyche’s funeral had been held. Far above them, atop the mountain, was the Temple of the Sun, where music and a cacophony of chatter already proved to be both lively and exhausting.
He wondered if Helios would join the festivities, given that the temple was usually where he resided during the night after he returned from his journey through the sky. Hades dreaded the thought but knew the God of the Sun would likely be there. It did not matter that he hated Hades—gods would congregate anywhere there was sure to be wine, ambrosia, and drama.
“I am assuming that is our destination?” Persephone asked.
“Unfortunately,” Hades replied.
He would have teleported, but he was in no hurry to reach their destination. Besides, if they walked, Persephone could see more of Olympus rather than Olympians, and that would benefit them both.
They made their ascent, and while he had no particular interest in the home of the gods, he enjoyed watching Persephone appreciate its beauty. It wasn’t as though he didn’t recognize its splendor. It just wasn’t something he valued—a kingdom at the height of the world that only served to remind mortals of what they could not have. At least within his realm, there was always one truth—everything came to an end.
They arrived at the Temple of the Sun.
He had tried to prepare himself for this, but he hadn’t had enough time, and it was far worse than he imagined. There were too many people, and they were all crowded on the porch of the temple, talking all at once.
He hated it.
Until it was silent, and every pair of eyes turned to them.
He hated that more.
Beside him, Persephone squeezed his hand, and when he looked down at her, she was smiling. She looked…enchanting.
“It seems I am not the only one who can’t help staring at you, my love,” she said quietly. “I think the whole room is enthralled.”
He grinned. “Oh, my darling. They are staring at you.”
He could sense the fear rising in the room as they made their way onto the floor, the crowd splitting toaccommodate their presence. Those gathered here were minor gods, the favored, nymphs, satyrs, and other servants of the Olympians. Like mortals, they all had their own opinions of him. Some were indifferent; most were afraid.
“Sephy!”
Persephone released Hades’s hand as she turned to see Hermes barreling through the crowd. He was wearing a bright yellow suit. It was embroidered with flowers.
It was probably the ugliest thing Hades had ever seen.
“You look stunning!” Hermes told her. He held her hands aloft, inspecting her gown.
“Thank you, Hermes, but I should warn you—you are complimenting Hades’s handiwork. He made the dress.”
There were a few gasps from the crowd and a wave of murmurs.
No one had stopped watching or listening to them since their arrival.
“Of course he did, and in his favorite color,” Hermes mused.
“Actually, Hermes,” Hades said, “black is not my favorite color.”
Another round of whispers. He felt like he was having a conversation with a crowd.
“Then what is it?” someone shouted.
Hades smirked as he answered, “Red.”
