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Theseus left the hotel, his skin buzzing.
If he’d had time, he would have summoned Helen and fucked her in the on the way to his next destination. She wouldn’t fight him unless he asked, but it wasn’t as fun if it wasn’t real—no, she was merely a vessel for his pleasure, a way to release when he found himself in situations like this. Right now, he’d much prefer the resistance that only a woman like Ariadne or Persephone could provide.
Except he had no time. Persephone’s magic would not hold Hades long and once he was free, Theseus knew exactly what he would search for—the energy signatures of her engagement ring.
He entered the back of the SUV. Once the door was shut, Hera appeared beside him.
Theseus did not look at the goddess, but he felt her suspicious gaze. There was nothing quite like it and it killed the high he’d had from his time with the Goddess of Spring.
“There is no going back from this,” she said.
“Having second thoughts?” he asked mildly.
“Questioning if I was wrong to put my faith in a demigod.”
Theseus chuckled humorlessly. “Faith requires trust, and let’s be honest. Neither of us trust the other.”
He was not stupid. If Hera was caught before they could imprison Zeus, she would fold and blame him for the uprising. If they succeeded, she would attempt to kill him to take the Olympian throne. Her predictability was boring.
They arrived at the Palace of Knossos, the exterior of which was nothing more than crumbling ruins.
“This is where you intend to trap Hades?” Hera scoffed. “He will hardly fall for this.”
Theseus pulled out Persephone’s ring. It was cold against his skin, no longer warm from the heat of her body.
“He will go anywhere if he thinks Persephone is there.”
Theseus closed his fingers around the ring and strode into the palace. Beneath its derelict exterior was an ancient labyrinth, and Theseus had spent the last few years creating an extensive network of cells powerful enough to contain gods.
It was his own version of Tartarus, housed within a labyrinth, and they were about to see just how well it worked.
Hera followed behind him at a distance, likely not trusting that he wouldn’t attempt to take her prisoner, but he was not yet interested in her.
Hades was the problem, the thorn.
Theseus knew the God of the Dead had been working on executing his own plan, not only to combat him but to eventually overthrow his brother, but Hades was about to realize he had not worked fast enough.
He took a set of crumbling stairs down into the darkdepths of the palace, until he came to a great metal door that he opened with a press of his palm, revealing a long row of cells. He could already hear the heavy and gruff breathing of the Minotaur as he made his way to the middle of the hall where he faced the monster.
He was large and towered over him. He had the head of a bull, his snout was wet and dripping as he bellowed, charging the metal bars, jamming his horns through them, not caring as he ricocheted against them. His human hands gripped the bars instead, shaking as he attempted to pry them apart, but they did not move—and they wouldn’t. They were completely composed of adamant. It was the only metal that could harm a god, the only metal that could contain a god.
“Asterion?” Hera asked.
He was the first Minotaur—the one who had originally existed in the bowels of this very palace, in the labyrinth beyond these cells.
“Oh no, he is long dead. This is my creation.”
“Your creation?”
Theseus said nothing; he did not need to explain himself. Minotaurs were created as they always had been—from the coupling of a bull and a woman.
“You are no different from your father,” she sneered.
“Whatever it takes,” said Theseus, and then he looked at the goddess whose sharp features were still narrowed in disgust, as if she had committed no horrors in her long life. “Isn’t that what you said? Do whatever it takes? I’m willing. Are you?”
Hera only stared, and then Theseus turned his attention to the Minotaur again.
“Open it,” he said.
