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He watched her chest rise faster with every quickened, shallow breath. She stared at the red fruit in her hand, fingering the torn skin on the edges before picking at the seeds, popping them out of the bitter white flesh. She ate them one by one, daintily picking them from the indents they resided in and licking her fingers between each aril.
“I could get you a bowl.”
“You could take me home.” She dropped her hands to her sides, no longer interested in being distracted by the pomegranate. He was surprised she ate any at all.
Hades didn’t deign to reply. He would not be taking her home. Even if he wanted to, he would be unable after she ate something in his territory.
Trapped in his realm, all for eating a few little seeds.
It was woven into the realm itself, far before Hades took control, though before he crowned himself King there was never a need to enforce it. The Law of the Underworld decides that if any Underworld delicacy touches one’s lips, they may never leave. No loopholes, no exchanges, and no returns, under any and all circumstances.
Persephone belonged to him now, just as much as she belonged to the Underworld itself. Forgoing any reasonable way out of it when she ate that pomegranate, whether she was aware of the consequence or not.
When she rolled her eyes at his lack of response, Hades stopped holding himself back. He grabbed her wrists, twisting them up in the wrong direction and forcing her to drop the fruit as he forced them down to her sides. The pomegranate rolled across the floor and over the side of the foundation, disappearing from sight. As he backed her into the nearest column, their chests touching, they both felt the impact of her body hitting the stone sing through them.
Her breath caught in her throat as he ducked his head down and brought his mouth close to hers.
“You might as well marry me now,” he said, whispering against her lips. He licked the bittersweet juice that had splattered onto the corner of her mouth. “You’re stuck here.” Her body tensed against his, her arms going taut under his grip.
“What?” She was breathless.
Hades smirked at her ignorance, loving the game he could play her, his naive prey. He leaned his head to the side, letting his nose graze across her cheek to her soft earlobe. Taking it down her neck and across her chest to trail back up the other side to whisper in her ear. “How did you like the pomegranate? Eating in the Underworld,” she stopped breathing, “is as good as a death sentence.” He pulled back from her, watching her face pale and her eyes grow even wider as he said, “You’re stuck here.”
The tension in her body increased against his as she yanked her wrists from his grasp and shoved against his shoulders, pushing him hard enough that he staggered back. Only a few steps, but enough to kindle a fiery rage inside him. The back of his thighs hit the table and the rest of the pomegranates rolled off the table, their thumping lining up with her steps as she walked to opposite end of table, putting space between them.
“Ruining perfectly good fruit, as a guest in my home? The audacity of you Olympians never fails to astound me,” he called after her.
She was long gone when he spoke again, the door having banged shut and echoing down the hall moments earlier. “But you aren’t an Olympian, are you?” The pomegranates rolled back across the floor, flying back up the side of the table to rest in their bowl once again. “Just an average, unimportant goddess; the daughter of two Olympians never destined to be one herself.” Hades plucked one of them out of the air as it cleared the edge of the table, tossing it from hand to hand as he walked toward the open wall. “Wasted potential.” He pulled his arm back, pomegranate resting in the cup of his palm. “I can fix that.” The fruit flew from his hand, clearing the silver roses and smashing with a resounding splatter against the side of the opposing mountain.
11
CONDITIONS
Persephone was going to choke him.
But he was centuries older and more powerful than her, he would probably throw her out of the open wall onto her ass before she could wrap her hands around her neck. So she clenched her jaw and walked back inside.
What an ass.
“I do not care about your fruit, Hades,” she yelled at him, slamming her fist on the table. Gods, that hurt, she thought, rubbing the side of her hand and shaking it. The pain stabbed through her hand and fingers, and shaking it out only made it worse. “Take me home,” she said through her teeth, keeping the tears from falling down her face.
“You know my condition.” His face was blank as he scooped up a tall glass of wine, the bottom of which was sitting in a pool of it. Like he’d been too hasty in filling it to be careful, not an attribute she would expect for a King.
“Marry you?” Persephone laughed once, harsh and cynical.
She watched him pour about a quarter of the wine into an empty decanter, diluting it to the top with water. He didn’t bother with a glass, just grabbed it roughly by neck, lopping his fingers and thumb into the handles, letting some slosh over the sides as he strode out down the black marble steps down to the grass.
Completely ignoring her.
She debated following him, stretching her neck around the thick wall of the palace to see around the rose garden. But it was all there was. Some couches and chairs, a couple bonfire pits scattered haphazardly around the gravel patches.
The rose garden itself was breathtaking. Persephone had never seen silver roses, but without the sun or rain, it was probably impossible to grow real roses down here.
And this was where he wanted her to live out her immortal life.
A place that’s so dark and dreary, so deep beneath the ground that the sun couldn’t reach them. She was the goddess of spring for gods’ sake – the goddess of rebirth and all things flourishing from the ground.
She was needed above. Needed to help regrowth and new growth, and wheat. Without Persephone, there was no spring growth so there was no wheat. Sure, Demeter was the goddess of grain, but it’s a lot of work for a single person. Immortal goddess, or not.
