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Theseus, a son of Poseidon, a man she had met in passing only once, had managed to tear her life apart in a matter of hours.
“You are everything that makes me good,” he said. “And I am everything that makes you terrible.”
And she wanted to be dreaded.
“I need you,” she whispered. “You have me,” he said. “There is no part where you end or I begin. Use me, darling, as you have for your pleasure. There is power in this pain.”
“Where is she?” he demanded. “I must confess, I lost track of her,” Theseus said airily, as if he had not been in possession of the thing Hades loved most in this world.
“You would burn this world for me? I will destroy it for you,” she had said right before she had torn his realm apart in the name of a love she thought she had lost. Theseus considered their love a weakness, but he would soon discover how wrong he was.
She had come to expect certain truths—that dawn would break and night would fall, that life preceded death and hope followed despair. She had come to expect that Hades would always be by her side, and his absence now made the world feel wrong.
“Find my husband, Hermes. Do whatever you must.” He studied her for a moment, his beautiful face somehow soft and severe at the same time. “Do you know what you are asking, Sephy?” She took a step closer, holding his golden gaze. “I want blood, Hermes. I will fill rivers with it until he is found.”
“Then tell the truth,” Hermes said. She lifted her head, watching the God of Mischief in the reflection of the window. “Will that be enough?” “It will have to be,” he said. “It is all you can give.”
“I do not know if you are real,” he said. “Does it matter if we are together?” she asked. Her voice was quiet, and it seeped into his skin, making him shudder.
“Let me come inside you,” he said. Her eyes darkened. “If you wish,” she said. “Oh, I wish,” he growled, dragging her to her feet.
“My lady,” Zofie said, a smile spreading across her face. She bowed so low, she nearly touched the ground. “Zofie,” Persephone said again and crossed the short distance toward her, hugging her close as she straightened. “Zofie, I am so sorry.” The Amazon held her shoulders as she pulled away. “Do not apologize, my queen. You have given me honor in death.”
“I did not expect your kingdom to feel so much like home,” Persephone said. It even smelled like spring—sweet with an edge of bitterness. Hippolyta smiled. “Even warriors can appreciate beautiful things, Lady Persephone.”
“It is curious that death would choose life as a bride,” Hippolyta said. “It is like the sun falling in love with the moon.” “One cannot exist without the other,” Persephone said. “Just as honor cannot exist without shame.”
Her eyes began to water, and she did not know if it was from the smoke or the sorrow that weighed heavily in her limbs. Then Hecate took her hand. “Do not stop your tears, my dear,” she said. “Let them give life.”
“I suppose what you said is true. Death gives birth to life.” Then she narrowed her eyes. “What will you birth, Persephone?” “Rage,” she answered without a second thought.
Ares, known for his lust for battle and blood, was only shaken from his reverie when he’d wounded Aphrodite.
“There are few things that survive war, Persephone,” she said. “Let your love be one of them.”
Always Persephone. His wife and queen.
“Are you afraid?” he asked. “Yes,” she said, but she did not push him away.
“Don’t tell me what I want,” she said. “Fuck you,” he said, and then he kissed her. He bent her head back, his tongue sweeping into her mouth deeply. She could not kiss him in return, but he did not need that yet. This was not a give-and-take. It was possession.
Persephone did not know what to think of Dionysus and Ariadne. She had not expected to arrive and witness the two locked in a passionate embrace while also covered in blood.
“This is a cat,” Hecate said, looking down at the animal. “Her name is Galanthis. I want you to take her into the labyrinth with you.” “Why?” “In case there are mice,” she said.
“Lord Theseus can suck it,” said Dionysus. “His wife isn’t the only patient I have in this hospital.” Dionysus was proud of that retort.
His eyes met hers in the near dark, burning like embers.
“And fate? No one alive has ever escaped it, neither brave man nor coward.” —HOMER, THE ILIAD
Hades could not describe how it felt to be free of the labyrinth’s hold. The only thing he had to compare it to was when he’d been thrown up by his father and released from the dark prison of his belly. But not even this compared, because then, he’d been reborn into battle, and now, he’d been reunited with his queen, and she was all he wanted.
“I dreamed only of you in the dark of that labyrinth,” he said, resting his forehead against hers.
“Thank you for leading me through the labyrinth,” she said. “I couldn’t have done that on my own.” Ariadne offered her a small smile. “Yeah, you could have,” she said, glancing darkly at Hades even as she added, “Sometimes our love forces us to do extraordinary things.”
He could never capture her truth—the unbearable beauty of her soul, the thing that called to him loudest, the thing that said they were made for each other.
“What are you worried about?” he asked, holding her glittering gaze in the dim light of their room. “Hurting you,” she said and then added sheepishly, “suffocating you.” “If this is how I suffocate, I would gladly drown in your heat.”
“Are you afraid?” Hades asked as the light grew more golden minute by minute. “Yes,” she said, and he took her hand. “Will I remember you?”
She made a small sound, like a satisfied sigh, and golden light warmed her face. Just then, Eos cast open her great doors and stood in saffron-colored robes, wreathed in the blinding rays of the dawn. And in that brilliant light, Hades held his mother’s hand until she was cold.
It didn’t matter that he could see her here—in another life. It was the simple fact that she had died out there. It was that she had been alone when Cronos had come for her. That he had killed her prized lions before he’d slammed his spear into her chest. It was that all she’d wanted was to see the sun rise a final time. It was that he would never forget looking upon her face as the veil of death descended to see a single tear on her cheek.
“I am at your side,” he said. “I will never leave again.” “Is that a promise?” she whispered. She knew it couldn’t be, not really, yet she wanted him to say it all the same. “It is an oath,” he said and brought his lips to hers.
“It is true that Ares is cruel, but he is also a coward. If you wound him, he will run.” “I thought he was the God of Courage,” Persephone said. Hecate smiled. “He is, but he is also the god of its opposite.”
“Please, I will do anything. Just don’t leave me.” She felt him move, and then his fingers tangled in her hair. “Careful with your offer, darling,” he said. “I might just ask for anything.”
He met her gaze, and he thought that she had never looked more beautiful—more his. The vibrant green of her eyes was swallowed by the darkness of her pupils, filled with a desire for him. Her lips were swollen from their kiss, her skin marked by his mouth. “I want you to feel me inside you for weeks after this night,” he said. “When you are on the battlefield, this is what you will fight for, the pleasure of being beneath me again.”
Somehow, though she only held this one part of him, she managed to invade his entire being.
When he broke away, he spoke, his mouth close to hers. “You know it has only ever been you,” he said, impassioned. “I have only ever loved you.” “Shh,” Hera implored. “Do not speak. Love me instead.”
“I want your darkness,” she said. “But I want your secrets too.” “Darling,” he said. “Give me time, and I will give you everything.”
“I hate seeing this pain in your eyes,” he said. “I do not know myself without it,” she said.
“Please be safe,” she said, and he heard what she was really saying—please don’t leave me. He tilted her head back. “If you are here waiting for me, I will always come back.” He kissed her again, harder this time, ignoring how it felt less like saying goodbye and more like the end.
“Gods, why do you do that?” he demanded. “Baa!” the sheep answered. “Shut up!” he snapped as he rose into a sitting position, his head spinning for a brief moment.
She turned her head toward Hades’s, hooking her hand behind his neck, her mouth opening for him, his tongue crashing against hers, and when they parted, Persephone looked to find Hades’s hands fisted, the cards smashed in his grip. “You ruined them,” she said. “Fuck the cards, Persephone, and sit on my cock.”
Persephone leaned forward, resting her forehead against Hades’s shoulder. He threaded his fingers into her hair and kissed her temple. “I will love you through this,” he whispered. “I will love you beyond this.” And he would murder everyone responsible for her pain.
The Stadium of Olympia was monumental. Crafted from marble, it was built between two steep hills, which gave the impression that it was sinking.
“For no god may undo what another god has done.” —OVID, METAMORPHOSES
Behind Theseus, Helen gasped, but Hera—she did not react.
She reached for him and guided him to her heat, and when she was full of him, all the air left her lungs. It was blissful—a death like no other.
