“That’s exactly why we are untouchable,” Hermes said.
Hades held up his hand, silencing the God of Trickery.
“You don’t know what is coming,” Isidore continued, voice hollow. His head lolled to the side, and he was no longer looking at Hades but the wall. The god gripped the mortal’s charred face so he would look at him.
“Um, Hades—” Hermes started to say.
“What’s coming?” Hades demanded.
“War,” the man answered.
***
It was almost noon, and Hades had yet to sleep. His eyes felt like sandpaper, and Hermes’ voice grated in his ears. The god had followed him back to his palace and now walked beside him as he made his way to his bedchamber. Hades took a drink from the bottle he had brought from his office in Tartarus.
“You could have told me you were torturing him for information,” Hermes complained.
“Are you saying if I had told you, you would have refrained from telling me how fucked up I am?” Hades asked.
Hermes opened his mouth to reply, but Hades spoke instead—a rare occasion.
“Triad is reorganizing. I need your eyes and ears.”
Hermes laughed. “You aren’t actually…afraid of them, are you?”
“We went to war with Triad, Hermes. It could happen again. Do not underestimate mortals desperate for freedom.”
Hermes narrowed his eyes. “It sounds like you sympathize with them.”
Hades met the god’s gaze and answered as he always did, “What is evil to one is a fight for freedom to another.”
He had said it before, and he would say it again. The problem he had with Triad was the innocent lives they took with them during their fight.
“Do not let your hubris blind you, Hermes.”
This time, when Hades started toward his chambers, the god did not follow.
As soon as Hades was inside his room, he sighed, pressing his fingers to his temple. It had been a long time since he had had a headache, but this day was endless. Hades crossed the room to his fireplace and finished off his whiskey. He stared down at the empty bottle, contemplating the day’s—yesterday’s—events. He had bargained and murdered and tortured.
All things he was certain his future wife would disapprove of.
Future wife.
Fucking Fates.
Hades threw the bottle, and it shattered against the black marble wall.
I am going to have to stop breaking things when she gets here, he thought, and then scolded himself for sounding so…hopeful.
He sighed angrily and started toward his bed, loosening his tie. His eyes had started to burn. He needed sleep. In a matter of hours, he had to be up again. He had another important appointment to make. This one in his own territory, Iniquity, an exclusive club where the worst of society gathered under his protection and rule.
Just as he pulled back the covers, a knock sounded at the door.
“Go away,” he said, thinking it had to be Minthe.
Instead, Ilias’s voice answered.
“Oh, I think you’ll want to hear this, my lord.”
Hades sighed. “Yes?”
Ilias entered, arching a dark brow and smiling wryly. “No rest for the wicked. The woman from last night is outside Nevernight fighting with Duncan. He has placed his hands upon her. You had better hurry.”
Hades could not describe the feeling that overcame him, but it was like everything inside him had frozen for a second—his blood did not rush, his heart did not pump, his lungs did not expand.
As quick as the ice entered his veins, it was gone, replaced by red-hot fury.
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” he snapped before teleporting to the entrance of Nevernight.
On the other side of the door, a familiar voice threatened, “I am Persephone, Goddess of Spring, and if you would like to keep your fleeting life, then you will obey me!”
Hades threw open the door. He felt frantic until his eyes settled upon the goddess, and then he was stunned.
She stood on the lackluster sidewalk, beneath the too-bright sun, stripped of her human glamour. White kudu horns sprouted from her wild hair, and despite their height, he couldn’t help thinking how petite she appeared. He liked seeing her this way. It felt intimate somehow, because he knew he was seeing her. This was Persephone, the goddess who would be his queen, and she was everything.
She did not meet his gaze, but her eyes were definitely on him, trailing his frame with an intensity in her expression he couldn’t quite place but wanted to understand.
Despite feeling as if he had no control over his body, his emotions, his magic, he composed himself as best he could and spoke.