“I will note the date and time,” she said. “And remind you every chance I get.”
Hades chuckled and left, returning to Persephone.
“Will you allow me to dress you?”
She stared at the peplos and then at him. Part of the reason he asked was because he was not sure how often she wore one, and wrapping it might prove difficult, but it was also an excuse to touch her. After a moment, she swallowed and nodded, and Hades thought that just as much as he was reliving the past few hours of his life, she was too.
He set to work, making slow, tedious work of the process, wrapping it around her breasts, over each shoulder. She held the fabric while he pinned, and he pressed kisses to her shoulder, neck, and jaw. As he went in to tie her belt, his mouth descended on hers, and he spent several minutes kissing her, his tongue moving languidly over hers.
Finally, he pulled away, threading his fingers with hers, and led her to the dining room. It was a room he rarely used, save on very rare occasions when he hosted one of the Divine in his realm. Still, it was meant to impress, with diamond-encrusted chandeliers, gold dining chairs, and an ebony banquet table hewn from obsidian sourced from the Underworld.
“Do you actually eat in here?” Persephone asked. He could not place the tone of her voice, but he got the sense that she felt it was just as outrageous as he did. Still, Hades knew what it was to compete with the gods, and while he detested it, he was not above—or below—illustrating his wealth and power.
Hades smiled at her. “Yes, but not often. I usually take my breakfast to go.”
Once they were seated, his staff bustled into the room, bringing trays of fruit, meat, cheese, and bread. Minthe followed. It was impossible for Hades to ignore the distinct tap of her heels against the marble floor. He didn’t look at the nymph as she approached, or as she took up space between him and Persephone. He could feel her judgement and her anger, no doubt having heard how he had carried Persephone to his chambers the night before.
“My lord. You have a full schedule today.”
“Clear the morning.”
“It’s already eleven.” Her voice was tight, betraying her frustration.
He honestly could not care less about the time or his obligations at this very moment. He had just seen months’ worth of agonizing fantasies come to life. This was the morning after, and what a morning it had been already. He was going to enjoy this; he would revel in it as he had reveled in war long ago.
He focused on Persephone, and as he filled his plate, asked, “Are you not hungry, darling?”
“No.” She looked at him sheepishly. “I…usually only drink coffee for breakfast.”
Somehow, that didn’t surprise him. He thought about commenting on the nutrition, how she would need the energy after their night, but decided against it. Instead, he summoned her a cup of coffee.
“Cream? Sugar?”
“Cream,” she answered with a smile that made him want to give her the sun and the moon. “Thank you.”
“What are your plans today?” he asked, popping a piece of cheese into his mouth.
She was silent for a moment, glancing at Minthe with a sullen expression, but as the silence stretched, her eyes widened as she realized he was talking to her. “Oh, I need to write—”
She stopped abruptly.
“Your article?”
He tried to keep the bitterness from leaking into his voice, but it was hard. He could not deny that he felt a slight betrayal at the thought that she would continue writing, even after the night they shared.
“I will be along shortly, Minthe,” he said, dismissing her, but when the nymph hesitated, he spoke firmly. “Leave us.”
“As you wish, my lord.” Minthe bowed and practically pranced out of the dining room. He almost snapped at her, but stopped himself, thinking, One battle at a time.
“So, you will continue to write about my faults?” he asked, once they were alone.
“I don’t know what I’m going to write this time,” she admitted. “I…”
“You what?” He hadn’t meant to snap, but he could not hide his frustration on this topic, and Persephone narrowed her eyes.
“I hoped I might be able to interview a few of your souls.”
“The ones on your list?” He would never forget that list, would never forget those names, as each one brought a different kind of pain.
“I don’t want to write about the Olympian Gala or The Halcyon Project,” she explained. “All the other newspapers will jump on those stories.”