They descended a final set of steps and came to Hades’ pool. It was a large oval surrounded by columns. Overhead, the ceiling was exposed to the sky.
“Call for me if you need anything,” Hecate said, and left Persephone to undress in private. “When you are finished, join us in the dining room.”
Naked, she took a tentative step toward the water, dipping her foot in to test the temperature—it was hot, but not scalding. She entered the pool and groaned with pleasure. Steam rose around her and drew perspiration from her skin—the water was cleansing and she felt like it washed away the day. Thankfully, the celebration in Asphodel had relieved a lot of the stress from Minthe’s earlier visit, but she still felt angry that Hades’ assistant would dare come to her work.
How was she the one threatening Hades’ reputation? The God of the Dead did enough damage on his own. Despite the fact that Persephone wanted a way out of her contract, she wasn’t sure she trusted Minthe enough to listen.
Persephone scrubbed her skin and scalp until it was raw and pink, feeling renewed. She wasn’t sure how long she soaked in the water after that. She’d gotten lost in the details of the bath, noticing a line of white tiles with red narcissus peering over the edge of the water around the pool. The columns she had thought were white, were actually brushed with gold. The sky overhead deepened, and tiny stars glimmered.
She was amazed by Hades magic. How he blended scents and textures. He was a master with his brush, smoothing and stippling, creating a realm that rivaled the beauty of the most-sought destinations in the Upperworld.
She was so lost in thought, she almost didn’t hear the sound of boots treading on the steps into the bath. Hades stood at the edge of the pool, and their eyes met. She was glad the water had already flushed her skin and that he couldn’t see how hot she’d grown at his presence.
He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just stared at her in his bath. Then his eyes fell to the clothes she’d stripped off at his feet. Among them, the gold crown.
Hades bent and picked it up. “This is beautiful,” he said.
She cleared her throat. “It is. Ian made it for me.”
She didn’t bother asking him if he knew Ian, Hades has told her before that he knew all the souls in the Underworld.
“He is a talented craftsman. It is what led to his death.”
Persephone frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He was favored by Artemis, and she blessed him with the ability to create weapons that ensured their wearer could not be defeated in battle. He was killed for it.”
Persephone swallowed—it was just another way a god’s favor could result in pain and suffering.
Hades spent a moment longer inspecting the crown before setting it down again. When he rose to his feet, Persephone was still staring at him and hadn’t moved an inch.
“Why did you not go?” she asked. “To the celebration in Asphodel. It was for you.”
“And you,” he said.
It took her a moment to figure out what he meant.
“They celebrated you,” he said. “As they should.”
“I am not their queen.”
“And I am not worthy of their celebration.”
She stared. How could this confident and powerful god feel unworthy of his peoples’ celebration?
“If they feel you are worthy of celebration, do you not think that is enough?”
He did not respond. Instead, his eyes grew darker and a strange feeling pervade the air—it was heavy, heated, and spiced. It made her chest feel heavy, restricting her breath.
“May I join you?” His voice was deep and sultry.
Persephone’s brain short-circuited. He meant in the pool. Naked. Where only water would provide cover. She found herself nodding, and she wondered briefly if she had gone insane having been in the water too long, but there was a part of her that burned so hot for this god she would do anything to sate the flame, even if it meant testing it.
He didn’t smile and he didn’t take his eyes from her as he stripped off his clothes. Her eyes made a slow descent from his face to his arms and chest, his torso, and held at his arousal. She wasn’t the only one who felt this electric attraction, and she feared when they entered the water together, they might incinerate.
He stepped into the pool, saying nothing. He stopped a few inches from her.
“I believe I owe you an apology.”
“For what, specifically?” she asked. There were several things he might be apologizing for in her mind—Minthe’s unannounced visit （if he knew about it）， the way he’d treated her the morning after La Rose, the contract. Hades smirked, but the humor didn’t touch his gaze—no, his gaze burned.