We all know the rumors about Zeus. All of us. He’s gone through three Heras—three wives—in his time leading the Thirteen.
Three dead wives, now.
If I let this man put his ring on my finger, I might as well let him put a collar and leash on me, too. I will never be my own person, will never be anything but an extension of him until he grows tired of me, too, and replaces that collar with a coffin.
I will never be free of Olympus. Not until he dies and the title passes to his oldest child. That could be years. It could be decades. And that’s making the outrageous assumption that I’ll outlive him instead of ending six feet under like the rest of the Heras.
Frankly, I don’t like my odds.
Chapter 2
Persephone
The party continues around me, but I can’t focus on anything. Faces blur, colors meld together, the sound of gushing compliments are static in my ears. A scream is building in my chest, a sound of loss too big for my body, but I can’t let it escape. If I start shrieking, I’m certain I’ll never stop.
I sip champagne through numb lips, my free hand shaking so badly that the liquid sloshes around in the glass. Psyche appears in front of me as if by magic, and though she’s got her blank expression firmly in place, her eyes are practically shooting lasers at both our mother and Zeus. “Persephone, I have to go to the bathroom. Come with me?”
“Of course.” I barely sound like myself. I almost have to pry my fingers from Zeus’s, and all I can think about are those meaty hands on my body. Oh gods, I’m going to be sick.
Psyche hustles me out of the ballroom, using her voluptuous body to shield me, dodging well-wishers as if she’s my own personal security. The hallway doesn’t feel any better, though. The walls are closing in. I can see Zeus’s imprint on every inch of this place. If I marry him, he’ll put his imprint on me, too. “I can’t breathe,” I gasp.
“Keep walking.” She rushes me past the bathroom, around a corner, and to the elevator. The claustrophobic feeling is even worse when the doors close, trapping us in the mirrored space. I stare at my reflection. My eyes are too large in my face, and my pale skin is leached of color.
I can’t stop shaking. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Almost there, almost there.” She practically carries me out of the elevator the second the doors open, taking us down another wide, marbled hall to a side door. We slip into one of the handful of courtyards that surround the building, a little bit of carefully curated garden in the midst of so much city. It’s dormant now, dusted with the light snow that started to fall while we were inside. The cold cuts through me like a knife, and I welcome the sting. Anything is better than being up in that room for another moment longer.
Dodona Tower is in the very center of downtown Olympus, one of the few pieces of property that is owned by the Thirteen as a whole rather than any one of the individuals, though everyone knows it’s Zeus’s in every way that counts. It’s a grand skyscraper that I used to find almost magical when I was too young to know better.
Psyche guides me to a stone bench. “Do you need to put your head between your knees?”
“It won’t help.” The world won’t stop spinning. I have to… I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’ve always seen my path before me, stretching out through the years to my ultimate goal. It’s always been so clear. Finishing my master’s degree here in Olympus, a compromise with my mother. Wait until I turn twenty-five and gain my trust fund and then use the money to break free of Olympus. It’s hard to fight your way through the barrier that keeps us separate from the rest of the world, but it’s not impossible. Not with the right people helping, and my money ensures that will be the case. And then I’ll be free. I can move to California to do my PhD at Berkeley. A new city, a new life, a fresh start.
Now I can’t see anything at all.
“I can’t believe she did this.” Psyche starts pacing, her movements short and angry, her dark hair so like our mother’s swinging with each step. “Callisto is going to kill her. She knew you didn’t want any part of this, and she forced you into it anyway.”
“Psyche…” My throat feels hot and tight, my chest tighter yet. As if I’ve been impaled and am only now noticing. “He killed his last wife. His last three wives.”
“You don’t know that.” She answers automatically, but she won’t quite meet my gaze.