Page 47 of Queen of the Underworld

He needed to keep the darkness subdued and his nerves at bay if he was going to make it through this evening without messing up. He wanted to be relaxed around Persephone, not constantly on edge, waiting to make a mistake or grow dark and frighten her.

He wanted to spend one visit with her without scaring her, if only so he could prove to himself that it could be done.

He needed to know he could be with her and remain in control.

Needed that so badly he lifted the bottle to his lips and took another draught.

Proving he could be a gentleman to both himself and Persephone was important. Vital.

He studied his appearance again. Preened the wild strands of his short black hair and neatened it so the sharp spikes of his crown stood out. He frowned at it and debated whether to take it off or leave it on.

Hades lifted the semi-circular crown off his head. He did look less daunting without it. It had been many centuries since he had been around others without is crown, but if it would make him appear less frightening, he would go without it.

Tonight was all about showing Persephone that he could be as handsome and charming as any Olympian male.

Hades set his crown down on the side table, blew out his breath and stalked out of the temple, heading for the tower. The closer he came to it, the more his cursed nerves rose, and he began to regret leaving his crown behind. And his armour. He felt oddly bare without them. Vulnerable.

Which irritated him.

He tipped his chin up and walked with more pride, and courage, because no slip of a female was going to make him feel weak and vulnerable, or nervous. He was none of those things.

He was all of them.

He huffed, shoved the door of the tower open, and slammed it behind him. A faint note of lilies greeted him, and he looked back at the door and pressed his hand to the wood. There were subtle scratches on it. Nail marks. His fingertips tightened against the wood. His queen had tried to escape him again. Each time he found marks on the door, he repaired them, using his connection to his realm at great cost to his strength. It was necessary though. He was keeping track of her efforts, that same foolish part of him that wanted her to turn to him for instruction in learning the language of the Underworld wanting her to stop trying to leave him, showing him that she wanted to be his.

It wasn’t going to happen.

Hades healed the wood and pivoted away from the door, and stormed up the stairs, crushing the weakness that infested him and purging it. He was strong. The strongest and most powerful god there was. He had no reason to fear a goddess who had her powers bound.

Shadows snaked around his boots and the ones cast by the flickering blue torches mounted on the walls gathered to him.

He clenched his fists and paused on the curving staircase, sucking down a breath to steady himself and purge the darkness, and his anger. He needed to appear gentle—tobegentle. If he approached her like this, she would grow defensive again and would view him as a monster. He pulled down another breath, seeking calm amidst the riotous storm of his emotions.

When he felt sure he was back in control and his darkness was subdued, he continued to the top of the tower and stepped into the room.

His anger flared back up again as his gaze landed on Persephone where she leaned in the doorway of the balcony.

Wearing her green dress.

“I gave you a gown to wear,” he growled as he stalked towards her.

She merely glanced over her shoulder at the black-and-gold dress where it was spread out on the bed, untouched, and then sighed. “Black is for mourning. Since the only thing I am mourning is my freedom, I do not feel inclined to wear it. Besides… I asked for agreendress to replace the one you ruined.”

This was not a good start. She was already on the defensive, and he could hardly blame her when he had barked at her the moment he had stepped into the room.

Hades curled his fingers into tight fists and clenched them as he fought to remain calm. Gentle. When all he wanted to do was strip her and make her wear the dress he had fashioned for her, one that would reveal her tempting curves. Instead of forcing her to wear it, he strode to the bed and eased onto it, feigning calm and pretending he was relaxed when he was far from those two things.

When she glared at him, her green eyes ablaze with irritation he had no doubt caused by treating her bed as if it was his own and doing as he pleased, he stroked the area beside him.

“Come, my queen,” he purred, liking the idea of her sitting with him far too much—so much he let it addle his mind and loosen his tongue.

Another mistake.

Her jaw set in a hard line and she scoffed. “No. I am more than happy where I am, my god-king Hades.”

The anger that had been rising inside him, stoked by her refusal, fell away as his mind latched onto what she had called him, just as it had the last time she had spoken of him in such a manner.

AsherHades.

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