Page 21 of His in the Dark

I was proud of myself for how brave I sounded. I was proud of myself for the fight that rose in me.

But now, in the privacy of the room, with my face flushing and my body hot…

Doubt grows in me like the cold in the room. As much as I want to tell myself that Hades feels nothing—that he’s cold and heartless and mean—I saw something else.

I saw fire in Hades’s eyes. I saw heat and passion and perhaps even a little amusement. Anger rises within me. How dare he. But the flicker of rage is only that. A flicker.

Shame trickles over my skin. I hide my face in my hands, wishing I could hide from myself.

But there’s nobody else here. I am alone, and a captive, and getting colder by the second. I’m lost in the dark. Lost in this room. A plaything for a God who thinks of me as his property. He thinks of me as someone to steal, like a flower plucked from the gardens of Olympus.

Even worse, he was right. My powerisweak. I have nowhere to run in this realm.

And still, I crave that heat I saw in his eyes. I want to blame it on the cold, but it’s not only that my nipples have peaked and my teeth are beginning to chatter. It’s also because his presence was exhilarating. Exciting. I have thought so much about my waning powers lately that I would hardly let myself consider the dreams I had of Hades and the power I felt in those dreams.

I had some power, too. He did not look at me with cold, blank eyes. He leaned close enough for me to see that I was affecting him. That he desires…

Why me, with my weak powers? Surely a God like Hades would want a more ruthless queen.

The flush on my skin deepens at the memory of his statement.

You are to be my queen.

I can never admit how seductive those words sounded when Hades said them, as if it was fated. My heart pounds. My mouth waters. If I was his queen, I would also be his equal. He would not rule over me. We could rule this realm together.

It could all be lies. Simply a pawn in his game.

The spell comes back to me. I must have spoken it wrong. I must’ve ruined what should have been my saving grace.

This wasnotthe kind of power I meant. I did not mean the kind of power that comes from a man who keeps me chained. I did not mean the kind of power that comes from judgement and death. I meant the kind of power that comes from life. From new flowers and a full harvest. From the love of the people I’m meant to protect.

The one thing I know of the Underworld, is that no new life can grow. Raising my hand, I attempt a flower. A single lonely flower to grow between the crack of obsidian in the corner of the room. There is no nourishment, no soil. No possibility for growth. Nothing moves, not within and not without.

I feel nothing. As if my powers do not even exist.

A quiet voice murmurs in the back of my mind—is it not power to be the only light in the dark? Do you dare to question the will of the Gods, and the will of fate?

My throat tightens to the extent that I fear I cannot breathe. I do not know how long it’s been since Hades left me here. Hours at least if not the full day. I stand tall and keep my pace slow until I’ve reached a table near the windows. A glass pitcher of water rests on it. With my throat aching, I allow my fingertips to glide down the etched side of it. I pick it up and hurl it across the room, the anger brewing inside of me like I’ve never felt before splashing water onto the dark floor.

The pitcher shatters and a darkness sweeps through me. With trembling hands, I allow them to fall to my side and take in what I’ve done.

Then, as if nothing had happened, it joins back together, the glittering pieces flickering in the dim light and the pitcher returns to its place on the table.

I repeat this process with every item that I can lift. The pillows return to the bed as soon as I let go. The thin soft rug of fur will not tear under my fingers. I pull tufts out of its weft, but it repairs itself.

Any effort to change the makings of the room prove worthless. And yet it only angers me more.

I try my magic.

It’s like the candle, refusing to light. My strength drains out of me, and I fall to my knees, dizzy and lightheaded. The rug is the only softness under me. I have spent my life dwelling in the bright, beautiful halls of Olympus, and this dark, cold room sinks into my soul. Frustrated tears burn in my eyes.

I feel as if I’ve gone mad. I can do nothing but exist with my thoughts in a room I cannot change with a fate that is not one I chose.

Nothing could be more shameful than my loneliness. Nothing could be more shameful than wanting Hades to come back.

Nothing could be more shameful than craving his attention if for no other reason than information and perhaps a deal.

Because as I kneel on the rug, trying not to cry, one thing becomes clear.

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