Page 44 of His in the Dark

When I open them again, Persephone has not moved. Stubborn Goddess.

I reach my arm out to her and allow myself to brush her shoulder with my fingertips.

She lets out a soft, shallow breath. The sound is a soothing balm. I crave it dearly.

I let my arm rest on the mattress, my fingertips still in contact with her. It is like drawing my fingers through a candle flame. If I let them stay still for too long, it would burn, but for the moment, it is only a pleasant heat.

A heat I would like to watch ignite into the full roaring flame of Persephone’s power. No realm should be denied the brightness of that flame.

Frustration begins to return, but I exhale it, then exhale it again, keeping my hand where it is.

“You will be cold,” I say into the dark. “You will come to me in the night. You may as well get comfortable now and have a pleasant night.”

She lets out a sigh. The tension in her body is like a touch itself. Persephone wants to fight for her independence, but she does not know which battles to mount. I could tell her, of course. She would not listen.

So I let her wage war in the privacy of her mind, even as her body relaxes into my faint touch.

I know when she decides to give in—it’s obvious from how her shoulder presses just a little more into my fingertips—but it’s several moments more before Persephone can bring herself to roll over.

She turns into my arm and arches her body, pulling herself across the space between us. It is heaven. I’ve never felt so much pleasure. Persephone settles her head on my shoulder, the heat of her breath tickling my neck, and I wrap my arm around her, pulling her closer. Inhaling her scent is a blessing.

I arrange the blanket over both of us and drop a kiss to the top of her head. It appeases me that she doesn’t resist. Despite dwelling in the Underworld for days now, she still smells of sunlight and flowers in the first of their blooms. She smells of the power that has been denied her but that hovers, waiting for her to grasp it.

There is so much we could do together. So much we could be. Her submission would be everything, and it would be nothing, because our combined power would eclipse it. Persephone would be my queen in more than title.

“I do not know what you wish of me.” These words are not rehearsed. They spill out of my mouth as if I have been compelled, and have nothing to do with the thoughts whirling in my mind. “I only know I can give you anything you wish.”

Persephone tenses, then relaxes into my hold. It almost seems as if she is deciding to be comfortable here. Pretending it is true so it will become true.

“To leave,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “To see my mother.”

“Almost anything…”

Persephone is silent.

I wait for her to roll away, to try to put the distance between us once again, but she does not.

Instead, she falls asleep, her body pressed close to mine. And in this moment, I’m given a taste of my own heaven in the walls of this hell.My Queen.

PERSEPHONE

The bedchambers door is open. A crack only, but it is not locked shut.

I stare at it from my usual place in the center of the bedroom, disbelieving. I’m certain it was his intention to tempt me. To his credit, I am ever so tempted. I vaguely wonder what I have done to earn such things. The tour, the baths, the warmth of him throughout the night.

Although my life in Olympus was met with ease and comfort, never wanting for anything. Captures were not treated as such by my father. Zeus ruled with a firm hand of lightning for his enemies.

I am reminded though that Hades’s sickness is his belief in my attachment to him. As his queen. And with the promise of my powers.

He is deluded surely. But if his state allows me to roam freely, perhaps there is more of a chance to escape or to call for help. My mother will come. She could never stand for my pains and my wishes to not be met. I can only imagine her agony in knowing I have been taken against my will. If only she knows.

At that thought, my gaze shifts to the entrance of the room.

The door does not shiver and change as if spelled closed. The door stays open, giving me a view of the hall outside.

There it is. Quiet. Innocent. No one passes by the door. No one knocks on the frame. I cannot see if there is a guard standing by, but I assume there is one…if not right outside the door, then at the end of the hall.

To know that, I would have to go out, and that is where I’ve drawn the line in my head.

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