Page 10 of The Queen & the King

I glance at Margaritte. She has brought me another plate and is filling it with fruits.

“There is an article in the paper today, and it’s all about you. It seems your entrance into society has the realm abuzz.” My mother looks at me again, her head tilted.

“Oh?” I spear a strawberry.

“I have asked Hermes to set up a meeting with one of the journalists. If they are going to write about you, it will be an official, approved interview. And we will need to take some photographs.”

I tilt my head, eating the fruit.

“It’s better we get on top of this, Persephone. Besides, it’s time you were properly introduced into society.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Good. I will schedule it for the end of the week. I want the interview and the photographs set up here.” She nods, looking pleased with my submission.

It’smid-morning before I make it to the garden. My mother seemed to want to take her time with breakfast, and I did my best not to seem impatient, but from the moment the sun rose, I longed to be outside.

I kneel in my patch, looking over my roses. I notice that they’re not quite uniform, and I frown. It’s not something I ever cared about, but my mother has poisoned my entire patch for less. I wave my hand over the flower, calling upon the roots to shift back a little. The soil roils as the flower moves until it’s perfectly lined up with the others.

I cup the head of a rose that looks a little sickly. I stroke the inside of a petal, nurturing it. It begins to look healthier immediately, but my brows furrow when I notice dark veins trailing up from the base. I lean in for a closer look. That creeping darkness looks bad, and I expect the rose to feel weak and sick, but it has never felt stronger. I release it, sitting back on my heels. The veins are barely noticeable from the outside, and yet, the rose seems to glow with a new strength.

“Persephone.” My mother’s cold voice snaps me from my thoughts, and I push down the instinct to hide the rose from her, knowing that if she sees it, she will destroy it.

“Yes, Mother?” I ask, tilting to look at her.

“Leave that useless patch alone and come help me,” she says from the other side of the garden.

I glance back at my small collection of roses and smile almost apologetically before I stand and join my mother.

Seven

Hades

ISPEND ALL THREE DAYS WAITING FOR MELINOË TO RETURN, HUNTING TITANS.I don’t sleep. I barely eat. I hunt. I rarely feel the injuries I gather, the Underworld healing me almost immediately upon my return. I miss the pain of them, even postponing my return to the palace so I can feel it longer. I need that little bit of sensation to remind myself that this is real, that I’m alone, and she’s not coming back.

The darkness becomes my constant companion. The moment I stop moving, those feelings of isolation, despair, and hopelessness take hold. In those moments, I depart even more from myself, detaching emotionally. Any image I hold of myself seems to be tied inextricably to Persephone. Compassion leaks away from me, and I lack any form of empathy. The few Titans I’ve detained, I interrogate in the most brutal and vicious ways possible. I am done pretending to be someone who holds any kind of moral compass. Where had maintaining a code of honor gotten me? It didn’t stop Persephone from being taken away. It didn’t stop the Titans from escaping.

I start to… enjoy it. I enjoy their screams as I tear into them, my shadows making the pain never-ending. Each moment feels like an eternity to them until they confess everything to me. I’m the God of the Dead, which grants me the ability to understand how to extend pain to bring them close to death but not push them over.

Yet, no matter what I did, they wouldn’t tell me where to find my father. There was no torture I could imagine, no agony I could create that made them break. Zeus had snapped at me, insisting I wasn’t pushing them hard enough. I volunteered him to experience it himself if he doubted me. He unsurprisingly declined my very generous offer. Yet, none broke and confessed where my father was or his plan.

Only when I break Perses, Titan of Destruction, do I finally find out why.

Perses smirks at me, even though his teeth are mostly missing and his tongue has barely grown back. “Poor son of Kronos. You don’t understand, and you never will. He swallowed you, but you never lived under his rule. Anything you can conjure is nothing compared to his tyranny.”

I took his tongue again for that.

They think he is crueler than I? Challenge fucking accepted. My interrogation only turns more harsh, shifting to psychological warfare from physical torture. Several fall for the idea that I am hesitating about the war, considering turning against my brother in favor of my father. A couple think I will do anything to get my wife back, even killing Zeus and taking his place. Those who fall for that don’t understand how she was taken. Misinformation is rampant among them. Most are surprised I have a wife, while others believe Kronos took her.

Most have no idea about Demeter’s involvement and are astounded when I ask about her. She hid her tracks so well it is like she doesn’t exist. She thrives on being dismissed as aminor goddess. How long has she planned this? Since the Fates first revealed my wife would be the Goddess of Life? Since Persephone’s birth? Even before?

The most deadly enemy is always the one you never see coming. I was supposed to be the one who outmaneuvered, who watched and listened. I was supposed to be the unexpected enemy. Yet, I found myself completely outwitted by the Goddess of the fuckingHarvest.

When it’s time for Melinoë to return, I head to a guest bedroom. It is opulently appointed, with silver silk sheets and a buttery soft duvet. I haven’t stepped foot in our bedroom since she was ripped from my arms. Not that I sleep much, saving all my dreams for time with Persephone. Dreamwalking is dangerous, even more so for a god bound to a realm. Unlike Melinoë and Morpheus, I am bound to a physical realm, which means my dreams are rooted in the Underworld. Even when I dream in the mortal world, the Underworld always plays a part, though sometimes it is only the presence of my queen. To cross from my realm into the dream and from there into Olympus is something even weaker dream gods struggle with. Each layer of a dream is blocked by our innate ability to keep our dreams to ourselves. Those who are connected by a fated bond are able to call to each other, but without it, I need the help of a dream god. To cross from the Underworld to Olympus, I need to break through thousands of wards that keep other dreamwalkers out. I will have to wear my consciousness thin, along with my power, to step into Persephone’s mind.

“Melinoë,” I murmur, greeting her. My tone is flat and emotionless.

She looks over my face, her dual-colored eyes no doubt recognizing my fatigue. “I’m still not sure about this.”

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