Page 30 of The Queen & the King

My mother has permitted me to leave my hair down, and I am taking full advantage of the allowance. My hair curls softly down my back, the red highlights glinting in the sun, streaming warmly into the room.

“Ah, sweetling. You look lovely today,” my mother says, breezing into my room graceful steps convey complete ease, but there is something about her eyes that shows inner strain.

I blink, glancing at her in the mirror, unsure how to react appropriately to the compliment. “Thank you, mother.”

She walks closer and runs her fingers through my hair. “You do look much prettier with your hair up, but Adonis likes it better this way.”

I don’t even flinch, already anticipating her usual harsher words.

“When your hair is up, you look much less… plump,” she continues.

I just keep my eyes fixed on myself in the mirror, trying to tune her out. The insult flows off of me as usual. I am always ready for them.

“Well… he likes it this way, and he is the one who will be marrying you.” She looks me over again in the mirror before moving away from me. I run my fingers through my hair as if her insults have wrapped in the strands, and I can remove them with my loving touch.

My mother waits at the door. “Come, Persephone. We can’t keep your suitor waiting.” Her voice is more clipped now. Whether she gets a reaction from me or not, it’s never what she wants. Her myriad of insults always end up with her being angry with me.

I stand and smooth out the perfect pink dress Margaritte has practically tied me into before walking toward her. She roughly pulls my arm, linking it with hers, and we go downstairs to see Adonis.

“Shoulders back. Why do you constantly slouch?” my mother chastises. I straighten myself, wincing slightly in discomfort, still unsure why this feels so foreign to me now.

My mother hurries us out of the house, but when we reach the front garden gate, she slows her footsteps and lifts her chin. I can practically feel her amping up her intimidation. As we walk down the cobbled streets, I notice how the dwellers of Mount Olympus find anything else to look at other than my mother and I.

I meet the gaze of a goddess, and from the deep recesses of my mind, the name Artemis appears, along with a textbook entry. Although, I have no memory of ever reading about her. She trips over the curb as she quickly averts her gaze, and I can practically feel satisfaction rolling off my mother at her blatant submission. The sun is setting, casting a warm orange glow that artfully brushes against the brick of the houses, leaving a warm autumnal hue in its wake.

This is the kind of evening most would consider perfect. The air is still warm but not uncomfortable, and peace seems to cover the mountain like a blanket, yet it doesn’t even touch the blissfulness of my meadow. I can’t help but wonder if I would have more appreciation for the flawless evening if I were on Hades’ arm instead of my mother’s. If his warm body was walking beside mine, if his lips brushed my temple casually as we walked the stony streets of my home, I imagine it wouldn’t matter where I was. I would find joy.

While I can appreciate the evening for what it is, it’s as if I am watching from behind a screen, not living it. My attention is constantly pulled by the not-so-new-but-definitely-worse feeling of my inner darkness churning inside me. It feels more awake than before.

Did I truly use it within the dream?

The barrier between my light power and my dark power has been divided once again by the impenetrable layer that I constructed to keep them separate. I am used to them caressing the wall every so often, displaying an aching longing for the other, but now they are clawing, both desperate to be reunited once again. Along with the restlessness of my powers, I have felt as though there is a heavy pit in my stomach, an acute awareness that something is very wrong, and it all began the night Hades and I shared that kiss.

My mother lifts her hand to wave, and in the distance, I see Adonis waiting outside the restaurant, leaning against the wall. I can already feel the self-important arrogance slithering off him.

My mother tightens her hold on my arm to the point of pain, and I hold back my whimper. “Do not mess this up again, Persephone,” she warns, her voice low and dangerous. We continue to walk, and I keep my gaze on the ground, not particularly wanting to anger either of them.

“Adonis!” my mother exclaims, releasing me and moving to kiss Adonis’s cheek. “I cannot tell you how much Persephone has been looking forward to seeing you. You clearly made an impression on her. She has scarcely stopped speaking of you!”

I force my face into a polite smile and eventually lift my gaze to meet his. That leering twinkle in his eye is back, and I am surprised by the fury I feel toward him. I make sure to hold the smile on my face, but I don’t let it reach my eyes, wanting to keep them as cold and passive as possible. His predatory gaze sweeps over me, and I once again curse the fact my mother has allowed me to wear something more form -fitting.

Mother lifts my hand and places it in the crook of Adonis’s elbow when he offers it, and he leads me inside. My stomach rolls when I notice the restaurant is completely empty, save for us and one server. I resist the urge to yank my hand away, to run and not stop until I am far away from everyone who will hurt me. I want to run until I get to Hades.

Adonis leads me to a table, and the server pulls out my chair. The table is for two, and I glance over my shoulder, watching as my mother sits at a table on the other side of the restaurant, completely out of earshot of us.

“You know,” Adonis begins, his voice low and oily. I feel like it slicks my skin, making me crave a scorching shower to remove any trace of it. “There are many that would kill for my attention.”

I lift the menu. “And yet, I am the unlucky one,” I reply, quickly masking my surprise at my blatant rudeness.Where did that come from?

I pretend to look over the menu, considering my words. Something about them felt so right, like a piece of the puzzle has finally clicked into place.

I can feel his enraged gaze on me, but it does nothing but fuel my anger. There is no fear or doubt, only a deep surge of incandescent fury.

“I’ll enjoy curbing your tongue,” he growls.

I lower the menu slightly and quirk an eyebrow, allowing myself to lean into this new instinct that seems to have sprouted. “You don’t have anything other than threats in your arsenal?”

Adonis narrows his eyes, and his hand shoots out, grabbing my thigh hard. His fingers bruise me, his nails digging into my flesh. I hold back the groan of pain, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

---