Page 13 of Where Darkness Bloomed
“Marriages among gods are rare,” Thalia said, her tone grand as a toast. “So the celebration must be worthy of remembrance, echoing through theages.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a softer note. “Besides, I’ve bought you a moment. Your mother’s gaze is elsewhere.”
Kore huffed a laugh. “Then you have my thanks.”
It was true. The table of honor was set beneath the starlit canopy. Two central seats remained empty, awaiting the bridal couple. Around them, the Olympians filled the other seats, gleaming in full, blinding splendor. At one end, Demeter’s gold crown glinted like a steady flame through the swell of laughter and music.
Kore’s gaze slid past her mother to another empty seat. The pressure in her chest returned, subtle but sharp. Her eyes swept the crowd.
Where was—
“Come,” Thalia said, tugging lightly at her arm. “My sisters are waiting.”
Kore let herself be led through the gathering, their path weaving between the revelers. Laughter crashed like waves. Music coiled through the air, wild and alive, thrumming beneath the celebration like a pulse.
She glimpsed Thalia’s sisters, Euphrosyne and Aglaia, a moment before a trumpet’s fanfare pierced the din. The crowd quieted, every eye turning to the table of honor as a cascade of golden light rained down from the heavens.
From its brilliance emerged Heracles, the powerfully built son of Zeus. Against his side was Hebe, dressed in robes of glittering silver, her cheeks flushed.
At the sight of the newlyweds, a cheer erupted, roaring over the lawn in a wave of wild joy. Goblets spilled nectar as toasts rang out, music swelling once again.
“They seem content,” Kore said, her voice nearly lost in the swell of celebration.
“Content?” Euphrosyne’s laughter chimed, bright and teasing. She tossed her hair—a thick wave of caramel laced with gold—over one shoulder and gave Kore a knowing smile. “Wouldn’tyoube content with Heracles at your side?”
Then, with a sly glance toward her sister, Aglaia, she added, “Or perhaps... your heart desires a more unconventional match.”
Aglaia’s cheeks flushed, though the warmth only deepened the goddess’s quiet radiance. She said nothing at first, but her gaze drifted toward the high table. To the god who stood slightly apart from the others.
Hephaestus.
Broad-shouldered and iron-strong, he wore a tunic the color of deepforest, simple but well-cut against his muscular frame. Firelight danced over his hard features, catching in the molten depths of his eyes. He stood in quiet conversation with Poseidon, fingers absently grazing the edge of his trimmed auburn beard.
Aglaia watched him for a breath. The silver wreath of jasmine woven through her raven-black hair shimmered as she tilted her head, thoughtful and still.
“He doesn’t gleam brilliantly like Apollo,” she said at last, her voice soft. “Or dazzle with the charm of Dionysus. But his beauty is a different sort, born of fire and creation.” A faint smile stole over her lips. “Striking, in his own way.”
Reluctantly, her gaze left the table, turning back to the conversation. She looked to her sisters and Kore once more. “As the goddess of beauty,” she added gently, “I can assure you, a beautiful face does not always promise lasting joy.”
“I imagine it certainly helps,” a sly voice cut in.
Hermes hovered overhead, silver-winged sandals a furious blur as he drifted through the night sky. His smile was sharp, eyes lit with mischief.
“Hermes.” Aglaia greeted him with a respectful nod, though her stunning smile turned impish. “Please, do share your vast wisdom on marriage.”
Hermes sniffed theatrically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Must one be wed to recognize the folly of those who are?” he asked, descending in a lazy arc.
Aglaia tilted her head, eyes bright. “I imagine it certainly helps,” she echoed, the words rich with challenge.
With a flourish, Hermes landed beside Euphrosyne. He plucked a goblet of nectar from a passing nymph, flashing her a suggestive smile, wide and shameless, and she returned it without hesitation.
Kore’s attention drifted back to the head table. To the empty chair no one else seemed to mark.
It still waited. Silent. Unclaimed.
She looked away and found the bridal couple again.
Heracles leaned in close, holding a piece of fruit to Hebe’s lips.She accepted it with a smile, and his thumb lingered against her mouth, sweeping slowly. The gesture, simple yet intimate, sent a surge of familiar warmth blooming through her.
The sweep of his thumb was justlike—
