Page 178 of Where Darkness Bloomed
Beside her, Hades studied the quiet shift in her expression. “It brings you joy to see them.”
She nodded, her gaze still fixed on the father and child. “It is as it should be. They are together.”
“They are.”
But the warmth in her eyes faded, darkening. “What will happen to those who killed him?”
Hades stilled.
There was an edge in her voice, sharp and brittle, one he had not heard in her before. But he recognized it instantly.
Not gentle sorrow or mourning. Retribution.
The demand for justice.
Hades turned to face her fully. “Tell me,” he said slowly. “What would you see done to them?”
Her eyes blazed like twin stars, fierce with fury, and her voice shook faintly. “They murdered a child. They should suffer.”
“How?”
The word fell between them, heavy as a block of granite.
Persephone hesitated, the fire faltering as uncertainty clouded her features. Then her breath caught, alarm widening her eyes as they found him—the weight of his question settling over her. Shaken, she took a step back.
But Hades caught her hands in his, stopping her retreat with a firm touch. “Do not fear this,” he commanded quietly. “Tell me, Persephone. What punishment would you decree?”
She wavered, poised at the edge of decision. Then slowly, as though drawing strength from him—she stepped forward into him. He welcomed her into his arms, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. A patient demand for truth as he waited, silent and immovable, for her to find her voice.
Finally, she spoke. “His cries,” she whispered. “I would have them hear his cries. Always.”
The words hung in the air. A curse. A sentence born not of rage, but of deepest sorrow. Justice, shaped by her hand.
Hades studied her, the faintest nod acknowledging her words.
His gaze drifted across the horizon, where Hector waded in the bright surf, his son held close, their reunion echoing into the boundless peace of Elysium.
“Come.”
Chapter 66
The throne room of the Underworld emerged around them.
Before the shadows fully cleared, Persephone’s silver crown settled on her head.
Hades stood beside her, sovereign and still, golden laurel glinting darkly against his hair. His fingers slipped from hers as he turned to the dais where his solitary throne stood in silent dominion.
The air trembled, buckling under the weight of his power.
The marble floor groaned, a sound like the heavens splitting apart. Then, the dais cracked open, a jagged fissure riven across its surface.
From the depths, liquid silver surged upward, bright and alive, like a river of stars rising from the dark—just as it had when he crafted her crown.
The metal danced through the air, shaping itself with fluid elegance, bending to Hades’s will. Delicate patterns bloomed intricately over the surface, like constellations forming in a night sky.
From the whorls of silver, a seat emerged. A second throne, a striking counterpart to the stern onyx seat beside it. Austere majesty tempered by bright beauty—judgment and mercy, power and grace.
Hades turned to her then, offering his hand. “My queen.”
