Page 180 of Where Darkness Bloomed
“Minos.”
Her voice cut cleanly through the heavy stillness.
The men flinched, their eyes darting to her at last—staring, startled, as if only just noticing her.
Minos inclined his head to her respectfully, then raised the scroll once more.
“Leandros of Sparta and Timais of Mycenae. Soldiers of the Greek forces in Troy. Their ships were lost in a storm three days ago. They drowned,” he finished.
The taller man, Leandros, clutched his chest. “Gentle Kore,” he pleaded, voice cracking. “I was a mere soldier! I was given orders and had no choice—”
Kore.
The name, its unfamiliarity, was as stark as a slap.
Beside her, Hades’s jaw tightened. His fingers curved around the arms of his throne, though he remained silent.
However, Rhadamanthys glared sharply at the mortal. “You would dare to address the queen of the Underworld as—”
“Rhadamanthys, peace,” Persephone called softly.
The silver embroidery on her chiton glinted in the torchlight as she rose. Every eye in the hall watched her as she stepped forward, gazing at the men.
“I am not Kore. You stand before Persephone, wife of Hades.” A beat passed. “Queen of the Underworld.”
For the first time, the mortals faltered under her gaze, recognizing too late the terrible gravity of the moment.
“And I do not believe you,” she finished.
Blood drained from the mortals’ faces, leaving them bone-white. Behind them, the dark waters of the Stygian fountain whispered, rippling ceaselessly.
“But I desire to be fair.” She lifted a hand, gesturing toward the fountain. “If your claim is true, then drink.”
The men stiffened, eyes flicking to the fountain. Sweat beaded across their brows, summoned by a truth that could not be escaped.
“Please, my lady—” the second man croaked.
Her eyes slid to him.
“Drink.”
The word fell cold, final as judgment.
Leandros stumbled to the fountain. With trembling hands, he caught the water and brought it to his lips. His throat bobbed.
But as he raised his head, the terror that had glazed his features was already sliding away. A bitter sneer twisted across his lips, hatred stark in his features.
“Speak,” Persephone commanded quietly.
His voice was venomous. “The Trojans slaughtered us while we lay dying on that cursed beach under the sun lord’s plagues.” He spat the words furiously. “When we finally took Troy, we found Hector’s bitch, his whelp clutched in her arms.”
His eyes glinted, bright with malice. “After what we endured, it was my right to fling that little bastard from the highest rampart—”
“Silence.”
Persephone’s voice lashed through the hall, and even the air recoiled.
Fury rolled off her in waves, burning cold through her veins. Chilling clarity settled in her like frost creeping over glass.
