Page 179 of Where Darkness Bloomed
Her breath tightened, but she crossed to him, step by step. His fingers closed around hers, and together, they ascended the dais.
He guided her steadily to the silver throne. The metal was warm beneath her fingertips as she sank into it.
Then, Hades paused. With a solemn grace that shook her to her core, he went to one knee before her. He gazed into her eyes, face to face, soul to soul, then lifted her hand, brushing his lips over her knuckles.
“My queen,” he said again, softly.
Persephone’s heart leapt in her chest, and she knew the warmth in her chest was shining in her eyes as she looked at him—her husband.
When he stood, he rose with the weight of ages. Power unfurled from him across the hall, ancient and endless, as he took the onyx seat beside her.
From the softly shifting shadows, the judges emerged: Minos, Rhadamanthys, and Aeacus. They gazed somberly at the dais, then bowed low—not just to the master of the Underworld, but to the queen at his side.
Taking their places, they waited.
“Minos.”
Minos rose, unrolling a gilt scroll. “Leandros of Sparta and Timais of Mycenae,” he announced.
Two figures appeared before the dais.
They were mortal men, gaunt and hollow-eyed, still wearing the remnants of their last battle. Leather armor hung loose against their wasted frames, streaked with blood and grime.Their gazes darted wildly over the hall. But when their eyes found the thrones, terror rose swift and sharp.
Persephone leaned toward Hades, her voice pitched for him alone. “Who are they?”
Without looking away from the men, Hades reached past the arm of his throne, his fingers brushing hers. “Look closely, you know them.”
Persephone’s gaze swept across the gaunt faces before her, searching. For a moment, they were strangers. Until—
An echo curled through her mind. A woman’s distant scream, raw and tortured.
No! Spare my son, I beg you!
A mother’s anguished cries, followed by an infant’s sharp wail.
Instantly, she knew.
Her head turned sharply. Hades was already watching her, and he gave a slight nod. Silent confirmation of the truth laid bare.
“Justice must find refuge in death, Persephone.” His voice was quiet, but it held solemn weight. “That is our role. Our burden.”
Our.
The word resonated through her, deep and irrevocable—a tether binding them. Stronger than a crown, than a throne or title.
A second realization struck, sharper still.
Judgment.
He was asking her to pass judgment on these men. The men who hadripped Hector’s child away from his mother, mercilessly hurling him from Troy’s ramparts.
The killers of Astyanax.
The vast hall seemed to close in around her, the air suddenly cloying. Her hand in her lap trembled, fingers curling into a slow fist.
The mortals stood frozen at the foot of the dais. Their eyes clung to Hades, blind to her still.
Until she spoke.
