Page 77 of Where Darkness Bloomed
Though soft, the command resonated with undeniable power. A tether drawing her from the edge of hesitation. Drawing her irrevocably toward him.
“I swear it.” The vow slipped from her lips in a whisper.
The air shivered, rippling outward, as if the Underworld itself bore witness to her oath.
Thanatos stepped forward, silent as moonlight, and offered the goblet first to Hades. He drank, his gaze never leaving hers.Then he lifted the cup to her lips.
The water was cold, but it burned her throat like liquid flame. Binding her to the vow she’d uttered. To him.
Thanatos vanished in a shimmer of shadow. They stood alone on the landing above the roaring river, the oath still humming faintly in the air.
Lord. Husband.
The words burned through her like the water she had swallowed—irrevocable, alive.
Then Hades lifted a hand.
The earth beneath them stirred. A fissure cracked quietly along the ground. From its depths, a silver stream rose. Glittering and fluid, it arced through the air like a living thing.
It coiled and twisted at his silent command, weaving itself into form. A laurel wreath. Bright silver, a glittering counterpart to the dark-gold crown on his brow.
Hades took it from the air. Then, stepping forward, he held it above her head.
His voice rose over the River Styx, deep and resonant, powerful enough to shake the foundations of the earth.
“Persephone, goddess of spring, I crown you Queen of the Underworld.”
The proclamation broke over her like a tidal wave, the delicate silver settling on her brow, cool and final.
Queen. Wife.
His.
Chapter 33
As the shadows curled away, Kore stared at the unfamiliar chamber before her.
It was vast. Beautiful.
A world unto itself.
Dark stone walls were carved with marble reliefs locked in eternal motion—gods and creatures, battles and legends, all caught in gleaming stone. Oil lamps nestled in stone alcoves cast soft, golden halos of light.
White linens framed a wide balcony, billowing softly in the breeze. Beyond, the Underworld stretched in an endless expanse of steep mountains, the peaks already cloaked by nightfall.
At the chamber’s heart sat a great bronze brazier, unlit but commanding, encircled by furs and cushions strewn in an indulgent invitation to comfort. The air was rich with myrrh and clove, spiced yet soothing.
Her gaze rose.
Above, the domed ceiling rose high into shadow. Like the Underworld’s sky, it was a canvas of dark stone embedded with a vast wealth of glittering jewels. They formed constellations, a sparkling imitation of Olympus’s heavens. Stars she had once watched from hilltops, captured here—trapped in eternal brilliance. In his bedchamber.
Her gaze drifted to the bed. It was a massive thing resting atop a low obsidian dais, cloaked in thick coverings, still and expectant.
She had known this.
She had attended many weddings with her mother—had heard the whispers passed among women speaking in sympathy or laughter. Had seen the knowing glances between men, the easy confidence in their eyes, the faint amusement at the inevitable.
A rite as old as the earth.
