A Game of Fate (Hades Saga #1)(38)

This time, to Hades’ relief, he won. “What would you do?” he asked, because he was curious, and he had no answers.

She blinked, brows furrowing. “What?”

“What would you change? To help them?”

Again, he felt a prick of frustration when her mouth parted in surprise at his question, but her expression quickly changed, becoming determined. “First, I wouldn’t allow a mortal to gamble their soul away.”

He grumbled at her critique, but she continued.

“Second, if you’re going to request a bargain, challenge them to go to rehab if they’re an addict, and do one better, pay for it. If I had all the money you have, I’d spend it helping people.”

She had no idea of his influence or how he maintained balance by bargaining with the world’s worst to feed the world’s deprived.

“And if they relapse?”

“Then what?” she asked, as if it were nothing. “Life is hard out there, Hades, and sometimes living it is penance enough. Mortals need hope, not the threat of punishment.”

Hades considered her words. He knew life was hard, but he knew that because he could see the burden upon souls when they arrived on his doorstep, not because he actually understood what it was to be mortal and to exist in the Upperworld.

After a moment, he lifted his hands as she had done before to signal another game. When he won, he took her wrist and turned her hand over, laying her palm flat, fingers brushing the bandage tied there.

“What happened?”

Her laugh was breathy, like she thought he was silly for asking.

“Just a scrape. It’s nothing compared to bruised ribs, I promise.”

Hades jaw tightened. Perhaps there was no comparison, but he did not like that he could not keep her from being hurt in his realm. In truth, this was a small part of a greater fear—that he could not protect her from those who would wish to harm him.

After a moment, he pressed a kiss to her palm, sending a shock of magic into her skin to heal the wound. When he pulled away, he met her heated stare.

“Why does it bother you so much?” she whispered.

Because you are mine, he wanted to say, but those words froze in this throat. He could not say them. They had known each other for a week, and she had no knowledge of the thread that bound them together, only the bargain that forced her to be here. So instead, he touched her face. He wanted to kiss her, to somehow communicate this desperate need he had to keep her safe in every way, but just as he started to lean forward, the door to his study opened and Minthe entered the room. She stopped short, her eyes narrowing into slits.

Had he not commanded her to knock?

“Yes, Minthe?” he asked, his jaw clenched. She had better have a good reason for this interruption…but he doubted that was the case.

“My lord,” she said tightly. “Charon has requested your presence in the throne room.”

“Has he said why?” He did not try to hide the irritation in his voice.

“He has caught an intruder.”

“An intruder?” Persephone asked, her curious eyes falling to Hades’. “How? Would they not drown in the Styx?”

“If Charon caught an intruder, it’s likely they attempted to sneak onto his ferry,” he replied, standing and extending his hand for her to take. “Come, you will join me.”

If she was curious about him and his realm, she would want to be present for this anyway. Perhaps she would see the demand mortals placed upon him.

She pressed her fingers into his palm, and he led her down the halls of his palace to his cavernous throne room, with Minthe leading the way.

In the beginning of his reign, Hades had used this room more often than any other part of his palace. It had been the one place souls had feared more than Tartarus, because it was a place of judgement. He would sit upon his obsidian throne, flanked by black flags bearing golden narcissus, and cast souls into a bleak eternity without a second thought. Then, he had been ruthless and angry and bitter, but now, this was his least favorite place in his realm.

Charon waited for them, his brown skin ignited against his white robes. He was a daimon—a divine creature that ferried souls across the River Styx. He met Hades’ gaze before it slipped to Persephone, his dark eyes sparking with curiosity. Beneath his gaze, Persephone started to withdraw her hand from his, but Hades’ grip tightened. He guided her toward his throne, manifesting a smaller one beside it, composed of the same jagged edges but in ivory and gold.

He gestured for her to sit and knew she was about to protest.

“You are a goddess. You will sit on a throne.”

Those words were similar to what he was really thinking. You will be my wife and queen. You will sit on a throne.

She did not protest. After she took her seat, Hades did too, turning his attention to the daimon.

“Charon, to what do I owe the interruption?” he asked.

“You’re Charon?”

Hades jaw tightened, not only at the goddess’ interruption, but at the evident admiration in her expression and tone. It was true that Charon did not look as the Upperworld depicted. He was regal, a son of gods—not a skeleton or an old man—and he was about to face a stint in Tartarus if he did not wipe that grin off his face.

“I am, indeed, my lady.”

“Please call me Persephone,” she offered, her smile matching his.