A Touch of Malice (Hades & Persephone #3)(104)

As Hades came to a stop before her, the force of his presence stole her breath. He was stunning, robed in black and crowned with iron. His bright blue gaze trailed from her horns to her feet, snagging on her breasts and the curve of her hips.

“Just one more thing,” he said, lifting his hands, and as he did, a crown appeared. It matched his— all jagged, black edges.

Her lips curled as he placed it upon her head. She was surprised by how light it felt.

“Are you making a statement, my lord?” she asked as his hands fell to his sides.

“I thought that was obvious.”

“That I belong to you?”

Hades placed a finger beneath her chin as he spoke.

“No, that we belong to each other.” He kissed her, and as he pulled away, his gentle gaze connected with hers. “You are beautiful, my darling.”

She traced the shape of his face, the curve of his nose, the bow of his lips. She was certain she had memorized every dip and hollow and curve, but suddenly, she felt the need to be sure she had internalized all parts of him for fear of never seeing him again.

Hades’ brows drew together, his fingers brushed down the side of her face.

“Are you well?”

“Yes. Perfect,” she replied, though they both knew she wasn’t being completely honest. She was afraid. “Are you ready?”

“I am never ready for Olympus,” Hades said. “Do not leave my side.”

She would have no problem with that—unless, of course, Hermes pulled her away.

Her grip tightened on his arm as he teleported, her heart stuttered in her chest, anxious at returning to the ancient home of the gods, even though a few of them were friends.

They arrived in the marble courtyard upon Mount Olympus where an arc of twelve statues rose before them, each carved to resemble the Olympians. Persephone recognized it as the space where Tyche’s body had been burned. It was the lowest part Olympus—the rest of the city was built into the mountainside and accessed by a number of steep passages. Stories above them, there was a loud clamor of voices and music. At the very top of the mountain was a temple where warm light streamed from the arched columns of an open porch.

“I am assuming that is our destination?” Persephone asked.

“Unfortunately,” Hades replied.

The walk was pleasant—a winding stair that took them passed pretty doors and exceptional views.

Up this high, the clouds were close, the stars brilliant, the sky inky blue. She found herself wondering what the sunrise and sunset looked like from here. She could just imagine—the burning bronze of the sun probably bathed the marble in gold, and all around would be clouds of the same color. It would be a gilded palace in the sky, beautiful and unworthy of those who ruled it.

The final ascension to the temple was a wide set of stairs flanked with two large basins of fire that lead to an open porch. At the top, Persephone found a room crowded with gods, demi-gods, immortal creatures, and favored mortals. She recognized all the gods and a few of the favored—Ajax and Hector, in particular, who wore short, white chitons and gold circlets in their hair. Other guests were dressed more extravagantly and more modern—in gowns that glittered with sequins and beads, suits with velvet or a sleek sheen.

There was laughter, excitement, and an electricity charged the air that had nothing to do with magic —until they appeared.

Then, one by one, heads turned to stare, and silence swept through the crowd. There were a number of expressions—intrigue, fear, and disapproving frowns. Though her heart hammered in her chest and she squeezed Hades’ hand tight, she kept her head held high and looked at him, smiling.

“It seems I am not the only one who can’t help staring at you, my love,” she said. “I think the whole room is enthralled.”

Hades chuckled. “Oh, my darling. They are staring at you.”

Their exchange encouraged a wave of whispers as they made their way onto the floor. The crowd parted for them, as if they feared the brush of either god would turn them to ash. It reminded Persephone of a time when she’d been frustrated with Hades for letting the world think he was cruel.

Now she considered that it was probably his greatest weapon—the power of fear.

“Sephy!”

She turned in time, releasing Hades’ hand as she did, to find Hermes zipping through the crowd. He was wearing the brightest suit she’d ever seen—in a shade of yellow that resembled the skin of a lemon. It had black lapels and flowers embroidered on the jacket in colors of teal, red, and green.

“You look stunning!” he said, taking her hands into his and lifting them as if to inspect her gown.

She grinned. “Thank you, Hermes, but I should warn you—you are complimenting Hades’

handiwork. He made the dress.”

There were a few gasps—the crowd, still quiet since their arrival, were listening.

“Of course, he did, and in his favorite color,” Hermes observed, a brow raised.

“Actually, Hermes, black in not my favorite color,” Hades said, his voice quiet but somehow resonate, and Persephone felt as if the room was collectively holding their breath.

“Then what is it?” The question came from a nymph Persephone did not recognize, but judging by her ashy hair, she’d guess she was a meliae, an ash tree nymph.

The corner of Hades’ lips lifted as he answered. “Red.”