A Touch of Malice (Hades & Persephone #3)(97)

“What were you reading?” he asked, changing the subject and Persephone felt an echo of pain throb in her chest.

“I was looking up information on Titanomachy,” she said, and watched as Hades’ jaw tightened.

“Why?”

“Because…I think my mother has bigger goals than separating us.”





CHAPTER XXVII – THE MUSEUM OF ANCIENT

GREECE

It was late when Persephone woke and found the space beside her empty. Hades had not come to bed. She rose and went in search of him, finding him outside on the balcony, cloaked in night. She stepped behind him and slid her arms around his waist. He tensed and his hands clamped down upon hers, breaking her hold as he twisted toward her.

“Persephone.”

She was a little taken aback by how quickly he’d turned.

“Will you not come to bed?” she asked, her voice a hushed whisper.

“I will be along shortly,” he said, letting go. Persephone held her hand to her chest.

“I don’t believe you.”

He stared for a moment, his expression blank.

“I cannot sleep,” he said. “I do not wish to disturb you.”

“You won’t disturb me,” she said. “Your absence is why I cannot sleep.”

She felt a little silly saying it aloud, but it was true that his presence made it easier for her to relax.

“We both know that isn’t true,” he said, and she flinched at his words because she knew he was referring to Pirithous. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her mouth from trembling. In the time since she’d met Hades, he’d never rejected her, and yet here he was, resisting. It hurt and it felt like blame.

“You’re right,” she said. “It isn’t true.”

She left him there but instead of returning to their bed, she made her way down the hallway, to the Queen’s Suite where she crawled beneath the cold covers and wept.



***

Persephone sat behind her desk, a cup of coffee between her hands. She stared blankly at the steam curling into the air, unable to focus. She hadn’t slept and she felt groggy. Her body wanted nothing more than to find a quiet place and nap, but her thoughts were chaotic, running on repeat through her head.

She agonized, wavering between feeling at fault or angry for Hades’ distance. Perhaps she should have forced conversation around her reaction, but after he’d refused to come to bed, she’d lost her confidence, and instead, felt anxious about approaching the topic. She’d been triggered out of nowhere, and she’d lashed out at Hades, and while she knew that he, too, suffered, it was nothing compared to how embarrassed, how devastated, how violated she felt.

Another thought had occurred to her—what if he was no longer willing to explore his fantasies with her? What of her own?

A knock drew her attention, and Leuce entered carrying an armful of newspapers. She looked just as exhausted as Persephone felt.

“Are you alright?” Persephone asked.

The nymph placed the stack on her desk and shrugged. “I haven’t slept well since…”

Her words drifted off, but she did not need to finish her sentence because Persephone knew that she was struggling after the attack on Talaria Stadium.

“Some things have not changed since antiquity,” Leuce said. “You still kill each other, just with different weapons.”

She wasn’t wrong—society was just as violent as it was peaceful.

Persephone’s eyes fell to the stack of papers Leuce had brought her. The first was from New Athens News and the headline was about the attack on Talaria Stadium: DEATH & VIOLENCE: THE CONSEQUENCE OF FOLLOWING THE GODS

It was an article from Helen that claimed that the attack was designed by Triad to force change— and that without conflict, mortals would continue to live under the thumb of the gods.

The stadium was chosen because the games represented the hold the gods still had on society and for that to change, it needed to be dismantled. The problem was, of the one hundred and sixty people who had died in that stadium, how many of them wanted to be martyrs for Triad?

Helen’s response was cruel: where were your gods?

“I can’t believe Demetri approved that article,” Leuce said but Persephone had a feeling Demetri hadn’t had much say in this. “Helen has gone mad.”

“I don’t think she really believes what she’s writing,” Persephone said. “I don’t think she thinks for herself at all.”

In fact, Persephone was sure of it.

“If you ever see her again, please turn her into a tree,” said Leuce.

Persephone offered a small laugh as Leuce left, closing the door behind her. For a moment, she sagged in her chair, feeling even more exhausted than before. Helen’s betrayal had been shocking, but this, it was something else. Something far worse. Almost like a declaration of war.

She straightened enough and read through a few more articles, her heart feeling more and more heavy with each headline:

At least 56 Deaths Attributed to Winter Weather—That’s Just Last Week Millions Without Power and Water Due to Dangerous Winter Weather Many Fear Food Crisis in the Midst of Winter Storm

But it was one heading in particular that drew her attention near the bottom of the page: Several Artifacts Stolen From Museum