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It was strange that the thought of life brought him more grief than death.

“Well,” he said. “I suppose it’s just a matter of which we shall play first.”

The children began to shout again, taking his comment to mean they should tell him which game they wished to begin with, but their voices only faded into the background when he looked up and met Persephone’s stunning gaze.

Her divine form inspired nothing but awe because sheglowed. She was like a fucking star in the sky, burningaway the darkness, setting fire to every horror he had ever known.

This, he thought, is her truest form. She was wild, free, and beautiful. Her hair was unbound, curls falling thick and heavy around her shoulders and down her back, crowned with white flora from which her horns seemed to rise. Her gown was pink and airy and gave the illusion that she was simply gliding over the earth.

He swallowed hard and gritted his teeth, hoping to oppress the heat stirring low in his belly. Some of the children seemed to notice Hades was distracted and turned, then bounded toward Persephone.

“Lady Persephone, please play!”

They collided with her and pulled at her hands, and a smile broke out across her face. Hades never really considered that beauty would be the weapon to stop his heart, but here he was, barely breathing. She made it so easy to forget every weight he carried—the ophiotaurus, the attacks on Adonis and Harmonia, the dangerous relics and weapons, the anxiety of Demeter’s storm.

“Of course,” she said, lifting her eyes to his again and then glancing over her shoulder. “Hecate? Yuri?”

“No,” Hecate declined quickly. “But I shall watch and drink wine from the sidelines.”

The children were already pulling them to the field, and as they did, Hades came to stand close to Persephone. She turned her head and met his gaze.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he replied, grinning.

He wanted to lean into her and kiss her but refrained, turning his attention instead to the crowd of children who had gathered.

“We have a lot of games to play,” Hades said. “Which shall we play first?”

He called out the name of each game and let the children decide. They began with hide-and-seek, which excited him at first. Perhaps he could manage to get Persephone alone, but that turned out to be impossible, as each time he went in search of her, she had a child in tow, clinging to her skirts or cradled in her arms.

He was again hopeful when they moved on to blindman’s bluff. He would gladly grope at her blindly, but before they even began, she dashed his dream.

“Lord Hades is not allowed to be it,” she said.

He tilted his head. “And why is that, Lady Persephone?”

She cocked a brow. “Because you cheat.”

“What a wild accusation,” he replied, affronted.

“Do you deny it, Lord Hades? That you cheated during hide-and-seek, vanishing from sight just when you were about to be found?”

“It’s called using your resources,” he replied.

She was not amused.

The last game was ostrakinda, which was played in Ancient Greece; it was basically the most chaotic game of tag to ever exist, but Hades was looking forward to it. They formed two teams, the night led by him and the day led by Persephone, each represented by a shell, which was painted white on one side and black on the other.

Their teams stood opposite one another, and Hades never took his eyes off Persephone, even as one of the children tossed the shell between them.

It landed white side up, meaning night would chase day.

Screaming ensued as the children immediately scattered, but Persephone had yet to move, her eyes riveted to Hades. He wondered what she was thinking because he was wrestling with what he would do when he caught her. He would like to tackle her and teleport them to bed before she even hit the ground, but he had a feeling Hecate would arrive and drag them back to Asphodel.

He’d have to be content with a kiss, even if it just made the evening far more tedious.

He smiled, and something within his gaze must have told Persephone to run because she spun on her heels. He reached for her, barely catching her arm as she whirled out of his grasp and bolted across the field. He wasn’t wrong when he’d observed how she seemed to glide over the ground because she did so now, bounding ahead of him like some graceful gazelle, leaving flowers in her wake with every press of her foot to the ground.