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“Thank you for being with me.”

“I will always be with you, my Persephone.”

I turn back to face forward, glimpsing the hard set of Leuce’s eyes on Ares’ broad back. Every step she takes is tense, firm, assertive. Leuce naturally exudes a more dominant air than most, but she’s taken it to a whole new level since we arrived in Olympus.

It’s no secret she wants to be feared, but she is a nymph in a house of monstrous Gods. I have an unsettling feeling that the games played within these walls are treacherous.

Aries stops at a set of high double doors crowned by a thick border of ancient script. I don't think I've seen anything but white marble and gold since I arrived, so the towering wood doors stand out. As do the curling décor of the gold handles.

Everything here is so bright and shining, it’s almost blinding.

I’d thought after a time in the Underworld, cocooned by the darkness, that I would crave the sun. The Underworld is warm, but I always thought nothing would compare to the feel of the warmth of the sun on my skin.

Here, in Olympus, I crave nothing but Hades and the darkness of the realm he commands.

Ares’ gold eyes pin to mine, his large hand settling on the gilded knob. “These are your rooms.” He points to another door down the hall. “That door also accesses your suite.” His eyes flick to Leuce and back to me. His lip curls, but it’s not in a smile. “Your bodyguard will occupy that room.”

Leuce grunts, I nod, and Aries opens the room. It's a little hard not to gape at what greets us.

The opulence is loud. It is nothing like the quiet luxuries of the Underworld.

Olympus is justwealth.

Everything is bright and shining and abundant to a point it’s over the top.

Even as I am overstimulated, I can’t deny that it is beautiful.

As soon as I have the thought, a tug pulls deep inside me. It’s shockingly unexpected, and I lift my hand to cover my belly where the sensation of warmth is now spreading. A feeling of home shudders through me that is not my own, and yet it’s strong enough to bring tears to my eyes.

Tears I quickly blink away when I catch Ares studying me quietly, his curiosity darkly unsettling in this place of light.

My eyes cut to Hydra as she lumbers past me to the far side of the room, which is lacking a wall and instead boasts a massive balcony that looks at a view of a pearl-ish gray mountain so massive, its peak so high, the tip of it punctures the blue of the sky that blankets the realm, fading into the misted glow of the sun that spills over it all.

There is a solid moment where I can’t breathe. It’s so…

It’s breathtaking. Beautiful. Exquisite.

And that sensation of warmth deep inside me grows. There is recognition and adoration for this place that lives inside the soul I carry,the soul I grow. Even as her sister shudders a cool abhorrence for this place,sheis warm.

And I feel like falling to my knees in grief, for I now know that one of my daughters is fated to find herself in this realm of dark dealings masked by light and love. She is fated in such a way by the Moirai that there will be no escaping it, no changing it. No unravelling the threads that bind her.

A burning tightness constricts my throat as Hydra lets out a noise that is more growl than anything else as she peers over the side of the railing.“Come, my Persephone. See this.”

I leave Leuce and Ares standing stiffly in place as I join Hydra, moving slowly across the room. It’s hard not to take it all in. There is so much to see.

Nothing is simply done.

Even the lamp bases are carved of stone into scenes of battle and sex. A hot blush stings my cheeks as I pass a statue of a couple. A mortal woman with a God, I realize. Her head is thrown back, limbs wrapped around a God with wings that burst from his back. His eyes are fixed on her face. I find my own eyes drawn to her expression, riveted there by horror and curiosity.

She looks lost to passion, her lips parted in what I’m sure would spill a moan if the statue came to life. Her eyes are half-mast, lashes fanning low. But there’s something about her expression that tightens my stomach, twisting the beauty into something other. Something wrong.

I look closer and from the corner of one eye, I see the smallest bulb of a tear. It clings to stone lashes so intricately carved; I can’t help the awe that rises despite her grief.

My gaze shifts back to the God who holds her captive in his arms. At first, his arm around her much smaller frame seems loose, his hand on her hip a tender caress. But upon deeper inspection, I note the nip of his fingertips into her stone flesh, the slight angle of her head as though to escape the taste of his hungry lips on hers. My eyes snap back to the God, who I now recognize as Zeus, although he is much, much younger. There is a ravenous violence that lurks under the stone surface of his eyes, imprisoned in time by the chisel which carved the masterpiece.

I realize in horror that I am looking upon an ancient rape captured in stone.

Cutting my study of the statue, I am no longer flushed. I feel pale with horror. Sick with sadness.