Page 14 of His in the Dark

HADES

T he soul is half-dead, only the remnants of his being clinging to the flesh I’ve damaged. The anger in me is not satisfied. Not in the least as I hover over him, the rage nearly blinding. He cries no longer for mercy. He speaks to more of sorrow and regret. Blood pools on the floor, spreading out from what was once identifiable as his body. There can’t be much left, and soon it will trickle out onto the tiles, and his soul will be taken for judgment.

Each blow was a soothing balm. The rage could only be held in for so long. He must’ve known it was coming. What torture it must’ve been for him to walk beside me, knowing what was to come of his fate but not knowing when it would be delivered.

She bathed and cleansed herself. I sought his punishment to cleanse myself as well. It is not surprising that I struck the first blow the moment the heavy quartz doors closed.

The guard to my right is silent and still. Standing straight and at attention. I barely hear him, focused on the man in my grasp.

He will stand before the judges stained with my disapproval. How dare he. That's all I can think. The rage is something I’ve not known before. One to be untamed and in the back of my mind, my anger is at myself as well. And Minox.

But this soul takes the brunt of it all.

A sound at the door distracts me from the task at hand. I glance up to find Persephone crossing the threshold, her eyes wide, then wider as she takes in the scene.

One moment her pure innocence is easily seen, her gown drifting slightly behind her with her stride and the next, her eyes full of shock and horror at the sight.

She hovers at the boundary, her toes almost in the pool of blood, her hands trembling. Her hair is beautifully braided, freshly bathed and so innocent. Perhaps I should have dealt this judgement elsewhere. Not just outside the doors of the baths but I could not wait. I’d already waited for privacy too long.

“Hades,” she speaks my name as if a prayer of despair. Not the way I envision. Her words echo, sounding larger than they are.

“I changed my mind,” I tell her without context and the confusion and horror on her face only aid me in my realization. “You may not seek pleasure in the guards.”

I deal one last blow to the thing at my feet and turn to study her more closely.

Pale skin. Pale lips. Her terror is palpable, but it’s not her brush with disaster that terrifies her.

It’s me .

Her brows draw together as I watch her. Can’t she feel the pull between us? Can’t she feel how a little blood could never break it? Terror won’t be enough.

I gesture at the guard, who is hardly a man anymore. “He coveted what was mine.”

Persephone’s mouth drops open. “You offered me to him.”

Her misunderstanding is frustrating. "No, I offered him to you, and you did not wish such things."

There is quite a difference. He took it upon himself to present an offer. He dared to fantasize what was not his. Now he shall suffer a loss. Just as I have.

I will deal with Minox later. And my own wayward thoughts.

“This? This was his own doing,” I tell her, knowing full well the blood on my knuckles will come clean.

Persephone takes a step back from the spreading blood, but it won’t be enough. The blood will continue to pool until there is no more left, and even after the guard’s final heartbeat, the circle around him will grow until a servant comes to clear it away.

"I want nothing to do with this," Persephone says, swallowing hard. Her eyes drop to the mess at my feet. "I shall never love a monster like you."

Taken aback from her statement that echoes in the halls of the baths, I steady myself. The anger replaced with something else.

I take a deep breath and calm myself. This… this is nothing. If she is to be Queen of the Dead, this kind of judgment should not weigh on her as it appears it does. The Fates promised me. They swore to me…

I remind myself of the deal I made before telling Persephone, staring into her gorgeous eyes filled with terror. "You are worthy, and what you knew before is no longer." Her eyes come to mine. "Enjoy what I give you, my queen. It was always yours to have."

"I did not ask for this," she whispers. Her gaze attempts to leave mine, and I position myself between her and the nearly dead soul.

“No one asks for Fate.” That is the very nature of fate itself. It does not come when Gods or mortals bid. It is fate. The fact that Persephone is choosing not to understand after a lifetime among the Gods tries my patience.

"I choose my fate," she states firmly, as if she truly believes such things.

“Take him,” I command the remaining guard and without hesitation, he drags his former companion away. The metal of his armor scrapes on the stone floor.

“My Queen, that is nothing to cause alarm,” I assure her but she stares behind me, watching with terror.

“Why?”

“He spoke when he should not.”

She merely shakes her head, staring at me with disbelief.

“As if you are not privy to such displays in Olympus,” I comment as shame rises with her judgement. “As if you cannot understand why such acts are needed.

“I–” She starts but cannot finish.

“He was one man. One who spoke when he should not have, coveted where he damn well knew he should not.”

“You said–”

“Perhaps it is that you are so beautiful he could not resist.”

She parts her lips in protest.

“He knew … I know he did. You denied him and so he perished. It is just.”

A shiver rolls down her shoulders.

“Let me make it up to you.” I offer a distraction. “Your powers are–”

“My powers do not work here.” She cuts me off. Seemingly more distant than before. “I cannot bring life in the Underworld.”

With the guard far off in the distance and no trace of the abuse that occurred apart from a streak of blood on the floor, I use a cloth from my pocket of black and rid myself of the evidence, still standing between her and the sight behind me.

“There are other powers,” I murmur, knowing what is to come.

“I do not want others,” Persephone screams, and as the sound is multiplied by the room, the air grows hotter with her anger. My pulse rises with it. This is but a flick of what I know she’s capable of. “I do not belong here,” she states. Her lips and eyes darker as she stands before me. A vision of her I’ve seen flashes before my eyes.

“You do belong here. More than you know.” It’s a promise. This was meant to happen. “Next to me. Reigning beside me. You must learn the ways of the Underworld.”

Her hands ball into fists at her sides. She clenches her jaw, her cheeks bright with her fury. “I will never stand beside you.”

“Consider—” If she means her words to batter me, she has failed. There is nothing that can dissuade me.

“ You did this to me.” She narrows her eyes, the color dark, almost murderous. “I know who and what you are, and I will never obey. I regret what I felt for you. I regret it all.”

The thread of my patience snaps. Persephone has been sheltered, yes, but she should not be so bold as to presume she knows what I am. She does not know enough to speak to me so, and her anger is both misguided and useless.

Perhaps she is not ready. Perhaps I should not have given her such freedoms. It is my mistake. As I tilt my head, my neck cracks and I do what I can to temper my rage at her thoughtless statements.

Breathing in deeply, I call out for the guards.

The clank of metal is met with the sound of her sharp gasp. “Take her to my chambers.” I cannot look at her as I give the command.

She doesn’t resist. She doesn’t protest and I am thankful for such things. Even if she screams profanities at the men who escort her.

“Do not touch me!” she hisses and that gets my attention.

“You will not harm her,” I emphasize to them although they are far more aware than she that they lay beneath her feet.

Her eyes catch mine for only a moment and then she strides ahead with them trailing behind. Disappointment is my only company as I stare back down to my hands, the blood filled in the cracks of my roughly calloused palm.

How could she feel such things for a guard who would put his desires before his duty?

She … is so far from the queen I envision. Yet I feel her power so close.

If this plagues her… if one act of so little consequence yields a reaction from her of this magnitude how will she ever face the courts? Let alone rule them?

She knows not of his previous life and his debts. She knows not anything of him and yet, she persists in anger and torments me so?

I am tired of this lack of progress. I am tired of her focus on what she believes to be true rather than what could be true if she would stop railing against it.

The new rage that burns in me is only because of the memory of the damned soul’s quiet offer. Of how he thought, for an instant, I would let him put his hands on her.

And worse?—

The sickening question of whether she would want it. I had not known what Persephone’s answer would be. I had not dared to hope that she would refuse.

I crave her satisfaction and yet it appears that I am ill equipped.

I was a fool. There is no such ease with Persephone. She is far too naive, too flighty, to understand that blood on the floor does not always mean a monster is nearby. That fucking loyalty does not make a person a threat. That she could be free of her imagined prison if she would accept her true status, and her true power. That the ties that bind her would be nothing if she realized she’s the one who made them.

It’s not long before the other guard returns and it takes greater effort than I’d like to remain composed. How have I stayed here in this filth with my own thoughts for too long a time?

“She is safely secured. Shall the doors be locked?”

The magic is still her capture, I nearly tell him but resist. “No need to lock the doors to your queen,” I tell him instead. When I am ready, I will give her grace in movement.

“Get rid of half the torches down the left side of the hall,” I order him, my voice on the verge of breaking into a shout. “So she’s more willing to go right. Give her access and watch her for her protection only.”

“Do you think she’ll try to escape, my Lord?” the guard asks.

I huff a humorless laugh. Escape? I am not concerned of her ability to escape. She cannot and will not without aid. I am concerned her pleas will leave the Underworld and make their way back to Olympus. Secrecy has been an ally the past few days. But the magic will aid me in her silence.

“No. She needs to learn the ways of our realm. Allow her to reign as she should, and she will find her place beside me herself.” I don’t speak the last thought outloud, like it or not, this is her fucking fate and she cannot outrun it.

I walk away from the halls without thought, with only a black anchor clouding my mind. I do not have a destination in mind. I only want to shed these thoughts with brisk movement, but they will not go.

Persephone… my beautiful queen… what am I to do with you so that you will both rule and love me as I love you?

I exhale sharply, trying to release the disappointment. It has always been strong in me, but that only makes it more difficult to tolerate Persephone’s. She does not have anything to be angry about. The things that have happened to her pale in comparison to the life I had before I ruled the Underworld. She is meant for this. She is no victim. This is a part of her story and her stubbornness turns her blind. If only she would give in and allow fate to move her as it must.

Slowly, a fear creeps in me. Never felt before. I’m quick to acknowledge it and release it, condemning it to the pit of hell where fear belongs.

Minox glides into step next to me, detaching from the shadows without my notice.

“My Lord,” he says.

“Minox,” I say, my teeth gritted. I find I cannot relax them for several beats.

“Where are you going, my Lord?”

“I haven’t decided,” I snap at Minox, though this is not his fault. “I haven’t decided,” I say again, moderating my tone. “Do you require my presence?”

His hands are folded inside his black robe. His steps have not faltered, even once.

Before he can begin a conversation, I whistle, loud and sharp. I should have called for Cerberus long ago. My faithful companion. A few moments pass, and loping footsteps, along with the clink of his collar, grow louder until Cerberus is at my side.

I stop to pet his three heads, stroking between each one in turn until my lungs feel less liable to explode. Cerberus wags his tail and presses two of his snouts into my leg. His black fur shines as a healthy coat.

“Come, Cerberus.”

My dog walks along at my side already soothing the agony of impatience, and Minox and I continue down the wide hallway. Cerberus pauses to sniff at several doorways, but stays close.

It is several minutes before Minox speaks again. He takes a short breath before he does, warning me in advance that he intends to say something I will not like.

"It is my humble suggestion that you do not leave her tonight, my Lord.”

"Excuse me?” This is my realm. I will leave any rooms I wish. I will walk any halls I wish. I will remain absent for as long as I wish.

"I fear she needs your comfort,” Minox says, giving no sign of discomfort.

"And what do I know of comfort?” The hot, twisting sensation that shame always brings settles low in my gut like a pool of acid. For it is the gut of my father that I resided for centuries. Comfort and niceties, social norms… they are not for me. It is not my destiny. The irony that I rule the largest and most delicately balanced realms when I was brought up in dreadful solitude is not lost on the Gods.

Minox knows as well as I do that I am the last person who should dare to offer comfort.

I sat for centuries in the pit of a Titan’s stomach. I sat alone, in darkness, with nothing but darkness to comfort me. The whispers say it is why I am so cruel. And yet they agree with balance. So many often forget the angels were the most successful murderers. They only exist because they were willing to slaughter ruthlessly. They killed for righteousness and all those who observe choose to forget how they came to be and look at only the glory. Those who do not become comfortable with their darkness and blinded by the light they crave. One must see both to understand fully what balance truly means.

Although I brought a knowing the Gods understood, ruling the Underworld was trying. Surrounded by those in need and judging those who live in worlds so different from my own. The sensation of touch sickened me when I returned to the world. I found it appalling. Disgusting.

Until the visions of Persephone.

She is the first person whose touch does not make me want to rage for as many centuries as I spent imprisoned.

She is the only person’s touch I have ever wanted. And she is the other half to what is required in the Underworld. She will be the Queen of the Dead. And what an irony it is for her as in the other realms she provides the most comforting life in delicate flowers that cannot exist in these walls of crystals.

“Do not leave her tonight?” My brow pinches at the absurdity. She does not care for companionship. She does not crave me the way I crave her. And I do not wish to submit myself to rejection so bluntly.

It is brazen of Minox to suggest it. I never wish to be confronted with this lack in myself. How am I supposed to know how to touch her in a way that would bring comfort? I could not bring comfort to myself in all those dark, tortured years, and very little has changed since then. I remind myself of the warning from the Fates: in time she will be yours. But you must be patient.

“I believe,” Minox says slowly. “You wish to give her comfort.”

I do not speak. I cannot speak. His daring has gone too far. He has seen too much to continue. Now, at least.

“Leave me,” I murmur lowly, barely able to refrain from anger. My wants have never been a concern to others. Never.

“Yes, my Lord,” Minox says, and melts back into the shadows.

With Cerberus at my side, the hours pass. They do not pass quickly, or enjoyably, but they pass with more ease than before. I pay no attention to where we walk. I throw a stick for him in a meadow. I let him roam through wild gardens, sniffing out small creatures with his head. In the distance, the sky cracks along the river. More souls arriving. As souls come, others leave. Choosing the earthly realm. If ever there is an imbalance, the sky cracks, shattering the weight of what the Underworld carries. Souls who do not wish to return are burned to ash. No longer existing to ensure the balance. The count in the Earth realm echoes in the Underworld. As above, so below. More souls must enter the mortal world. Or else there will be consequences. I do not care for such things, but balance must be maintained.

Night is falling by the time I am calm enough to return. The dusk falls away into dark as I take Cerberus inside.

He looks up at me, questioning.

I pat each of his heads. “Go to them. Come back when you are finished.”

Cerberus has many places to visit within my home each day. His favorite place is the kitchens. They are busy all night, as the scale of my home is fit for the vastness of the Underworld. I am not the only one who dwells here. There are guards. Staff. Advisors. Though I spend many hours in solitude, my home is a world unto itself—a palace, or a city. Cerberus can find companionship at all hours of the night, and I do not begrudge him his routines. For he is an enforcer and alerts me to those who are not welcomed here.

For if Zeus were to send a God to have prying eyes in my palace, Cerberus would know and therefore I. It is a good sign that he is at peace.

He bounds off, and I return to my bedchambers. Though I have ordered the windows shut again, the cold seeps in. That is the way of the Underworld. To Persephone, it will be cold until she learns to find her warmth.

The sconces burn low when I enter, closing the door quietly behind me. I cross the room to change and collect a blanket, then approach the bed. I could light the fires, but it will not aid her in finding her powers. Patience , I remind myself. Patience.

Persephone is already under the sheet. The fabric outlines the curves of her body, and her hair stands out in contrast to the pillow. She does not speak, though I can tell from the way her shoulders rise and fall that she is not yet asleep.

I climb into the bed next to her and, with a motion, extinguish the sconces.

The dark is soothing, whatever Persephone may think of it. I close my eyes and let it cool my thoughts for a few moments before I arrange the blanket over myself.

When I open them again, Persephone has not moved. Stubborn Goddess.

I reach my arm out to her and allow myself to brush her shoulder with my fingertips.

She lets out a soft, shallow breath. The sound is a soothing balm. I crave it dearly.

I let my arm rest on the mattress, my fingertips still in contact with her. It is like drawing my fingers through a candle flame. If I let them stay still for too long, it would burn, but for the moment, it is only a pleasant heat.

A heat I would like to watch ignite into the full roaring flame of Persephone’s power. No realm should be denied the brightness of that flame.

Frustration begins to return, but I exhale it, then exhale it again, keeping my hand where it is.

“You will be cold,” I say into the dark. “You will come to me in the night. You may as well get comfortable now and have a pleasant night.”

She lets out a sigh. The tension in her body is like a touch itself. Persephone wants to fight for her independence, but she does not know which battles to mount. I could tell her, of course. She would not listen.

So I let her wage war in the privacy of her mind, even as her body relaxes into my faint touch.

I know when she decides to give in—it’s obvious from how her shoulder presses just a little more into my fingertips—but it’s several moments more before Persephone can bring herself to roll over.

She turns into my arm and arches her body, pulling herself across the space between us. It is heaven. I’ve never felt so much pleasure. Persephone settles her head on my shoulder, the heat of her breath tickling my neck, and I wrap my arm around her, pulling her closer. Inhaling her scent is a blessing.

I arrange the blanket over both of us and drop a kiss to the top of her head. It appeases me that she doesn’t resist. Despite dwelling in the Underworld for days now, she still smells of sunlight and flowers in the first of their blooms. She smells of the power that has been denied her but that hovers, waiting for her to grasp it.

There is so much we could do together. So much we could be. Her submission would be everything, and it would be nothing, because our combined power would eclipse it. Persephone would be my queen in more than title.

“I do not know what you wish of me.” These words are not rehearsed. They spill out of my mouth as if I have been compelled, and have nothing to do with the thoughts whirling in my mind. “I only know I can give you anything you wish.”

Persephone tenses, then relaxes into my hold. It almost seems as if she is deciding to be comfortable here. Pretending it is true so it will become true.

“To leave,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “To see my mother.”

“Almost anything…”

Persephone is silent.

I wait for her to roll away, to try to put the distance between us once again, but she does not.

Instead, she falls asleep, her body pressed close to mine. And in this moment, I’m given a taste of my own heaven in the walls of this hell. My Queen.