Page 24 of Where Darkness Bloomed (Of Stars and Salt #1)

Hades did not appear the next day.

Kore remained in the bedchamber. The hours passed like shadows across stone. Her thoughts burned feverishly—restless, tangled with the memory of his mouth on hers, the weight of his body, the sound of marble fracturing beneath his hand. The echo of it lingered, as if carved into her bones.

After he left, she had bathed in the bedchamber’s stone pool, wincing as the warm water embraced her aching body, washing away the grime of her escape. Lavender-scented steam curled through the air, a soft balm but one that did little to quiet the humming beneath her skin.

When she rose from the water, a chiton of deep indigo appeared on the divan. Soft as mist, it slid over her skin like smoke, weightless and cool. Then she collapsed into the bed’s embrace, and sleep claimed her, deep and dreamless.

When she woke, every muscle screamed in protest. She groaned as she sat upright, stiff and sore. Sleep had steadied her body, but her thoughts still tumbled in a wild melee. Her fingers drifted to her lips, where the memory stirred again, soft and startling.

For a moment, she wondered where he had gone. If she should seek him.

No.

The thought was dismissed with a sharp exhale. It did not matter. Not the kiss, nor the strange gentleness beneath his power. Not the way he had pressed her to the pillar, nor the words he had spoken just before.

All that mattered was leaving this place, returning home. To Eleusis. To the world above.

She pressed her palms to her eyes, willing herself to steadiness. Leaving on foot was impossible. Her reckless attempt had made that brutally clear. The Fates had been merciful that he had found her when he did. And only they knew what other horrors lurked beyond the temple walls.

There was no path out—

A thought, wild and half-formed, flickered to life. Her head snapped up.

The horses.

She had seen the stables upon her arrival, tucked into the cliffs beyond the temple’s colonnade. A home, no doubt, for Hades’s dark stallions.

She chewed her lip.

In Eleusis, she had ridden in her mother’s chariot countless times, drawn by placid mares adorned with laurel garlands. But it bore no resemblance to the chariot or the mounts that had carried her to the Underworld.

Still... a horse was a horse. And if she could reach them—

She stood abruptly from the bed.

The temple lay in silence as she moved swiftly through its corridors. Outside, she slipped through the garden once again, feet brushing dew-damp grass. A breeze crisply scented with pine and ash tugged at her clothing as she passed through the trees.

The stables lay where she remembered, carved into the mountainside just beyond the rear colonnade.

Built low against the rock, it crouched at the edge of the summit, its arching entrance framed by basalt pillars and smooth timbers.

The roof sloped into the cliff, seamless as if the mountain itself had grown it.

At the stable door, the air thickened, filled with the warm scents of hay and musk of animals. Hooves shifted against straw. A snort broke the quiet. Familiar. Ordinary.

But the illusion shattered when she peered into the first stall.

The beast inside was terror incarnate. It was the largest horse she had ever seen, thickly muscled, its coat dark as obsidian. Brilliant black eyes burned like coal, swallowing the light, and smoke curled from flared nostrils.

In its trough, chunks of bloody meat gleamed wetly. Her stomach lurched.

“Do not think of it,” a voice drawled behind her.

She spun.

Hades leaned against the stable door, watching her. “Alastor has one master,” he said flatly. “Attempting to ride him would be… unwise.”

As if to emphasize the warning, the stallion reared in its stall, screaming. Heavy hooves crashed against the stall door, sending a tremor through the ground, and Kore stumbled back a step.

With a slow exhale, Hades pushed off the door and approached.

In the presence of its master, the beast quieted. It snorted low, then lowered its great head and returned to the grisly meal, tearing into flesh and bone.

He came to a halt beside her. “What did you intend to do?” he asked, disapproval threading the words.

“I… I don’t know,” Kore admitted softly, staring at the stall.

“Not a promising start,” he replied dryly. “You should be in your bed. Not my stables.”

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the wet sounds of tearing meat, and beneath it, the hard beat of her heart.

Slowly, hesitantly, Kore looked up. He was already gazing at her, one shoulder pressed to the timber framing the stall. For an instant, her eyes drifted to his mouth. The mouth that had pressed to hers—unexpected, lingering, impossible to forget.

She looked away, her throat tightening. But still, she forced the words out. “My lord, I do not mean to offend you, but… I—I cannot marry you.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t bristle or protest or rage. Instead, he turned fully to her, and the sharpness in his gaze grew softer.

“Yield, Persephone.” The words were quiet, firm but not cruel. “It is all but done.”

She faced him in turn, an unnamed emotion rising swiftly in her chest. “But... why?”

It slipped out before she could stop it, raw and bewildered. Once free, the rest came in a rush, like floodwaters breaching a dam.

“Why would you wish to marry me?” she asked, searching his face. “You are the lord of the Underworld. I am…” She faltered. “I am only the goddess of spring. I hold no power, no throne. Not even a place among the pantheon. What could I possibly be to you?”

The words fell between them, stark and bare, ringing in the stable’s quiet.

Heat flared beneath her skin, shame curling tight in her chest. She hadn’t meant to bare herself—not like this. Turning from him, she pressed a hand to her chest, as if she could smother the ache rising there.

He did nothing at first. Offered no hollow comfort, no soft words meant to soothe or undo what had already been spoken. But she felt him at her back. Not touching her, but a steady presence that did not recoil from her confession.

At last, his voice reached her. “You are of great consequence to me.”

The words landed like an anchor cast into deep, uncertain waters. A breath slipped from her lips.

“It matters little what the world above believes,” he said. “There, you are the goddess of spring.” A pause. Then, quieter—rougher, “Here, with me... you are more.”

Her fingers curled where they rested above her heart. Slowly, her gaze found its way back to him. They watched one another without speaking as Alastor crunched through a particularly loud bone with a vicious snap.

“Let me show you.” He extended his hand. An offering, bridging the chasm between them.

Kore hesitated, her fingers hovering just above his. “Where will you take me?”

His fingers closed around hers.

“The Pool.”

Darkness rose—not heavy or cold, but soft as dusk. The world tilted as it had before, but his hand around hers kept her steady.

When the shadows rolled back, they stood in a grove of laurels nestled against the slope of a shadowed mountainside. Through the slender branches, the jeweled sky of the Underworld glittered brightly. The river’s distant roar still reached her, but now softened, hushed by trees and stone.

He released her hand. “Come.”

A steep cliff rose nearby, its face split by a narrow cavern. Hades stooped to enter. Kore followed, ducking beneath the stone threshold into the hush beyond.

Small and shadowed, the alcove was formed of smooth, curved walls. At its center, a pool shimmered. Its waters were silver and luminous, like moonlight poured into a basin of night. A waterfall slipped quietly down the far wall, rippling like silk. It gurgled, the sound gentle as breath.

Soft light played across the stone walls, silvering Kore’s skin as she stepped forward, awed. “Where does the water come from?”

“The River Lethe.”

She recoiled instantly, taking a startled step back. “But the Lethe removes memory.”

“Yes.” The reply was calm, assured. “But not this pool.”

Hades stepped beside her, his gaze drawing down to the glowing water. “ The Lethe washes away memory, but this pool—the Pool of Mnemosyne—collects it. Both are vital to the Underworld.”

Kore watched the waterfall softly churn the water. “Why is memory vital?”

“Mortals arrive burdened with sorrow. Grief, pain, love lost to them in death,” he explained. “Lethe grants them peace as they enter into eternity. But Mnemosyne”—he nodded down to the pool—“remembers all. Every whisper, every breath from the birth of creation. Powerful, dangerous, but vital.”

“Dangerous,” she repeated quietly.

“To fall in would be... unfortunate.” His words were deliberate. “The weight of every memory in existence could easily fracture the mind. Even a god’s.”

A chill swept over her as she stared down. The water sparkled brightly.

Her gaze lifted again when Hades reached for the pin at his shoulder, unclasping it.

As before, his himation slid away, leaving him clad in only a low-draped garment tied at his hips, skimming the tops of his muscular thighs.

Shadows and silver light clung to the ridges of his mostly bare form—tall and powerful.

Heat crept up her neck, and her gaze darted away—until the soft sound of water stirred the air.

When she looked back, he had stepped into the pool. Light bathed his skin, the water lapping at his waist. Silver shimmered along the planes of his chest and shoulders, moonlit and quiet.

She blinked, gaping.

He looked up then, reaching out a hand to her.

“But it is dangerous,” she protested, her traitorous gaze dragging over the sculpted strength of his shoulders.

“Yes, but you are with me,” he said simply.

There was no command in it. Only certainty. Perhaps it was that calm gravity—or her own damnable curiosity—but she tentatively reached for his hand then.

He drew her gently into the pool. The warmth of the water curled around her, rising past her hips, soaking through her chiton.

“It’s warm,” she breathed, captivated.

There was a faint curve to his lips as he turned away, guiding them toward the waterfall. It shimmered like a veil of starlight, cascading brightly over shadowed stone. Water alive with memory.

Then Hades lifted his free hand. Light bloomed in his palm, hardening into the form of his bident. The twin prongs glittered darkly as he lifted the weapon, then touched the falling water.

A familiar voice spoke softly across the water.

“ Kore. I will call her Kore .”

Wonder lit through her, breath catching as she whispered, “My mother—”

But before she could finish, his arms slipped around her, strong and certain. She looked up and found his eyes, filled with shadow and fire and something deeper still.

Then, without a word, he plunged them beneath the surface.

The world dissolved into silver light.