Page 36 of Where Darkness Bloomed (Of Stars and Salt #1)

Kore lay on the bed, staring at the dark ceiling.

The bedchamber’s stillness made a mockery of the tempest swirling inside her. Confusion, doubt, and fear.

And beneath it, a warmth that lingered. It unfurled deep within her like roots searching for soil, quiet as embers banked beneath ash—alive, waiting.

Restless, she rose.

She paced the stone floor until her bare soles cramped. Then, at last, she drew a blanket from the bed and sat beside the hearth. The fire crackled softly, its warmth licking at her cheeks, faintly soothing against the wild turmoil of her thoughts.

Husband.

The word tasted foreign, sharp-edged. Heavy with her mother’s warnings about gods who possessed, took, and conquered. And yet, in the shifting firelight, another truth emerged, fragile but persistent.

He was not as her mother had warned. Or... he did not seem to be.

His touch had been firm, not seizing. His hands had not gripped but gathered, drawing her close with the kind of strength that promised protection, not possession. His gaze had lingered, not with desire, but something rarer—

Recognition.

He looked and saw her. Not as daughter or maiden or goddess, but something more. A force in her own right. A being of weight and wildness, equal to the ancient power rooted in him.

He had taken her from the world above. That much was true. And yet—he had not forced his will upon her. He had only opened a door, revealed a path woven by the Fates, a thread laid for her feet alone. And it led here.

To him .

But even now, the choice remained hers. Of that, he’d been clear.

I will not force you.

The vow settled in her chest—heavy, wondrous, terrifying. Too vast to fully grasp as fear and wonder tangled like wild vines.

Her gaze rose to the chiton draped across a divan nearby.

It lay there, waiting. Dark fabric delicately threaded with silver embroidery that sparkled like the constellations of the night sky.

She had seen it before. In the Fates’ foretelling at her birth, the same garment had adorned her beneath a jeweled stone sky, a crown on her brow.

Not a maiden taken. A queen risen.

The fire crackled softly, and Kore inhaled, slow and deep.

She was not the same. Not the goddess who had arrived in this place, tumbling like a fallen blossom, caught by hands she feared. Something else had taken root. Grown deep. And now, like wild thyme breaking through the earth, it rose.

Slowly, she stood.

The chiton’s fabric cascaded over her fingers like woven water. It glided over her body, catching the firelight like fractured starlight. Her hands trembled slightly as she clasped the diamond pin at her shoulder, then, barefoot, she stepped from the bedchamber.

The corridors stretched before her in a hush. The atrium, the throne room, the high-vaulted spaces carved of obsidian and shadow, all lay silent, as if the temple itself watched. She slipped into the garden’s quiet embrace.

Twilight cloaked the Underworld, even in the absence of the sun. Darkness bloomed in shades of amethyst and ink, soft and full.

A figure stood at the garden’s edge, waiting.

His skin was smooth and dark, eyes flickering gold—not the sensual blaze of Eros, but something quieter. Eyes that held the stillness of tombs, the patience of eons, and a gentleness that she hadn’t expected from one who bore his name.

His hair was ebony, threaded with faint gold. Wings rose over his shoulders, vast and arching. The feathers shimmered darkly in iridescent hues of indigo and purple—twilight captured in flight.

As she approached, the god’s gaze lifted to meet hers.

“My lady,” he said, voice rich and warm. He inclined his head with quiet grace. “I am Thanatos.”

“Death,” Kore breathed, the word catching in her throat .

A faint smile touched his lips. “Indeed,” he said, offering his hand. “He awaits you.”

His touch startled her—not cold, as she had braced for, but warm and steady. Thanatos moved beside her like a shadow in deep water, fluid and silent, guiding her through the garden’s hush.

“We go to the river,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “The oath will be sworn there.”

She blinked. “You will oversee it?”

He chuckled, a soft, dark melody. “Love and death are not so different. Both are thresholds.” His eyes sparkled. “And many find my touch kinder than Eros’s.”

They approached the stone landing that rose above the dark rush of the Styx. There, waiting alone in the river’s mist, stood a solitary figure.

He was a pillar of dark strength, his arms folded over his chest. His himation rippled in the wind, stark against the pale mist coiling up from the crashing river. Upon his brow, a laurel of dark gold glinted in the failing light—ancient, regal, unyielding.

Hades’s gaze was fixed on the horizon until he sensed her. Then he turned.

His eyes moved slowly over her, sweeping against the curve of her waist, her bare shoulder, before rising to her face.

The river’s roar fell away to a hush. The world drew inward, narrowing to his gaze, the silent gravity of the moment.

Her heart was trying to escape, beating wildly against her ribs.

He raised a hand to her, a wordless invitation. On unsteady legs, she stepped forward and placed her hand in his.

His touch was a contradiction—warmth that steadied, heat that seared. Grounding her even as it consumed every thought.

Thanatos stood between them, a sentinel of ancient beauty. A golden goblet appeared in his hand, and he knelt, filling it from the churning waters.

Straightening, he faced Hades. “Lord Hades, do you swear by the River Styx your fealty and respect to Persephone, goddess of spring, as your wife?”

“I swear it.”

The oath was iron. It swelled on the air, the stone beneath her feet trembling in acknowledgment.

Thanatos turned to her. “Persephone, do you swear by the River Styx your fealty and respect to Hades, Lord of the Underworld, as your lord husband?”

Her lips parted to speak. But the words caught, faltering on her tongue.

Sharp fear pierced her chest, her mother’s warnings forming an icy chain around her heart. A chorus of caution whispering about lies and beguilement.

Then—

“Persephone.”

Hades’s deep timbre cut through the storm.

His fingers tightened around hers. She looked up into his eyes, finding no conquest—only certainty.

“Swear it.”

Though soft, the command resonated with undeniable power. A tether drawing her from the edge of hesitation. Drawing her irrevocably toward him.

“I swear it.” The vow slipped from her lips in a whisper.

The air shivered, rippling outward, as if the Underworld itself bore witness to her oath.

Thanatos stepped forward, silent as moonlight, and offered the goblet first to Hades. He drank, his gaze never leaving hers.Then he lifted the cup to her lips.

The water was cold, but it burned her throat like liquid flame. Binding her to the vow she’d uttered. To him.

Thanatos vanished in a shimmer of shadow. They stood alone on the landing above the roaring river, the oath still humming faintly in the air.

Lord. Husband.

The words burned through her like the water she had swallowed—irrevocable, alive.

Then Hades lifted a hand.

The earth beneath them stirred. A fissure cracked quietly along the ground. From its depths, a silver stream rose. Glittering and fluid, it arced through the air like a living thing.

It coiled and twisted at his silent command, weaving itself into form. A laurel wreath. Bright silver, a glittering counterpart to the dark-gold crown on his brow.

Hades took it from the air. Then, stepping forward, he held it above her head.

His voice rose over the River Styx, deep and resonant, powerful enough to shake the foundations of the earth.

“Persephone, goddess of spring, I crown you Queen of the Underworld.”

The proclamation broke over her like a tidal wave, the delicate silver settling on her brow, cool and final.

Queen. Wife.

His.