Page 43 of Where Darkness Bloomed (Of Stars and Salt #1)

Persephone stirred as Hades slipped from the bed, his warmth vanishing from her skin like dying embers. She shifted, her cheek sinking deeper into the soft linens. Eyes half-lidded, she blinked into the quiet dark.

Across the chamber, Hades stood before the scrying pool, still and silent. The muscles of his back shifted as he crossed his arms. A dark garment hung low around his hips, carelessly knotted.

His gaze was fixed on the water at his feet. A god lost in thought. Regal. Watchful.

“Troy.”

The surface of the pool shivered, rippling as an image formed in the water.

Persephone sat up, watching as a city rose in the reflection. Towers encircled its heart like a crown, armored battlements crowded with archers, their bows poised and drawn.

She wrapped a blanket around herself and crossed the chamber barefoot. She stopped at his side—close enough to feel the hum of his power in the air between them, moving over her skin like a breath in the dark.

Hades glanced down at her, warmth kindling in his eyes. “You’ve grown fond of wearing my blankets.”

Her lips twitched. “I’ve had little choice,” she said mildly. “A blanket, or nothing at all.”

The corner of his mouth tipped, his gaze dragging slowly over her. “And still you chose the blanket,” he said, voice sliding deeper. “Are you cautious of your husband?”

Her head tilted as she met his eyes. “You are occupied with other matters. ”

That drew a soft laugh from him. “You overestimate my discipline.”

“Or you overestimate my modesty,” she murmured, almost under her breath. “I was raised among nymphs.”

The words slipped out too easily, and too late, she felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

He turned to her fully then, slow and deliberate. The glint of amusement in his gaze darkened, edged with something faintly wicked. One hand rose to the nape of her neck, his touch a reverent brush that sent a shiver through her.

He drew her in with quiet command, his head bowing until his mouth brushed the shell of her ear. “Then let there be no confusion, wife,” he said, his voice dark as night and steeped in promise. “I far prefer you wrapped in shadow and firelight… and me.”

Her bones went liquid at the words. Feeling unsteady, she leaned into him, letting her head rest against his shoulder.

His chin settled atop her head.

“Achilles,” he murmured, casting the name into the pool.

The city dissolved in ripples. Slowly, a new form took shape—a bronze-clad warrior kneeling beside a linen-wrapped body. His palm rested on the shroud, head bowed in grief that hollowed every line of his face.

“Wait for me, brother,” the warrior whispered raggedly to the corpse.

“Hector,” Hades commanded.

The water did not change. Behind her, he grew still.

Persephone’s gaze searched the pool. “Why does it not change?”

“Because we are already looking at Hector, son of Priam. Commander of Troy.”

Her eyes dropped to the figure beneath Achilles’s hand. “He is...”

“Dead,” Hades confirmed, his voice like stone. His lips brushed her hair as he added, “I must leave you tonight.”

Tightness coiled in her chest, but she forced it down. “Where will you go?”

“Olympus.” A frown weighted his voice. “Zeus has called a war council.”

A prickle of fear danced across her skin. She turned to him. “War?”

He nodded. “The mortals of Troy and Greece have long been at war. Achilles”—he gestured to the pool—“fights for the Greeks under the high king, Agamemnon. Hector led the Trojans.”

In the water, Achilles still knelt over Hector’s lifeless body. His fingers were fisted in the shroud, shoulders shaking. Bitter tears carved lines down his brutal face.

Persephone watched, her brow furrowed. “Why does Olympus care for their conflict?”

“It began with us.” His voice was grim, heavy.

“Years ago, Thetis, the sea nymph, was wed to Peleus, a mortal king of Phthia. To prevent strife at their wedding, Eris, goddess of discord, was not invited. Angered by the slight, she sent a golden apple as a gift to the fairest goddess in attendance, causing a contest among them.”

Understanding lit Persephone’s eyes. “And they fought for it.”

He inclined his head. “Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite. Each offered bribes to the judge, Paris, a prince of Troy. They swore to grant him great wisdom, a seat of power, glory. But Aphrodite promised him Helen, the most beautiful among mortal women.”

At once, her mother’s words, sharp and cautious, came back to her. Of men and gods who claimed, who took without care for the cost.

“She was already married,” Persephone whispered.

“To Menelaus, king of Sparta,” he confirmed. “She was abducted by Paris as his prize. When Troy refused her return, the Greeks marched to reclaim her. The war has burned ever since, drawing in more kingdoms. But the destruction...”

His eyes drifted to the dead man again. “It grows too vast. Too costly.”

Persephone’s heart quickened. “But if so many go to war, many will die... will they not?”

“Countless already have. This realm bears witness to the mortals’ brutality.” Hades’s expression turned flinty. “But many gods have also chosen sides. If Zeus has called a council, worse is yet to come.”

She was silent. What he spoke of—it was staggering, unfamiliar. War. Ruin. Bloodshed. Savagery she had never known.

In Eleusis, life had followed the steady rhythm of the earth.

There had been grief, yes—but it came softly, as a natural turning.

She’d mourned beside fires, sung for the newly departed, watched old men drift into sleep surrounded by those who loved them.

She had danced at harvest with girls just grown, braided flowers in their hair, held the hands of children in spring.

Death had been another rite—something to be witnessed, sacred and calm.

But nothing like this.

Now her mind raced with images: women clutching infants as flames devoured their homes, children scattered, blood soaking the soil she had once coaxed into bloom.

Her hands trembled at her sides. “If the gods take sides, wouldn’t they move to protect the innocent? The women, the children?”

“One would hope,” Hades replied, brushing his knuckles along her cheek, though his expression was grim. “But war rarely honors the gentle. And it is often cruelest to those who wield no blades.”

Her skin warmed to his touch, even as something cold and heavy settled in her chest. Dread for which there was no comfort.

He stepped back, his hand slipping away as darkness stirred. It rose, thickening, coiling to the shape of his body. Black armor formed over him, etched with gold, seamless and imposing. The bident appeared in his fist, and his helm was beneath one arm, summoned by his will.

Her gaze traced him.

The Underworld’s fearsome ruler draped in divine strength. The same dark figure who had risen from the depths to claim her that day in Eleusis.

But now, not merely sovereign. Not captor nor consort.

Hers.

Her eyes rose, wandering the sharp planes of his face. “You will see my mother.”

The bident touched the marble floor with a low clang. He leaned into it, his gaze never leaving hers. “I will.”

Silence held for a moment.

“Will you tell her I am well?” she asked softly.

His expression shifted, softening on her. “I will.”

She reached up, her hand slipping behind his neck, fingers threading into his dark hair. He bent to her willingly, and their lips met—deep and slow. He tugged her closer, against the hard armor covering his chest, groaning softly as her tongue brushed his.

At last, he pulled back. His breath ghosted over her lips, warm and uneven. Then his brow dipped gently against hers.

“You tempt me, my queen,” he murmured, his voice rough-edged with want. “But I must go.”

He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm.

Darkness rose like a living mantle of night, folding him into the dark depths, swallowing light and form until only the gold glinted once—

And then, that too was gone.