Page 48 of Where Darkness Bloomed (Of Stars and Salt #1)

“But you,” she said quietly, “you are not an Olympian.”

He hesitated. “I am not,” he said at last. “But neither do I interfere in the world above. My duty to them lies here, in death.”

“They were children.” Her voice caught on the words, and she glanced away.

Her sorrow twisted something inside him. He stepped closer, cupping her cheek with his palm.

“Children who now dwell in Elysium,” he said softly. “In paradise, for eternity. ”

Persephone swallowed hard, nodding, but he saw the glitter in her eyes. It was a wound words could not soothe, he knew this. No comfort could undo the horror of lives so violently stolen. Of innocence torn apart by cruelty.

He had long grown used to the tide of mortal brutality. It rose without mercy—war upon war, greed feeding grief, an endless churn of violence passed down like inheritance from generation to generation.

But this war… it reeked of something fouler than ambition. A slow, seeping decay cloaked in fire and glory, spreading like poison in the roots of the world. A world that had forgotten mercy.

The silence held, until he felt her gaze and looked down. Persephone was watching him, her eyes intent, searching his face. As if she could see the shape of his thoughts, reading them there.

“You study me,” he remarked quietly.

“You are troubled,” she replied. “Weary.”

The observation struck deep, a salve and a temptation all at once. After eons of solitude, an existence set apart, she was here in his arms. Seeing him.

He exhaled sharply, fingers rasping through the scruff of his beard. “I am.”

“What troubles you?”

“The Greeks grow bloodthirsty. Vicious, unrestrained.” His shoulders tightened, face darkening. “But it is Achilles who troubles me most.”

She cocked her head. “Why?”

“The Greeks are ruled by Agamemnon, but they follow him begrudgingly. Even Odysseus, in all his cunning, feigned madness to escape his call to this war.” His lips set in a hard line. “But Achilles... the men follow him willingly.”

“For what reason?”

“They believe he cannot die.”

Startled silence rang after his words.

At her stunned expression, Hades shook his head grimly. “No mortal can escape Thanatos,” he replied. “But Achilles has defied death more than most, bringing thousands to the river—”

A soft touch to his hand cut the words short.

Persephone’s fingers curled around his. Then she lifted his hand, brushing a kiss to his knuckles, light as breath. When she looked up at him, her eyes were dark and beseeching, fierce with some unnamed pull that struck him, swift and deep .

“Come,” she said, a hushed promise.

The corridors were tranquil, silently painted in shadows on stone. Her steps were quiet, barely heard over the soft slide of her gown.

He let her lead. Watched as she reached the marble doors of their bedchamber, touching her fingers to them. They parted like breath.

She stepped inside, the brazier’s glow haloing her in light—just as the sun had the first time he beheld her among the cypress trees. Fiercely alive, like a fire-bloom rising from the frostbitten earth. With thorns.

She was spring. But not the docile force sung of by mortal shepherds.

She was the moment the ice cracked.

The vine that split stone.

The fury swelling beneath the thaw.

She had torn roots from her mother’s garden, setting them to grow here, in the womb of the earth. His kingdom, now hers. In doing so, she had carved herself into the center of him, into that space he had long kept for her, meant for no other.

The doors shut with a soft thud, sealing them away from the world in a hush of firelight and silence.

She turned and eyes like emerald flame found his. Her hands slid slowly over his forearms. No words—a silent request he felt in his marrow before her fingertips ever touched him.

He understood, answering without words. He let her guide him back, lowering himself to sit on the divan by the brazier. His hands dropped to his thighs, still. Waiting.

She stepped into the space between his knees, the warmth of her skin reaching him before her hands did. Her fingers traced the strong lines of his shoulders before sliding to his hair, still bound back from the journey.

She hesitated. “May I?”

His hands rose to span her waist, and his voice was deep, velvet-dark. “You may do anything you wish.”

She smiled then—quiet, radiant. Bold and soft all at once.

With care, she unfastened the leather cord. His hair spilled loose around his shoulders, and her fingers combed through it, coaxing a deep hum from his chest.

The clasp at his shoulder came undone beneath her fingers, and his shoulders rolled as the heavy folds of his himation fell away under her touch.

His hands slid up her arms, settling at her shoulders, fingers brushing the edges of her chiton. Slowly, he drew the fabric open, easing it down. It fell away, snagging briefly at her waist, then slipped away to the floor. Naked, every soft line of her was traced gold by the firelight.

For a suspended breath, he only looked. Then he sat back slowly from the edge of the divan, muscles coiled beneath stillness. He held himself there, unmoving, offering the moment to her.

Graceful, silent—she straddled him, her hands braced against his shoulders as her body met his. His hands slid to her thighs, settling against silken skin.

“Ride me, my queen,” he said, low and guttural, the words rolling from deep in his chest. “Take all that you would have from me.”

When her body sank onto his, his breath caught. Hers shattered in a shivered breath that he caught with his mouth as his lips met hers, drinking her in.

She rocked against him, tentative at first. Then again, bolder. Deeper. His hands found her hips, guiding her as her movements found rhythm, then purpose. Her palms pressed harder to his shoulders, grounding herself in him.

A storm gathered behind her gaze, fierce and bright. He watched it awaken, then build, her rising into it.

She was a force of nature in his arms, beautiful in her abandon, each motion drawing the breath from his lungs. He let her. Lord of the Underworld, yet he knelt to her in that moment—content to be ruled by the storm-soft roll of her hips, the whisper of his name on her lips.

He watched her in awe, eyes half-lidded and breath harsh, hands flexing against her skin, until—

She gasped sharply, her pace stuttering.

Then he moved, taking control from her and shaping their movements with the full strength of his body. His grip tightened at her hips, guiding her with dark precision. A slow, grinding thrust met her mid-motion, deep, exacting and sure.

She cried out, her brow coming to rest on his shoulder as she surrendered to the cadence he forged between them.

He held her close, murmuring something rough and full of need as their bodies met again and again, faster, harder.

As if he had studied the shape of her pleasure and now offered it back, refined and sharpened.

She drew tight around him as her release surged—raw and unrestrained. His name fractured on her tongue, and he devoured it like a sacred offering. He pulled her down hard onto him, his hips striking up one last time, then held her tightly in place as his body poured into hers .

Panting softly, she came down against his chest, her body molding to his. His arm draped heavily over her back, the other hand cradling the back of her head, fingers buried in her hair. They stayed like that, heartbeats thundering in shared silence.

The tremors eased, breath returning to them. She relaxed into him, limbs softening, her damp skin pressed to his as she let out a soft, contented sigh that filled his chest with warmth.

He withdrew from her with care, earning a soft murmur of protest. Then slowly, he rose, cradling her close as he carried them to the bed.

Cool blankets greeted them. He laid her down, then followed, his body folding around hers in a slow, deliberate descent. The dark swallowed them, thick as velvet, wrapping their entwined limbs.

With Persephone tucked into his chest, he took a slow breath—and with it, her . Sunlight. Rain-soaked earth. Wild life, fierce and growing.

For the first time in an age, he closed his eyes without care or concern. Peace came to him, deep and calm.

Wars could rage. Seas could boil. The stars could tip, falling from the heavens. But here, in the hush between her breaths, none of it mattered.

There was only this.

Only her.