Perephone examined her reflection in the mirror. No twigs were sprouting from her limbs, though she could feel a constant dull ache throughout her body—the threat of transforming was never far away. The witch-titan Hecate had told her to watch for the signs.

Of course, inducing her cycle hadn't helped. The witch smiled softly when Persephone admitted her and Aidon's coupling, and the lack of precautions that had been taken in their union. She wasn't ready for a child, and certainly not a bastard. Hecate understood, had given her a vial of a birth control substance when she coupled with him again.

If she coupled with him again. She drank it every morning.

Still, she had not seen him in days. She could not. She cared for him, she knew but...he attacked her. A man who was both him and yet not; they shared the same face, the same voice. They were two separate men, yet they were the same man. And Aidon defended her, too; lost his hand because of it, and Hecate wasn't certain if he would ever regain it, either.

Aidon…

She held her hand to her chest. She...missed him, she realized. She had grown used to his quiet presence, the warmth he radiated when she was near him.

He still hadn't made any effort to see her, either, and that stung. She had remained in her chamber, examining the jeweled murals and carvings that adorned its walls. The abundance of wealth was overwhelming; every day a servant brought her a new gown, finer than the last, dyed rich colors and woven with threads of gold or silver. Even on Olympios, she had never seen such wealth.

She wore a black gown now, its fringes woven with vines of silver and gold. This one, she thought, is my favorite. Her wild mane of fiery curls had been tamed, but only just, tied back into a loose braid that hung over her shoulder. She looked regal.

"My lady, you are radiant."

"Thank you, Chole." Her friend, now her handmaiden as well as a shade. Aidon had found her spirit, asked her if she wanted to be handmaiden to the "future queen." Persephone wasn't sure if she wanted to kiss him or throw him into the Styx for the gesture. Chole died and now her spirit was here, talking to her, dressing her—it was a difficult transition to make in her mind, and part of Persephone felt like the poor girl should've been left to rest in peace. Still, it was good to have a friend.

Now Chloe brought her meals, kept her abreast of news. They had less than a fortnight before they both needed to go to Olympios, but for what reason, she did not know. They would have to see each other then.

"He will fall in love with you when he sees you, if he hasn't already."

Love. Did he love her? It seemed too short a time for such a feeling to develop. Male gods had countless women; fucking didn't equate to love in those circumstances. Still, he protected her, lost his hand for her...that had to count for something. It had to. And certainly, she must care for him, if she missed him so badly.

"We are friends."

Chole scoffed, rolled her ghostly eyes. Her attitude had not changed, even though her death was violent. She was still the same person, fearless even in the face of a goddess, and that was nice. "Friends do not make love, my lady."

Persephone smiled, her cheeks burning red-hot. "We fucked, that's all."

Chole shook her head, clasped a glittering ruby necklace around Persephone's neck. "He is very different from what I was expecting."

"Different?"

Her friend nodded. "He is kind. He does not seem like a bad man to love, my friend. You could do much worse."

Kind. He is kind. And gentle too, when he wanted to be. He was the only one who treated her with kindness and respect at the ball. Their coupling was passionate but he took special care not to cause her pain. Her heart fluttered at the thought of his touch, the feel of his soft kiss against her forehead.

In a different life, in a different time, maybe she would love him already. Now, with everything that happened between them, it seemed too wide a gap to bridge. Still, her heart fluttered when she thought of him, even as fear threatened to ensnare it.

"I recognize that look," Chole teased. "Don't try to deny that you love him."

"I care for him," Persephone admitted. "I do. It's just…" She couldn't talk about it; her throat closed up. Phobos possessed her then, and the dark form atop her was Aidon, hornless and with black eyes, and a cruelty and malice she had never seen on his face before, even in battle. Pinning her, ready to hurt her like so many of the gods have done to women in the past. Her legs were in pain and she could not move, and he was her predator—she, his wounded prey. He was going to devour her, ruin her, and leave nothing left.

Stranger, that man was a stranger. And yet he looked so much like Aidon…

HE IS A FALSE KING

The dark voice that had tempted her before rang in her ears.

DESTROY HIM BEFORE HE DESTROYS YOU

"Persephone?"

No. She shook her head, as if trying to convince herself. It was not him. I will not. She knew it then and she knew it now. He...he lost his hand for her. Ripped himself out of shackles from a dark king she recognized but did not know.

Aidon...

Suddenly, she was possessed with the wild, mad need to see him, even in her fear.

HE IS NOT THE RIGHTFUL HEIR TO THESE LANDS

"Enough," she said.

"Enough?"

Persephone shook her head, as if doing so would shake the voice from her mind. "Chole, do you know where he is?"

"I'm—I'm not sure, Xeo says that he keeps strange hours. He might be in his study, but—wait, are you going to see him now?"

"I need to, I have to make sure—"

I have to know.

YOU ARE A FOOL, GIRL

So I will be a fool, then.

The voice laughed, a malicious, venomous sound. When it abruptly stopped, she was glad for its absence.

She ran out of her chamber, uncertain of the palace's layout, much less where she would find him. She passed several shades, all servants, who would gape initially and then bow low, saying "my lady" as she hurried passed them.

"The king," she said, "I need to see the king. Where is he?"

"The throne room, my lady—"

"No, he's surely in the war room—"

"My lady, he's in his study, this way—"

"He takes his supper at this time—"

"He is sparring—"

Persephone shook her head, kept moving. She would check every room, she decided, until she found him. She headed to the dining room first, since she had some idea of how to get there. It had been newly refurbished since she had last seen it, painted with new frescos of vineyards and forests that reminded her of Eleusis. The wall she destroyed was left open, so that the king could overlook his lands.

Persephone looked out at the Final Kingdom for the first time, and her breath caught. The sun shown a bright red, and sat low in the sky, as if in a perpetual state of twilight. The Black City below the palace sparkled like a jewel, its lights reflecting gold and silver across the onyx rooftops; white, lucious fields of asphodel stretched beyond the city walls, seemingly endless. If she listened closely, she could hear the joyous ruckus of the shades below, selling their wares within the city's numerous markets: baked goods, meats, fine linens. Music played; she could hear children laughing. A second life for the soul of every human being and creature; she spotted several satyrs and centaurs roaming the streets below, serving as merchants or playing a lyre.

She yearned to go there, to be amongst the folk and be free.

There is much to this world and...to him, that I do not understand.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes," Persephone admitted. "I never thought that the afterlife would be so...full of life."

"Indeed, it is one of the most beautiful cities I've seen, and I have seen most. Those of the future and those of the past."

"But where is Elysium?"

"Further north, filled with only the most noble of souls, and those who do not need a sense of purpose to find peace in their time here. It is a beautiful place, but far too rural for my tastes. The city is far more entertaining. Alas, you won't find our good king there today."

Persephone turned around, saw Hecate smiling softly at her.

"Where is he?" she asked, feeling her cheeks heat up.

"Sitting in judgement. I can take you to him, if you'd like."

Her heart fluttered and her throat became dry. Don't break now. I have to see him. "Yes, please. I think I would get lost trying to get there by myself."

The witch-titan nodded in understanding. "Follow me."

The throne room was made of a mixture of black and red marble, with gold and silver accents. Threads of platinum told stories of the titanomachy in murals on the walls; she shuffled quickly past the gruesome scenes of Cronus eating his children.

She heard his voice before she saw him, booming and deep. She felt her knees grow weak. "Hecate—" The witch had gone. Shit.

"You murdered your family," Aidon said, sitting back against his onyx throne. "You recognize that I hold little patience for kinslayers, correct? And yet you specifically requested that I sit in judgement of your soul. Why?"

"Your Grace, you are just and fair and merciful—"

"Fair?" Aidon chuckled, and it was not a happy sound. "Merciful?" His silver crown glittered brightly in the firelight.

"Y-yes, Your Grace, m-merciful. I did not want to kill them, b-but the winter—there was no food, they were never going to survi—"

"Silence!" he bellowed, causing the shade to begin shivering. "I grow weary of hearing such excuses. You must forget that I have already seen your heart. I searched for your sense of courage and duty to your family; I have found you bereft of both. You shall never see your family again in the Black City nor shall you have a chance to try again in the World Above—"

"Your Grace, please, I beg you!" The man was groveling now, crawling towards Aidon's feet.

"I sentence you to the pit. So it is written, so it shall be done. Get this worm out of my sight," he ordered with finality, curling his lip in disgust. He sat back then, coldly watching as two guards dragged away the screaming shade; Persephone saw a great weariness in his eyes, a dullness she had never seen before. She stepped forward from the shadows, said his name. His head perked up to the sound of her voice.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, bemused. Then, more irritated, eyes narrowed, "and...unannounced."

"Hecate brought me here. I needed to see you," she said, brushing off his acerbic response. Why was he angry with her? "And besides," she said, gaining more courage, "is this not to be my throne room as well? Are you not to be my husband? Why must I be announced before I can speak to you, Aidon?"

He blinked, waved his hand noncommittally. "Leave us." Suddenly, the shades of courtiers and palace staff that Persephone had not seen before became visible, leaving the king and her together in the empty room.

"I am here," he said. "We are alone." He, curiously, did not move to stand, instead sank further back into his throne.

As she stepped closer to him, she could see the circles under his eyes. "When was the last time you slept?"

He furrowed his brows, annoyed. "Don't think me so weak and mortal as to need sleep."

She sighed, scrutinizing him further. His white hair had grown long enough to fall in front of his eyes, and his beard had grown thick enough to hide some of the scar that ran down his face. He looked rather...unkempt, and was visibly irritated, his mouth set in a scowl. "Are you always in such a foul mood or is it because you haven't slept since—"

"What do you want?"

"Oh, for the love of—you!"

"What?" He gaped at her.

She sat in his lap then, furthering his shock. He immediately stiffened and looked at her, uncertain. "I swear, you can be so obtuse. I want you, Aidon, you impossible, infuriating man. I want you. I wanted to see you, to make sure that—that you weren't the same man who hurt me."

He turned his head from her, unable to meet her eyes. His jaw clenched tightly.

"I can't say for certain that I'm not," he said, blinking back tears. He wasn't touching her, she realized.

They are two very different men. She knew that was true and yet she still feared him, even as she sat in his lap, even as she wanted nothing more than to kiss his forehead, to soothe his aches and worries. She cupped his cheek and he shut his eyes tightly.

"Aidon, look at me."

She turned his head back to face her. She grabbed his arm, the one with the missing hand; heard him suck in a sharp breath.

"You tore your hand off for me," she said, and stating that fact out loud made the reality of the act all the more powerful. He had not healed. His hand was gone; the great king of the eternal lands permanently crippled himself to save her.

"I could do nothing else," he said, watching her as she held his arm, his gaze curious.

I wonder...could I?

Slowly, she poured her power into him, heard him sigh contentedly and relax beneath her as her life-force travelled through him. "Stars above, Persephone…"

Before her eyes, his hand began to regenerate, slowly and then all at once, until finally it was whole again. With this hand he cautiously reached out to her, tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

"You are a marvel," he said, breathless, and he was smiling at her, truly smiling, beautiful. Overwhelmed, she kissed him quickly, surprising him once more. Her mouth did not linger on his, so he cautiously returned her kiss with another. Is this okay? the kiss asked. A small request for more, and she obliged him, kissed him back.

This kiss was longer, sweeter, and softer. There was yearning in it too; she could taste the longing on his lips like honey. She threaded her hands into his hair, pressed herself flush against his body, and he held her. Her lips tingled at the feel of him, the life in his body. She broke the kiss, pressed her face into his neck.

"I've missed you," she said. His hands ran down her spine, settled them at her waist.

"I've missed you too," he said, sounding very pleased. She pressed herself closer to him, kissing his throat. She could feel his arousal beneath her now, and she felt her cheeks heat up. Stars, she how she wanted him. He made her feel dizzy, overwhelmed with desire. She ground herself against him, seeking friction and he groaned loudly, completely unguarded.

"Wild woman," he said, harsh against her ear, "do you mean to take a king on his own throne? Anyone could walk in, unannounced." He pressed up against her now, holding her hips tightly. He wanted her just as much as she wanted him, and a wicked idea came into her mind.

"I mean to taste a king on his throne."

Chole had told her about such acts before, and she had seen glimpses of it on Olympios, in shaded alcoves and not-so-secret gardens. She had always been fascinated with the men's faces, how lost in pleasure they seemed to be. And besides, he had tasted her; she thought it only fair. We are to be partners, are we not? Though she still wasn't sure whether she wanted to marry him. She just wanted him; his companionship, his affection.

He sucked in a sharp breath, immediately stiffened back up again.

"I see," he said, his voice still ragged but now edged with a twinge of uncertainty. She sat back from him, searched his face.

"Aidon, do you trust me?"

"Yes," he said, his response immediate.

"I won't hurt you," she said, kissing him again.

"I know, wood sprite." But the fear was real, she knew. He was still not used to her touch, though he yearned for it all the same. She opened the top half of his robes slowly, watching as his throat bobbed in anxiety. He was surprisingly lean for such a large man; nothing like the barrel-chested Ares, or the comparatively stocky Poseidon.

"You are quite handsome, you know." Her hands ran atop his large shoulders, his defined arms and chest. He shuddered. His skin felt warm against her palms, his well-sculpted muscles exuded strength. Covered in numerous scars, his body had endured harshness she could not imagine, but it was beautiful all the same. She traced the scar that ran from his eye down to his groin, causing him to hiss. She stopped.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," he said, tightly. Then, releasing a breath, more relaxed, "I'm fine. Forgive me, I'm—I'm unaccustomed to this."

She nodded, kissing his scarred face and following the trail of the wound down to his chest and abdomen. She looked up, gauging his reaction. His half-smile signaled to her to continue, although cautiously and slowly. Experimentally, she took each of his nipples into her mouth and he cursed as her tongue swirled around each sensitive bud, reflexively rocking his hips up into hers. She shut her eyes at the delicious friction.

"Just let me take you," he said, his voice heavy, ragged with desire. She kissed him and he moaned appreciatively into her mouth. She could feel his hard cock through the fabric of both her clothes.

"Do you feel what you do to me?" he asked, breaking the kiss and rocking his hips up.

"Yes," she gasped, surprised by how wanton she sounded to her own ears. Stars, how she wanted him!

"Let me in."

"Not yet," she said, wickedly, kissing his nose. He huffed out, annoyed, and she smiled. No, she still wanted to taste him. She moved back from him, this time lightly touching his arousal through his clothing. He groaned, a guttural sound that she only wanted to hear more of. She smiled, returning to kissing down his abdomen. The muscles there twitched on contact as she traced each scar with her lips.

Finally she moved down to his groin, where his arousal stood proudly erect through the layers of his robes. She unclasped the leather girdle that ran about his waist, sifted through the robes slowly until she felt his warm flesh. As she removed the last of his clothes, she noticed he was shivering.

His hands grasped the armrests of his throne, white-knuckled.

"I won't hurt you," she said, kissing the inside of his thigh.

He nodded stiffly. He did not seem convinced. She ran the palms of her hands along the tops of his powerful legs, hoping to stop his shivering. Gently, cautiously, she reached for him, ran her thumb over the swollen head of his cock slowly. From the corner of her eye, she saw his fingers flex.

Liquid was already coming out of the tip, and she quickly moved to lick it away, which earned her a gasp. She ran her tongue down his length, then, cupping and kissing the sack beneath. She heard him curse as she ran her tongue back up his thick cock and took him fully into her mouth.

"Oh, fuck," he gasped, raw and vulnerable, and the word sounded beautiful on his tongue. She took his cock as far as she could, and what remained she pumped with her hands. His strong fingers threaded through her hair, shaking.

Though she was on her knees before him as he sat in his throne, she had never before felt this powerful. Every hitched breath, every instinctual buck of his hips—she knew she caused it, and that knowledge exhilarated her. She had never tasted a man before, but she loved the feeling of giving him pleasure, of making him lose control. She sucked his cock hungrily, head bobbing up and down quickly and set to a rhythm, repeating movements that made him squirm in his seat. The sounds of cock sliding in and out of her mouth were profane and glorious. As she came up, swirling her tongue around the sensitive head and looking at his face, and saw his yearning and his love there.

She had never been so wet before in her life. Now every movement she made with her tongue, every pump of her wrist along the shaft, would elicit needy, desperate sounds that she knew he wanted nothing more than to keep bottled up. She could feel his hips begin to rock into her mouth, could hear his breathing become more labored. His fingers wove more tightly into her hair now; any semblance of control he had was slipping.

"Fuck," he cursed again, "you're going to make me—fuck, woman—I won't last." His words were strained, and she could tell he was saying them through clenched teeth. She was desperate for him now; her cunt pulsed with the need for him to fill her and she could feel her wetness running down her legs. She did not want him to spend himself in her mouth, she decided; she did want to feel him inside her once again.

She released him from her mouth with an audible pop and sat back on his lap, hitching the hem of her dress up to her waist. At the shoulders, she removed the straps of her gown so that he could have access to her naked breasts, and he kissed them greedily, making her shiver.

She ground the wetness of her sex against him as his tongue swirled around her nipples, took one hand to guide him in. She was so wet that he slid in easily this time, his stretching of her all sweetness and no pain. They both sighed as he entered her fully, touched their foreheads together.

"You feel nice," she told him, kissing his nose.

He laughed, and the movement made her moan. "I'm glad you find me satisfactory, since all I can do now is think about you," he said, pushing up into her slowly, deliberately. As he moved up, she pushed down, and the two began to find a measured, torturous rhythm. "Stars, you're wet."

"Do you feel what you do to me?" she asked, echoing his question back to him.

"Yes," he moaned, strained. "Oh, yes." He sounded half-delirious; his hands pressed tightly on her hips. She moved on him faster, in an effort to get him to pick up his pace. She wanted more, needed more; she wanted him to fill her completely.

"King Hades," she said into his ear, making him shudder, "fuck me harder."

He nodded, beyond words now, and with a snap of his fingers they were no longer in the throne room but rather in his bedchamber, and he looming over her, looking at her with a potent mixture of lust and affection, and she pulled him down to her to kiss him as he fucked her.

He pumped harder inside her now, and he took his thumb to gently press against her clit, causing her legs to lock around him. She wanted him here, she wanted him close. His thumb pressed against her harder and she clenched herself around him, moved her hips in time with his.

"Don't stop," she begged, digging her nails into his back. She was close; she could feel the heat beginning to radiate from her core to the rest of her body. From his ragged breathing in her ear, she could tell he was not far behind. One thing would push her over the edge, she knew. She also knew it was not wise.

"I'm close—" he said, his control all but gone. "Fuck, I'm going to—"

"Come in me," she said, wanton. "I want to feel you."

As if on command, his breath caught and he climaxed inside of her with a guttural moan, and the feeling of his seed filling her sent her over the edge as well.

When they were done, he held her close to him, her head laid on his chest. Her fingers ran through the curls she saw there. She could hear him thinking, his body humming with anxious energy.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked him. He sighed, kissed the top of her head.

"We have ten days before my trial on Olympios."

"Trial?"

"Yes," he said, sounding very grave. "Your mother has accused me of treason for bringing you here and your father must now adjudicate the accusation."

So that was why they needed to go to Olympios. She kissed his chest, heard him sigh. His grip grew tighter.

"Persephone…"

"Hmm?"

"I don't know what will happen at this trial. You father could demand that I return you to your lady mother, since we are not officially yet wed, or he could conceivably strip me of my rank. I'll be at his mercy at his seat of power. I don't know what you feel for me, if—if you want something more or you only want sex but I—"

"Hush," she said, kissing him. "I don't...I don't want to worry about such things right now, and I don't want you to worry about them either. Just...be present with me. Please."

He quirked an eyebrow, confused, but then smiled, kissed her forehead. "Very well, my little wood sprite."

Ten days, she thought. That was hardly any time at all. The dark voice rang inside her head again, laughing.

YOU CHOSE POORLY, PRINCESS

Her legs began aching. She clutched Aidon tighter.

No, she thought to herself. I don't think I did.