A/N: This is an AU I've had the idea for for a long while now. It is based off of the Greek myth of Hades and Persephone, only set in an alternate universe of the middle ages. It ultimately has a bit of A Song of Fire and Ice atmosphere to it in order to accommodate the mythological feels, and because to be perfectly honest the series inspired the time settings. I plan on telling this story roughly in ten parts, and this is the beginning. Any comments or questions, feel free to ask.

"This is the way the world ends,

This is the way the world ends,

This is the way the world ends-

Not with a bang, but a whimper."

- T.S. Eliot, The Hollow Men.

Part One

The songs say the Gods created everything, the earth, the air, the sea. They fashioned man in their image and said do as we trust you to but no mortal has ever adhered strictly to their law. We are a sin is what is whispered in the temples, the festivals held in the Gods' honor. We are unholy creatures which, for that, we shall all pay a price. And that is why there is madness; that is why there is war and greed and pride, the taste of blood as crisp as pomegranates.

That is why Persephone came to be– a settling of peace between peoples, between the Ten Great Men of the Titanomachy. The lands of Elláda won from Ouranos the First to be divided among the remaining six of the Ten Greats that had survived the war. I give you my sister, you give me your oath, the new King said to Persephone's father, and the new Lord Prometheus Manthanos swore fealty, the lands of Eleusinian forever his, forever Persephone's, at a cost.

If only he had said 'no', she thinks to herself as she stares at the fire in the hearth before her, green flames licking at the stones like the kiss of a lover, of her lover and master of this castle, this blackened fortress forever made to keep her barred. A bird in a cage, the sweet notes of those sacred songs lost from her lips. I would never have been brought here had my father just said 'no'; I would be free.

Rough, callused palms slide over her shoulders and she whimpers, bites into her tongue to draw the sharp sting of pain. It is the only way to quell the ache in her belly, the thrum in her heart. I would do anything to make you happy, he whispers, breath hot against her ear with small flutters of lips along her pulse, loving and sworn. A traitorous shiver of longing runs down her spine. Let me leave, she asks of him softly, his kisses turning to scowls as his head shakes, nose nuzzling at the marks of teeth he has forever settled into the skin of her neck, a beast in possessive heat. Anything but that; you know anything but that.

She keeps her eyes on the fire, ice settling in her veins to chase away the desire, the need. Then I shall never be happy, my Lord, she says, voice even and deep. Not as long as I am not free.

The songs say the Gods created everything, but winter was created by she.

"Persephone!" calls her lady mother, urgent and somewhere far off, like a rooster trying to crow its way into Persephone's morning dreams. "Persephone, sweetling, you are going to catch cold!"

She giggles, stifles the sound with a hand over her mouth and lies back in the meadow, eyes staring longingly to the skies. How lucky the Gods must be, she thinks to herself, fingers grasping at the soft earth below her, blades of lush grass split between her fingers. She has envied their freedom for as long as she can remember, maybe even farther back than that. Gods do not have the responsibilities of mortals– they do not have to war and work and marry, if they do not wish. How Persephone longs for such liberties that her heart aches.

"Persephone!" her lady mother is all but frantic now, Demeter's harsh voice piercing the waning summer air.

Sighing, Persephone rolls to her side to address the small, orange tabby there, its ears perked up in rapt attention. "She is going to give herself a stroke one of these days, Cyane," says Persephone softly, the kitten mewing and snuggling against her side. Once more, Persephone giggles. "If only she would stop treating me as such a child, her worries would be far less."

It is indeed that Persephone's lady mother should not worry of her so. She is no longer a child but a woman grown, and has been for many moons now. At nearly nine and ten, it is an amazement to most that Persephone is not yet wedded to a lord husband. Girls far younger than herself were married off long ago and are already mothers, nursing babes and carrying younglings on their hips. Nearly all of Persephone's friends from girlhood no longer live in the groves of Eleusinian under their parents' care, but instead with their husbands in houses of their own.

Persephone has always turned her cheek at the notion. Marriage is a word synonymous with entrapment to her, with death. As the daughter of a Lord and niece of the King it is known to Persephone that her duty is to marry a man of noble blood. But duty and passion are two completely different things, and Gods know her passion lies not in being a good lady wife, but an adventurer the world tells stories of. A warrior of new and old, who could make her late father proud, Lord of Eleusinian or not.

"Persephone!" The sudden impatience in her lady mother's voice is enough to make Persephone realize that playing games will not be stood for today; she has not a choice but to go back to the confining walls of the castle where she will no doubt be expected to mend clothes and bake bread and do everything a lady has to, when all Persephone really wants is to go to sword training with Eleusinian's handful of nymphan knights, just to feel the thrum of her blood in her veins and know she is alive, that she has not petrified to porcelain the way most girls her age have.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," she calls with a short roll of her eyes, standing to brush soil off her skirts. "You'd think it was snowing torrents, with how imperative Mother sounds," she says, looking down to the tabby once more, which simply hops up to join her as she begins walking back towards the castle, leaving the meadow behind. She's not looking forward to being locked inside all of winter, Demeter fretting of pneumonia and shingles. Really, it's a silly conception. The coldest it ever gets in their small land of Eleusinian leaves only gooseflesh on Persephone's skin; hardly enough she shouldn't be allowed the sun for four months of the year.

The nearer she gets to the castle– its dark gloom and all too familiar stones– the more the longing for freedom in the pit of her stomach grows. What she wouldn't give to be rid of this place; rid of shackles around her wrists. She loves her lady mother dearly, but Demeter is overly smothering in care, if there ever was such a soul that embodied the phrase.

In some ways Persephone supposes she is thankful to have a mother that cannot be convinced her precious daughter is no longer a child. It has thus far saved her from an arranged marriage to some high lord that would simply want her for birthing lots of sons and looking pretty next to his throne. At least under Demeter's care, Persephone has been able to work in the Eleusinian fields with the other women of the lands– the nymphs and the sprites and fairies; can tend to gardens and ride horses for errands and feel useful when they reap the sows of harvest that she helped grow.

But Gods how she selfishly craves more.

The longing for sovereignty is a sort of broad idea to Persephone. It is something that means the ability to travel the world– those new corners that explorers on ships and foot reach every day. She wants to feel the real bite of winter, the salt of the ocean. She wants to climb mountains, get in brawls in taverns with adrenaline rushing through her limbs. She wants to find new places, new people, new creatures the Gods have set upon the earth. She wants to brandish scars, show that just because she is a woman it does not mean she is weak. She wants to earn stories to tell around fires to young girls who wish to live the lives of men just as she does.

She want not want to be a daughter, a wife, a mother; she simply wants to be.

With each name day she realizes again and again that even staying in Eleusinian is something she may not be able to achieve much longer. Her lady mother cannot stave off marriage for her forever. She has not claimed to be a maiden under the covenant of Athena, the missionaries of these realms. Demeter has begged her of such a price, but Persephone simply cannot. Spending her life by the bed of the sick watching them die, or waiting for them to die another day after she heals them, is not what she wants.

She would rather lie limp under some arrogant lord in the marriage bed than watch fever steal a child's last breath, if it really came down to it.

But she not plans on sticking around long enough for it to happen, though she'll never admit such a thing aloud.

"Persephone!" her lady mother chastises once the girl has finally reached the castle, wrapping her into a tight hug and pulling her towards the courtyard, signaling for the gates to be closed behind them. The tabby cat clings to Persephone's skirts at the sound of the gates' chains turning. "Your cheeks are so red, child. Here, take my cloak!"

"Mother, Mother," she tries to say, laughing despite herself as Demeter shrugs the thick wool frock from her shoulders and drapes it around Persephone's own. "I am fine. It is just the bite from rushing back; I am not chilled."

Demeter sighs, the lines around her mouth crinkling. Once they were carved from laughing; now it is from worry. "Sometimes I wonder if your father didn't whack you on the head one too many time during your lessons as a child," Demeter frowns.

'Lessons' is what Demeter likes to call training, to make it seem a more demure thing. Before his passing when Persephone was just two and ten, her father had always treated her both as a lady and a soldier, the latter something she cherished dearly.

He was insistent she learnt to read and write the moment she was old enough to hold a pen; shoved books in her hands of explorers and fairytales and knowledge; encouraged her to write her own stories down which they would read together over super and he would always laugh and look so proud.

He was adamant she learnt to defend herself too, both in words and– despite her mother's distaste of the idea– physical means. He taught her how to be witty without slip of tongue. He taught her how to hold a bow and make the arrow true; how to hold a knife to a man's throat. He taught her how to handle a sword; how to use her small stature to her advantage in a fight. He taught her how to kill a man; he said only to use it if she absolutely had to.

Really, if anyone ever were to ask her, Persephone would say it is all her father's fault she seeks so much from the world. He told her that she could do whatever she wanted, for her soul was strong and no chains could hold her down.

Until right before he died, when he whispered to her in ragged breaths that he was sorry, that he had to make a deal to save her, to save their little family and their precious land of Eleusinian. That her dreams must stay dreams.

She knew not what he was talking about then; she still doesn't.

"I am glad he whacked me then," she says to her lady mother, dancing around the courtyard like a silly girl as she knows it annoys Demeter so. The tabby lets go of her skirts then, running off to join its siblings and mother in the stables for mousing. "Otherwise who would bring excitement to this dull place?"

Demeter shakes her head, swats Persephone on her backside and shoos the girl toward their quarters inside the castle walls. "You bring havoc, child. Not you need reminded of the incident with the chickens last week?"

Cheeks heating, Persephone simply pulls the door open with a dramatic bow for her mother to enter first. Demeter rolls her eyes at the antic. "No, Mother. I remember." Everyone more than likely remembers; they lost a week's worth of eggs after Persephone chased some wryly fox out of the coup with a pitchfork, scaring the hens into crushing their batches in the process.

Nervous bite of the lip, and Persephone follows in after her lady mother.

Their home is modest, even though Persephone's father was Lord of these lands, and by default making Demeter and Persephone the Lady heirs that now keep Eleusinian safe, since Demeter refuses to take a second husband. (A thing often highly gossiped about in Court, mind you; one reason Persephone hates going there so much. The belief that a woman needs a man to take care of lands in ridiculous. They do just fine on their own, thank you very much.)

There is a room for sitting and cooking in their main chambers, and then up the stairs a corridor that houses rooms for sleeping. There is a separate Grand Hall for feasts and parties, but her father said that was for everyone, not their own. "You must share with your people, my little flower. The Gods shall smile upon you, for such a thing. And you shall smile too."

It is a motto Persephone has always lived by.

And it is because of this that though Persephone is technically of noble blood, it is something no one can ever truly tell. She has dirt under her nails and mud on her skirts and mats in her curls just like any other peasant under a Lord's watch. And why shouldn't she? Even though she has the ability to look down upon her people, she never would; all people are equals, as her father would often murmur when the many arrogant lords prancing around Court were not listening. We just live in a world where it cannot be shown.

She pulls out a chair at their table now, crafted by old Hephaestus who lives in a castle out east with his beautiful wife, Aphrodite. His work is known throughout the realm as the finest– an honor to be bestowed with his gifts. Really, Hephaestus and Persephone's father were such good friends nearly everything in their house is crafted by the deformed smith. To her it is all a part of her home, where others in Eleusinian are afraid to touch for soiling its value. Sometimes she wants to laugh at that and point to the gouge in the middle of this table, where three years ago she went out into the yard, got an axe and swung it into the wooden top after Demeter had told her to stop acting like a heathen and more like a lady.

Rest assured the act earned Persephone a real tongue-lashing (and some physical lashings too), but in her mind it was more than worth it, to hear her lady mother screeching and having to call in Zelus, the old bull of a yard watchman, to get the axe out of the table because Demeter couldn't.

"Well, now that you are finally in," her lady mother sighs, hands resting in fists against her ample hips that Persephone has recently inherited much to her chagrin as men seem to look longer at her now, "I can tell you of the news I have received from Court."

Persephone groans. "Oh Gods, not those people again."

"Persephone Despoina Kore Melivia Hagne Manthanos, do not take such a tone! Tis not appropriate for a lady! And besides, 'those people' are your people. Do you forget where you come from?"

How can she? Persephone is reminded none too often that Demeter is sister of the King of Elláda, and that her father is one of the Ten Great Men of the war that was fought before her birth for control of the Six Kingdoms. It's the only reason she and her lady mother are able to live the way they do. The King has never pushed his sister to remarry as Demeter has said it is an insult to her late husband's memory, and no one would dare to insult the memory of one of the Ten Greats that saved Elláda. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for Persephone. Her uncle Zeus has been adamant she take a husband since she turned five and ten. Luckily Demeter has staved him off so far.

But just because they are family to the King, that does not keep the rest of the Court from gossiping about the Ladies Manthanos of Eleusinian. It's why Persephone detests those people so. Have they nothing better to do with their time than degrade others and abuse their people and servants? When you live in the lap of luxury, it seems lives are an easy thing to toss away to you, she guesses. Yet it has never been so for Persephone, nor her lady mother or lord father. She knows not why everyone else is so different.

"No, Mother," Persephone says through grit teeth. "I know my heritage."

"And your place, Persephone. You must always remember your place."

As Demeter turns then to grab something from the stool by the door, Persephone pulls a face and sticks out her tongue, letting her eyes cross. The expression is quickly wiped clear and replaced by one of placidity as Demeter turns back around, bringing with her a parcel of the Court, the royal seal already broken, harsh wax speckles stuck like blood to the bold writing contained within the note.

"We are to be in Court by the end of the week," says Demeter after a terse moment. "It seems you uncle, the King, wishes to celebrate your latest name day."

"That was nearly six moons ago!" cries Persephone, standing from the table with sudden defiance. "Surely there is more to all of this."

"Aye," Demeter says, her eyes looking as tired as they had the day that Lord Manthanos' coffin was lowered into the ground. "We couldn't stave a marriage off forever, Persephone."

Persephone feels like a stuffed pheasant in this dress.

It covers nearly every inch of her skin, slithering in shades of rich green like the fields back home in Eleusinian. Here, at the palace of Olympus, everything is a stuffy white or a flashy gold. She feels completely misconstrued, the wilding of the pack. She knew this would be the case though; it always has been. It is why she had so strongly insisted she wear boots beneath her gown despite her lady mother's outrage at such an idea.

In the end, Persephone won. Though, to be fair to Demeter, Persephone did cheat. The moment her lady mother's back was turned, Persephone slipped off the wretched slippers she'd been forced into and yanked on her old boots, the leather worn against her soles.

She is able to walk much easier in them now, as she and her lady mother make their way into Court, all eyes upon them.

Persephone knows that her parents were never in love with each other, as arranged marriages usually result. But she also knows that they did love each other, in a companionable and trusting sort of way. Persephone thinks they could never really have been in love because her lady mother and lord father were such very different people. Demeter has always wanted to raise Persephone as a proper lady– even if she has never been set to let her be married off as a proper lady should be– while her father said that a child should have a mind to grow on its own. "You cannot trick a flower to be another flower, Demeter," he constantly sighed, holding a cup of giant's ale– they always made it special for him for his kindness towards them during the war– as he sat staring into the hearth's fire. "If Persephone is to be a poppy then you can't turn her into a violet. No, the best you could try would be to dye her entirely purple..."

Point being, Persephone doesn't for a second let anyone in this vile place perceive her as noble blood like them. She is not of their kind and shows it by way of her wretchedly 'barbarous' behavior– as her lady mother so puts it– but she is the niece of the King whether she wishes it so or not, she is of high importance when it counts. Which, at Court, it very much does.

This is wy people whisper about her and her lady mother as they walk toward the King's throne– Oh there go Prometheus' women; how do they think they can handle those lands on their own? I heard that the mother takes other women to bed and that's why she won't marry a new husband. Would you look at the daughter; she's practically feral with all of that mud on her. Isn't that girl at the age that she should be married by now, with a babe in the womb? A disgrace. Outlandish. Treason. Gods, would you look at the wool of their dresses; that color makes Lady Persephone's rear look like a bull's– at that last one, Persephone bristles.

She turns her keen eyes on the women who are snickering between themselves, a frown etching down at the corners of her lips like wilted daisy stems. The women notice her glaring and their faces go white. Persephone's reputation often precedes her; it is a bit useful in times like these. She gives one little sneer of her teeth, a wolf seeking prey, and the women back off into the crowd around them.

A smile threatens and she fights it; can't keep a ferocious reputation when you've got the look of a ninny about you.

When she and her lady mother reach the edge of Zeus' throne, they each bow their respects before straightening, Persephone not daring to meet the King's eyes. This is the only time in Court she will hold her tongue; act with respect, lest she lose her head.

Her uncle is a handsome man, she supposes, even in his cruel greed. He is wearing on in years by now, his once thick, flaxen hair now streaked with gray and thinned. There are still muscles under his shrift and vests, still bronzed skin though he must not spend many hours in the sun since most of a king's day revolves around politics held indoors. Age lines streak his handsome face, and his eyes are golden instead of the hazel green that her lady mother's are. He's known through Elláda as the most fetching king the lands have had in a good long while. And Zeus knows it, too. Word of his many affairs are not exactly kept secret.

"Lady Demeter, and her beautiful daughter, my niece, Persephone! Welcome, welcome. I trust your journey was comfortable?" Zeus asks, standing from his throne with broad hands clasped together before him. His wife, Queen Hera, remains seated in her spot, the same look upon her pretty face that she always has, as if she's smelled rotting corpses left to sun in the summer.

Princess Hebe sits next to her mother, looking nervous and fidgety as she always does. She's a good five years younger than Persephone, but ever fairer from remaining out of the sun her whole life. To her left is Prince Apollo, golden-haired and comely with a winning smile always upon his face. Persephone likes him alright; he has a lovely voice when he sings and was her playmate as a child when she came to Court.

On the other side of Zeus is Prince Dionysus. The whole Court says he's touched by madness; talks to himself and loves the sight of blood and chaos. He is to be the successor for the King, heir to the fortune. No one trusts for him to be a good king, but he is the eldest son and therefore entitled, unless one of Zeus' many bastards challenges him for the crown, but even then none are of noble blood so the posh lords and ladies of Elláda would imaginably rather give a mad king the crown.

Persephone settles one last cursory glance over the royal family, letting her eyes linger on the Queen, who is giving her look of warning.

Oh Gods, please don't let it be, Persephone thinks. Please don't let it be.

"Of course, my King," smiles Demeter demurely in answer to his question, nudging Persephone to bow in recognition with her. Persephone does, heart thumping in her chest because she knows, just knows now that her lady mother was right– she cannot keep Persephone from marriage forever. "It is an honor to once again be in you and your family's presence, my brother."

"Yes," muses Zeus softly, stroking his golden-gray beard with thought. After a moment, he turns to the rest of the Court. "Please, everyone, may we commence with the festivities in honor of my niece and what a blossomed flower she has become!"

There is a small murmur through the crowd and Persephone can feel herself tensing under their judgmental scrutiny. She knows her body has developed in the last three years since she has been to court. Matron curves where there once was just gangly limbs and baby fat; birthing hips and a lush mouth for a lord to kiss. She much rathers it a lady at this point, because at least they are not as commanding... And yet she simply tries not to let her nerves show under the Court's eyes.

But then Dionysus laughs as if sensing her fear and she cringes, glaring into the mad Prince's silver eyes. "How old are ye now, Persephone?" Zeus asks, taking her attentions away from his son.

"Nine and ten, your Grace," Persephone says, keeping her gaze on the floor with an anxious lick of the lips. "If it pleases you."

Zeus continues stroking his beard, moving to sit back in his throne, crown wobbling on his head precariously. "Hmmm, I shalln't say it does please me, Persephone. While I thank the Gods you have made it to such an age in good health and, dare I say, beauty–" she will not gag at his leering stare no matter how much she wants to, she tells herself– "it is most unusual for you to still be in your mother's house, without a husband in care of you."

"I help my mother tend to Eleusinian, your Grace," Persephone says, a bit defiantly. She chances a look up at the King's expression, finding one of distaste. Ladies are not supposed to act like lords; she knows this but she does not care. "It has been difficult since the passing of my father, and Mother very much needs my help."

"I do," injects Demeter, trying to beg the King with her eyes not to propose what they know is impending. "Persephone is a very smart girl; she is strong too and the people adore her. The lands would be lost without her."

"Aw, I expect they would," says Zeus, tilting his head to one side with a condemning smile. Persephone senses and almost empathetic glance from Queen Hera, married to Zeus before she was even fourteen, coveted throughout the lands for her beauty and given as the King's 'just reward' for leading the rebellion of the Ten Greats and their men against Ouranos the First so long ago. And then, quite simply, he cuts to the point of this entire meeting with just a handful of words. "Which is why, Demeter, I have found the perfect match for your daughter. A lord who shall give your land the funds it needs and stay in Eleusinian with you and Persephone– act as Master where Lord Prometheus can no longer."

"My King?" questions Demeter with wide, panicked eyes. "But my husband's honor, to be replaced by the title of another–"

"His title will not be replaced," Zeus says with annoyance, waving a hand in finality. "There will, however, be a new name introduced to the bloodline, as you and your husband unfortunately, never had any sons."

Demeter looks away in shame at the mention of such a thing, making Persephone's own blood boil. Her lady mother has always been mocked for the fact that after Persephone she could no longer bare children, and that she never gave Lord Prometheus a son to continue the Manthanos name and bring honor upon the family. Persephone has wanted to absolve that ever since she realized that maybe, just maybe, she can.

She wants to bring adventure and discovery to the title of her family, win battles in foreign lands, have stories told about the legacy she might leave behind. And while it would not count much because she is a woman, it will give her lady mother the pride she deserves to earn out of her child. And tell every one of these idiots of the Court that a son is not always the greatest gift; there can be honor in having a daughter too, and not just from marrying her off to some high lord.

But King Zeus, it seems, is ready to crush those dreams, and Persephone looks on in horror as his words sink in and she realizes escape could no longer be a reality. A lord to marry and rule over Eleusinian for her and her lady mother. Over my dead corpse, Persephone thinks, a nervous aching in the pit of her stomach. She would rather fling herself from a cliff than let a little lordling come in thinking just because they are her husband they can take her lands and her people and do with them as they please. At least then, without her around, her lady mother would be left alone to care for Eleusinian as she has been the last seven years since her husband's death. It is obvious that the King has no more care of soiling Prometheus Manthanos' memory, but Demeter is infertile and no one will want her if Zeus tries to marry her off with Persephone absent.

Without me, Zeus would have no excuse, Persephone thinks to herself, fear in her nerves. Without me, Mother can rule Eleusinian the way Father wished for us to do without some lord coming in and ruining it all, treating our people the way everyone else in this cruel Court does their own.

"And what shall this new name be, my King?" Demeter finally asks, once she has swallowed her shame and can find her voice.

At the King's answer, Persephone goes pale.

"Marnamai," says Zeus rather arrogantly. "I have set plans for Persephone to marry Ares, son of the house's lord, and a very renowned soldier through the lands. He is an honorable pick for you, Persephone. Your babes shall be strong and beautiful, and he is exactly the lord Eleusinian needs to be brought back to top capacity."

"Of course, your Grace," Persephone says, a muscle in her cheek twitching. "I am grateful for your choice in husband for me."

Throwing myself from a cliff sounds better and better.

House Marnamai, the cruelest house in the lands. Pallas Marnamai fought in the Titanomachy alongside Persephone's father; he said that Pallas is a cruel, bloody man with no sense of remorse. He slaughtered innocents as well as soldiers; raped women when it pleased him. He is not an honorable man, my little flower, Prometheus always told her when she crawled into his lap and asked for stories of the war, Pallas Marnamai being brought into the plot.

The man's legacy has, of course, followed him. He married a native woman and had many a little lordling, Ares being the second son at six and twenty. Persephone has heard stories of the boy; of his merciless tactics in tournaments and battle fields. She knows down in her gut that he shall destroy Eleusinian once he has his greedy, bloodthirsty claws in it. And he shall destroy her, too.

"Splendid!" claps Zeus, and Dionysus snorts, the mad Prince for once not looking quite so insane as he asses Persephone's panicked look with an almost pitying smile. "It is one of the reasons I have brought you here, my niece. Ares has just returned from making treaty with our old enemies from the north– pesky rebellions they always threaten, those ones– and I should like for you to meet your betrothed. He will arrive tomorrow, and since you are already here in Court, we shall have a feast in recognition of your engagement!"

"Thank you, your Grace," Persephone says, as is expected of her. "I shall be forever indebted by your generosity."

"Nothing but the finest, for my beautiful niece," Zeus says with a twinkle in his eye, motioning a satyrian servant over to bring him a goblet of wine. Prince Apollo does the same, looking as bored with his father's antics as his mother. "For now, you will enjoy this gathering in honor of your latest name day. Make merry for your last night as a free woman!"

"Of course, your Grace," Persephone says.

She and Demeter bow then, returning back to the crowd to leave Zeus to his wine and a very ridiculous family, the rest of the lords and ladies in Court flocking around the royals in breathlessness.

"This cannot be," whispers Demeter once they are finally left on their own at the edge of the ball room, touching Persephone as if her daughter has already slipped through her fingers. "This cannot be."

"Aye, but it is, Mother," Persephone says, taking her lady mother's hands and in her own and kissing them softly before putting them once again at Demeter's sides. "I am to be married to Ares Marnamai, and the moment he steps foot in Eleusinian, nothing will be the same."

Demeter spends the rest of the night getting considerably drunk, after the announcement.

Persephone cannot blame her lady mother for such actions. She would take to drink herself, but has not a high tolerance for it. The last time she drank, it was at the encouraging of Prince Apollo when they were still young and simple playmates, her father alive and well. She ended up retching the wine and her dinner onto Prince Apollo's very expensive boots. He laughed it off, always the sunny Prince Apollo, but Persephone has never gotten over the embarrassment of it.

Eventually, Persephone can no longer take the Court around her. The people are gossiping– they knew of the engagement before even she– and it makes the air stuffy. Torches flicker on the marble walls, people dance in clusters of silken skirts and velvet shrifts, music plays from the minstrels in the corner and sounds like spiders creeping down the walls, Zeus laughs and laughs, the sound shattering the air and making the food in Persephone's mouth turn to overly sweet ash.

Even Queen Hera's famous ambrosia tastes of sadness, tastes of dreams lost.

Sighing, Persephone leaves her mother in the company of some of the more esteemed ladies of the court, like Lady Hestia and Lady Asteria, who have recently lost daughters of their own to engagement. Persephone trusts them enough in consoling her drunken lady mother that she slips out onto the ball room's balcony unnoticed, gasping in the fresh air of the night with relief.

Olympus has a great royal castle. It sits facing the sea and is made completely of white stone. It glitters even in the moonlight and Persephone can smell the salt of the ocean from where she stands, the sweetness of the Cypress trees and freesia in the castle gardens. This place was once home to Ouranos the First, until her father and the other Ten Greats took it, Zeus named King and inheriting these lands in the end.

It should have been my father, Persephone thinks sadly. He would have been a much more just king. Zeus only thinks of himself and the power he holds. His people starve and cower, always cower… The way her own people will the moment Ares Marnamai follows her back to Eleusinian with title of Lord. She knows he will rip everything her father worked to build into shreds; he will smother everything she holds dear like a weed sucking the life from a flower. And King Zeus will smile, because at least along the way Ares shall earn him an extra coin or two.

"To the Gods of old and new," Persephone whispers then, staring up at the sky and the stars twinkling by the hundreds that the Gods created in honor of this world's heroes. "Please, I beg of you, let this marriage not go through. I beg of you, for the sake of my mother, and of my father who I know has dined in your halls– Prometheus of the Ten Greats. He claimed this land in your names– surely you cannot take the legacy he has built away from him in just one swoop?

"Please; I have never asked of anything since I was an ignorant child. I have never asked for you to make my other dreams come true; I resolved to complete those alone. But now, if only you may keep this marriage from happening, I shall throw away every whim. This union shall mean death to the lands, to the people, to myself. Please, please, I beg of you…" She bites down on her tongue then, the hot prick of tears behind her eyes. Persephone has not cried since the day her father died; now will not be the time when she starts again.

Instead she rests her head against the balcony ledge, tendrils of hair slipping onto her heated skin. She should run away now, she thinks; stow onto the nearest ship and never look back. But if the King were to catch her, she will be tried for treason against his decrees. And to disgrace her lady mother in such a way...

It is only when Persephone hears the balcony's doors open and close does she finally look up again, thinking maybe it is her lady mother having come to find her and order her off to bed. But no, it is not her lady mother. Not at all.

It is a man, nearly two and a half heads taller than she. He is dark, somber; whispers of death around him. She can just make out the scar on his face in the moonlight, marring the entire left side so it makes it hard for him to blink, to smile. All of the Six Kingdoms can recognize that face.

Lord Hades Aidon.

She knows who Lord Hades is, of course. Ruler of the Underworlds of Elláda, master to the wraiths and the demons and the Erinyes. Some say he even has sovereign over the dead, but Persephone knows that isn't true. For, if he did, her father would have found his way out of the Underworlds and back to Persephone and her Lady Mother by now; she just knows he would.

"Lady Persephone," says Lord Hades, his voice deep and rough, a wolf's growl. "It is a pleasure." The bow he gives her seems to stir her miffed senses at his sudden appearance– he almost never leaves his lands– and she curtsies in response.

"Milord," Persephone says, keeping her eyes to the ground lest she become enraptured in his dark gaze. She has only met him once, when she was just a child, and she remembers drowning in the small looks he had given her, irises so dark she could not tell where they ended and his pupils began. "A decency, as always."

He snorts, moves to stand by her on the balcony and she nearly cringes away. While he is very tall, Hades has not much bulk. His shoulders are wide, but his waist narrow. He has the lean muscles of a swordsman, the hands of a butcher. Her father always called him an honorable man, but Persephone is still weary of him. She has heard the tales– and while he never slaughtered innocents, he showed no mercy toward the rest. He must have a thousand count on his head, people whisper. No, no, surely more than that. He has blood to stain his hands an eternity.

"It is not much to look at, is it?" he remarks dryly, shocking Persephone. He is a lord known for silence, yet here he is making small talk.

"Milord?" she questions, brows drawing together.

"The sea," he says, waving a hand towards it. "It's far better in Lord Poseidon's reaches. Oceanus does a poor job of taking care of his half. The water should not be so black; it should reflect the moon."

"Oh," Persephone says rather stupidly; she knows not much about oceans. "I have always thought it is pretty."

"Of course you have," says Lord Hades, turning to look at her with an unreadable expression. "Your father's keep is in the middle of Eleusinian; no oceans to look at there, am I correct?"

"Yes, Milord," Persephone says, eyes darting down to her hands nervously. "I should– I should get back to my mother. She is probably looking for me."

The moment she moves foot to follow the lie, Lord Hades' hand reaches out and wraps around her own. Instantly, she stiffens. His grip is firm, callused, ice-cold. She thinks just one of his hands could encompass both of her own, and she swallows sudden fear down her throat. Lord Hades is looked at her, his eyes as dark as she remembers them. It grogs her mind, turns everything honeysuckle sweet.

"Milord?" she asks shakily, body and words wracked with tremors.

"You do not want to marry him, do you?" asks Lord Hades, his gaze intent.

"I–," Persephone looks for the right words, the words that will let her keep her head if this is some kind of ruse and Lord Hades intends to take all of this back to the King. "It would be an honor to do as the King wishes," she finally stutters out, heart ripping through her chest, corset too tight so as she might faint.

"Bullshit," says Lord Hades, surprising her with his rural language. She blinks, searches his gaze for bullshit of his own. She finds none. "You do not want to marry Lord Ares, do you, girl?"

"My name is Persephone," she says, a sudden flare of fierceness mixed into the adrenaline flooding her veins. It quickly simmers to fear once more at Lord Hades' scowl.

"Persephone," he says, the name rolling off his tongue like a curse. "Tell me the truth; your father said to always tell the truth, right?"

Damn him. "Yes, Milord."

"Tell me the truth, then, Persephone. Do you or do you not wish to marry Lord Ares?"

The hand he is not holding fast to clenches. Her mouth opens, closes, opens… How can she say the words aloud to him? She does not know this man, does not trust him. The only person she trusts is her lady mother, and perhaps her people. Nymphs and sprites are such flighty beings the barely remember her secrets to share. But Lord Hades, she knows he will remember her answer for the rest of his days.

And what shall he do with it?

Relief comes in the opening of the balcony doors once more. Lord Hades lets go of her instantly and turns as a bunch of drunken ladies stumble out, giggling to themselves and fawning over the King and Prince Apollo's good looks. Persephone takes it as her chance of escape, moving past the ladies and into the ball room, finding her mother and dragging her towards their chambers, wanting to leave this whole night behind them.

But not before she catches one last glance of Lord Hades, standing in the balcony's doorway and looking at her intensely, eyes shining in the firelight.

That night she dreams of her father dying, of Ares being the one to dive a sword into Prometheus' heart, a faceless being that has the laugh of King Zeus. She dreams of lechery and famine and cruelty, of dark eyes that shine in the fire. Of broken dreams and sinking ships, the sailors crying for salvation. Raped women and killed babes, the Gods who have abandoned them all because of their greed, the one thing the Gods never intended to give. It is a human device; something they made all on their own.

But most of all, she dreams of blood. Of the ruby slip of it down her palms, the taste of pomegranates infecting her tongue. She dreams of crystal flakes of cold, a shiver she has never felt now deep in the marrow of her bones, coating her limp body in ice. The flakes turn everything a pure white, but the blood turns it all red, and the Gods never do anything; they let it all fall to ruin.

When she wakes in the morning it is to a bed of sweat and wild hair. She washes her face in the basin, looks at herself in the foggy mirror. Today she shall meet her future husband. She has to stop herself from bringing with her a knife to slit his noble-blooded throat.