Chapter 4:

They have not spoken for weeks, and he has not slept in his own bed since that night. When they are forced to sit next to each other on their thrones, he keeps himself on edge and alert. Dinner takes place in heavy silence while he eats slowly and she eats rapidly. It is an endless, monotonous cycle. Loveless.

She is everywhere, hating him; and he is everywhere, hating her for hating him. Both are trapped in a cage that is not gilded.

When he grows weary, he heads into his private study to contemplate. It is the only thing that brings him joy. Now he sits there at his desk, thinking of the cosmos and his nature within it. Everything has a place and everything is in its place, be it good or bad, and he sighs in pleasure as the beauty of it all flashes before his eyes. He feels lighter. He had thought that objective feature of his life gone – lost, when he married his wife. He seems to have found it again.

"I will forgive her," he says to himself. "And I will apologize." As he begins to fall asleep, the heaviness in heart lifts.

He is a mystery to her. They have lain together twice; she has taken him into her mouth and inside her body, and yet he is just as far away and foreign to her as he was on the day she first met him. He is a mystery to her, and her anger keeps her from speaking to him, so she watches; she learns. He is rigid and tense when she observes him, so she does her best to keep her inspection hidden. In the rare times she is able to glimpse him without his notice, she catches sight of something she wants nothing more but to see again.

She tells herself that she first saw it when he addressed a servant, voice soft, dark eyes understanding. (She has since noted that his eyes are not black, but rather a deep blue.) In truth, she knows that she first saw it on the night of their wedding, when he took her slowly and touched her quietly.

The more she observes him, the more she sees the strange, mystical quality that has totally enraptured her.

She is angry with him still – unbelievably so – but he fascinates her. He is a puzzle: equal parts intriguing and frustrating. She is determined to solve him.

The next evening at dinner, she watches him. She knows that he is aware of her observing him, can see it in the way he moves. Tense, alert.

She is tired of living this way. It is time to break the silence.

"My king," she says, and then, "Hades, I mean. I . . ." she pauses, unsure of what to say. He is looking at her, and though she once thought him expressionless and morose, she now sees a subtle curiosity in his face.

"You what, Persephone?" It is a simple question, softly said. He confuses her, this puzzle. When she was engaged, her mother would furiously tell her stories about her husband-to-be. 'Men only use women for pleasure,' her mother would say. 'And the man you're about to marry is no different.' Demeter had fought to keep her; had fought to save her from a marriage bounded by eternity to a man she had never met before. Yet, even with all her tantrums and all her threats, Zeus' law reigned supreme. The arrangements were set, and the king of the world below took her from her home in keeping with custom. That same night, the two were married as strangers. And here we are, she thinks, strangers still.

She lets out a deep sigh.

"I wanted to apologize. For slapping you. And then . . ." she trails off when she sees him wince. Aphrodite had told her that if she ever felt like she was in danger, she was to kick him there. The triumph and strength she felt at that moment has since turned into shame and regret. Pushing through her embarrassment, she finally says, "I'm sorry for all of it."

He nods slowly, rigidly.

"You are forgiven." His words are gentle.

He watches her face closely. This is the first time she has been genuine since the night of the wedding. At the time she had been genuinely afraid of him; now she is genuinely sincere in her apology. He nods at her, showing her that he is pleased. (Because smiling is not something he does, unless in jest or anger.) "I would like to apologize for my behavior as well. A husband should never do or say things like that to his wife, let alone a king to his queen." He wishes that he was better at speaking, but that is neither his talent nor his place.

Persephone's breath hitches when she sees the warm light from the fireplace catch on his face. His black hair shines; his jaw looks cut from stone. She feels desire grow low in her belly, and the thought of him taking her right now, on the table or against the wall, sends delicious shivers running down her spine. Learning from Aphrodite woke something in her, and even though they are strangers, he must fill her need.

Her hands move up to the pins on her clothes and only pause when she hears a strained, "Stop!" followed by, "What are you doing?"

"I want to lie with you, my king," she says, making her voice sound as heavy and as sultry as possible.

"My name," he whispers.

"Hades," she corrects. She continues to disrobe, and this time he says nothing. "I want you to take me here right now, hard and fast and strong, befitting of a king. I want you to fuck me, Hades." She has said all the words Aphrodite taught her; she has said them in the right way. She is pleased with herself when she sees the flabbergasted look of his countenance.

Because of this, it is all the more shocking when he says, "No." He stands, albeit too quickly and too roughly. "Excuse me, Persephone. I am going to retire for the night."

Tears flow down her cheeks as he walks past her while shame and anger make a dangerous concoction in her stomach.

"Why don't you want me?" she whispers, and when he stops at the door, she screams, "WHY DON'T YOU WANT ME? WHY DON'T YOU DESIRE ME?"

His shoulders sag as if an incredible weight has been pressed on top of him. He sighs, breathing heavily and laboriously.

"I do want you, Persephone." He looks up into her eyes, red and soaking wet with tears.

"Then why don't you want to lie with me? Why, even as I offer myself to you, do you deny me? Am I hideous? You said once that you did not want to force me – but I am offering to pleasure you! I want to pleasure you! Why won't you let me? Am I not beautiful enough for you, is that it? Are you fucking some nymph on the side? Answer me, you – you –you – you horrible, infuriating man!"

He steps close to her now, dark and intimidating. For each step he takes towards her, she takes a step back, until the backs of her thighs hit the table. He has trapped her, like she once trapped him. Yet, for all his darkness, he lightly touches her chin with his fingertips as he gently raises her head to look upwards.

"You are beautiful – truthfully, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And as you can see," he takes her hand to feel his full arousal through his clothes, "I desire you."

"Then why-"

His thumb lightly presses against her lips to silence her.

"Because, while this sort of thing," he groans, moving his hips against the palm of her hand, "feels physically good, for both me and you, there needs to be something more."

He kisses the top of her head. "I will see you in the morning. Sleep well."

And with that, he leaves her, more lonely and confused than she ever thought possible.