her head. “I don’t know why Hades lets you into the Underworld.”
Perhaps it was a last ditch effort on his part, or perhaps Hermes had choreographed this entire exchange. He ended their conversation with a glib, “So you aren’t worried about her?”
“No,” Persephone snapped. “I have nothing to worry about.”
She spun around on her heel and stalked away. His laughter burned her ears and made her stomach rebel. She wanted to vomit. To let all those horrible feelings and emotions purge from her body in acid and bile.
The worst part? Even as she strode back to her castle, to her beautiful chambers that she now called home, Persephone couldn’t get his words out of her head.
“You aren’t worried about her?”
Hades had proven time and time again that she had no reason to be. He had eyes only for her, and his touch made her ache in the middle of the night. He kissed her so sweetly, she couldn’t imagine that affection was a lie. He’d given her a new, more powerful name.
But yes, Hermes.
Persephone was worried about Minthe.
Chapter 30
Persephone was ashamed to admit his words followed her wherever she went.
“Aren’t you worried about Minthe?”
No, she refused to be worried about a nymph when she was a goddess. But hadn’t she come from an upbringing of nymphs? Was that why Hades was interested in her and no other goddess? Was he just trying to replace a jilted lover from his past?
She knew the thoughts were dangerous. They festered in her mind, planting seeds of doubt and sowing them deep into the fields of her heart.
She started looking for things she knew she shouldn’t. Signs that Hermes was right, and she was just too innocent. Too blind. Once, she saw them talking in a field. And though Hades was gesturing wildly with a rather fanatic look in his eyes, she wondered if that was a lover’s quarrel.
Minthe started staring at Hades during the meals with the rest of the gods and goddesses. She twirled her hair around her finger, smiling with a coy expression. And any time she noticed Persephone looking at her, that smile only deepened. As though she had a secret the goddess didn’t know.
Persephone knew some of these things were likely wild exaggerations in her own mind. She should stop herself from thinking like this and just ask Hades what was happening. She still hadn’t really talked to him about Minthe, and she needed clarification from him and him alone.
But the obsession wouldn’t end.
Finally, she left the castle all together and made her way back to the Styx. Perhaps if she stood where they had first shared a memory in the Underworld, she would remember why she had trusted him.
The black sands were as glorious as the first time she’d seen them. The souls with their blue light drifting across the shores were, well... impressive to say the least. They were lovely and pure, and she wanted to save all of them.
Maybe she should ask Hecate and Thanatos to play another game with her. She could beat them for a few coins and bring herself back to the same state she’d been in when she first discovered her feelings for Hades.
Though, she had yet to give those feelings a name. Her jealousy clouded the possibility of the other emotion’s strength.
Movement near a portal caught her attention. Yet another? How many living people walked in and out of the Underworld at a time? She swore this was far more often than she’d been led to believe. The Underworld was supposed to be the one place mortals couldn’t go, unless they were dead.
Three men stepped out onto the sands, although she recognized the first very well. “Heracles?” she asked, shaking her head in disbelief. “I didn’t think I’d see you here any time soon.”
He bowed low. “My queen. Thanks to you, my soul has been cleansed once and for all.”
“And glad I am to hear it.” She frowned at his friends. “But you’ve returned with guests this time.”
Heracles turned and gestured for the other two men to come forward.
They were handsome, far more than most mortal men she’d seen in her lifetime. They couldn’t hold a candle to Heracles when it came to warfare, she was certain. They were softer. Leaner. Perhaps more the artists than the brutes.
One was fair as the moonlight, his blue eyes vivid and his pale blonde hair leached of all color. The other was dark and swarthy, his black hair falling in curls that flopped over