was guttural and real and cruel. “I loved you, and all you cared about was your imposter queen!”
Hades snarled. Persephone was no imposter. The true fraud was before him, because if she had ever loved him, she would have never helped Sisyphus escape.
“You paraded her in front of me, undermining me, berating me, taunting me. You deserve to see your Fate unravel. I hope Sisyphus pulls the thread.”
There was silence.
So she had understood half of the equation, the part where the Fates had threatened to undo his future with Persephone if Sisyphus was not captured. It was information she had probably gained while spying. Well, she would spy no more. Not for him.
“If that is truly how you feel, then you have no place in the Underworld.”
Minthe’s mouth fell open.
“But this is my home,” she said, her lips quivering.
“Not anymore.” His words were cold.
The nymph swallowed. "Wh-where will I go?”
He did not know; she had never existed outside the boundaries of Hades’ realm, even in the Upperworld. Her only connections were his connections, and those would evaporate the moment her exile leaked. No one would help her, because they would not wish to defy him.
“That is not my concern. Minthe, you are banished forthwith from my kingdom. If you attempt to set foot here again, I will exhibit no mercy.”
Hades’ magic closed in around her, and she vanished from sight. There was a beat of silence, and then he spoke.
“Hermes, spread the word that I am willing to bargain with Sisyphus. If it is eternity he wants, he has only to come to Nevernight and request a contract.”
Eternal life wasn’t something Hades could grant without sacrifice and required the same payment—a soul for a soul. It would mean that if he lost, the Fates would take the life of a god.
He was playing a game—a game of fate.
“I don’t suppose this can wait until morning?” Hermes asked and when Hades looked at him, the god offered a nervous laugh. “I mean, on it, my lord.”
He vanished.
“Don’t—”
“Say I told you so?” Hecate asked. “I have waited too long for this moment. I told you to let me poison her and before that, I told you to demote her, and before that, I told you to never sleep with her.”
Hades sank to his throne. Suddenly, he was exhausted, and as he spoke, his voice was tried and quiet.
“I have enough regrets, Hecate,” he said.
The goddess said nothing, and after a few seconds, she quietly disappeared.
He was not alone long when Persephone entered the throne room, leaning against the door as it closed behind her.
She looked sleepy and beautiful, dressed in a white nightgown and matching sheer robe. Her hair was wild and mussed, falling in gold waves down her back. Her presence gave him the strength to straighten.
“Why are you awake, my darling?” he asked.
“You were gone,” she said, approaching. She settled into his lap, her legs draped over his, her hands tangling into his robes. She took a deep breath, and burrowed into his chest.
“Why are you up?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
He considered telling her about the saga of Sisyphus—how he had cheated death twice and stolen the lives of two mortals, forever shattering their souls—but that explanation would also require divulging the Fates’ threat, and with Sisyphus on the run again, he preferred to keep that to himself.
So instead he answered, “I…could not sleep.”
She drew back, gazing up at him with heavy-lidded eyes.
“You could have woken me.” Her voice was an erotic whisper. It promised things like throbbing lips, pounding hearts, and soft heat.
He raised a brow, and asked, “What purpose would that serve?”
Her hands dropped to his swollen sex, barely caressing it through his robes. “Would you like a demonstration?”
Hades smirked and gathered her close, teleporting to the Underworld.
***
“Any word?” Hades asked Ilias as they walked the shadows of his club. He’d been hopeful that tonight would be the night Sisyphus would take him up on the offer of a bargain.
“None,” Ilias replied. “Word travels slow in the mortal underground.”
Hades frowned.
The Fates had not been pleased to learn that Sisyphus had escaped.
“Arrogant,” Lachesis had said.
“Overconfident,” Clotho had hissed.
“Brash,” Atropos had added.
Hades had not argued with them. It was the first time he’d gone to them and feared them, feared their vengeance, feared that they would unravel the threads they’d taken such care to weave, ready to bask in his misery.
But they hadn’t. They’d merely asked who Hades was willing to trade if he lost his bargain with