Chapter 2
RHI
When the elevator doors to Hades’ penthouse open, I’m greeted by the King and Queen of the Underworld themselves.
Hades’ attire is reminiscent of our first meeting, his lean but firm build encased in a black button down with dark slacks to match.
He’s still as stunning as the first time I saw him, his lips curling knowingly as he leisurely sips from a wine glass.
However, it’s his wife who commands my attention.
Persephone’s wearing a dress the color of old blood, her long, golden hair falling unbound to her waist. The dress plunges obscenely down the front, her full breasts threatening to spill out, but the length of the dress sweeps down the floor in silky ripples.
Her odd colored eyes, one a sharp jade and the other a sparkling blue, dance in delight when they fall upon me.
“Rhiannon!” She clasps her hands together, and I again note the presence of little rosebuds with thorns between her fingers. “I am so happy to see you again.” She holds out her arms.
“We were curious when you might figure it out,” Hades says.
“You aren’t the only ones,” I mutter, stepping into Persephone’s welcoming embrace.
Hades cocks a brow. “What do you mean?”
I break apart from his wife. “Atropos paid me an intrusive visit and said as much.”
The King and Queen exchange a perturbed glance. “The Cutter visited you?” Hades asks. “Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Did she say anything else?”
I bounce my gaze between the two. “Just that I am on borrowed time.”
Hades raises a dark brow. “Interesting.”
“Indeed,” Persephone chimes. “The Fates never travel without each other, much less entirely alone.”
“What does that—”
“Come!” Persephone interjects. “We have so much to do!”
Hades continues to stare at me curiously, and while I want to press Persephone for more information, if I remember correctly, this tends to be a habit of hers.
“What, exactly, do we have to do?”
Persephone runs an assessing perusal over my jeans and sweater. “To begin with, it’s imperative we change your clothes. You simply cannot step foot in Hell dressed like a pauper.”
I scowl. “That’s a bit harsh.”
Persephone shrugs and ushers me further into the penthouse. “The truth hurts, my love. I will dress you, and then we can begin your lessons.”
Hades chuckles. “I’ll leave you both to it, then.
I have my own business to attend to.” He plants a quick kiss on Persephone’s lips before he disappears into thin air.
If the action didn’t automatically remind me of Nick and send a stab of overwhelming grief through my abdomen, I’d actually be impressed.
Persephone hums as I follow her towards the French doors to a terrace that houses her extraordinary garden. I do a double take as I pass a three-headed Doberman lying on a massive onyx dog bed. Its three heads drift up lazily, and six eyes track my movement.
“Oh, don’t mind Cerberus,” Persephone quips. “He remembers you, even if he likes to pretend he doesn’t.”
I eye the beast peripherally, remembering all too well its vicious snarl at me and Nick.
Persephone leads me toward the back of her garden, the tunnel of orchids still as vibrant and colorful as the first time I’d seen it. Only, something feels amiss. It’s as though I’m glimpsing the scene through a shadowed lense. Everything appears dull and void of sensation.
“Loss.”
I snap my attention to the goddess, who rests her palm against a wall of ivy. “Excuse me?”
“The look in those pretty eyes of yours: loss. I know it well.” She sighs. “It shadows everything. Things that were once exuberant and radiant might as well be somber and flat.”
I swallow roughly and nod. Persephone sighs and beckons me closer. “I do hope you find your world filled with color again.”
Me too.
Persephone pushes lightly on the wall, and the ivy sinks beneath her palm, revealing a large dressing room.
Its walls are painted a soft blue, the material reminiscent of Venetian plaster.
Three large, emerald green ottomans surround an ornate, gilded dressing mirror resting atop a plush rug of cream and gold.
Gowns line the entire back wall, the dresses arranged in color coordinated fashion from deep, raven black to the purest ivory.
“Please, come in.”
I step over the threshold, stopping just shy of the ottomans.
Persephone moves further into the room, heading straight toward the back wall.
Her long, honey hair sways slightly with her movements as the goddess rifles through the dresses, intermittently wrinkling her nose as she touches gown after gown.
Sporadically, she tilts her head in consideration then seems to think better of it.
I continue to stand there awkwardly, the silence permeating the space, making me uncomfortable.
“Earlier, you mentioned lessons?” I ask.
“Mhm,” Persephone replies, eyes trained on the dresses as she continues to swipe through them.
I take a seat on one of the ottomans and nearly sink into it, the material velvety and smooth.
“What kind of lessons?”
Persephone pauses, and her gaze finds me, a playful grin curving her mouth. “Etiquette lessons, of course.”
I furrow my brow in response, and the goddess returns her attention to finding me a gown, which, at this moment, appears to be an impossible task.
“You will enter Hell under the guise of representing our interests in the Umbra Court, and therefore, you will be required to act as a member of royalty.”
“The Umbra Court?” I question.
Persephone sighs and pauses her search for the perfect gown, perching delicately on the ottoman across from me.
“The Umbra Court is the royal court of Hell. Nick’s Court.
” Her lovely eyes hold a hint of melancholy, and she takes my hands within her own.
“Due to the complete erasure of his memories, he is King now. Whatever you feel here,” she lays her palm above her heart, “you must repress. No one can know not only who you are, but what you are. It is imperative Scylla stay buried beneath your flawless skin and ocean eyes.”
I lick my lips and nod.
“You will address him as ‘your Grace’ or ‘your Highness’ unless he gives you explicit instructions otherwise.” I nod again, and the sadness in her eyes continues to swirl like colorful storm clouds. “He won’t remember you-”
“I know,” I cut Persephone off with a soft whisper.
“But your soulmate bond won’t allow him to forget entirely,” she finishes.
A spark of hope I thought long extinguished ignites in my chest, and I release a small gasp. “What do you mean?”
“Something will draw him to you. His brain will try and rationalize it as impossible, but Nicholas will recognize you in some way, even if his cognizance cannot make sense of it.”
“Persephone.” I squeeze her hand in desperation. “My time in Hell is limited. I can’t rely on hope, day after day, that Nick will snap out of his stupor and remember me. What do I need to do?”
“Stay as close to him as possible. Make a point to always be near him so you consume not only his personal space, but his very thoughts. And,” a salacious curve graces her pretty mouth, “it wouldn’t hurt to partake in…physical intimacies.”
My jaw drops. “You want me to fuck him?”
“You act as though that’s foreign notion. Unless…have you two not been intimate?”
I shake my head. “It’s not that. It’s… He’s not…him. Nick. He’s someone else. I feel like…” I trial off again, shuddering at the sickening thought worming its way into my brain. “I feel like I’d be cheating on him.”
Persephone scoffs. “Rhiannon, that’s preposterous.”
“But—”
“Nicholas is both your Nicholas and the King of Hell. This version of Nicholas, while foreign to you, is still a part of him, albeit a darker part. It is still Nicholas. Just as you embraced your own darkness, the monster inside you, you must learn to embrace Nicholas’ identity as The Devil.
One does not exist without the other. When Nicholas’ memories return, he will retain full recollection of every moment he spent as this other version of himself, and you will need to help him make peace with that, just as your friends helped you make peace with Scylla. ”
Though the thought still unsettles me, I remain silent and nod complacently. Persephone’s explanation does make sense, but I can’t help but shake the feeling that being intimate with Nick while he isn’t my Nick is somehow wrong.
However, I suppose I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it, seeing as I still need to make it to Hell in one piece.
Persephone’s eyes widen and her mouth parts, as though she’s just had the most extraordinary idea.
Sure enough, she snaps her fingers near her temple and exclaims, “Oh!” She rises from her seat on the ottoman, waving her hands frantically, which I interpret as her wanting me to stand as well.
I follow her lead and watch as her mouth turns up at the corners.
“Look,” she commands, gesturing toward the mirror.
My simple sweater and jeans have been replaced with Persephone’s very own blood-red dress.
The deep plunge in the center exposes an indecent amount of cleavage, but the color contrasts well with my olive-skin tone.
I vividly recall the dress I wore to my first night at Strega, and the memory brings a rare and unforced smile to my lips.
“I say, you do look positively stunning,” Persephone comments from beside me. Her own outfit is now a much more casual black cocktail dress that falls off her delicate shoulders.
“What next?”
“Oh, now is my favorite part: etiquette lessons.” Her two-toned jeweled eyes alight with mischief.
I frown. “I thought I just had my lessons when you informed me of how I am to address Nick?”
Persephone chuckles. “Oh, no. There is much you need to learn. Come.”
I follow the Goddess from the exquisite dressing room and back into the Penthouse. My eyes widen in catching the three-headed beast they call a pet rolling over, its tongues wagging as Hades affectionately scratches its underbelly.