Chapter 2 #2
As though he senses her presence, Hades’ attention snaps to his wife, and his mouth lifts in an affectionate grin as he eyes my new attire. “Excellent choice on the dress, my love. She looks almost as beautiful as you.”
Hades stands, and Persephone nestles into his side, beaming at his compliment. Grief spears through my chest as I am once again reminded of how much Nick’s absence feels like a serrated blade incessantly scraping my heart.
“Etiquette lessons?” Hades smoothly breaks the solemn silence.
“Indeed. Let’s start with curtseying.” Persephone breaks away from her husband.
“Curtseying? You mean I have to bow to him?”
The Goddess pins me with her stare. “He is King, Rhiannon. Of course, you must bow to him. Not only is it expected, but you could very well end up in the dungeons if you don’t follow these protocols, and that would be a waste of your time, since it is borrowed, after all.”
I cement my lips closed. Would I bow to Nick—my Nick? Without question. I would get on my knees for him in more ways than one could imagine. But the thought of being submissive to any man other than him makes my blood boil.
And yet, Persephone’s earlier words reply themselves in my brain. I have to work on accepting that this person, this King of Hell, this…Devil is Nick. It’s a part of him, one I’ll have to accept if I have any hope of returning his memories and returning us both to this side of the River Styx.
“Show me,” I demand.
Hades lifts a brow, the corner of his mouth curling with it. Persephone gifts me her own smile of appreciation.
“You slide your dominant leg behind you and slowly bend your front knee. Make sure you keep your torso upright with your head bent slightly and then slowly rise to standing.” Persephone does just that to demonstrate; the gracefulness with which her body glides through the movements would make even the most formal etiquette coach envious.
Once she returns upright, she nods for me to attempt. I take a deep breath then slide my right leg behind me, but I wobble a bit as I bend my front knee.
“Again,” she commands.
After four more attempts, my curtsey finally meets Persephone’s standards. She nods in approval as I straighten.
“Good. Now, I want you to try something a bit different.”
My intrigue spikes as she turns toward her husband. Persephone curtseys in the same manner she did earlier, but this time, she holds her husband’s gaze, staring at him up through her lashes. There’s so much heat raging between them, I’m surprised I don’t burn merely from being a spectator.
Hades’ tongue darts out to coat his bottom lip, his arousal evident by the sudden bulge in his black silken trousers.
I understand it then, the way power shifts from the man standing upright to the woman bowing before him.
Even though her stance appears submissive, her stare is anything but.
I realize, in that moment, a man can be cut to his knees with a simple look from the woman he loves.
And for me, that is extremely important.
“Power is fluid, Rhiannon,” Persephone says as she faces me. “It passes easily from one person to another, just like that.” She snaps her fingers. “Bowing before a man doesn’t make you any less powerful. In fact, one of the most powerful positions is on your knees.”
I nearly choke at her implication, and Hades clears his throat.
“My love, if you keep talking like that, I will have no choice but to take you away and fuck you senseless. Yet, I know you have much to do.”
Persephone smiles. “My apologies. Let’s move on.”
The remainder of the afternoon is spent perfecting my posture, learning how to dine properly (elbows never on the table; work from the outside in; stir soup using a back and forth motion, never circular; holding a wine glass from the stem and not the mouth), and countless other formalities I never thought meant much of anything yet somehow made me feel infinitely more at ease once I mastered them.
It’s well into the evening by the time Persephone deems we are finished. I practiced using ‘Your Highness’ and ‘Your Grace’ when referring to Hades, who wore a mollified grin every time I added the title.
“I suppose it’s finally time,” Hades says, leading me toward the giant onyx table across from the 3D mural of the Gods of Olympus.
I say nothing, knowing he’s referring to my journey to Hell.
And that I have to die to get there.
Persephone joins his side, and I glance at the table. On its surface lies a silver tray with a halved piece of notorious fruit.
“Do you know what you have to do, Rhiannon?” Persephone softly asks.
“Circe told me no living, breathing person can enter Hell.” I exhale slowly and lift my gaze to the King and Queen of the Underworld. “I have to die.”
Hades nods solemnly. “It is true, but there is a way for you to die in the same manner as Nicholas. Your mortal body will expire here and reawaken in Hell.”
“Will it hurt?”
“It will be painful but quick,” Persephone admits, delicately touching the pendant at my throat.
“This will protect you not only as you enter Hell, but as you navigate it. It will keep you from losing your memories in the same manner Nick has. Don’t underestimate its power, Rhiannon, and don’t ever remove it. ”
I finger the necklace as my gaze returns to the sinful fruit.
“You know what you have to do,” Hades encourages.
My eyes linger on the fruit, taking in its bright hue, a shade lighter than my dress. Its seeds are ripe and plump, begging to be tasted. With shaking fingers, I grip one of the halves and bring it to my mouth.
“Remember what I told you, Rhiannon,” Persephone says.
“I knew exactly what I was doing when I ate that pomegranate. You do too. Do not fear. You are under the protection of the King and Queen of the Underworld for the duration of your time in Hell. Let the bond between you and Nicholas guide you in handling him. It won’t steer you wrong.
” She pulls me into a hug. “Now, go get your man.”
“Thank you,” I say once we pull apart. “Both of you.” I take another deep breath then bring the pomegranate to my lips and take a bite.
Flavor bursts as liquid floods my mouth, sinful and sweet and luscious beyond measure.
I close my eyes as the taste wraps around my tongue.
Before I know it, I’m devouring the fruit the way I devoured the piece of shit demigod in Strega’s VIP room: without mercy, trepidation, or remorse.
I consume it until I’m holding nothing except a mess of pulp in my palm.
Juice trickles out of the corner of my mouth. I go to lap at it with my tongue when a sharp pain lances through my chest.
I open my eyes in panic, but Persephone and Hades are nowhere to be found.
I fall to my knees, my hands clawing at my chest in a desperate attempt to stop the white-hot, agonizing pain searing through every nerve cell.
My mouth opens on a wordless cry, and the realization that I can no longer breathe sends tears pouring down my face.
I slump toward the ground, my black, curved claws elongated and scratching at the floor. My body convulses, spit pouring from my mouth as my heart beats slowly…slowly…slower…slo…
And then, it completely stops.