The Royal Suite

They didn’t make it back to the island. They’d been heading that way, walking over the barren hills, when Hades stopped suddenly. “Do you hear that?”

Kore lifted an ear to the wind. A muffled buzz reached her, a kind of dull, formless sound. “What is that?”

“If I had to guess? Paparazzi.”

At first, Kore didn’t believe him. But he crawled up the next hill on his stomach, and when he got to the top, motioned her up, too. When Kore shuffled up beside him, horror took any words she might have said out of her mouth.

The river circling the island couldn’t be seen underneath dozens of boats, each holding three or four or five people. All of them held phones, lifting them against their ears or pointing them at the house. Some people posed, and Kore realized they must be taking pictures.

“What are they doing here?” she whispered.

“Looking for you, probably. Gossip must have gotten around by now.” His tone said he had some idea who might have spread it, but Kore knew better than to ask.

The intruders hadn’t yet stepped on the shore, but it wouldn’t be long before the bravest of them approached the house, tried the doors, maybe even slid a window open. The thought of walking down there, of having strangers crowd up to her, trying to touch her, asking questions she wouldn’t be able to answer, sent her head spinning.

She slid down the hill, landing in a heap at the bottom. Her heart beat in her ears. “We can’t go back.”

Hades arrived beside her, his expression sympathetic. “No kidding.”

“Can you make them go away?”

He grimaced. “Can I? Yes. Would that go over well? No.”

“So what do we do?”

He looked at the hill, at the river, at the sky. If he hoped an answer would be written somewhere, he would be sorely disappointed. Eventually he turned back to her, and Kore did not like what she saw in his expression. “There is one place I know we’d be able to hide.”

“But?”

“It’s risky. We’d have to keep a low profile.”

“I’ll lay in a ditch if it means I don’t become the latest gossip meal.”

Hades flashed her a small smile and offered a hand. “Come on. It’s a bit of a walk.”

Kore let him help her up. She took two steps before panic flared inside her and she turned back to the hill. “What about Cerberus?”

“He can get out of the house if he needs to, and if things get too bad, he knows his way around the realm.” Hades knew more about his dog than she did, and if he didn’t seem concerned, then Kore supposed she didn’t have to, either.

Before they set out again, Hades dug in his pockets. He tried the first two, came up with nothing, then seemed to find what he wanted in his back pocket. He handed her a rumpled hat, the same kind Hermes had been wearing on the hill.

Kore took it, wondering where he’d pulled it from. Nothing had been in his pockets when they’d left the house, she would have noticed. “What is it?”

“A baseball cap.”

“What does it do?”

“Put it on and see if you can figure it out.”

She did, and immediately an electric hum ran under her skin, a live current she felt in her teeth. She looked down, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary—same arms, same shirt, same sweats.

“Give me your hand,” he said, holding his own out, “or it’s going to be difficult to keep track of each other as we walk.”

Kore took his hand, wondering if he was playing a gigantic joke on her. If he’d finally had enough of her ignorance and decided to amuse himself with it.

As soon as they touched, he disappeared. His skin against hers said he was still there, but her eyes found nothing but empty air.

Oh.

A tug on her hand told her he’d started walking, and she hurried to follow. Their path took them towards the high-rise buildings she’d seen earlier, and as they neared, she realized they were even taller than she’d first guessed. The rivers became more populated as they moved towards the city, boats crisscrossing the water and the shores growing offices and shops and apartments, if she read the signs correctly.

Kore didn’t fully believe that they could be invisible until they passed a couple also walking along the beaches. The two men chatted as they strolled, discussing the details of what sounded like a restoration project. Neither of them spared a glance for her or Hades, not even when they passed close enough for Kore to smell perfume on one of them, too sweet and artificial to be made from real flowers.

A king who could move the earth, who could pull gold from the dirt and turn himself invisible. And Hades had called her powerful?

Eventually, they reached an island holding a single, sprawling black stone structure. The windowless face stared down at Kore, the soaring columns holding carvings of creatures she didn’t know. She’d be lying if she said the sight of them didn’t frighten her.

Hades paid the gruesome artwork no mind, instead leading her along a small footpath curving away from the grand front steps. They passed people lounging at outdoor tables and workers hurrying between them, past rock gardens with marble statues and blown glass made in colors of precious stones, ruby red and emerald green and quartzite pink.

Hades stopped for none of it. Kore understood why, with all the immortals clustered around the place, but she mourned the loss nonetheless. She would have liked to examine the columns, listened as Hades explained all the parts of the rock garden in his steady, patient way.

A gate opened in front of her, and Kore felt Hades pull her forward, into a black stone courtyard. A shallow pool dominated the space, dark sky reflecting in the still water. Carved benches sat on each edge of the pool, complete with overhangs for shade. Not that the sun ever shone here.

The gate closed behind her. The warm fit of Hades’s hand against hers vanished, and all at once, he appeared in front of her again.

Kore lifted the hat from her head. “Where are we?”

Hades slid a bolt, locking the gate behind him. “This is the small courtyard. It connects to the royal suite.”

He did not elaborate, instead continuing through a square archway and into one of the most lavish rooms Kore had ever seen. At least, it would have been lavish, if a thick layer of dust hadn’t settled over the expensive furniture. The big wooden table and the chairs looked like they’d crawled out of another millennium, and an ancient stone hearth had been set into the far wall, pillows and lounging seats arranged around it. A hallway stretched away from them, leading to what she could only imagine as more rooms looking like they’d sprung straight from Mother’s stories about the old days.

Kore wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill of the stone. “What is this place?”

Embarrassment flickered over Hades’s face. “This used to be my home.”

“I can see why you moved.”

Hades chuckled. He seemed to notice the way she’d curled around herself, because he crossed to the hearth and the pile of logs left in a basket beside it. “I’ll get a fire started. That should warm things up a bit.”

He picked one of the logs, then a small hand axe, and stripped long ribbons to set in a pile against the grate. A striker came next, a little contraption that threw sparks until the pile flared to life. Hades waited until it grew, then arranged a few more logs around the glowing tinder.

He stood, brushing his hands against his stained jeans. “There. Come sit where it’s warm.”

Kore drifted closer. She let her eyes roam over the walls, where heavy tapestries hung in beautiful colors, scenes she couldn’t have named if she tried. “Are you sure no one will find us here?”

“I haven’t lived here for years.” Hades gestured at the neglected furniture. “The palace staff sealed it when I moved out. I wanted to rip it out, convert it all into something useful, like the restaurant in the throne room, but Minthe convinced me to keep it. She said I never knew when I would want to come back.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Kore watched him, at the way his jaw clenched and his fingers picked at the seams of his pant leg. “Good thing she did, I guess.”

“It’s about the only thing she’s ever been right about.”

Kore crouched before the fire, holding her hands out to soak in the warmth. She wondered, idly, how long he and Minthe had known each other, if she’d been around since Hades had lived here. If the dust was anything to go by, longer than Kore cared to count.

“I’m sorry about your fight,” she said. “I don’t mean to keep causing problems.”

Hades shook his head. “That argument was about much more than you. You only gave her an excuse to say what she’d always been thinking.”

“Which was?”

Hades sighed, lowering himself onto the carpet a few feet away from her. He stretched his long legs in front of him and leaned his elbows on his thighs. “Minthe and I have always been complicated. She knew me when I was a different person, and I don’t think she’s ever fully trusted that I never wanted to be him in the first place.”

“Who did you want to be?”

He laughed, the sound startling against the quiet. But it was real, and settled thick and pleasant into the warmth by the fire. “What a question.”

“You’ve never thought about it?”

“No, I suppose I haven’t.” He stared at the hearth, the shadows jumping along his brow and jaw. “I’ve always had to be somebody for someone else. First a failed prophecy, then a soldier, and when we won the war, we needed someone to step in and keep the peace. Zeus saved my life, whether I like that fact or not, and when he asked me to rule, I couldn’t deny him.”

Kore tried not to wonder what it would be like to be murdered by her own father, then thrust into a responsibility she might not have wanted. The surrealness of it sent the thought spinning away from her. “Well, whoever you were, I’m glad I get to know this you instead.”

Kore’s neck prickled, a sure sign his eyes had found her. She chanced a look under her lashes, and sure enough the intensity of that icy blue stare made it difficult to breathe.

“Me, too,” he said.

She was the one to look away first, her face burning. She told herself it was from the open flames. “So. What now?”

“We wait.” Hades looked at her a beat longer before settling his hands behind him, his head lolling onto his shoulder. “Zeus will call if something changes, or Hecate will see him do something stupid and let me know. In the meantime, I can try to clean up a little, then I know I for one need to sleep.”

Kore wondered how long he’d been awake. The lethargy tugged at her, turning her limbs into weighted bars, and she’d slept significantly more than he had the last two days. She, though, doubted she would find much rest here—the stone radiated cold, and more than that, she’d never laid her head somewhere so empty. Her whole life, she had been surrounded by others, wrapped up in her cot at the loft or snuggled next to Mother in her room. The thought of closing her eyes against the silence settled in her stomach like a rock.

“What’s wrong?”

Kore startled out of her thoughts. “I—nothing. Why do you ask?”

A wrinkle of concern had formed between his brows. “You’ve grown yellow flowers. Those seem to come up when you’re unhappy.”

She reached up, plucked one and brought it before her to examine. A tiny sunflower, petals open in their short double-rows. “I’ve never noticed.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re sprouting more yellow than usual lately.” Hades’s mouth twisted. “None of this was supposed to happen.”

“I know. I should have stayed on the farm.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He tucked his chin against his chest. “There had to have been a thousand ways off your farm that would have let you safely into the human world. Only seven—well, nine now—gates exist that lead directly to the Underworld. It seems highly unlikely you happened to stumble through one of them and happened to wind up on the most populated beach in the whole realm.”

“You think I did it on purpose?” Anger colored the words before Kore could stop it.

“Stars, no. I think my brother is still mad at me, and I think you’re his very definition of petty revenge.”

The shadowy memory came to her, a figure standing before her in the forest. But nothing more than that.

Kore shook her head to clear it. “Do I want to know why Zeus would be hatching revenge plots against you?”

“It’s his favorite pastime.”

She leveled a look at Hades. “And you had nothing to do with it?”

He grimaced. “I may have said some things I shouldn’t have. Zeus takes his responsibility far less seriously than I’d like him to, and when I tried to explain the situation, he called me a liar.”

“You’ve been called a lot of things over the last few days.”

“Tell me about it.”

The only sound between them became the crackling of the logs. Kore drew her knees up and settled her chin on top of them. She tried not to track Hades, hovering at the edge of her vision. The urge to say something—thanking him, maybe, or expressing some form of gratitude that he hadn’t just dumped her on the beach—bubbled up inside her. He could have washed his hands of her at so many turns, and he’d stuck by her. Protected her, fought for her, saved her life twice, no matter what he said. He’d balked at the thought of her subjecting herself to an eternity on the farm, and Kore had to wonder if that had more to do with her not wanting to go or him wanting her to remain.

No matter how much she wanted to voice her thoughts, she couldn’t find the words to do it, and eventually Hades rose to his feet and said something about preparing the rooms for her. He was gone before she could work up the courage to ask him to stay.

#

Sunlight streamed through the trees. Kore stood in the peach orchard on the farm, the trees erupted in a white haze of blossoms. Soft earth shifted beneath her bare toes, the cool damp of nutritious soil, and when she wiggled her feet, the sensation almost felt like coming home.

Kore inhaled the scent of the blossoms, pulling it deep and holding it close. She reached for a low-hanging branch, caressing the petals waving in the soft breeze. Beneath her fingers, the flower turned, curling, until a peach took its place, full and ripe.

Kore plucked the fruit. Its fuzz tickled her lips as she bit into it. Juice trickled down the corners of her mouth and over her wrist and dropped in round, red droplets to the dirt. A river ran down her forearm, wrong against the morning sun. The juice stung, pricking Kore’s skin until she dropped the peach and stumbled back, shaking her hand to try to get it off.

Steam curled from the ribbon of liquid. Where it touched, her skin split, peeling away and graying around the edges. Beneath, white bone stared at her, moving in time with her own fingers.

Kore stumbled, and suddenly she knelt at the pond marking the edge of the peach orchard and the beginning of the apples. Her knees hit the dirt and she leaned over the edge, searching for someone familiar staring back.

A skeleton met her. A bone face with green eyes sunk deep in the sockets, a death-white jaw that moved when hers did, hair that spilled inexplicably from a smooth skull.

Kore screamed. She screamed and screamed and screamed until—

Hands on her shoulders. A body beside her, hovering over her. Panic gripped Kore and she twisted, let her vines surge around her, protecting her, cradling her in their fibrous tendrils. A grunt of pain sounded somewhere beside her, but she couldn’t risk opening her eyes to see who it might be.

“Kore, it’s me! You’re having a nightmare.”

She knew that voice.

“You need to wake up!”

Slowly, Kore uncurled herself from the tight ball she’d dove into. She peered over the edge of the covers, let her gaze find the floor. Hades lay there, wrapped in half a dozen green stalks. From the angle of his arms, the position did not look comfortable.

Kore forced air through her nose. One breath, two, and the pounding in her head began to recede. A creak told her the fibers had started to move, but Kore kept her focus until she heard the sigh that hopefully meant she was no longer accidentally strangling Hades to death.

“Thank you,” he said, though his tone hinted he might be less than grateful.

Kore cracked open one eye. In the glow flickering from the fire he’d built, she saw Hades sprawled on the floor, his chest shuddering and his shirt ripped. He stared at the ceiling, his jaw tight, and Kore couldn’t blame him. She wouldn’t want to look at her, either.

“I’m sorry.”

His head moved back and forth on the floor. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” Horrified embarrassment crawled up her spine. Kore pulled the covers more tightly around her. “Are you?”

“I seem to still be in one piece.”

“I’ve ruined your shirt.”

He lifted his head, saw the tear clean across his chest and the gold that leaked from the wound underneath. “It appears you have. Can I move now, or am I still in danger of triggering your fight or flight?”

Kore wanted to crawl under the covers and disappear. “You should be safe. I’m awake now.”

Hades pushed himself up to sit. He looked around the room, at the twisted greenery that had burst clean through the stones of the floor. “Well, this is certainly one way to redecorate.”

“I can see if I can get them back beneath the earth.”

Hades shook his head. “They’re almost nice, when they’re not trying to rip me limb from limb.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I get nightmares too.”

Kore wanted, ridiculously, to laugh. He’d seen things she couldn’t even imagine, had every reason to wake screaming in the night. What had happened to her, except an argument with Mother and sleeping in a palace?

Hades pulled himself to his feet. “I don’t know what you usually do to help yourself feel better, but I’m happy to scrounge up something to take your mind off it.”

A rush of dismay hit Kore hard. She didn’t want Hades to walk away, leaving her alone in the cold and the quiet. She wished for her room back at the farm, the loft with dozens of girls spread around in all stages of snoring and shuffling and lying pressed against her. She’d even settle for a comfortable couch and a dog who sighed in his sleep.

“Yellow again,” Hades said.

Kore flushed, for a moment hating that Hades had noticed this small thing about her. She doubted no one else ever had, but they’d never seen fit to tell her about it. Mother always threw her flowers out anyway, and all the better for it. They meant Kore was still too much at the mercy of her own emotions.

“Kore?” Hades asked. He stood with his hands on his hips, his face twisted, like he didn’t know what to do. Beautiful, even against the shadows flicking against the sharp planes of his brows and cheeks and lips.

She knew what she wanted. And she was old enough to ask for it, no matter what Mother said.

“Do…do you mind staying, actually?” Her voice sounded embarrassingly halting in her own ears. “I—I’m not used to being alone, and—”

Hades smiled. “Of course.”

He moved towards the corner, to take the chair that stood near the hearth. Kore stopped him with a wordless sound. She shuffled over, moving the blankets as she went, to make room for Hades beside her.

He paused, his brows scrunching. Like he wanted to say no, just didn’t know how.

Of course. He’d only met her days ago, and Minthe had accused him of this very thing. Kore herself had assured her it wasn’t true, that the way Hades could make her warm all the way to her toes meant nothing at all. Who was she to ask for it now?

Kore scrambled for the words to take it back, to tell him he could return to the spot he’d taken on the couch in the great room and they would leave it at that. That she could wake in the morning and pretend nothing had happened and be happier for it.

The mattress dipped as Hades slid in beside her. He took the edge of the blanket and pulled it over him, slowly like he didn’t want to disturb her side of the quilt. He settled on his side with his back to her, the space between them impassable and cold.

Kore nestled herself onto the second pillow and wondered what she had expected.

The minutes ticked past. Kore had spent many nights in much the same way, Theo or Mother curled up beside her, so why did it feel so strange now? Her body burned like she’d lit it on fire from the inside out, a twisting in her stomach that she told herself was from hunger and nothing else.

She closed her eyes, measured her breaths, relaxed her muscles one by one. She counted to one hundred, then did it over again, and hoped Hades couldn’t hear her heart, convinced it needed to gallop against her ribs.

Whether or not Hades noticed, he remained facing away from her until the morning. Kore tried not to think about what that meant.