Page 16 of The King of Spring

“Very good,” Hecate praises, grinning. “No matter what, I am proud of you and I will follow wherever you lead.”

Hades reaches for Hecate’s hand, squeezing hers in silent gratitude before grabbing the black satin gloves.

“It’s time to finish dressing for my funeral,” Hades tells Hecate with a grim voice.

* * *

Zeus outdoeshimself for this charade. The grand ballroom of his palace drips with gold—gold statues of the twelve gods of Olympus, gold goblets, gold dinnerware, and golden chandeliers. Everywhere Hades turns she’s blinded with gold. Even the guests wear an inordinate amount of gold. Bangles adorn many of the goddesses' arms, along with heavy, long earrings; and golden ornaments in their hair. The gods also sparkle with golden laurel leaves, gilded rings, watches, and other ornamentations that Hades doesn’t pause to study. She’s dizzy from the room and the people gathered within.

Zeus, standing at her side, chuckles. “Look at how they’ve all turned out for you, my dear sister.”

He didn’t admonish her for changing her clothes, and Hades suspects he wanted her to defy him. Everything Zeus does feels like a trap, and she’s the mouse who hasn’t puzzled out the new maze.

She doesn’t respond, allowing him to take her hand and lead her before his people. Hades feels the heaviness of the room’s silence as they stop before Zeus' ornate,goldenthrone.

“My people,” he booms, though he needn’t. The room grows quiet at their arrival, still as a stagnant pond. “Tonight is a celebration! Tonight is the night worthy Olympians step forth to claim my sister as their prize.”

Prize,Hades thinks with a glower, ripping her hand from Zeus' hold. He stares at her, confused. She gives him a cruel smile, her eyes warning that she is about to gift him another shock.

“I will be no prize.” Hades tells the room with a voice that is quieter than Zeus’, but sharper in tone. Hatred drips off each syllable as she glares around the room. “I am the Queen of the Underworld. I am not a prize for a would-be king. I am a ruler, and marriage will not change that fact. If you’ve come looking for a helpless, mewling puppet then I am too glad to disappoint your expectations. I was a warrior before most of you were conceived; I will be a ruler long after you lose your relevancy to mortals.”

Hades raises her arms, black satin covering most of her skin, as she declares, “While your temples stand empty—barren—my name will still hold fear. I will be the last queen standing among the rubble of your memory. Do not forget this.” Hades turns toward Zeus. “You especially, brother. Remember the one you wronged when your temples rot with abandonment.”

Hades turns to address their audience once more. “My brother makes your choice clear. To marry me is to descend to the Underworld. Yet, without a willing tribute, you risk war. Who is willing to sacrifice themselves to darkness?”

Zeus’ jaw hardens and his face morphs with a dangerous expression, but he doesn’t speak. He knows anger will emphasize her point. Only a god who knows fear turns angry, and Hades is well aware that she’s filled her brother with the fear that haunts his nightmares.

Irrelevance.

Hades basks in the silence, turning from one face to the next, daring them to look upon her as something tamable. Her grin isn’t kind, but rather a sneering twist that should keep those with weak will far away.

Cowards, that’s what these Olympians are. They are vapid fools who believe that ruling a kingdom equates to spinning around gilded rooms, drinking ambrosia wine, and exchanging backhanded compliments as pretend niceties. If any god here approaches her with such beliefs, Hades will castrate him and save his future bride the trouble of bearing his offspring. No one should have a father so stupid.

She moves away from her brother, descending the stairs at the foot of the throne’s dais. As Hades draws closer, the crowd recedes. Her presence creates a barrier of visible fear. Hades contains her grin of triumph, but inside she’s beaming with pride. She pauses at the foot of the stairs with her head—and heavy crown—held high.

“Which of you will have me as yourprizenow?” Hades challenges, clasping her hands in front of her dress. “Who among the Olympians here believes that they are worthy to be called the Consort of Hades?”

Hades hides her amusement when no one steps forward. She glances around the crowd, noting all the people who refuse to meet her gaze. A cold laugh pours from her throat.

“Not a one of you is brave enough to step forward.” She turns back, glancing up at her brother with a mocking grin.

Zeus, mouth pinched, says nothing in reply.

“Well, my king,” Hades simpers, with blatant disrespect. “How am I meant to choose when not a single one is willing to take me?”

Zeus' hands flex, and she knows what’s coming. Deep within her gut, Hades can feel her own energy thrumming. She’s ready to call forth her bident and activate her helm of invisibility should he produce a lightning bolt.

Within Zeus' palm, energy crackles. But before he can call forth lightning, a voice rings out behind her turned back.

“I would have you take me, my queen, to be your consort.”

Hades knows that voice, the one that’s full of sunshine–—warm and comforting.

She turns and therehestands—Kore—with wheat-gold hair and eyes like a spring sky.

He wets his lips with his tongue and swallows as he repeats, “I will be your consort, my queen.”

Once is Luck. Twice is Coincidence. Thrice is Fate.

---