Page 7 of The King of Spring

“I left Thanatos in charge while I was away,” she tells Zeus as she walks beside him along a paved path.

“You’re still raising him, then?” Zeus asks her with a glance of disdain.

He hasopinionsabout the children Hades takes in—deities cast out similarly to the way she was when Hades was sent to the Underworld.

“Nyx was never much of a mother. Ask Hecate,” Hades replies with a tired sigh. Olympus always exhausts her. The sun burns her white skin and makes her feel weak— uneasy—while she is outside of her realm. A reminder that her years in Erebus changed her in physical ways, as well as mental ones.The power of the void that surrounds her dims under Helios’ chariot. “When she was working with Nyx, Hecate said that woman was horribly neglectful. If he wasn’t immortal, Thanatos would’ve died. As Hypnos would have.”

“You should raise your own children, Hades, not the castoffs of others.” Zeus tells her, a note of pity filling him.

Hadeshateswhen Zeus looks at her in such a way—as if he’s judging her for life choices he has no right to judge. She despises him more when they arrive at a white stone building, outside of which stands a statue of Hera surrounded by small, frolicking children.

“Hestia runs the school here,” Zeus tells her, climbing the steps toward the entrance. She’d heard rumors of the school, but wasn’t welcome to see it until now. “If you had children, they would be a most welcome addition to the school.”

“You think I’d send my children to a school on Olympus, rather than educate them at my knee in the Underworld?” Hades counters with a sharp tone. The thought of sending her children—dressed in fine black satin—to a world of color and sunshine seems cruel.

“If your husband is of Olympus, would he have a say in the matter?”

Zeus, the absent father, who advocates for all the other absent fathers. Hades can scarcely contain her eye-roll.

“Who said I need a husband to breed?” Hades hisses, preparing to tear into him when a bell chimes. Absolute chaos fills the corridors, as small, shouting children disperse from opened doors that hide classrooms. Scatters of sparks and gusts of wind swirl around them, following bright laughter spilling from young throats. The sight of them pulls at something in Hades' chest; anxiety locks her limbs with a longing she refuses to share.

Especially with her mocking brother.

“Come on, Eileithyia is waiting,” Zeus tells her, grabbing her upper arm to guide Hades' reluctant form toward a certain door. “Hera will kill me if her precious one waits longer than five minutes.”

Hades allows Zeus to lead her through the pastel world that surrounds them. Yellows, blues, pinks, and pale greens. Murals of frolicking nymphs chasing after baby gods. There’s always so much life in images of children. Animals, green trees, fresh streams, and fields of flowers. Hades always took Thanatos and Hypnos to black sand beaches, where they played in dark gray waters; a tide that moved by monsters rather than the moon. Was that not a proficient way for children to grow and play? Hades measures herself, silently wondering about each parenting failure as Zeus draws her down another mural-covered corridor. They move past white doors with golden numbers hammered into their faces, until they arrive at the door with a gleaming number 6.

“Please,” a loud, childish voice calls out as they enter.

“No, you need to get ready for your parents, Thyia,” a rich, masculine voice replies.

Hades shifts her gaze over the many charts on the walls. The ones with childish renditions of constellations and equally terrible drawings of the ruling gods.

In one, Hades notices a black, waxy scribble with her name scrawled beneath.The Unseen Onewritten beside the image with a teacher’s help. She swallows. Shame lances through her. Hades wonders why she allowed Zeus to keep her here, in this perfect world where she’s viewed as rot.

“Hades,” Eileithyia says with delight. “That’s my aunt,” she tells the two people in the room.

Hades turns toward them; once she’s had her fill of horrid drawings. The woman is a nymph of spring, as Hades can see by the shift of greens in her beautiful eyes. She bows to Hades. Out of respect or fear, Hades can never tell.

“Lady Eileithyia speaks highly of you, Queen Hades,” the nymph says with false bravado. Hades doesn’t snort, but she’s sure her face shows how ridiculous she finds this situation. Mother used to tell Hades she wasn’t suited to politics because she didn’t know how to keep her opinions—or expressions—to herself.

“Hades is her favorite,” Zeus says to the man before him, a god Hades finally looks upon. It’s the same god she saw in Zeus' garden when she first arrived in Olympus this morning. The one whose hands felt like a warm summer day. Hades' heart beats an excited rhythm.

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

“Poseidon is too full of himself to be liked by my kids. So, honestly, they don’t have many options for favorite aunts or uncles,” Zeus rambles on, oblivious to Hades' cruel musings and desperate heart.

Hades glares at her brother and the other god bites his lower lip to stifle a laugh. He is handsome, as most gods are, but there’s a playfulness that radiates from this still-nameless god that Hades finds surprising. Most gods cower in the presence of the Three Rulers. Not this one. He grins at her as if she’s another of the many lesser gods that surround him. Strange and intriguing.

“Well, my queen,” the radiant god says, bowing in Hades' direction. “Your beauty is unparalleled. I can see why our young princess heaps praises upon you.”

Zeus' expression morphs; his smile turns cunning as he glances between Hades and the god who stands before them. “I haven’t given you a proper introduction. Where are my manners?” Zeus gestures toward the other god. “Hades, this is Kore. He works closely with Demeter.”

That also piques her curiosity. Demeter is a notorious hater of men. Rumors used to swirl that she killed her lovers after she bedded them—like a black widow.

“You must be extremely talented to find yourself in Demeter’s favor,” Hades says, watching him with renewed interest.

Kore’s smile turns tight, and the light in his eyes grows darker—morphing into the color of an angry sky that’s about to unleash a storm. “I don’t know about that,” Kore says after a brief length, his tone and mannerisms retreating.

---