“A warm bowl of soup and a visit with Megan.”
He jerked back to look at me, torment twisting his features.
“I’m not going to hurt her, Hades. I need her help. I think the person who tried to hurt me wasn’t from here.”
“Allow our children to find him and prove their loyalty to you. The one responsible will be punished and forced to drink the same poison he gave you for the next five hundred years.”
The idea of forcing someone to suffer through what I’d just experienced horrified me. But I chose to hug Hades closer rather than say so. He brushed his lips over my forehead and held me to his chest.
Eventually, I calmed enough to stop shaking entirely and eased my hold on him.
“Would you care to stand?” he asked softly.
“I’d care for a chair and a seat on your lap,” I answered, not yet ready to move away from him and the feeling of security that he provided.
He lifted me in his arms and settled into a replica of his throne. The new position gave me a better view of the room. There were still a few people lingering—mostly women—and they were all staring at us.
Zotera hovered nearby, her expression distressed.
“I’m fine,” I said to her.
She nodded but didn’t look convinced as she wrung her hands.
“Maybe some music again?” I asked, looking up at Hades.
The soothing notes of string music immediately filled the room, and without so many people, I could see the source. A woman with tightly curled dark hair plucked at the strings of a lyre. Her nervous gaze flicked from me back down to her hands.
“She’s afraid.” My gaze flicked to the others in the room. “They’re all afraid. Why?”
“They fear your punishment,” Zotera said.
“It is your right to claim your due,” Hades said, his voice hard as he stroked a hand over my arm reassuringly.
“I already named my due. A warm bowl of soup and Megan. That’s all I want.”
Hades’ slow exhale didn’t worry me. He was just afraid like everyone else.
“Can you reassure the women that I’m not going to punish anyone?” I asked Zotera. She inclined her head and went off to speak with the women.
I looked up at Hades.
“Can I have the soup while we wait? Even though my throat doesn’t hurt anymore, I want to drink something soothing.”
A table immediately appeared beside the chair. Steam curled from the single small bowl on its surface.
“What kind is it?” I asked.
“Bone broth.”
I reached for the bowl, shifting on his lap. He grunted, and his hands went to my hips. I ignored the hard length pressing into my backside and took a sip of the broth. It was good and reassured me that I could still drink after all of the cutting pain I’d endured.
“It’s good. Thank you,” I said, sipping some more.
“This isn’t real,” he muttered.
I twisted to look at him, and his fingers twitched on my hips.
“What’s not real?”
