For the first time in his long existence, he wanted to draw his sword, his many starving heads, all to strike his lord to the ground.
Hades would never tell him what he truly wanted to know.
Several thousand years ago, Cerberus had been little more than a monstrous animal, although sentient and powerful. Maybe he didn’t know what it was like to be purely humanoid. His body had changed, grown substance, and given the form of an ideal man at Hades’ hand.
It had been no small feat. His lord had extended himself on Cerberus’s behalf, far beyond anyone ever before. Hades had only gone to such great lengths for two others: Persephone and his brother, Zeus, during the Titanomachy.
Cerberus was and always would be eternally loyal to Hades. No god, not above nor below, could boast of having a more loyal guardian than Hades.
He turned back toward the ballroom to find Cyane gone. He scanned the crowd searching for her. His other eyes—piercing through Erebus’ twilight—roved as well.
“You’ve never had a consort, have you?” Hades asked.
Cerberus found Cyane before his hounds. She was half-hidden, perched against a wall, catching her breath.
“No, I’ve never taken a consort,” Cerberus muttered.
“No, I suppose you haven’t.”
Cerberus cocked his head, and silence fell between them. He’d never considered taking a consort, had never had the inclination. The few with the power to tempt him, those female goddesses of desire and love, had never encountered him, or he they.
What would he do with a consort if he had one? Lay with her in a bed? He wasn’t willing to shackle himself to a weakness if factions arose against his lord. How could he knowingly place anything above his loyalty to Hades?
Cerberus swept his eyes over the ballroom. There were lamiae, with their serpentine tails and naked torsos, wrapped themselves around the men below, seeding desire. He found nothing enticing about those who took the form of his mother.
The mormolykeiai weaved in and out of the crowd, taking on the bodies of the most beautiful human forms over the centuries and offering them up for perverse delight. Their cold eyes were as hard and deep as his own. He couldn’t look at them without seeing himself.
And then everyone else, who had a name in the pantheon of his choices for consorts, were never appealing enough to bend his loyalty for, at least not long enough to form a bond.
He saw Hermes break away from the dance and float towards Cyane. Cerberus’s eyes narrowed.
She’d moved away from the wall.
He took a step forward, slowly placing his hand on the hilt of his sword but stopped when Hades stood up. The music halted, and Hades spoke.
“Our Queen Persephone captivated me when she spun in the dappled sunlight above.”
A soft laugh could be heard from the guests.
Hades smiled wickedly. “On this day we honor our queen with such a dance, as we have from the start. This festival echoes her story. As many of you have noticed, our gifts change like the seasons each year, and my gifts change as well.”
Cerberus eyed the Lord of the Dead warily.
“Melinoe,” Hades said.
Melinoe stepped out from the shadowed curtains behind them to kneel before her father. She wore a sheer chiton dress that hung from her slight curves, draping from her pointed nipples and hips. The goddesses’ hair was woven into the fabric, becoming apart of the dress as well. The waves of soft linen floated like smoke down her legs.
“My daughter”—Hades didn’t spare her a glimpse—“and Cerberus, my most loyal guardian, will now come together like my queen and I had, so many eons ago.”
Cerberus stilled. The guests clapped. Exuberance followed by all but him. He slowly tore his gaze from Hades to settle on Melinoe, who rose up and looked at Cerberus with an adoration that sickened him.
Hades retook his seat.
Melinoe wasn’t Cerberus’s to deal with. Anger burned through him. She was a blight, a tarnish to Hades’s power and his rule. She was everything Cerberus would never be: betrayal manifested in physical form.
Regardless, Melinoe waited for him to take her hand and lead her to the dancefloor.
The other guests cleared from the floor, drifting to the darker reaches of the room.
