Persephone had always been an enigma. Goddess or mortal, she remained impossible to fully grasp.
He still remembered the first time he saw her, recognizing something singular in her despite her minor goddess status. But he hadn’t possessed Hades’s luck. Demeter had fixed her attention on him, blocking his approach, while the true serpent slithered unnoticed into her garden.
His bitterness over that had faded. Mostly.
Just as he’d anticipated, Persephone chose that moment to make her entrance.
She wore red, a gown of bold, defiant crimson. The bodice dipped dangerously low, the skirt flowing like liquid flame. Obsidian embroidery traced its surface: roses with thorns and split pomegranates.
And she wore a skull mask. Flames seemed to flicker across the bone-white surface, etched in black. Hades’s symbol. A clear, unmistakable declaration.
Every eye in the hall snapped to her. Every conversation died.
It was as if she’d never left. Yet this was not the Persephone Apollo remembered from before the curse.
She shone brighter than any goddess present, brighter even than Aphrodite, who stood nearby in a gown of white silk that clung to every curve. From Aphrodite’s venomous stare, she knew it too.
It wasn’t merely beauty, though Persephone was devastating. All the gods were adorned in their finest: Zeus in imperial purple and gold, Hera in peacock blue and diamonds, Athena in silver that looked like armor.
It was her power. Her unapologetic and unshakeable confidence, forged in fire and death. In Olympus, power always trumped beauty.
The banquet hall was opulent. The floor gleamed like liquid gold, its surface studded with rubies and emeralds. Chandeliers of diamond hung from the vaulted ceiling. Marble columnssheathed in platinum lined the space. Crystal tables held drinks and food.
From a high gallery, enchanted instruments played melodies no mortal ears could comprehend.
Persephone had arrived fashionably late to her own celebration, deliberately missing Zeus’s grand speech.
A clever move.
No one had missed her earlier defiance in the arena—she alone had refused to kneel. Had she come at the beginning, she would have been forced to at least bow to the King of Gods. Here in his city, under his domain, she remained subject to his authority.
Zeus was not pleased with the loophole she’d exploited, but he let it pass, for now. The flash of annoyance on his arrogant face behind the lion mask as she entered was a sight Apollo savored.
The party’s atmosphere had been building toward a crescendo. Gods and goddesses mingled, their laughter too loud, their voices carrying that particular edge immortals adopted when determined to enjoy themselves. Wine flowed. Lovers vanished into alcoves to fuck. Politics were murmured over toasting, old feuds suspended while new ones simmered.
As the music swelled, signaling the start of the dance, Apollo pushed himself from the column and strode toward Persephone. He needed to speak with her—hadn’t had the chance since he pulled her from beneath the Fates’ cave.
But a drove of gods had already descended upon her like vultures, lining up the moment she appeared. Everyone wanted a dance with her. For this masked ball, tradition held that so long as the masks stayed on, any partner could be taken to bed for the night.
Every god wanted to bed Persephone tonight. Not even the flaming death skull—Hades’s mark blazing on her face—coulddeter them. To sleep with the Queen of the Underworld would give them bragging rights that would last centuries.
Lightning cracked, striking the marble between Persephone and her would-be suitors. The thunderclap sent several gods stumbling back.
Zeus pushed through the crowd, his lion mask doing little to hide his intent.
Before he could reach her, Apollo unleashed a burst of sunlight. The radiance blinded everyone in the hall. In the precious seconds his power froze Zeus mid-stride, Apollo moved faster than a sunbeam. He cut in front of the King of Gods and pulled Persephone into his arms.
“Sorry, sir.” Apollo smirked over his shoulder as he spun her away. “You’re next in line.”
Rage poured from Zeus. Lightning traced across his lion mask, but Apollo had already swept Persephone from the circle of grasping hands and hungry eyes.
“Good choice, Bloom,” he said, still using her mortal name. It was Bloom he’d formed a bond with at the academy. “Though I doubt anyone here appreciates the dark humor of that death mask.”
Zeus, for one, clearly did not approve of the mask. Neither did Demeter, who had been muttering about her daughter ditching the mask of roses and plants she’d carefully prepared.
“I’m only returning their brand of humor,” Persephone said, her voice almost pleasant. “They watched me die, lifetime after lifetime. I thought they might appreciate seeing death stare back at them for once.” She tilted her head to regard him. “You shouldn’t wear the sun. Wouldn’t a pirate’s mask be more fitting?”
Apollo laughed. “Guess I’m misunderstood too. I can live with that. But they made a terrible mistake by underestimatingyou. They think you just rolled over, happy to be allowed to return home, and that you’ve slid right back into place.”
