Page 54 of Curse the Flame

At the time, I thought I understood what it meant. That is was equal parts trap and warning, and once Aiden started explaining that the magic that brought us to this world would only let us leave it if we acted as though we’ve always been Hades and Persephone and played their parts well enough that it satisfied our legend, I accepted that that was what it meant.

Even from the beginning, though, I knew it would come down to the pomegranate. That particular fruit is what everybody remembers about their story. About how Hades tricked his unwilling bride into eating its seeds in order to keep her in the Underworld with him. She only ate six, making it so that she was his prisoner for half the year, but she still ate them.

I can’t. At least, I didn’t that first night. But now, staring at the tree, I can’t help but wonder if that’s what I’m supposed to do.

Not because I want to go home. I think I’ve always understood that, from the moment I let my guard down around Aiden and got to know him, I wasn’t leaving. I didn’t even know if the magic would let me go, and it’s not like Persephone isn’t in my ear constantly, telling me that we belong with Hades.

And that’s why I’m not all that surprised to find a pomegranate tree here and now. I don’t know if it’s the magic giving me a nudge or not, but there’s no denying the fact that these pomegranates… they’re mine.

I grew them. I had to have. Everything else in the garden seems to respond to my emotions, which is sweet in theory and slightly freaky when you think about it as someone who hasn’t spent the last three months in the Other. After I kissed Aiden, the roses bloomed so quickly that one of the vines cracked a stone railing. Three days later, when I woke with his arm around me and realized I wanted to stay in bed with him forever—and not just sleep—wildflowers bloomed on the path that leads toward the southside of the palace.

And now, after I looked as Aiden last night during supper and imagined spending the rest of eternity with a man I’ve literally known for months but, in truth, I’ve known forever… the pomegranate is here.

Tempting me.

Taunting me.

My stomach twists as I move closer to it, but the feeling has nothing to do with unease.

Darn it. I’m hungry.

Not the vague, hollow discomfort I’ve learned to ignore whenever I get so sick of ambrosia that I go days surviving on water and the occasional sip of nectar. This is sudden and sharp, a physical ache that makes my mouth water the moment I reach the lowest branch.

For three months, I’ve stubbornly lived on ambrosia, though I don’t technically have to eat. Like, I won’t die and become a shade if I stop, but I’ve spent twenty-eight years with the habit of eating whatever I want. It was a big shock that I couldn’t in the Underworld, but, well, I couldn’t unless I wanted to close the door on ever returning home.

It doesn’t hurt as much, thinking about what I left behind. I still miss Daphne fiercely, but if she knew that I was happy with Aiden… I would feel so much better about her living her life in Manhattan while I stayed here⁠—

And, whoa. Why did I just make it seem like it’s a done deal?

Because I’m dying to find out what Persephone’s pomegranates taste like?

I’m so sick and tired of ambrosia. True, it keeps my mortal—and immortal side, too—from growing weak. It takes away the worst of the hunger when I force myself to swallow it, but I’ve never wanted it. I don’t crave it. And I know it’s not just the habit of eating that’s messing with me. I have no problem sitting at the table while Aiden eats; mainly because I refused to go downstairs and join him at the table unless he did because I hated the idea of him going hungry on my account. I’ve been hungry before, but when I look at the pomegranate tree… I’m starving.

I can smell the pomegranate before I touch it.

Sweet and tart, but also bright enough to cut through the cool air of the Underworld. The scent reminds me of summer even though it’s been three months since I stood beneath the sun. It makes something inside of me clench with need, and I know instinctively that it’s not because I want to feel the sun shining on my face again.

No. I just want to eat this.

Do it, whispers Persephone. It’s what you were born to do…

I reach up and curl my fingers around the nearest fruit.

I should let go.

I know the story. Everyone knows the story.

Persephone eats pomegranate seeds and binds herself to the Underworld. Depending on who tells it, she’s tricked, tempted, or too foolish to understand what she’s doing. Hades gives her the fruit, and the moment she tastes it, her fate belongs to him.

Only Aiden hasn’t given me anything. He didn’t lead me to the tree. He didn’t place a pomegranate in my hand. He isn’t standing behind me, asking me to choose.

He’s given me all the time in the world I need to make choices for myself.

He leaves doors unlocked even though Persephone admits that Hades hates it. He lets me walk the palace without any sort of chaperone or guard; except for Sir, of course. He answers every question I ask—about his past, about any possible future—even when I can tell I’ve accidentally hurt him with them. When I ask for space to think, he gives it to me. When I reach for him, he looks at me as though I’ve handed him something precious.

He sleeps beside me every night and never asks for more.

Not even after I kissed him.