by Lianyu Tan
Hades moved before Persephone could scramble away and grabbed her hair, pulling it tight at the base of her neck. Persephone immediately reached up to free herself, and Hades captured her wrists with her other hand.
“It does not matter what you say, daughter of Demeter. We will be wed, and you will rule beside me, as you were born to do.” Hades leaned forward and kissed the pulse in Persephone’s neck.
Persephone screamed.
“A voice to rival the harpies, I see,” Hades said, flipping her over until Persephone’s cheek pressed into the grass. Hades tore her sodden chiton free of its remaining fibula and then ripped it along its side seams, using the wet material to bind Persephone’s wrists behind her back. She grabbed Persephone’s ankles and used the other side of the chiton to bind those, too.
Persephone struggled the whole time, her mind warring between hyper vigilance and longing to sink down into the deep, dark forgetting, where bulbs went after spring. She tried not to cry, knowing her tears would not move Hades, but it seemed a losing battle.
Hades tugged at the knot of Persephone’s strophion, her breastband, until the material loosened. She pulled, and the strip of fabric came free, slithering over Persephone’s skin and baring her breasts. It left Persephone nude save for her perizoma, the scrap of fabric covering her sex, secured to her body by ties at both hips.
“We are not wed,” Persephone repeated as Hades rolled her over until she was looking up into Hades’ eyes. A slight breeze ran over her naked skin, and she shivered, her nipples hardening.
“No,” Hades said. “Do not despair. I only wish to look at you.”
Persephone shifted uneasily in her bonds, testing their strength. The wet fabric would tighten as it dried, though Hades would have to release her before that happened. Wouldn’t she?
Hades’ ravenous gaze traveled over her body, as if devouring her. She ran a finger across Persephone’s neck, and Persephone flinched.
“You took something of mine, did you not?” Hades asked. “You stole from me. Where is it?”
Persephone tried to shift a little to the side, to avoid the pressure of Hades’ touch. “It fell... It will be somewhere in the marsh.”
“Well, my little jewel thief, I will have to take something of equal value.” A dagger appeared in Hades’ hand, and she spun it between her fingertips while looking down at the taut arc of Persephone’s body.
It was her dagger, Persephone realized, recognizing it from the design of the hilt. She made a small sound of disbelief as Hades used the edge of it to tickle her collarbone.
“At least you did not try to leave unarmed,” Hades said. She traced the curve of one breast using the tip of the blade, although she did not press hard enough to break the skin.
Persephone couldn’t bear to look, but she also didn’t dare look away. There was something hypnotic about the play of light on metal, the way the tendons in Hades’ hand stood out where she gripped the dagger.
The blade trailed down, over the plane of her stomach and across the rise of her hipbone. It dipped under the left tie holding Persephone’s perizoma together and moved away from her body, sawing through the fabric.
The last thread broke and the tie fell away. Hades repeated the movement on the right side and then used the tip of the blade to pull away the remaining cloth, removing the last scrap of Persephone’s modesty.
Persephone was grateful for the obscuring gloom of the night. Her hands clenched and unclenched, the unpleasant lump of her bound wrists digging into the small of her back. When Hades set the dagger down and ran her hands over Persephone’s hips, she exhaled in a hiss. “You said you would only look.”
“I know.”
Hades’ hands trailed upward, briefly cupping her breasts. She pinched a nipple, and Persephone flinched, shoulders rising as she pulled at her bonds.
“We are not wed,” she ground out between her teeth.
“I know. I am all the things the legends say I am.”
“Merciful?” Persephone tried, as though Hades had a better nature that was vulnerable to flattery.
“Not today.” Hades pressed her knee in between Persephone’s legs, spreading them. With her ankles bound, this pushed her legs to either side, exposing her sex. Hades placed a hand on the inside of Persephone’s thigh, her fingers cool against her flushed skin. Hades exhaled in a hiss. “So soft.”
Persephone turned her head to one side and bit her tongue. The dreams of the earth called out to her, but her head was too clouded to sink down in their embrace.
Hades ran her fingertips from the inside of Persephone’s knee along her thigh, pausing when she reached her sex. She crooked her fingers in a single, long swipe, and Persephone gritted her teeth together not to scream as Hades’ calluses ran over her overly sensitive flesh.
Much to Persephone’s shame, Hades brought her fingers up to inspect them, seeing how they glistened. She placed them between her lips and ran her tongue over them, her eyes dark with lust. “Which one of your nymphs has tasted you?” she asked.
In any other conversation, Persephone would not have understood the question, but in this context, its meaning seemed clear. If there was a right answer, one that would make Hades lose interest in her, she wasn’t entirely certain what it could be, so she fell back upon the truth. “None of them.”
Hades nibbled at her fingers and looked down at Persephone like a starving man faced with a chalice of ambrosia.
If Persephone had been able to sink down and become one with the earth, she would’ve done so. Better to disappear than to remain in this fleshy body and be subjected to Hades’ all-seeing gaze.
Persephone’s voice trembled. “We are—”
“Not yet wed. I know.” Hades heaved a great sigh and rocked back on her heels, chewing on her bottom lip. Her breath fogged in the cool night air as she exhaled.
“Hades—”
“Be quiet, Persephone.” Hades took the dagger, wrapped it in Persephone’s ruined perizoma and tucked it into her belt. She then picked up Persephone, still bound at wrists and ankles, and slung her over her shoulder.
The sudden movement made Persephone gag, and she might have thrown up if there had been anything left in her stomach. Every step Hades took made her head sway from side to side, the tip of her long braid trailing against the grass. She didn’t dare believe that Hades was not going to assault her that night until she caught a glimpse of Alastor’s head as he munched idly on some grass. They were leaving this place and returning to civilization. Relief swelled in her chest.
Hades swung Persephone sidesaddle over Alastor’s back. Persephone gripped his mane with the tips of her fingers, unable to properly balance herself.
Hades climbed up behind her and wrapped her arms around Persephone’s waist, her chin nestled above Persephone’s head. It was a disturbingly intimate position, even accounting for what she’d almost just done, and had Persephone not been bound hand and foot, she would have found the proximity intolerable.
Hades took the reins and clicked her tongue. Alastor began to move, jolting his riders and forcing Persephone to lean against Hades in order to avoid falling off.
“You’re taking us back? Like this?” Persephone asked.
“If you would prefer me to leave bite marks all over you first, there is still time for that.”
Persephone swung her ankles and managed to kick Hades’ shin, bruising her own heels in the process. “I’m naked!”
Hades rolled her eyes, but she released the reins for a moment to pull off her chlamys and place it over Persephone’s shoulders. The cape was too short to be anywhere near decent, but Persephone shrugged her way into it so it at least covered her from shoulders to thighs.
They didn’t speak the whole ride back, Persephone preoccupied with trying not to lean against Hades whilst not falling off as Alastor picked up speed. Despite their combined weight, he galloped faster than before when it had only been Persephone at the reins. She was dizzy and aching by the time he tr
otted to the stables, coming to a halt by the door.
The young groom came out to greet them, his face turning red as he averted his eyes from Persephone. “M-my queen,” he stammered, the lump in his throat bobbing.
Hades gathered Persephone in her arms and leapt down. “The hour is late, Eustachys, but please find a treat for Alastor. He has endured much tonight.”
“Of course, Queen Hades.” The groom—Eustachys—reached out and took Alastor’s reins, though he cast a single sideways look at Persephone before heading into the stables.
She couldn’t believe that Hades would allow the servants to gawk at her like that. “Are you going to untie me now? I can walk,” she said in her frostiest voice.
“Why should I? You might run, and then I would have to chase you again. I cannot promise you restraint next time.”
If that had been restraint, Persephone didn’t want to know what Hades would do to her once they were married and her virtue became a distant memory.
It startled her to find herself imagining a life after marriage, as though she had already given up on the idea of an escape or rescue, not more than a day after her arrival. She blamed it on the underworld itself, which was dreary enough to make anyone lose hope.
Before Persephone could protest, Hades swung her over her shoulder again as though she were nothing more than a sack of grain and walked into the palace. Persephone couldn’t even scream for fear of attracting more servants; instead, she hung miserably in Hades’ grasp, the ichor in her veins rushing to her head, the ends of her wrist ties dragging on the floor.
To her relief, only Xenia was waiting for them in her chambers. Xenia’s eyes widened briefly, then she lowered her gaze. “Queen Hades.”
“Please do not permit her to run around for the rest of the night. I want her well-rested for tomorrow.”
“Yes, my queen.”
Hades set Persephone on her feet and then was gone.
Persephone flinched away, almost falling when Xenia tried to place a hand on her elbow to steady her. “Just untie me already!”
“Of course, mistress,” Xenia said in the calm, measured tone of a servant who could pretend she had not seen her mistress’s humiliation.
As soon as she was free, Persephone threw off the chlamys, unwilling to wear an article of Hades’ clothing for a minute longer. She pulled on a tunic, and Xenia escorted her to the bathing chamber, which was empty and silent at this time of night.
The water was cold, chilling her as it sluiced over her back. She washed quickly, trying to scrub out the memory of Hades’ hands and the hands of the dead wandering over her body, and then it was time to crawl into bed and pretend that this night had never happened.
“Good night, mistress,” Xenia said from her seat at the other end of the bed.
Persephone rolled over until she was facing away from Xenia. “You don’t need to sit here. Just lock me in and be done with it.”
“Yes, mistress,” Xenia said without moving.
Persephone wrapped a pillow around her head and closed her eyes. She could still hear Xenia’s breathing. The sound sawed at the edge of her consciousness, despite her body’s fatigue. She forced herself to try to relax, knowing she could not face the next day without sleep. In time, her mind floated down into the dreaming earth and her worries evaporated, at least for a while.
8
The Wedding
The next day, Xenia did not allow Persephone to be unattended. Her fingernails and toenails were scrubbed and trimmed, her hair neatened, and once dressed she was taken to a temple dedicated to Gaia, where she spent hours on her knees in prayer.
She could scarcely pray for her marriage to be blessed, as a bride should. Instead, she prayed for deliverance and compassion. Failing that, she prayed for Hades’ ruination. If the goddess heard her, Persephone saw no sign.
The servants gently coaxed her out of the temple, where she would’ve remained forever, given the chance. The rest of the day saw her fitted in her wedding attire, the serving girls taking up the hem by a few fingers’ widths.
Persephone had never felt so decorative and useless. She watched the needlework; the girls might as well have been sewing her shroud.
The day ended without a single glimpse of Hades, though she was never far from Persephone’s mind.
The morning after that began with a bath. She had to be dragged out of the cold water, her fingertips wrinkled, and then was forced to sit in a chair for what felt like hours as her hair was coiled into an elaborate confection of braids interwoven with precious gems.
Persephone suffered through all of this in a haze of detachment. This could not possibly be happening to her, and therefore it was not.
Xenia brushed some powder over her cheeks and dabbed at her lips. She stood back to observe her work. Persephone’s head was heavy with gems, and even the slightest movement of her neck was tiresome. Nonetheless she could not fail to be moved by Xenia’s undisguised joy.
“You’ll make a beautiful consort,” Xenia said.
Persephone’s kind mood vanished. She longed to run her fingers through her hair, rip out all the accoutrements, stamp her feet and insist on being taken back home. The only thing stopping her was the knowledge that such actions would be futile. Every denizen of the underworld obeyed Hades, and Hades, it seemed, had no intention of letting her go.
“I don’t wish to marry her.”
Xenia fussed around, placing a saffron-dyed veil over Persephone’s hair, delicately draping the yellow fabric as not to snag on any of the jewels in her stephane. “It’s normal for a bride to have jitters on her special day.”
Had they not heard her? Persephone thought that all the screaming upon her arrival had provided sufficient indication, but it seemed everyone was conveniently ignoring the fact that she had been dragged here against her will.
“I never chose Hades,” Persephone tried again.
Xenia glanced at her with sympathy, and she patted Persephone’s shoulder. “Most brides don’t choose, dear. Be glad your father permitted such a fine match.”
Persephone needed to throw up, but there was nothing left inside of her. Terrified of accidentally binding herself to this place, she had neither eaten nor drunk since arrival. Gods and goddesses could survive much longer than mortals without sustenance, but the process was not pleasant.
“Are you almost done?” Persephone asked. Not that she wanted the day to go any faster. As soon as the rituals ended, she would be left alone with Hades, and she wished to delay that moment as long as possible. But listening to Xenia prattle on, as if Persephone were some kind of blushing bride, was almost just as unbearable.
“Not long, dear, not long.”
Persephone’s head ached. She needed fresh air and the touch of the sun against her skin. She was a wild violet, plucked and left to wither in some dark corner, far from her natural home. Could Hades not see that this would be the end of her?
Xenia set down her brush, and foolishly, Persephone thought this meant her ordeal was over. But Xenia only pursed her lips, looking at Persephone’s face, as if she could see something not visible to the eye. She clapped her hands, and all the other servants looked up. Until that moment, Persephone had almost forgotten about their existence—her mother’s servants were always gaily chattering, and so it was impossible to forget they were there—but the ladies serving her were either so well-trained or so terrified that they had uttered barely a sound as Xenia had worked.
Xenia gestured, and they all obediently made a single file and left the room. She closed the door on the last of them and then leaned against the door as though warding off any stray maid who would dare try and interrupt.
When at last she and Persephone were alone, she plastered a smile on her face and brought her hands together. “Now, mistress, forgive me for being forward, but... did your honored mother explain to you each facet of a wife’s duties?”
Persephone’s mind went blank. Now? They were doing this now, and with a servan
t who would report directly back to her abductor, no less? “Yes,” she said, jaw clenched. She turned aside, but Xenia would not be thwarted.
“It’s only that... well, after the feast, there won’t be much time for us to speak in private if you have questions—”
“Why is she doing this?”
Xenia had clearly braced herself for a different sort of question. She opened her mouth, closed it again, then spoke. “Every hard-working ruler needs a good wife by their side.”
It was as though Persephone were yelling down a deep chasm and nothing was coming back save for the twisted echo of her own voice. “Not everyone takes that wife by deception.”
Xenia smiled sadly, giving her a pitying glance. She wasn’t so indecorous to mention Persephone’s father, but they were both thinking it. Fine—the rest of the gods were no paragons of morality; everyone knew that. It didn’t make it right.
Persephone placed both hands flat on the small table and rose, the folds of her chiton weighing heavily about her as the hem settled around her ankles. “Enough. Let’s be done with this farce.”
Outside, the other servant girls were already waiting for them, lining the corridors on both sides and dressed in identical gowns of pale green, like the calyx to her flower. They bowed their heads as Persephone approached, then turned to follow behind in rows of two.
Xenia led the way to the Great Hall. Already, Persephone’s elaborate coiffure was beginning to weigh down on her skull. She wondered how she could dance in all this finery. Would she be expected to dance? The thought of having to feign any kind of joy at this travesty of a wedding was utterly repugnant.
They stopped at the doors to the Great Hall, where Xenia swept her gaze once more over Persephone. She fussed with the veil, arranging it to fall over Persephone’s eyes, concealing her face and blurring the world in an amber-colored haze.
If this were a proper wedding, Demeter might have been the one to perform such an intimate function. Persephone pressed her lips together, resolving not to weep as the doors swung inward, revealing their wedding party to the crowd.
