Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“Don’t you?” he asks, leaning his forehead against mine.
“No,” I say softly. “One cannot be blamed for such pain. You reacted in the way you did, and I’ve heard of it, and now the Underworld is healing again. Whatever hurt you caused is not permanent.”
“Some of it is.”
“And you can make up for it. You can be the ruler of your realms. You can be the king I know you are.”
“I would be any kind of king for you, my queen.”
His words force my chest to ache in a way that I’m becoming too familiar with. This tortuous pull that rests in hopelessness. I keep that pain inside me, not saying a word about it, until Hades seems to be able to relax and let go of some of the guilt he feels. I don’t think he should let go of it completely, nor do I think any ruler should—but he cannot suffer from it forever and let it corrupt him as a king. Afterall, the gods are flawed and it is in those flaws that balance lies.
He would never forgive himself.
I would forgive him, but he would not, and I cannot let that be his life.
We must move on from this. I do not wish to stay in this torment.
I pull back and put my hands on either side of his neck. He slides his hands from my wrists to my shoulders, then back down to my waist, watching me as he does.
“Tell me what you are thinking, my queen.”
I take a deep breath.
“I…must go back.” My throat tightens and I nearly choke on the admission. It hurts to say the words, but it will hurt more to pretend they are not true. We must be able to discuss this. The pomegranate seeds. The mortal realm. The duties I have to the mortals who dwell there. The duty to my mother. He must realize the pain it causes her and that she too would rather destroy herself than live in that agony. “You know that, don’t you?”
“You must stay,” he answers coldly, both his hands tightening on my waist. “You know that. Don’t you?” The air chills around me with his possessiveness.
I stare into his steely gaze, unable to make myself argue with him. My heart ticks, ticks, ticks. I know I must do both. I cannot see how I could choose one life over the other when they are both mine. It would mean abandoning one of the realms, and every time I think of that possibility, I’m sick to my stomach. The churning revolts inside of me.
Hades frowns as my thumb brushes over his lips. He has marks from my fingernails on his chest and shoulders. It would be much easier to lose myself to his kiss and his body than to have this conversation, but it is unavoidable, just like the choice I must make.
“Do you not feel your power here?” he asks as he lifts one of his hands from my waist and brushes a lock of hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ear. “Do you not sense your belonging?” His question is a whispered hush; a deep crease forms between his brows.
Without my conscious permission, I release another breath, this one carrying both the sorrow I feel at being separated from Hades and the joy I feel at walking the paths here and having the power of the Underworld within me.
I don’t know how to explain to him that I know it is a gift I have been given. My father should not have poisoned me with the wine. He should never have tried to make me into a mortal. But the absence of my powers taught me how valuable they are—in every form.
I crave it all. I am destined for it all. I know it so.
“I do belong here,” I answer him, looking back into his eyes. I hope he can see how much conviction I have in the statement. I don’t need to return to Olympus because I think the powers I have there are more worthy of my time. That is not the reason. “I have never felt more powerful than I do beside you.”
He studies me, his expression a mix of sadness and pride and need and love. It’s a very complicated expression, but I understand it without him having to explain.
Hades takes my face in one hand and strokes my cheek. “I have a gift for you.”
“What?”
He reaches over to the table at the bedside, eases the drawer open, and takes something out.
It’s a crown. With sharp obsidian points that reflect the light beautifully.
It’s dark, and yet it shines in the light. There are black, crystalline jewels worked into the delicate palladium and brushed silver, and when Hades turns it in various directions to show me all its angles, I cannot catch my breath.