The Goddess Test Boxed Set

by Aimee Carter

But that was all Calliope was to Walter—a possession. A trophy. A pet on a leash he’d thought he’d tamed, but here she was, out of her cage and desperate for her freedom. And Hades couldn’t give it to her.

  He wanted to. Not because he loved her the way she so clearly loved him, and certainly not because he wished to start a war. But because no one deserved the kind of life Calliope had lived. No one deserved to lose herself the way she had, buried underneath her husband’s pride, lost in the eternity of his wrath. After having kept Persephone for so long without allowing her the freedom she had craved, the notion of giving Calliope the very thing he hadn’t given her was intoxicating. Redemption, in his own small way. A chance to prove to himself—and to Persephone—that he was not a monster, even if he knew it would be a lie.

  That was not enough, though. It was not enough to give Calliope false hope that someday he might love her; it was not enough to string her along the way Zeus had. It was not enough to start a war the council could never finish. It was not enough to risk humanity and break every rule he’d made for himself since Persephone’s death.

  It was not enough to risk his own heart, selfish as it was. And it was not enough to give himself one more chance at happiness. Calliope may have deserved it, but he did not, and he could not see past that no matter how hard he tried.

  “I am flattered,” he said quietly, unable to look her in the eye any longer. She would instantly know what these words meant, but he could not find it in himself to give her even the slightest amount of hope. It would only be another cruelty. “But you are my brother’s wife, and there are certain boundaries I cannot cross.”

  Rather than stand in indignation or hurt, Calliope tightened her fingers around his. “Please,” she whispered, sounding more like a young girl than she had in a long time. “I’ll explain it to Walter—I’ll make sure he knows it wasn’t your idea. I just—I can’t live there anymore. I love you. I’ve loved you for longer than I’ve ever loved anyone, and all I’m asking for is a chance.”

  “That is a chance I cannot give you,” he said, focusing on their intertwined hands. A world of what-ifs in a single gesture. “I am sorrier than words can describe, but you deserve better than a life in my world. With me. I could not love you, not the way you love me, and I would rather fade than see this place choke the life out of you as it did Persephone—”

  “Persephone?” She choked on the name. “Is that why you’re doing this? Because of her? Because she didn’t love you?”

  “Partially,” he allowed, and she touched his chin, forcing him to look at her. He would’ve expected tears by now from the waves of frustration rolling off her, but her eyes were dry.

  “What if—what if she was never meant to love you?” Her tone took on a strange quality, as if she were pushing him toward something he couldn’t see. “What if it wasn’t your fault or hers?”

  A grave suspicion filled him. “What are you saying?” he said, trying to see past her determination to whatever lay beneath. “Are you implying someone manipulated Persephone—”

  “What? No, no, of course not,” she said quickly. “I only mean—what if you were incompatible? What if you fell in love with someone who simply wasn’t right for you? That’s all I mean.”

  He watched her for a long moment, searching for a lie he knew was there. But because he loved her, because he wanted to see the best in her when no one else would, because the thought of her betrayal was too much to bear, he believed her. His shoulders sagged, and he slipped his hand from hers. “Regardless of the reasons, the past is the past, and there is nothing I can do to change it. I am sorry for your lot in life, Calliope. I hope someday you discover a way to leave it behind and find the life you deserve, but I cannot love you the way you want me to, and I cannot hurt you more than I already have. You will always have an ally and a friend in me. But that is all we will ever be.”

  There it was—the pain he knew he would eventually cause her no matter his answer. It burned like fire in her eyes, and she stood with the pride and grace of a queen. She was remarkable, worthy of so much more than either him or his brother, and perhaps one day she would find it. But today would not be that day.

  “Are you certain?” she said, her hands clasped in front of her. “I will not offer myself to you again, Hades, no matter how true my feelings will remain.”

  He stood, inclining his head in a show of respect for who and what she was, even if the rest of the council no longer deigned to recognize it. “I will always be here for you as I was all those years ago. But as much as I treasure your company, I am afraid we can never be more than what we are now. I have hurt our family enough as it is, and I cannot allow myself to cause anyone any more strife. Especially someone I care about as deeply as you.”

  “And what about my feelings?” she whispered. “Don’t they matter?”

  He took her hand gently and brushed his lips against her knuckles. “They matter far more than my own, and that is why I must decline. I am a shell. I am a shadow. I am nothing, and you are everything.”

  “You aren’t nothing, and you deserve love as much as I do. Don’t you want it?” She was pleading now, though she did an admirable job of masking it in the commanding tone of a queen. But she was not his queen, and he would not obey her, not when it would destroy them all.

  A bitter, empty smile ghosted over his features, and he bowed his head once more. “Love is all I have ever wanted in this immortal life. I have used up my chances though, and I am at peace with that. I beg you to allow me to remain so.”

  A moment passed, and at last she stepped back from him, her expression unreadable. Those tendrils of emotions were gone now, securely hidden behind the barriers she had so expertly built. How long had it taken her to retreat so completely into herself? How long had she remained so, until this moment, when she had finally trusted him enough to let him in?

  No matter. It was done, and he would not change his mind. The sting of rejection now was nothing compared to the agony of loss she would have felt centuries or eons down the road if he had accepted her proposal, and he had to content himself with that. She would not be grateful now, or perhaps anytime in the near future; but someday, when she had found her happiness, he hoped she would remember this moment and see the future he had allowed her to have. The future he had wanted her to have.

  “I hope you visit, though I understand if you do not,” he said quietly. She swallowed.

  “I will do my best,” she allowed. “But now I must go.”

  He nodded once. “I will escort you out.”

  “I know the way.” She curtsied once, and he responded with a deep bow. “Take care of yourself, Hades. And find a name before Walter grows more upset than he already is.”

  “I will do my best,” he murmured. “Do you have any suggestions?”

  Calliope eyed him, and there was something calculating about her gaze. But when was there not? At least her heartbreak had vanished to a place where Hades could not see it. “I have had the privilege of spending time in England, where I have watched many kings rise and fall. Some are silly, pompous and far too enamored with their titles and the art of war, but some truly love their people and care for the well-being of their country. A particular favorite of mine reminded me a bit of you. He was called Henry.”

  “Henry.” He mouthed the name to himself a few times, allowing himself to adjust to the sound of it. He’d met many Henrys, of course, though perhaps not the one she spoke of. But the name was common enough
that he felt certain it would not stand out. He could be himself without the myths tainting every step he took, and no one would hear his name and fear death. It would be a relief to rid himself of such a burden. “Very well. Henry it is.”

  Calliope smiled, and this time it was genuine. But before long, her expression faded into one of sadness once more, and she sighed. “Take care of yourself, Henry.”

  “And you,” he said, moving to kiss her on the cheek as he had countless times before, but she stepped away. Her barriers slipped for a moment, and the pain he had feared spilled through. It did not match the agony that had flooded him since Persephone’s death, but pain was not a contest, and hers was as real as his own.

  He watched her go, slipping out of the room before he could bring himself to say goodbye. Even if she returned someday, it would never be the same, and already he mourned their friendship. But it was for the best. For both of them. She deserved a life he could never give her, one filled with sunshine and love, and he would never forgive himself for hurting her as he’d hurt Persephone.

  Closing his eyes, he slipped through space and returned to his bedroom to dream of the life he’d lost. Perhaps one day he would be more than a shadow; perhaps one day he would find his own happiness in whatever new form it might take. Until then, however, he would be content with his dreams.

  His mind whirled with the possibilities of what small memory he would find comfort in tonight. But though time flowed around him, forcing him to go with it, his heart remained still. And it would now for always.

  Defeat

  Henry could not pinpoint the exact moment he gave up. It crept upon him like a thief in the night, stealing away his future piece by piece until he had nothing left. Maybe it was not one small thing—maybe it was an eternity of small things combining to form the perfect storm. Or maybe it was nothing at all.

  Whatever it was, after that moment had come and gone, it took him another hundred years to gather the courage to approach the council with his decision. He knew in his heart of hearts that no matter how much they claimed to care for him, they would not take this well. Even though he wanted it, even though he was ready, they would see it as another burden on them—one none of them was ready for. And though he felt guilty for what he was about to do, he stood in front of the gathered council in Olympus, casting around to look each of them in the eye.

  “I wish to fade.”

  The words he’d practiced for so long in his head slipped out as if they were nothing. And given the council’s silence, for a long moment he wondered if perhaps he really hadn’t said anything at all.

  “Fade?” said Walter, as if he were speaking in tongues.

  “Yes, fade,” said Henry with utmost patience. He’d expected this. “I understand my role in this world is great, but I cannot bear to face eternity any longer. We have all lived countless lifetimes, and I wish to end mine now.”

  “But—why?” said a small voice beside him, and Henry looked down at Demeter—Diana. They hadn’t spoken much since Persephone’s death, but their bond was still there, having grown even stronger in the everlasting fires of grief. If she did not understand, he had no hope of convincing the others, either.

  He looked her straight in the eye. “I am alone. Up here, you all have each other, but I have no one. And despite my best efforts to be the king my subjects need me to be, I can no longer endure it on my own.”

  “You can no longer endure what?” Calliope’s voice rang out, much steadier than his own. “You can no longer endure your rule without a queen? Or you can no longer endure your existence without a companion?”

  There was a sly tone to her question, but Henry ignored it. If she was implying she could stay with him, either as his queen or his companion, he would not have it. Nothing had changed in the past four hundred years.

  “Both,” he said simply. “As a king, the influx of new subjects is far too much for me to handle on my own. And as a man, I can no longer endure being alone.”

  “But surely there must be another way,” said Diana, reaching for him. He allowed her to take his hand. “James knows the inner workings of the Underworld. Perhaps he could—”

  “No.” Henry spoke as gently as he could, but he would not work side by side with James no matter what the stakes. “I have made my decision, and if you wish for James to take over my position after I am gone, then so be it. But I wish to step down from my throne now.”

  “And we will not let you,” said Calliope.

  “With all due respect, sister, you are not the head of this council,” said Henry, and despite the look of utter shock on her face at his dismissal, he looked to Walter for the final word. His brother may have been the epitome of pride, but if he loved Henry at all, he could not deny him this. It was his life; his eternity to spend as he wished. And he wished to step down and fade.

  Walter said nothing for a long moment, his eyes locked on Henry’s. “Is this what you truly want? To abandon us? To succumb to cowardice over a few lonely centuries?”

  “Over an eternity alone,” corrected Henry.

  “Because you are not willing to go out and find a new queen.”

  “Because I cannot.”

  “Your unwillingness to move on does not mean the rest of us should be punished.”

  “And your unwillingness to move on does not mean I should be punished, either,” said Henry. “Allow me to be clear—this is a courtesy. For now, I am willing to wait a century before I fade, in order to give the council time to train my replacement. If you will not give me your blessing, then I will step down immediately.”

  Silence. Walter’s lips formed a thin line, and in the throne next to his, Calliope looked as if she were near tears. But what did they expect? He was not one of them. He never had been. He had already lived the happiest years of his existence, and his duties were simply no longer enough to keep him here.

  Beside him, Diana rose, sandwiching his hand in hers. “Brother,” she said in a voice meant only for him. “I understand your pain. I carry it, too, and I wish for nothing more than to move beyond it. But fading is not the answer.”

  “It is for me,” he said quietly.

  “But there must be some solution. Something you would stay for.”

  He closed his eyes, and an all-too-familiar face appeared in his mind. The same one that had haunted him for nearly a millennia. “You know the answer to that,” he whispered.

  Her throat constricted. She did. Of course she did. “And what if I were to find you a new queen?”

  A new queen. The idea was so preposterous that he nearly smiled. “I have no desire for a new queen, or a new companion. That part of my life is over.”

  “Is it?” Something flashed across her face, a determination he knew all too well. “What if we agreed with you, brother? What if we allowed you to transition your realm to another for the next hundred years, under the assumption you will fade at the end of it—but in return, you allowed us to find you a new companion?”

  His heart sank. Another game. “I would never be able to love her, not the way she would deserve.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Before he had the chance to protest, Diana turned to the others. “I say we accept our brother’s choice and allow him one hundred years to get his affairs in order—with the condition that during this time, he also allow us to find him a new bride. Someone he can love, who loves him in return. Someone who can help him rule. Someone who will give him a reason for staying.”
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  A murmur rippled through the council, and Aphrodite—Ava was the first to nod her agreement. “I think it’s brilliant,” she said. “I bet between us, we could find someone who’d be perfect for you.”

  Her enthusiasm was contagious, and soon enough the others had joined in, planning in low, excited voices. Their words were nothing but buzz to Henry as he watched his plans slowly slip away. They could say they would uphold his choices as much as they wanted, but eventually, as the decades passed, they would find a way to trap him here.

  But the hope splashed across Diana’s face gave him pause, and at last he exhaled, his shoulders sagging. He would give his sister this, and if they did break their pact, then he would do as he’d promised and step away regardless. This was his choice, and he would not allow them to take it from him.

  “Very well,” he said. “One hundred years. That is all the time I will allow. At the end of that hundred years, if we do not agree upon a suitable queen to rule at my side—” he could not bring himself to say wife or companion or lover “—then I will step down from my role as King of the Underworld, and I will fade.”

  “So be it,” said Walter. “Sister, I entrust in you the task of finding our brother a suitable wife. Ava will help you.”

  Diana nodded, more radiant than Henry had seen her in an eon. “I will find someone,” she murmured, once again for his ears only. She brushed her lips to his cheek, and he ducked his head, focusing on the sunset floor. “I’ve made many mistakes in my existence, but this will not be one of them, I promise you that. I will find you someone. Not just someone—but the person you have deserved all this time.”

  He managed the faintest of smiles. It was no secret she blamed herself for what had happened with Persephone, and if it allowed her to cast aside her own guilt, then Henry could not deny her the chance to do this. But the ache inside him, an eternal fire that turned every last piece of his happiness to ash, would not be extinguished by a stranger. Even if Diana was right, even if there was someone out there who was his match in every way, who was somehow more a soul mate to him than Persephone, she would not be able to heal him. No one could.