by Lianyu Tan
Hades laughed and stepped away from the bed. “True. There is always something else to demand my attention. But not tonight.” She stood by a side table and opened a carafe of wine, pouring a chalice. “Care for some?”
Persephone began to shake her head but thought better of it and nodded. Hades poured a second chalice and brought them both with her to bed.
Persephone sat up, pushing the sheets away and tucking her knees under her. She held the chalice in her lap for a minute, summoning the courage to drink. It was made from grapes from the surface, so there was no hesitancy on that end, but she wasn’t entirely sure whether one chalice would be too much or simply not enough. She almost wished Hades had taken her in her sleep, so she didn’t have to deal with the consequences of her marriage in her waking hours.
“May I help you?” Hades asked.
Persephone looked down to see that her hands were shaking so badly, a third of the wine had spilled across her lap, soaking into her chiton in pink splotches.
Hades took the chalice from her nervous grasp and held it to Persephone’s lips. After a few sips, Persephone drew back, and Hades set the chalice down on a side table. She took hold of Persephone’s chin, forcing her to meet her gaze. Hades’ lips curved in a slight smile, her eyes deep as pools of still water.
Wife. She was her wife.
Persephone didn’t know how to hold that word in her mind without her consciousness overflowing. She froze when Hades leaned in to kiss her, desperately reaching out to the earth to bring her back to the blissful unconsciousness of sleep, but there was no way she could find the peace of mind she needed, not with Hades’ lips burning against her mouth and the warmth of Hades’ hands enfolding her shoulders.
“You are as tense as Artemis’s bowstring,” Hades said.
“We don’t have to... not tonight, please. We could pretend it happened. I wouldn’t tell anyone.”
Hades’ sword hand fell upon Persephone’s knee. “A marriage is not valid unless consummated.” She pressed a kiss just below Persephone’s ear, her breath tickling.
“But I didn’t—”
“Hmm?” Hades drew back to look at her. It was the first time Persephone had seen her with her hair unbound; it softened her strong jawline, giving her a more delicate appearance. Her lips were darkened slightly from the wine.
“Hera hasn’t blessed this marriage, so it’s not—final.”
Hades turned away for a moment, bending down to undo her sandals. “Zeus has approved this match. She has no reason to challenge him—or me—over this matter.”
“And what of Demeter?”
“She will learn to accept our union. As will you, in time.”
“Never. “
“We shall see about that.” Hades ran a hand through her hair. “Enough of this. I wish to see my wife undressed.” When Persephone made no move to comply, Hades sighed. “Would you prefer if I stripped you myself?”
Persephone shook her head. Anything to keep Hades’ hands off of her a little longer. She reached for the fibula on her shoulder, fumbling with the clasp until it came free. Her chiton peeled away, revealing the shape of her strophion. She moved to the other shoulder and repeated the gesture, placing the brooches down on the table.
Hades had already seen her naked, but this time felt different. They were married. As one of the elder six, Hades outranked her. It was clear she expected Persephone to fulfill all her wifely duties, and if she did not perform as required, Hades would be well within her marital rights to exact punishment. The thought of what Hades might require her to do made her cheeks burn.
“And the rest, my lady wife.”
Persephone longed for the enfolding shroud of darkness, but the candlelight, though weak, illuminated all too clearly Hades’ ravenous expression. She reached up behind her and fumbled with the tight knot of her strophion. It was difficult enough to undo at the best of times, but now, in this moment, her clumsy fingers worked as though they were made out of lead. Hades made no move to help her, reclining on the pillows, still fully dressed.
She worked the fabric free at last, and the band fell to her hips, revealing her breasts. A shiver ran over her skin, the cool air giving her gooseflesh.
With the strophion off, Persephone waited, clad only in her perizoma, which covered her sex. She knelt on the bed, her hands folded in her lap. She imagined herself to be a sapling, settling her roots into the ground. There was no shame in bending under the force of the wind. Any sacrifice was worth it, if it meant survival.
She watched from the corner of her eye as Hades brought her chalice to her lips, took a sip and replaced the chalice on the side table. When Hades next kissed her, Persephone tasted the tart acidity of the wine, its sour notes warming her throat.
She was drifting off into the fragrant haze of a summer vineyard when Hades pinched her arm, hard.
“Your gifts are very interesting, dear wife, and I look forward to learning more about them. But now is not the time.”
Persephone blinked, her vision momentarily blurred by tears. The scent of grapes ripening on the vine faded, replaced by burning tallow and the faint fragrance of asphodels. She grabbed the bed frame for support, waiting for the dizziness to pass.
“Let me be clear. In my presence, you will not do any of that”—Hades waved her hand in the air—“what do you call it?”
It didn’t really have a name, it just was. But Hades was waiting for her, none too patiently. “I think of it as... embracing the dreaming earth.”
“Yes. That.”
“But...”
“What is it?”
Persephone gnawed on the inside of her mouth. “I’ve never... I’m not sure if I can. Stop, that is.”
From the way Hades’ eyebrows raised, it was clear this was not the answer she’d expected. “What has Demeter been doing with you? No. You will have to learn to control it.”
Persephone’s eyes welled with tears. “But I—”
“It comes easily when you wish to avoid something, does it not? But life is filled with pain, dear Persephone, and to pretend otherwise will not help. You want to disappear now, is that so?”
Persephone nodded mutely.
“Well, stop. Hold back. I need you to feel me when I touch you.” Hades placed her hand on the side of Persephone’s cheek and brushed her lower lip with her thumb.
Persephone closed her eyes, then gasped as Hades’ nails dug into her skin.
“No. Look at me.”
Hades’ usually stern features were softened by the candlelight, her sleeveless chiton leaving her well-muscled arms on display. Her body could have been carved by Praxiteles, from her small, high breasts to the slight curve of her waist. Her long, slender fingers resumed caressing Persephone’s cheek, and with her other hand, she pushed on Persephone’s shoulder until she lay flat on the bed, with Hades leaning over her. Persephone’s hair spilled over the pillow, and she froze, all too aware of how Hades’ chiton brushed against her bared breasts. It was not the fault of the fabric—the linen was soft and finely woven. It had been grown on the surface, but so long ago that the fiber scarcely remembered the touch of the sun upon its stalks.
Hades pinched one of her nipples, and Persephone squeaked in protest.
“It comes upon you quickly, it seems,” Hades said. “Every time you do that, I will hurt you.”
Persephone stared up at her in silent resentment, but Hades wasn’t paying attention to her face. She ran her hands over Persephone’s body, her calloused fingertips warm and sure. Persephone gritted her teeth and tried her best to endure it, but as the pressure of Hades’ knee against her thigh disappeared from her consciousness, it was like falling into a warm and tranquil pool—
Hades grabbed both of Persephone’s hands, pulling them above her head. She transferred her grip so that she was holding onto Persephone’s wrists with only one hand, squeezing tightly enough that her bones felt like they were grinding together.
Persephone cried out as all her prio
r sensations of comfort and warmth evaporated. She squirmed in Hades’ grasp, her senses assaulted all at once by the horrific rasp of Hades’ chiton, the way each fold of fabric pressed against her, and the warm weight of Hades’ body pinning her to the bed. If there was nowhere to go, then she had to feel—but she had dulled her senses for so long that opening herself to awareness was like waking up to find herself in Tartarus.
“Breathe, Persephone.”
She inhaled, struggling to draw enough breath with Hades crushing her. The ceiling almost looked like it was spinning, so she focused on her breath, forcing herself to relax until it stopped. Hades still hadn’t released her hands.
“Let me go.”
“Wait.”
Hades leaned in and kissed the salt on her cheeks. She released Persephone at last and her hands moved down over Persephone’s body, stopping at her hips. She untied the cords holding Persephone’s perizoma together and pulled the garment free.
Persephone reached down to cover herself, and Hades shook her head. “No. Hands back where they were.”
When Persephone didn’t move, Hades sighed, her lips pursed. She raised her hand and struck Persephone across her face. “When I give an order, I expect to be obeyed. Even by you. Especially by you.”
“You have no right!” Persephone said, clutching her cheek. She tasted copper on her tongue.
“I have a god-given right,” Hades said, her mouth twisted on one side, as though she resented having to be grateful to Zeus for anything. “Do not make me tell you again.”
Persephone slowly moved her hands above her head, palms up. Hades grabbed her wrists again, straightening her arms, then took her perizoma and used it to tie her wrists together before securing them to the bed frame.
Persephone’s cheek stung. She cautiously probed the inside of her mouth, tasting more copper. She must have bitten herself in shock.
Hades kissed her cheek, which made it throb, and scooped up Persephone’s legs behind the knee, pushing them up and to either side.
If there was ever a time she needed the dreaming earth, it was now, now, now. But she didn’t dare turn to it as Hades kissed a line across the inside of her thighs, not pausing until she reached Persephone’s core.
Persephone’s fingers curled into fists as Hades found her sex. The movement of Hades’ tongue made Persephone arch her back, prevented from rising off the bed by the pressure of Hades’ hands upon her thighs.
Hades paused and lifted her head, her lips glistening in the candlelight. “You are still here. Good.” She stroked Persephone’s hip as if to underscore her approval, then lowered her head once more.
It felt softer and less urgent than the times when she’d touched herself. Persephone tried to move her hands, and the cords of the perizoma cut into her wrists, too narrow for comfort. The strings not only anchored her to the bed but to her body, the gnawing sting keeping her in the present moment.
The soft sounds of Hades’ tongue upon her flesh were obscene. Persephone shifted, placing her foot on Hades’ shoulder and trying to push her away, but it was as though the goddess were made of stone. She pulled at her bonds once more, but it seemed her skin would break before either the bed frame or the knotted cords.
Hades did not stop. If the sensations had been unpleasant, or merely distracting, Persephone might not have minded so much. But she could not deny Hades’ skill. How many lovers had she taken, over the ages? Had any of them lain in this very same bed?
From the knowledge of her own body, Persephone knew she was close to release. She shifted, trying to angle her hips to provide less contact with Hades’ tongue, but the way Hades was pinning her to the bed made it impossible to move far. The slight rocking of her hips only served to inflame the sensations, until at last she could not hold herself back. Persephone dug her nails into her palms and turned her face into the pillow, willing herself not to scream as Hades pushed her into unbidden spasms of pleasure.
When it was over, she lay there, spent and boneless, listening to the thudding beat of her own heart. Her skin felt unpleasantly warm, relieved slightly by the cool chill to the air. The candles had guttered out, leaving only the gray twilight streaming through the window. Hades shifted and sat up, her weight leaving the bed. Persephone rolled onto her side, brought her knees together and raised them to her chest, wishing her arms were free so that she could wrap them around herself.
She heard Hades pouring more wine and the scrape of objects being moved. Hades returned to the bed and offered Persephone a chalice, holding it up to her lips.
She sipped from it. It was well-watered, the way she preferred to serve herself. Its cool, acidic tang helped to ease her dry throat.
Hades set the chalice down and untied her wrists. Persephone whimpered as the feeling came back to her fingertips and massaged the red marks the cords had cut into her skin.
Hades moved the hair back from Persephone’s face, and she flinched. Had she been so foolish to think this nightmare might be over?
“You remained present,” Hades said. “It pleased me.”
“Not from lack of wanting.”
“Even better. To desire something and resist the urge is the type of discipline that civilizations are built upon.”
“Why don’t you resist your urges?”
Hades stilled, and she wondered if she’d gone too far. But then, Hades smiled. “Why should I? I have been waiting a long time for you, Persephone, Demeter’s daughter. I will not be denied a moment longer.” She placed two fingers beneath Persephone’s chin and kissed her. Persephone tasted the salt of her own arousal, its edge bitter on her tongue.
Persephone drew back and swung at her. Hades allowed the blow to connect, receiving the flat of Persephone’s palm across her face. When Persephone drew back her hand for another strike, Hades grabbed her.
“One was enough, I think.”
Persephone tugged at her arm, but Hades’ grip was firm. “Let me go.”
“No.” Hades turned her attention to Persephone’s neck, her teeth closing around the soft spot just above the gold chain encircling her throat.
Persephone forced down a scream, her free palm braced against Hades’ shoulder trying to push her away.
Hades drew back and looked at her work. She hooked a finger beneath the necklace and rubbed the metal with her thumb. “My chain suits you. As do bruises.”
“You are a degenerate.”
“If I were a god, would you say such a thing? One man’s sin is another man’s pleasure.”
Persephone remained silent. If Hades had been a god, Persephone would not have been compelled to eavesdrop upon her at Zeus’s party, all those years ago, and perhaps she would not have aroused Hades’ interest. Surely that would’ve been the better outcome for both of them.
“I have caught you, Persephone, and I intend to keep you. It will be easier for you to accept that.” Hades smiled, her eyes dark as the depths of Tartarus. “But your struggle is just as sweet as your eventual surrender will be.”
Persephone grabbed the sheet and pulled it over her breasts. She moved back until the bed frame dug into her shoulder blades, as far away from Hades as she could manage.
The bed was made from olive wood and the joints from oak dowel. They all sang to her, discordantly, but she was too mindful of Hades’ command to let herself fall prey to the enticement.
Instead of pursuing, Hades rose and walked to the window. She pulled down the shutters until only the tiniest sliver of light fell upon the floor. Persephone had not realized how much she’d grown used to the light until she was plunged into darkness. She heard the small clicks of fibulae being unclasped and a rustle of fabric. Hades’ footsteps came next, slow and deliberate.
The bed creaked as Hades sat down beside her. Even though Persephone was aware of her presence, she still jumped when Hades’ hand fell upon her shoulder.
“No need for this,” Hades said, tugging the sheet from Persephone’s fingers. She pressed her nose into the curve of Pe
rsephone’s neck and inhaled.
A goddess wiser than Persephone might have been able to imagine that Hades was someone else: not her abductor, but a secret lover, one she could only meet in darkness. Such fantasies might have brought her comfort, but Persephone could not rely upon pretense. The scent of asphodels clung around Hades, distinguishing her even without the benefit of sight.
The rustle of fabric must have been Hades disrobing, for when Persephone moved her hand she accidentally grazed Hades’ naked thigh. She drew back as if burned and squeezed her hands in her lap, uncomfortably aware of the heat that radiated from Hades’ skin.
Hades buried her hand in Persephone’s hair, tilted her face up and kissed her. In contrast with the angular, muscular frame of her body, her lips were uncommonly soft. After a moment, Persephone found herself returning the kiss.
She stopped as soon as she realized what she’d done, but Hades did not mock her for it. Instead, she picked up Persephone and laid her flat on the bed, crouching with her knee in between Persephone’s thighs, pushing them apart.
She must have made some sound of distress, for Hades paused. “Can you keep your hands by your sides?” Hades asked. “Even when it hurts?”
Persephone didn’t know how to answer that, so she said nothing. It seemed to be answer enough. Hades reached over the side of the bed to pick up a loop of fabric, probably a discarded strophion. She rolled Persephone onto her side and bound her lower arms together behind her back, from elbows to wrists. The wide fabric was at least more comfortable than the strings of her perizoma had been, but it pulled her shoulders back in a way that made her feel more exposed despite the darkness.
Hades returned Persephone to her original position, though now her bound arms were digging into her spine. She shifted, trying to draw away from the pressure of Hades’ knee, until the top of her head bumped against the bed frame.
Hades lowered herself over Persephone. She bent her head, and her lips closed around one of Persephone’s nipples. The novel sensation sent a jolt through her, and she heard herself gasp. Hades’ mouth was warm and soft and unexpectedly gentle. She lathed her tongue around the hard peak, then released it and blew cool air over it. She repeated her attentions on its twin, providing such distraction that Persephone did not realize that Hades’ hand had crept down to her sex until it was too late.