Hades was seated in bed, a scroll in her hands. Her shoulders were bare, her hair lying loose over them, the furs pulled up high to leave her entirely covered.

Persephone wasn’t sure if that sudden sharp stabbing feeling in her chest was relief or disappointment.

“What do you want?” Hades asked. “The hour is late.”

“I can’t sleep,” Persephone said, then silently rebuked herself. Sleeping was practically her function, or a part thereof—she’d lost the habit of drifting down into her earth dreams sometime in the last few months because there was so much to do and Xenia always struggled to wake her from them. It hadn’t even occurred to her to try.

Hades gave her a long, hard look. “Someone in the kitchens could prepare you a tisane,” she said.

Persephone shook her head. “What are you reading?”

Hades glanced down at the scroll in her hands. “A land development report.”

“That sounds boring.”

“It is.”

“Would you read it to me? I’m sure it would help. Put me to sleep.” Without waiting for an answer, Persephone walked to the side of Hades’ bed. She gestured. “Move over.”

Hades lowered her scroll, staring at her with cold and unwelcoming eyes.

If she had to suffer, Hades would too—she had only brought it upon herself. Persephone slid into Hades’ bed, forcing Hades to move over or be crushed. Hades moved.

When was the last time she’d been here? That night before her first lesson with Stephanus. An eon ago, now.

Hades had said she would not touch Persephone unless invited. Her words were both Persephone’s shield and the walls to her own cage; she had given Persephone the key and set herself as jailer.

Persephone molded a pillow to fit her head and arranged the furs to her liking. The sheets were warm from the heat of Hades’ body, with the queen herself clearly naked under the bedclothes. It created a sweet ache in Persephone’s chest, knowing she was so close, and yet a cubit of empty bed separated them, forming the no man’s land between their opposing wills.

“Are you quite done?” Hades asked.

“Mm.” The faint scent of asphodels tickled Persephone’s nose. “Go on,” she said. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

Hades continued to watch her for a few moments, her grip on the parchment so tight it threatened to ruin her report. She glanced down, struggling to find her place.

The report was just as dull as she’d promised. Apparently, the Asphodel Fields only had room to expand in one direction: east, toward Elysium. But it disturbed the shades in the Asphodel Fields to catch even a glimpse of Elysium—so close, yet forever out of reach. The report detailed various options to shape the landscape, to prevent this from happening.