Demeter made an ambiguous sound, and placed her hand on Hephaestus’s shoulder. “Lovely. May I speak with you, my dear boy?” she asked, taking his arm before he could object.

Hephaestus shot Persephone a look of alarm before Demeter led him away.

Persephone took this opportunity to head back into the palace. Inside, a large circle had formed of dancing youths, their brows slick with sweat, their arms linked. Persephone skirted around them and grabbed a chalice of ambrosia, draining it before her mother could take this from her, too.

She recognized Aphrodite’s perfume before she saw her—cinnamon and balsam, spicy and sweet. Aphrodite sashayed up beside her, turning to face the dancers.

“Wonderful, isn’t it? All those beautiful bodies on display.” Aphrodite sighed, her long lashes perfectly framing her eyes as she pouted.

“Hello to you, too,” Persephone said.

Aphrodite dragged her gaze from the dancers to glance at her. “I wasn’t expecting to see you. It’s been an eon, hasn’t it?”

Persephone shrugged and forced herself to smile. “Not quite, but I’m pleased to have come.”

“Mm. Are you cold? You can’t possibly be cold. Here.” Aphrodite reached up and unwrapped Persephone’s himation, throwing it to one side. She then rearranged the neckline of Persephone’s chiton, pulling it lower to reveal more than a hint of cleavage.

The tips of Aphrodite’s fingers tickled her skin. Persephone drew back, her face flushing. “I’m fine.” She hoisted her neckline back to its proper position.

Aphrodite’s assessing gaze traveled from the brown curls coiffed around Persephone’s head to the smattering of freckles across her sun-kissed arms. “Yes, you’ll do,” she said. “You’ll find love tonight, I’m sure of it.”

“I’m not looking for that.”

Aphrodite’s eyes widened, and she leaned forward, taking Persephone into her confidence. “Everyone is looking for that. So tell me who it’s to be. Apollo? Ares? No, too pig-headed for you. I know, how about—”

“I’d sooner join Athena and avow chastity.” Persephone reached for her himation, but Aphrodite slapped her hand away.

“Trust me, you don’t need that. Don’t tell me Demeter will be mad. She isn’t here!”

Yes. Her mother wasn’t here. Persephone glanced around the room, but all she could see were the dancers and their admirers, her mother nowhere in view. She inhaled, light-headed from Aphrodite’s perfume, or perhaps she had imbibed more than was wise on an empty stomach. She set Hephaestus’s gift down on a nearby table for fear of dropping it by accident.

“Come on,” Aphrodite said, grabbing her by the wrist. “Dance with me.”

“I don’t know the steps,” Persephone said, trying to pull away, but Aphrodite’s grip was as tight as her girdle.