Persephone’s kind mood vanished. She longed to run her fingers through her hair, rip out all the accoutrements, stamp her feet and insist on being taken back home. The only thing stopping her was the knowledge that such actions would be futile. Every denizen of the underworld obeyed Hades, and Hades, it seemed, had no intention of letting her go.

“I don’t wish to marry her.”

Xenia fussed around, placing a saffron-dyed veil over Persephone’s hair, delicately draping the yellow fabric as not to snag on any of the jewels in her stephane. “It’s normal for a bride to have jitters on her special day.”

Had they not heard her? Persephone thought that all the screaming upon her arrival had provided sufficient indication, but it seemed everyone was conveniently ignoring the fact that she had been dragged here against her will.

“I never chose Hades,” Persephone tried again.

Xenia glanced at her with sympathy, and she patted Persephone’s shoulder. “Most brides don’t choose, dear. Be glad your father permitted such a fine match.”

Persephone needed to throw up, but there was nothing left inside of her. Terrified of accidentally binding herself to this place, she had neither eaten nor drunk since arrival. Gods and goddesses could survive much longer than mortals without sustenance, but the process was not pleasant.

“Are you almost done?” Persephone asked. Not that she wanted the day to go any faster. As soon as the rituals ended, she would be left alone with Hades, and she wished to delay that moment as long as possible. But listening to Xenia prattle on, as if Persephone were some kind of blushing bride, was almost just as unbearable.

“Not long, dear, not long.”

Persephone’s head ached. She needed fresh air and the touch of the sun against her skin. She was a wild violet, plucked and left to wither in some dark corner, far from her natural home. Could Hades not see that this would be the end of her?

Xenia set down her brush, and foolishly, Persephone thought this meant her ordeal was over. But Xenia only pursed her lips, looking at Persephone’s face, as if she could see something not visible to the eye. She clapped her hands, and all the other servants looked up. Until that moment, Persephone had almost forgotten about their existence—her mother’s servants were always gaily chattering, and so it was impossible to forget they were there—but the ladies serving her were either so well-trained or so terrified that they had uttered barely a sound as Xenia had worked.

Xenia gestured, and they all obediently made a single file and left the room. She closed the door on the last of them and then leaned against the door as though warding off any stray maid who would dare try and interrupt.