The dancers were halfway through a song, a mixed group of gods and goddesses. The circle parted to admit Aphrodite and her unwilling find; Persephone found herself staring at the feet of the dancer opposite to mirror their steps. Everyone else seemed to know the motions as she alone fumbled her way through the song, doing her best to follow the cues whilst not stepping on anyone’s toes.

Time crawled. Through sheer dint of repetition, Persephone learned the dance well enough to take her eyes off the floor. She could not help but notice most of the dancers and onlookers staring at Aphrodite—at her golden curls and long legs, the unrestrained bounce of her chest. Persephone’s face grew hot when Aphrodite turned to her and smiled.

“That explains so many things,” Aphrodite murmured, glancing at Persephone up and down. Her smile grew wicked.

“I have no idea what you mean.” Persephone tore her hand from Aphrodite’s grasp and broke rank with the dancers. The circle closed behind her as she slipped out through a side passageway.

The sounds of music and festivity faded as she walked further from the main hall, her footsteps echoing as she headed down a vast corridor. She wiped her palms on her skirts, her hands trembling. The way Aphrodite had looked at her—as though she’d been staring straight into Persephone’s heart. She could still feel Aphrodite’s fingers on her wrist.

She wandered aimlessly, taking turn after turn until her heartbeat slowed to a more regular pace. She found herself on a walkway overlooking a courtyard, the ground one story below. She leaned against a column and covered her face with her hands.

If Aphrodite knew, then everyone would know. Demeter would know.

She’d not intended to have that conversation with her mother quite so soon—perhaps, not ever. It wasn’t a crime, of course, but Demeter had so thoroughly charted out the arc of Persephone’s life that she would no doubt be displeased by this revelation.

When Persephone heard voices approaching, she froze, terrified that somehow her thoughts had summoned her mother’s presence. The voices came from the level below; she pressed her back against the column concealing her and grasped her skirts in one hand, lest the wind reveal her presence.

“You must consider the merits of my case. Semele’s life was inordinately short, due to my dear wife’s meddling. She deserves a second chance,” said a booming male voice that she was relieved to recognize as belonging to Zeus.

“Perhaps you should direct your question to the Fates,” said a quieter, female voice. She sounded familiar, but Persephone couldn’t quite place the speaker.

“Bah! They have no claim over her now.”