An apology came quickly to Persephone’s lips, but words alone seemed inadequate. She unconsciously took a step back, her hand brushing the ivy-covered guardrail. The plant grew a new tendril, which slithered across her arm, as if trying to comfort her.

Hades’ gaze dropped to the ivy. She reached out and touched its leaves, then crossed the distance between them. Persephone froze in place as the ivy wound up her bare arm and across her back, followed closely by Hades’ fingertips grazing her skin.

Hades’ hand lingered on her shoulder, a warm and heavy weight. Persephone’s breath caught in her throat.

“Fascinating,” Hades said.

She was no longer looking at the plant. Instead, her gaze focused on Persephone, her pupils large despite the warm afternoon light.

They were close enough that Persephone could have kissed her, had she the mind to. Not that she wanted to.

Hades’ hand trailed across her collarbone. She placed her fingers around Persephone’s neck, her thumb brushing over the hollow of the girl’s throat. Her perfume was floral and green—gardenia? No. Asphodel. Persephone’s pulse beat a mad staccato rhythm as she stood motionless, the stillness of prey caught in the hunter’s sight as she searched for what to do, to say, to make Hades unhand her.

“Persephone! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Demeter’s voice. Hades didn’t release her, not immediately. Her mouth curved into a slight smile, and for a moment, her fingers tightened around Persephone’s neck, squeezing the breath from her. The ivy coiled around Hades’ wrist, temporarily binding them.

Demeter’s footsteps. Hades released her and took a step back, tearing the ivy from her wrist. Persephone gasped and clutched at her throat, her other hand clinging to the railing as the greenery wound its way toward her.

Demeter’s sandals slapped against the stone steps as she climbed the last few stairs up to the balcony, the hem of her chiton held up in one hand as not to trail in the dirt. Had she seen… what must she think? Perhaps the distance had been too great. Persephone could only hope.

She did not know what to think herself. She almost wished she’d the courage to ask Aphrodite whether she believed—but no. Persephone couldn’t ask anyone for help in deciphering Hades’ smile. Had she simply meant to frighten her? She’d succeeded.

“My dear Hades!” Demeter flitted over to her, placing one hand upon the goddess’s cheek. “How pale you are! How have you been keeping? You look so severe, you might as well have dressed for a funeral!”

“I would prefer a funeral,” Hades said, moving aside from Demeter’s touch. “Wouldn’t you?”

Demeter tittered. “I’d forgotten how droll you can be. Will we be seeing more of you this year?”

“I think not.”

“Why ever not?” Demeter pouted.

Hades glanced skyward, toward the ocean. “The same reasons.”