He laughed then, throwing back his head. “You are a young thing, aren’t you?” He wiped a hand across his mustache and shook his head. “No one threatens my people or property, Goddess. Not even the Persians. If your mother had not selected Thessaly for her precious cypress grove, I would have built a monument to Ares instead. I’m a warrior. You need never fear for your safety while you are with me.”
He saw her nod. “My safety has all but consumed my mother, sir. If she feels I am safe in your care, I know that you are a most capable and skilled warrior.”
He watched her, the slight smile that wavered on her full lips. He drained his cup of wine. She was pretty, he supposed, in her own way. But he felt no attraction for her.
“You don’t look like your mother,” he murmured.
She turned round eyes upon him. “Oh?”
“You are fair where she is dark. You are soft where she is,” he paused, “less round. I’ve never seen the likes of your hair, so red. And your eyes are a most peculiar shade of…”
“Green, while hers are a most pleasing brown? Yes, I know, sir. I’ve lived at her side every day. She is lovely. And while she is my mother, we are, as you see, different women.” Her brows rose, waiting for his response.
His gaze wandered over her, leisurely.
She was not her mother, but she was not hard to gaze upon. True, her eyes were odd, but her lips were lush and full. Her skin was sun-kissed, sprinkled with a fine dusting of freckles. His eyes dropped.
He could find no complaint with her bosom. She had delectable breasts, larger than her mother’s and firm with youth. “I meant no disrespect, Goddess. You are a fine woman.”
When his eyes settled on her face, her skin turned a brilliant shade of red. She blinked rapidly, turning to regard the dimly lit gardens.
“Come, blossom.” He stood, offering his arm. “You’ve had your air, now meet those who will be your vassals.” He paused. Would she tease with him, as her mother did? He would find out. “Unless you were hoping to lure me into the gardens? It is not an uncommon practice, I know.”
He bit back a smile as she clasped his arm, tugging him towards the hall with surprising force.
He laughed, cupping her cheek. His next words saw her eyes widen and her mouth fall open in pure astonishment. “If you wish to wait to bless our union, I will not press you otherwise. Though a kiss would serve, for now?”
Her eyes looked ready to pop out, making him chuckle.
She gasped then collected herself. When she spoke, there was bite to her tone. “I have yet to give you such a promise.”
Erysichthon threw back his head and laughed. She was not as soft as he’d thought, then. The knowledge cheered him somewhat.
###
Erysichthon was snoring.
Persephone smiled then poked him, one toe nudging his leg. He didn’t move, so she poked him again, not so gently.
He snored harder, his mouth falling open.
She stood, staring down at the man who would be her husband. She tilted her head to regard his slumbering form. Erysichthon did not wake when she moved from his side.
No wonder. He’d emptied the entire skin of rich wine Olympus had delivered to him this very morning. It was a gift, the messenger said, to honor their impending wedding.
He continued to snore, so loudly the tree branches overhead shook. She sighed, relieved.
It was good he was such a sound sleeper. She might enjoy some of this day, for Erysichthon’s mood had been most strange. Until today, he’d been a most chivalrous host, respectful if, at times, teasing.
But today, he’d stared at her with new eyes. He seemed more enamored with her each passing second. Perhaps it was the wine? Stronger perhaps than what this mortal king was accustomed to?
All in all, she’d enjoyed their day. A large company of men had accompanied them to the cypress groves, following Erysichthon’s orders to surround the grove and give them peace… and privacy. They’d shared a nice meal. He’d eaten quickly, drinking his wine with relish.
“You tell stories?” he’d asked, his eyes lingering on her face.
She’d nodded. “I do. What stories do you prefer? Of adventures or love or battle?”
Erysichthon sighed, leaning back on an elbow. “Any story from your sweet lips will please me.”