“Is this the draught from the Goddess?” he barked.
The slave shook his head, “The skin is empty, my lord. This is your own vintage.”
He grunted and drank, missing the heady richness of Olympus’ gift. But, he supposed, missing wine was better than missing the Goddess herself.
He paused, looking at his reflection. He tried to pull an image of Demeter from his memory, but found only Persephone. She so fully filled his heart there was room for no other. And today he would marry her. He turned, stretching his arms wide to allow the servants to dress him.
He all but trembled with anticipation. How would it feel to have these robes removed by his fair wife’s hands? Would she tremble beneath him? Would she fight? Or cry?
He smiled as his slaves stood back. He was a fine man, a man his Persephone would be proud to call husband. He could hardly wait to hear the words tumble from her full lips.
“My lord.” The house master entered, his broad face clearly distressed.
“What is it? There will be no grave news on this day.” He smiled at the man. “Today I shall hear only joyous news.”
The house master opened his mouth then closed it.
Erysichthon laughed. “I should declare such a dictate for every day. Should I not?” He turned, well pleased with his image. “Summon your new mistress and bring her to the gardens. I’m of a most impatient mind.”
The man stepped forward, “But, my lord…”
Erysichthon glared at the man. “Go. Fetch her immediately.”
The man whispered, “She is gone.”
“What?”
“The lady Persephone is not in her chambers… She is nowhere to be found…”
Erysichthon froze. She’d been taken, just as he feared. And now he would bring her back… No matter what, he would bring her home.
His fury rose, a strangled roar escaping him. “Bring me my sword and ready my guard,” he bellowed. “Prepare the feast. There will be a wedding this day.”
###
Persephone crept through the woods, her heart hammering.
She’d no choice, she reassured herself. She’d no choice but to leave. Her betrothed had a sickness about him she could not discern. He was bewitched, as he’d claimed, but she’d no hand in the bewitching. Indeed, she’d no wish to have anyone so overcome as he appeared to be.
She stilled, catching her breath. A soft crackle echoed in the underbrush behind her.
Was she being followed? Had he found her already? Her hands dug deep into the earth, but the earth and roots did not see who followed.
She could scarcely afford to turn and search it out. She did not know how much ground she’d covered, remaining hidden as she went. She’d scarcely made it from the walls of Erysichthon’s house before she’d heard him cry out. She did not slow or turn back, or pause to decipher his words.
Would he follow her? She shivered. Would he bring men with him and track her, as she suspected?
She pushed herself upright, sliding her hand down a tree trunk for balance. A thorn punctured her hand, sliding deep. She hissed, stilling long enough to tear a strip of cloth from her cloak to wrap the wound tightly.
The tree whispered apologies, saddened by her injury.
“Worry not, friend. It was no fault of yours,” she whispered in response, pressing her palm against its bark in comfort.
A snap of a branch, the rustle of leaves, and she saw him, in the shadows.
Her knees weakened with relief as Hades’ hound came to her. He pressed against her, leaning heavily.
“I am glad to have you at my side.” She knelt, meeting his golden eyes.