Hadeia

I must have been insane. That’s the only explanation. No, actually, such a feeble excuse cannot explain it. No reason could possibly explain that night. Not even to myself.

After regaining my senses, my greatest concern was this:

‘What if he can’t return to the surface world because of me?’

To ensure he could always return to the valley blooming with daffodils, I never allowed him anything grown in the underworld. 

Even the food I reluctantly gave him consisted entirely of offerings sent from temples on the surface, and though his clothes became unsightly with dust, I let him keep wearing them to avoid unnecessary gossip. 

But last night tangled everything into a mess.

Could someone who shared a bed with the ruler of the underworld safely return to the world above?

How would I know? I’ve never slept with anyone except that damned youngster. If I don’t know, who possibly could? From whom should I seek confirmation?

I felt anxious. What if that cheerful, naive boy, who boldly entered my chambers simply to lower my fever, became trapped and could never return to his mother’s arms or the green fields bathed in sunlight? 

Ironically, a child sweet and loving enough to dare enter Hades’ bedchamber to repay a kindness should never be in the underworld at all. 

I imagined him bound forever to this dark realm. It would be better to cast the sun into the depths of the sea. The mere thought felt like swallowing burning coal, scorching my throat and burning my insides black.

‘Who could I consult?’

Everyone would find out eventually anyway. There was no reason to hide or lie. The gods of the underworld are as intelligent as they are loyal. 

They’ve served me for a long time. After my sudden recovery, they wouldn’t be naive enough not to understand what had happened.

I ordered the black curtains shielding the royal chambers removed and the braziers arranged in a circle like an altar cleared away. 

I emerged properly groomed with my clothes straightened, acting like I’d never had a fever or anything else. When I faced Momus and Hypnos, who were groaning with complaints in the chaotic office, what expressions they wore! 

And Eris’s face, emerging from behind the curtain like a shadow, beaming at me? She couldn’t hide her deep delight, seeming to suggest she’d never seen such a clear seed of conflict in the underworld before.

‘Not Thanatos. He would either rage wildly and threaten to throw Persephius to the bottom of Phlegethon, or pretend nothing happened and change the subject.’

Although Thanatos was my most trusted subordinate, he was the biggest nag regarding Persephius. 

He already disliked Persephius considerably, and now I had partially fulfilled the false rumors about abduction marriages and groom kidnapping. Predicting Thanatos’s reaction would be pointless.

‘Hypnos is the same. He runs a hundred miles from any annoying quarrel that might chase away sleep. Even if I caught him to ask, I wouldn’t get a sensible answer. He’s too busy caring about his own sleep to care about who shares the Underworld ruler’s bed.’

I sat in the empty great hall, pondering.

Since my recovery came much earlier than expected, I didn’t forcibly summon my subjects. If they gathered without roughly finishing their assigned tasks, it would only create headaches.

No, that’s just an excuse. I bit my dry lips while staring at the blue torch.

‘Am I actually feeling shy?’

The reason I sat alone in the hall, silent as a tomb, was painfully obvious. 

I couldn’t stay in the office because Momus drove me out, complaining that Hypnos and Eris worked carelessly and made messes, insisting he couldn’t save face without restoring everything to its pristine state before my return. 

I wanted to avoid other parts of the palace. If the nymphs and even the dead souls saw me looking somewhat tired but otherwise fine when I should have been confined for at least ten days, they would gossip endlessly. 

Yes, eventually all the underworld would know, but why hasten it? My remaining options were extremely limited.

Returning to the bedroom was absolutely out of the question. The blonde maiden, who could certainly no longer be called Kore, still slept there like a flower embroidered on the blanket. 

Ah, the mere thought of him opening his eyes sent fear washing over me like a tidal wave.

Fear! Can you understand how unfamiliar the sensation of fear is to the god of death? I was supposed to be the object of fear. That was Hades’ duty. 

Yet here I was, having shared my body with a child young enough to be my nephew, not even a tenth of my age, and fled the moment I opened my eyes. 

Like a playboy who had taken advantage of a pure maiden, or an adventurer who had seduced a modest lady. How unsightly.

What was I afraid of?

I feared what Persephius might think upon opening his eyes. The nursing care he had planned certainly wasn’t what happened last night. 

At most, with childish simplicity, he probably intended to share his vitality with me. He likely thought of it simply, like melting a frozen snowdrift with bare hands or pouring cold water into a red-hot cauldron. 

My confusion hadn’t subsided. Had he truly approached me prepared to share his body? Or had he merely intended to hold hands or offer an awkward embrace to cool my fever? If so, had I lost my reason to the illness and ultimately forced unwanted acts upon him?

In the hall built of cold stone, I could still count the warmth his lips and hands had left. I couldn’t be certain. Had our act truly been consensual?

‘If he becomes angry and reproaches me… how should I compensate him?’

A worthy treasure in exchange for taking a youth’s purity. An unheard-of dilemma. This was the sort of problem Zeus should be dealing with. I swept back my hair.

Morpheus, who flew to my summons, behaved like someone with a strangled throat. I didn’t reproach him. Perhaps my question was exactly that embarrassing.

“I thought you might know a suitable answer. No, I should correct myself—you seemed an appropriate person to give an answer. It would be tyrannical to demand solutions for matters I myself find dubious.”

Morpheus refolded his wings like he was straightening his clothes, then bowed his head.

“I’m grateful you trust my humble self. However…”

“Could Persephone return to the surface?”

I didn’t give him the luxury of being formal. Surprised by this aggressive pressure, Morpheus opened his eyes wide.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t pretend. I’m facing you right now, what greater advertisement do you need? Yes, that damned boy finally neutralized the poison in my body. Should I have nymphs blow trumpets or post public notices?”

“No, I wasn’t trying to be pretentious. I simply didn’t understand why you were worried about his return.”

Morpheus bowed his head again. I narrowed my eyes. 

Somehow he gave off the atmosphere of a parent trying to compensate for a jar broken by their child. Or perhaps a child presenting a broken jar while apologizing to their parents.

“There are conditions for safely leaving the underworld. You know them well.”

“One must not taste food from the underworld.”

Morpheus readily answered my statement.

“That’s why even Lord Hermes doesn’t accept so much as a drop of water in the underworld, and why you’ve only given Persephone offerings from the living world until now.”

“Yes. Though I did let him go quite hungry before that.”

“Has Persephone eaten underworld food?”

“No. There’s nothing to eat or drink in my chambers.”

An awkward silence flowed briefly.

“Then why worry? I haven’t detected any dangerous elements so far.”

“He didn’t swallow food or drink, but…”

It was difficult to explain. Not only might my concern be premature and foolish anxiety, but the content itself was extremely intimate and embarrassing to confess with my own lips.

“It ultimately comes down to whether the underworld’s energy has penetrated a pure body. The underworld’s poison eternally weighs down a soul if even a mustard seed enters the stomach. Although what Persephius, no, Persephone, put in his mouth might be trivial…”

My words became a complete mess. They were disorganized to the point of being unsightly.

But I needed certainty. Hadn’t I been worrying all this time about accidentally expelling him from the underworld? 

What if, because he kissed me, because we tasted and bit each other like snow leopards licking ice, because we spread our legs and pressed our bodies together, mixing all manner of sticky, wet bodily fluids, he could never return to the surface? 

The mere thought was unbearable. The only reason my face wasn’t flushed was that I barely maintained the mask I had trained to wear for a long time.

Morpheus pondered my words carefully, then asked:

“You’re worried about deflowering him. Since you kissed him and took him, you’re concerned the underworld’s energy might have taken root in him.”

“…Yes.”

If only I were wearing the Cap of Invisibility now, I might feel somewhat more comfortable. Discussing the daffodil I had plucked with Hypnos’s son!

Morpheus seemed to notice my displeasure, the embarrassment I had never experienced before as ruler of the underworld. 

To avoid offending me, he showed not a trace of personal emotion, and after briefly bending his knee, offered his opinion with utmost politeness.

“Your concern is understandable. But rules are rules. They’re as clear as they are strict. The condition is consuming food born in the underworld. Your Majesty is neither food nor born in the underworld. Therefore, I believe the acts included in your coupling cannot bind Demeter’s son.”

That would be fortunate. I briefly turned my gaze away. I didn’t want to reveal my inner thoughts until I was reassured by his logic.

Morpheus hesitated, rubbing his lips before continuing.

“What does Persephone say?”

“I don’t know.”

I replied curtly.

“Whether he’s in Hypnos’s realm or has come to his senses. How would I know?”

“I see.”

I gave him a lukewarm answer. I stared directly at Morpheus. He had the face of a loyal and intellectual servant. 

But his wing feathers made occasional rustling sounds, suggesting he wasn’t entirely composed. This was unusual. He seemed to have something more to say.

“If you have something to say, you may speak.”

Morpheus looked at me once, then lowered his gaze to the floor. And spoke apologetically:

“…I’m glad you’ve recovered.”

“…Yes.”

Further conversation would be futile. I gestured lightly, and he disappeared without a sound from his wings.

I still had nowhere to go. In my kingdom, my palace.

The notion that I was fleeing from the flower I had plucked! 

I pressed my forehead.

—

T/N: The sheer contrast of Hadeia’s image being the queen of the underworld and death personified, to her reactions of seeing a d*ck for the first time and “deflowering Demeter’s oh-so-pure-and-virgin-precious-child”. THIS CHAPTER HAD NO BUSINESS BEING THIS HILARIOUS