All about her people chattered, laughing loudly and without care. She watched them, mesmerized. The artful fluttering of one woman’s eyelashes, another’s leisurely lick of her painted red lips – the men were drawn like bees to honey, like a hummingbird to nectar. Her eyes narrowed, shaking off the urge to laugh at such behavior.
But then, the men were no better. She shuddered as one aged fellow grabbed a woman around the waist, laughing when she squealed in protest. But the protest was farce, for the woman relaxed against the man with a smile full of promise. Another man had no qualms grabbing the breast of an almost bare-chested serving girl. The girl barely glanced at him, intent upon her work.
She had no desire to learn such artifice or tricks.
As her gaze swept the room, she found herself clinging to the column. She could not force herself to move, to let go and venture into the mayhem of this feast.
She chided herself. The time had come to be more than a safely kept Goddess, playing with plants and nonsense. If her mother wanted this ma
rriage, she should do all she could to ensure the match. Her nerves were nonsense.
A man, masked and alone, stood at the back of the hall, standing in the shadows. He was draped in grey, his cloak covering all of him. His grey mask scowled at the room with condemnation.
She stared at the man, sharing his displeasure. She made a rash decision. If you move, I will move too.
The man leaned against the wall and turned his head, ever so slowly, to inspect the room. When his eyes found her, he stiffened.
He stared, surprising her. His body tightened as he straightened, and she feared he might leap upon her in his agitation. Instead he pushed away from the wall and swept from the room.
She felt the air escaping from her lungs. Now she had to move.
She squeezed her eyes shut and drew in a deep breath. She was scowling when she stepped around the column and walked directly into the chest of Erysichthon.
She stared up, thankful for her mask for the first time.
The man could not be mortal. Surely he’d descended from the Giants.
“What a tiny flower you are.” He stared down at her, the crinkles about his rich brown eyes creasing deeply as he smiled.
She was too startled to find a response. His smile, she supposed, was pleasant enough.
“Can you speak, blossom?” he asked, making those about him laugh.
She felt a flash of irritation. “Pardon my silence, my lord. I’ve rarely come upon a man with so… commanding a presence.”
He laughed.
She smiled, though none knew it behind her mask. He had a sense of humor. That, too, was pleasing.
“You are careful with your words, a sign of superior intelligence.” He paused, waving those that followed him away. “Will you join me, mysterious maiden?”
Persephone took the massive hand he offered, oddly relieved to lean upon him as he led her back to his chair. All eyes followed them as they made their way to his throne. He sat on a raised dais, the highest point in the room. This dais was arranged for comfort, covered with reclining benches, each laden with soft tapestries and thick cushions.
She sat with care, propping herself upon the arm without leaning too closely to the giant at her side. It did not escape her that all within the hall were still watching them. It made her uncomfortable to be so examined. She’d no wish to be here, before them, on display.
He sat with a sigh, summoning a servant and taking two cups from the tray. She watched him, no less a mountain of a man at ease. He had no fat on him save the tell-tale thickness associated with drink. His long hair was dark brown, not black, shot through with silver. His eyes were alert, his features even and strong. She supposed he was attractive.
But the only emotion he stirred within her was vague unease.
He offered her drink, smiling.
She shook her head. “I fear my mask will not allow me such pleasures.”
He winked. “Then take it off, fair Persephone, and let me look at the woman who would be my queen.” He drank the cup down, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned towards her.
Fear churned in Persephone’s stomach.
His eyes held something more than humor or curiosity, something troubling. Yet she would not let him discomfit her. She was a Goddess, after all. Even if she was to be his wife, she was an Olympian first.