The Taste Of Divinity

Δ Ε Κ Α Ο Κ Τ Ω

Later that night, they sat together in the dimly lit dining room, him on the head of the table and her beside him.

Persephone leaned her head into her palm, her elbows pressing against the wooden table. Before her had been laid a cup of nectar and a bowl of ambrosia, as well as several plates of fruit. Pomegranates, she noted and clenched her jaw.

She ignored it all, playing with a strand of hair. She had long since removed all pins and ribbons, letting her long hair fall freely over her shoulders. She could already see a pattern forming.

There would be countless nights spent in that dining room, countless of ignored cups of nectar and plates of ambrosia, countless of broken pomegranates that the King had cleaned and laid before her himself.

The last marital gift.

He didn't think her naive enough not to know, did he? He didn't think she was too dim witted not to know of what the consumption of a pomegranate signified or what followed consumption in the Underworld, in general.

"You surprised me today." There was awe in his voice, awe he attempted to conceal by drowning into the contents of his kylix. Faint but present it burned her veins. "I never expected you to fall into your duties so quickly and yet.  .  ."

A frown formed between her eyebrows.

You were the one who said I had been destined for this. Why the surprise, was it all a lie?

She didn't speak.

"Don't sentence me to a silent dinner, wife. I beg you."

She couldn't stay silent.

Not when his gritty voice seeped into her bones and echoed in her mind, creating a place for him inside her body.

"I was just thinking.  .   .that man," She murmured, speaking for the first time since she'd entered the dining room, obeying him for reasons unknown to her but still denying him the words he wished to hear. "The one you judged eariler." She twirled a wheat coloured strand around her finger. "Did he not care?"

"Care?" His head tilted to the side, his gaze so rapt it seemed he was absorbing her soul rather than her words. "Care about what?"

"His life and his loved ones. He only spoke of his service, his death and his distaste of barbarians, he did not mention his family. His ancestors and the soil he considered his home yes, but not his wife or children."

"And this surprises you? That man was and will eternally be a warrior." Setting the cup back on the table, he leaned over the table, his body losing its previous stiffness. "From the moment he was born until the very moment he died, he did what the Fates commanded of him. He trained, he fought, he loved. His whole life revolved around war and protecting his home from any possible threat."

"But there were people who buried his body, who paid the price so that he'd ensure safe passage to the Afterlife, who baked the honey cakes to sweeten your guardian. How could he not have felt the loss of them?"

"Men like him are warriors first. Then they are lovers, husbands and fathers. It's not something they can control." The corner of his lips lifted. The grin was brief but overwhelming. "If anything, you should be more open to the idea, seeing as you yourself are a slave to your nature. And the Fates, of course."

"Are you like that?" She ignored his comment, her fingers curling around one of the bronze knives.

The same need runs in your veins, Polydegmon. Don't not try to deny it. You are a warrior first, then a King and then a man. If any of us can be called a man, that is.