“Per-Persephone?” he whispered, hoarse.

“Yes, of course.” I brushed a few flakes from his forehead. “Come. We’re going to get you out of here.”

“No.” A drop of strength returned, and gritting his teeth, he tried to move from my grip. But he was too weak and I was too determined to never let him go again. “You—you have to—”

“I have to what? Let you suffer like this?”

“I deserve it.” He slumped against me. “Please.”

“You don’t deserve this. No one deserves this.”

“I do. For…for hurting you. Aphrodite. Your families.” He took a great shuddering breath, and a river of blood flowed from his healing body. What had done this to him? “I saw the look on Hades’s face—”

A roar ripped through the quiet, and a great white bear appeared through the veil of snow. It bared its teeth, its muzzle stained with red, and its paw lashed out at me. Sharp claws clashed against my skin, but it did no damage. And I wasn’t going to let it hurt Adonis again, either.

“Be gone,” I ordered. “I am your queen, and you will obey me.”

It let out another roar, standing tall on its hind legs. “Please, let me…” whispered Adonis, and I held him closer.

“No,” I said desperately. “You don’t deserve this. It was never your battle, all right? Please—you can make this better for yourself. You can control it.”

The bear struck again, and as its claws caught my face, I screamed. Not in pain, not in fear, but with unadulterated fury. At myself, at Aphrodite, at this damned and miserable place—this couldn’t be Adonis’s eternity. It couldn’t.

With a thought, I dragged him through the space between his section of the Underworld and the palace, leaving the bear behind. A swirl of snow puffed around us as we landed in the throne room, and in my arms, Adonis groaned. His wounds healed instantly, and his color returned far faster than it would have if he were still alive, but his face still pinched in pain.

“Persephone.” Hades stood. “What are you doing?”

“He was torturing himself,” I said, helping Adonis sit up. His expression was blank, and he showed no surprise at suddenly appearing in a palace. Not many souls realized where they were, but Adonis should’ve known.

“So you removed him from his afterlife?”

I wrapped my arms around Adonis. “I had no choice.”

“But it was not your choice to make.”

“A bear was eating him alive in the middle of a blizzard,” I snapped. “I don’t care what his religion or beliefs dictate. What did he ever do to deserve that?”

Hades’s expression remained painfully neutral. “Some might say that having an affair with not one, but two married goddesses might very well be enough of a catalyst to make him believe he deserved eternal torture.”

“He makes me happy.” My words were thick, and I clung to Adonis. Hades wouldn’t have his way, not this time. “We have to fix this.”

“You know the rules. If a mortal does not ask for our guidance, we do not tamper with their afterlife.”

“I don’t care about your damn rules. I care about Adonis.”

“And what of me?” said Hades softly. The pain that had faded during those eons of peace between us flickered across his face, the first hint of emotion I’d seen from him in months. “You are asking me to go against my own laws and condone your affairs.”

“I’m asking you to do the right thing. You once told me that all you wanted was for me to be happy. Is that still true?”

Silence, and at last he nodded.

“Adonis makes me happy. He makes me happier than you or Hermes or anyone ever has. Not because he’s beautiful, but because we’re two halves of the same whole. I found my person, Hades. And I am so sorry—sorrier than I can ever possibly tell you—that it isn’t you. But it’s Adonis. And I would give up everything to make sure he’s all right, even if it meant I could never see him again. It would hurt like hell, but I would do it if it meant getting him out of there.” I shifted. “Please. I am begging you—do something.”

Hades closed his eyes, his face crumpling. It was the closest I’d ever seen him come to crying. For a long moment he said nothing, and Hermes looked back and forth between us as if deciding whether or not to speak.

“I am sorry,” said Hades, his voice nothing but feeble words and anguish. “You know as well as I that there is nothing. The only person who can change his afterlife is Adonis himself.”

“Then—then what could make him change it?” I said. “Could we reason with him? Make him see that it’s my fault, not his? Could you—forgive him or—”

Hades looked away, the firelight reflecting in his watery eyes. No, he would not forgive him, and my face burned with shame for even asking. Besides, Adonis wasn’t the one he had to forgive. I was.

I buried my face in the crook of Adonis’s neck, rocking him back and forth. He couldn’t go back there. I would’ve given anything—my freedom, my love, my entire existence to make sure he didn’t, but what did I have that could possibly change his mind?

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you. Please don’t do this. Please—isn’t there something you want more than to torture yourself?”