When night had fallen and Eva slept, along with all of Salestas, a new guest arrived at the gates of Valentine Castle. The tall walls and black iron spikes were as forbidding as the howls echoing from the forest beyond. Few dared linger before the castle after dark, especially knowing its master was none other than the only black Seraph of Salestas, the Lord of the North, Hades Valentine.
Yet the woman who stepped from the carriage merely curved her lips in a fearless smile as her red heels clicked along the uneven cobbles. When a servant reached to assist her, she brushed him away, her fingers curling elegantly in dismissal.
At the gate waited a composed, red haired Seraph, Apollo, who showed no surprise at the sight of a woman when he had been expecting a man.
With quiet grace, Apollo bowed just enough to convey respect. "The Lord has been awaiting your presence."
"Well, that's quite unexpected. I thought he'd turn me away, or better yet, meet me with a sword in hand."
Apollo's lips tilted faintly. "He seems rather eager to see you."
"Eager to see me," she scoffed, "or to kill me?" Still, she walked beside him, her stride unhurried, while the servants at the entrance bowed their heads low.
Apollo smiled to himself. For all her complaints of impending death, she had come, on time, unafraid, and defiant as ever.
"And how has he been faring these days?" she asked, lowering the brim of her round hat as her gaze swept the castle. Even in the dim torchlight, she noticed the faintest change, something no one else would have caught but her, someone who knew Hades Valentine too well.
"The Lord has been in the best of moods," Apollo replied, following a step behind her.
That made her stop abruptly. She turned on her heels, eyes narrowing in disbelief. "That can't be. He should be in the worst of moods after the last letter I sent him." Her tone dripped with irritation, as if disappointed to find him happy instead of tormented. "No one should be in such a good mood when he's standing at death's gate."
Apollo's eyes flickered at her words, but he quickly recovered. "Milord must have a plan. He always does."
"Of course," she snapped. "And I intend to find out what it is."
By the time their exchange ended, they had reached a grand door. Without hesitation, she pushed it open, the sound cracking through the hall. Her heels clicked sharply against the wood as she entered. Candles covered the floors and shelves, their flames trembling, dying, ready to surrender to the dark.
And there he was, the man she sought, leaning against a crimson chair, violet eyes closed, lips curved in an almost tender smile, as though recalling some private amusement.
It was not the face of a man preparing for death. It was the face of one who knew he was about to win.
"Hades!" she snapped, raising a hand toward him, but before she could touch a strand of his ink-black hair, her fingers sparked, and time itself froze.
Her eyes moved over the flames over the candles, trembling but unmoving as if some dark force had shushed it to stay in place while the door that had creaked to close earlier stopped to leave a slight gaps. Even the howling wind outside the window had stopped, letting out not even a small cry.
Then Hades's violet eyes opened and his lips curled into a smile seemed to expect this behavior from the woman and was enjoying it.
"Thought I would be crying for your help, Cerberus?"
Cerberus's once feminine face began to crack like aged wall paint, splitting apart until his height towered over his previous form. His dress melted into a dark crimson suit, and his delicate heels hardened into polished brown leather loafers. Those soft features then sharpened; his once round eyes turned narrow and predatory, bright blue irises gleaming like they had swallowed the fires of hell themselves.
His expression had soured into a deep frown, and Hades knew precisely why. Cerberus had that dreadful habit of creating rivalries for his own amusement, always wanting to best him. This time, he had sent a letter claiming a friend had foreseen Hades's death and that if he valued his life, he should come and beg for mercy.
But a month had passed, and Hades never came. He had not written back, nor even acknowledged the letter. So Cerberus came himself, only to find the violet eyed man smiling, grinning like a fool at the edge of death.
"Of course," Cerberus drawled. "I didn't take you for someone who'd simply let death devour you. Unless, of course, you've grown tired of living after seven hundred years, Hades?"
A low chuckle escaped Hades, rich and mocking. "How frightened I must be. Tell me, Cerberus, do you think this is the first time Thanatos has predicted my death? The last time he did was long before you were born. Ask him now, and he'd tell you not to waste your time."
And that, infuriatingly, was true.
Cerberus remembered the moment well. He had rushed to Thanatos, eager to confirm the rumor of Hades's impending death, only for the death god, eyes hidden behind his black cloth, to shake his head in quiet warning. Do not bother him, Thanatos had said.
Why? Because Hades could control his own death?
Impossible. No one in this world, not even Hades who was so utterly special could escape death. Perhaps once but twice? It cannot be possible.
"This isn't a prediction of an ordinary death," Cerberus muttered, the knot between his brows deepening as he scowled, lips jutting out in a sulky pout that contrasted sharply with his towering frame. He could almost reach Hades's height, but never quite.
"You know what I mean, don't you?" he pressed, narrowing his eyes. "Thanatos told me, once you find your mate, she will bring your death. She'll be your undoing and you should be running for your life, Hades."
Mate.
Of course, Hades thought, recalling the fragile young girl with bright green eyes, the one who had been broken by her own family, trembling yet her soul didn't seem corrupted with just pain, still shining so brightly.
That delicate creature, his death?
Now that, he mused with a faint, dangerous smile, would be terribly exciting.