Read an Excerpt of The Garden Beneath the World
Book two of the Crown of Seed & Shadow Duology – A Hades & Persephone Retelling
The Waterfall
The path to the waterfall twisted through thickets of fern and elderflower, a soft tunnel of green where light filtered in dappled gold. The air was cooler here, touched by the mist drifting ahead, and the sound of the water grew louder as they approached, the steady rush of it cascading over smooth rock.
Persephone let go of his hand as they reached the clearing.
Without hesitation, she shrugged off her robe and stepped barefoot to the edge of the pool. Sunlight scattered across the surface, casting ribbons of light onto the stone around them. Hades followed more slowly, removing his tunic, folding it over a dry boulder.
The water was cold when it touched his skin, shocking in the best way.
Persephone laughed, splashing water toward his chest. “You always look so startled by it.”
He rubbed his arms. “Because it’s not supposed to be this cold.”
She moved through the pool like a wisp of cloud. Her laughter echoed against the rock walls, light and reverent. He followed, letting her draw him beneath the falling water. When she ducked her head beneath the stream, he watched the rivulets trace her collarbone, watched the sunlight cling to her like a blessing.
They kissed there, beneath the waterfall. The kiss was not hungry, not yet. It was soft. Like two people remembering they belonged to one another.
And yet even in his joy, something curled tight in his chest.
We could never do this in the Underworld.
They had their private moments there. Their laughter. Their small rebellions against the weight of shadow. But there was no light like this. No scent of moss and cedar, no breath of wind on skin warmed by the sun.
And here, up above, he was always aware of what could see them.
The gods watched everything, even if they pretended not to. He wondered, and not for the first time, if Zeus was watching now. If he was amused by Hades’ joy, waiting to twist it into something small.
Or if one of the lesser immortals…the ones who hovered at the edge of Olympus, hungry for gossip and games would carry tales of the Underworld’s king bathing like a mortal in his lover’s grove.
You look soft, he imagined Zeus saying. You look human.
The thought left a sour taste in his mouth.
He was vulnerable here. And vulnerability was not something he wore well.
When they stepped out of the water, sunlight hit his bare shoulders and chased the chill away. Persephone pulled him down onto the grass beside her. They didn’t dress right away. Instead, they lay on the sun-warmed ground, nestled in a patch of clover and daisies, her head on his chest.
“Let’s stay here a little longer,” she whispered.
He didn’t argue. He didn’t want to. He wanted this moment to stretch on forever. But his thoughts… refused to give him peace.
Somewhere beyond the walls of the private garden, music floated faintly on the breeze. He recognized it as an old song played on a lyre, the melody trailing in slow, uncertain notes. It should’ve been lovely. Instead, it felt like a reminder.
They’re playing far away, he realized. No one will come close while I’m here.
He looked at Persephone. She had closed her eyes, her lips slightly parted in sleep or near-sleep, her brown skin glowing with the touch of the sun. She was everything soft, everything alive.
And he wanted her.
Not with desperation. With gravity. With something elemental. It rose in him like a tide. Something slow at first, then sudden. A hunger ripping through his body, leaving him desperate to satisfy it.
And that was what alarmed him.
In the Underworld, his desires were tempered. Contained. Balanced by the stillness of the realm he ruled.
But here on Earth his desire surged with power, not just longing. It amplified everything he felt. He was not just a man in love. He was a god. And that realization chilled him
The grass was cool beneath his fingers, soft compared to the stone and shadow of his realm. He curled his hand into the blades, grounding himself, trying to steady the swirl of warmth and longing inside him. The garden hummed around them—alive, attentive, almost sentient in the way it cradled her.
Persephone shifted closer, her damp shoulder brushing his ribs. She smiled up at him; sunlight caught in the droplets on her skin. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m thinking,” he said, though the truth tangled deeper than that.
“About what?” Her fingertips drifted along his stomach—light, lazy, knowing.
About you. About the way your presence unravels me.
But instead of voicing those words, he lifted his hand and traced the curve of her cheek. Her skin was sun-warmed and soft, and he felt her lean imperceptibly into his touch.
“I was thinking of the forest,” he said, letting his thumb brush her lower lip, “and what I would do if I were a forest creature.”
She laughed, bright as river water over stone. “What type of forest creature? A satyr?”
“No.” He shifted closer until their legs pressed together, heat pooling low in his stomach. “Just a man.”
“Surely not in Artemis’s forest,” she teased, sliding her fingers into his hair. “Her huntresses would shoot you on sight.”
“I’d have my own forest,” he murmured, lowering his head to breathe in the faint scent of flowers clinging to her hair. “One where no one else would dare trespass.”
“Oh?” She traced the back of his neck, lingering on the spot that made him shiver. “And who will keep your beard trimmed in this wild, lonely forest?”
“You’re teasing me.”
She smiled. “Yes. Because I can’t imagine why you’d want to live in a forest.”
He ran his hand slowly up her arm, savoring the tiny tremor in her breath. “Because if I did, I would invite you to my lair,” he whispered against her ear. “And the whole forest would belong to us.”