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Hazel had not expected the Citadel to change so quickly. Or perhaps it wasn't the Citadel that was changing—it was Hades.
The man who had once radiated ice, whose every word felt like a challenge, was now… different. Still powerful, still terrifying when he commanded his court, but when his eyes landed on her, there was something almost boyish lurking beneath the iron. She had caught it more than once: a fleeting softness, the barest hint of a smile he quickly smothered, as though afraid it would betray him.
It was amusing. And strangely, it was disarming.
She had been in her chambers that morning, Miriam fussing with the embroidery on a gown Hazel had half-designed, when the door creaked open.
"My lady," one of the guards announced stiffly. "The King wishes to see you."
Hazel glanced at Miriam, who raised her brows in knowing mischief. "Again?"
She swallowed a laugh and followed.
Hades was in the gardens—if one could call them that. The Citadel's gardens were unlike those of Aetheria. Here, the earth glowed faintly crimson, and instead of roses or lilies, flowers bloomed in shades of obsidian and violet, petals edged with firelight. The air shimmered with the faint hiss of magic.
He stood near the fountain, his cloak draped over one arm, as though he had been waiting.
When he turned, Hazel caught that softness again.
"You came," he said simply.
Hazel tilted her head, smiling. "You did send a guard."
"Yes. But you could have refused."
She shrugged. "Maybe I was curious what could possibly pull the King of the Underworld away from his endless duties."
He took a step closer. She noticed the way his hand twitched at his side, as if fighting the urge to reach for her.
"I've been meaning to…" He stopped, frowning slightly, then tried again. "I wanted—"
A voice bellowed from across the courtyard. "My King! The emissaries from the Red Sea have arrived. They demand audience!"
Hades' jaw tightened. The softness in his eyes flickered into frustration. He did not move, as though clinging to this fragile moment.
Hazel arched a brow. "Duty calls."
His gaze lingered on her for a beat longer than it should have, then he exhaled sharply and strode away, cloak snapping behind him.
Hazel let out the laugh she had been holding. Miriam, waiting by the pillars, snorted. "I have never seen the King like this. He looks like a boy whose sweets were stolen."
It kept happening.
At dinner one evening, she caught him staring at her—not in his usual calculating way, but with the dazed expression of someone who had forgotten the rest of the world existed. She nearly choked on her wine when he reached across the table, his hand brushing hers ever so slightly.
Her heart jumped, but before anything else could happen, a servant stumbled in, pale and breathless.
"Forgive me, my lord—urgent news! The scouts from the border—"
Hades slammed his goblet down so hard the table rattled. For a second Hazel thought he might incinerate the messenger on the spot. Instead, he gritted his teeth, nodded once, and stalked out, muttering curses under his breath.
Hazel bit her lip to stifle her smile.
Miriam leaned close, whispering, "I swear he has become unrecognizable. He never used to leave his meals half-eaten. Now look at him—running like a hound every time, yet returning with that same lovesick stare."
Hazel pretended to focus on her food, but her cheeks were warm.
One evening, she found herself wandering the grand hall lined with torches of blue flame. Hades appeared at the far end, his stride purposeful as always, but when he saw her, the purpose faltered.
"You're out of your chambers," he said.
"I was restless," Hazel replied. "And you look like you've been chasing storms all day."
"I have." He hesitated, then came closer, lowering his voice. "But I'd rather be here."
Her breath caught. The space between them narrowed—close enough that she could see the faint scar along his jawline, the one she had never asked about. Close enough that his hand lifted, hesitated in the air as though seeking permission.
Hazel held still, her heart pounding.
Then—
"My King!" A breathless soldier rushed in. "An urgent summons—the council demands—"
"Damn the council," Hades growled, his voice low and dangerous.
The soldier froze. Hazel's lips twitched at the raw annoyance in his tone.
But at last, with a visible effort, Hades pulled back. His eyes lingered on her, burning with something unspoken. Then he was gone, his cloak trailing like a storm cloud behind him.
Hazel pressed her lips together, torn between amusement and an ache she didn't want to name.
It was Miriam, of course, who put words to what Hazel refused to.
"He's smitten," her maid declared one night as she brushed out Hazel's silver hair. "Hopelessly so. He can't string a sentence together when you're in the room."
Hazel rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her. "You exaggerate."
"I don't." Miriam's voice was gleeful. "The great Hades—cold, merciless, feared by all—reduced to a lovesick fool because of you. I almost miss the old him."
Hazel laughed outright at that, and Miriam grinned like she'd won.
But when Hazel lay down to sleep, staring up at the carved ceiling, her heart was restless. Because Miriam was right. She had seen it in his eyes, in the way his fingers hovered near hers, in the frustration etched in every departure.
He wanted her. Not as a political pawn, not as a possession—but as something more.
And though she had sworn to protect her heart, though she had promised herself she would never give it freely… Hazel knew she was starting to want him too.
The next morning, she caught him in the library. He stood surrounded by stacks of scrolls, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and ink. His cloak was discarded, his hair slightly tousled, as though he had been running his hand through it out of sheer exasperation.
When she entered, his entire body stilled.
"You," he murmured, as though the word carried relief.
Hazel crossed her arms, tilting her head. "What urgent matter will drag you away this time?"
His lips quirked into something dangerously close to a smile. "Not this time."
He stepped closer, slowly, deliberately. Hazel's breath hitched.
His hand reached out—fingers brushing hers—warm, steady. He didn't pull away. He held her hand, truly held it, his thumb tracing lightly across her skin as though he had been waiting a lifetime to do so.
For once, no messenger barged in. No summons shattered the moment.
Hazel stared up at him, her chest tight, and saw it clearly: the mighty King of the Underworld undone, not by war or power, but by her.
And she—against all reason—let him.