A line of guests, separated from the dancing crowd, wait orderly if not patiently for a chance to present their gifts and well wishes to their future queen regent. Many of the same guests also sing her praises to the outgoing king and queen before rejoining the party.

Barely a glance is spared for Demeter, despite her position as mother of the outgoing queen and grandmother to the incoming queen regent. With no greetings to receive, she splits her attention between her daughter and granddaughter and only occasionally spares Hades a scornful look. Their banter entertains the crowd at some turns but, gradually, the barbs flying back and forth grow sharper, earning uneasy glances from guests who aren’t sure how to react. The tense crowd willingly parts for Charon, spurring him on. Whether they hoped he would end the conflict or take the brunt of the growing tension, their stares weigh on him.

Now, standing at the front of the crowd, Charon watched the latest exchange play out.

Hades raises his chalice in a toast to his wife. His chalice gleams, a gold variant that was much more ornately decorated than Charon’s with depictions of seeds, wreaths, and embedded gems.

"Persephone, you’ve truly outdone yourself.”

A smile ghosts over Persephone’s lips before she can hide behind her matching chalice. She eyes her husband as she drinks, silently gauging his unprompted compliment.

Hades continues, “One only needs to wave a hand and food appears, or raise a glass and have it filled. And still, there are those who manage to stand out.”

“Will you get to your point before you choke on it?" Demeter asks. By this point in the banquet, she’s given up any pretense of friendliness with Hades—and apparently, so has he. Demeter channels her exasperation into the plate before her, deftly slicing the meat into bite-sized cubes.

“I only mean to commend your daughter for her efforts — and you, for your tiresome dedication to my daughter.” Hades replies, feigning innocence.

“Her ‘tireless’ dedication,” Persephone interjects.

“Why, what did I say?”

“You said—”

“Hades, if you want me to understand how clever you are, you’ll have to be a little more coherent.” Demeter cuts Persephone’s answer short with one of her own. An interruption like this from any other being would have earned the full force of Persephone’s wrath, but Demeter’s interruption earns only a short sigh from her daughter.

“In your own words, what would you say you’re doing right now?”

“I’m cutting Hiræth’s meat.”

“Will you test it for poison next? You’ll put her poor aide out of a job.”

The aide in question stands behind Hiraeth’s chair with her back straight and her clockwork eyes lowered. When Hades mentions her, her eyes fly to Hiraeth rather than Hades, searching her face for displeasure. Hiraeth doesn’t return the look, or even change her stoic expression, but she reaches behind her chair to pat the young woman’s arm.

“Was drama part of your domain as well as death, Hades? Your versatility is unmatched.” Demeter says.

Hades chuckles, but his eyes sink to half-lids as he brings the chalice to his lips again. His eyes drift absently over to the waiting crowd for a new source of entertainment. A few whispers float by Charon, murmured hopes that they aren’t called forward to take a side as patron after patron casts their eyes down, and some physically turn away.

Rather than waiting to be noticed, Charon steps forward and bows his head, pulling Hades’ attention.

“My king, please forgive the hour of my arrival. I have brought a gift that I hope you will accept, as humble as it is.”

“Charon.” Hades acknowledges him in an impassive tone.

Charon studies his king’s face. Rather than anger, he spots a familiar and mischievous glint in Hades’ eyes and resigns himself to entertaining his king until he’s had his fill.

“Are you saying you were late because of this gift?”

“No, of course not. But I could hardly come before you empty-handed.”

“Why not? Everyone else has. Of course, they’re full of goodwill and praises, but no gifts.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not very good at heaping praises—”

“No kidding.” Hades chimes in, eliciting a self-conscious smile from Charon.

“I can work on that.”

“I’m not asking you to. At this point, it’s part of your charm.” A chuckle creeps into Hades’ voice. He looks around the room before his eyes land on Charon again, searching the cluster of shadows around him. “So, where is it?”

“Right here.” Charon’s cloak shrinks away, revealing a covered wicker basket full of fruits and bottles of alcohol that he had been cradling at his side.

“An offering of this season’s harvest from the Meadows,” he adds.

“And the bottles?” Persephone leans forward, placing her chalice on the table. She reaches out and Charon places a clear bottle with translucent orange liquid in her waiting hands.

“This is a peach wine from the brewer’s—their best batch so far. Or so I’m told.”

“Are they all wine? What kind is that?” Hades leans forward, eyeing one of the darker bottles in the basket. The light reveals a viscous amber fluid inside and Charon’s eyes spark as he recognizes its contents.

“This is the drink I told you about. It’s—”

“Hardly appropriate.” Demeter interrupts, brows drawn and lips turned to a severe frown as she watches the trio. “Every item at this banquet is of the highest quality, every ingredient was carefully examined before it was selected. It’s more than enough that a man of your position brought that offering all this way. But that’s all it is: an offering. You don’t expect us to eat any of those things, do you?”

“Mother,” Persephone sighs, cradling the bottle in her hands. “Nothing in this domain is beneath us. Beyond this hall and its finery, beyond the sprawling Elysian Fields, as far out as the Styx and the gates to the Underworld: everything here belongs to us, was created by us, and is part of us. Every soul working the fields in the Asphodel Meadows does so with our express permission and with our blessing. Clearly, they understand that, and that’s why they’ve sent this thoughtful offering—and why I’ll accept it wholeheartedly.”

“I only meant that the caliber of ingredients are different…” Demeter’s voice trails off, realizing the extent of her blunder the moment her daughter’s quiet wrath turns on her. “But if you feel that strongly about it, I’ll try to understand.”

“For Hiraeth’s sake, I hope you can. I’d hate for her to think poorly of her domain and its subjects.”

Hades tries to beckon Charon forward while they talk but Persephone places her hand over his, stopping him.

“I agree with you, wholeheartedly, my love.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Persephone’s expression softens as she smiles. “But I think we’ve kept our guests waiting long enough. And Charon deserves a chance to enjoy what’s left of the party before the coronation begins.”

“Go on, then. We can finish our conversation later, after the coronation.” Hades relents, exchanging a disappointed look with Charon before dismissing him.