Son of Beauty, God of Death

By Sera Trevor

Love blooms, even in death...

When the goddess of beauty steals a precious flower from Thaedus, god of death, he demands retribution—her son Prosoper must become his prisoner. To his surprise, Prosoper is far from an unwilling captive.

Prosoper has been kept isolated from the world by his mother, who is determined to protect his innocence. But Prosoper is nearly two centuries old and longs to break free from his mother's control.

Only the God of Death can give Prosoper the chance at life he desires. And only the Son of Beauty can save Thaedus from despair.

This fantasy novella is inspired by the Greek myth of Hades and Persephone, with a gay romance twist! Perfect for fans of mythology and fairy tales.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sera Trevor
• Release date: Aug 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393414742

Book preview

1

Y ou are too much alone, the goddess of wisdom said .

Thaedus was startled out of his contemplation. It had been some time since he’d left his villa, and he’d lost himself while gazing at his realm. There was no sky as such, since the realm of the dead was underground, but the rocks that enclosed it were so far up that even immortal eyes couldn’t see the top. Instead, it was much like the night sky, only there were no moon and no stars. The light came from the white flowers that blanketed the gently rolling hills. They glowed with a silver light, for they were no ordinary blooms—each contained the slumbering soul of a mortal, resting in peace after their death. Some would find the underworld gloomy, but it was beautiful to him.

He turned to his companion. What was that?

Certia cleared her throat. I said, you are too much alone. We’ve been sitting here for the better part of an hour, and you haven’t said a single word.

He scowled. If you wanted a lively conversation, there are many gods who would be happy to entertain you.

Certia did not seem offended, as per usual. Her refusal to take offense was one of her more irritating qualities. His insults kept the other gods away, but nothing he said ever deterred her visits. She had shown up with a picnic basket and refused to leave until he joined her. She poured them both more wine. Thaedus did not object. The wine from Mount Alympos was a great deal more flavorful than the wine of the underworld.

She flicked her dark hair over her shoulder as she gazed at Lake Necora, upon whose shores they sat. The lake was fed by the mighty Necoran Falls, which in turn were fed by the River Lethyx. The river itself was in Ebos, which was the upper portion of his realm. Mortal souls were ferried on the river after their deaths, and those deemed worthy of peace were sent over the falls, turning into blossoms as they tumbled over. The flowers were then blown by the wind to their final resting place among the Lysion Fields.

The falls flow much heavier now, Certia observed. Heavier than I’ve ever seen.

Thaedus frowned. Do they? I hadn’t noticed.

By your own admission, it’s been some time since you’ve surveyed your realm. She paused. There is much suffering in the mortal world as of late.

Thaedus scoffed. That is nothing new.

Perhaps. Certia swirled her wine. But it has grown greater. There are more plagues and famines, war and chaos. Many more die each year than have ever before. Not only the old, but the young as well. It’s a shame.

What did she want him to do about it? Such is the fate of mortals.

Certia shook her head. You surprise me. I thought you had more feeling for their suffering.

I do. The quicker they die, the quicker they obtain my mercy. Here, their suffering ends.

Their suffering, yes, but their happiness, too. She cocked her head. Don’t you think they should be able to enjoy their lives while they have them?

I don’t see how it matters. They all end at one point. It might as well be sooner rather than later.

Certia looked at him.

A surprising stab of emotion pricked his heart. It almost felt like shame. He cleared his throat. It isn’t as if there’s anything I can do about it. The land of the living is the province of the gods of Mount Alympos, not mine.

That is not entirely true. The mortal realm reflects the moods of all of the gods—you included. You especially, even.

Thaedus narrowed his eyes. Do you think I wish the mortals ill?

Not as such, no. But regardless of your intentions, the mortal realm feels your coldness. Life is hard when the god of death values it so little.

Fury bloomed in him. Bad enough that she imposed herself on him, but to insult him as well? He got to his feet. How dare you accuse me of neglect! Was it not I who opened my land to the souls of the mortals, when the rest of the gods couldn’t be bothered? Is it not I who grant the righteous peace, when the alternative would be endless grief as wandering souls? He stabbed a finger to his chest. "I am the one who cares. You lot view them as little more than amusements, and treat them as such. I give mortals dignity. I give them peace!"

Certia stood. We are all grateful for your services. But there is much more to mortal life than peace. You believed that once.

He crossed his arms. What do you want from me? To be cheerful? And then life in the mortal realm will transform into some paradise? You seem more the goddess of fools than the goddess of wisdom!

She shrugged. Perhaps. I am rather fond of fools. She gathered her basket and whistled. Her golden chariot descended from the cliffs, pulled by two winged steeds. Once it arrived, she stepped inside. Goodbye, Lord of Death. I look forward to our next visit.

Thaedus watched as her chariot took flight, passing over the falls and beyond. She was right—the flow of the falls had increased.

He scoffed and stalked back to his villa. If she had hoped that her visit would inspire a happier mood, she was sorely mistaken. Goddess of wisdom, indeed.

Zil, his imp, met him at the door. Zil was black as ink and could assume any animal form. Right now, he was in the shape of a dog, barking in welcome as his master mounted the stairs. Thaedus gave him a brief pat. Certia was wrong, yet again. He was not alone. Zil was an excellent companion, and certainly more able to inspire a better mood than a nosy goddess.

Thaedus went to his chambers and settled in his favorite chair. Zil soon followed, a cup of tea balanced on his head. As soon as Thaedus took the tea, Zil shifted into a cat and jumped into his lap.

Thaedus stroked Zil’s soft, cool fur as he sipped his tea. I am not so ill-tempered, am I?

Zil purred. Some tension eased from Thaedus’s heart. No, he was not a vengeful god. He harbored no hate. If the mortal realm was in turmoil, it had nothing to do with him.

2

Prosoper, the son of beauty, was bored .

His centaur tutor, Chilon, kept him busy by teaching him the mortal arts—painting, music, poetry, and so forth, and was always coming up with new ways to engage his mind and talents.

Still, he was bored. It didn’t help that the latest task Chilon had set for him was to memorize the mortal epics. Prosoper had been for it initially—it sounded like an interesting challenge. But in practice, it only intensified his boredom.

He took a breath and continued his recitation. "And thus Drameus drew his spear/Pramax cowered, cold with fear/His wicked reign at last was done/But out came Daron, his only son—"

Chilon cleared his throat. And who, may I ask, is Daron? he asked, looking up from the scroll as he read along.

Prosoper thought for a moment. Daros. Sorry. He could never keep the names of all the mortals straight.

Very good. He folded his legs underneath him and settled on the floor, leaning his human torso on a couch that had been made especially for him. Once he was settled, he unfurled his scroll again. Continue.

Prosoper resumed reciting. Judging by Chilon’s drooping eyes, he was as bored as Prosoper was. He decided to liven it up a little.

"Pramax, as his fear began to thicken/Abruptly turned into a chicken/A feast we’ll have! Daros cried/And thus they served him, lightly fried—"

Chilon squinted at his scroll. "I don’t recall anyone turning into a chicken in The Ildissus."

So you aren’t falling asleep.

Chilon chuckled. Perhaps a break is in order. I’ll make us something to eat.

They moved to the patio, where the cooking was done. Prosoper watched Chilon as he fried some fish in a pan. He wasn’t sure how old his tutor was—centuries, at least. But he was only semi-divine, much as Prosoper himself was, and thus he aged. He was far removed from the fierce rebel he once had been, back when the world was new. Prosoper couldn’t imagine his dear, old tutor defying anyone, let alone the gods.

The fish was soon finished. Chilon served it with a chunk of bread and some olive oil, treats from the mortal realm, from which he had returned this morning. He visited often, bringing back all sorts of things: food, clothes, paints, and scrolls. Most importantly, he brought back stories. Prosoper loved to hear about how the mortals lived their lives.

The fish smelled amazing. It was not from their own lake, but from the sea. He longed to see the ocean one day. He longed to see anywhere else at all. He tucked in with gusto.

Chilon could not join him where he sat; he had his own table, more suited to his height. I take it you enjoyed your meal. He looked at Prosoper’s empty plate. He himself had barely started eating.

Oh yes—very tasty. Prosoper licked his fingers.

Hold on a moment. Chilon left his own plate and went to the storage room adjacent to the patio. He came back with something wrapped in a cloth. For your birthday. I know it isn’t until tomorrow, but this will taste better fresh.

Prosoper opened the bundle. Inside was a pastry with thin, flaky crust. It smelled of honey and figs. He grinned. You’re too good to me.

I’m glad it pleases you.

Prosoper made himself eat it slowly, savoring the taste.

Chilon returned to his meal. Your mother will arrive tomorrow, I expect. Have you given thought as to what you’ll ask for?

His mother was the goddess of beauty, and she granted him one wish every year. Prosoper bit his lip. I was thinking of asking her for a trip to the mortal realm.

Chilon froze mid-bite. I really don’t think that’s wise.

Why not? I’m not asking to leave forever. Just a trip into town with you—that’s all. She could come too, if she’s so worried. What’s the harm in that?

It is not for me to question the wisdom of a goddess. Chilon said stiffly. How is your latest composition coming along?

Prosoper’s shoulders slumped. Apparently the topic was closed. All right, I suppose. I wrote a new ballad to her beauty. I’ll play it for her tomorrow. She should like it.

Chilon nodded his approval. Yes, I imagine she will.

I’m working on another, based on a dream.

A dream? Sounds interesting. What was it about? He took a swig of wine.

I dreamed that Thaedus came for me and took me to the underworld.

Chilon spat his wine out, choking. It was several moments before he