Tonight the moon was full but faint, large but distant. Athena stood before a stretch of bead curtains, strangled by emotions braided in a single loop around her neck. Somehow the beads appeared like eyes boring through her, their soft scrapes against each other like gossipers prattling about how petty she looked.
Their whispers, they echo— what are you doing here?
What, indeed? Athena swallowed hard. Her lips were so dry she felt them chafe her tongue when she wet them. Her fingers trembled as they enclose around one of the strings. The only partition between her and a scene which could send her spiraling back to misery is this flimsy bead curtain.
But did it matter? Athena clenched her jaws. It would only be Aphrodite beyond this curtain, lying on a sweat-stained bed, her beauty flaunted without an ounce of effort despite going through an unimaginable labor.
Unimaginable. Athena almost laughed. Of course, she would never go through that. She was never meant to in the first place. The more powerful forces made sure of it.
But why.
Why does it hurt? And not the kind to be easily mended like the lesions from a battle. War was an easier pain.
But there would be Ares beside Aphrodite, scooping the bundled infant and beaming with pride he would so silently suppress before his own wife. He would not dare mention it to her in their bed, the happiness that renewed back to him at the notion of another child, lest she be overwhelmed with her inadequacies and shut herself back to a dark, gaping hole.
What are you doing here?
The whispers flowed again as if she'd given them the right to be at motion. Nothing, she answered. I am going back… I am going back—
But in the instant she had already squeezed past those beads where silence and dank warmth had met her. Once more her ribs began to ache behind the wilting lungs. The whispers were gone. In place was the climax of a big push, and then came the piercing sound of a newborn's cry. Athena gasped. Slowly she brooded towards it, hiding herself behind a shelf of oils and witnessing through spaces between porcelain jars the figure of a midwife squealing with joy at the robust sound of life.
Her imagination lived before her, of Aphrodite, her golden disposition unfading despite pain, sweat, and tears. Her eyes were vibrant, though tired; she had this wide grin, the bitch. Athena briefly looked away, digging her nails into her palms until the pain reminded her to calm down.
When she forced herself to look back, Eilythia was handing the swaddled babe gently to its mother. The cries toned down to coos and the faint smacking of a tiny mouth around a finger. Oh this scene, Athena clutched her chest.
How she would give anything to be in that scene, even if only for a while… to feel the warmth from within the swaddle, to nip at the pink fingers reaching for her cheek, and gods, to smile. To smile the way Aphrodite was doing right now, looking back and calling somewhere— "Ares, look…"
Her heart stopped, body shrinking back into hiding as if the jars that concealed her had somehow turned transparent. Soon she watched a figure appear from the side of her periphery, mostly shadowed by a dark cape and dulled pieces of armor. Aphrodite was elated to offer the babe to its sire, blushing and giddy in anticipation of his traditional acceptance.
The King though, quietly stood beside the bed, balking, his eyes fixed upon the infant but seconds passed without his motion. The child began to squirm and cough, feeling the eerie stillness in its mother's hands now stiffening from holding it up. Aphrodite's smile began to melt. And Eilythia soon appeared perplexed.
"Ares?" the midwife stood. Ares looked at her and back to the child only when Eilythia pointed at it.
"Look," Aphrodite's voice quivered, holding the babe higher, "Isn't he… isn't he beautiful?"
Athena could see Aphrodite turning pale while the infant's coughs loudened to a cry. As if awakened from a trance, Ares began to reach out to it… but not for long. The air went thick when he freed a quelled, pained sigh like air that refused to flow.
The King shook his head remorsefully, retracted his hand, and turned his back with hurried steps to quickly relieve himself towards the exit—
"Ares!"
Eilythia's call remained ignored at the background of the baby's wailing. Equally baffled by the sudden retreat, Athena forgot her hiding and attempted to meet Ares before he reaches the curtained beads, but to no effect. He had not seen her, or may have thought her merely another serving girl. And they helplessly watched as he shoved himself past the bead curtains, abandoning Aphrodite with an act which is interpreted to reject his own child and leaving him fatherless, without identity nor a place within the royal court.
The curtains slowly went still, and Athena looked back, at Eilythia who was instantly washed with embarrassment, and Aphrodite stricken with fear at the sight of the Queen.
"A-Athena… have you been there long…?" Eilythia grasped for words and objects to carry. She grabbed the blotched woolen towels nearby and proceeded to move out after leaning towards Aphrodite, "I– let me get you something to drink, dear, and… perhaps grape nectar for you my Queen?"
Athena briskly nodded and soon she was left alone with Aphrodite, smelling in the other the soothing oils, the sweat from inner thighs and a bit of blood. Aphrodite, alone and vulnerable, shifted in the bed as the Queen walked closer and sat on the edge. She can sense the tension that quickly swelled between them, marked by the mother's cryptic avoidance to meet her gaze. When Athena's eyes fell upon the swaddle, Aphrodite carefully tucked her newborn closer to her chest as if the Queen's look were a strike of blade. Fear had spread across her face, the life in her eyes was replaced by dread which Athena could not quite comprehend.
"Shouldn't you feed him?" Athena asked. Aphrodite, only now conscious of her baby's cries, fumbled with the straps across her shoulder and drew the infant near her breast. She first winced in the discomfort, until the infant's wailing died down and was replaced by the tiny sips and coos taking in his fill.
Athena could not help the faint smile that crept to her face. "You're right," she whispered, "He is beautiful."
Aphrodite gazed down at her son, only then was she able to carefully see his features— the pinkish, freckled skin, a thin tuft of dark hair over his small head, still slick with threads of mucus. She traced his arm which felt like jelly, covered in fine lanugo. Next, his well-rounded cheek; how it gently bobbed as he suckled. His eyes were small but lashes long and softly curled.
She had been deeply adoring her child that she had not noticed Athena's fingers now barely an inch from his head.
Blood rushed. A slap from Aphrodite instantly reddened Athena's hand, and though the pain was dull it was enough to stun her.
Aphrodite was equally shocked at her own reflex. Senses drifting back, shame began to color her face as Athena gave a cold glare from the offense. The Queen's hand still hung from where Aphrodite struck it; there was displeasure in her face as she pursued her intent of reaching for a piece of the swaddle which fell from the baby's shoulders. Athena tucked back the cloth beneath the infant's tender neck, protecting it from the cold, all to Aphrodite's embarrassment.
"I know I've never held an infant," a live one, at least. Athena looked away, "But I am not stupid to not know how delicate they are."
Aphrodite's lips trembled in her silence. She cuddled her babe closer to her chest, holding around the piece Athena fixed beneath his head. "I'm sorry," she sighed, voice breaking, "I– I'm just not ready for it. Not yet… he's—"
The Queen's brows furrowed. Aphrodite was shaking in such a fear beyond her understanding.
"I do not know what words to console you, or your loss, and I am very… very sorry for what happened…"
"What are you talking about?"
"But please… If you could find it in you to spare my baby…" Aphrodite sniffled, "I will take him away from here, send him to my priestesses or bless it to a couple praying for a child—"
"I don't understand—"
"He does not need to be punished—"
"Aphrodite!"
Candlelight flickered as the Queen's voice flared, immediately quieting down not only Aphrodite but the whole place itself. Only when the baby's whimpers broke the silence did everything seem to breathe back to life. As if he'd absorbed his mother's fear, the infant let out a frightened cry.
"I am sick of that look you're giving me," Athena grit her teeth, "what on earth is it that you're so terrified of?" Her expression softened when the memory of Ares turning away from his acceptance of the child came to mind.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry," Aphrodite's sniffles finally turned to sobs. Her shoulders heaved heavily, and the babe's crying was worse that the Queen initially felt a twinge of panic.
Athena clasped her hands above her thighs and looked away, "I– I've no idea why Ares would not… I mean, would… do that."
The sobs quieted down. Athena turned back to Aphrodite, only to find those dulled, tear-filled eyes widely staring at her. The Queen saw a conflate of emotions deep within those turquoise wells— wonder… dread… confusion. Her breath hitched.
"Aphrodite… you're not thinking I ordered him to…"
Aphrodite lowered her gaze, that which easily gave away her thoughts. This time it was Athena who did not know how to react. How easy would it have been to simply lash out at this creature, who had the one thing she most currently desired.
"I am not Hera, Aphrodite."
The Queen wanted to sound angry. Insulted, even; pride wounded. But even she could taste the hurt in her own words, that bitter hollowing at the pit of stomach, silently recoiling at the memory of every acrid glare and blunt sarcasm from the most jealous Olympian wife known to all. But she likewise understood why— "It's not like I'm a legitimate child myself."
The air in their quiet little space went a little less rigid.
"It's not your fault," there was warmth in Aphrodite's words, and though Athena was used to her charismatic baits, for once she wanted to believe this was sincere.
"Neither is this babe's," The Queen held the infant's hand, "So why should he be punished…?"
Tiny, supple fingers slowly curled around her thumb. Athena looked at its mother, "I've no knowledge why Ares acted the way he did. Regardless, I give you my word, your son will never suffer wraths nor labors we children of Zeus have had to. This child will never lack, and by my decree will maintain a place in Olympus. Anteros– with love you bore him, and his will be a love returned."
Like a toddler at the verge of bursting, Aphrodite's lips trembled, holding back the second wave of her tears, caring less about the snot, the sweat, or swollen eyelids. She broke in relieved gratitude, trying her best to voice out the 'thank you' but which her sniffling would not allow.
Color rose to Athena's cheeks as curtain beads trickled and Eilithya appeared, immediately halting at the sight of the Queen affront her husband's past lover, ugly crying right after having given birth to another evidence of their once-illicit affair. "Enough now," Athena whispered, her eyes drifting back and forth between Aphrodite and Eilithya, worrying what the midwife would make of the scene. Gods forbid a flurry of gossip at dawn…
Aphrodite wiped her face and blew her nose with whichever cloth she grasped. Her eyes, suddenly bright as polished jewels, followed the Queen as she stood from the bed.
"Ely, uh," Athena called the midwife, "Water for her, please."
Startled, Eilithya's steps were small and hands clammy. Athena made way for the beverage, and quietly walked from them as soon as Eilithya poured a chalice for her patient.
"Athena?"
The Queen closed her eyes, frustrated at being caught slipping away. She slowly turned to see Aphrodite glowing with renewed vigor, quickly healed from her wound. Her muggy hair and shambled garments failed to make her less beautiful. The babe was snuggled in her chest, and she gave the Queen a most regarding smile, "Anteros. Wouldn't that be a wonderful name?"
Athena was at a loss of words. Feeling her face prickle with heat, she merely nodded and squeezed past the bead curtains to take in massive inhales of the outdoor air.
Scenes within that room replayed within the Queen's mind. Scenes and senses, utter feelings of confusion turned pity. She had never planned to care for her husband's bastard, or its mother. Still, how funnier could it get? To have actually suggested even a name for the babe.
What are you doing, Athena? The Queen pressed her forehead against the cool surface of her chamber door, her deep sigh moistening its paint. Perhaps the excursion in the netherworld wasn't a good idea after all; perhaps it was the sulfur that they breathed in that depressing realm. But she's here now. A good sleep might prove useful.
Or that was what she thought until the door budged without her lifting the latch.
Athena stepped back. She would not be expecting her wards tonight, having sent them to the libraries to retrieve a few scrolls and refill some ink. She looked around before pushing herself in, her eyes sweeping across curtains and furniture, taking reflections off iron surfaces and ensuring a weapon was present within arm's length. Besides the toppled cups and drops of wine across the table, nothing seemed awry. Her wards left the lamps well-lit. Good girls.
Approaching the window to pull the curtains close, Athena finally saw down there what presence kept lurking around the place. There, a lonely King by the fountain. Before the cherubs…
Before the headstones.
It took a while for her to decide what to say as she descended from her chamber to the yard. But here now, his back to her, she settled on saying nothing. And still the silence was loud enough to hear.
Or perhaps there were no words to truly describe the way she found him, the way he turned to her, that unsurprised look like he'd known for long she's arrived. But how could she actually define that gaze? Those watered eyes, that thin stream down his cheek made visible by moonlight and lamps that floated around them.
Those watery eyes, they reek of guilt. Dense as deepwater. Heavy as hell.
No sooner were her palms reaching out to his face, herself wide-eyed in her own astonishment. For grief never made Ares. He coped with bereavements before, yes. But in the language of blood and death, plunging down to his own ruin… in places away from home to scream and slash away the agony, to pile corpses and collect further disgust from across the land and before Zeus' blinding glory.
"I—" Ares started, evading her eyes, "I think I might have… emptied your wine."
Athena suppressed her smile, mentally laughing at his effort— and failure— to sound funny. As if she drank wine on her own accord. She keeps the flasks full for him, to begin with.
Ares sensed his own flopped attempt at a joke. Unable to stop the tears escaping him, he faced to the side, catching one of her hands and pressing his lips on her palm.
"Aphrodite," he tensed, "she… uh… she's…"
"Shh, I know…" Athena nodded, brushing her thumb at the scar beneath his eye, "I know, Love. She'll be alright. They both will be."
Ares went still, the shame she'd seen from Aphrodite began clouding his own expression. In a while he trembled, his voice continually failing him, choking in unison with hers—
"I couldn't do it, Athena—"
"Ares. Ares it's alright. She understands—"
"I wanted to; I want that child, I swear—"
"Ares—"
"But then I see her and, gods—"
"Please calm down—"
"Gods. She wasn't you."
Athena's breath stopped.
"It was supposed to be you. In that room. In that bed. And the child, in your arms. Not h—" Ares looked up at the fountain, the cherubs that now replaced the trident. Two darling winged babes, precious stones carved around their heads to form a halo, water silently flowing past them as if they themselves were grieving.
Athena's mind reeled back to witnessing his hesitation and flight like a spooked child. Between her heart bursting or breaking, she could not decide which to control. Just how could she burden him more with an empty future?
"Oh Ares…" she gently drew his eyes back to hers, now filled with her own grief, "You are given that child for a reason… because even as gods we have limits against a higher power."
He stared on. This might as well be the most painful wound she'd inflict on him. Athena's lips went pale against the background of her mind in a whirlwind…
Most painful.
But most necessary. Unless he'd waste time looking forward to hollow dreams. "You are given that child, and from another… as I am deemed unfit to bear one."
His silence did not surprise her.
"Hermes will attest: I've consulted with the dreadful Tiresias. He has looked unto my future… and seen no life—"
Athena quickly shut herself, cursing upon her emotions from the unnecessary spill of words. Ares' eyes narrowed curiously and Athena knew she only had less than a second to redeem herself—
"...of a child, I meant."
"And why would that be?"
Athena was suddenly seized by the grisly voice that lodged itself into her mind.
She has gnashed her teeth and cursed you.
"I am at fault, Ares," Unweaved the threads once knitted on your endless slate. "In my insolence against Rome I… I sold our child to an empire for an alliance…"
so the morrows could never bear your flesh and blood.
"Seeing the fear in Aphrodite's eyes made me realize what terrible mother I would be. She would give up her child in exchange for his life, but mine in exchange of what?" she broke in a tearful, albeit angry, chuckle, "A palace overflowing with gold and diamond? Of immortal gods spoiled with wine and fattened by luxury, while our people are mauled or burnt crisp by monsters—"
"We are doing what we can in servitude, Athena," Ares squeezed her hands, "Who is Tiresias to decide?"
Athena sighed, "Tiresias' words are never his own. I know that. I made him that."
"Still—"
Her fingers gently brushed his lips, "Still. I prefer to believe. We've none to blame but myself. I am very, very sorry, Ares… thus I am in no place to demand your inattention to your newborn son. I believe he is meant to comfort you in the shortcomings of your wif—"
"For fuck's sake, Athena."
The Queen found her face pressed against his chest, his hand behind her neck, her voice stifled by the folds of his hood. His scent which filled her nose was like a command for her arms to find purchase around his back.
"I will not hear that," Ares whispered through her hair and she felt the loathing in his hot breath, "I've driven you to decide on that with Rome; you've no right to feel guilt. Take that back."
They stayed as is for as long as Athena could remember, allowing herself to selfishly bask on her husband's resolve even when she would not give in to his demand. There was no reason to, at least for someone whose future is as empty as hers.
"Take that back," Ares reminded.
Athena squeezed her hold on him before pulling away to look back into his eyes with a faint, flustered smile, "I'll think about it."
"Gods, you," the King rolled his eyes, smileless, a defeated sigh falling from his lips. Athena was only relieved that he allowed a fleeting second of lenience lift the tension from them, before Ares wore the seriousness back to his expression. He pinched her chin lightly, "I would argue further if not for that damn meeting, now that you mentioned Hermes."
Athena remembered, "Ah. Yes, I did call for one."
"You did?" Ares stepped back, "What for? Something happened down there—? I– I haven't… I must have missed it when called to the birthing—"
"Hush, you were needed for that valuable moment," Athena reached out to his arm. She wished Ares took it as a touch of endearment when she actually lost balance from a second of lightheadedness that flickered in her head. Exhaustion. It is taking a toll on her body.
He caught her arm back. "You're unwell."
She laughed to herself. Gods he noticed after all. Was she becoming this easy to read?
"What is this gathering for?" Ares steadied her, "Detail it, and then stay put. I'll preside over at the council."
Athena pinched her temples, "It wouldn't be a bother?"
"The only bother are your bloody long speeches," Ares grimaced, "So let me take over and stay behind to rest."
"Ass," Athena gave her husband a light punch in the chest, but the prospect of surrendering to the moon's resplendence was as tempting— "Alright then. You may ask Hermes for it. I believe right now he has better recollection of today's troubles. Do tell me what becomes of your… bloody 'short' speeches soon."
It was strange how complacent Ares was tonight. He nodded at her instructions, albeit feeling tired and begrudging at the thought of doing some diplomatic bullshit.
The only speeches he was ever proud of were declarations of war.
The walk back to Athena's chamber was quiet; no words were further exchanged, but there was no need to. The silence was convenient. There was peace in his cape around her shoulders, with only the sounds of its hem scraping in the background of placid steps across the floor. She could feel her lids weigh down at the passing of seconds, at the flitter of lamps and remnants of his body heat engulfing her from the cloak.
Inside the room she watched her husband plunge his hands on the marble sink and splash water to his face. He was coarse even with the most mundane habits, but how remarkable it was to find herself entranced. His movements slowed before her, privy to her thoughts filled with what ifs at the passing of her fate. He was coarse as he was beautiful, and she could not help that tiny spark of jealousy at the presupposition of another in her stead… a second wife perhaps, a lover, a bedwarmer. Athena shuddered.
With a final squeeze of water from his jaw, Ares gave his wife a last look and went past the doors with an unspoken promise of immediate return.
"Ares?"
He looked back in the middle of wiping half his face.
Athena smiled, cutting his breath—
"I love you."
The King blinked once. Twice. He briefly looked away to hide that flash of suppressed grin. Sighing, he walked back into the room and leaned in to wrap his hands around her waist. Athena felt his warm breath fall upon her face before he delicately brushed his nose against hers, leading their bodies to make small, gentle sways.
"Then don't do that."
"Do what?" Athena muttered, having managed to softly look him in the eye.
"I don't know," this time he pressed his forehead against hers, "—make it sound like it's the last time I'll hear it from you."
Athena went still against the swaying and Ares noticed, searching her face. "Well," went her small shrug and a half-meant smile, "You never know, Ares."
He likewise froze and held her cheeks, his thumb grazing her bottom lip, "Is this about Tiresias' gibberish?"
Yes. And No. And how she wanted to say Yes. But even without having said anything, Ares took her silence for the same answer. He frowned.
Within a blink, Athena's misery had vaporized. The warmth of his lips eased into hers. Tenderly. Lovingly. Like the first rays of sun over a long-sitting snow. She soaked in that warmth for as long as it lasted, in the ironic gentleness of his rough hands, in his scents of sage and musk— she savored them all, in the way it made her temporarily forget a sorrowful destiny.
"I love you," he whispered over her lips before another kiss, "And no blind stinking old man could tell me otherwise."
Athena almost snorted. The tears that filled her eyes had suddenly dried as she gently punched her husband in the chest for the second time that night. Faces still pressed together, they chuckled.
"Gods, Ares. I was having a moment…" she muttered, "Did you really have to ruin it?"
"Gladly," Ares could not restrain himself from yet another peck, "If it meant taking your worries away…"
Athena closed her eyes, her body warming to the mouth which was traveling down the arc of her slender neck and causing gooseprickles to resurface. She smiled at the gruntled sigh that escaped his throat—
"Ugh, you vixen," Ares hissed, withdrawing from the crook of her neck, "Just why did you have to set that damn council gathering?"
The Queen chortled. She pulled her hand from his shoulder to reach a stray lock of his raven hair and brush it in place. "Go," she whispered, her eyes alight with a new proposition, "And if that council would bore you to pieces, then run back to the healing chambers," she smiled, "You still have unfinished business to a newborn, coward."
Ares stalled, his expression softening. That lightest ache at the edge of Athena's voice was painful to hear, no matter how careful she hides it in a concrete mask of delight. He would not of course tell her, that after all their present troubles he will hunt that scraggly skin-and-bones of a seer and gut him for making her sad...
...and then fuck her pregnant above that old cunt's grave.
But Athena, his beautiful, beautiful Athena, had a more irresistible thing in mind—
She tipped her toes and kissed him.
It wasn't the first of times. He'll make sure it won't be the last either. But gods she does it again, that magic pinched with witchcraft: a single nibble in the lip that could strike a cardiac arrest but which he'd be willing to beg for another.
Ares was opening his eyes before he realized they were shut.
"Sorry…" the way Athena grinned made him envision how stupi– stupefied– he must have looked—
"...just making sure you'd come back to me after."
Nearly two hundred leagues from Greece lit the torches of a thriving empire. Rome reclines across expanding fields and hills and its jagged mountains, lulling at the sun's dying light to welcome the moon's serenity.
Above and hidden from its scattered cities rests the abode of its lineup of supreme beings, an opulent palace of their own, grandiose in its way of cylindrical towers, stretches of courtyards, and domes above intricately structured atriums. At night the paintings come alive to serve the light, rendering a preternatural luster across its foyers.
In the ensemble of water chimes and nocturnal chirps from its gardens come the wails of distress from the Queen's private salon. A servant, trays of honeyed cheesecakes on hand, stops before its doors upon hearing the agitation. Not long after, he carefully turns and treads the direction he comes from, the sweets untouched and cold…
"I should have known better!" Juno's strides were less queenly, her tone as sharp as the exasperation on her face, "My own son, having no decency for his empire—! How could you even—!"
In the sill of a ceiling-high window sat her son, a favorite for his severe charm, his skill of the blades, and often his flirtatious inclinations. He sat sluggish at the corner, head tilted outside and shoulders slumped, arms crossed above chest, a leg up whilst the other hung. Above it all his eyes were unmoved and bored golden stiff, his mind wandering unknown places.
Juno may have just pulled the lengthiest fibers of her capacity to nag. But words were words. They were never enough to break the iron walls of his mind.
The lock was unlatched.
"Jupiter! Finally!" Juno cried, a hand on her hip and the other pointing to Mars, "Mehercule! I cannot fathom how this could not make you fly over here sooner!"
Unmoved at all by her wife's provocation, Jupiter walked over to the table and poured himself a drink. Juno's jaw nearly dropped with every tinkle of the cup, every drop of spiced retsina, every unbothered gulp. In all his enormity, there was not a single vein that flicked with anger.
"By us gods, Jupiter, haven't you even heard a single word I've said?" Juno gasped disgustingly with the contented belch her husband offered.
"Yes, yes, I learned of it," Jupiter waved her off insipidly. Juno watched him pour another and carried it towards her to serve. She stared at the cup, at the dark syrup it contained…
And how it invited so much anger…
"I do NOT need a worthless drink—!" Juno stumbled to the side, losing her balance at the attempt to swat the cup but which Jupiter had already anticipated by quickly raising it.
A few drops swung from the sides and Jupiter groaned, "Then you could at least not waste it."
On the bright side, the bustle was enough to finally draw Mars' attention.
His face was still screaming apathy, but Jupiter felt victorious gaining his son's gaze, and only at the expense of a few drops.
Juno was nearly crimson from her shame. She cleared her throat, straightening her gait as if nothing had happened— "And? How do you suppose we should fix this? By raising cups to your son's disgrace?"
"Disgrace?" Jupiter nearly choked in his amusement, "You're pushing him too hard, dear—"
"Too hard? How exactly is this entertaining to you? To be clear, your son was assaulted in Olympus for—"
"—catching feelings for the queen, I already said I knew about it…" Jupiter rolled his eyes dismissively, to his wife's utter confusion. He then walked past her still carrying the cup in hand, "And who can blame him?" he chuckled, "She is a fearsome Olympian thing, to be sure. Anyone can be pretty but none with tits can be as pretty as she is feisty nor warlike. Don't you see it, dear? Imagine a union that would bring our empires together. Oh the world would shake beneath us…"
"Union? We have already forged an alliance! What more do you—" Juno's eyes widened. The crimson in her cheeks began ebbing to white— "No… husband… you are not—"
"I surely am, love. Not interested in the Queen's married status."
"Heavens, Jupiter!"
"Oh hush, woman! Give your son the credit of finally choosing someone worthy of his name, his blood, and Rome! Rather than sleeping around with tavern girls or pursuing… pursuing…"
Juno's lips twisted in a smirk at her husband's stuttering, "...your precious Minerva?"
A heavy stomp burst across the floor and Mars was on his feet. They needed no words to reveal his thoughts; his darkened eyes were enough. Juno shut her mouth and Jupiter withdrew for a second, waiting for his son's fist to loosen lest they risk news of a scattered rampage by daybreak.
Mars began to walk towards the doors, until his father's voice eased in once more.
"Just one thing, son. Just answer me this one,"
Mars did not halt, but Jupiter was as stubborn— "Would you truly have her… if I could fix it?"
Finally the footsteps stilled. Juno covered her face with a deep, vexed sigh. Mars slowly turned to his father, annoyance burned in his eyes, but they could easily read the smallest tinge of curiosity in them. He finally spoke his first word—
"Fix?"
Jupiter's grin turned dangerous, "Why yes. Swear to me your obedience, and I give you my word: she'd be yours by the turn of the moon."
A/N: I know, I know. Three days could be a long time. Sigh. But I want to explain that by the time I said I'd be dropping off this new chapter, promotion season was suddenly announced. It's a very tedious process, with lots of documents to gather and whatnots, resulting to late nights where I come home to already sleeping kids and early mornings where we leave them the way we found em. I was especially stuck with that cycle for long, also while dealing with my PhD papers and all that academic stuff which I really want to burn rn.
Kidding. Hafta finish lmao.
Anyway, still thanking everyone for checking up on me and this story every now and then. Thank you for not giving up, and for inspiring me. I'll keep doing my best. See you in the reviews. xoxo
