Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 83786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Who am I if I’m not Zeus?
I don’t have an answer to that question. I’m terrified of what it would mean to set aside the title I’ve spent my entire life preparing for. I would be no one. No goals, no power, no fucking personality. And no wife.
Callisto only married me because of the influence my title holds—and my promise to use that influence to protect her family. She never wanted me, Perseus, the man. And I barely knew her, her reputation speaking more than the woman herself. I think we’d had maybe one conversation in all the time she’s lived in the city proper.
Without my title, I’m nothing. I’ve experienced what nothing feels like at my father’s hands, and I will never allow it to happen again. No matter what plans Circe or Hermes or any of the others attempt to play out, one thing remains true.
When all the dust is settled and the bodies are buried, I will be Zeus.
Or I’ll be dead.
17
Hera
I wake alone. I should have expected it. I did expect it. Zeus and I may share our nights, but we work on vastly different schedules. My husband is an early riser; he’s usually gone well before I roll out of bed in the morning. Especially in the last couple months. Yesterday was a pointed exception—in so many ways. I stretch slowly, registering all the little aches and pains in my body.
I am absolutely not bothered by his absence. Not in the least. I’m the one who shut off the light last night, who turned away from the intimacy he offered. It makes no sense to crave his presence like a comfortable blanket I want to wrap around myself. Fighting with him is normal enough to ease my stress, that’s all. Or maybe the pregnancy hormones are fucking with my head.
I look at the time and curse. It’s later than I expected—much later. I’m supposed to be meeting Persephone in less than an hour, and she’s not one to wait if she thinks I’m fucking around. The fact that I got her to agree to this meeting at all is a testament of how much she cares for me.
And I’m going to use that care to manipulate her.
I launch out of bed and hurry to the closet, where I pull on three different pairs of pants before cursing and tossing them in the corner. None of them fit. There’s no time for this shit. I finally land on a slightly loose sheath dress that my stomach still presses against too prominently, but once I throw a sweater over the top, it’s not too bad. It’s hardly the visual perfection I’ve been aiming for since taking over Hera, but desperate times call for desperate measures. There’s been no opportunity to expand my closet.
No, that’s not actually true. All I’d have to do is request some clothing from one of the many assistants I keep pretending I don’t have. The problem is that making the request opens the door to commentary on my body, to speculation—and that I cannot have. Not until I’m ready. I could go shopping myself, of course, but I’ve been hesitant to do so. It’s almost as if buying new clothing means admitting to myself that I actually am pregnant.
There’s no accounting for how confused I am about my feelings on this entire situation.
Boots are next, my favorites paired with thick socks. I yank my hair back into a slick ponytail and pause to look at myself in the mirror. I’m a fucking mess. The hollows beneath my eyes seem larger than they were yesterday despite getting a full night’s sleep for once. The broken blood vessels in my cheeks are so prominent they make me uncomfortable. But there’s no fucking time to go through the necessary process to cover them with makeup.
I grab my purse and phone as I head out the door. It’s only when I reach the parking garage that I realize I didn’t tell Ixion about this particular excursion. I almost pause to call him, but that means losing more time than I can afford. Instead, I snag the keys from the bottom of my purse and click the unlock button until I can figure out which of the seemingly countless nondescript black SUVs filling the parking spots is mine. The third from the end beeps in response, answering that question.
I haven’t driven in a very long time. It feels strange to climb into the driver’s seat. Strange…and kind of freeing at the same time. I grip the wheel and take several deep breaths that do nothing to soothe me. “Okay, one minute to think about it. That’s all I get. Then I have to get my game face on.”
Another long, slow breath. “Last night was a shit show.” Saying it aloud into the stillness of the car makes everything so much more real.